by Gina LaManna
We were halfway to Warren’s parents’ house when Russo spoke. “There are more of them.”
“What?” I asked, staring out the window. “More of what?”
“Envelopes. Notes. Love letters.”
I pressed my lips together, watched the sludgy mounds of snow pass us by. “I turned in the one relevant to the case.”
“But the others. There are others—aren’t there? It’s how you knew this case was personal. What did he say? Did he promise to see you soon?”
“Something like that.”
“You didn’t turn any in?”
“I haven’t said a word, and I expect the same from you,” I said. “I haven’t even told Jimmy.”
“Why not?”
“Why do you think?” I asked, snappish. “They’re personal letters addressed to me.”
“From a known serial killer.”
“Who was in prison—and was supposed to remain there for life.”
“I think you made the wrong choice.”
“It was my wrong choice to make.”
“I’m sorry if you think I’m overstepping my bounds, but I’m involved in this case as much as you. I’d like to see the other letters.”
I ran my tongue over the front of my teeth as I thought. “What good will that do?”
“Maybe there’s a clue there, something you missed.” Russo looked over at me, a warning in his eyes. “Don’t get defensive. Maybe you’re too close to the case. Maybe I’ll be able to see something you haven’t.”
I sighed. As much as I wanted Russo, the feds, and my mother to mind their own business when it came to my private affairs, it was no longer only me I had to consider. Sarah’s life was at stake, and it wasn’t fair to her to let my ego hold up a potential lead on the case.
“We’ll stop by my house after the interviews,” I mumbled. “I have them in a drawer.”
Russo nodded and left the subject alone for the rest of the drive. We came to a stop outside of the Parcel house, but before I could open the door, his hand snaked out and caught my wrist.
“I’ll look at them in private,” he said quietly. “If I don’t see anything blatantly relevant to the case in your letters, I see no reason to turn them into evidence.”
My lips flicked into a thin smile. I retracted my arm from his grasp, feeling the cool absence of his skin against mine as I slipped from the car and closed the door behind me.
Janie Parcel was a single mother. She let us into her home and explained that her husband had passed away a decade ago. She had two sons—Warren and Peter. The latter was flying in from his residence in Seattle to be there for his family this afternoon.
As we sat around her coffee table, I peppered her with the same sort of questions I’d asked at the Tate farmhouse barely twenty-four hours before. Similar to the Tates, Janie Parcel didn’t have much to add to the investigation.
“I honestly don’t know how much more I can tell you,” Janie said. “He was a regular guy. He helped me out when I needed my gutters cleaned or a faucet fixed. Warren was going steady with Sarah who—” Her voice cracked. “I spoke with her parents. They’re saying she’s missing.”
“We’re looking for her,” I said. “Do you have any idea where she might be? If she had any close friends, anyone who she might have gone to when she found out Warren had been killed?”
“Sarah was—is—a family girl. That’s one of the reasons I liked her so much. She wouldn’t have run off and worried everyone. It’s just not like her. She’s a sweet girl.”
We finished up after an hour. We knew nothing more than when we’d arrived, aside from the minute details of Warren and Sarah’s life together. Nothing spelled trouble, and nothing connected Warren or Sarah to anyone resembling Wilkes.
“Last question,” I said. “Do you know if Warren or Sarah volunteered at all?”
Janie Parcel frowned. “I’m not sure I’m following. Warren—I think he’d donated to some of the hurricane relief funds. You know, they’ve been awful this year, and he always was generous with his money. Sarah used to raise money for charities by running marathons. I think the two of them sometimes visited the dog shelters and played with the animals.”
“What about any outreach with the prison system?” I asked. “Pen pals, that sort of thing?”
“Not that I know of,” Janie said. “And Warren probably would have mentioned it. He was always trying to get me involved with community outreach. He still says—well, he said—I wasn’t getting out enough after his father passed away.”
I thanked Janie Parcel for her time. Russo and I headed out, leaving behind another grieving family in the wake of Wilkes’s rampage.
We left several more grieving households as we completed our interviews. Sarah’s family consisted of her mother and father and one younger sister, and not one of them had any clue where Sarah might be, or why she’d been targeted. A best friend from college claimed she hadn’t seen Sarah for over a week, though they’d texted a few days prior and nothing had seemed out of the ordinary.
None of them knew of any connection between Warren or Sarah to Texas, Wilkes, or anyone in the prison system. Resigned, Russo drove us back to the precinct where we met with Melinda downstairs in the lab.
Melinda waited in her office as Jimmy, Russo, and I filed in, a fresh cup of coffee sitting on her desk. Through the window into the lab, I could see a few techs shuffling about with determination, bagging evidence and cleaning up after the autopsy.
“All signs point to Warren Parcel’s death being the handiwork of Wilkes.” Melinda folded her hands on her desk, her voice level as she scanned the three faces before her. “Oddly enough, Wilkes doesn’t seem to be attached to his identity as The Dentist. He hasn’t been leaving a calling card.”
“Except for a missing set of teeth,” Russo said dryly. “I think that’s a bit obvious.”
“Well, yes,” Melinda admitted. “But he left actual, physical cards last time. Any ideas why he’s refrained from that practice this time around?”
“He might be getting more confident,” I suggested. “Arrogant, even. Thinking we should know who he is by his signature style. He might assume—rightly so, I might add—that an actual calling card is unnecessary. Pathetic, even.”
“Or, he could have a new target.” Jimmy looked at Melinda, but it was clear he spoke to me. “The first time he went on a killing spree, there was a weird tie-in to proving himself. Now, he knows he’s already proven himself. This time, he might have a different purpose.”
“Revenge,” Russo finished. “He wants to finish what he started, and everything he’s done so far has led up to his end game.”
“Which is?” Melinda asked.
“You guys can stop dancing around it,” I said. “It’s me. I get it.”
“You’re the only one of his targets who is still alive,” Jimmy said. “That can’t sit well with the man. He’s smart, a perfectionist. He’ll want to tie up all loose ends. Maybe being known as The Dentist is no longer his first priority—it’s finishing what he started last time. And that means you.”
“We can’t assume that’s entirely true.” My chair screeched as I stood. “Sarah is a target of his, and as far as we know, she’s still alive. We need to focus on finding her.”
“Kate—” Melinda started, and I paused at the door. “I wasn’t finished.”
I waited. “Did you find anything during the autopsy?”
Melinda made a disgruntled noise in her throat. “Typical findings from a Wilkes murder. All teeth missing from his mouth. No signs of rape or genital mutilation. There were some defensive wounds on the victim as mentioned, and we managed to scrape a sample from under Parcel’s fingernails that we hope will point to Wilkes. We pulled a few fibers from the shower curtain. With any luck, it could give us something. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Great. Then I’m going to take off,” I said. “I’ve got a few other things to follow up on. The fibers—can we speed things along? We need a
nod as to where Wilkes is hiding, or we’re sitting ducks waiting for his next move.”
“Of course,” Melinda said. “And we are running the envelope Jimmy turned into evidence this morning for prints as well. There was one interesting smudge on the back of it—we’ll be checking that out too.”
“A smudge?”
“It might be nothing,” Melinda said. “But we’d like to be sure.”
“I hope it’s something,” I said. “Because we can’t handle a lot more of nothing. I’ll catch up with you all in a bit. I’ve got a few other things to follow up on while we’re waiting for results.”
I left Russo and Jimmy staring at an empty doorway while I hightailed it down the hallway and jumped into the elevator before anyone could follow me. When the doors opened on the second level, I was greeted by a smiling face.
“Just the girl I wanted to see,” Asha said, nodding for me to follow her. “Come with me.”
I strode after Asha, my gaze focused on her intricately braided, shiny black hair. She came to a stop in front of her standing desk and stroked the keys with long, acrylic black nails that gave a satisfying tap, tap, tap as she worked.
“Brandy Lee.” Asha made the declaration with a proud flourish, waving her hand at the gigantic monitor hung from the front of the room. “You’re welcome.”
“What am I looking at?”
“A good candidate for Harry Brine’s secret lover.” Asha pursed her lips. “Makes sense, doesn’t it? Her name is Brandy—could easily be called B for short. Better yet, she’s made ten phone calls to Brine’s phone over the last week. And you said there were high heeled shoe prints at the scene?”
I nodded, watching as Asha clicked from the image of a curly-haired, strawberry-blonde to an image of feet. On said feet were a pair of stilettos that looked deadly. At least, they’d be deadly to me because there was no way I’d be able to balance on them.
“I know this doesn’t prove anything,” Asha said. “But it’s a start. In every one of her social media photos, she’s got on a pair of stilettos. Girl is only five feet two. She wears high heels a lot.”
“It’s something,” I said. “I don’t know how a woman of her stature could’ve overpowered Brine, but it’s worth a shot.”
“I really thought you’d be more excited.” Asha pouted. “This is a good lead.”
I slung an arm over Asha’s shoulder. “It’s the best lead I’ve gotten in a long while. Thank you.”
She dug her elbow into my ribs with a playful nudge. “I’m just kidding. There’s more.”
“You’re an angel.”
“I know, honey. But I’m not sure you’ll be saying that after I show you this.” Asha’s fingers tapped over a few more keys as she worked her computer magic. “Sorry, babe.”
I was halfway through asking why she was apologizing when I understood. The next face on the screen was a familiar one. I made a frustrated noise in my throat.
“Yeah,” Asha said. “That’s what I thought.”
Alastair Gem’s beautiful eyes stared through the screen, eerily pointed directly at me, as if he could see through the technology and into my soul. “Can you tell me why I’m looking at Gem?”
“Your girl Brandy also made some calls to Gem over the last week. Fifteen if we’re counting.”
“Of course she did.”
“Before you ask, no I don’t know the nature of them. However, I did manage to do some digging through work files. She’s not directly on Gem’s payroll, but she’s been contracted through his company recently. A check for five grand just hit her bank account this morning. It’s actually what triggered my search.”
“You’re still watching Gem?” I asked.
“I watch everyone,” Asha said with a wiggle of her eyebrows. She wiggled her black nails, too. “Nobody’s safe from these puppies.”
“You terrify me.”
“Good,” Asha said. “That’s the way I like it. Now, what are you going to do about this mess?”
“Do you have an address for Brandy Lee?”
Asha reached behind her to a printer tray and removed a sheet of paper. “I thought you might ask. I included Gem’s address, too, in case you’d forgotten how to reach him. Then again, I’m pretty sure you have his direct line—and even I don’t have that.”
“You liar.”
“You’re right, I do have his direct line.” She wiggled her eyebrows again. “I just don’t use it on the regular.”
“Don’t tell me you’re tracking my phone.”
“What you don’t know can hurt you, sweetie pie. Now, get out of here. I’ve got some guards to terrorize.”
I left Asha and her talons to the terrorizing as I tucked the sheet of paper with Brandy’s address under my arm. Technically, the Brine case didn’t belong to me—at least, not while I was occupied on the Wilkes case. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t lend a helping hand in my down time.
The Brine case had officially been reassigned to a younger officer, a guy by the name of Frankie Dunkirk. With Wilkes monopolizing so much of mine and Jimmy’s time, it only made sense to share the wealth around the department. Technically, the reassignment didn’t mean much. Jimmy and I were still involved in Brine’s case. And since I had some time to kill, I figured I’d swing over to Frankie’s desk and offer to lend a helping hand.
Dunkirk looked hopefully up through round glasses at my offer to get a meeting with Alastair Gem. He had a baby face with a bright smile. “Are you mentioning that because you feel like helping me out, or am I missing something?”
“You’re probably drowning in paperwork and publicity crap,” I said, hoping I sounded saintly. “I’ve got a little time. What do you say I handle the Brandy interview and then swing by Gem’s offices and see if I can get a meeting with the boss? I happen to know Gem from a previous case.”
“You’d do that?” Frankie cleared his throat and tried to sound less relieved. “That’d be great. Thanks. I’d really appreciate it.”
I tapped the paper with Brandy’s address on it. “Not a problem.”
Familiar voices echoed in the hallway. From the snippets I could gather, Russo and Jimmy were having a very serious discussion about the car Gem had secured in Texas. It sounded like Russo had embellished the story just a tad, and Jimmy was eating it right up.
I slipped away from Frankie’s desk before either of them could see me and jogged out to my car, hopping into the front seat. Asha had included two addresses for Brandy on the sheet of paper—one for her home, another for her office. I plugged the office into the GPS.
Then I flicked on my phone, scrolled through the contact list, and hovered over Gem’s name. At the last second, I clicked my phone off and put the car into drive. I’d keep my visit to Gem Industries a surprise. Not the Valentine’s Day surprise Gem had been hoping for, but under the circumstances, it was the best I could do.
Chapter 12
Brandy Lee worked out of a tiny office on the outskirts of Uptown. I crossed from St. Paul into Minneapolis, cruised down Lyndale, and parked between a hipster coffee shop and a run-down liquor store. Brandy’s office was above the coffee shop.
The smell of freshly roasted beans followed me as I climbed to the second level and found a sign on the door that read Glitterati Party Planning. I let myself inside and found a cute, albeit cramped, lobby the size of a large walk-in closet. A woman sat behind a window and smiled brightly through the cutout.
“Can I help you?” she asked. “Do you have an appointment?”
“Actually, I’m here on official police business.” I flipped out my badge and rested it on the desk. “Detective Rosetti. Is Brandy Lee in?”
“Is she in trouble?”
“I just have a few questions to ask her,” I said. “It shouldn’t take long.”
“She’s actually out on a job right now,” the receptionist said. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think she’ll be back to the office today.”
“Do you happen to know where she is?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t say.”
“Can’t or won’t?” I opened my phone, scrolled down to Alastair Gem’s number. “That’s his direct line. If I call it, will I find Brandy at his offices?”
The receptionist didn’t blink an eye. “It’s possible.”
“How possible?”
She sighed. “Quite.”
“Great. Thanks for your help,” I said. “If she comes back early, let her know I stopped by.”
She nodded. “Rita’s in, if you’d like to speak with her instead.”
I glanced at the name on the door—Rita Banks—and saw the words CEO printed underneath. “That’s okay. I’m looking for Brandy specifically. It’s important.”
The receptionist gave a weak mumble of agreement. I took the stairs two at a time and came to a stop in the first-floor coffee shop. I was powerless against the smell of fresh beans, so I ordered a cappuccino to go. I’d need all the energy I could get to face Gem and Brandy together in one room.
Gem Industries stood just as tall and intimidating as I remembered. The Christmas decorations from the last time I’d been inside had been taken down and replaced by springs of fresh greenery and impressive floral arrangements.
The Valentine’s Day theme had already begun to seep throughout the facility with white Calla lilies perched in long-necked vases, pink roses gathered on every desk, and giant red blooms craning over the entryway that looked as if they belonged in an exotic tropical destination, and not in blustering, wintery Minnesota.
I made my way to the front desk where I stopped before a receptionist I’d met on several prior occasions. I leaned on the desk and gave Ms. Karp a thin smile.
“Hey there, remember me?” I flipped out my badge just in case she’d forgotten. “I’m looking for Gem. Feel like buzzing me up?”
Her cheery smile grew brighter and more fake all at once. The receptionist looked as if she wanted to argue, but thankfully, she thought better of it. Pursing her ruby red lips, she reached for the phone. “Please let Mr. Gem know that one Detective Rosetti is here to see him.”