by S. E. Harmon
“What was his name?”
“Craig, I think. It had only been a few weeks, but he seemed like a nice guy.” Darla sighed. “She was most excited about getting her little boy back. She’d left him with a friend while she got her life in order.”
I frowned. “I wasn’t aware she had a child.”
“We helped her decorate his new room in a farm animal theme. He would’ve been… let’s see….” Darla cast her eyes upward as she did some mental math. “Four or five, I think.”
She’d left her son with an old friend. A friend like Valerie, perhaps? Tabitha had researched Joseph’s adoption and hadn’t been able to find much of anything. We theorized that records were a lot less organized back then. Cases changed hands, storage rooms flooded, files were lost, records just slipped through the cracks in general. But suddenly, a dearth of adoption records for Joseph made a lot more sense.
Delilah had finally gotten her life together. She had a job at a gardening center. New friends. A relationship with potential. And a cute little house with a room just for Joseph. All that was left on the checklist was to go pick up her son.
I wonder how Valerie had felt about that.
Darla peered at me. “Does any of that help?”
“It does. I could hug you.” She narrowed her eyes, and I held up my hands quickly. “But I won’t.”
“Good, because I don’t hug no—”
“Cops, I know, I know.” I stood, dusted off the seat of my pants, and headed down the porch steps. “The jewelry is in a coffee can under a loose floorboard on the back porch.”
“What if it’s not there?” she called as I hit the sidewalk.
“Well, I sincerely hope it is because Grandma Ruth is gone.”
“What?” Her hand flew to her mouth, and for the first time since I’d met her, I saw genuine emotion without a hint of craftiness. It was briefly disconcerting. “She left?”
She came down the porch steps, clinging to the railing like a lifeline. When she got to the bottom, I held out a hand to help. She didn’t let go, even after she was safely on the cracked sidewalk.
“Why didn’t you tell me that would make her leave? I wouldn’t have even bothered with the damned jewelry.” She took a composing breath, squeezing my hand hard. “I can’t believe it.”
“I’m sorry. It’s not an exact science. The furthest thing from it.” I shrugged helplessly. “I think she said her peace and felt comfortable enough to leave. I don’t always know what they consider unfinished business.”
Darla nodded jerkily. “I’m glad she found peace, at least.”
I didn’t know what else I could say, especially when she wrapped her arms around my middle. I guess she hugged cops after all. I shifted so that her hands weren’t near my gun and let her cling to me like human Saran Wrap. She smelled like baby powder and aloe.
“I wasn’t ready to let go,” she said quietly.
No one ever really is. I didn’t think that would be particularly helpful, so I just patted her back awkwardly and pretended not to notice when she started to cry.
Chapter 17
It was a little after five in the morning. when Danny and I walked into the diner next to the station. As I looked around for a place to sit, I spotted Nick in a booth near the back, hunched over his phone. It wasn’t that much of a surprise to see him there—everyone on our team ate at the diner at least twice a week. We slid in across from him, and he raised an eyebrow. “What are you two doing up so early?”
Early morning sex and then waffles, mostly. I shrugged, trying to keep my blushing to a minimum. “Nothing. Can’t a guy get up early?”
Nick stared at us both for a moment. Then, he scowled at Danny. “I hate that you have a life now. I really do.”
Danny huffed out a laugh as he grabbed a menu from the holder near the syrup caddy. “Who pissed in your cheerios?”
“I fought with my girl. Again.” He eyed us some more. “How’d you know you were, well, you know?”
I looked at him blankly. “No, what?”
“Into dudes.”
I knew he was just kidding, but I decided to give him a hard time anyway. “Seriously? You’re considering switching teams because you guys argued?”
“Well, you’re here at five in the fucking morning, all happy and shit. And everyone can tell you just fucked. You’ve got sex hair,” he said, pointing at Danny, who smoothed it down with a scowl. But Nick wasn’t quite done as he gestured at my neck. “And you’ve got beard burn.”
“That’s because I’m fairly certain Danny was born with a five o’clock shadow,” I said, “and if anyone should be complaining, it’s us. We live together, work together, vacation together—”
“Since when do you guys take vacations?” Nick interrupted.
“My point is that we have our ups and downs, just like straight couples. It’s not easy just because we’re guys. You have to put the work in.” I elbowed Danny when he had nothing to add. “Right?”
He continued to peruse the menu. “I hate to interrupt your testimonial about how perfect we are for each other, but I changed my mind about the waffles. I think I want French toast.”
I jerked my thumb in his direction. “You see this? This is hard work. Not for the faint of heart. And he steals my shoes. You don’t have to worry about that with women.”
“Think again. My girl wears my sandals to get the mail, even though they’re way too big for her.” Nick smiled a little. “It’s kind of cute.”
I snorted. Guess his brief inclination to switch teams was over. I was about to razz him about it when I saw the waitress, Glynna, bearing down on us, her thick white sneakers squeaking on the floor. Seven minutes after we ordered, Glynna put our plates on the table and stuck the check under the ketchup bottle.
There was a reason lots of cops ate practically all their meals at the diner—dirty menus, sticky tables, and all. They had cheap, good food and served it quickly, without a lot of yap-yap on the side.
There wasn’t much talking at the table as we ate. Danny—Mr. I Want French Toast Instead—was trying to steal pieces of my waffle, and I was fending him off, when the bell on the door jingled and Kevin came in. I waved him over.
“Kev,” I called. “Waffles?”
He slid into the booth next to Nick. “I will never say no to waffles. Ever since my wife had a little trouble zipping her favorite jeans, she’s been in health kick hyperdrive. She went all psycho on the fridge and cleared out everything with processed sugar.” He shook his head in bewilderment. “Processed sugar, man.”
“It’s the best kind,” I agreed sympathetically.
“Truth.” Glynna came by and took Kevin’s order: waffles with extra bacon. He turned to us after she bustled away on her squeaky orthopedic shoes. “Did you get an arrest warrant for Valerie?”
“Not yet.” Danny sighed. “We have nothing on her but suspicion. Valerie denies that Delilah ever expressed any interest in taking her son away.”
“Bullshit.” Kevin snorted. “And that makes a powerful motive. If you tried to take one of my rugrats from me, I’d be tempted to do something unspeakable.”
“That’s not what you said at Thanksgiving,” I reminded him. “You offered to pay Danny and me to take one of them off your hands. You even said we could have our pick.”
“Yes, but then you picked my favorite, and the deal was off. Besides, I can’t be held accountable for what I say with a bellyful of turkey.”
“You’re a parent. You’re not supposed to have a favorite.”
“So they say.” He shrugged. “But right now, Tracy, who always asks me for extra cuddles before bedtime, rates a tad higher than Maggie, who drew on the back of my favorite jacket in permanent marker.”
I bit my lip to keep from smiling at the memory. We let him walk around with it all day without saying a word. To be fair, the picture hadn’t been bad quality for a five-year-old.
“It was a cute dog,” Nick offered.
“Then she can
draw him on your jacket. Apparently, it was supposed to be a dragon. When she asked what daddy did for a living, my wife told her that I slay dragons. She figured a dragon slayer should have appropriate attire. And that maybe the other dragons would get scared of her dragon.”
I smothered a laugh. “She’s got your deductive reasoning skills.”
“Shut it, Christiansen.”
Danny sent us an amused look. “All we have is a neighbor’s word that Delilah was going to take her son back. Hell, we don’t even have a body. Considering Delilah’s propensity to stay under the radar, it’s just not enough.”
“What about the new boyfriend the neighbor told you about?” Nick asked. “That Craig guy.”
“A boyfriend of two weeks?” Kevin shook his head. “I’ve had a longer relationship with my milk.”
“Looks like your milk needs to take out a protective order,” Danny murmured.
Kevin shot me a dirty look, and I widened my eyes. “What’re you looking at me for? He said it.”
“Yeah, but he wasn’t quite this mouthy before he hooked up with you,” Kevin accused.
That was… difficult to deny.
The diner door opened again, and Tabitha bustled in, clutching a thick hardcover book. Her red hair was pulled up in a high ponytail and her face was flushed. She looked way too fresh and pretty for five thirty in the morning. She brightened when she spotted us and made a beeline for our table.
“Guess what I found?” she asked by way of greeting.
Whatever it was, she looked way too fucking excited about it. Nick groaned as she pulled up a chair to the end of our booth. “I’m not reading that book.”
“It’s a yearbook, you idiot.” She opened it and started flipping through pages. After a moment, she made a sound of satisfaction and splayed the book on the table. “I think I finally found a link between all the women killed by the copycat.”
I looked at the two-page spread of a school dance, including a picture of the homecoming king and queen. “Isn’t that Lana?”
“Yes. And look under the picture.” She didn’t wait for me to look, pulling the book back across the table. “The interviewer asked her what her future goals were and she said she hoped to be a model.”
“Okay.” I looked at her blankly. “So?”
“That’s our link!” She waved at Glynna as the waitress passed. “A cup of coffee, please.”
“Decaf,” Danny said. “You want to fill the rest of us in?”
“At first, I was a little stumped. The victimology was all over the place in terms of appearance and lifestyle, and the methodology wasn’t much better,” she said. “They don’t have any friends in common, and they didn’t attend any of the same functions. Even in terms of religion, Rosy was pretty devout while Lana was an atheist—”
“I believe you were telling us what they did have in common,” I interrupted delicately.
Not delicately enough, judging from the glare she sent me. “I’ve been digging through the lives of these women with a tiny spoon and a flashlight clenched between my teeth, Christiansen. I will have my moment, if it’s all the same to you.”
I held up my hands in a peaceful gesture. “Of course.”
“As I was saying, the women were very different. But when I was looking at their pictures, I couldn’t help but notice how pretty they were. And then I found out that Lana wanted to be a model. So I followed a hunch, and it paid off.”
Her brown eyes sparkled with excitement, and I couldn’t help but feel a certain kinship with her. As an investigator, there was nothing better than when a longshot turned into a direct hit. “What’d you find?” I asked.
“I spoke with Lana’s brother to see if she’d done any modeling, and he said that she had. One day when they were in the grocery store, a woman approached her from a modeling agency.” She all but bounced in her seat. “I went through the evidence box for Rosy’s case and found a business card in her purse for Apis Modeling, Inc.”
I nodded thoughtfully. “This isn’t without precedence. Remember that photographer who lured women into his studio by promising them free headshots?”
“Trust Christiansen to know that.” Kevin rolled his eyes. “If we ever play Serial Killer Trivial Pursuit, you’re on my team.”
I wanted to zing him back, but I was too busy imagining what a fun game that would be. Reading my mind as usual, Danny chuckled. “While Rain comes up with rules for his new serial killer game, can I assume you’ve tried to contact someone at this modeling agency?”
Tabitha’s enthusiasm dimmed a tad. “Well, yes. There’s no official record of any such company. And I went to the address on the card, but it led to an abandoned orange grove,” she said, picking up my knife. She leaned over to cut a piece off my waffle, and I pushed the plate her way. For work that good, she could have the rest of my bacon, too. “Forgive me if I smell like citrus.”
“Citrus,” I said slowly.
Tabitha looked at me strangely. “Yes, that’s what I said.”
“No, you don’t understand.” I shook my head in bemusement. “Citrus.”
“We know what citrus is, Rainstorm,” Danny said.
I was too caught up in my discovery to care that everyone was staring at me as if I was a possibly dangerous loon. “Citrus!” I exclaimed.
“Does citrus mean something different on his planet?” Kevin asked in a whisper.
“I think he’s broken,” Nick said helpfully. “Maybe if someone smacks him, he’ll reboot.”
“It’ll be my honor,” Tabitha said as she drew back her hand.
“I gave you waffles,” I reminded her, and she let her hand drop. “Kane’s victims. They all smelled overwhelmingly of citrus. At first, I thought it was part of his ritual. But he told me he couldn’t stand the smell of strong scents and perfumes. Probably because he wanted his victims to smell only of roses.”
“You think they’re buried in the orange grove?” Nick asked skeptically. “You can’t possibly think a serial killer would use a certain place as a burial ground and put that address on a business card. That’s… that’s insane.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Because being a serial killer in the first place makes any sense at all? Serial killers thrive on control.” No one at the table looked jazzed by my deductions, but I was more than willing to turn a hairdryer on their wet blanket attitudes. “Taking or giving life is the ultimate act of power, almost godlike. Part of being a deity is knowing things no one else knows.”
Kevin sat back in the booth with a sigh. “Here he goes.”
“I want my paycheck to include a ‘listening to Christiansen prattle on about serial killers’ bonus,” Nick demanded.
Funny how someone could be this close to getting splashed in the face with iced coffee and not even realize it. I pushed my glass away with effort.
“They also think they’re smarter than everyone else,” I continued. “That’s why they often insert themselves into the investigation. They want a front-row seat to watch the stymied police try to figure out all the little clues they left. Sometimes they even start communications with the police or media.”
“BTK,” Danny murmured.
“Exactly. Nothing would amuse this killer more than watching us realize the answer was in front of our faces the entire time.”
Kevin still looked skeptical.
There was a moment of silence as everyone digested my theory in their own way. Danny was the first to speak. “Well, before we take a backhoe to a couple hundred acres of orange grove, let’s get a K-9 unit out there. If they get a hit on any remains, we’ll have the proof we need to authorize a full-scale search.”
“Proof is my middle name,” I reassured him.
He smiled crookedly, presumably charmed by my eagerness. “I thought it was Moonbeam.”
Suddenly we had the undivided attention of the entire group. “Get out of town,” Nick said finally with a small smirk he couldn’t hide. “That’s… unique.”
“We ge
t two departmental business card changes without coming out of pocket,” Kevin ventured helpfully. “If you want to amend—”
“I don’t,” I said with an air of finality.
“What a lovely unicorn name,” Tabitha mused. “Last year, my sister threw a unicorn themed party for her daughter, and we had to come up with unicorn names.”
I will not ask. I will not ask. She sipped her coffee, her brown eyes trained on me patiently. It only took a few seconds for me to crack. I sighed. “What was yours?”
“Stardust.” She beamed. “Hey, maybe we should use them like code names.”
Kevin snorted and pretended to push a button on an imaginary radio. “This is Sparkle Sugar Cookie to Stardust.” He made a speaker noise. “There's a sniper on the roof. Permission to take him out. Over.”
It was Tabitha's turn to make the obnoxious speaker sound effect. “Sparkle Sugar Cookie, I hear you loud and clear. Permission granted.”
“If you all will excuse me, I need to go do some real cop shit. Dangerous work.” I slid out of the booth with dignity. When Kevin guffawed, I didn’t hesitate to tell him to shut his Sugar Cookie face.
He stuffed an ungodly amount of pancake in his mouth. “That’s Sparkle Sugar Cookie to you.”
*
It took six days to recover all the buried blue barrels. Six days from the first bark of Juno, one of the K-9 units, to his handler muttering, “I think we’ve got something here.” There were twelve in total. Guess Kane completed his sick Rose garden after all—he’d just gotten a little help. Now we had to figure out who his little helper was.
When the CSI pried the lid off one of the barrels, I wasn’t the least bit surprised to see the skeleton inside. There was a perfectly circular hole right at the left temple of the skull. A butterfly hairpin lay among the bones. Lana’s brother, Roger, had tearfully told me she’d been obsessed with butterflies.
“I was late to pick her up from the mall the day before, and we argued viciously. That was the last time I saw her,” Roger had said, scrubbing both hands down his face. “That’s what wears on me the most. Our last words were angry ones.”
The truth was, only a lucky few got to leave the earth saying everything they would’ve liked to say, exactly how they wanted to say it. I thought of relationships as a mosaic, and I put more stock in the overall picture, not the individual tiles. Life was too damned short to make every moment poignant, and too damned long to make every moment perfect. You fought, you made up, you cried, you laughed, and hopefully, when you stepped back, the picture was still beautiful.