by Virna DePaul
Susan nodded vigorously. “Yes. God. Kelly and Professor Anderson. I can’t believe it.”
“You had Cheryl Anderson as a teacher. Did Kelly?”
“Not that I know of.”
“As far as you know, had the two of them ever met?”
“Again, not that I know of.”
Of course, Susan could be lying. It was entirely possible she’d had a score to settle with Cheryl Anderson and Kelly, too.
God, things were getting messy. Even messier than they already had been, and that was certainly saying something.
“Do you work, Susan?” Jase asked.
“No. I just go to school. I’m lucky. My parents pay my way. It used to make Kelly so jealous….” Susan covered her face with her hands as her body began shaking with sobs. “Oh, God…”
Again, Jase and Carrie waited helplessly, silently, as the woman grieved. Instinctively, Carrie wanted to offer the other woman some comfort, but because she wasn’t sure how to do that or how such a gesture would be received, she hoped their respectful silence was enough.
When Susan once again raised her head, Jase asked, “What about her car? Would it still be parked near McGill’s, or would she have driven to her client’s house?”
“She biked around campus. Used public transportation or got rides from friends when she needed to.”
“Okay. Almost done here. In addition to Professor Anderson and Kelly having the college in common, we need to explore any other places they might have both frequented. Did Kelly spend time at a particular mall, gym or restaurant?”
“No. She—she liked McGill’s, but you already know that.”
Carrie looked at Jase. At his slight nod, she stood, as did he.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said. “We’re going to do everything we can to find out who did this. I need to ask you just one more thing. Do you have extra copies of Kelly’s cards? The purple card and the other one, the one she’d use for more professional reasons?”
Susan nodded and slowly, as if it was very difficult for her, got to her feet. “Yeah. I’ll get them for you right now.”
* * *
LATER THAT DAY, the mood in the SIG office was grim. Maybe that’s because Carrie and Jase were the only ones there, and they certainly had no reason to be anything but. After their interview with Susan Ingram, they’d stopped by McGill’s. They’d talked to the manager and gotten a list of employees who’d worked the night before. Several employees, including the manager, noted that Sorenson had been a regular, and though she often left with someone different, she was rarely drunk when she did. Their observations seemed consistent with a professional working girl who was, just as Susan Ingram had said, active but at the same time somewhat discerning.
When they’d gotten back to the office, Carrie and Jase had made a list of everyone they could remember being present that night, whether it was someone they knew or simply someone they’d seen before. All in all, they had about fifty people they needed to interview. Although Jase hadn’t seen Kelly Sorenson after she’d given him her business card, Susan Ingram said she’d called her from McGill’s several hours later. Chances were someone they knew—maybe even DeMarco, Jase pointed out—had seen her between the time Jase had left and the time Kelly had left with her client.
DeMarco, however, had left town for a family emergency, and they hadn’t been able to reach him.
They were waiting for a call from the coroner, hoping he could lock down the exact means and time of Kelly’s death. With her body in so many pieces, Carrie suspected it was going to present a unique challenge, and they’d be waiting a while.
They hadn’t found Sorenson’s hands at the scene. Their absence suggested the killer had disposed of them separately, maybe because Sorenson had fought back and had scratched him. If that was the case, the killer was smart. Ruthless. Exactly what she would expect from The Embalmer.
Yet what he’d done to Sorenson’s body? It was so different from what he’d done to the others. The change seemed to indicate a sudden increase of personal investment and loss of control. The kind of loss of control that came with mental deterioration? Even if that was the case, he’d still had the wherewithal to take Kelly’s eyelids. Compared to everything else that had been done to the victims, it was a small detail but a hugely important one. A serial killer’s modus operandi could evolve over time, but rarely would he change his signature, an act that often had nothing to do with the way the victim actually died but had more to do with fulfilling some kind of need the killer had. As she’d told Jase the first night they’d discussed the case, she was betting the eyelids served as some kind of memory prompt for the killer.
Carrie pushed back from the photos she’d been looking at and rubbed her temples. She glanced at Jase, who’d also been staring at photographs of the latest murder scene. For the first time since seeing Kelly Sorenson’s body, Carrie allowed her thoughts to veer toward the personal. Hours ago, she’d slapped Jase because he’d tried to rip her case out from under her. Even after Stevens had confirmed he was giving her the lead, Jase had tried to talk the commander out of it.
Granted, much of her anger at Jase had been replaced by concern the moment they’d realized he’d had recent contact with Kelly Sorenson. He was usually such an open book that she’d immediately noticed when he’d pulled inside himself. For one of the first times since she’d known him, she hadn’t been able to guess at what he was thinking. Feeling. He wouldn’t be blaming himself, would he? It seemed ridiculous to think so, but as she well knew, sometimes logic had nothing to do with the emotions that came with the job.
Yet she wasn’t going to intrude and ask questions. If he needed to talk to her about it, he would. And besides, now that they were back at work, now that he seemed to be handling everything okay, some of her anger toward him had resurfaced.
She still respected him. Still cared about him. But she didn’t trust him. Not anymore. And she was supposed to work with him?
It seemed too much to ask of her, but he was acting as if nothing unusual had happened between them. So, fine. She wouldn’t be the first one to cave. No way. She wasn’t going to give Jase the chance to complain she wasn’t a team player the next time he saw Stevens. So she tried focusing on the evidence and only the evidence. She was so absorbed in her task, in fact, that she jumped when Jase suddenly shoved back his chair, stood and said, “Damn it, Ward. Let’s get it over with. I know you have something to say to me, so just say it.”
Although her gaze immediately flew to his, she looked away just as quickly. Staring at her file, she responded coolly, “I don’t know what you mean. We’ve been talking about the case ever since we were at the preserve. Have you had any new thoughts?”
To her amazement, he reached out and flipped the file she was reading shut. Slowly, she looked up at him. Crossing his arms, he leaned against her desk and stared down at her.
“I know you’re pissed because of what I told Stevens, but I can’t change how I feel. I could have lied and said I had absolutely no concerns about you taking the lead on The Embalmer case, but I didn’t. Forgive me if I don’t want to be responsible for you getting yourself or someone else killed simply because you’re more worried about proving what a badass you are than giving yourself the time you need to recover.”
Now it was she who shot to her feet. “Recover from what? My leg is healing just fine.”
“It’s not your leg I’m talking about and you know it. Are you seriously going to tell me you’re not shaken up by the fact that you were almost killed? By the fact you shot and killed a sixteen-year-old? Because I’m not buying it.”
“You don’t have to buy anything. You admitted to Stevens you can’t separate my gender from the job, so you don’t have the right to ask me that question.”
She could feel her control slipping. And she didn’t like that. When it came to Jase, she needed every ounce of control she could muster. She tried to walk past him, to put some breathing space between them, but
he stopped her with a gentle grip on her arm.
“Listen to me. I can’t separate your gender from the job. Not completely. Am I sorry about that? I’m not sure. It has nothing to do with equal rights, but what we all bring to the table, good and bad, and frankly, gender is a factor. It might make me a caveman and an asshole, but I’m hardwired to protect women. Cherish them. But it’s my issue and I told Stevens that.”
“Yeah, and so did Mac,” she said bitterly as she wrenched her arm out of his grip. “Mighty big of you two.”
“Damn it, don’t you get it? It has nothing to do with thinking you’re less capable, Carrie. My question about you being shaken up is legitimate. And it’s a gender neutral question. The fact you’re a woman might mean I’m more willing to ask you the question, but a guy would be shaken, too. I was shook up the first time I killed someone. And the first time I almost died on the job. You’ve seen the scars yourself, but there were emotional scars, too. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
She didn’t like the reminder of those scars or his near-death experience. She wondered if he’d brought it up on purpose, not just to make his point, but to worm his way a little more into her head. Into her heart. Raising a hand to her temple, she tried to think. To concentrate and give his words the serious consideration they deserved before answering. “I’m—I’m not ashamed,” she finally said. “Even if you’re right, even if I’m still dealing with what happened with Porter, it’s not going to affect my performance. I won’t let it.”
He reached out and pinched her chin. “Because you’re Superwoman, right?”
She barely stopped herself from flinching. God, she hated that moniker. How many men had called her that in her lifetime? How many men had said it in the same sarcastic tone? Only she had to admit, Jase’s tone when he’d called her by the dreaded nickname had sounded more exasperatedly affectionate than sarcastic. Because she recognized that, she smiled tightly. “Something like that. Now, can we get back to the task at hand and focus on the case?”
“Fine.” Once again, he took his seat, spinning it to face her. “Let’s assume Kelly Sorenson’s killer is The Embalmer and not a copycat. What he did to her doesn’t make sense,” he said. “Except for the eyelids, he completely changed his M.O. Why?”
“It’s not uncommon for a serial killer’s M.O. to change, as you know,” she replied. “It’s not the method they use to kill the person that’s the signature, it’s usually something completely separate that has special meaning to them. So in this case, the eyelids are the common denominator. The most important, in my opinion. Of course, that doesn’t rule out that this is a copycat killing.”
“No. It doesn’t. Plus we can’t forget the killer could be a woman. Not common with serial killers, but still something to consider.”
She couldn’t help herself. “By all means, let’s remain gender neutral so long as we’re talking killers, not coworkers.”
He didn’t laugh and she hadn’t expected him to. Although she kept her head down, she could feel his gaze on her. “When are you going to accept you’re not just a coworker to me, Carrie? I was being honest when I told Stevens your gender was an issue for me. I was also being honest when I told him I couldn’t be certain my personal feelings for you weren’t clouding my opinion of whether you were the best person for this assignment. Or are we just going to keep ignoring that, in addition to the fact you slapped me this morning?”
“Can we?” she said, still not looking at him.
When he didn’t reply, she sighed and finally met his gaze. “I thought you were ready to talk shop and let the other stuff go.”
“You’re the one who gave me the opening,” he pointed out gently.
She sighed. What could she say? He was right.
“This isn’t just about me wanting the lead on the case for my own professional reasons, Carrie. I care about you.”
He cared about her. Such an innocuous word to sum up his feelings for her, when she knew her feelings for him were far more complex. “Yet you did want the lead. And you admitted you still do.” When he just looked at her, she blew out her breath and nodded. “Okay, fine. You care about me. I—I care about you, too. There. I said it. But you can’t protect me, Jase. That’s not how this works. Not when I’ve worked just as hard as you have for my badge. Not when I’ve worked just as hard for the opportunity to lead this type of case.”
“And after seeing what you did today, you still want it? It has nothing to do with you being a woman, either. I mean, even I’m having doubts, Carrie. I’ve seen some sick things in my time, but what was done to Kelly Sorenson…”
“Of course I’ve had doubts. I’ve had them throughout my career. About whether I’m good enough. Whether I can handle it. But one thing I’ve never doubted is that I’m going to try. I can make a difference in catching this bastard, and I’m going to. So don’t worry that I’m going to break down and cave on you. I won’t.”
“I know that. Mansfield seems to think you’re some kind of supercop when it comes to dealing with the bad stuff.”
“And you?” she asked, not sure why she did. Only certain that his answer mattered. “What do you think?”
“I agree with him. I also think there must have been some super bad shit you had to deal with to make you so good at it.”
“Some deep dark history of abuse that toughened me up, you mean? Careful, you’re stereotyping again. Would you assume that if I wasn’t a woman?”
“I was actually referring to the job, Carrie. But now that you mention it, I can’t help but wonder. So did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Have a deep dark history of abuse?”
“I had an ideal childhood, Tyler. You should have figured that out yourself when you were looking at my photo albums. Normal teenage angst and all, but nothing out of the ordinary.”
“You smile a lot in those photos. Up to a point. So what happened? What made you so much less willing to smile?”
It shouldn’t surprise her that he’d seen so much in the short time he’d looked at her albums, but it did. She shook her head. “Unless you’re willing to share some personal information about yourself, I suggest we stop the ‘delve into Carrie’s psyche’ questioning. I remember what happened the last time I let you in, Jase. I’m not going to fall for it again.”
Leaning farther back in his chair, he clamped his hands behind his head.
She tried, unsuccessfully, of course, to keep her eyes off his straining biceps.
“So delve into mine,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
He shrugged. “You’re right. I’ve been privy to personal information about you and I’ve used it to make judgments about you. About what makes you tick. It seems only fair that you get to do the same.”
“You already told me about the perp who almost killed you. What now? You’re just going to give me free and total access to your secrets?”
“I honestly don’t have many secrets. If you come across one I’m not interested in sharing, I’ll tell you. But I know you’re still pissed at me. If we’re going to work together on this case, we need to work on getting you to trust me again, too. I figure if I make myself a little more vulnerable to you, that will make us even.”
“We won’t be ‘even’ unless Commander Stevens asks me about you and I use whatever information you give me to argue you aren’t capable of handling a particular assignment.”
“Gotta start somewhere, right?”
“We need to work—”
“We’ve worked so long our eyes are crossing. If you’re going to chicken out, come up with a better excuse than that, Ward.”
Hand on her hips, she stared at him. When it was obvious he wasn’t going to relent, she threw up her hands and took her own seat. “Fine. You want me to ask you something personal? Hmm, let’s see…” She tapped her forefinger against her chin in an exaggerated manner, then held it up. “I know!” Despite her joking tone, she felt her expression become serious. “Why do
you date the women you do? Why do you want the easy personal life, the way you mentioned yesterday? Because in every other aspect of your life, you seem to be bored with easy.”
He stared at her until she squirmed.
“What?”
“Nothing. You just seem to know me a lot better than I thought you did.” He shifted in his seat. “You know the debate about nature versus nurture? People disagree on whether biology is more important to one’s behavior as an adult or if it depends more on how a person was raised.”
“Yeah. So?”
“Well, my parents fought a lot.”
“That’s it?” she asked when he didn’t elaborate. “Your parents fought a lot? So you were nurtured to date a lot? That doesn’t even make sense. Great way to open yourself up and show your vulnerabilities, Jase. Next time, don’t waste my time.”
She started to get up, but he held out his hand. “No wait. Hold on a second and let me explain. I’m serious here.”
Slowly, she lowered herself to her seat.
Leaning forward, he clasped his hands together. For a long moment, he stared at them, as if their discussion literally had him remembering a scene from his past. “My parents fought a lot because they both had strong personalities. Strong passions and opinions. But they disagreed a lot, and neither one of them liked to back down. It seemed like everything was a fight. From what to eat for dinner to what route to drive to a particular destination. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized my parents actually enjoyed fighting. That they got off on it, in a way.”
“Both your parents are cops, aren’t they?”
“That’s right. But I haven’t sworn off relationships with cops so much as strong women, and strong women generally tend to become cops.”
She smirked. “So rather than risk fighting with a strong woman your whole life, you date women you can dominate. I guess it makes sense.”
“In a sick way, yeah.”
“Misguided, maybe. I wouldn’t call it sick.”
“I would.”
“Why?”
“Because with the way I was raised, I don’t entirely trust my nature.”