"Or both," Jake theorized.
"Or both," Turner agreed. "It could be anyone from the building super to the stock-boy at the local market. Officers are canvassing the area, checking if anyone heard or saw anything."
"What about media?"
"So far, it’s been kept low-key, but we have one overzealous reporter, Olivia Larrson, who sniffed around the first murder. If she hears about this one, she’s smart enough to put two and two together and come up with a serial killer."
"We’ll keep it under wraps as long as possible," Jake said. "But if we don’t stop this guy soon, the wolves will descend in a heartbeat. Let’s head to the station. I want to go over the evidence from both murders."
"Sure, follow me."
Turner paused to inform one of the officers they were leaving and then they stepped outside. A blast of cold wind hit Jake in the face and he winced. Having spent the last few weeks in Southern California on his last assignment, he still hadn’t adjusted to the frigid Vermont winter. Tugging the zipper on his parka higher, he flipped the collar up to protect his neck and tucked his hands in his pockets. He glanced up just as the black body bag slid into the waiting hearse.
Such a shame, he thought. So young. She had her whole life in front of her.
With a quick sign of the cross, he said a silent prayer for her soul and trudged through the snow to follow Turner to the car.
CHAPTER 3
January 6
Violet Anastasia sat in her tiny office in the classics department at Lawrence Monroe College, a small liberal arts school located in Burlington, Vermont. With her first semester of teaching Greek History under her belt, she felt more comfortable standing in front of a group of students, lecturing on a subject that she adored. The next wave of scholars had arrived and the second semester was in full swing.
Her office was nothing more than a box, really. She barely had enough room for her desk, two chairs for students to visit, and a filing cabinet. She decorated her walls with posters of famous Greek landmarks. She gazed longingly at a hauntingly beautiful rendition of the Porch of Maidens on the Acropolis. Six carved stone statues of women called caryatids supported the entablature, or top of the porch. None of the six women, four in front and two on either side, were depicted with arms, as was the style of many of the great Greek works of art.
A light tap sounded on her door. Fellow professor Todd Timms stuck his head inside. "Ello, love. I’m feeling rather peckish. What say we motor to Church Street for a burger and chips?"
Violet barely fought the urge to roll her eyes. Todd had spent one semester studying in England years ago and still fancied himself a Brit. He sometimes spoke with the English lilt, used words that ninety-nine percent of Americans didn’t understand, and only seemed to whip them all out for her benefit. If his intention was to impress her, he failed miserably.
But, she and Todd had become friends. He approached her on her first day at work a little over five months ago and treated her as if she were a queen. She knew he liked her and had even agreed to a couple of dates with him as friends, but she was not romantically interested in him. He tried to kiss her one night after they had gone to a movie and she froze. But when his mouth became more aggressive, she gently but forcefully refused his advance. He accepted her rebuff with grace and although he told her if she changed her mind, all she had to do was ask, he'd been a perfect gentleman since. She'd been so afraid the rejection would change their relationship but if anything, they were closer.
She studied him as he stood in the doorway. Some women would consider him handsome, in a scholarly sort of way. His brown hair was a little mopish and his eyes were dark and brooding. Sometimes he wore glasses, other times like today, he opted for contacts. His brown tweed jacket sported suede patches on the elbows and his white shirt and khaki Dockers were neatly pressed.
Why couldn’t she be attracted to him? He was sweet, stable, financially responsible. Maybe his car was a bit flashy and certainly he could use a wardrobe update—did anyone still wear suede arm patches? —but all in all, a nice package for any woman to unwrap, if he would just drop the fake accent. From what she knew of him, he would be gentle with her and not get upset at her shortcomings. She couldn’t say that about other men she had dated.
His question hung in the air, almost forgotten as she scrutinized him. With a slight shake of her head to clear her wayward thoughts, she quickly translated that he was hungry and wanted to grab a hamburger and fries. "I promised Chris we would go out to lunch today. Why don’t you join us?"
A few years older than Violet, Chris Stark taught Literature. They had bonded almost instantly and for the first time in her life, Violet had a girlfriend to confide in. Chris and Todd were almost the only friends she had in the city…or anywhere.
After traveling around for years, Chris had settled in Vermont, but Violet sensed a restlessness in her friend. She feared the small-town pace wouldn’t be enough to hold her interest much longer and she would take off, leaving Violet alone.
"Bee’s knees, let me visit the loo and we’ll round her up."
Violet couldn’t stop the eye-roll this time, chuckling as she flipped the lid of her laptop closed and grabbed her purse. Her stomach picked that moment to rumble loudly. Todd might have wanted hamburgers, but she was looking forward to trying the new Chinese place that recently opened to glowing reviews.
Sliding her purse strap over her shoulder, she stuck her key in the lock, clicked it into place and spun around, bumping into something solid. She gasped as a loud clang echoed through the hallway. "Oh Carlos, I’m so sorry."
She could tell she startled the janitor, his brown eyes round and wide. They both bent to retrieve the fallen mop at the same time and almost knocked heads, sharing a laugh. "Is okay, Ms. Violet. Is my fault."
The lemony scent of the cleaning products stung Violet’s nose. Many mornings she bemoaned the lack of a window after Carlos had mopped the night before. Although she shared a different sort of relationship with him than she did with Chris or Todd, she'd become friends with Carlos Perez as well. She tutored him in English twice a week, but no one at the University knew about their arrangement. Carlos took night classes and worked hard at earning a GED. She did everything she could to help him reach that goal.
She knew Carlos had a crush on her also. He often left presents for her, usually things he'd made himself. Sometimes flowers he grew in a small bay window in his tiny, ramshackle house, other times an intricate carving or perhaps a picture. Carlos was a very proficient photographer, capturing subjects in unusual and fascinating settings. He would arrange the tokens on her desk at night after he cleaned and she kept them all on display in her office.
Footsteps echoed and Violet groaned as Todd swaggered in their direction. "Must you be so bloody clumsy, bloke?" he chided, managing to look down his nose at the janitor although he was barely an inch taller.
The condescending tone made Violet uncomfortable. Hoping to diffuse the awkward silence, she forced a smile. "We should get going. I’ll see you later, Carlos."
The janitor mumbled goodbye and swiped the mop across the floor, his head down.
Todd snaked his arm around her shoulders, propelling her forward. "Let’s grab some lunch, love."
The door to Chris’s office stood open as they approached. With a phone plastered to her ear, she scribbled a note telling them to go ahead and she would meet them at the restaurant. Violet made sure Chris knew which restaurant before they took Todd’s shiny red Miata and found parking off a side road in downtown Burlington. They chatted about the current crop of students as they strolled along the enclosed street in front of the restaurant. Snow stood in uneven piles against the curb and bells jangled merrily as a horse drawn carriage carted tourists on a jaunt through the city. Violet paused to admire a sweater hanging in a store window and quickly regretted it when Todd ran inside to purchase it for her. She followed him inside and begged him not to but he insisted on the indulgence. Violet tamped down her
urge to make a scene and reluctantly accepted the gift.
They made their way to the restaurant and the waitress had just delivered their drinks when Chris came strolling up to the table, dark glasses perched on her nose. Standing almost six feet tall, she wore a hunter green business suit with a trademark scarf artfully draped around her neck. Her hair was stylish, her makeup and nails perfect. Chris’s fashion sense often made Violet feel short and frumpy, but she loved her friend anyway.
"Have you heard? The story just broke," Chris said as she eased into a chair.
Violet glanced from Chris to Todd, who had a bored look on his face. "I haven’t heard anything." Todd shook his head in agreement.
Chris signaled for the waitress. "There's been another murder."
Violet gripped the edge of the table. "Oh my God."
"That’s terrible," Todd added. "Do they know who the girl was? I mean…it was a girl, right? The other was a woman."
Chris nodded and then winced. The waitress filled a glass with ice water and placed it on the table.
"Are you okay, Chris?" Violet asked, her eyes knitted with concern.
"Just a migraine," she said disgustedly. Fumbling open a bottle, she shook a pill into her hand and washed it down with water before recapping the container.
Violet couldn’t disguise her worry. Chris had told her that she suffered migraines in the past but she would pick up and relocate and they would disappear for a while. Once they started again, she knew it was time to move on. Since she settled down and made her home in Vermont, they hadn’t returned. The fact that they were starting up again made Violet fear once again that her friend would leave.
"So, who got whacked?" Todd asked.
"Todd," Violet chided, appalled by his inconsiderateness. He shrugged unrepentantly.
Chris took another drink and adjusted the dark glasses on her nose. "Ella Rodriguez, a sophomore."
Violet tensed, her blood running cold. "Ella Rodriguez?" she repeated woodenly. "She was in my Intro to Mythology class last semester." She paused, the sudden chill coursing through her body having nothing to do with the frigid weather outside. When she continued, her voice was low and toneless. "That makes the second girl I’ve taught since I’ve been here who has been murdered."
#
Jake sat at a long table in a conference room at the Burlington Police Headquarters with a mound of papers strewn in front of him. He'd been comparing notes from the two murders for a couple of hours. The sergeant appointed a task force and they were scheduled to meet soon. He wanted to go over everything one more time before the other members arrived.
Withdrawing a sheet from the stack, he read the sonnet left at the first murder scene.
Roses are red
Violets are blue
My love for her
Will always be true
I’m just getting started
So here’s your first clue
It’s not Denise I crave
Do you know who?
A chilling take on the famous poem. The bastard was obviously taunting the police. The Denise was Lawrence Monroe University sophomore Denise Tennison, the first victim. Jake tapped his pencil on the table. The second note was similar, with a twist on the coloring of the flowers. He picked it up and scanned the page.
Roses are blue
Violets are red
In case you are wondering
Ella is truly dead
Her end came swiftly
Oh how she bled
Her death's a riddle
Have you discovered the thread?
Obviously the maniac had an obsession with one woman, killing others in her stead. And he knew the names of his victims. Most likely, they knew him, too.
The poems didn’t make sense yet, but one thing was certain: they were running out of time. Only three days separated the first murder from the latest one. The last murder took place yesterday. If the killer was following a pattern, which he most likely was, that meant another innocent female would lose her life in two nights.
And they had absolutely no leads.
Jake rubbed his forehead. The latest crime scene provided no clues. No fingerprints, fibers or hairs of any kind on the victim. Nothing. Her boyfriend, Tommy Blake, had been questioned but had a solid alibi. Plus, he had been devastated by the news of Ella’s death and had passed out when told about the torture she endured. It was hard to fake emotion like that.
They needed something to turn up, anything they could use to track down this madman. The answers were out there somewhere. They just had to find them. And fast.
Jake was still stroking his forehead when Turner entered in the room. "Headache?" he questioned.
Jake dropped his hand and looked up. "No, just trying to think this through."
"Well, if you didn’t have one before, my news is sure to give you one." He pulled out a chair and straddled it backwards. "Coroner’s report came back. The burns happened pre-mortem."
Jake winced. "Bastard enjoys torturing the girls before he kills them."
"We have to find this guy before he strikes again."
Two men in suits carrying Styrofoam cups entered, notebooks in hand. "Milt, Arch," Turner greeted. "Have a seat and I’ll make introductions once the whole team arrives."
Another man strolled through the door, also wearing a suit, though his was rumpled, carrying the requisite cup of coffee. Turner chatted with each man and then glanced at his watch just as a tall dark-haired woman in uniform came rushing inside.
#
Maya Demaree hustled into the conference room and slid into a seat, her ponytail swinging like a demented pendulum. Her heartbeat pounded from her hurried rush down the hall. Actually, it had been hammering since she arrived this morning and found out she had been appointed to the task force organized to catch the serial killer terrorizing Burlington. She still couldn’t believe it—the biggest case in decades and she would be one of the people charged with solving the crime. This was the break she had been praying for from the moment she accepted her badge and gun.
She cast a quick glance around the room. Dammit, she didn’t want to be the last one in but she had been waylaid by Sergeant Masters and couldn’t very well walk away from him. She didn’t even get a chance to grab a cup of coffee she desperately needed. Detective Nick Turner gave her a disapproving, narrowed-eyed glare. No surprise there. He had been giving her the same critical look since that night three months ago when they went out on their first and only date.
As if sensing her insecurity, Detective Victor Hammond gave her a reassuring wink followed by a wide grin, his teeth gleaming white against his mocha skin.
She instantly relaxed and smiled back.
Detective Turner sauntered—really, there was no other way to describe his walk—to the podium at the head of the room and introduced all members of the task force. Seated closest to him was former FBI Special Agent Jake Kincaid. Turner expounded on his credentials, which were quite impressive. He now worked in the private sector for a security firm. Next he introduced Deputy Milt Baker from the Sheriff’s office, followed by BPD Detectives Archie Keller and Vic Hammond. He briefly ran down each man’s qualifications before he introduced her. For his glowing description, he said, "And last is patrol officer Maya Demaree." For Jake’s benefit he added, "Her father was an outstanding detective, a true legend in the department."
And that was all.
Granted, she hadn’t been on the force as long as the others, but she still had notable qualifications. He could have said how she finished at the top of her class at the academy or that she graduated magna cum laude with a master’s degree in criminology from the University of Connecticut, or expounded on her ranking as an expert marksman at the target range. But did he say any of those things?
Bastard.
Vic held up a finger. "May I add something, Detective Turner?"
Nick nodded. "Of course."
Vic went on to describe all of the accomplishments Maya had thought of, p
lus a few more. She felt a blush stain her cheeks. Vic had been her father’s best friend and one of her biggest supporters in the department. She loved him like a surrogate father.
She peeked at Nick out of the corner of her eye to see his reaction to Vic’s praise. He looked bored.
Bastard.
When Vic finished, Kincaid said, "Impressive credentials, Officer Demaree. Sounds like you will make an outstanding detective. I’m glad to have you on our team."
Stunned by the praise, Maya nodded her thanks. Nick took over without saying a word.
Bastard.
She opened her notebook and jotted information down as he spoke. He was authoritative as he briefed the team on the case. She found herself hanging on his every word, forgetting for the moment that she hated his guts.
Well, that wasn’t quite true. She didn’t actually hate him. She loved him.
Bastard.
She flipped a page in her book, her hand flying over the paper as she scribbled notes. Excitement coursed through her veins. This is why she followed in her father’s footsteps and became a cop. She would have a hand in solving the case, stopping a serial killer.
Nick handed the podium over to Jake Kincaid and Maya found him even more engaging than Nick. He'd been on several task forces with the Bureau. She'd toyed with the idea of applying to the academy but had chosen to join her father’s precinct after he was killed in the line of duty. A stab of pain hit her hard, the same overwhelming sadness she felt every time she thought of her father and how he senselessly lost his life at the hands of a doped-up high school kid.
Forcing the old feelings of despair down, her eyes strayed back to Nick. She'd harbored a major crush on the detective since she first saw him at her father’s funeral. He was tall with sandy hair and amazing brown eyes. He loved to laugh, wore crazy ties and always joked with the guys. She nearly fainted when he asked her out. She'd been so excited, she splurged and bought a whole new outfit. She, a tomboy who lived in jeans and t-shirts, bought a dress and strappy heels.
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