by T. R. Ragan
Jessica asked Lizzy to follow her to the dining room table where pictures were spread out from one end of the table to the other. Lizzy had seen most of the pictures when they met with Jimmy Martin and Kenneth Mitchell downtown. There were new pictures as well.
“You’re a genius,” Jessica told her.
“Why is that?”
She poked a finger at a picture at the far left of the table. “This is one of many cold cases now linked to the Sacramento Strangler. See the pearl earring on the woman’s ear?”
Lizzy nodded.
“The killer used the earring to pierce his victim’s ear. Her other ear was not pierced. One pearl earring.”
Salma entered the room and took the baby from Jessica. She was wearing a robe and had a towel wrapped around her head. “Thanks for letting me take a shower.”
“No problem,” Jessica said, not missing a beat as she continued with her line of thought. She turned the photo around. There was a smaller picture taped to the back of it. “Look at this. I did an Internet search and printed off some famous paintings. The copies I made are black and white so you can’t see that the band around the woman’s head in the painting is blue, which is very close to the blue-colored band that was wrapped around the victim’s neck. Guess what the picture is called?”
“I have no idea.”
“Girl with a Pearl Earring, by Johannes Vermeer.”
Lizzy listened, waited.
“Here’s another one.” Jessica handed her one of the pictures she’d seen when they met with Jimmy and Kenneth Mitchell. It was the male victim—the one with the wreath of red roses around his head. “Although you won’t see it in the picture, crime scene technicians found a smoking pipe buried close by. That picture is in the files at the bureau.” Again, Jessica turned the picture around and showed her another copy of a painting taped to the back. “This painting is called Boy with a Pipe, by Pablo Picasso.”
Lizzy tried to pay attention, but her mind was still back in the garage with Wayne Bennett. She’d lost control. She could have killed the man. If she hadn’t seen him twitch before she left, she might have believed he really was dead. And where would that have gotten her or any of them? And yet maybe Hayley was right. Maybe it would have been better if she’d finished him off. If he knew who was responsible, they were all in danger. Her heart raced, and her mind whirled. What should she do? Talk to Detective Chase? No. Not yet.
Her hand went to her belly. A slight bump perhaps, but more likely she felt something because Hayley had put the idea in her head. It was true that she hadn’t been feeling well lately. She’d thrown up more than a few times in the past few months, but she’d put it all down to stress. The truth was she couldn’t recall the last time she’d felt so-called normal. She would make a doctor’s appointment first thing in the morning.
“What’s wrong?” Jessica asked.
“I’ve had a rough go of it today, but I’ll be fine. Go on.”
Jessica didn’t look so sure. “You look pale. Maybe you should lay down for a bit.”
“I’m OK. What about the victim found covered with irises? Did that mean anything?”
Jessica shuffled through the photographs, picked up the one showing the victim covered in flowers, and turned it over. “Irises, by Vincent van Gogh. It goes on and on, just like this. Mitchell is impressed, Lizzy. It looks like you might have found the missing link.”
Lizzy blindly sorted through the pictures, her mind still reeling. A baby? She couldn’t raise a baby amid this crazy life of hers. Was it possible she could be carrying Jared’s child? She grabbed hold of the edge of the table.
Another worried look from Jessica.
“I’m fine,” Lizzy said flatly. “Go on.”
Jessica had known her long enough to know it would do her no good to argue. “We have a suspect,” Jessica blurted. She reached over the table and retrieved another picture from the bottom of the pile. “His name is Jovan Massing. He’s an art dealer who did time for hiring master forgers and selling fake paintings for millions.”
The man was short and stocky. He looked like a bulldog, with pinched nostrils and baggy jowls. The only thing missing was a drool-slathered tongue hanging to one side. This was the man who’d killed so many? It just didn’t compute. Not just because of the way he looked, but . . . “A master forger suddenly becomes a serial killer?”
“He also did time for attempted murder.”
All right. That was something. But still, it didn’t fit. Something niggled at the back of Lizzy’s mind although she couldn’t pinpoint what it was. “What about Zachary Tucker?”
“Nothing has come up. It’s as if he never existed.”
“What about the house on Canyon Road where the Tuckers used to live? Did anyone visit the current home owners to see if they knew anything?”
“Yes, of course,” Jessica said. “Mitchell sent one of his agents to talk to the owners. They said they did, in fact, buy the house from the Tuckers, but they never met them face-to-face. They know nothing about Zachary Tucker.”
Lizzy thought about Kathryn Church and what she’d seen as a young girl. It might be time to pay her another visit.
“Lizzy, I’ve put Zachary Tucker’s name through every available database. There’s nothing. But Jovan Massing is promising as hell. The years he spent in prison fit the gap where no victims at all turned up in the Sacramento area. At the time, investigators figured the Sacramento Strangler might be dead or in prison, which could very well be exactly what happened.”
“Where is Massing now?”
“They have yet to find him, but they’re confident they’re closing in and will have him in custody soon.”
“What about Kathryn Church seeing Zachary kill his own sister?”
“Think about it, Lizzy. There’s really nothing to link Zachary Tucker to any of this. You said yourself that Kathryn was just operating on a hunch. A ‘feeling.’ ” Jessica shook her head. “The woman obviously has some issues. And maybe for good reason—if she really saw what she thinks she saw, that would be a hell of a thing to witness when you were a little kid, and a hell of thing to keep to yourself all these years. But what did she expect Jared to do for her? It all happened thirty years ago.”
Lizzy scratched the back of her neck as she tried to think clearly.
“Lizzy, I understand your frustration. Maybe, just maybe, Jovan Massing was Kathryn’s neighbor. Maybe he is Zachary Tucker.”
“You would have checked that out already. You have Massing’s whole history, his every address.”
Jessica lifted her hands in question. “What else would you have me do?”
Hayley had been waiting in a recliner in Donald Holmes’s living room for over an hour when she heard the rattle of a key in the front door and slipped out of sight into a hall closet.
Just as she thought—he’d brought home the young woman she’d seen him talking to at the club earlier. The girl’s words were slurred but clear enough to be heard. “This isn’t my apartment,” the girl said. “Where are we?”
“It’s all right, sweetheart. I thought we could have one last drink and watch a movie.”
“You said you would bring me home.”
“Come on, baby—don’t be a drag.”
“I want to go home. Now.”
A scuffle ensued. The sound of a chair toppling over and then a grunt before all went quiet. Hayley readied the TASER and sauntered out to the front room.
Yep. It was the same girl she’d seen at the club. Holmes was standing over her where she lay on the couch, her body twisted at a weird angle, her face a bloodied mess. She was out cold but clearly breathing.
Holmes turned her way. “What the fuck?”
Hayley smiled. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”
He pointed a stubby finger her way. “You’re that chick. The one who was
in here with that other girl. You bitches broke my damn nose. In my own damn house!”
“Terrible thing,” Hayley said, walking toward him. She ducked when he took a swing, then stung him with the TASER—once, then again. He fell to the floor with a thunk. She worked quickly after that while the girl from the club sawed logs on the couch. After driving his car into the garage, she dragged him out there and hauled his heavy ass into the trunk. She was breathing hard by the time she climbed in behind the wheel.
The girl on the couch had a strange awakening ahead of her in the next hour or so, coming to bruised, bloodied, and memory-free in a strange, empty house. But she was safe, and that’s all that mattered.
Nora Belle Castor, also known as the Ghost, paced the bathroom floor, back and forth, in front of the mirror. Ever since being chased by that dyke bitch at the mall, she’d been antsy to release some of her frustrations. She spent most of the night on the street, waiting and watching. And then she’d made her move, but she hadn’t seen it coming: one of the homeless assholes got a jab in after she jumped him. Got her right in the eye with his dirty, disgusting finger. Made her look as if she had fucking pinkeye.
She leaned over the sink and tried to open her infected eye as wide as she could, but it was no use. The dirty asshole had done some damage.
She looked down.
The fucker had also soiled her shoes.
The stupid goon she was living with didn’t have shit for a washer and dryer, but his crappy appliances would have to do. She took off her sneakers and headed into the main room. Asshole was asleep on the couch with a can of beer still in his grasp.
She wasn’t sure how long she would be able to live with the douche. His dick was long and thin, like a fucking wand but without the magic fairy dust. Fucking the man meant going through the motions without ever knowing if there was anything inside her. A waste of time. A shitty five-minute workout, at best.
She opened the closet in the hallway, swept all his dirty clothes to the floor, put her sneakers in the wash, added bleach and detergent, and turned on the machine. Before she could take more than a few steps back the way she came, she saw a little girl standing in the hallway watching her, a thumb shoved in her mouth.
“Who the fuck are you?” Nora Belle asked. And then she remembered Michael telling her he had a kid and that he swapped weekends with his ex every once in a while. She hadn’t paid much attention at the time because, hell, she didn’t give a shit about Michael. He was merely another idiot to take advantage of for a few weeks, maybe months, if she could stand him for that long.
“Take that thumb out of your mouth,” she told the kid. “It’s disgusting.”
The kid kept sucking away, looking at her with big round eyes as if she really were looking at a fucking ghost. She hated the nickname she’d been given, but it was better than any of those assholes using her real name. The funny thing was, the police didn’t seem to give a shit about what she did to those people. And they weren’t the only ones. A lot of people didn’t give a shit, which made all those homeless losers easy targets. She liked beating the crap out of those stupid people. Her mother was homeless, and God only knew where she’d ended up. Being raised among an endless string of deadbeats had made Nora Belle angry. Going after these people gave her something to do and helped release some frustrations. Mostly, it was just plain fun.
She walked up to the little girl and yanked her thumb out of her mouth. “What’s your name?”
“Leah.”
“How old are you?”
“Four.” She held up four fingers as if that fucking confirmed it.
“OK, Leah, what do you want? Why are you staring at me like that?”
Thumb went back in her mouth. Tiny shoulder came up in a half shrug.
And then Nora Belle got an idea. “Hey, want to play a game?”
Suck. Suck. Suck.
That’s all the kid knew how to do.
Fucking idiot, like her father.
She clamped a hand around the kid’s shoulder and said, “Come on—we’ll get something to eat and then go in the other room and play some games. It’ll be fun. I have all night.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
It was the next afternoon, and Kitally had just had another door slammed in her face. Not exactly the friendliest neighborhood she’d ever visited. After heading back to the car, she climbed in behind the wheel and drove farther down the road looking for Hayley until she caught sight of her talking to a teenager playing basketball with a friend.
Hayley was still pissed off at Lizzy for doing a half-assed job with Bennett. Kitally, on the other hand, wasn’t angry with Lizzy at all. She was just relieved that she hadn’t stepped over the line. It was true that they would need to keep a vigilant eye on Bennett—make sure he didn’t know who his attackers were and keep him from doing any more harm before justice was served. But as far as Kitally was concerned, that didn’t include killing the man.
Right now, though, here they were, back in West Sac, looking for the Ghost. They had driven back to the neighborhood Salma said the Ghost used to haunt. They were going door-to-door, hoping someone would know something about her whereabouts.
Kitally was losing hope. But not Hayley. After being so close to nabbing the Ghost and then losing her in the mall, Hayley was more determined than ever to find her.
After Hayley finished talking to the teenager, she climbed into the car and said, “Let’s go.”
“Did you get a name?”
“Nope, but I have an idea.”
Kitally didn’t like the look in her eye. “What is it?”
“Me and you,” she said, “are going to be homeless for a while.”
“Seriously?”
“It’ll be fun,” Hayley said. “Like camping out.”
“It could take weeks to catch her. Maybe months.”
“I don’t think so. The Ghost seems to make an appearance at least twice a week. I don’t think she does what she does because she wants whatever these people have. I think she has a problem with homeless people. If we put ourselves in her path, she’ll find us.”
“How will you know where she’ll hit next?”
“I got another call from the shopkeeper who keeps me updated on what’s happening on the streets. Oftentimes, he mentions a homeless woman named Naomi Griffiths. I’ve talked to the woman before. She says the Ghost has it in for her. Our best bet will be to stick close to Naomi.”
Kitally scratched her head where a bullet had grazed her scalp during the shooting the day of Lizzy’s wedding. The wound had healed, but it still itched. “There’s got to be an easier way to catch this person.”
“Well, I’m moving out there tonight. You don’t have to come.”
“No, I’ll come. I’m not going to let you go out there by yourself.”
Hayley was searching through the garage at Kitally’s house for a sleeping bag and anything else she might find useful on the streets when Lizzy approached her.
“I know you’re pissed off at me,” she said, “but I need your help with something.”
“Why don’t you ask Kitally or Jessica?”
“This is something only you can do. I’ve seen how well you can draw. It has to be you.”
“How long will it take?”
“The woman lives in Newcastle. So I’ll need you for a couple of hours at least.”
“When do you plan to do this?”
“Right now.”
Forty-five minutes later, they were sitting at the kitchen table inside Kathryn Church’s house. Hayley had a sketch pad and pencil ready to go. The woman made everyone hot tea and then took a seat at the head of the table. Her hair was pinned high on her head. Dark circles framed her eyes. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in a week.
“Where should I start?” Kathryn asked.
“First of all,” Hayley said
, “how old was Zachary the last time you saw him?”
“He was eighteen, a senior in high school. I was seventeen.”
“Great. It would be helpful for me to start off with the shape of his face.”
“Normal,” she offered.
“How about this,” Hayley said. “I’ll give you a few choices, and then you pick the closest thing to how you picture him in your mind’s eye.”
“OK.”
Lizzy was sitting at the table, too, but she appeared to be far, far away. Hayley found herself feeling bad for giving her shit, and yet she wasn’t sure why she should feel bad about it. Lizzy had needed to make a decision and stick to it for once in her life. She liked to ramble on about how they needed to be safe and not get caught, and yet they had all put themselves in danger of being exposed last night. And for what?
The clink of a teacup pulled Hayley back to the matter at hand. “OK,” Hayley said, “would you describe his face as round, square, thin, or heart shaped?”
“Heart shaped, I guess. Or maybe more like an egg. Yes, he had an egg-shaped face.”
“That’s great.” Hayley began to sketch. When she was done with that, she looked up at Kathryn again. “Do you remember anything about his eyes?”
“Oh, yes. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, and his certainly were. His eyes were gray-blue. Intense-looking eyes. When he looked at you, it was as if he were sucking you in. Pure seduction. When he looked at me, I couldn’t look away. Magnetic. That’s the word I would use to describe his eyes.”
Wow, Hayley thought. She wondered if Lizzy realized Kathryn had feelings for Zachary Tucker. “That’s really great,” Hayley told her, “but now I need some details. For instance, were his eyes set far apart or close together? Were they deeply set?”
She shook her head. “None of those things. All in all, he had a very symmetrical face. Nose where it should be. Eyes, too—not round or narrow, either, but normal,” she said with a sigh. “I’m sorry. I’m no help at all.”
“No, this is good. I won’t make his eyes too large or too small. Let’s talk about his nose. Was it crooked or straight—”