Killer Scents

by Adelle Laudan

  When she pulled in her driveway, the sun had begun its descent. She’d normally eat out before heading home, but after her earlier altercation, she just wanted a nice, quiet house, microwave popcorn, and a couple of cold beers in front of the idiot box.

  Talk about a stroke of luck. He smiled broadly, watching the motorcycle ride away. How will she feel when she learns her friend’s killer lurked outside in the shadows and watched her ride away? He snickered into his clenched hand. Probably not half as bad as she’ll feel when she finds out how much easier she made things for me.

  Susan’s house sat back from the road. Meticulously manicured hedges skirted the edges of her self-imposed exile from the human race.

  He didn’t have to gain entry under the pretense of delivering a flower. Thanks to Detective Talbot he slipped in through the unlocked door.

  Sneaking up behind her added an element of surprise he enjoyed. The tea cup in her hand fell to the floor, shattering against the stark white ceramic tiles. With his hand over her mouth, he half-dragged her back into the living room.

  Before he uncovered her mouth, he pressed his gun to her temple. “Now, you’re going to lie down on the sofa like a good girl. Aren’t you, Susan?”

  He spun her around to look straight at her for the first time. Susan’s eyes grew big, and she started to sway.

  “Oh, come on now,” he whispered. “You don’t want to miss all the excitement, do you?”

  Tears slipped out from under lowered lashes seconds before she collapsed. By the time she came to, he’d tied her up and now straddled her on the couch. He‘d put on gloves and a mask, and all his tools were lined up on the coffee table next to them.

  “Well, hello there. I trust you had a good sleep.”

  Susan writhed beneath him, desperation in her cries. “Oh, my God! Why are you doing this to me? What do you want?”

  “Justice, my dear, justice.” He picked up his bag and pulled out a soiled adult diaper. “Does this give you a clue?”

  The putrid smell of shit filled the space between them and she gagged. “You’re crazy. What are you going to do with that? Are you a former patient of mine?”

  He tilted his head back and laughed. “No, my dear, you were the patient.” Seconds before he stuffed the first piece of diaper in her mouth, he noted a flicker of understanding in her eyes.

  His rain suit peeled off like a second skin and he tossed it in a portable incinerator along with the soiled gloves and wipes.

  I’ll have to thank the detective one day for making things so much easier for me. To think Susan actually thought he was a former mental patient of hers. The corner of his lip twisted as he remembered the precise moment she understood—and how she literally pissed her granny pants when he revealed the needle. It almost seemed a crime to leave behind the beautiful lavender aster in her wrinkled hands.

  “Now let’s see, where did I leave off?” He let his gaze skim the page of the journal.

  Lori is obsessed with plastic surgery. One day the papers told of a doctor being butchered in his office. The same doctor Lori held responsible for disfiguring her with a botched surgery on her lips.

  Could Lori have killed him? She was definitely angry enough to make it plausible. I confronted her today. She became very irate and stormed from the room.

  Now I jump at every noise. The thought of her coming after me and suffering the same demise as the doctor brings me to tears....

  He nodded decidedly and slid the bookmark down the crease of the next page, following the familiar handwriting.

  Ready or not, Lori, here I come.

  Chapter Three

  In stunned silence, Becca sat on the edge of the leather chair. Since burying her partner of ten years, she’d become an expert at shutting down her emotions.

  How is this possible? I just saw her a few hours ago. Why would anyone want to kill Susan?

  “I want you to take me to her house now.” She stood and stared pointedly at Chief Thomson.

  “You know I can’t do that, Becca. Please, sit down and I’ll try to explain what happened.”

  She sat with a huff. “Okay, but I want to know everything.” She narrowed her gaze on him. “And I mean everything.”

  Her boss sat behind his desk and rubbed his hands over his face. “It was The Florist.”

  “The Florist? Are you telling me some guy delivered flowers and shot her when she answered the door?”

  Chief raised a hand to halt her tirade. “Let me finish.” He waited until she settled back in her chair. “I’m afraid Susan isn’t his first victim. In fact, she is number four. The killer is a genius at covering his tracks. We have the best of the best trying to catch this prick, but so far he’s outsmarted us.”

  “How do you know it’s him? There must be a least one person a day who is raped or shot by a stranger in their own home.”

  “That’s not what earned him the title. He leaves each one in the exact same pose. The only difference is the variety of flora he puts in their hands.”

  “Okay, that’s enough pussyfooting around. What exactly does this whack job do?” She squelched her volatile Irish temper.

  Chief sighed wearily. “Follow me.” He led her to the familiar brainstorming room where they showcased the bigger cases.

  The overpowering aroma of pine cleaner flooded her senses, intensifying her already queasy stomach. Becca rolled her shoulders back and stepped over the threshold. Everything around her ceased to exist as she zoned in on the bulletin boards at the front of the room. Three of four panels shared pictures of The Florist’s victims laid out on couches, each of them clasped a different pristine bloom in their hands, and all of them had a single gunshot wound to the head.

  Becca swallowed hard, trying to process it all. She looked from one board to the next. In startling contrast to an otherwise peaceful expression, all three had their mouths sewn shut. Envisioning Susan’s last moments sent a shiver up her spine.

  “Please tell me he did that to them after they were shot.”

  Chief Thomson hung his head. “I wish I could tell you that, but no, he binds them and stuffs a different item in each of their mouths before he begins sewing.”

  “What kind of items? Does he at least blindfold them?”

  The last thread of her composure began unraveling as she watched the chief shake his head. She had a million questions and all she could think about was how terrified her sister’s best friend must have been. For the first time since Darla passed away, she was actually glad her sister wasn’t around to witness her dear friend’s demise.

  “How did he get in? I can’t see her opening the door to a stranger, even for a delivery.”

  “The first three he preyed on were delivered a flower. The perp forced his way in when each one answered their doors.”

  Becca frowned. “Why do you say the first three? What is so different about Susan’s murder?”

  He shrugged. “From what our team can tell, he simply walked in the front door and snuck up on her washing the dishes.”

  Becca choked. She asked me to lock the door behind me...did I? She replayed the scene of her departure. “Oh, my god, it’s my fault!” She buried her face in her hands.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Becca. How can it be your fault?” He sat on the corner of a table and passed her a handful of tissues.

  “I stopped by to check in on her like I promised Darla I’d do. Susan told me to lock the door on my way out.” Her breaths came too fast, teetering on the edge of hysteria. “That bastard must have watched me ride away. She was doing dishes when I left.”

  Chief Thomson took her hands in his and squeezed. “Look at me.”

  She shuddered, fighting tears. “I did it...”

  “Look at me, Becca.” Her boss put a finger under her chin and raised her head to stare directly into her eyes. “It wasn’t your fault. Don’t you see? It doesn’t matter if the door was locked or not. He chose her for a reason and nothing could have stopped him.”

 
A young girl rushed into the room and began tacking photos on the fourth board. Susan stared back at her, eyes filled with terror, mouth sewn shut.

  Chief took Becca by the arm and ushered her from the room. “Damn! I’m so sorry. You didn’t need to see that right now.”

  She suddenly stopped. The room spun around her. Susan’s face flashed over and over in her mind. Her knees buckled as strong arms wrapped around her and she fell into a black abyss.

  Chapter Four

  Bright lights coaxed her awake and she blinked rapidly until the room came into focus.

  I’m in a hospital room?

  Her dry mouth made it difficult to swallow. The image of Susan’s wide-eyed stare on the bulletin board came back to her. I’m so sorry Darla.

  Her chest heaved as she tried to calm herself, and a sob rose into her throat. She quickly glanced in every direction. The weight of her head made it impossible to turn and see out the door.

  “Hello? Is somebody there?” Panic settled in her voice, her fragile emotions hanging from a tattered thread.

  Click. Click. Click.

  A vision in stark white rushed to her side, taking her wrist in hand and checking her watch. “I’m right here, Miss Talbot. Take a deep breath and let it out nice and slow. I’m Nurse Karen, and you’re in the hospital where we are taking good care of you.”

  “Why can’t I move my head?”

  The nurse wrung out a cloth over a basin next to her bed and smoothed it across her heated brow, its coolness soothing. “We gave you something to help you stay calm. Your heart rate was sky high when your boss brought you in.”

  “Chief Thomson?” She relaxed, the effort to talk suddenly too much.

  “Why don’t you just close your eyes?” She re-soaked the cloth and laid it neatly across her forehead. “You’ll feel a whole lot better the next time you wake. I promise.”

  “Mmm...”

  Randy eased back in his seat and removed his helmet, hanging it off his handlebars before he slid off his bike. At six in the morning the whir of a garbage truck marked the first sign of the city’s awakening.

  The Westside Precinct was the only original station left. Its wide stone staircase commanded attention between the neat rows of newly restored brown houses and fragrant magnolias.

  He winced attempting to run his fingers through his windblown mane. It served him right for not tying it back. He’d put on enough miles to know better.

  Randy ambled through the historic building. He couldn’t figure out why the chief called in help from another division. Surely there was at least one detective here capable of partnering with Detective Talbot besides him.

  He reached the empty meeting room where he’d agreed to meet Chief Thomson. His gaze came to rest on a row of bulletin boards filled with disturbing photos of The Florist’s victims.

  His long, low whistle filled the room. Other than the type of flower, there didn’t appear to be any differences in the murders. That was until he took a closer look and discovered the uneven sutures on the first victim had progressed to perfectly spaced stitches on the last.

  “He’s one sick puppy, eh?” Chief Thomson stood behind him, stroking his five o’clock shadow. His red-rimmed eyes told how badly he needed sleep.

  “I’d say so, Chief.” He offered his hand. “It’s good to see you.”

  Chief pumped his hand. “I’m glad you agreed to come on board.”

  Randy arched an eyebrow. “I’m a little confused. Last I heard Becca took an early retirement.”

  “Let’s just say she was on an extended sabbatical.”

  “Even so, why me? There has to be at least one guy here who’s qualified.”

  “Becca wants to come back and work the case. Technically she isn’t related to Susan, and I figure it’s better to let her in than have her run off half-cocked and get hurt. She’s one of my best, and the detectives here are just too close to keep her under wraps. She knows if there’s any sign of her emotions jeopardizing the case, she’s out.” He slapped a file on the table in front of him. “Here’s what we know, the guy uses the same MO each time he attacks.”

  Randy straddled a chair and opened the file, listening to the chief.

  “You can see here that so far he’s killed three women and one man. We believe he gets them to answer the door under the pretense of delivering flowers. However, there hasn’t been a witness who can confirm this theory.”

  A knock sounded on the door. He looked up to find the perfect candidate for the calendar of Hot Cops for charity. The officer had perfectly cropped bleach-blond hair, bright white teeth and golden tan. Everything I’m not, which is more than okay by me.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but you wanted to know right away when Becca was being released from the hospital. Jerry left a few minutes ago to pick her up and take her home.”

  “Thanks, Danny. This is Detective Bates, he’s going to partner with Becca to try and find the killer.”

  “Randy, this is Detective Danny Redman. I’m sure you’ll be seeing lots of each other in the coming days.”

  The officer briefly skimmed Randy’s hand before he spun on his heel and disappeared into the busy precinct. Randy got the distinct impression the man wasn’t too happy about him being there. Chief assured him there wouldn’t be any hard feelings about him coming on board. Even so, did the detective feel he should’ve been the one to partner with Becca?

  “Okay, where were we? Oh right, once the murderer gets inside, he forces them to the couch at gunpoint. There he binds their hands and feet. Each victim has had a different item stuffed in their mouths before he meticulously sews their lips together. We find them laid out on the couch with a flower in their hands and a single gunshot to the center of their foreheads.

  “They’re alive when he stitches them?”

  Chief Thomson nodded. “Unfortunately, but there was one small difference with Susan. The killer walked right in and came at her from behind where she stood at the kitchen sink.”

  Randy shrugged. “The door was open so he didn’t need to knock?”

  “Becca left her house a short time before the killer showed up. Susan asked her to lock the door behind her.”

  Randy winced. “Oh, crap.”

  “On top of that, Becca promised her sister, Darla, on her deathbed to watch over Susan. So you can well imagine just how our detective is feeling right now. She needs someone to keep her grounded.”

  “Okay, when do we start?”

  “The sooner, the better.”

  Chapter Five

  Becca studied the snapshots strewn across her kitchen table. A shudder passed across her lips, and she wiped her eyes on her shirtsleeve. Get your shit together, woman.

  She held her chin up and took a deep, cleansing breath before casting her gaze on the haunting stares of The Florist’s victims.

  Susan’s murder and her return to the force all seemed so surreal. She’d even been assigned a partner...something she swore she’d never have again. Chief left her no option—agree to work with Randy or not work the case.

  This is nothing like having Jack as a partner. I have no emotional connection to ‘Randy’, outside of this case. Jack was family, my family.

  No matter how many times she looked at the photos, she couldn’t come up with a common thread. They ranged in age from twenty-seven to sixty, all had different professions—a school teacher, a mechanic, flight attendant, and Susan, a retired nurse. A sexual motive was highly unlikely given the fact there were three women and one man and all remained fully dressed.

  Becca startled, her coffee sloshed up the sides of her cup and splashed the front of her shirt. The rumble of a motorcycle pulling in her driveway stole her attention.

  “Shit. Who can that be?” She rushed out her back door to find a tall guy climbing off a sweet-looking Road Glide. If he’s my new partner, maybe having one won’t be so bad after all.

  He released his shoulder-length brown hair from the confines of a ponytail and removed his sunglass
es. “You must be Becca. I’m Randy. I believe you’re expecting me?” He offered his hand and narrowed his gaze on her.

  Oh God, it can’t be him. She feigned interest in his bike, purposely avoiding contact. “Of course, I wasn’t expecting you on a motorcycle.”

  He shrugged and hung his helmet from the handlebars. “Chief Thomson figured you’d be much more comfortable riding. Besides, it’s a good cover, don’t you think?” His slow smile and arched brow made her wince.

  Damn, he recognizes me. Becca quickly turned and headed for the house, desperately needing to put some distance between them. “Come in and we’ll go over the case.”

  Randy chuckled lightly. “Nice to see you again, too.”

  She flinched, very aware his comment warranted a response. I have to work with him or I’m off the case. How the hell am I going to pull this off?

  Randy closed the door behind him.

  “Oh!” Her hand flew to her chest.

  “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Becca faced the counter. “Coffee?”

  “Black, please.” A chair scraped the floor and then creaked under his weight.

  She briefly closed her eyes before setting a steaming mug of coffee in front of him. Her breath hitched as he gently touched her arm.

  “Red.”

  “You must have me confused with someone else.” She pulled away and sat at the other side of the table. “Here are the crime scene photos.”

  “I know you recognize me, Red.”

  Becca looked at him. “Listen, I need to find this killer, and in order for me to do so, I have to work with a partner. I can’t focus on this case if I’m distracted by you.”

  “So what you’re saying is that you want me to forget that night ever happened? I don’t know if I can do that, especially since you’ve haunted my dreams ever since.”

  Becca cursed the heat rushing to her face. “Okay, maybe we can’t put it completely out of our minds, but can we please try to keep our focus on solving this case?”