Tall, tattooed and mysterious. He grinned sheepishly.
It didn’t take long before the wind worked its magic, bringing a rosy glow to Becca’s cheeks. She looked over at him and flashed a bright smile as he pulled up beside her. He swallowed hard and shifted in his seat to accommodate his arousal.
Oh boy, I’m screwed if just a smile has this effect on me. Maybe she’s right and I need to rein in my wayward libido to focus on this case. We’re on the trail of a serial killer, and for Becca, it’s personal.
Randy gave her a definitive nod and let off on the gas to fall back in behind her, but not before he caught a telltale wrinkle sprout between her gorgeous green eyes.
A brisk morning breeze carried the sweet scent of flowers in full bloom from a beautiful, endless sea of color–a welcome distraction.
He followed Becca down a long winding drive that eventually yawned open to a picturesque house. He eased in beside her out front of a double garage.
He whistled. “This is quite the set up, eh?”
Becca set her helmet on her seat and finger-combed the tangles from her shiny red hair.
He’d sat at his computer long into the night researching Professor Davies. The man had been a high school science teacher for fifteen years before climbing the rungs to become a professor of horticulture at the university. Last spring, at sixty years of age, he took a semi-retirement; he now taught hands-on horticulture, specifically hydroponics here in his greenhouses.
“Well, let’s see if this guy can decipher The Florist’s psychotic reasoning.”
Becca nodded and slipped the denim shirt back over her tattoos, visibly switching to cop mode.
It must be nice to have an on/off button. Randy followed her across the driveway.
Becca climbed the porch stairs with Randy at her side. They paused at the door, and he looked her way.
“Are you okay?”
“Absolutely.” Her finger was already on the doorbell.
Through the etched glass, Becca saw an older woman scurrying toward them.
“Good morning.” Her bright smile welcomed them as she wiped her damp hands on a crisp, white apron.
“Good morning. I’m Detective Randy Bates, and this is my partner, Detective Becca Talbot.”
“Yes, of course. I’m Mable. The professor is expecting you, so if you’ll follow me this way....”
They stepped onto an incredibly polished floor. Seamless tile depicted many geometric and floral patterns, skirting a spectacular staircase. Mable led them through a formal living room with luxurious celery-green curtains and deep, curvy pelmets. Beautiful crystal lighting hung from the ceiling on either side of a contemporary sofa. Winged-back chairs in a contrasting shade of vanilla provided the perfect complement. It was a room she’d only seen the like of in high end design magazines.
Mable opened impressive French doors to a homey sunroom filled with mismatched furniture and dated lace curtains. The scent of pipe tobacco lingered in the air. Sitting in an overstuffed armchair, a distinguished, white-haired gentleman looked up from a magazine and set it on his lap, followed by removing his glasses.
“Hello, you must be the officers wanting to talk flora with me.” His smile reached his sparkling blue eyes, putting Becca even more at ease than the room did.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” She smiled warmly. “I’m Detective Talbot, and this is my partner, Detective Bates.”
“I’m a little surprised you’re asking me for the significance of these blooms. My wife shared my passion for horticulture, but she’s the one who actually did all the research into their meanings.”
An air of melancholy settled in the room.
Becca laid out the pictures of the flowers she’d scanned off the Internet. “These are the ones left in the hands of The Florists’ victims. We hoped you might shed some light on their significance, if any.”
The professor set his glasses back on the bridge of his nose and perused the images thoughtfully. His long, wrinkled fingers feathered the edges of each photo before turning his attention back to them.
“This is quite a diverse selection you have here.”
Becca tapped the first photograph of a white carnation. “What is the definition of this one? Of course, we’ve researched them on our own, but came up with quite a few conflicting definitions.”
The housekeeper appeared, and Randy jumped up, taking the fully laden tray from her hands. The chivalrous gesture stained the woman’s cheeks pink.
“Why thank you, young man. You can set it in the middle of this table.” She smiled and slid the magazine out of the way. “Would you like me to pour?”
Becca smirked. “No, Randy can take care of that for you.” She pressed her lips firmly together to contain her laughter.
He arched an eyebrow. “Thank you, Becca. How kind of you to offer my services.”
Professor Davies peered over the rim of his glasses from her to Randy and then back to the picture in his hands. “White flowers in general usually lean toward purity. The carnation defines it in the form of beauty, love and charity. These qualities might symbolize the memory of someone who is deceased.”
“Are you suggesting he might have known and loved the first victim?” Becca sat on the edge of her seat.
He shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible. In my opinion, since the type of flora is polar opposites from the way he killed them it almost feels like a present...a parting gift, if you may.”
Very interesting possibility. Becca anxiously awaited his next assessment.
The teacher took another photo from her. “Hmm, a lily. Beautiful. It’s known to symbolize honesty and faith, and yes, even purity in the form of virginity. In the Bible, the white lily is associated with the Virgin Mary.”
The professor sweetened his tea with two sugar cubes.
Becca looked over at Randy. “Virginity can’t be the common thread. Susan never married, but she did have a serious boyfriend in her early twenties.”
“Three days after the Virgin Mary’s burial, the tomb was found empty, save for a bunch of white lilies. It became the emblem of Annunciation, the Resurrection of the Virgin. The pure white petals signify the spotless beauty, and the golden anthers are her soul captured in heavenly light.”
Becca sat entranced by the lyrical quality of the man’s voice. He must be one hell of a teacher.
Randy quietly took notes in his ever-present notebook.
“It’s interesting that the killer would go from white to the vibrant red of this gladiola. He held the paper between two fingers. “Strength and integrity. If it were a bouquet of them, the sender is likely conveying his or her infatuation with the recipient.”
Becca’s eyes filled as she handed him the snapshot of the asters left in Susan’s hands. The teacher nodded, understanding in his expressive eyes. He briefly touched her hand before accepting the photo.
“In ancient times, if one burned aster leaves they believed it would drive away evil spirits. Today, they’re used to create a sense of peaceful stability. This shade of purple is very similar to the wisteria.”
He pointed to the lavender wisteria intertwined throughout her tattoos, a few delicate blooms visible below her shirtsleeve. Their fragrance had been her mother’s favorite. Becca cleared her throat noisily before taking a sip of tea.
“Would the meanings be any different for a man or is it a unisex type of deal?” Randy leaned forward to pick up his cup.
Becca closed her eyes, grateful for the timely diversion to gather her emotions.
“That’s an interesting question. I’d have to say if there is a difference, but to my knowledge it hasn’t been charted.” He tapped the top of his head. “I have acquired an extensive amount of data over the years.” He chuckled lightly before glancing at his watch. “You have one more for me? I’m afraid my students will come looking for me soon.”
“Yes.” Randy passed him the last picture. “We really appreciate you taking the time to see us today.”
“A white lilac is an interesting choice. They have a very short life. It is very fragrant and associated with youthful innocence and confidence. In a nutshell, it means selflessness.”
Becca took the photo from him. “Do you know of a florist the killer might have ordered these from?”
The teacher shook his head while stuffing his glasses in a case inside his shirt pocket. He leaned heavily on his cane to stand. His obvious discomfort deepened the soft lines around his eyes and mouth. “No, I find it highly unlikely. My guess is he’s quite knowledgeable in horticulture and is growing them himself.”
Randy stood and offered his hand. “Thank you for your time. If by chance we have more questions, will you be available to see us?”
“Of course, just call before you come so they can track me down. It’s easy to get lost around here.” He winked playfully before turning his attention to Becca. He clasped her hand. “I’m terribly sorry for the loss of your friend, my dear. I know how it feels to lose a loved one. A little piece of you is gone forever.” His eyes clouded, and he gave her hand a final squeeze before stepping through the open doors to the back deck, his steps uneven. “Maybe next time I’ll take you on a tour.”
He hung on to the rail and hobbled down the few remaining stairs to where his ride waited.
“I would love that.” She whispered.
“As would I.”
Chapter Eight
Becca swallowed the bitterness at the back of her throat. Susan’s murder was now added to the white boards. She quickly looked away and shifted in her chair to block the images from her line of vision.
Chief Thomson now stood in front of the boards shaking his head. “I have to say, in all my years on the force, this is one of the most baffling cases I’ve seen.” He rested on the table edge, file in hand. “We’ve had five murders over the past couple of months and we don’t have a shred of evidence that might bring us closer to finding The Florist.
Dark circles under the chief’s eyes told of the toll this case had taken on him. Over the years, Becca had grown to think of him as so much more than just her boss.
He is family.
“Our resident profilers are going to tell us their take on this madman. Hopefully they’ve seen something we might have overlooked.”
Dylan and Carol were the male-female extension of each other. Both of them dressed in black goth-like attire, which included a piercing through one eyebrow and spacers in their ears like black holes. These aspects alone set them apart from others, but it was their snow-white hair and piercing blue eyes that commanded attention wherever they went.
Dylan stepped forward first. “I think it’s best to start by looking at the significance of each of his rituals. We believe a revolver is used to keep his victims in check and avoid any chance of a physical altercation. That doesn’t mean he’s not more than capable of holding his own.
“Each step he makes is for a specific reason—from how he lays them out on the couch to his need to clean their faces before leaving. Their heads are taped down to ensure a perfectly executed shot.”
“We feel each step is something he feels he must do,” Carol intervened. “We’re convinced the objects in their mouths are clues as to why these particular people were chosen by him. With Sandra we found birthday cake. With Derek, a hospital gown. The basketball netting and so on.... Each item means something to him.”
“Why does he sew their mouths shut? It’s not like they can tell us who killed them,” Danny, one of several uniformed officers scattered about the room, asked.
“It’s for one of two reasons: either he doesn’t want them to speak at all or simply to keep the objects in their mouths.” Carol turned back to the boards.
Becca’s stomach churned.
“The single gunshot, specifically between the eyes, is to ensure there is no chance of survival and to complete the picture. He takes great pride in how they look before he leaves them.”
Dan cleared his throat. “The single flower is like a period at the end of a sentence. Each bloom is chosen for individual reasons. We strongly believe there is a common thread between these victims.
Becca hung on every word, agreeing with everything. Unfortunately it brought them no closer to finding the son-of-a-bitch.
“Professor Davies gave us the meaning of each bloom. I took the liberty of printing off a few copies of his findings. The killer didn’t buy these from your neighborhood florist.” Randy passed the printed pages around the room. “The professor believes the killer has extensive knowledge of horticulture or at least the species we’ve seen. He also needs a climate-controlled place to grow them—like the greenhouses Professor Davies uses to grow hydroponics.”
Chief Thomson slid off the table and resumed his place at the front of the room while Dan, Carol and Randy seated themselves. “I think our main focus is to find the link between these cases. Polly, start with phone records. Let’s see if we get lucky and find a common number. Randy and Becca, find out if this guy would need to buy anything on a regular basis to sustain a grow-op sophisticated enough to produce these species.”
“I’ll see if we can get another appointment with the professor.” Randy scribbled in his notebook.
Chief nodded in agreement. “Maybe we should check out the student workers. Find out if it’s possible for them to take something from there without drawing suspicion. Do they even grow the flowers we’re looking for? That should keep us busy. Call if any of you come up with something.”
“How long will it take you to compare phone records, Polly?” Becca asked on their way out of the room.
“Maybe an hour, if I don’t run into any snags.” She cracked her ever-present gum.
“Call me when you’re done?” Becca pressed.
Polly smiled, revealing a mouthful of metal. At forty years old she wore a full set of braces. “You betcha.”
Professor Davies stood at the bottom of his porch staircase, leaning heavily on his cane.
“Well, word has it you’re the man to see when it comes to posies.” Randy rocked on his heels, pulling on imaginary suspenders.
The professor chuckled lightly. “Well, I don’t know about that, but unfortunately this old body isn’t what it once was. I’ve asked my right-hand man, Jacob, to show you around.”
A jeep-like vehicle ambled up the road toward them. The driver parked a few feet away and jumped out from behind the wheel, offering his hand.
“This is Jacob. Jacob, this is Detectives Bates and Talbot.”
“Nice to meet you both.” Jacob shook Randy’s hand and then Becca’s.
She couldn’t put a finger on it, but there was something off about this friendly worker.
“Hop on! I’ll show you the fields first.”
Sensing her reluctance, the professor took her hand and ushered her to the jeep. “Don’t worry. Jacob will take good care of you. We’ve been using these Mules for years to get around the acreage. Sometimes I think he knows more about how things run around here than I do. Ask him anything.”
Becca climbed up onto the seat and gripped the crash bars of the open box truck, turning her knuckles white. Jacob drove them to the far end of a row of glass structures where a field of flowers in a riot of red, pink and yellow stretched for as far as the eye could see. Unfortunately, their escort’s jitters left her feeling a little uptight, unable to enjoy the beauty before them.
“In another month or so this will all be gone and we’ll grow everything in the greenhouses.”
“Do the students perform all of the work or is there a regular crew?” Randy asked. He knelt and cupped a vibrant yellow bloom in his hand, a gentle touch Becca hadn’t expected from him.
A shiver crept up her spine and she glanced back just in time to catch the tail end of a man walking between the glass structures. There were workers all over the farm. Why had this particular man set off her cop-sensor? She’d best keep alert in case he showed up again. She shifted her attention back to their guide.
“Okay, now I’ll take you to see the greenhouses.” He stepped up behind the wheel. “The first one is close to the set-up needed to grow the flowers you’ve spoken to my boss about. Of course, what you see here is on a much larger scale.”
Randy stared off into the distance, seemingly lost in a world of his own. He’d barely spoken a word to her since they arrived.
Maybe it’s me, but there is definitely something off kilter here. She was usually very good at reading people, but these three men had her scratching her head.
Inside the first house, a fine mist sprayed over a vast array of flora. Her gaze was drawn to the orange-red gladiolas. How can something so beautiful hold such a painful memory? Will I ever be able to appreciate their beauty again?
“Do you have a list of the flowers in that notebook of yours?” Becca reached for the book.
Randy pulled it tight to his chest. “Of course I do.” He licked the tip of two fingers before leafing through the pages.
Jacob perused the list on the page Randy held open for him. “Yes, we grow all of them, except for those.”
Randy’s reaction left her a little dumbfounded and more than a little curious about the contents of his notebook.
“Except for which one?” Becca asked.
Jacob eyed her curiously, as if her question was unexpected. “Lilacs, they aren’t something easily produced hydroponically. Outside, the shrubs only blossom for a short period in the spring. The only way to extend their flowering time is to grow a variety of lilacs. Regardless, even the most revered grower might extend the period from two to six weeks tops.”
“When were the last blooms out this year?” asked Randy.
The worker stroked his jaw. “Probably around two weeks ago. You still have a nice shade bush once they stop blooming.”
With her curiosity piqued, she considered the new details. The killer left behind a lilac almost three weeks ago, so it’s very possible he took them from a bush outside?
Killer Scents Page 4