Becca tossed her head back. “Hah! That’s a good start. If you want me to sit here quietly, you might want to shove your idea of compliments up your ass.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled, and a slow smile spread across his tanned face. “I guess I should start with an apology. I probably could’ve handled things better than I have been.”
She cast him a sideways glance. “Ya think?”
The coffeemaker let out its final gurgles, and she jumped up, happy for the break to regain some semblance of composure. Steam rose from the mug she set on the table.
“Black, right?”
His strong hands engulfed the mug. “Thank you. You remembered.”
Becca kept her gaze diverted and sipped her coffee, mindful of the temperature and the sultry tone of his voice. “So, are you going to tell me why you were acting like such a jerk, or are we going to play a round of Twenty Questions?”
“I’ve never met anyone quite like you. One minute I want to strangle you, and the next, I want to take you in my arms and never let you go.”
Shit, I never saw this coming.
She felt like a caged animal with no means of escape. Both of them stood at the same time.
“Don’t.” Her hand shot up between them to halt his advances. “I can’t do this right now. I need to find Susan’s killer. I can’t.... No, I won’t be distracted by you and your childish mind games. One minute you’re seducing me, and the next you won’t even glance my way. ” Becca looked into his big brown eyes. “I think it’s best if you leave now.”
Randy pulled her into his arms, backing her up and wedging her in the corner of the cupboards with no way out.
“Let me go—”
His mouth captured hers in a long, drugging kiss. After a couple lame attempts to get away, she relaxed in his arms, and gave in to the whirlwind of emotions she tried so hard to contain.
Suddenly he scooped her up and cradled her in his arms. The intensity in his eyes robbed her of breath. She knew full well the direction they were headed.
“I can’t make any promises.” Her words came out nothing more than a whisper.
“I’m not asking for any, Red.” He carried her through the kitchen toward the bedroom. His lips claimed hers once again, but this time she offered no resistance.
Chapter Sixteen
Click. Click. Click. His boots snapped against the cement as he paced the room. Thoroughly pissed off at himself for tainting the thrill of being at his crime scene.
“Idiot! Why did you have to leave the box behind? How could you be so stupid?”
The skin on his neck pulled taut. He yanked open the cooler and grabbed a fistful of asters, pulling the heads off and scattering the pale purple petals into the air. He twisted the stems, over and over until they pulled apart and threw them on the ground. The cement turned green under his boot grinding them into the floor.
Calm yourself.
Two words whispered in his ear ended his tirade and drew him to the counter where he picked up the silver frame and smiled down at her.
“I’m sorry, dear heart. I know you don’t like it when I lose my temper. I wanted everything to be perfect for you, and it almost was.”
His heavy sigh steamed the glass as he pressed his lips to the smiling woman’s forehead. Reverently, he set it back, face down.
A hiss of air escaped the barstool he sat on. He wiped his sweaty face on his shirtsleeve. “Look at this mess.”
Dark purple roses caught his attention. He wrinkled his brow. “Of course, it’s her fault distracting me like that. She’s been nothing but a pain in my ass since she came back to work.”
Before then he wasn’t the least bit worried they’d solve the mystery of The Florist. Now that they put the dynamic duo together he had to admit he thoroughly enjoyed baffling Ms. Hoity Toity.
The scent of lemons wafted up from the wash basin he filled. Some of his best thinking happened when cleaning. Now, what is my next move? He’d completed what he’d set out to do. All seven of his victims were carefully picked, each encounter meticulously planned down to the minutest detail over the past year. To pick another virtual stranger from the journal meant taking a huge risk he’d overlook something or slip up somehow.
He sat back on his heels and dropped the scrub brush in the water.
It really is a shame to stop just when I’m getting so good at it.
He snapped his head up and rubbed his damp hands on his jeans. A smile twisted his lips.
“Unless...”
Randy settled in his seat and stretched his legs out, resting his boot on his highway pegs. The crisp morning breeze off the water, coupled with a flashback of Becca in bed, her long red hair fanned out across the pillow, brought a smile to his face.
They gave themselves to each other in unabashed abandon, blocking all the ugliness and heartache The Florist brought to their lives. Never in his life had he felt so connected to a woman. They shared an unspoken language only their bodies could decipher.
Any attempt to sleep once he got back to his place proved futile, so he showered and climbed on his bike. The wind had a way of soothing his soul like nothing else could, and as much as he wished to keep going, they had a killer to catch. He turned from the country road toward the precinct.
Less than twenty minutes later he flicked on the light, illuminating the morbid smiles of The Florist’s victims on the seven boards at the front of the meeting room. He set his files on the table and hurried to put some coffee on.
Chief Thomson stepped through the doorway, coffee in hand. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Chief.” Randy propped himself on the edge of a table. “Are results in from last night?”
“The others should be here any time now. Let’s wait until they arrive so I’m not repeating myself.” He sat at a table nearest the boards and opened a file. “Here, put these up on the empty board at the end.”
Randy took several photographs from him. Like all of the others, there was a picture of Kevin Baird pre-murder, and half a dozen taken at the crime scene.
Her voice carried in the room before he saw her, setting his pulse racing. Randy braced himself and turned, almost knocking her over. “Well, hello.”
Becca stood less than a foot away with her hand out. She stared intently into his eyes. “Work first?”
He narrowed his gaze on her, trying to figure out her intentions. He gave her a nod. “Okay. Play later?”
She smiled. “Let’s find this guy.”
“That sounds like a plan to me.”
Chief took his glasses off to rub his eyes. Once everyone was seated he raised his hand to silence everyone.
“I’m sure you’re all tired and frustrated. This guy has taken down seven people, and we’re no closer to finding him than we were on day one.” He walked down the row of boards, hitting each one. “Sandra Bedows, Derek Masters, Carol Tate, Lori Davis, Susan White, Jeffery Dunn, and last night, Kevin Baird.
He sighed wearily. “Randy, what do we know about these people.”
Randy pushed back from the table and walked to the first board, his notebook open. “Sandra Bedows, twenty-six years old, single. She lived on a disability pension due to being morbidly obese.”
Randy turned a page.
“Derek Masters, thirty-two years old, also single. He was an orderly until five years ago when he was let go for being a Peeping Tom.”
“Carol Tate, forty-seven years old, never married. At twenty-six years of age she murdered her plastic surgeon for ruining her face. She served ten years of a fifteen-year sentence.”
Randy stopped at Susan’s board and looked directly at Becca, who nodded her consent for him to continue.
“Susan White, sixty years old, single. She was a retired nurse’s aide.”
He turned his back to the boards before continuing. “Lori Davies, lawyer. Jeffery Dunn, computer tech, and Kevin Baird, a bouncer and ex-con.”
Randy snapped his notebook closed. “We know all
seven victims came from very different walks of life. In fact, the only commonality is, they were all single. Hardly a reason for The Florist to kill them the way he did.” He returned to his seat.
Chief Thomson returned to the front of the room. “It’s obvious The Florist did his homework on all of his victims. He most probably watched them for quite some time before making a move. Given how quickly he’s carried off these murders, he had a pretty precise plan of action.
“It wasn’t like he typed in ‘potential victims who are single’ in the search bar and a magic list of only seven single people popped up. No, we’re missing a piece of the puzzle. There has to be a connection.”
He slapped the file down on the table. “I want all of you on this. I can’t stress enough how time is of the essence. I want this bastard found before he strikes again.”
Chapter Seventeen
A pile of wadded-up pages lay on the floor beside him, his head resting on his hand while he stared off into space. All through the night he’d wrestled with who his next victim would be. Now that I know, why is this still so hard?
Using the drug on Kevin Baird added a new element of satisfaction, but he only purchased enough for the one time, and the dealer had come to him. I need to get my hands on another dose, but how? He made the drug deal a year ahead of his killing spree. Am I setting myself up to get caught if I venture into that part of town? He didn’t exactly blend in with the street people. In fact, he stuck out like a sore thumb.
I can wear a disguise. His excitement mounted at the prospect. How am I going to pull this off without looking like an amateur? It’s not like wearing a Halloween costume where everybody knows you’re wearing one. If any of those guys suspect I’m not the real deal... He needed it done by a professional, one of those fancy make-up artists used on television.
Where the hell am I going to find one of those? He shrugged. Maybe... From the drawer he pulled out the thick Yellow Pages and flipped through them. It’s a long shot.
Costumes...nothing but retail outlets.
Make up...a kazillion listings for women’s makeup.
Frustrated, he shoved the book back in the drawer and shut it with a bang.
He opened his laptop and turned it on, typing in ‘makeup artist for hire’ in the search bar. In seconds, a list of artists from all over the world filled the screen. He refined his search to locations and hit enter.
The corner of his mouth lifted, and he clicked his cursor on the first link. His eyes scanned the page and found the address.
Perfect.
Becca picked up the phone on her desk. “Polly, its Becca.”
“Hello there, what can I do you for?”
The girl’s strange attempts at humor were highly infectious. “How far back did you go when you searched their phone records for a connection between the victims?”
“Chief Thomson instructed me to go back five years. Why do you ask?”
“How much trouble would it be to go back even further?”
“No trouble. A little bit of time, but no trouble. How far back do you want to go?”
“Ten years. Can you do it?”
Polly chuckled. “Of course I can. I’ll give you a shout when I’m done.”
“Polly?”
“Yes?”
“Can this be a priority?”
“Sure. Does the chief know about this?”
“Not yet, but I’m on my way to fill him in.”
“Good. I’ll talk to you sometime this afternoon.”
“You’re a doll. Thanks, Polly.”
Her response came in the clicking of nails hitting the keys before disconnecting. She really is a doll, in a strange kind of way. Becca leaned back in her chair and stretched out her legs.
What about the objects in their mouths? Were they random, or did he have a reason for using those specifically?
Sandra Bedows, a morbidly obese woman. How did the birthday cake factor into the equation? Is it a specific birthday cake? Did something happen at a birthday party?
Becca covered her mouth and yawned.
The only thing I seem to be uncovering is more questions.
She couldn’t shake the feeling there was something she’d overlooked. She scanned the open files in front of her.
What can it be?
“Becca?”
She looked up from a patchwork of strategically placed files to find Polly in the doorway. Pink extensions added to her jet black hair, wearing a t-shirt that read, Happiness is Yelling Bingo.
“I think I found something.”
“Come sit.” Becca nudged the chair next to her with a foot. “What did you find?”
“I went back ten years like you asked, and I think I have your missing link.”
Becca’s heart raced in expectation. “Tell me.”
“They all shared the same psychiatrist at one time or other.”
Her jaw dropped. She vaguely remembered her sister mentioning Susan went to a shrink after some trouble at work. “What is the doctors’ name?”
“Pauline Knills-Davies.”
Becca’s mind scrambled for the connection. Why does that name sound so familiar? “Where’s her office?”
“I’m afraid we’re too late. She died five years ago, massive heart failure, right in her office at St. Helen’s.”
“St. Helen’s? That’s where Darla and Susan worked.” Becca sat at the edge of her chair. “Why does that name sound so familiar?”
“Maybe because her husband is Professor Olsen Davies.”
Her jaw dropped. “The professor? What the hell is going on?”
“Sorry, that’s all I could find out. I thought you’d want to know right away. Here’s the file, including her scheduled appointments.”
Polly rested a hand on her shoulder. “Becca?”
She blinked rapidly. “Oh, I’m sorry. I guess I zoned out for a minute. Do you know if the chief is still here?”
“I thought I saw him head toward the exit earlier. Randy’s still in his office.” She cracked her gum. “If you’re done with me, I have a date for Bingo. I’ll have my phone with me if anything comes up and you need me.”
“Thanks, Polly. I hope you win the jackpot!”
The quirky analyst guffawed. “I won’t quit my job quite yet. Toodles!”
Becca flipped through the pages in the file. Yup, there it is... She underlined the words with her fingertip: husband, Professor Olsen Davies. Her first instinct was to take a run out and have a chat with the professor, but that wouldn’t go over well with the chief. She sighed and pushed away from her desk.
I guess I don’t have much of a choice.
Her heels clicked on the tile floor. Dead man walking... Why did the line from the movie Green Mile come to mind? She shrugged.
“Hey, you.” Becca strode into the meeting room. “We’ve uncovered a pretty interesting link between the victims.”
Randy tossed his pen on a stack of papers in front of him. “Oh, really? You have my attention.”
“I asked Polly to go back a little further in all of the victims’ pasts in hopes of finding something.” She slapped the file down on the table. “They all shared the same shrink at one time or other.”
“Really? Where might we find this shrink?”
“Unfortunately she died five years ago.”
“Man, we can’t catch a break in this case.”
“Not necessarily, we know her husband.”
Randy punched her on the arm playfully. “Come on, enough already.”
“Professor Davies. His wife, Pauline Knills-Davies, died of a massive heart attack in her office at St. Helen’s.”
“Wow, no shit, eh?”
“Yup, the same hospital my sister and Susan worked at. All seven of the victims were a patient of hers at some point.”
“I guess we need to pay the professor another visit.”
She glanced at her watch. “It’s a little late to be visiting the old guy now.”
“I guess s
o. How about we meet with the chief first thing in the morning? We can fill him in and take it from there.”
Becca gasped and put her hand over her heart as she staggered back against the wall. “Are you suggesting we do things by the book?”
He chuckled and opened the file. “It can’t possibly be just a coincidence, can it?”
“I don’t know. We checked out everyone who works on the farm, and the professor is hardly in any shape to be kicking over a motorcycle and murdering seven people.”
His pen tapped against a stack of papers. “Something doesn’t add up, but I’d bet anything the answer is out there.” He stroked his stubbly jaw.
“Maybe after a good night’s sleep it will all come together.” Becca stretched out her arms cattishly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“I guess fluffing your pillow is out of the question?”
Becca stopped in the doorway and looked back at him, fluttering her eyelashes. “I’ll take a rain check, okay?”
“You don’t play fair.” He watched her leave, shifting in his chair to accommodate his reaction to the swing of her hips. It was nice to see her less guarded, more herself.
We need to solve this case. The sooner the better.
With this new discovery, sleep would definitely elude him. He opened his laptop. Let’s see what I can find out about the good doctor.
167
KILLER SCENTS
Chapter Eighteen
The sky darkened with each click of the odometer. A somber silence filled the SUV, everyone lost in their thoughts.
Becca wasn’t looking forward to searching the professor’s home and hoped he didn’t take it personally. “What exactly are we looking for?”
“I guess we’ll know when we see it. Something, anything that might fill in the blanks and lead us to the killer.” Randy glanced back at her. “Are you going to be okay with this?”
Becca shrugged. “Yes. I’m not crazy about doing this to him, but I’m okay.”
“Try not to worry, Becca. He’s a smart man and he’ll understand why we have to do this search.” Chief turned down the long driveway to the house.
Killer Scents Page 8