by Osborne, Jon
Dana immediately took Templeton to the side and gave him her fabricated version of events while his boss set up a perimeter around the crime scene. Even in a city as violent as Cleveland – a city with a homicide rate that had shot up eighteen percent in the past year – no less an authority than the chief of police himself had rolled out of his warm, cozy bed to brave the frigid winter conditions when he’d been informed that two men had been brutally murdered in a municipal parking lot, an incident that marked the fourth multiple-victim murders of the year in the besieged city. If Dana had her way, though, there would have been three dead bodies here tonight instead of just two. And she sure as hell wouldn’t have been one of the ones they’d be zipping up into a body bag.
She closed her eyes briefly. After all of these years on the job of never quite understanding how a human being could take another’s life without remorse, she was starting to see how you could be driven to murder.
Hell, she was practically getting a limo ride there herself.
She refused Templeton’s offer to go inside the coroner’s office building where it was warmer. More heat was the last thing in the world she needed right now. The intense rage boiling inside her chest at the moment could have powered all of Ohio’s nuclear power plants for an entire year, if not even longer than that.
“At least let me get you a blanket,” Templeton persisted. Huge puffs of foggy breath issued from his mouth as he spoke. “It’s fucking freezing out here.”
Dana shook her head. Like she’d noted earlier, the cold couldn’t touch her right now. Nothing could touch her right now. And she was sorry to say that she didn’t give a shit what anybody else was feeling at the moment, including Templeton. Whatever petty problems they had – including something as insignificant as being cold – couldn’t compare to her problems right now. “I said I’m fine, Gary,” she snapped, not even attempting to keep the sharp knife-edge of irritation out of her voice.
Templeton lifted his thick eyebrows on his forehead, no doubt remembering her promise earlier in the day to keep things professional between them from now on. He held up his hands with his palms facing her in a placating manner. “Whoa, take it easy, Dana,” he said. “What’s wrong? Other than these two dead bodies here, I mean. Is everything else OK, though? You’re acting really fucking aggressive right now.”
Dana took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. No matter how hard it was for her to accomplish right now, she couldn’t let Templeton suspect what had really happened to her here tonight. This shit was personal now, and she didn’t need anybody getting in the way of her revenge. “I’m sorry, Gary,” she said, shaking her head and dropping her gaze to the pavement. “It’s just that…”
The words died in her throat when her gaze abruptly landed on the gold hoop earring that was lying on the ground near Templeton’s right foot. Her heart stopped beating dead in her chest. Her mouth flooded with stomach acid.
Templeton followed her stare down to the ground but didn’t notice the earring lying there. Thank God for small favors. Lifting his gaze to meet hers again, he asked, “What?”
Dana held his stare and forced herself to not look back down at the earring. If everything went well for her, the earring was one piece of evidence that would never make it into the official record. “It’s nothing, Gary,” she said, waving a hand in front of her face to chase away his question. “It’s just that I’m completely fucking exhausted right now. It’s been a really long day and an even longer night. Can’t I just give you my statement and go home? I really need to sleep.”
Templeton pursed his lips, looking a little annoyed by her brusque attitude. Luckily for her, though, he didn’t push the issue any further than that. Something in her eyes must have told him that it would have been the wrong move at this point. “Of course,” he said, removing a pen and notebook from the pocket of his trench coat to record her statement. “So, what happened here, anyway? What did you see?”
Dana relayed the lie that she’d mentally rehearsed while waiting for the cops to arrive, suppressing a soft sigh as she did so. Lying to people was something she seemed to be getting awfully good at lately. First Dr. Spinks, and now Templeton. But sometimes the truth just hurt too much to share with others. Sometimes honesty wasn’t the best policy. Sometime honesty could just go straight to hell, for all she cared.
And right now was definitely one of those times.
“I came out of the coroner’s office and these two men were lying dead in the snow with their throats slashed open,” she told the Cleveland cop, gesturing down to the rapists, who were now being photographed on their red-and-white background by Doug Freeman, the forensic photographer who’d also worked with them on the Cleveland Slasher case a few years earlier. Hell, it was starting to look like a regular class reunion around here. All they needed to do now was dig her brother’s dead body out of the frozen ground and they’d be halfway home to reassembling the original cast of characters.
“I called you guys right away when I saw them,’ Dana went on, returning her stare to Templeton. “I canvassed the area for any possible suspects at that point but I didn’t see anybody. Then I waited for you guys to arrive – a little bit longer than I cared to, to be perfectly honest. Anyway, now I’m talking to you guys. That’s the whole story, Gary. That’s all I’ve got for you.”
Templeton flashed her a sympathetic look but he still had a job to do. “You didn’t see anybody when you came out of the building?” he asked. “Nobody leaving the scene? Do you remember any cars entering or exiting the parking lot when you came out of the coroner’s office?”
Dana tried her best to keep her voice even but it wasn’t easy. “No, Gary,” she said. Jesus Christ, how many goddamn times did she have to say this crap? “I didn’t see anything or anybody except for the dead bodies. I don’t know what else to tell you. I’m really sorry, but I just don’t have anything else to give you right now.”
Templeton cast a weary eye at the crisscrossed tire tracks that were lacing the parking lot like the stitches on a freshly autopsied corpse. Then he stared up into the dark skies above their heads, from which yet another heavy snow had begun to fall. The snow was wet and sticky, of course – the kind of snow that did an excellent job of blanketing crime scenes and destroying evidence. “I doubt we’ll be able to trace a fucking thing in this mess,” he said, letting out a heavy sigh that sagged his chest. “Hell, I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
The law-enforcement part of Dana’s brain empathized with him, but she had other more important thoughts on her mind right now. Murderous thoughts. It was the reason why she hadn’t wanted Templeton to see the gold hoop earring and why she hadn’t yet told the Cleveland cop about the woman in the autopsy-room video – even though she knew he’d find out about it eventually. Probably sooner rather than later, too. Like Jeremy Brown had once been, Gary Templeton was a damn good cop. One of the best she’d ever worked with.
“I’m really sorry, Gary, but I just didn’t see anything useful,” Dana said, wanting to get this conversation over with already so that she could really start plotting her revenge in earnest. “Just the dead bodies. Like I said before, I wish I had more for you, but I just don’t.”
Templeton nodded and clicked shut his ballpoint pen before flipping closed his spiral notebook and shoving it back into the pocket of his trench coat. “OK, Dana. If you didn’t see anything, you didn’t see anything.” He paused and looked around the parking lot again. “Anyway, I know that you’re tired and all, but is there any way you could stick around and help us out here for a little while? Hell, half these guys out here are rookies. They’ll probably end up destroying more evidence than they uncover.”
Dana resisted the urge to reach out and grab Templeton hard by his throat. This was just getting tedious now. She needed to get the fuck out of there. “Nope, can’t do it, Gary,” she said, shaking her head emphatically to underscore the words. “Not tonight, anyway. I’m too fucking exhausted, and I really
need to go home and sleep. Tomorrow morning I’ll get back to work on finding out who might’ve attached the photograph of my brother to Christian Manhoff’s body, but this is your jurisdiction, anyway. There’s no call for federal involvement that I can see. Give me a call if you find something that changes that.”
Templeton rolled his neck forward on his broad shoulders, looking like a man who’d already been beaten. Dana knew the feeling all too well for herself. “Gotcha,” he said. “It’s just that misery loves company, ya know? Anyway, go on home and get some rest. I’ll give you a call if I have any more questions for you, but I doubt I will. I’m pretty sure I’ve got everything I need from you.”
Dana thanked him and knelt down, pretending to tie her shoe. Lifting up her stare, she watched the Cleveland cop’s eyes. When Templeton finally looked away, she reached out quickly and plucked the gold earring off the ground next to his foot before tucking it into her pocket and rising quickly to her feet, practically running to her Protégé.
Thankfully, Templeton cleared out a path for her once she’d started up her car, waving his arms in irritation and signaling for the squad cars and ambulances to get the hell out of her way.
Dana didn’t make eye contact with the scores of police officers processing the scene as she left. Nevertheless, she could feel their curious stares burning into both sides of her face as she maneuvered the Protégé out of the parking lot.
Hell, she could practically hear the thoughts swirling around inside their brains:
There goes that crazy Dana Whitestone chick again. How is it that she’s always involved in this kind of weird shit, anyway?
Dana shook herself and tried to reason herself out of her paranoia but it didn’t work. She was convinced that everybody knew what had happened to her tonight. Still, she was much too numb to think straight at the moment. Much too traumatized to process the horrific reality of what she’d just gone through. And the fact that Templeton had barely even questioned her story only made her feel that much worse. Then again, lying was something she’d needed to do.
Because – much like the woman in the black dress had told her – Dana wanted the other woman for herself.
CHAPTER 39
Two days after I’d provided Special Agent Dana Whitestone of the Federal Bureau of Investigation with her very rude and extremely long-overdue wake-up call in order to snap the dumb bitch back to the reality of the lowly station she actually occupied in life, I checked into my room at the Ritz-Carlton in New York City and laid out my clothes for the night on the king-sized Tempurpedic bed featuring six matching pillows.
First there was my red dress – Armani, of course – a perfect replica of the one my mother had worn on the day she’d dragged me inside the butcher’s shop walk-in freezer way back in 1981. At my mother’s insistence, I only wore name brands. She’d taught me very early on that to wear anything else was beneath the Preston name. Trashy. And if there were one thing in this world I was not, it was trashy.
To go along with my pretty red dress, I’ve selected six-inch-high black heels, silver Tiffany jewelry and a matching silver Tiffany clip for my hair. With any luck at all, my genuine mink coat will keep me warm tonight against the frigid winter air that has put the Big Apple into such a deep freeze that it doesn’t seem likely to thaw out until somewhere around mid-April.
My confidence is strong, my color is good and my spirits are high.
I’m ready for this.
I look around my well-appointed room and sigh. The hotel has cost me a pretty penny, indeed – almost six hundred bucks a night. But I consider it money well spent. After all, money marks the main theme of my entire trip to America’s largest and most famous city. And while I’m here in New York City, I figure I might as well see how the other half lives for a little while. Enjoy the good life for a change.
Moving to the window of my twentieth-floor room, I open up the curtains and stare out at the breathtaking New York City skyline, admiring the view. Taking in a deep breath through my nostrils, I let out the air again in a satisfied rush over my teeth. This is it. I’m here. I’d made it. And if I can make it here, I can make it anywhere, right? Isn’t that what the song says?
I lift my wrist and check my Mickey Mouse watch, steeling myself for what will come next. The impending heart of the storm isn’t scheduled to arrive until later on in the night, but New York City has already been blanketed in a light dusting of white – a powdered-sugar topping for the Big Apple. And the weather reports are calling for the worst blizzard since – well – since only the previous February, really. Still, that doesn’t mean that this particular blizzard won’t be just as historic as the last, which in actuality had been two storms rolled into one, with the second one coming hot on the heels of the first.
The First North American Blizzard of 2010 had devastated the United States from California all the way to the Mid-Atlantic region, as well as having caused extensive flooding and landslides in Mexico. In New York, it had been followed quickly by the Second North American Blizzard of 2010, a cataclysmic weather anomaly that had rivaled the Knickerbocker Storm of 1922 and the Great Blizzard of 1888 in both ferocity and duration, ultimately leading to the deaths of dozens of people.
I smile in delicious anticipation, knowing that tonight’s blizzard will lead to the death of at least one person I know of.
An extremely famous person.
The second name on my special little list.
Humming softly beneath my breath, I continue to survey the wintry landscape, trying my best to get a feel for the lay of the land. Once again – just as had been the case with Dinah Leach down in Atlanta – Mother Nature will act as my accomplice tonight. Once again, she’s a natural fit for the job. And once again, law-enforcement officials and emergency responders will be stretched far too thin to stop me. My mother has planned this shit out perfectly.
And once again – as everyone will soon find out – I’ll show the world exactly who’s in charge here.
***
Penelope Hargrave had been born into a world of wealth, and tonight she’d die in a world of wealth.
I narrow my eyes in disgust as I watch the socialite daughter of the most famous real-estate developer in all of New York City exit her long black limousine across the street outside one of the city’s hippest nightclubs. Throngs of her fans rush immediately forward and shout out her name as two heavily muscled bouncers escort her past the velvet ropes lining both sides of the sidewalk, shouldering back the crowd and paparazzi as they go.
Huddled in the doorway of a shuttered convenience store forty-five yards away, I train my powerful Nikon binoculars on Penelope Hargrave’s beautiful face and bring the image into sharp focus. A sharp stab of irritation slices through my chest as she disappears into The Plaza.
What the hell’s wrong with this country? I wonder. Doesn’t anyone have anything better to obsess over than people who were famous for no reason at all? And with the economy stuck in the toilet the way it had been for these past five years now, doesn’t it annoy people to know that this whore actually gets paid to get her groove on, actually receives money for partying?
Apparently not.
Chalk another one up for never being able to underestimate the tastes of the American public.
Still, the club’s owners clearly know that Penelope Hargrave’s mere presence boosts the profile of their establishment, so they’re willing to part with some serious coin in order to get her to show up. Fifty grand for each appearance, according to a report I’d read recently on TMZ.com. Hell, Penelope Hargrave didn’t even have to dance if she didn’t want to. All she needed to do was sit there in the club with that stupid, doe-eyed expression on her face and drink the thousand-bottles sent to her table gratis all night long. Maybe giggle every once in a while with her vacuous hangers-on while she basked in the warm light of a fame she hadn’t done a goddamn thing to deserve.
I shake my head some more and fight back a wave of anger in my chest, remembering the
extremely troubling scene to which I’d been subjected just a few hours earlier. Despite my very best efforts, despite how beautiful I was, I hadn’t been able to gain access to the exclusive club myself, had instead been turned away cold.
The embarrassing brush-off had wounded my pride, of course – had wounded it a lot, as a matter of fact – but I’d managed to resist the urge to pull out my trusty knife and slit the doorman’s stupid throat right then and there on the snow-covered sidewalk. My mother would have been very upset with me if I’d deviated from the plan at this late stage of the game, and it was never a good idea to upset my mother.
Experience had taught me that much.
Plan B wasn’t half bad, either, though. Not too shabby for a backup plan of attack, if I did say so myself. And that was exactly what I had prepared for Penelope Hargrave tonight, wasn’t it?
Goddamn right, it was.
A plan of attack.
***
After having been denied regular entrance to the club, I’d been forced to wait outside most of the night to make my move. At around midnight or so, however, my opportunity finally presented itself just as the weather conditions really started getting bad, snow-blind conditions taking the city hard by the throat and strangling hard.
Just as I’d known they would all along.
My big moment finally comes when Penelope Hargrave’s limo driver ducks out of his vehicle half a block away from the fancy nightclub in order to suck down a quick cigarette in the frigid winter air. Carefully navigating my way across the frozen sidewalk in my six-inch heels, I wrap my beautiful mink coat even tighter around my shivering body and approach the man with a wide smile etched onto my beautiful face.
“Hey there!” I say cheerfully to the driver. “How’s it goin’ tonight?”
The limo driver looks up from his cigarette and cocks his head slightly to one side in an effort to block out the gale-force winds that are whipping through the city. He lifts his free hand and cups his left ear. “What’s that?”