“I’m sorry about your sister,” Sadie said. “I’m calling from Seattle. There’ve been a few girls killed here. I’m trying to see if there’s a connection. If you don’t mind me asking, did your sister die from knife wounds?”
“Yeah. They said she was stabbed over twenty times.” She dragged again on her cigarette and then coughed violently. “Bastard was never caught. I’ve been following the newspapers all over. Every major city has prostitutes getting killed. I know they’re not all connected, but it feels like nobody is ever caught.”
“It’s a dangerous business.” Sadie knew it was impossible that all murders in the sex trade were related. It was a hazardous occupation. “When I searched your local papers it said the bodies were found dumped in a park just outside town, but it didn’t say if they were killed there.”
“I imagine they kept it out of the papers so they didn’t scare off tourists, but they figure the girls were all killed in the same swanky hotel downtown.”
Sadie’s blood ran cold. She took down the woman’s name and promised to call her back if she learned anything. Then she politely thanked her and ended the call.
She dialed Detective Petrovich. When he answered the call, Sadie blurted, “Owen Sorkin owns a rental house in Albuquerque. He bought it around the time those three prostitutes were killed there.”
“And you now think he’s a serial killer because he went to New Mexico in 2010?” Petrovich sounded even more tired than usual.
“Well, he doesn’t look like a killer.” And sure as hell doesn’t make love like one.
“I got your message earlier. He owns the house on Halladay Street, and you think he’s connected to these murders because a ghost that showed up at that house also appeared at the hotel? That’s a stretch even for you.”
“I know.” Sadie pursed her lips. “I’m probably just jumping to conclusions.”
“I took statements from both of you in that parking lot. When the first finger showed up on your windshield he was with you, right?”
“That’s right. We were at dinner.” Sadie felt momentarily relieved. “But he came later. He could’ve followed me and left the finger on my car before coming to the restaurant.” But that sounded silly when Sadie thought about how sick Owen looked at the sight of the bagged finger.
“Of course we ran a check on him, but no red flags came up. Looks like a stand-up guy, but I’ll look into him further.”
“This thing has me jumping at my own shadow.”
“So when did this guy buy the house on Halladay?”
“A few months ago.”
“So the neighbor finally found someone to take it off his hands? Good for him.”
“The neighbor?” Sadie frowned.
“Well, yeah. Roy Huett lives in the blue house right next door. Della Prior left the house to Huett in her will.” Someone else began talking to Petrovich in the background. “I gotta go,” he told Sadie.
When she got off the phone, Sadie felt like her head was overloaded. There were just too many possibilities concerning Halladay Street, and she wished she could speak directly to ghost Marlene and pepper her with questions about what the hell was going on.
Sadie decided to dress and go for a jog to clear her head. However, when she returned home after a two-mile romp around the neighborhood, she found she was only sweaty. She’d had no epiphany about how to solve any of her problems. The only thing she did know was that she shouldn’t have slept with Owen.
“Nothing good ever comes from sleeping with a guy you hardly know when your life is already in the toilet,” she grumbled to herself.
She stripped in her bedroom and then headed toward the shower. She almost stepped on Hairy, who’d sprawled out on his side in the hallway. The bunny blinked up at her.
“Don’t say it,” Sadie told the rabbit. “Your species isn’t exactly known for sexual control either.”
She walked into the bathroom and the room began to tilt and sway. Sadie clutched the sink to steady herself and then slowly lowered herself to sit on the edge of the tub and lowered her head between her knees.
“That’s it, I need to make an appointment with a doctor,” she mumbled to herself.
Once she was certain that she wouldn’t faint, Sadie climbed into an icy shower. Afterward she just felt tired, instead of rejuvenated. Maybe she was getting the flu. She needed to rest. It was still too early to call any of her friends anyway, so she climbed back into bed with a good book. Her eyes grew heavy after a few pages and she drifted off.
***
Sadie woke to the sound of a female voice in the room with her. She looked around but didn’t see anyone. It must’ve been a dream. But she’d been dreaming about fighting with Zack. She definitely didn’t want to return to that dream. The light was streaming in through her window blinds. Sadie slid back under the covers and rolled over to look at the clock. It was eleven thirty in the morning, but she was still exhausted. She felt like she could sleep another few hours but didn’t want to return to dreams where Zack judged her.
The phone rang down the hall in her office and Sadie threw back the covers and ran to answer it. The call had already gone to voice mail by the time she got there. When she tried to retrieve the message she had to surf through half a dozen messages left from a couple sleazy reporters wanting to interview her regarding the online video.
Finally she reached the last message. It was from a soft-spoken woman requesting that she call her back regarding a suicide clean.
“Yes!”
Sadie punched the air excitedly because it was work. Honest work. And because it was a suicide it meant there’d be no ghosts to deal with. She felt bad for the client’s pain, of course, but today Sadie would gladly take on the cleanup of a self-inflicted gunshot wound just to feel like she’d accomplished something.
Her voice was shaky with sleep and Sadie decided a cup of coffee was in order before calling the client back. While she listened to her coffeemaker hiss and belch she hummed softly to herself. When she’d filled her largest mug, Sadie turned away from the counter and came face-to-face with Marlene, the ghost in the brown uniform.
Sadie screamed and jumped back, sloshing hot coffee over her fingers.
“You’re running out of time.” Her faraway voice echoed in the kitchen. The apparition looked around the room with anxious eyes.
Sadie placed a hand to her thumping heart and took a deep breath.
“Marlene, I need your help. Could you be more specific?” Sadie said. “Who are you trying to warn me about? There is only so much guessing a ghost whisperer like myself can handle before going crazy.”
Marlene pointed a finger at Sadie.
“If you don’t stop him, you’ll be on this side with me before long.” Marlene was already fading, but still she looked frantically around the room.
Sadie had goose bumps.
“Stop who?” Sadie demanded. “Tell me his name!”
“I can’t. He might hear me.” Marlene wrung her hands nervously.
“Is it Owen Sorkin?” Sadie demanded.
“Your friends can help you find the answer. . . . He’s weakening you . . . ,” came her voice, even more distant now. “That’s why you faint. You’re losing your powers.”
As if just talking about her recent propensity to lose consciousness could cause it, Sadie felt woozy again. She clutched the counter for support and closed her eyes. When she regained her equilibrium she opened them and Marlene was gone.
It took Sadie two more cups of coffee and a piece of dry toast to calm herself. She called Maeva and told her about the warning.
“This Marlene is appearing to you all over the place,” Maeva said. “She’s gotten used to being in this limbo state. She definitely needs to go over to the other side.”
> “She said that I’m losing my powers. I don’t know if I can help her move on to the other side. I usually help spirits by finding out what’s keeping them here and help them with a last wish or a message for a loved one. In this case, Marlene seems to exist to warn me. I’m her last wish.” Sadie stared into her coffee. “And she seems be too scared to give me the guy’s name. When I asked if the killer was Owen Sorkin she never replied.”
“Owen? Why on earth would you think the owner of Halladay Street would be the prostitute killer?”
“I slept with him last night.”
“That only proves you have no self-control. It certainly doesn’t make him a serial killer,” Maeva said, laughing. “How was it?”
“Amazing. But that’s beside the point. He owns property just outside Albuquerque, and he was probably there buying that property when other prostitutes were killed in hotels and their fingers cut off!” Sadie exclaimed.
“Lots of people go to Albuquerque. It doesn’t make them killers.” She paused. “I think we should get together again with everyone and see if we can provide you with some spiritual protection, or you should come and stay here with me.”
Osbert began to cry in the background and Sadie thought about what Rosemary had said the night before. Maeva didn’t have her powers and couldn’t be dragged into this right now.
Sadie told Maeva she’d talk to her later. When she hung up, she dialed the number of the potential client who’d called earlier.
The woman answered on the first ring. Using her most businesslike yet compassionate voice, Sadie made arrangements to meet her at her daughter’s home in the Bellevue area. The address was only a couple blocks from the suicide she’d cleaned a week ago for Hugh Pacheo. Her hand went to the pendant nestled in her cleavage, and she played distractedly with the worn gold disc warming her chest.
The only drawback was that she didn’t have her company van. She’d have to cram all her supplies into her car and, depending on the scene, it might take a few trips.
Sadie was bolstered by the idea of having a job that didn’t involve a serial killer. Work that would be fulfilling because it served her original purpose in the bio-clean business, which was to prevent families from being traumatized a second time by having to clean up after their loved ones. The spiritual aspect of Scene-2-Clean could take a backseat for once.
Dressed comfortably in jeans and a button-down shirt, Sadie was headed to Bellevue. On her way she dialed Rosemary Thingvold, wanting someone to talk to about Marlene’s unnerving visit. Rosemary reiterated some of what Maeva said.
“She’s moving outside of the hotel and the Halladay Street house to be with you now,” Rosemary said after hearing the story. “She’s adhered to you and is able to follow where you are. That makes her stronger than most spirits I’ve dealt with.”
Not long ago Sadie dealt with the spirit of a friend who could travel beyond her place of death because she’d attached strongly to Sadie.
“In my limited experience, I’ve found that once they can start going here, there, and everywhere to be with a specific person, they’ve been dead a long time,” Sadie said.
“That could be why she sounds so far away when she talks,” Rosemary said. “I don’t like her threats. She’s obviously a danger to you and we should look at doing a circle of protection on your house.”
“I don’t think she’s the danger,” Sadie said. “She’s warning me. According to your video, she tried to pull the demon off me at Halladay Street, remember? And obviously, if she wanted to hurt me in my own house, she could have easily done that while I was asleep. Alone. In my own bed. Alone. Nobody else was with me.” Sadie cleared her throat. “Because I was alone and Zack moved out.”
Rosemary paused. “Okaaay. I got it. You were alone.”
Sadie sighed and then blurted, “I wasn’t alone. I just don’t want word getting out everywhere that I sleep around—”
“I’ve apologized about the video. Your personal life is your own and I would never include that in company business.”
“Even if the person I slept with was Owen Sorkin?”
“Oh. My. Goddess!” Rosemary shrieked. “He has one fine ass. I knew he had the hots for you!” She paused. “I don’t know how wise it is sleeping with a client, but—”
“He’s not my client,” Sadie corrected. But then she remembered that, in fact, she was being paid by Gayla and Owen to help Madam Maeva’s. “Well, not really.”
“Hey, what you do in your personal time is your choice.”
“I need to bounce some information off you and get your feedback.”
Sadie told her everything she knew about Marlene, the fingers, the blogger releasing information about killings in Albuquerque, and Owen’s connection to the New Mexico area.
“Are you asking if I believe Owen Sorkin is a serial killer?” Rosemary asked.
“I just gave you a slew of facts and want your gut reaction.”
“Well, my gut says that there are too many points connecting Halladay House to those killings. It could all be coincidence, or it could be that the connecting factor isn’t Owen, but you,” Rosemary pointed out. “This ghost, Marlene, might be following you around . . . following you to Halladay Street and to the Hotel Pacifica. We need to get together with this spirit and find out what your connection is.”
On one hand Sadie really did not want to summon the eerie ghost of Marlene, but on the other, she knew that might be the only way to get the answers she needed.
She was almost in Bellevue now so she told Rosemary she had to go and agreed that they could talk again later to discuss the idea of making contact with Marlene and then putting a circle of protection on Sadie’s house and, perhaps, on her entire life.
She met her client promptly at one o’clock at the tidy town house on Bellefield Park Lane. The woman was a no-nonsense lady with dark skin who carried an extra twenty pounds effortlessly around her middle, but her shoulders hung heavy with the weight of grief. She asked Sadie into the town house and made tea. Although Sadie cringed, she sipped the black hot liquid politely. Almost as bad as the tea was the distinct coppery smell of blood that permeated the small house.
Sadie let the woman tell her story in her own time. She talked about the weather and appeared oblivious to the smell of blood. Halfway through her second cup of tea she began softly speaking about the beautiful young woman who was her daughter. She explained to Sadie that her daughter’s cancer had been in remission for years, but recently they’d discovered it had returned and was inoperable. They’d taken a trip to Hawaii and the night they got back the daughter had been exhausted. She thanked her mom for the trip and told her she loved her. Once she’d left her daughter alone, the young woman had gone into her bathroom and used a gun to remove cancer’s own deadline.
“She left a note saying she couldn’t stand the thought of me sitting by her bedside in some hospital room for months,” she said.
“I’m so sorry for your loss. I went through a similar situation with my own brother. He didn’t have cancer, but he was troubled and took his life in the same way,” Sadie replied.
Their eyes met across the table and held in mutual grief. Sadie took out a pamphlet from her purse and gave it to the woman.
“This is a great support group for families affected by suicide,” Sadie told her. “They were a big help to me.”
The client thanked her and then slid a key across the Formica table to Sadie.
“I’ll leave you to do what you need to do. Call me when you’re finished up here.”
Sadie promised she would. Then Sadie waited until after her client was gone before she went to her car, got her hazmat gear and camera, and returned to the house to take pictures of the scene for her records. Before she even opened the door to the en suite bathroom, Sadie knew the
horrific scene that waited for her. She took a deep breath, steeled herself, and opened the door.
The bathroom was an explosion of red that had dried in long streaks and drips down the walls, cabinetry, and mirror. Sadie snapped pictures matter-of-factly. It was exactly what she expected and she could finish the job in eight to ten hours.
She’d brought a number of bins and supplies with her from home, so she carried in what she had. She then locked up the tidy townhome and headed to her storage unit, where she kept additional supplies. Within half an hour, Sadie had loaded up her vehicle and was on the road back to Bellevue.
She was only a couple blocks away when Petrovich passed by her in his unmarked car. Sadie watched curiously as the detective turned onto 112th Avenue. This was the same street on which she’d cleaned up the garage for Hugh Pacheo. Curious, Sadie followed Petrovich down the road and was shocked to see him stop in front of the same house. She was even more stunned that the garage she’d cleaned was covered in crime-scene tape.
A feeling of dread filled her stomach as she pulled to the curb behind Petrovich and hopped out to approach the detective.
“What’s up?” Sadie called to him.
Petrovich approached Sadie with his eyebrows raised in question. “What’s up with you? What are you doing here?” he asked her.
“I’m working a suicide clean a block away and was returning with supplies when I saw you pull up to Mr. Pacheo’s place.”
“Whose?” His eyes darkened as he closed the gap between them. “You know who lives here?”
“Well, sure.” Sadie swallowed nervously. “I was hired to do a suicide cleanup just a few days ago.” Sadie’s fingers went automatically to the necklace around her throat.
“Who hired you?” Petrovich reached out and clamped a hand on Sadie’s wrist.
“Hugh Pacheo,” Sadie said, yanking her arm out of his grip. “I thought it was clear, Dean. There was no tape across the place. Fluids from a hanging in the garage. It looked routine to me.”
Dean Petrovich’s eyes had dark circles under them and he wearily rubbed the stubble on his chin. He looked pained.
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