by T. F. Walsh
“What tips?”
“You know what I mean. I need to know your source.”
His eyes climbed to meet hers. “Oh, you do?” He raised an eyebrow.
She scowled. And all he does is smile.
“You know we don’t divulge our sources.” He raised a hand to halt her scathing response. “I won’t. What I will tell you is he has been otherwise occupied and hasn’t been able to get in contact. When I get something, detective, you will.”
Not the answer she wanted to hear. She kicked the couch and continued her path around the living room.
“I have to act as though this is contagious. Everything points to it. Madness. Worse than rabies.” She shuddered, the idea of her own contamination chilling her. “I should contact the CDC, but I want another chance to capture this bastard, first.” And I don’t want to end up a guinea pig. What a dreadful thought.
“I heard you wanted us to follow up on a lead before lunch.” Ryan sat back. “So where are we going?”
Returned to reality by his question, she considered for a moment. With her idea of following up with the Jacobs family thwarted by their departure, she decided a closer look at Jacobs’ body would prove the best course of action. The coroner might still be working on him.
“Coroner’s office.” She paused then grinned. “You get to drive.”
“Goody.” He rolled his eyes and picked up his keys. “To what do I owe this honor?”
She grabbed her purse on the way out. “I had a little car trouble last night.”
• • •
As they traveled the white polished halls to the morgue, Lydia filled Ryan in on the history. “When the new station was built, they included a coroner’s office in the basement. Easy deliveries, close to the labs for evidence analysis. Smaller towns use hospital morgues.”
“Makes sense.” Ryan nodded.
Pleased he actually listened, she grinned. She loved serving on the force in a town small enough that the crime tended toward minor infractions, but large enough to afford some of the better gadgets.
The entrance to the morgue offered nothing more than a largely empty area with a desk to one side. Across from them, a set of swinging doors waited with windows set in the top half. Lydia walked to one and peered in.
“They’re working on him now.” She tapped and waved soberly. “Come on.” She led the way through the door and accepted a smock, gloves, and mask from the assistant.
Jacobs lay naked on his back with the Y–incision already made, flaps of his hairy chest folded to show his chest cavity. His face appeared peaceful, a drastic contrast to his torso.
Ali Hoodam, the coroner, set a rib spreader aside and moved to shake their hands. “You’ll get a copy of my full report, of course. Somehow, though, I knew you’d darken my doorstep.”
“Anything to tell me so far?” She avoided looking into the chest cavity and watched with amusement as Hoodam demonstrated to Ryan how to use cream for the smell.
Setting the jar aside, he stood on the opposite side of the table. “Cause of death is quite obviously the metal rod that pierced his heart through the right ventricle. A piece of a silver picture frame, sent to evidence for fingerprinting.
“Additionally, some other odd things I don’t remember from the man when he was alive. It appears as though his fingernails became very thick.” He held up the left hand. “Over a millimeter.”
“One point three seven millimeters,” the assistant amended, glancing up from a monitor.
“Yes. Usually thick nails darken or yellow. This is from either poor circulation or fungus. As you can see, these are pristine.”
“They seem pointed,” Ryan observed from behind Lydia.
“Yes.” Hoodam extended the index finger. “To get this effect, most people need to use a file. The way the nail is curved, almost rolled into a point, suggests it could be natural, but I’ve seen nothing like it.” His large brown eyes opened wider in amazement.
“You said things,” Lydia prompted.
“Quite right, detective.” He swept a hand over Jacobs’ torso. “You’ve seen him at the precinct picnic at the lake. He barely had three chest hairs.”
“Yeah, Monroe named them last year.” She smiled over her shoulder to Ryan. “Larry, Moe, and Curly.”
He arched an eyebrow at the furry body. “Looks like the Stooges hired a lot of extras for this episode.”
“Doubtless,” Hoodam agreed. “And he shed.” At this, the assistant lifted a large, clear bag holding what looked like the clothes Jacobs wore the night before. Lining the bottom of the bag, brown hair piled an inch thick.
“Anything else?” She swallowed, stomach churning at the sight of all that hair.
“Only this.” The coroner pulled back Jacobs’ lips to reveal pointed and apparently elongated teeth.
“Filed?” she asked, though somehow she suspected not. His teeth had seemed normal yesterday. Jeez, just yesterday.
“No file marks could be found, and dental x–rays are not normal procedure when we know the identity of the body. Do you wish to order one?” At the shake of her head, he grunted. “We’ll know more once we’ve scanned and weighed the internal organs.” He lifted the rib spreader.
“Thanks, doc.” She moved with Ryan to the door where they removed the protective gear. “Keep me posted.”
• • •
Relaying the events to Adams at the diner didn’t take long. Neither did his report of the house.
“It was a mess,” Adams said after their waitress brought their orders. “I almost tripped twice, and I was moving slow. All evidence says he barged through the house. I can see him falling into a broken bit of something.” He bit into his burger. “Hell, broken bits of things were everywhere,” he finished around the mouthful.
“Real elegant.” Lydia tossed napkins in his direction and poked at her salad. She wanted a burger, rare, but the fake ferns set about the tables put her in mind of the night before. So she ordered salad. What a mistake.
Swallowing enough to free one side of his mouth, and blotting his lips, he continued. “Cordoned off the area and took prints. The only whole prints we recovered were from the family. No signs of forced entry.” Finally freeing his mouth, he sipped his cola. “Looks like he did this to himself.”
She mulled this over. From the edge of her vision, she noticed Ryan staring, so she speared a cherry tomato. It exploded in her mouth while she considered their next steps.
“First order of business is still to take down the Butcher.” The tomato rekindled her hunger and she started to eat in earnest. Following her lead, they finished lunch in relative silence.
When she finished, she stared at her water glass. Condensation beaded and trickled down the side. A bit of pulp detached from the lemon wedge on the side and floated, darting on eddies around the ice like a fish.
“Bait.” She looked each man in the eye. “What we did before worked. It brought him into the open. We do it again. This time I’m the bait.”
“No!” both men said at once. Several customers and the waitress glanced in their direction.
“Catching this bastard is my job. I’ll do my job,” she said, her voice calm as she lifted the dessert menu. “I hear their apple pie is very good.”
Chapter 14
“Over the last three months, twenty-two bodies have been attributed to the Butcher,” she called to Ryan through the bathroom door. “Fifteen of those were hookers or college girls cruising the bar scene. The other seven were homeless men. We set Jacobs up as a homeless man in the park.” She paused to apply lipstick.
“And we know how that turned out,” came Ryan’s reply.
Before they had left the diner, they reviewed strategy and layout of the team on rooftops and as other bar hoppers. After lunch, she shopped for an appropriate outfit. Ryan
escorted her into the shops, and apparently enjoyed choosing the skimpiest outfits he could find. With a grin, he had repeatedly asked her to model them. She finally selected something appropriate without his help and headed to the checkout, laughing when he groaned with disappointment.
Once in the apartment, she showered and dressed. All components were black, even the thong she slid into. The black skirt hung two inches below the curve of her rear. A bustier gave her breasts a lift and exposed luscious cleavage, and ended across her midriff showing off her tight abs.
Makeup and hair presented no problem. She leaned over the sink and gave herself a shake to make sure the girls didn’t fall out of their holster. Black knee-high boots completed the look. She had only finishing touches left.
Earrings, cheap and sparkly. Bangle bracelets, cheap, and according to the women in the store, back in style. Finally, a knife in a boot sheath, and a gun in a small handbag. The handbag contained only the gun, making it easy to reach if — no, when — the Butcher attacked.
“All right.” She exited the bathroom. “Let’s go.”
Ryan, who insisted on escorting her, stood ready at the picture window and gazed out over the nightlife of the street.
He looked amazing dressed in a dark blue T-shirt, jeans, and brown boots. Simple enough, but the body they encased made all the difference. Hard muscle rippled under his shirt as he turned.
Oh, God. She didn’t realize she panted until she tried to lick her lips and found her mouth dry.
“Nice outfit.” He motioned for her to pivot, and in the rotation, she gained some composure. That was, until she faced him again.
Only inches from him, she could smell his cologne. Oh, my God. She raised her hands to his chest in an attempt to keep a distance between them. Under her fingertips, his upper body rippled as he reached for her, his hands slipping around the bare skin at her waist, then over the leather covering her ass, and pulled her to him.
“Oh, damn.” She surrendered and circled her arms around his neck, pulling his mouth to hers.
Intoxicated by the scent and taste of him, she executed a spin and pressed him against the living room wall. She ground her body against his, pulling at his shirt so she could rub her hands across his bare chest. Hair tickled her fingertips and she traced a trail to the lip of his jeans and fumbled with his belt.
His hand caressed her body, across the mounds of her breasts, down her flat stomach and to her thigh. She moaned as moisture built between her legs.
Her sight clouded as his finger slipped easily past the thong and into her folds. His other hand scooped a breast from the bustier and his head lowered to the tip. His tongue flicked lightly over the nipple. It hardened. Tilting her head back, another moan escaped.
A knock sounded at the door.
Finally, she got his belt undone and rubbed a hand on the prominent bulge in his jeans before moving to free it.
The knock sounded again. Louder. “Hey! Aren’t you ready yet?” Adams called through the door.
They broke apart, reluctantly. Growls of frustration rumbled in both their throats.
Ryan regained composure to yell, “In a minute.” The thudding on the door silenced, and Ryan gripped her by the arms. In a voice thick with need, he said, “To be continued.”
When he released her, she stood for a moment, stunned. He’d not handled her that way before. She liked it. Then she stepped into the bathroom to straighten her clothes.
Though hard to shake the arousal, she left the bathroom with a clear head. All cop.
• • •
However, her composure nearly fell as she sat next to Ryan in the rented car. Adams drove, and Milton, the head of the city’s sharpshooter division, occupied the front passenger seat. She found the distraction of the man beside her nearly overwhelming. Only by digging her nails behind her ear could she concentrate on discussions of the plan for the evening.
She’d start at one side of the club district and move from bar to bar, appearing more intoxicated as time passed.
“You can act, right?” Adams barbed over his shoulder.
“I act like I like you.” She turned to Ryan. “The idea is for him to come after me. Keep watch on the time. Your only job is to signal me to move on. Other than that, keep your distance. Once he shows, no matter what happens, stay out of it.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, his voice low and husky.
Her fingers twitched slightly, aching to touch him again. She almost missed a look exchanged by the two in the front.
“Problem?”
Milton turned to meet her eye while Adams shook his head. “Are you sure it’s wise to take a civilian on so important a sting?” He grimaced at Ryan. “No offense.”
Ryan smiled. “None taken.”
Lydia sighed. “I need someone on the floor, and he doesn’t give off the cop vibe. He’s signed the waiver. He’s participating.”
Adams pulled the car to the first club, Bottoms Up. She and Ryan got out. With the line wrapped around to the alley, she walked to the large bouncer. The man could be a linebacker.
Flashing the hulk a smile, she ran a hand through her hair, knowing the jiggle it caused to her outfit. That’s all it took. The bouncer offered a sloppy grin and stood aside as if she’d said, “Open sesame.” She took Ryan’s hand and squeezed past into the thudding, smoky atmosphere.
“Nice move,” Ryan shouted into her ear.
“Not a problem.” She released him and waggled her fingers in farewell as she wriggled into the dancing crowd.
After thirty minutes and several dancing partners, another man came behind her, grinding to the rhythm of the music. Even without looking, she sensed it was Ryan. She closed her eyes and leaned into him. He turned her around and the rest of the club faded. They finished the dance, then left the club.
Cool air refreshed her. She strode ahead of him to appear alone, vulnerable. Through the next few clubs, the rhythm seemed the same. After about half an hour, Ryan emerged from the crowd to dance with her and they left, using the crowd to space them apart so they didn’t appear together.
Well after midnight, her frustration started to wear on her. The thumping music that stirred her blood at the start of the night now irritated her. She tried to smile and dance, but she forced it. Convinced anyone watching could tell she’d had enough, she approached a bar at the far side of the room.
Many women danced on the bars in this club. The bartenders encouraged it and rewarded them with free shots. This made them wilder, and many seemed to hold onto the poles more for stability than sensual effect.
Lydia wanted a drink, but knew it would cloud her wits and result in a penalty for drinking on the job. She ordered a diet cola and barely retrieved it before a dancer in a long, white body stocking and high heels kicked it.
“You’re too serious.” Ryan seemed to materialize out of nowhere.
She shrugged. He leaned over as if to shout something in her ear, but instead, he nibbled her lobe. Electricity coursed through the whole side of her body. Not enough to completely arouse her, but enough to energize her again.
“Better?” he asked, winking.
Laughing, she rose to leave. The nibble worked better than a B12 shot. Her mind cleared instantly. They had to go outside. The crowds started to thin, and she needed to get into place for attack. Almost to the door, she glanced over her shoulder. Ryan didn’t follow.
At the bar, White Body Suit had fallen. Into Ryan’s arms! He smiled, setting her on the floor. The voluptuous woman gripped him.
Bitch! Lydia’s breath came quickly. How could he? Who did she think she was?
Lydia’s face grew hot with rage. Pushing aside people, she stormed to the bar. Her vision tunneled to the blonde woman pressed against Ryan.
My man. My man.
She reached them and grabbed
White Body Suit by the hair. In a flash, Ryan caught Lydia by the wrist, so she only managed a slight tug instead of yanking the bimbo to the ground like she wanted. She snarled, releasing the blonde. The woman recognized her peril and clamored to the end of the bar. Lydia smiled. Fear was good.
Still holding on to both of her wrists, Ryan said, “Time to go,” and led her from the club. Once in the fresh air, he pulled her around the edge of the building. “Breathe,” he commanded.
Panting, she stepped toward him. “You’re mine.” She bared her teeth and tried to bite his fantastic face.
“I know.” He met her eyes and stared.
Her heart fluttered like he’d reached inside. Like he touched her soul.
She sensed the attack coming from the alley’s deep shadows before anyone appeared. Ryan’s features set in deadly seriousness, and they turned as one to meet the foe. Bounding out of the darkness, the animal roared as it burst between them, pushing them apart.
It darted across the street and into the alley on the other side. No shots fired. Where the hell was everyone? Sleeping?
She gave chase, reaching into her bag and letting it drop when her hand wrapped around her gun. Behind her, she recognized the sounds of her force organizing a pursuit.
The Butcher raced around the end of the building to the right and through another alley to the left, weaving in and out with ease. She kept pace, pausing only seconds at corners to confirm the direction her quarry fled.
Not again. She would not let him get away again. As they ran, his path appeared to be illuminated in front of her. She didn’t have to listen anymore. She could see the way he went. Left. Right. Over the fence. The scent of stale sweat and dried blood led her through the city.
It seemed as though the chase lasted hours. Exhausted, yet spurred on by anger, she followed relentlessly. He led her to a large concrete wall that she scaled with ease. Landing on the other side, she paused.