by Jamie Hill
Stone shrugged. "Who says they have it done? Maybe they do each other. A box of color in the store costs, what, five bucks?"
"More like ten," Mel said, "but it would have scared me if you knew that."
Nate pressed on. "The Juicy Fruit gal said she left Linda the other day when she went to have her hair done."
"That's right." Mel nodded. "I don't know. It might be a connection."
"It is a connection," Nate insisted. "Mel, we need to talk to Shelia and Juicy Fruit again. Find out where they have their hair done."
Mel smiled. "Her name is Juicy, not Juicy Fruit."
Nate scowled. "That's just wrong."
She laughed. "We won't find them until one at the earliest. But yeah, we can go ask."
Marshall studied the map. "There are a few low rent salons in the neighborhood. Some of those places might not charge a working girl too much."
Nate raised his brows. "Or, one of them might accept a different type of payment from a working girl."
"There is that," Marshall agreed. "Why don't I get a jump on this thing? Track down some of the salons and check out the personnel."
"I'll get Becker to help you," Stone said.
Marshall groaned. "Not Perky Barbie. Why don't you help me, Henry?"
Stone smiled. "Because I need to go strike the fear of God into a couple of CSI investigators. Find out where the devil our report is."
Nate grinned. "Go get 'em, Tiger. Send Barbie in on your way out. She's the perfect helper for Marshall here."
"Thanks." Brady rolled his eyes, but Nate could tell he wasn't really unhappy. He seemed the type of person who could get along with anyone. That's why Nate wanted him working with Becker. It leaves Mel all to me.
He watched her leaning over the table examining a photo, and had to fight an urge to move in from behind and drape his body over hers. He'd start kissing the nape of her neck and work his way down.
Later. Right now, they were close to making a breakthrough. So close he could almost taste it.
* * * *
Nate drove when they went back to Oldtown that afternoon. He parked in the same spot they had before, and he led the way as they walked to where they last spotted Sheila.
"Slow down." Mel struggled to keep up with him.
He tossed a glance over his shoulder but kept moving. "This is it, Mel. I know it is."
"Don't get your hopes up."
The remark stopped him in his tracks. "Hopes? These aren't 'hopes' Mel. This isn't some little kid wishing the ice cream truck would be on the corner when we get there. This is life and death stuff here."
She touched his arm. "I know that. Believe me, after this morning, I do know that. Take it easy, sweetie. You get so worked up."
He allowed the grin that turned up the corners of his mouth. "You ain't seen nothing yet. This is it, baby. This is what we do. Now come on. Keep up or get out of the way."
She resumed walking before he did, and glanced over her shoulder. "I'll be telling you that later."
Nate chuckled and hurried after her. They walked a couple of blocks before they ran into anyone, and then it was one of the younger girls they'd seen briefly on Friday. She tried to take off before they reached her, but Nate called, "Wait. We're looking for Sheila or Juicy. Any idea where they are?"
The woman stopped and looked back. "I seen Skinny Sheila about an hour ago. Left with some dude in a light blue Prius. Ain't seen Juicy yet today."
Nate nodded, pleased that she'd noticed they type of car Sheila'd gotten into. Their warnings on Friday might have had more impact than he realized. "Thanks. Be careful out here."
She waved over her shoulder and scurried away.
He turned to look at Mel. "She's been gone for an hour. How long do we wait?"
"Let's walk some more. We might find Juicy, or Sheila might get back. An hour's a long time for most of the folks around here, unless she found herself a big spender."
Nate raised his brows. "In a blue Prius? I doubt it."
They walked for another block and when they turned the corner, Sheila was standing in her usual spot.
"Hey!" Mel called to her.
"Goldielocks! Howzit?"
Mel shook her head. "Been better, Shelia. We lost another one last night. This one was a waitress at Daily Joe."
The woman's eyes widened. "Not jus' hoes? Well I'll be. A waitress you say."
Nate stepped up. "Shelia, we need to ask you something. We noticed that all the victims had bleached or colored hair. You and Juicy do, too. Where do you have your hair done?"
She frowned. "That don't matter to you all."
"It could matter," Nate pressed her. "If you all used the same place."
"Doubt that." She waved a hand.
"Sheila," Mel said softly. "Please let us decide. Would you tell us who does your hair?"
"He won't be likin' that."
"Why not?" Nate snapped. "Most stylists would want word of mouth business."
"Mister Tony not like most sty-uh-lists. He run things a little different-like."
"Tony," Nate repeated. "Do you know his last name? Where does he work?"
Sheila clammed up and glared at them.
Mel touched her arm. "You're worried if you tell us then this Tony won't do your hair anymore. Did you have a special deal worked out with him? Exchange service for service, so to speak?"
"We're not interested in that," Nate assured her. "We're simply looking for a connection between the victims. We want to get this guy, Sheila. None of you are safe until we do."
Her hard exterior cracked and Shelia's shoulders sagged. "He be workin' for the beauty college two blocks over. 'Webb's School of Beauty' they call it."
"Is he Webb?" Nate asked.
"Oh, no! Webb the owna. He hab schools all ober da place. Tony be one of da teachers. He do hair after class be ober."
"And he has a lot of working girls for clients?" Mel asked. "You exchange your services for his?"
Shelia nodded. "Haircuts cost a quickie. Bleach and color go for liddle bit mo'."
Mel stepped closer to her. "I know this is personal, but can you give me a few details? What might he expect in exchange for a dye job?"
The woman screwed up her face. "He likes us to dress up in costumes."
Nate's heart nearly beat through his chest. "Like cheerleader uniforms?"
"Sumtimes. Udder times French Maid, waitress, bizness woman. Lotso diffr'nt ones."
"That's it." He looked at Mel.
"Maybe," she agreed, the expression on her face indicating she wasn't as sure.
"Maybe hell. I'd bet on it. Let's go. Thank you Sheila." He pulled a twenty from his wallet and pressed it into her hand. "Get yourself something to eat. You're too skinny."
She grinned. "Thankin' ya boss."
He turned for his car and took off, Mel hot on his heels.
"Keep up or get out of the way, huh?" She asked from behind him.
He reached the SUV and turned to face her. "This is something, Mel. I can feel it in my gut. Call Marshall and see what he knows about Tony and the Webb School." He punched a number into his phone and asked the same questions of the FBI analyst.
When he hung up, he saw Mel jotting notes. "Uh huh. Yeah. Sounds good." She ended her call. "Marshall and Becker already checked this place. Owned by a rich dude, name of Burton Webb. Not much info available about him, apparently isn't from this area. But they do have a teacher there by the name of Tony Masters. Mr. Tony has a long but fairly innocuous record of soliciting violations and some minor domestic battery charges."
"Might seem fairly innocuous, but I suspect he's hiding something. What do you say we go find out?"
"I'm with you." Mel smiled at him.
Nate paused long enough to smile back. "I like the sound of that. Now grab your bulletproof vest. We're not taking any chances."
Chapter Six
Mel secured the black vest she'd tossed in the back of Nate's car around her and tightened the straps. It looke
d the same as the one he donned except hers said 'POLICE' in big white letters, and his said 'FBI'. She smiled as she climbed in the front seat.
He got in and snapped his seatbelt into place. "What are you smiling about?"
"I'm not smiling." She buckled her seatbelt and looked straight ahead. "This is just pretty cool and all. Gearing up with you, getting ready to go apprehend a suspect together."
He allowed a small grin but shook his head. "You sound so excited, you'd think we were off to the movies, or somewhere on our second date."
She laughed. "That sounds like fun. This is fun too, in its own way."
Nate gave her one last glance. "Yeah, it is. Okay partner, which way we headed?"
"Take a right at the stoplight."
He drove following her directions, and when they spotted the Webb School he pulled to a stop in front. "Make sure we have some backup on standby. Tell them we'll call if we need them. We don't even know if Tony is working today."
She made the quick call and hurried out to catch up with Nate who'd already reached the door.
He paused and glanced over his shoulder at her. "You ready?"
"Ready." She nodded.
Nate entered the school with Mel right behind him. She looked around the reception area. One young, highly made-up blonde woman sat waiting and a receptionist filed her nails behind a desk. There was an eclectic mix of chairs, a couple of end tables stacked with beauty magazines, and several display racks filled with shampoo products and makeup. Typical salon stuff.
The receptionist appeared young, early twenties if that, with a shockingly bright shade of red hair. Her heavily-made up eyes widened as they entered. "Help you?" she asked.
"Tony Masters?" Nate replied without explanation.
She got to her feet. "He's teaching in the back. I can show you."
Nate held up a hand. "We'll find it. Just point."
She motioned toward the clinic floor where several students in white uniforms worked on customers. "Past the shampoo bowls, on the left."
Nate nodded and walked that way.
Mel hurried to keep up. Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing to watch as the two cops passed through. One short, shaggy-haired man came out of a connected room but froze when he saw them and backed in again. Mel made a mental note. Remember to ask about him later.
Just past the shampoo bowls Mel saw the classroom they were heading for. About a dozen uniformed students worked at tables with mannequin heads, and a lone man walked among them.
He was short, maybe five-five, with thinning brown hair and a potbelly hanging over his belt.
"There's our boy," Nate murmured.
"Charming." She had a couple of other thoughts but kept them to herself. Her father had taught her not to judge a book by its cover, and she tried to remember that.
Nate reached down and unfastened the strap on his holster which kept his gun secure. He caught her eye. "Just in case."
Mel nodded and did the same.
He stepped into the classroom. "Tony Masters?"
The man looked up and when he spotted them, Mel could almost see the beads of sweat appear on his forehead. "Yes?" His voice squeaked. He cleared his throat.
"We need a word with you please. Out here." Nate motioned to the doorway behind him.
"Of course." Masters took his time getting to the front of the room but once he got there, bolted to the other side and out a door that Mel hadn't even noticed.
"Call for backup!" Nate hollered and ran after Masters.
Shit! Mel grabbed the radio mic on her collar and ran after them. "This is Curtis. We're on foot in pursuit of a suspect in the alley behind the Webb Beauty School on Collins Lane."
"Ten-four," the dispatcher replied and put out a call to all units in the vicinity.
Mel reached the end of the alley and rounded the corner. She stopped short. About ten feet in front of her, Masters lay face down on the sidewalk, one of Nate's knees pressed into his back.
"I didn't do anything!" the man cried.
"Sure, most innocent people bolt when the police confront them." Nate answered. He glanced up at Mel. "Back up en route?"
She nodded, still stunned at how easily he'd taken down the perp. She lifted her collar and said, "Suspect in custody just off the alley."
"Ten-four," the dispatcher said again. "One-Bravo-fifteen will be there momentarily."
"Thank you." She released the button on her mic.
Nate stood and dragged Masters up with him. He was reaching for his handcuffs when sirens pierced the air. "I'll let them cuff him. I lose more cuffs that way."
Mel smiled. She waved at the black and white car heading their way down the alley.
Two officers stepped from the car and approached them.
"Cuff this guy and take him in for questioning," Nate directed.
One of the cops pulled a silver set of handcuffs off his belt and secured Masters, then took his arm.
"Where are you taking me?" Masters blubbered. He looked from one uniformed cop to the other. "I didn't do anything, really. I was teaching when these two came busting into my classroom. I think I have a civil suit or something here."
"Shut your yap," one of the officers demanded, and stuck Masters in the back seat of their car.
"Thanks," Mel told them. "We'll be there soon."
Nate interjected, "Actually, can you stick him in a holding cell? We're going to check out his house before we question him."
"No problem." The officers returned to their car and drove off.
Nate wiped some dirt from his slacks. "Well, that could have gone worse."
"Not too shabby," Mel agreed. "We're going to his house?"
He nodded. "I've got his address, figured we could run by real quick and see what we can find. We'll send a team in later, I'd just like to know what we're dealing with before we question him."
"Let's do it." They walked down the alley, never returning to the school, and Mel chuckled. "Bet they're wondering what the hell is going on."
"Let Masters explain it to them." Nate slid into the SUV and punched Master's address into the GPS. "He lives close."
"I'd expect that."
"Have a black and white meet us there, will you?"
"Roger that." She made the call, then settled in and watched the neighborhoods change as Nate drove. They were still in a run-down part of town, but it was residential now. Old houses, some well-kept and some not.
Nate stopped in front of a very shabby residence. The grass was overgrown and there was as much trash in the yard as there was foliage.
"This it?" She almost hated to see the inside.
"Jealousy rears its ugly head." He grinned at her as he got out.
"Yeah, whatever." She rolled her eyes and they looked in the window as they passed by. "I see a cat."
"Great." Nate knocked loudly once, then called, "FBI."
There was no response. He opened the tattered screen door and tried the doorknob. "Locked," he said without much surprise. "Damn, this is going to hurt." He butted a shoulder firmly against the door and the wood splintered. The door swung open.
"Ouch!" Mel made a face. She stepped into the house and made another. The stench overwhelmed her. "Oh God. More than one cat."
"Hope that's just cat we smell," he muttered. He flipped a switch and at least three animals scattered when the light hit them.
Mel glanced around the cluttered room. It appeared normal enough, with a sofa, recliner and a TV. Dirty dishes on the coffee table provided their own aroma. She walked through to the kitchen, where more dishes sat out unattended. She held her nose and pointed to an overflowing litter box in the corner.
"Nice," Nate said, voice thick with sarcasm. He turned and went in the other direction, toward the bedrooms.
Mel followed, again noticing how unremarkable the place looked if it was indeed the home of a killer. One bedroom seemed to be used for an office and storage area. There was a big old computer on the desk, and the bed
was piled high with boxes of one kind or another. She lifted one. "Coffeemaker, empty. DVD player, set of dishes. All empty. Guess he doesn't like to throw things away."
"Hoarder. But with the bed this full, he wasn't using it for much besides storage."
"True that." She headed down the hall pausing only briefly to peer into the small bathroom. Another litter box in another filthy corner. "Not going in there. Gross."
Nate chuckled. "We'll leave that for CSIs. I'm anxious to check out his room."
"There's no place else." Mel looked around. "No basement that I can see."
"Yeah, I noticed." He entered the bigger bedroom at the end of the hall and flipped on the light. The bed was unmade, but it looked like any other bachelor's room might.
A large double closet lined the far wall. Mel opened the first set of doors. Masters’ clothes, some still in dry-cleaner plastic bags, hung neatly inside. She moved to the second set of doors and pulled them open. A red cheerleader's uniform was the first thing she spotted. "Here we go."
Nate stepped up behind her. "Jackpot." He skimmed through about twenty different outfits: nurse, French maid, cowgirl. There was just the one cheerleader. A low shelf held some sex toys, blindfolds and ball-gags. "Kinky son-of-a-bitch."
"Yeah, but…." Mel screwed up her face in thought. "Not that kinky, you know? I'll bet half the couples in Wichita have some of this stuff in their bedroom. I don't see any knives or cutting instruments of any kind."
Nate squatted and studied the items on the shelf for a moment. He glanced up at her. "You got any of this stuff in your arsenal?"
She grinned. "I'll never tell. Not on the second date, anyway. Something else is bugging me. Look at these outfits. They're costumes, like you might buy for Halloween, or at a novelty shop. See how cheaply they're made?" She fingered the cheerleader uniform gently. "This is nothing like our victims were found in. Those were legitimate, old-time uniforms. These are poorly made out of something that looks like gauze."
"I agree. Let's go talk to Prince Charming. We'll send Stone and the CSI team in here. Have them check fingerprints, DNA and do a Luminol test. If anyone was killed here, he couldn't have cleaned it up that well."