For the Right Reasons

by Kara Lennox

  Bree returned Eric’s hand squeeze. “Thanks for the pep talk. I’m better now. And you’re freezing.”

  Now that the adrenaline had worn off, Eric was acutely aware of the cold.

  “Go change your clothes,” Bree said. “I have something to take care of.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  JOE THOUGHT THEIR next step ought to be lunch at the Home Cookin’ Café. “It’s on me,” he announced. “I’ve got an expense account.”

  Bree didn’t feel much like eating, not after seeing—and smelling—a dead body. But nothing much affected men’s appetites. She’d discovered that in med school when some of her fellow students thought nothing of eating a sandwich while dissecting a cadaver. She wasn’t exactly squeamish or she wouldn’t survive in her line of work. But she still couldn’t summon much of an appetite.

  Ian and Niko—who had quickly allied himself with the Project Justice group—joined them. They all crowded into an extra-wide booth, but Bree still found herself squeezed rather cozily between Eric and Joe. The testosterone level at their table was running high. The men ordered chicken-fried steak, barbecued ribs, meat loaf and half-pound burgers. When Bree asked for only a bowl of chicken noodle soup, they thought she was kidding.

  Apparently Joe couldn’t resist ribbing her. “I hope you’re not one of those women who can’t eat in front of anyone. My last girlfriend was like that. At a restaurant she would order a salad and nibble on the lettuce. Then when she got home, she would pig out on potato chips and ice cream. She thought I didn’t know.”

  The other guys laughed—all except Eric. “Hey, c’mon. She just saw her friend’s remains. Cut her some slack.”

  Bree shot Eric a quick, grateful smile, and he squeezed her hand under the table.

  The rest of the guys sobered immediately. “Sorry, Bree,” Joe said. “You’ve been working so closely with us on this case, I forgot for a minute you weren’t one of us.”

  “Yeah, you know how it is with cops,” Ian added. “They work pretty hard at detaching themselves from the more gruesome aspects of the job.”

  “Thank you for worrying about my delicate sensibilities, but I’m not squeamish. I’m just...sad. Not only did some jerk snuff out a young life, but he pretty much killed my best chance to get Kelly out of prison. Please, don’t censor yourselves on my account. I hope everyone will be candid with me.”

  They talked strategies while sipping on drinks and waiting for their food. Bree nursed her usual black coffee.

  Joe stepped away from the booth to take a call. He came back a few minutes later, smiling. “Daniel has a contact at the Hollings County Sheriff’s Department. He thinks it won’t be any trouble getting the physical evidence from that case transferred to our lab. It’s colder than a witch’s—”

  Eric cleared his throat.

  “—um, a witch’s nose,” Joe finished. “They’ll probably be grateful for anyone to take a fresh look at it.”

  “The case is, what, eight years old?” Bree said. “DNA testing has progressed since then. If there’s enough of the biological material to resample and test again, you might get more detailed information.”

  “If it’s possible, Beth can do it,” Joe said.

  “With that in mind, I have a present for you.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a plastic bag and an old envelope. Each of them contained a cigarette butt.

  Joe looked at her impromptu evidence collection bags, then back at her.

  “The one in the baggie came from Sheriff Bobby DeVille. The other was dropped by D.A. Sam Needles.”

  “Needles? You think he’s a suspect?” Eric asked.

  “He’s worked awfully long and hard to thwart my efforts to get at the truth. Plus, he and the sheriff were together the night Philomene disappeared. I figure it couldn’t hurt to have it, right?”

  Joe accepted her offering but looked skeptical.

  “Look, I know the evidence would never stand up in court, but I figure they might come in handy.”

  “If we get a viable sample from Hollings County, we can compare them anyway. It’s a long shot.” Joe pulled a Sharpie from his pocket and labeled the two bits of evidence.

  At least no one had laughed at her playing detective. “I’ll have a third sample for you in a minute or two.” She’d spotted Jerrod Crowley in a booth by himself, eating a hamburger.

  “What about Dr. Gentry?” Eric asked. “He was with Needles and DeVille that night.”

  “He’ll be in the system,” Kinkaid informed them. “All MEs have their DNA on record because they handle so much evidence. We might as well compare his DNA, too.”

  “I’m going to formally request to review the evidence in the other four cases,” Eric said. “Since I’m now on Ralston’s legal team, and those murders are believed to be linked to the crime for which he was convicted, Needles ought to comply.”

  “If the evidence hasn’t been ‘lost.’” Bree sighed glumly. Still, by the time the meal was over, she felt a little better. They weren’t defeated, not yet. Kelly still had a shot at freedom, though at this point it was more like a shot in the dark.

  As promised, Joe picked up the check, and Bree covertly delivered to him a plastic straw plucked from a cup on Jerrod’s empty table.

  Molly, the hostess, pulled Bree and Eric aside. “Is it true?” she asked breathlessly. “They found a body, and it’s Philomene’s?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Bree said. “I mean, the coroner will have to confirm her identity, but I feel pretty certain it’s her. I’m so sorry.”

  Molly’s eyes filled with tears. “I knew Jerrod was no good. I told her a million times he was just a lowlife freeloader. I mean, he stole money from her. What kind of boyfriend does that?”

  “So you two were close friends?”

  “Pretty close. I mean, we go to—went to—the same church. Sang in the choir together.”

  That surprised Bree. She hadn’t pictured Philomene as the churchgoing, choir-singing type, though she wasn’t sure why. “We talked sometimes,” Molly continued. “She didn’t have any family close by, and I don’t think she liked any of those snooty Realtors she worked for. I think she was kind of lonely.”

  Bree had gotten that impression, too. She had seemed as if she’d needed someone to confide her secrets to.

  “Do you have any reason to believe Jerrod would want to kill her?”

  “I know she was thinking of breaking up with him. She was going to confront him about the money he stole. Maybe the argument got out of hand.... I don’t know.”

  “How well do you know Jerrod?” Eric asked.

  “Not well. I only met him a couple of times. But it was easy to size him up. Phil was nothing but a mark to him, someone he could use because she was insecure and needy. And I’ll tell you something else. Jerrod Crowley will never get convicted in this town. He’s the D.A.’s nephew.”

  Oh, great! Even if DeVille did a competent job investigating the murder, would Needles prosecute it? Or would he find some way to let his relative off the hook?

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if Needles helped Jerrod cover up the murder.”

  Eric raised his eyebrows.

  Molly shrugged. “He’s corrupt. Everyone knows that. If you’re his friend, you can do anything in this county and he’ll somehow make it go away.”

  “Is the sheriff part of that club?” Eric asked.

  Molly thought about it. “I think he’s got a conscience, at least. If you want to catch Phil’s killer, you better get the FBI involved. I’m just sayin’.” She stepped away to greet a customer.

  Eric and Bree looked at each other.

  “If it’s Jerrod,” Bree said, “then it’s probably unrelated to Philomene recanting her testimony. And we really have nothing.”

  “But if it’s
him, we need to know.” Eric looked at his watch. “I have an appointment with Dr. Gentry in a few minutes. Want to come?”

  “Oh—when did that happen?”

  “I called him a few minutes ago and asked if I could come in today and chat about the autopsies from those old cases. Maybe something will catch my eye. You don’t have to come.”

  “Of course I’ll come. You’re a lawyer. I’m a doctor. Which one of us do you think has the stronger stomach?”

  “But you didn’t eat—”

  “I’m upset, okay? Anyway, I’ve seen the photos before.”

  “Oh.” He sounded disappointed—probably because he thought he was covering new territory.

  “Believe me, over the last few years I turned over every stone I could get my hands on. But I’m willing to look again. You never know when something will jump out at you.”

  * * *

  ERIC WASN’T AS blasé about seeing dead bodies—or pictures of them—as he pretended. He did it because he had to. But Bree was right—law school hadn’t exactly prepared him for in-depth discussions of hyoid bone fractures and petechial hemorrhages.

  But Dr. Gentry was patient. He was good at explaining what was in the gruesome photos in terms a nonmedical professional could understand—he probably rocked when it came to testifying in court.

  “This is the last victim before Philomene was attacked,” Gentry said, placing a new photo in front of Eric. They were in the coroner’s office, which was different than any physician’s office Eric had ever seen. Antique anatomy charts decorated his walls, and one bookshelf was devoted to archeological artifacts—Egyptian scarabs, a mummy’s finger and the skull of a prehistoric hominid of some kind. Eric supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that the good doctor would be interested in body parts and grave goods from the past, but it seemed kind of creepy.

  Eric placed his attention on the photo, which was of a young woman, naked, laid out on an autopsy table. Each set of photos started like this—the victim intact. If he squinted, he could convince himself she was merely sleeping, though the bruises around her throat were a giveaway.

  “Like the others, Patrice Baxter was raped, then strangled with an item of her own clothing—in this case, her brassiere. Like the others, an item of her jewelry was taken. You can see here the bruising on the back of her neck. The individual links of the chain made a pattern, so it was pulled off postmortem. Her mother said she was missing a silver chain, if I remember. Like the others, there was no DNA recovered.”

  “How were the bodies found?” Eric asked. “Were they hidden? Posed?”

  “In all four cases, the bodies were found in their beds. They were redressed in their nightclothes and posed on their backs, arms folded over their chests, a pillow under their heads, blankets pulled up over their heads.”

  Here was something he hadn’t heard before. “Like a shroud?”

  The doctor seemed pleased Eric had caught on. “Yes. They were posed as if ready for burial.”

  An image flashed in Eric’s mind. Philomene had been resting on her back, her arms folded across her chest and duct-taped.

  “Is this something you’ve seen before?”

  “No. It’s very distinctive. There’s no doubt in anyone’s mind that the last three murders were committed by the same person.”

  “And what makes everyone so sure Philomene’s rape was part of this pattern?”

  “There were a few similarities. She was a single woman who lived alone. Her attacker came through a window late at night when she was asleep. He didn’t have intercourse with her, but he violated her in...other ways. And he wore some kind of cap so he wouldn’t shed hair—the sort of care the serial killer must have taken with his victims, given the lack of DNA. We think he would have killed her if a neighbor hadn’t heard her screaming and banged on the door. But the kicker is, he grabbed her necklace just before he fled. But there’s really no way to know for sure because he didn’t kill her. Frankly, it strikes me as a little careless that he chose a victim whose neighbors were home. The other women were much more isolated.”

  “And the other murder, the one in Hollings County—why is that one ruled out?”

  “At first it appeared to fit the pattern. The woman was single, living alone. She was raped late at night and strangled with a ligature, and she was found in her bed. But there the resemblance ends. The victim wasn’t redressed. She wasn’t posed. There’s no indication the perpetrator took jewelry.”

  “And he left DNA.”

  “Right. Not as fastidious or careful as our serial killer. Plus, the crime occurred four years before any of the other ones. Our guy was pretty consistent—killing one victim per year. Oh, another thing—our victims were all killed in early December. The Hollings County woman died in May. So all in all, it really doesn’t fit.”

  “They never found a match for the DNA?”

  “Nope. Maybe it was a one-off, and the guy never killed anybody again. Maybe he died. Hard to know.”

  “When will you have results in Philomene’s autopsy?”

  “We’re not even sure it’s her, you know. I’ll start this afternoon. Might have preliminary results tomorrow morning, but obviously, test results will take a while. I’m at the mercy of our lab.”

  Helluva coincidence if it turned out not to be her, in Eric’s opinion. “Any guesses as to cause of death?”

  Gentry shook his head. “There was nothing obvious—I didn’t see any signs of strangulation, no bullet or stab wounds. Might be blunt-force trauma, suffocation, drowning, poison—won’t know until I get in there.”

  “Okay.”

  “Ted,” Bree said, “I really appreciate you being so candid with us. I realize you don’t have to talk to us—and that the sheriff probably won’t be too happy if he knows you’re sharing information with us.”

  Gentry shrugged. “Bobby isn’t too happy with the whole situation. I know he was as surprised as anyone when Philomene actually turned up dead—if it’s really her,” he added quickly. “He thought you were just blowing smoke.”

  “It’s understandable. A homicide like this, regardless of who the victim is, isn’t something any sheriff wants in his jurisdiction.”

  “On the other hand, if he solves it, takes some dangerous predator off the streets, he’s a shoo-in for reelection.”

  Bree smiled. “Good point. I’ll remind him of that if he starts giving me grief. Ted, let me ask you something. How close are the district attorney and Jerrod Crowley?”

  “You mean how far would Sam Needles go to protect his nephew? Not very far. I mean, yeah, Jerrod’s his family and all, and they’re both members of the good-ol’-boy network. But I can’t see Sam protecting a murderer.” He shook his head. “No way. He might look for other suspects, he might do his best to see Jerrod got a fair trial and all that, but he’s not gonna cover it up. You don’t have to worry about that.”

  She nodded. “Good. But I don’t think Jerrod was the doer anyway. I can’t see him being cool or clever enough to hide the body so thoroughly. Or lying about his guilt so convincingly. No, I think the serial killer knew Philomene was gonna change her story, and he shut her up.”

  Gentry stood. “I hope we find out whether you’re right or wrong. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a date with a dead blonde.”

  * * *

  “WHAT DO YOU make of that guy?” Eric asked once they were in the car. “He seemed pretty forthcoming.”

  Bree agreed. “Not like he’s protecting his buddy the sheriff. Hey, would you mind taking me by my place before we head back to Houston? I want to pick up my mail and water my plants.”

  “Sure.”

  Bree gave him directions. After only about half a mile, they turned onto a pleasant shady street lined with large turn-of-the-century homes. This was obviously where Tuckerville’s wealthiest
citizens lived. E.R. doctors must do okay.

  But she didn’t stop on the first block or the second. On the third block he saw several small apartment buildings sandwiched between houses that were still nice, but smaller.

  “It’s the one on the right at the end of this block.”

  He pulled up to the curb right in front of her white stucco two-story building and parked. “Nice. How many units?”

  “Just six. I’ll only be a minute. Or...maybe you’d like to come in?”

  Eric was already halfway out of the car. If someone was stalking her, and she believed they’d tried to break into her building, he didn’t want her entering her apartment alone.

  The property had a driveway with an electronic gate and a sign that said Resident Parking. There was a wall around the building itself and another gate, decorative wrought-iron with a sturdy-looking lock.

  Bree had a key card that opened it. “See the scratches? It looks like someone tried to pick the lock.”

  “Are you sure they weren’t there before?”

  “Well, not positive. But the manager here keeps things immaculate.”

  She let him in and they approached the front door, which she also unlocked. The placed seemed pretty secure.

  “Honestly?” Eric said. “If I wanted to break in to this place, I would try to slip in after someone drove into the parking area. And then I would hide until one of the residents came in, and I would slide in after them, before the door slammed shut. Also, you’d be amazed how many people just let strangers into their secure building. Guy says, ‘I’m here to see Bree.’ Smiles a disarming smile and they just let him right in.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “When I was in law school, I was a part-time process server. I learned all kinds of clever ways to gain access to people’s homes and offices.”

  “If it’s that easy, why do we bother with all the security?” she groused.

  Bree checked her mailbox, which was in the lobby, looking over the thin stack of envelopes before stuffing them into her purse. She threw a grocery store circular into a recycling bin, then headed up the stairs. “Actually, my neighbors are a pretty suspicious lot. They know not to let people in.”