The Green-Eyed Doll

by Jerrie Alexander

  “Which is why instead of feeling stranded last night, you managed to get home on your own.”

  “Right. I’ll figure out a way to pay Marty back.”

  “I’m proud of you.” He rose and put his plate in the sink, hating to end their conversation.

  “You are?”

  “I am. And I never lie.” Her eyes widened and then quickly dropped to a skeptical frown. He believed somebody had lied to her more than once. “Leave the dishes, I’ll wash up later.”

  “I should get to work.”

  “You can always come back and wash them tonight.” He was serious, but she laughed. He extended his hand. “I’ll walk you out.”

  “I cooked. You clean,” she said pointedly.

  Matt could’ve told her then and there, he’d never lock the door again if it meant she might be waiting for him. He put out fresh water for the ungrateful, unnamed dog lying under the mesquite tree, and headed to the county morgue while analyzing the tingle in his fingers. Damned if it didn’t happen every time he touched her.

  ****

  Tuesday, Aug 1st, 8:30 a.m.

  Matt radioed Sue before he reached the morgue in San Antonio. The long stretch of interstate surrounded by dry, parched land numbed his brain. “I’ll be out of pocket until after the autopsy.”

  “Let me know when you’re back on call.”

  “You got it.” Matt always checked in with Sue, yet she never failed to remind him to call.

  “Is there anything I can do from this end?”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Drummond insisted on making a visual identification this morning. Doc’s going to try and close her eyes.” Matt’s chest ached for Julia. “After they get back to Curry, you might check on them. See if they need anything.”

  “Hmmph.” Sue huffed out a sound of disbelief. “A sheriff with a heart. That’s a new concept in this county. Anything else?”

  “Yeah. Can you call the florist shops in Curry and Butte Crest. Get me the name and address of anyone who bought African Violets in the past two weeks. Jake needs to find out if Julia Drummond mentioned having a secret admirer to anyone.”

  “Have you learned something?”

  “Too soon to say. I need to know if Julia had a stalker.”

  “I’m on it. Stay in touch.”

  “You got it.”

  Though he wasn’t required to attend, the autopsy was important to Matt. He wasn’t taking any chances with this case. Each individual scrap of evidence would be vital for the prosecution of Julia’s killer.

  Matt signed in and was escorted further back into the building where Mr. and Mrs. Drummond waited with an ME’s assistant. Julia’s mother collapsed into her husband’s arms when the curtain slid back and revealed her daughter’s face. Matt swallowed a couple of times to control the ache in his chest. Dr. Reinhardt had worked a miracle, because through the glass, Julia’s eyes appeared to be closed.

  After helping the Drummonds to their car, Matt followed the assistant to the back of the building where the ME and his team would perform the autopsy. Matt’s shirt clung to him, damp from the heat and humidity. Cold air and a musty, dank smell slammed into him when he entered.

  “Sheriff. Have a seat on the stool and we’ll get started.” Dr. Reinhardt's receding hairline, short legs and perpetual scowl reminded Matt of the detective who'd trained him. One he'd liked and respected. The ME passed him a smock and latex gloves. Even though he wouldn’t touch the body, there were strict protocols to follow.

  The doc’s back had a permanent stoop. Matt wondered if years of bending over the autopsy table had caused it.

  Today was about the business of death. There’d be no small talk, no chitchat. The ME turned on the recorder before he read the deceased’s identification and case ID number out loud. Thus, the forensic investigation into what lead up to and ended Julia Drummond’s life began.

  Matt blocked out his anger and focused on the sound of Reinhardt’s voice. The killer had washed the body, making the ME’s search for biological evidence such as hair, saliva, and semen difficult. A Y-STR analysis would target male DNA, in case some small clue remained.

  Finally, Reinhardt backed away from the table and directed his assistants to complete the last few details. They stripped off their gear and walked in silence to the ME’s office.

  “I was right in my initial assumption.” Dr. Reinhardt closed the door and sat behind his desk. “TOD was last Sunday between ten and midnight. The young woman died...”

  “Julia. She had a name. It was Julia Drummond.” Anger heated, boiled, and scorched his insides. Matt wanted, needed to punch something.

  Dr. Reinhardt paused. “Sit down, Matt. I know her name. You have your method of coping, and I have mine.”

  Matt rubbed his hand across his eyes and sat with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Doc. Go ahead.”

  “COD was asphyxiation by choking, her hyoid bone was crushed. From the purple bruises on her throat, which were evident when we removed the two-inch wide ribbon from her neck, I’d say your killer has strong hands. As you know, choking is not an easy way to kill a person, contrary to the way TV portrays it. Based on the different stages of healing, she was beaten across her back, buttocks, and legs at different intervals. The welts indicate a long thin object. I’ll let you know if we identify what made the marks.”

  “Any idea what caused the abrasions on her wrists and ankles?”

  “My guess is a form of tape. I took scrapings to send to the lab.”

  “I’ll tell her family she was treated with dignity and respect by you and your team.”

  The ME pinched the bridge of his nose. “One last thing, and it’s most disturbing.”

  “Are you saying she was raped? I assumed as much.”

  The doc waved his hand in the air, dismissing the observation. “Based on the bruising on her inner thighs and vaginal tearing, I’d say numerous times. No semen. What troubles me the most—” Dr. Reinhardt hesitated. “The layers of makeup had been applied both pre and post-mortem. Her eyelids were glued open after death.”

  Dr. Reinhardt might as well been speaking in a foreign tongue. A tornado must’ve sucked Matt into its vortex and spit him out into an alien world.

  “Matt?”

  Lost in a void, it took him a second to respond. He repeated Reinhardt’s words. “Julia Drummond was kidnapped, had her face made up, was beaten, and sexually assaulted a number of times. The bastard strangled her to death, which by itself was no easy feat. Then he washed her body, glued her eyes open, and applied more makeup?”

  The ME nodded. “Correct. This behavior is deeply disturbing. My office will be at your disposal, for anything...anytime. You’ll get toxicology and DNA reports. With the backlog at the county lab,” he shrugged, “these tests take time.”

  The air left Matt’s lungs. For a few seconds, he didn’t seem to be able to refill them. “The sick son-of-a-bitch.”

  “I would say so.”

  Matt leveled his gaze on the ME. “I’d like to keep the information about the postmortem glue and makeup from the public.”

  “I’ll brief my staff.” Reinhardt escorted Matt to the exit and shook his hand. “And I’ll personally track each piece of forensic evidence. Nothing will be compromised.”

  Outside, Matt sat in his cruiser lost in thought. The sweltering August heat, the kind that filled his lungs with hot air, soaking his body in sweat, went completely ignored.

  A press conference could make things worse if the killer wanted recognition. But how could he not warn the public, especially women? He radioed Sue to let her know he’d headed back. He wanted to meet with his deputies before he spoke with the local news people. If he handled it right, he could use the media’s eyes and ears to his advantage.

  ****

  Tuesday, August 1st, 5:15 p.m.

  Catherine had rehashed the morning a dozen times by the end of the day. Matt’s early morning kiss warned her. He wanted her. That was surprise enough, but the fire he ignited in her belly sca
red the crap out of her. She wanted him. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. She felt something way past want. Her body needed him. Needed with a passion that was painful. Needed his hands to touch her. Needed his body joined with hers. That knowledge was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.

  She’d grown to dread having sex with Andy. A word, a bad day, cold mashed potatoes—it didn’t take much to make him angry. The first two years of their marriage, his abuse had been verbal. Everything changed after he joined his father’s law firm. He’d become physical. Violent. Afterwards, he’d explain to her how the whole thing was her fault. Without fail, he’d demanded make-up sex. Like that made everything all right. Her hand slipped behind her and rubbed her right kidney, Andy’s favorite place to hit her. A queasy sensation rolled into a knot in her belly. Stop it. He can’t hurt you anymore.

  Matt’s hands were tender. His touch was gentle. He’d lit a fire she thought burned out long ago. Her inner voice pulled her back to reality. He’s a cop. By nature a curious breed. What if he started poking around in her background?

  A noise from behind startled her. Instinctively, she raised her hands to defend herself, and whirled.

  Susan King clapped a hand over her heart and squealed like she’d seen a rattlesnake. “I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s after five. You should’ve already headed home.”

  “No biggie.” Catherine inhaled deeply and commanded her heart to slow. “I was deep into the letter G. I’ll have these files straightened out in a day or two. There’s a lot more paperwork than I would’ve expected.”

  “Lots and lots of forms are associated with death and burials.” Susan sat on the edge of the small desk. “You went all kung-fu when I surprised you. Have you taken classes?”

  “It was a defensive stance. I’ve studied a couple of different martial arts.” She’d told the truth before thinking. Damn. To avoid any questions she grabbed her purse and started out.

  “Good for you. The murder of the Drummond girl makes me wish I knew more about self-defense.” Susan tried a few karate stances out and then laughed at herself. “Go. Get out of here.”

  “See you tomorrow.” The stiffness in Catherine’s shoulders had reached the point of pain. Every muscle ached from bending over the file cabinet drawers.

  A record hundred-and-six-degree day sent the heat outside rolling upward off the paved parking lot in waves. She stopped beside her car. The driver’s side window was down, not cracked the way she’d left it. On the seat lay a small box. She reached in, lifted the top, and removed the beautiful green and yellow silk scarf she’d fallen in love with at the boutique on the square—over two weeks ago.

  She dug out her cell and dialed Matt. Her insides trembled. The urge to run rushed through her.

  “Hey. Catherine.”

  “I need to ask you something and tell me the truth.”

  “I don’t lie. Remember?”

  “Did you truly not send me the African Violets?”

  “I did not. What’s happened?” The pleased-she’d-called tone had left his voice, replaced by the gruff sheriff who’d threatened to arrest her when she’d made that illegal U-turn. “Did you get more flowers?”

  “No. A silk scarf.” She swallowed back the growing fear. If Matt hadn’t given her these gifts...who had?

  “Where are you?”

  “In the parking lot at work.”

  “You have two choices. Go back inside and wait for me or come straight to my office.”

  “The funeral home is closing, and I’m not coming there. Can’t I go home?” Alone, out in the open, she scanned the area, looking in all directions. Her instincts screamed run and hide.

  “No.” His sigh was audible. “My house is closer. If you won’t come here, go straight there. Don’t stop for anyone or anything.”

  She returned his huff of irritation. “Fine. I’ll go to your place.”

  “I’m leaving right now. Stay in the car with the windows rolled up and doors locked.”

  “I can’t—” She wanted to tell him she couldn’t sit anywhere closed up inside her car. Not in this heat.

  Catherine wasted no time getting on the road. Within a few minutes, a sheriff’s cruiser met her. He made a stop-on-a-dime U-turn and pulled up behind her. A glance in the mirror told her the driver wasn’t Matt. He didn’t engage his lights or siren, following until she drove into Matt’s driveway. He stopped, waved as if they were old friends, and then sped away.

  The no-named dog wandered out of the barn around to her side of the car. He plopped down on his butt and stared up at her. He turned his head sideways as if to ask why she didn’t get out.

  “You’ll protect me, won’t you, boy?” Like he understood, he jumped up and wagged his tail. She got out and scratched behind his ears. “I’ll bet you’d like a cool drink, wouldn’t you?” She dumped out his bowl and filled it with fresh water while keeping an eye out for Matt.

  ****

  Tuesday, August 1st, 6:30 p.m.

  Matt’s heart pounded as he sprinted for the car. A face-to-face run-in with a mayor kept him from leaving immediately, and Jake hadn’t stayed with Catherine. His guts tied in knots while he pushed the cruiser faster during the drive home. Here was another woman who needed him. No way would he let her down. Not this time.

  He blew out a sigh of relief at the sight of her standing in his driveway. A gust of wind caught her hair and sent it billowing around her shoulders. She gathered the wildfire in one hand and held it off her face. She’d gotten out of the car and was wandering around with that useless mutt. His relief morphed to anger. Did she think the dog would protect her? Hell, he might lick an intruder to death. She had to be more careful. Matt slammed the cruiser door and stomped toward her. Fear for her safety seared his insides.

  “Hey.” She met him halfway.

  “Dammit. I told you stay in the car.”

  Green fire flew from her eyes. “You ‘told’ me? Nobody tells me what to do. Never again.” She pushed around him and headed for her car.

  “Are you crazy?” Had she yelled “never again” at him? What the hell set her off? Somebody had been super controlling of her in the past, but he wasn’t that person.

  She spun on her heel, marched back to him, and jabbed him in the chest. “No, I’m not. And don’t you dare insinuate I might be.”

  “Wait.” He blew out a breath. “I may have overreacted. A little.”

  “Ya think?”

  She’d slammed her hands on her hips, not giving an inch. He had to make her understand the gravity of the gifts. Try harder.

  “Don’t leave. Please.” He looped his fingers around the back of her neck, leaned down, and laid his forehead to hers. “I think you may be in danger.”

  “Because if you didn’t leave this stuff for me, who did? You think that didn’t scare the crap out of me?”

  “I hope it did. May I see the scarf?” Fear flickered in her eyes, and he fought the urge to jerk her into his arms. Why and how had this woman gotten under his skin?

  He had to pull back, put some distance between the two of them. His paranoia and fear for Catherine couldn’t control him. However, the nagging question about the flowers still plagued him. He tried to ignore the headache bubbling below the surface.

  He reached in her car and retrieved the scarf and box. A picture fluttered to the ground. A snapshot of a man’s bicep. Catherine’s gasp and horrified expression confirmed she hadn’t seen the picture earlier. “Come inside.”

  Matt pulled a pitcher of tea from the fridge while Catherine paced back and forth across his kitchen. Her reaction was typical. She was not only frightened, she was furious. He picked out a few muttered words when she stormed passed. He’d never been friends with a redhead, but she certainly lived up to the stereotype. Phrases like, “kick somebody’s ass,” and “I’m not afraid,” tumbled out while she walked—no, stomped through his house. Had he not been pissed himself, her behavior would’ve been funny.

  He sat a hal
f-filled glass down on the kitchen counter and caught her hands with his to stop her. He led her to a chair and coaxed her down. “I was afraid of this when you told me about the flowers.”

  “You think I’m being stalked?”

  “I don’t make assumptions. I’m trying to find the florist the African Violets came from.” He had to be honest with her. “The fact Julia Drummond was a florist and you received flowers...”

  “Shit,” she interrupted, her eyes flooded with panic. “Am I a target?”

  “I don’t know. We’ve found no evidence Julia received any gifts.” Matt finished filling two glasses, handed one to Catherine, and joined her at the table. “There weren’t any pictures of body parts found in her belongings. I don’t get the significance of the scarf.”

  “I found it at the ‘All Bright Things’ boutique the day I went job hunting, but didn’t have the money. At the time, I thought it was beautiful. Now I can’t look at it.”

  “Someone watched you. Do you remember seeing anyone from the bar?”

  “No. I got into town on a Friday, and the following Monday I hit all the shops on the square looking for a part-time job.” She stood, resumed pacing. “I need to go.”

  “Go where? You’re safe here with me.” Then her meaning struck him, she was talking about leaving town.

  “I should move on. Pack my stuff and leave.”

  “Bull. We’ll figure out who this is. I don’t suppose in your travels you stopped long enough to take a class and have a license to carry a handgun?”

  The color drained from her face. Catherine stared at him, blinking rapidly. For a second, Matt worried she’d faint.

  “Hey. I didn’t mean to upset you. Guns are safe if you’re properly trained.” Matt went to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Breathe. Let your heart rate slow a fraction.”

  “No guns. I can defend myself without a weapon.”

  “Defending yourself isn’t as easy to do as you might think.”

  “I’m not scared. I don’t want a gun.”

  Matt studied her face, trying to read something in her eyes. Anything he could use to understand what was going on in her head. She wouldn’t hold his gaze.