She stepped out of the car then approached the front door slowly. But before she could knock, Jane Field opened the door and offered a weak smile. She reached out and took Sydney’s hand in between her two cold ones.
"Thank you for meeting with me," Sydney said, an uncomfortable lump forming in her throat. "I know this must be hard."
"You did your best to help us, honey. Come on in out of the chill."
Sydney entered the middle-class ranch house and glanced at the walls she’d seen once before when she’d interviewed the Fields after they’d discovered their daughter missing. All the cherished school pictures that chronicled Maggie’s life stared back at her. Now they sent a shiver up her spine. This time, she knew Maggie was dead.
"Can I get you something to drink?" Jane asked.
"No, I’m fine, thanks. I won’t take much of your time."
Jane indicated for Sydney to sit on the couch. "What can I help you with?"
Sydney wanted to hug the woman across from her. Jane Field remained kind and considerate even in the face of incredible loss. Sydney prayed she could find a way to help ease her suffering.
"I’d like you to try to remember if Maggie had any disagreements with anyone recently, anyone who might have wanted to get back at her."
Jane rubbed her hands together in her lap and shook her head. "Everybody loved her. She was..." Jane paused to take a shuddery breath and wipe the corner of her eye. "She was such a sweet girl. She had lots of friends."
"What about neighbors?"
Jane shook her head. "She got along with everybody."
"I know you said she wasn’t seeing anyone, but did she have any ex-boyfriends from further back, anyone she might have split with on bad terms?"
"She hasn’t seen anyone to my knowledge in nearly a year."
"So, she was seeing someone about a year ago?"
"Yes, but I can’t imagine Derek doing anything like this."
Sydney opened her notebook. "What is Derek’s last name? Maybe I can contact him and ask if he knew of anyone who might have been angry with Maggie." Like him. Hundreds of women had been killed by spurned lovers.
"It’s Knowles. He works over at Griff and Wyatt Accountants."
Sydney jotted down the information. "What about Mr. Field? Do you think he knows of anyone else I should contact?"
"I don’t think so, but I’ll ask him. We’ve been over this what seems like a thousand times with the police, with each other." Jane looked through the doorway that led into the kitchen. "I’m sorry George isn’t in here. He’s out working in his woodshop. He’s devastated. We have three sons, but Maggie was always his special little girl." Jane’s voice cracked and fresh tears streamed down her face.
Sydney slipped from her seat and crouched in front of Jane. She placed her hand over the older woman’s. "I’m going to do what I can to find out who did this."
Jane gave her another of those half-hearted smiles and lifted her hand to Sydney’s cheek. "I know you will. You’re a good girl. My Maggie would have liked you."
Sydney said goodbye, then hurried to her car before she broke down in tears, too. Even though she’d never known Maggie personally, she felt as if she had. And she definitely knew the anguish of losing someone so close and not knowing why. Even now, she still cried herself to sleep sometimes because she missed her mother. Missed being able to share things with her, ask her advice. All because some unknown piece of trash had wanted her car.
Mind on work, mind on work.
Sydney drove through a light mist to the glass-front office of Griff and Wyatt. She made it past the receptionist and into the office of Derek Knowles with no trouble. Within a few seconds, a tall, handsome man who looked like he might have played high school football breezed into the room.
"Miss Blackburn, how can I help you today?"
Sydney examined his face, trying to discern if it belonged to a killer. All she found there were twin dark circles under his wire-rimmed glasses.
"I understand you dated Maggie Field a while back."
His businessman smile faded, and he leaned back into his chair as if he hadn’t slept in weeks. "Yes, ma’am, I did. But we broke up last December."
"Who did the breaking up?"
"She did. I didn’t want to, but she wanted to try dating other people."
"Did you all fight about it?"
Derek’s face tightened. "What are you insinuating? That I had something to do with Maggie’s death?"
Sydney detected a break in his voice he tried to cover, not something a murderer would likely do. If he had killed Maggie, he’d probably be much more dramatic about his "grief."
"I’m just trying to find out what happened and help bring her killer to justice. Her family deserves that. Maggie deserves that."
"I was out of town doing my Army Reserve training when they found her. I just got back late last night." Derek spun his chair so that his profile faced Sydney. "I can’t help wondering that if we’d stayed together I might have been able to prevent this. Who would kill her? She didn’t have an enemy in the world."
"Her mother says she doesn’t know of any ex-boyfriends other than you. Do you know if she did see other people?"
"I don’t know. We didn’t keep in touch."
After a few more minutes of hearing Derek echo what Maggie’s mother had said, Sydney left his office and drove toward her own. Well, back to square one. When she pulled into the parking lot beside the paper, she didn’t immediately go inside. She sat in her car and examined her notes.
Maggie Field. Young, beautiful, well liked, no enemies. All indications pointed toward a stranger murder, and the chocolate comment still puzzled her. Was it some sort of marker left behind by the killer, a signature of sorts? That thought propelled her into the office. She dropped her notes and purse on the edge of her desk and sank into her chair. After her computer booted up, she searched the paper’s online archives for any other cases that might match Maggie’s.
A few minutes later, a story caught her eye. Stephanie Mortimer, 27, had been found dead in a rocky glade off Murfreesboro Road four months earlier. Sydney scanned the rest of the article, scribbling down pertinent facts as she went. Stephanie had been found nude and raped. Cause of death, strangulation. She spent the next hour scanning the follow-up articles about the case, one still open as far as she could tell.
Her research found other similarities between the two girls. They both lived alone, were blond and quite striking. Quotes from those who knew them offered the same observations — they had lots of friends, no one could imagine anyone wanting to kill them.
Unless that someone had picked them specifically for those reasons.
Sydney exited the archives, then dialed Radley’s office, determined to get him to admit something bigger was going on, that there was information the women of Nashville needed to know to protect themselves.
As the phone rang, she thought back to his parting comments the night before. He’d seemed so sincere, pained almost. If he was truly keeping quiet because he didn’t want to jeopardize the case, she could respect that. But she wouldn’t quit trying to convince him otherwise. He very well might have been burned before. Lord knew there were some reporters out there who bordered on unethical. She had no more use for them than the cops did.
A woman on the other end of the line finally answered. When Sydney asked for Radley, the woman said, "Detective Radley is at the medical examiner’s office this morning. Can I take a message?"
"No thanks." She hung up then headed for the door.
"Where you off to?" Becky asked.
"An autopsy."
Becky shuddered. Sydney couldn’t agree more.
When she reached Dr. Prewitt’s office, she stepped inside just long enough to verify Radley was still there then returned to her car to wait. The thought of an autopsy gave her the creeps. Though they were often necessary, she couldn’t get over the fact that they seemed invasive on some level other than the physical. She’d had nightma
res for more than a year after she’d learned her mother’s body had undergone an autopsy.
And now poor Maggie Field, who’d already been violated, was being subjected to even more intrusion in death.
Maybe this time, the body would provide a trail of clues leading to the slime who’d taken life and death into his own hands and chosen death.
****
Jake leaned against the wall and tried not to breathe too deeply. It didn’t matter that he’d stood in this room dozens of times before, he never got used to the smell of preservative, strong cleaners and death. The jars of tissue and body parts awaiting their day in court didn’t bother him, but the smell stuck in his nose for hours every time he attended an autopsy.
Harry, however, whistled as if he were strolling down Myrtle Beach at sundown. Of course, he’d been doing autopsies since Jake had toddled around in diapers, and there wasn’t a type of homicide he hadn’t seen. The medical examiner circled Maggie’s body in the same precise way he always did, giving a running commentary to the recording microphone above the table.
Jake remained quiet throughout the process. Unlike some of his colleagues, he didn’t interrupt Harry when he was working and didn’t suggest the older man lean one way or the other in his findings. Jake’s father had tried influencing Harry once when he’d been a young detective, and Harry had told him in no uncertain terms that he was wasting his breath. When it came to his job, Harry Prewitt was devoted to no one save the deceased and the science that would point to how they’d died.
Jake glanced at the clock. Almost noon. Only five hours into his shift and he felt as if he could crawl up in the nearest chair and fall asleep. Thoughts of Sydney had plagued him all night. Thank heavens, he didn’t have to deal with her this morning.
The sound of snapping latex drew Jake’s attention. He glanced toward the stainless steel table where Maggie lay still as a stone. Harry pitched his discarded gloves into the trashcan.
"What’s the verdict?" Jake asked.
"Death by strangulation. She was strangled from the front, likely with the killer sitting on top of her from the looks of the bruising. He used both hands."
"Exactly the same as Stephanie Mortimer?"
"Yes."
"Damn!"
No doubt about it. The same man was responsible for both deaths, and he took delight in his power over his victims. Jake ran his hand over his face. They had to release some information, but how did they warn the public without generating panic? And word of a serial killer preying on beautiful young women would definitely create panic. They’d be flooded with calls from the frightened parents of every girl on the city’s college campuses alone.
He’d crossed half the distance to his car when he noticed Sydney waiting for him. He cursed. He didn’t need her questions right now.
"Good morning, Detective Radley."
"Morning."
"Is the medical examiner finished with Maggie’s autopsy?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"Call PIO later. She’ll have some information."
"I bet I already know what they will and will not say."
Had someone blabbed? He ignored her as he proceeded toward his car. She followed.
"I’ll bet Maggie was raped and then strangled, just like Stephanie Mortimer. And I’m guessing the chocolate Randy was talking about is this guy’s way of signing his work."
Jake stopped, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he turned toward Sydney, he didn’t see the look of triumph he’d been expecting.
"Am I right?" she asked.
"You’re going to run this no matter what I say, aren’t you?"
"Don’t assume things, Detective. But it’s my duty to let the public know if they’re in danger. I’d be giving this creep a helping hand if I didn’t." The chilly breeze lifted a loose tendril of her hair as she watched him. "It might be hard for you to admit and you may have a valid reason to feel that way, but I’m one of the good guys here. I’d like to work together on this."
The thought of working closely with the press again made Jake cringe, but Sydney seemed so genuine. He had a few years of experience under his badge now, and he credited himself with being able to judge people more accurately than he had when he’d made the biggest mistake of his life.
Maybe he could work with Sydney only as much as it suited his needs and those of the investigation. He didn’t have to trust her with everything.
"Okay, you’re right about Maggie’s cause of death. We’re not positive there is a link between her and Stephanie Mortimer, but it looks that way."
"Do you think it’s a serial murderer?"
"I don’t know."
"Gut instinct?"
He stared at her for a few seconds before saying, "Yes."
"Did Stephanie have a piece of chocolate on her lips, too?"
"That’s not important to your story."
"It might be. You don’t know."
His shoulders stiffened. "Tread carefully, Sydney. You already have more than I was going to give."
"I’m truly curious, Detective. Why are you so secretive when lives could be at stake? If this guy is targeting a certain type of person, they have a right to know, to be extra vigilant."
"There’s also the argument that you don’t let out too much for fear of copycats, panic and the killer doing something drastic," he said.
To her credit, she nodded as if she saw the merit of his argument. "I can see where that would be a concern." It was more than he’d expected to be yielded.
She consulted her watch. "I’ve got to get back to the office," she said, then turned toward her car.
"Sydney, keep that information about the chocolate out of the story."
She didn’t respond, only gave a little wave indicating she’d heard him, got in her car and drove away.
An invisible force from the past punched him in the gut. Had he just committed the cardinal sin of law enforcement? By trusting Sydney with information crucial to the case, had he made the same mistake twice?
CHAPTER FOUR
Jake scooted his chair back from the central table in the Murder Squad room. Their brainstorming session had yielded some valuable information on some of the squad’s cases but not his. Their serial killer’s identity remained a mystery. At least he hadn’t struck again.
"You want to see today’s paper?" Kevin asked as he held the Courier out toward Jake.
Jake hesitated then grabbed the paper. For the third day in a row, one of Sydney’s articles about the murders occupied a good chunk of the front page. Today’s installment was an interview with Stephanie Mortimer’s parents and a sidebar drawing comparisons between the two girls. He gritted his teeth as he stared at Sydney’s byline. While she’d withheld the information about the chocolate, she’d nonetheless sent the city into an uproar.
And the frustrating part was that he could understand her assertion that possible victims needed to know to protect themselves. But he kept waiting for the big sock in the gut, the day when they needed to spring something sensational to sell more papers. The day when Sydney would reveal the chocolate signature and possibly hurt their chances of catching the scumbag. He could imagine all the copycats leading them in useless directions. Man-hours that could be used in search of the real culprit.
He headed toward his desk, unable to look his fellow detectives in the eye. What did they think of him now? That his judgement was so impaired that he was a detriment to the department rather than an asset? Even though they’d not mentioned it, they had to know he’d been the one to confirm Sydney’s suspicions. He was the lead detective and knew more about the case than any of them.
The muscles in his neck and jaws grew tighter and tighter the more he thought about his possible lapse in judgment. Maybe it would have been better to let Sydney draw her own conclusions without him offering any validation. He still wouldn’t be pleased with her series, but at least guilt wouldn’t eat away at his insides.
His momentary wea
kness had resulted in exactly what he’d feared — hundreds of phone calls from scared parents. Those calls would have come eventually, but he would have liked more time to investigate before all hell broke loose.
"You going tonight?"
It took a moment for Jake to realize Kevin was talking to him. He’d been deep in concentration, looking over his notes on the case for what had to be the billionth time. "What?"
"The mayor’s dinner – you going?"
Jake gritted his teeth, resenting the necessity of taking time away from the investigation. But his mother wanted to attend the event each year, and it was his duty to take her. "Yeah."
"Okay. See ya there."
With Kevin’s exit, Jake was left alone in the room. But despite the blessed quiet, he couldn’t concentrate. His stomach continued to clench at the thought that he’d made a mistake in trusting Sydney even a fraction.
It might be unreasonable and it might be a product of his past experience, but he couldn’t stop the feelings of anger when he looked at the newspaper article. She’d reported Maggie’s death and that the investigation was ongoing. She’d even done a nice piece about the person Maggie had been. Why couldn’t she let it go at that? She’d warned people. Why must she continue to harp on it?
Unable to sit still or keep his thoughts from torturing him, he stalked toward the door. He might not be able to stop Sydney from running her articles, but he could sure as hell tell her what he thought about it.
****
Sydney read through her story about Nashville’s past serial killers one more time, noticing how nearly all the victims had been female. That lopsided statistic angered her. All those mothers, sisters, girlfriends, daughters. No matter how many advances women made, they still fell victim to violent crime much too often.
Someone plopped a stack of envelopes on the edge of her desk.
"Here’s your latest batch of fan mail," said J.D. Forrester, the paper’s mail clerk.
"Ha. More likely they’re telling me I couldn’t write my way out of a paper bag."
"That can’t be true. You’ve been on the front page most of the week."
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