“I was about to point that out. Maybe she did but you were so exhausted you didn’t hear a thing.” Josh read the brief one-line message and shook his head. “It isn’t exactly a declaration of war, is it?”
While they debated the tone of the note, Harry watched them pass it back and forth, and grumbled, “How many times do I have to tell you not to touch that damn thing? You both should know better. It’s evidence.”
“Sorry. Too late,” she admitted, leading the way into the kitchen. “It’s probably okay because a guy like this isn’t going to make stupid mistakes by leaving his DNA or prints on anything.”
“Yeah, I’m sure he’s a genius, a serial killer just thought you needed cheering up and decided to do something about it. He took a lot of risks by coming here to our home,” Josh remarked, his comments laced with irritation. “Let’s see this flower arrangement.”
“There. On the patio table outside.”
Josh opened the door and got his first look at the black dahlias. He turned back to Skye. “I hate to point this out to you but the Black Dahlia got chopped up into pieces and someone left the body parts in a field. You ask me, I think this guy’s meaning is crystal clear. How did he know you were helping Harry this soon into the case anyway?”
She went into the details about what she’d found at the shopping center and the condition of Lisa’s remains. She reminded him about the Montague and Dinsmore cases and the particulars of those two victims. “That means you’re pretty much up to speed now, except that I did get this vibe from the crime scene this morning that maybe the killer watched us the entire time we were there in the parking lot.”
Harry’s eyebrows popped up. “You didn’t mention that.”
“Now you know how I feel,” Josh quipped. But the humor faded when he let the facts of each case sink in. Even the hard edge he’d developed over the past two years slipped slightly at knowing how the young women must’ve suffered. “Just when you think you’ve seen sick and twisted, someone else comes along and tops the list. Cutting out their breast implants is a cruel, sadistic bent. Add to that, he not only sees you at the crime scene but now he knows where you live.”
Josh started to pace, the wolf instincts inside beginning to kick in. He wandered the room to help him sort out his thoughts. “Let’s see how fast we can catch this perverted bastard.”
“Agreed, even though the holidays are approaching fast. Our killer could go out of town or go cold. Either way, we have our work cut out for us.” Skye squinted at Harry. “You know we’ll have to go through the database at the foundation to see if there are other victims out there that fit the pattern, maybe girls who’ve fallen through the cracks.”
“I believe I’d remember any reports where a victim had her breast implants removed,” Harry pointed out. “And so would Roger Bayliss. The coroner might be difficult to deal with, but he’s as thorough as they come. Bayliss keeps up with what’s happening in other jurisdictions, always has. Besides, there were no serial numbers on that implant we found to trace back to a surgeon.”
Skye’s brow creased. “Really? That’s odd. Why not? That has to be significant.”
Harry stopped short. “Maybe because it was three in the morning that fact didn’t resonate with me like it should have. If I’d been thinking clearer, I’d have asked Bayliss about it then. Buy hey, that’s one more reason I’m getting too old for this job.”
She patted Harry’s back in a sympathetic gesture. “No need to beat yourself up. I was pretty wiped myself. We know it now and that’s what matters.”
“Isn’t that against medical regulations? Using implants without serial numbers?” Josh asked.
“You bet. Those numbers are there to keep track of them in the event of problems, leaks, that sort of thing, so doctors have a way of making patients aware of the issues.”
Picking up the issue, Josh tossed out a few facts. “Implants are treated just like other medical devices—cardiac defibrillators, pacemakers, shunts, rods and screws used in spinal surgeries. They all have serial numbers.”
“Maybe Lisa’s were from a foreign manufacturer. No serial numbers means they’re running under the radar.”
Josh frowned and shook his head. “Even foreign manufacturers maintain reputable standards, or should. Maybe we should focus on the ones that don’t.” He looked long and hard at Harry. “Let’s go back to something you mentioned earlier. You found no other notifications from other law enforcement agencies or jurisdictions about this type victim anywhere else nearby, correct?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“Then why these three? What’s unique about them? That’s the question,” Josh reasoned as he continued to roam the room. “What was special about Montague, Dinsmore, and Williams? Did they have the same hair coloring? Same color eyes? Do each of these women fit a type?”
Skye shook her head. “They were dissimilar in looks. Montague was more like a dishwater blonde, Dinsmore a variation of a redhead, and Williams had black hair with purple streaks in it. You know, the way some women dye their hair in bright shades to set themselves apart from the norm. The day Lisa went missing, however, she exhibited what could only be considered a much more conservative style than what I saw this morning.”
Josh jingled the loose change in his pockets and pondered what that meant. “Okay, so he doesn’t look for a ‘type’ per se. He concentrates on opportunity and availability. After hiding these three victims for years, he brings them out in the open, casts them off where he’s sure they’ll be found. Why? What do we know about each victim? Harry?”
“I emailed Skye the files with the particulars two weeks ago. She should have them in her inbox.”
“I can do better than that. I emailed them to myself and printed them out.” Skye crossed over to a desk in the corner of the kitchen, a workstation she used for such things when she was at home, and retrieved several manila folders from the drawer. She flipped through the folders gathering data. “According to their autopsies, all three were Caucasian. Carrie Montague was five-six, weighed one-twenty. Taylor Dinsmore five-three, weighed ninety pounds. Lisa Williams, five-five, weighed one-fourteen. No traits in common except for race and gender—different hair colors, different heights. So I’d say you’re right, Josh. No pattern as to type.”
About that time Harry’s cell phone rang. The detective listened to what was obviously the medical examiner calling. Harry repeated the conversation word for word for the benefit of Skye and Josh. “Bayliss says there were no traces of semen on Lisa Williams. But she did show signs she went through childbirth, and not recently. Maybe eighteen months ago. That’s a guess. Wherever Lisa was held during the four years she was gone, she gave birth there.”
“That’s a sad and disturbing thought.”
As soon as Harry hung up, the discussion between Josh and Skye took off in that direction.
“Could that have been his purpose? He wanted offspring and that’s why the other girls were discarded because they didn’t comply?”
Skye wasn’t ready to buy into that. “You mean because Carrie and Taylor didn’t get pregnant? That theory doesn’t work for me. Namely because they all three ended up tossed out like garbage. So what’s the incentive? Lisa gives birth but she meets the same fate as the other two. No, that just doesn’t play. These three girls were originally abducted by a sexual predator, who also happens to be a trafficker. Then they’re turned around and sold to the highest bidder. These girls were destined for whatever perverse life for the specific purpose of filling said pervert’s urges. My guess is that for whatever reason these three girls were cast off, maybe even returned.”
“Returned? That’s a new one,” Josh said.
“That almost sounds a little too fantastical,” Harry added.
“Not so new and not so fantastical when you stop and think about it. The girls are destined to be used for whatever perversion it happens to be, then they’re returned to the seller for whatever reason. Maybe the buyer grows
tired of their whining, or no longer likes the way they look, or maybe they become ill.” Skye held up a hand. “Not saying Carrie, Taylor or Lisa got sick and that’s what triggered their disposal. Just thinking out loud here. Anyway, when the seller gets his hands back on the merchandise, he either makes the decision to keep them around for resell while making more profit on his original investment, or he chooses to end the cycle. For some reason, this killer opted to waive the flow of cash and torture these three in an almost identical manner to the bitter end.”
Josh stopped pacing as if he’d just thought of something. “You remember mentioning the profiler, Emmett Cannavale?”
“Sure, we were looking for Jason Berkenshaw at the time. We could still make a point of reaching out to him. He frequents Seattle because he has family ties in the area.”
“Cannavale’s specialty happens to be sexual sadists. I picked up his book last summer, read the thing cover to cover. Doesn’t make me an expert by any means, but Cannavale does say that these particular types are known for their meticulous planning before a crime. Based on that, I’d say the guy we’re looking for is leading us down the path he wants us to follow. Why else would he deliver the flowers personally right to our back door?”
“Another level of psychological fear and manipulation without all the pain,” Skye said in agreement. “Not a bad strategy on his part. He lets me know from the get-go he knows I’m involved in the case. I get rattled because he knows where I live, it gives him the edge.”
Harry scratched his head. “It still doesn’t tell us much about our killer.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for a height and weight description,” Josh kidded. Then he turned serious. “Count on me installing security cameras around this place by the end of the week. I could kick myself for not doing it before now.”
“Never underestimate the seedier side of life,” Harry said with a grim expression. “If you have a box handy I’d like to take those flowers back with me to the lab. They might be able to determine where they came from.”
“Let’s hope so. Then you’ll want the card too just in case,” Skye offered. “You think he’ll come back out here again?”
“I have no idea. But we’ll be better prepared next time he does,” Josh promised.
Chapter Four
As soon as Harry left, Josh reached out to stroke Skye’s hair, then yanked her into his chest. Impatience had his hands roaming down her body. When his lips crushed over hers it set the mood. They both went under, a sense of urgency floating between them.
“I flew all the way back early and I want my homecoming present,” he mumbled as he moved to nibble her earlobe.
His eagerness tugged at her heart knowing there’d been a time when she couldn’t tease about such things. “Since when did you become so demanding?”
“Since I haven’t had my hands on you in almost a week.” He captured her around the waist, began to nibble her ear while taking her by the hand, leading her upstairs.
The drizzle had cleared and slivers of afternoon sunlight drifted through the bedroom windows in a buoyant display of wintry triumph.
The room’s tasteful décor—mahogany and lace—came together to usher in a big dose of lived-in comfort. Unlike the furniture at the loft, they’d selected pieces that gave the farmhouse its homey feel, that sense of “crawl in between the sheets and stay awhile.” The design was a reminder they’d blended old with new, modern with traditional and made it all come together to offer the perfect laidback sanctuary away from the hustle of the city.
Josh hit the remote for the stereo. Bono’s voice sailed out in a soulful rendition of I Can’t Help Falling in Love With You.
“I missed you,” he declared before covering her mouth in an eager kiss.
Warmth ratcheted up. This is what she’d missed.
“I didn’t even have time to spruce up for you. I still have the street smell on me from before. If you’d called to let me know…”
The wolf inside him sniffed at her throat and hair. “There’s no way you could smell any better to me than you do right this minute. You give off an aura that says home to me.”
Love and pleasure brimmed from the inside out. She grabbed at his pants, began the process of getting him out of them. Clothing peeled over hips and along arms as tops and bottoms flew to the floor.
In a show of haste and hunger, he fastened his mouth to hers. They circled to the bed, naked bodies filled with heat and want.
With a seductive bent she strained against him while his hands roamed over smooth skin. Little fires ignited, moved through every cell like bolts of electricity. When he ran the tip of his tongue over one breast, then took it into his mouth, she all but floated in flight.
As the tune changed to Bach, as the first trumpets blared in unison, as violin strings soared, his fingers glided lower, seeking the moist heat.
His touch brought sensations shivering through her, slamming together in a rippling force of pleasure.
He tasted, savored, and gave more. In answer, she arched up, twisted and bucked till she took him into her. Locked together, they sailed through spirals going up and up toward that one lofty goal. Layer by satiny layer, the little tremors built until finally leveling off to aftershocks. They glided over feathery clouds, dropped down to earth again as sunlight washed over the bed.
Naked bodies still entwined, they lay winded and sweaty.
He buried his face in her hair until he could move. Once he rolled off, they lay nestled in each other’s arms. Wrapped up, she ran a hand across his bare chest. “It feels right having you back home.”
Josh burst out a laugh and kissed her forehead. “I sure hope so.” He grabbed hold of her chin, met her eyes. “If I didn’t know you better I’d think you actually missed me this trip.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? I confess that this big house seemed too quiet while you were gone, too empty without you here to bug me, and what do I get in return? A hard time about it just because...”
He covered her mouth for a long kiss putting a stop to the objection. When he pulled back, he looked into her eyes. “Mind telling me why this trip was so different than all the others?”
She puffed out a breath. “I don’t know, it just…maybe my unease increased when Harry brought me in on the first two victims and now the third. I’ve seen some terrible things over the years but…the mutilation to those bodies was beyond anything I’d encountered before. Then…”
“He shows up here. I get it.”
She burrowed closer into his body. “In the old days I would’ve found a way to deal with this kind of brutality by myself.”
“There’s no need for that now.”
“Maybe so, but it takes a self-realization to get there, to come as far as I have. I’ve grown accustomed to having you to lean on and now when you’re gone...”
“I feel the same way when I’m on the road.” He pressed his lips to her forehead in a tender gesture. “I’m starving. Why don’t we order from that French place in town that delivers?”
“The new place? Sure. Beats the cheesy chicken nachos I had planned to throw together in a pinch.”
Josh crawled out of bed to call in the food.
Forty-five minutes later they were feasting on pork tenderloin and an assortment of fresh veggies as they sprawled in front of the TV.
While the lighthearted comedy Love Actually—a movie they’d seen many times before—droned in the background, they talked about the old motel they’d bought and were in the middle of revamping. At the project’s completion it would provide individual studio apartments to homeless families.
“Right now I have to crack the whip on the most recent contractor I hired and fire his ass for not showing up to the job site while I was in New York.”
“At all? What is that, the third contractor since we started this remodel? We don’t seem to be able to find anyone who knows what they’re doing or wants to stick it out for the duration.”
“I’m disappointed to say the least.”
“Why did you hire him in the first place?”
“Tate recommended this guy personally.”
In a playful gesture, she reached over and mussed up his hair. “You’re such a loyal guy to family. It’s such a good thing you do to keep Annabelle’s brother in your life. I love that about you. Tate practically worships you.”
“I wouldn’t say that. But he was just a kid when Annabelle and I got together, just a kid when I married his sister.”
“So let me guess, when Tate recommended this contractor you didn’t have the heart to say no to either of them.”
“That’s about right. His name’s Hank Fielding. Hank worked hard for ten days or so, ripped out the guts of some of the rooms but then when I went out of town, for some reason he stopped showing up. No phone call, no email, no notice.”
“Hmm, here’s a thought. Why not see if Travis could recommend someone reliable? We plan on seeing him on Sunday, right? He knows a slew of people. If nothing else, he’ll be able to point us toward a reliable company that specializes in getting the job done right.”
“I guess that’s what I’m afraid of, I’ll find someone who’ll want us to tear the entire place down and rebuild from scratch.”
“Would that be so terrible? The building itself needs work, the foundation is crumbling, the interior is in shambles, the plumbing shot. Maybe the best thing is to tear it down and start from the ground up. The contractors we’ve hired so far seem to work for a week or two then go onto another project of their choosing. What have they gotten done other than cause your blood pressure to jump and get you frustrated?”
“Point taken. Okay, I’ll solicit a little advice from Travis and see what happens. But that doesn’t change the fact I still have to can the current contractor. I sent him an email.”
His Garden of Bones (Skye Cree Book 4) Page 6