CORE Shadow [1] Shadow of Danger

by Kristine Mason

  “Good.” John moved the flashlight over the victim’s neck. With the way her head dangled, he had to shift and crouch closer.

  The stench had his gag reflex going into action. Again, he fought it, tried not to let her become personal, and viewed her body as an investigator.

  She’d become more than personal.

  This victim, this young woman who had so much life to live, had spoken through Celeste. She’d used the woman who had snared his heart to tell her story, to explain how she’d died.

  “Did you check her neck?” he asked, and handed the flashlight to Mitchell.

  “Not yet.”

  “Keep the flashlight on it,” he said as he whipped the Latex gloves from his pocket, then shoved his hands into them. Knocking the fly larva away, he shifted her throat, then sucked in a breath.

  “She’s been strangled.” Mitchell leaned closer. “Just like the four women from the dump site.”

  John stepped away from the body, needing distance, fresh air and a moment to think.

  “We’ve canvassed a fifty foot radius and found nothing,” one of Mitchell’s crime scene techs said as he approached. “No footprints, and no fibers so far, but we’re still searching.”

  “Thanks Tom,” Mitchell said, then pinched the bridge of his nose, and looked to the ground. “This doesn’t make sense, John. Are we looking at two different killers? The evidence points—”

  Roy’s cell phone stopped Mitchell short. The sheriff stepped away to take the call.

  “The evidence points in that direction,” Mitchell continued. “From what we found at the first dump site compared to the girl from the...I mean Courtney, and now this victim?”

  John peeled the gloves from his hands, the same questions banging through his mind in time with the drumming from the mill not more than a hundred yards away. “Hopefully the autopsy will—”

  “John,” Roy shouted, as he shoved his cell phone back into his pocket. “We’ve got to go. Now.” He looked to Mitchell and raised a hand. “I don’t have time for the particulars, but I’ll need one of your techs.”

  “You’ve got me,” Mitchell said without hesitation, then shouted a couple of quick orders to his men.

  With a nod, Roy ran faster than John had anticipated. He caught up with him, and gripped his arm. “What the hell, Roy?”

  “Keep moving,” he panted, as he jogged down the path leading to the parking lot. “We’ve got a dead prison guard and Winston in the ER.”

  *

  John stood inside Winston’s small jail cell, eyeing the dead guard, Curtis Hoyt. An empty syringe, the alleged murder weapon, rested a few feet away from the body. Near the entrance of the cell, a pool of blood coagulated. Winston’s blood.

  “What do you think?” Roy asked from behind him.

  “Are you finished taking pictures?” he asked Mitchell.

  “Yep, you’re free to snoop.”

  During the drive to Eau Claire County Jail, he’d called Rachel and already had her snooping into Hoyt’s background. “Thanks,” he replied, then looked to the sheriff. “You told me Hoyt served as an Eau Claire traffic cop, right?”

  “Twenty-two years before he had a massive heart attack. He came to work at the county jail afterward, less stress.”

  He snapped a pair of Latex gloves on his hands, then crouched next to the syringe. “More like less pay,” he commented under his breath.

  Roy narrowed his eyes and knelt next to him. “What are you saying?” he whispered, his eyes moving to the hallway where the Jail Captain and the three guards who’d sent Winston to the ER stood.

  “I had a search done on Hoyt during the drive here.” As much as he hated Rachel’s habit, he’d send her a couple boxes of number two pencils to gnaw on for her quick response. “Hoyt was up to his ass in debt, over thirty thousand with credit cards, several loans against his house, not to mention the college tuition he’d been paying for his three kids.”

  He picked up the syringe and held it into the light. Less than a CC of blue liquid remained. He sniffed it, then shook his head. “Smells like window cleaner.”

  “Window cleaner? How the hell would Winston get a hold of not only a syringe, but window cleaner?”

  “Exactly,” John said. He set the syringe next to the yellow marker Mitchell had placed earlier, then moved to Hoyt’s body. “Look here.” He pointed to a spot on the pants pocket of the prison guard’s tan uniform.

  Roy knelt beside him. “It’s dried, but stained the material.”

  “Mitchell,” John said, “Can you make sure you find out what this is?”

  “I saw it earlier. If you look close enough, you can see a hint of blue. It might match the liquid in the syringe.”

  “So you think Hoyt carried the syringe in his pocket with the intent to use it on Winston?” Roy asked, disbelief in his tone.

  “People do strange things for money,” he said as he viewed the dead guard.

  “No doubt. Okay,” Roy said on a sigh, and stood, “We should have enough evidence. I’m going to see if we can get a search warrant for Hoyt’s house while you finish here.”

  Jail Captain Fredrick Ambrose, mid-forties, big, beefy and slightly balding, narrowed his eyes as he stepped over Winston’s blood and into the cell. “You aren’t suggesting one of my men decided to go vigilante, are you?”

  Not yet. “We won’t have our answers until th e ME and CSU file their reports.” John looked passed Ambrose, zeroing in on the security camera across the hall. “Have you looked at the video surveillance?”

  “Yes, but unfortunately, the camera is aimed at the hallway, not directly into the cell.”

  “Why should it be that easy,” Mitchell said. “Thank God for a little thing called evidence.”

  John half-smiled, with a “no shit” on the tip of his tongue, then stood. “What’s Winston’s condition?” he asked Ambrose as they moved into the hallway.

  “I haven’t heard.” He narrowed his eyes on the three guards. “But a full investigation into what happened here today will be launched.”

  “What did you see when you walked into the cell?” John asked, turning his attention to the three guards.

  A lanky, twenty-something, with an enormous Adam’s Apple and an even bigger nose, spoke first. “We heard Curtis screaming and by the time we entered Winston’s cell, it was too late. That bastard had already shoved the syringe in Curtis’ throat, and still had his thumb on the plunger.”

  “And you...?”

  The guard’s Adam’s Apple shifted. “Detained the prisoner with necessary force.”

  “Brantner,” Ambrose shouted at the guard. “What you three did went beyond necessary force, and—”

  “Sir,” John interrupted, “Please, let him finish.”

  “Well,” the guard continued, shifting his eyes between the Jail Captain and him. “We went at Winston with our batons. He’s a big dude, and it took all of us to contain him.”

  “Your idea of containment has just landed all three of you a suspension,” Ambrose yelled. “Don’t leave the building without an official statement. Now get out of my sight.” Running a hand over his shiny head, he looked to the ceiling. “This has never happened before. And by God, I’ll make certain it never happens again. Even if Winston was a piece of shit.”

  More than a cop, Ambrose was a wannabe politician. According to Roy, he’d been biding his time, hoping to be promoted to Undersheriff, then eventually elected Sheriff of Eau Claire County. With this blemish on his record, he might be screwed.

  What Ambrose didn’t understand was that the piece of shit his guards had sent to the ER had been their only link to the second killer. Based on Celeste’s last trance, the evidence from Courtney, and what happened here today, he firmly believed Winston had been working with someone.

  Before he could remind the Jail Captain that it wasn’t all about him and his career, Roy approached. “Let’s go.”

  John thanked Ambrose, then caught up with the sheriff. “Will we
get our warrant?”

  He waved an envelope. “The ADA just dropped it off.”

  “Quick work.”

  “Six dead women, a dead guard and an attempt on an inmate’s life greased the wheels,” Roy said after they signed out of the jail and headed through the door.

  “Have you heard back from Carl yet?”

  “I called while I was waiting on the ADA. Carl was busy prepping Lauren Sundahl, but Dean said they have all the toxicology reports on the first five victims. All were clean except one Jane Doe. She had traces of cocaine in her system along with alcohol.”

  Once they were in the parking lot, John stopped him. “I’m surprised Courtney didn’t have anything in her system. The prostitutes I could understand. They’d likely gone willingly with Winston. But Courtney? I’d think the killer would have used something to sedate her, unless...”

  “She knew the guy.”

  “Who somehow knows and worked with Winston.”

  Roy nodded. “Right. And now his partner wants him dead. But what about the evidence? It points back to Winston. You heard Mitchell. Sundahl had been dead for four or five days. And Carl believes Courtney was likely killed last Friday, six days ago. Winston was on the move then.”

  “We have an extra set of foot prints at the original dumpsite.”

  “Which could have been there before Winston dumped the bodies,” Roy countered.

  “Then why change his MO with Courtney? Why gut and sodomize her?”

  Roy grimaced. “Maybe he just changed things up that time.”

  “Guys like Winston don’t change things up, they stick with what works. And based on Celeste’s trance—”

  “Stop. You know as well as I do, that I believe in Celeste, but her trance proves shit without concrete evidence. Today’s victim was strangled, just like all of Winston’s victims. You saw it. Mitchell confirmed it.”

  “But if she was sodomized?”

  “Who’s to say Winston didn’t rape her both ways?”

  John winced, and turned away toward his car. Logically, he knew the sheriff was right.

  Three days ago, he would have assumed Winston had killed all the women alone, except for Courtney. She had been different, and he stood by his theory that someone other than Winston had ended her life. But Celeste had changed his perception. He believed her, in her...and his gut. Right now his gut was overriding that side of his brain that insisted on a purely rational approach and depended on hard evidence.

  He stopped in front of his car, then turned to the sheriff. “Then explain today. Actually, explain why you’re fighting me on this? You were the one who bought into Celeste’s psychic stuff when she’d said there was another killer and more bodies. Not me. Now I’m the one defending her?”

  The sheriff looked to the ground and leaned against the rental car.

  “Roy, I firmly believe Winston has a partner. A partner who wants him dead. Hoyt was up to his ass in debt. Maybe Winston’s partner knew this, or knew something else he could blackmail Hoyt with to coerce him into killing Winston.”

  “C’mon, Kain,” the sheriff snapped. “A guy doesn’t just wake up one day, meet a guy on the street and decide the two of them should start raping and killing together.”

  “Right, trust is the key here. What Winston and our second killer have done requires a heavy amount of trust.”

  Roy shook his head. “Look, in the beginning, based on Celeste’s vision, I thought maybe we were looking for a second killer—separate from Winston. But you truly believe we’re looking for Winston’s partner?”

  “I do, and I guarantee he wants Winston dead, because he doesn’t trust him to keep his mouth shut.”

  “Then why would Winston confess without an attorney present?” Roy threw his arms in the air. “Hell, why confess at all?”

  “Maybe he and his partner had a backup plan.”

  “Backup plan?” the sheriff scoffed. “Like he’d been prepared for this to happen? Had an escape already planned out?” He shook his head. “Sounds too Hollywood to me.”

  Boysen pulled into the parking lot.

  “Here we go,” Roy said with disgust.

  “It’s time to give him something, and I’d rather have him run his article the way we want.”

  The sheriff narrowed his eyes. “How’s that?”

  “Without Celeste’s name being mentioned.”

  Roy’s eyes softened. “We’ve already been over this.”

  The sheriff was right. He was repeating himself, making his feelings for Celeste clear. Too clear. “Roy, I...”

  He raised his hand and took a step back. “I get it, and I’m going to make my conversation with Boysen quick. I want to get home to Bev on good time. I need...” He drew in a deep breath. “John, I knew Curtis Hoyt for over twenty years. I’m sorry if I’ve been a kind of a prick, but the thought of telling his wife her husband is dead, then waving a search warrant in her face isn’t settling well with me.”

  Shoving a hand in his pant pocket, John touched the roll of antacids he’d remembered to carry today.

  Roy’s mustache tilted as he gave him a sympathetic smile. “Don’t bother asking. Not to sound all sappy, but because of Bev, there’s no room for heartburn. She owns my heart, and wouldn’t allow it.” He started toward Boysen, then stopped. “A good woman could cure what ails you,” he said over his shoulder. “And when you find that woman, no matter the odds, the end result is well worth it.”

  “What’s that?” he asked without thinking, a rarity for him, and he could have kicked himself in the ass. He’d opened himself up too much, left himself too vulnerable. To Roy...to Celeste.

  A slow smile spread across the sheriff’s face. “A woman you’d die for, or die without. Take your pick.”

  Before he had a chance to digest Roy’s words, his cell phone rang. “Kain,” he answered.

  “It’s Celeste.” A woman you’d die for, or die without. “Are you okay?”

  “It’s been a long day.” Just hearing her voice almost evaporated what he’d seen today. Almost.

  “Bad?”

  “Yeah, bad.”

  “John,” she said with sympathy, as a gruff, male voice shouted in the background. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go. We’re in the middle of the dinner rush, but you’ve been on my mind. I wanted to check in and see if...if you wanted to stop by later.”

  Hell yes. “Will’s still taking you home?”

  “Right after things slow down, probably around seven or so. Having an assistant manager is a beautiful thing.”

  He swore he felt her smile through the phone. “It’s nice to give up a little control, isn’t it?”

  “Exhilarating.”

  He wanted to share that exhilaration. Hell, he was starting to go beyond want to pure need. He’d tasted her this afternoon, felt every delicious inch of her body and it still wasn’t enough. He needed more, except... “I have a few things to take care of yet, and paperwork to do.” Rachel had sent him a text while he’d been in Winston’s jail cell, stating that she had a bunch of stuff waiting in his email inbox.

  “Bring it with you. Maybe I can help. I’ll even hook you up with tonight’s dinner special. I’m sure you haven’t eaten all day.”

  “I haven’t. But if it’s liver and onions...”

  “Nope,” she chuckled. “Try chicken marsala, and I’ll even snag a piece of cheesecake for you.”

  His stomach grumbled. “I’m game.”

  “So I’ll see you around...”

  “Seven or so.”

  Dishes clanked in the background. “Gotta go. See you soon.”

  As he slipped his cell phone back into his pocket, Roy walked toward him. “Finished with Boysen already?”

  “Guy’s not a dumbass,” he said as he opened his car door. “He pretty much had most of the story figured out. I just filled in a few, very selective details.” He looked over his shoulder. “Where to?”

  “First Hoyt’s, then Sundahl’s, then a check on Winston.”r />
  With his shoulders slumped, Roy climbed into his cruiser. “After that, I’m going home to Bev.”

  As the sheriff shut his car door and started the ignition, John sighed and did the same. While anxious for any information that might help lead them to the second killer, he couldn’t help the punch of disappointment. It would be hours before he saw Celeste.

  He needed to see Celeste.

  A woman you’d die for, or die without.

  Chapter 15

  Celeste shoved the dusty box from the guest bedroom closet across the hardwood floor. Kneeling on the area rug, she traced the letters she’d printed on the side of the box three years ago.

  Mom.

  Overwhelming sorrow squeezed her heart. She missed seeing her mother’s face. She missed hearing her voice, her laughter.

  “What are you doing?”

  She jumped. “Will, you scared the crap out me.”

  “Sorry.” He leaned against the door jamb. “I was just in the basement figuring you’d be baking.”

  She should be in the basement kitchen or experimenting with her recipes, but she needed answers. “Not tonight. I’ll get up early tomorrow.”

  He walked into the room, a frown lining his face. “What’s in the box?”

  “Some of mom’s things she’d saved over the years. Old high school yearbooks, pictures, cards...journals.”

  “Does dad know about this stuff?” he asked, and touched the lid, but didn’t remove it.

  “I’d told him about the box when I’d found it the day I’d cleaned out mom’s closet for him. He’d said to do whatever I wanted with it. I swear I’d mentioned it to both you and Eden.”

  He winced. “Now that I think about it, you did. Why are you going through it now?”

  “The trances. I was hoping mom had something in her journals that might help me understand why I’m having them or maybe even learn how to control them.”

  “Why didn’t you read her journals before?”

  “Why didn’t you?”