by Debra Webb
She flipped on the corridor’s overhead light. Her heart jolted hard. Bloody shoeprints led from that exam room to the back door.
“Oh, God.”
She was moving, walking toward that end of the corridor before her brain kicked into gear. This couldn’t be happening. Not again. Tyrone wasn’t here yet. There were no cars in the parking lot. No one else was supposed to be here.
She stopped at the door to that final room on the right. A bloody handprint on the door frame at her eye level caused her to blink. Her heart stumbled. Then she looked into the room, toward the exam table in the corner.
“Jesus Christ.” The floor shifted beneath her feet. She grabbed the door frame.
Juanita Lusk, her body stripped naked, lay on the exam table. A lateral incision had been made across the lower part of her abdomen.
CJ rushed to the exam table. Slipped. Almost fell. Blood was all over the floor, had dripped down the end and sides of the exam table to create a wide pool. It was thick. Coagulated. Had been there a while. More of those shoeprints.
Lusk’s body was cool to the touch. Grayish pale. Her arms were restrained above her head with layers and layers of gauze. Her feet were stationed in the stirrups and restrained in the same manner.
CJ knew she should call Braddock, but she couldn’t move. Couldn’t respond. A section of lower intestine drooped between the poor woman’s spread legs. Dear God, who would have done this?
As if the talons of fear had suddenly released her, CJ started to move, backing away from the horror in front of her. She lost her balance. Fell backward, hitting the tile floor on her hands and butt. “Braddock,” she whispered.
Scream.
She couldn’t.
Her hands and feet scrambled for purchase on the blood-slickened floor.
Get up! Get out of here!
Her gaze locked on the underside of Lusk’s left thigh.
Written in blood was . . . E. Noon.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
815 Wheeler Avenue, HPD, 4:15 PM
“That’s his attorney, Suzanne Parker,” Cooper told Braddock.
“She’s one of several local attorneys on retainer for his family.”
CJ stared through the one-way mirror at Carter Cost. He sat at a table, his attorney whispering to him.
Could he have killed Shelley because he thought she was pregnant? Would he have gone that far? A file had been scattered all over the office floor at the clinic, statements Lusk had taken from several young women who lived in the village. Most of whom had been picked up and questioned in the past three hours. Every single one a foot soldier for Nash. More than half of those had confirmed Lusk’s allegations against Carter. He had used the women to satisfy his sexual perversions and to get massive quantities of Vicodin.
CJ closed her eyes and banished the images of Lusk. A wad of gauze had been stuffed into her mouth to stifle her screams. The ME had suggested that the surgery had been performed prior to death.
How that woman must have suffered.
Opening her eyes, CJ stared at the man on the other side of the glass. How could he have done such a thing? She wouldn’t have thought him capable. But those were his shoeprints all over the floor. His bloody handprint on the door frame.
Were the E. Noon references his perverted way of showing that those he had murdered were nothing, no one? But CJ still couldn’t get right with the idea that it was Cost. This felt more like Tyrone’s work. The fact that Tyrone had used “no one” in his note to Braddock when his niece had been murdered could be coincidence and totally unrelated to the murders that had taken place in the village and signed E. Noon. Braddock had confirmed with Dobbins, the ME, that she had found no trace of such a signature on or in—CJ shuddered—Celeste’s body.
Did that mean that the only recent murder Tyrone was responsible for was Celeste’s?
It just didn’t feel possible that a man like Carter Cost, a man she’d known on some level for more than a decade, who had so very much to lose, could actually be capable of murders this horrific.
Nash hadn’t showed for their meeting, which looked suspicious. He hadn’t been at home when two HPD officers had gone to his house to round him up for questioning.
His absence didn’t make him guilty. Nash hadn’t known the details of what Lusk had done to Shelley and Carter. He hadn’t known the lab results were fixed. That Lusk had been playing this sick, twisted game. CJ supposed he could have heard through the grapevine after yesterday’s confrontation between Lusk and Carter at the North Huntsville Clinic, but even if he had, why would he have cared?
And if he hadn’t cared, why would he murder Lusk in such a manner? Braddock had said this kind of mutilation took one of two things: extreme evil, like a psychopath’s, or intense rage, the kind that comes with a revenge motive.
Then again, Lusk’s murderer had known something about the human body and how to access what was inside. The scalpel had been wielded with precision. A lateral incision had been made on her lower abdomen to access her uterus—which had been severed from her body. The organ hadn’t been found at the scene. Apparently the killer had taken it, the same way he did Shelley’s missing body part. Considering the dog had eaten portions of Ricky, it was impossible to tell if the killer had taken anything from him. But it was entirely plausible to believe that was the case.
Cost certainly possessed the skill to perform the unspeakable act. But so could pretty much anyone else with the aid of the Internet and a steady hand.
Shaking off the horrifying thoughts, she forced herself to pay attention to what Braddock and Cooper were discussing.
“Let’s get this party started,” Braddock said to his partner before turning to CJ. “You’re sure you want to watch this?”
She nodded. “I have to.” She doubted anything she would hear would prove more horrifying than what she’d already observed at the scene.
He squeezed her arm. Heat slid through her. Felt soothing. She was so cold inside.
“Okay,” he relented. “The chief and the deputy district attorney will be joining you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Braddock,” Cooper called from the door. “Let’s get this done.”
His hand fell away from CJ’s arm, but he hesitated another moment before turning away.
CJ watched him until the door had closed behind him. She thought of the way he’d made love to her this morning. They’d both needed to feel something besides this horror.
As Braddock and Cooper introduced themselves to the attorney, the door to the viewing room opened and two men entered, nodded to CJ, and took up positions next to her.
One she recognized at the chief of police. The other she presumed to be the deputy district attorney Braddock had mentioned.
“My client,” Parker began, drawing CJ’s attention to the interview room beyond the one-way mirror, “is prepared to make a statement. You may question him, as long as I approve of the questions, but only after he has made his statement.”
“Makes our job easier,” Cooper said as she dragged out a chair and sat down. “But keep in mind that we have his shoe-prints and a perfect handprint in the victim’s blood.”
Braddock adjusted the tape recorder positioned on the center of the table. For the record he stated the date and time and named those present. When he’d taken a seat, he said, “Dr. Cost, you may begin the statement you, of your own accord, have prepared. Start by stating your name and address for the record.”
Carter glanced at his attorney then cleared his throat. “My name is Carter Cost. Dr. Carter Cost. I live at eight-oh-one Governor’s Bend. On July thirtieth I was approached by Shelley Patterson and informed that she was pregnant.”
CJ’s insides tied into knots. She ordered herself to stay calm and pay attention. She needed to hear what he had to say. She could deal with the emotions later.
“Do you recall—”
“No questions, Detective,” Parker warned. “Not until he’s finished.”
“I have an addiction to Vicodin,” Cost confessed, “and Shelley and a number of her . . . colleagues had been helping me by obtaining prescriptions for the Vicodin I required. I paid them well and participated in sexual activities, particularly with Shelley, on several occasions.”
Cost stared at the table for a long moment.
The district attorney standing next to CJ whispered something to the chief, but she couldn’t make out his words. She wanted to believe this would finally be over. That Cost had done these horrible things and that now she could finally start to put this nightmare behind her. But she couldn’t get right with the idea. She just didn’t believe he was capable of these kinds of gruesome murders.
“A few days ago,” Cost continued, lifting his gaze to the detectives across the table, “I was contacted by Tyrone Nash. He claimed to have a video recording of the events that transpired in Shelley’s house the night she was murdered. He said that if I didn’t give him three hundred thousand dollars, he would ruin me with the video.”
There was a video! CJ rode out the wave of anticipation that urged her to go in there and shake the whole truth out of the man.
Another drawn-out silence from Cost. CJ was on the verge of shouting at him through the glass when he finally continued. “I visited Shelley that night.” He blinked repeatedly, as if holding back the emotion. “We argued. I told her that she should get an abortion . . . or else. She threw the television remote at me. And a bottle of water. She didn’t hit me and I didn’t hit her. We yelled at each other a lot, made stupid threats, but then I left. When Nash approached me, I was scared. I knew how the argument between Shelley and me would look, and I didn’t want anyone to see the video. Nash said if I gave him the money, he would give me the video. But I didn’t trust him to stick to his word.”
He took a long, deep breath. “Then I learned that Lusk had tampered with the lab results and that the pregnancy was a hoax. I confronted Lusk at the North Huntsville Clinic yesterday. Anyone present can certainly tell you that the confrontation was quite ugly.” He looked from Braddock to Cooper and back. “But I did not kill anyone. I couldn’t kill anyone. I took a solemn oath to help others, I couldn’t possibly kill another human being.”
“Really?” Cooper countered. “And yet you just stated that you ordered Shelley to have an abortion. You don’t feel that to terminate a pregnancy is taking a life?”
“Detective Cooper,” Parker charged, “this is not a debate about Dr. Cost’s stand on the issue of abortion. Your question is irrelevant.”
“I’ll answer the question,” Cost countered. His attorney sent him a look that let him know she wasn’t pleased. “An abortion is a medical procedure decided upon by a woman who has the right to exercise her civil rights, Detective Cooper. That’s not murder in my opinion.”
“What about,” Cooper returned, “the medical procedure that killed Juanita Lusk? Would that, in your opinion, be murder?” She pulled an eight-by-ten photo from the file in front of her and tossed it at Cost. “What would you call that? A hysterectomy? That one was performed while she was still alive.”
“Oh, my God.” Cost covered his face with his hands. “I didn’t do this.” He dropped his hands away. “I didn’t do any of this. You have to believe me. All I did was ask her to meet me at the clinic at midnight so we could talk. I couldn’t have—”
“Why don’t you tell us where you were last evening after eight PM?”
Cost looked to his attorney. She nodded. Cost turned to Braddock. “Between eight and midnight I was at home walking the floors, trying to figure out how I was going to fix all this. Suzi and I had several discussions on my home phone.”
“That’s correct,” the attorney confirmed. “We spoke four different times, each time on the landline at his home. I recommended that my client attempt to provide Ms. Lusk with a monetary gift for her son’s future as a way of putting this painful business to bed. I further advised my client to do the same with Dr. Patterson, in hopes of avoiding legal action.”
“Shortly before midnight I drove to the clinic to meet Lusk,” Cost continued. “We were going to have it out. She claimed to have something more I needed to see before I started laying all the blame on her. When I got there, the rear entrance was open and I found . . . her.” He let go a big breath. “I was terrified. I ran. Later, I hired three . . . prostitutes to help me get my mind off what I’d seen and Nash’s relentless demands. They were with me the rest of the night. I can give you their names.”
“How convenient,” Cooper offered. “And how much did you pay them, Dr. Cost?”
“Five hundred dollars each, for the night.”
“That’s a lot of money to a hooker,” Braddock commented. “Enough to ensure they said whatever you needed them to.”
“Braddock,” Parker warned, “the three women were still with Dr. Cost when two HPD officers busted into his home and dragged him out of bed. I would think that confirms his statement.”
“That still doesn’t put him in the clear,” Cooper argued. “He admits to being at the scene. Evidence confirms it. We know he had motive for wanting Shelley out of the way and for revenge on Lusk. The bottom line is, we’ve got him. I’m reasonably sure a jury would see things our way, given the evidence and his own statement of motive.”
Cost swallowed hard. “Give me a polygraph. I’m telling the truth.”
“Have you seen this video Nash claims to have?” Braddock asked, moving on.
Cost shook his head. “No, but he repeated a number of phrases I distinctly recalled saying to Shelley, so I’m sure it exists.”
“You want us to believe you’re innocent,” Cooper suggested. “If that’s true, an innocent man would be more than happy to help the police solve a multiple-homicidecase if he had the means at his disposal.”
“Are you making my client an offer?” the attorney asked.
Cooper and Braddock exchanged a look before Braddock said, “If Dr. Cost is willing to help us gain access to the videotape in Nash’s possession, we would certainly be willing to forgo the solicitation charges as well as the drug possession charges. However, he will remain a suspect in all three homicides until we can eliminate him from that list with evidence.”
“What drug possession charges?” Parker demanded.
“For the Vicodin we found in his home as well as in his car,” Cooper explained. “Since he doesn’t have a legal prescription, that makes his possession illegal.”
“I’ll help you,” Cost volunteered. “whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it. I didn’t kill anybody.”
“Carter,” his attorney argued, “we should hear the plan first.”
He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll do whatever I have to.”
As the interrogation continued, CJ couldn’t focus on the discussion. Cost’s words kept replaying in her head. A video recording of the events that transpired in Shelley’s house the night she was murdered . . . She threw the television remote at me.
Since there was no television in Shelley’s bedroom, that meant just one thing to CJ.
There was another video camera setup in the house.
Which could mean there were more videos . . . somewhere.
All she had to do was find them.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Bridge Street Town Center
Westin Hotel, 7:00 PM
Tyrone pulled back the drapes and let the light flood the suite. He needed the sun to go down. He needed out of here. He’d been hiding out since before noon.
This shit was getting too crazy.
That bitch CJ had called his cell phone four or five times. Did she think he was stupid? His ears at HPD had warned him that Cost had rolled over on him. Fucking pussy bastard. Tyrone should have gotten that 300K from that weasel motherfucker days ago.
Now that shit wasn’t happening. And he wasn’t going nowhere near that doctor bitch. She wasn’t setting him up. No way. Hell no.
/> He needed to start liquidating some assets just in case the shit went any further south.
Cost was gonna pay for this shit.
He would wish he’d kept his ass on the east side of the parkway when Tyrone got through with him.
But first he had one more business matter to attend to. And that old motherfucker better answer his goddamned phone this time. Tyrone was getting sick of his shit.
“You coming back to bed?”
Anticipation pushed a smile across Tyrone’s lips even when he had not a fucking thing to smile about. He turned back to the king-sized bed. Admired the beauty of his lover sprawled naked across those crisp linens. Long, lean legs. Sculpted torso. His cock hardened just looking at all that smooth white flesh wrapped around such perfectly toned muscles.
Widow’s black lace and silk dress, along with stilettos and stockings, were scattered across the floor. When they’d first checked into the room, Tyrone had stripped Widow naked and fucked him against the door. But that had been hours ago. They’d had drinks, ordered room service, then slept like the dead.
“Definitely.” Tyrone crossed to the bed. As he did, he watched his reflection in the big-ass mirror on the other side of the bed. He was black as night, every bit as lean and muscled as his lover. His cock was large. He fondled it proudly. Wasn’t nothing more natural than a man having pride in his personal assets.
He crawled onto the bed like a sleek tiger.
Might as well enjoy himself.
He had some time before it got dark.
“You’re the King,” his lover crooned. “I’m your humble servant. Punish me.”
Tyrone slid his hands around that long silky neck. “I’ll punish you.” He leaned down, put his mouth close to Widow’s ear. “Then I’ll make you come so hard you’ll beg me to do it again.”
If he was forced to relocate from the 256, this might be the last time he saw Widow . . . that would be the hardest part of all.
No one else understood him the way Widow did.