by T. R. Ragan
It was past midnight. Two technicians were dusting for prints in Lizzy’s downtown office when the door opened and a familiar face walked in.
“Well, if it isn’t Jimmy Martin,” Lizzy said. He looked thinner and grayer than the last time she’d seen him, but he had color in his face. “You look good, Jimmy.”
“You look good yourself, sunshine.”
“You’re feeling OK?”
“Better than ever.”
Jimmy was a special agent. Although she and Jimmy didn’t always see eye to eye, it was good to see him up and moving again. She and Jimmy had worked together on the Spiderman case before he discovered he had cancer. Jared had been keeping her updated, and she knew Jimmy’s wife had left him. The silver lining was that his illness had brought him closer to his daughters, and he now made a point of spending quality time with them. Lizzy smiled at him and said, “You’re so mean you just kicked cancer right in the ass, didn’t you?”
“That’s right, kiddo.” He used his chin to gesture at the box sitting on her desk. “I heard you might have made friends with another maniac.”
“Apparently,” she said. “What’s the deal with the beetles?”
Jimmy shoved his hands into his pant pockets and jiggled his keys. “Some killers like to keep creepy souvenirs so they can relive their fantasies, and others like to leave little treasures like dead insects just for fun.”
“What if it’s merely a coincidence?”
“Let’s hope,” he said before he exchanged a few words with Jared and then headed across the room to talk to one of the technicians.
Lizzy glanced at the clock on her desk and watched the second hand go around and around. She didn’t like the old familiar smell of fear causing shivers to course up her arms and make the hairs at her nape stand on end. Although she was playing it cool, she couldn’t help but wonder if the media was right: she didn’t let trouble find her, she went looking for it instead. Not purposely, of course, but she definitely seemed to have a knack for getting involved in other people’s business.
She refused to beat herself up over it. When it came to wanting to help Michael Dalton, her heart was in the right place. And yet she couldn’t help but wonder: Jessica, Hayley, Brittany, Michael Dalton, were they better off without her?
Jared was sitting in the chair behind her desk, wearing gloves and examining drawers, looking for any sign that someone who didn’t belong had been there. On the way to her office, Jared had explained the significance of the beetles in relation to the Lovebird Killer. Although the people of Sacramento had been kept well informed of most things concerning the murders so far attributed to the Lovebird Killer, what they didn’t know was the one oddity that tied many of the victims together: the pine sawyer beetle. The first couple, discovered by the American River, had been newlyweds; both had had a beetle shoved down their esophagus. There was another woman, Betsy Weaver, mutilated beyond recognition. Most of her organs had been removed, including her heart. Her teeth were used to identify her body, which was found dangling from a tree in Curtis Park. Her husband, Stan, had reported her missing weeks before her body was found. At first, the FBI had kept a close eye on Stan, but after months of surveillance, Stan Weaver was left alone to move on with his life. The people of Sacramento, Betsy’s husband included, were not aware that the FBI considered Betsy’s death to be linked to the Lovebird Killer due to the beetles found stuffed in her rectum. The most recent couple to be found both had a beetle squeezed with great care into their nostrils.
The problem with the pine sawyer beetle link was that the pesky bugs were easy to find in California.
Another detail that tied the potential Lovebird Killer victims together was that they were all childless. Due to the FBI’s ability to keep a few of the particulars of the murders quiet, the media and the citizens of Sacramento were not aware of these details.
Lizzy knew that if and when the media picked up on the relationship between the beetle and the Lovebird Killer, her office would become a zoo overnight.
After Jared had filled her in, Lizzy had brought up Jennifer and Michael Dalton again. But just as Greer had told her, the evidence against Michael was solid. And no beetles, Jared assured her, had been left anywhere near or on Jennifer’s body—nothing whatsoever to connect the Lovebird Killer to Jennifer’s death.
Lizzy looked at the beetles in the box on her desk. Was this the killer’s way of leaving her a message?
She caught Jared staring at her, and she knew what he was thinking. There was no way she was going to be able to stop him from hiring a security guard now.
Antelope
Thursday, May 24, 2012
“Hey, look there. She’s back.”
Magnus looked over his shoulder.
Shit.
He thought he’d made it clear to her that she should stay away. Obviously, he’d been wrong. She could ruin everything. He needed to get rid of her for good, and fast.
“We’re going to have to tell the boss or take care of the problem ourselves.”
“I don’t think she’s a problem,” Magnus lied.
“You heard Dominic. His fiancée hired someone to trail him. He found a contract in her office. That girl over there works for a PI—a PI who happens to be living with an FBI agent. It doesn’t get much more problematic than that. Who’s going to take care of her? You or me?”
Magnus shoved his hammer into his belt and headed toward the most beat-up, faded red Volvo wagon he’d ever seen.
Damn.
He hated this part of the job. He should have made himself clear; he should have scared her off from the beginning. It was her face and those big expressive eyes and wild lips that had caught him completely off guard.
What a waste.
Jessica watched Magnus head her way. Are you frickin’ kidding me?
He couldn’t possibly have seen her that quickly. Not only had she waited more than a week before returning, she had parked two blocks away from the construction site, and had pulled up to the curb less than five minutes ago.
Jessica had told Danielle what she overheard, told her that is sounded as if Povo was being roughed up a bit and somebody wanted money, but Danielle’s only concern was whether or not Jessica had seen Povo with another woman. The conversation had been awkward. After Jessica had told Danielle that she might have to lie low for a while, the woman had asked Jessica to please stop by the construction site once a week, while she was in Europe, and make sure Dominic was at work. Danielle didn’t care what time of day Jessica showed up—she only wanted to be sure Dominic was on the site; she wanted to know firsthand that he wasn’t lying to her. That seemed fair enough. Although Jessica’s last visit had been intense, she still had no idea what Povo was up to, if anything.
She needed to chill. That wasn’t blood splatter on the trailer and those weren’t dead bodies being delivered in garbage bags. Nobody would leave blood splatter on the side of his trailer and not bother to clean it up, and the garbage bags could have been filled with supplies for all she knew.
Jessica’s new plan was to visit the site once a week, wait for Povo to arrive at work, then leave. Easy-smeasy.
With a sigh, she watched Magnus head her way. He certainly knew how to walk with a swagger. She couldn’t exactly speed off as he came toward her, looking all macho and cocky as hell.
Her window was already rolled down.
He put a hand on her door, his long tan fingers settling on the frame of her car door. His T-shirt was snug in all the right places, making it extremely difficult for her to find her voice. “You caught me,” she managed to say.
He raked his fingers through his hair. “What’s it going to take to make you see that you shouldn’t be here?”
Her face heated. “I really am just checking out the neighborhood. The only reason I went to the trailer was to talk to your boss about the house you’re working on. To tell you the truth, I really didn’t appreciate you manhandling me that way.”
“You don�
�t get it. You shouldn’t be here.”
“This is my favorite street and I’m interested in—”
He raised a hand, stopping her from saying more. “My boss thinks you’re spying on him. He said that if I didn’t find a way to get you out of his hair, my job would be on the line. Do you want me to lose my job?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her again by putting a hand on her shoulder, the brush of his fingers sending shivers up her spine. She really did need to get a life.
“I know you work for an investigative company.”
“That’s not true, I—”
“No more lies.”
She lifted her chin. “It works both ways. What happened last week inside that trailer?”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
“I need to know what’s going on with Dominic Povo. Is he in trouble?”
“You need to leave now.”
“Not before you tell me what’s going on here.”
“Tell me where you want to meet, and we’ll talk.”
Dominic Povo was obviously hiding something, and Magnus was the only one who might be able to tell her what was going on. “Why don’t we meet for coffee next week,” she said, hoping she could learn more about Povo, not to mention the bulky garbage bags that had been dropped off. Having coffee with Magnus could be considered work.
“You name the place and the time.”
“Shady’s Coffee and Tea in Roseville. Tuesday. Three o’clock.” She was scheduled to do surveillance in Roseville earlier that day. Getting Magnus to come to her would be killing two birds with one stone.
His expression was much too serious as he said, “I’ll meet you, but only if you promise to stay away from this place.”
“And if I promise you I’ll stay away, you’ll tell me what’s going on?”
“Yes. Now go.”
As he walked away, her eyes locked on his backside and stayed there until he disappeared down the road. Maybe she and Danielle Cartwright were more alike than she ever would have imagined—they both liked bad boys. Magnus was probably in his late twenties, definitely an older man. He was arrogant, cocky, aggressive, and possibly dangerous.
And she liked him already.
John and Rochelle
Sacramento
June 2007
John opened his mouth for another spoonful of broth. He felt as if he’d been drifting in and out of consciousness for days. He remembered waking up when Rochelle wiped a cool rag over his forehead. Her fingers had felt like a soothing balm all their own. He must have passed out before she finished, because now she was spoon-feeding him. The warm liquid felt good against his raw throat.
He also recalled her using an empty coffee tin as a makeshift bedpan to help him relieve himself. She had helped him clean his pants and his undershorts, too, using a bucket of dingy water. He wondered how long they’d been here, but he didn’t have to wonder for long.
“It’s been two weeks,” Rochelle said.
He had no family to speak of, but Rochelle had a mother and father who cared deeply for their daughter. She was also close to her sister and brother. Of course they would all be worried out of their minds by now. “I bet your family has sent out the cavalry. They’ll come bursting in here at any moment,” he told her, his voice weak. “I’m sure of it.”
Her head fell forward and he felt her wet cheek brush against his hand.
“Don’t cry,” he said. “I’m sorry I’ve let you down. It’s my fault we’re here.”
“I want to leave this place. I want to go home.”
“I know you do. I’m going to get you out of here, I promise.” When he looked downward, he noticed a long, jagged cut across the length of her calf. “What’s that on your leg? What did they do to you?”
She was sobbing in earnest now, her shoulders quivering.
He leaned over far enough that he could kiss the top of her head. If it weren’t for Rochelle, he’d be dead already. He couldn’t stand to see her suffer. “Rochelle,” he said as an idea came to him. “I need you to find something to help with these ropes. Before I was knocked out, I was able to loosen the ties by rubbing them against the jagged edge of the chair leg, but it will take too long without your help. I have a long way to go.”
When she pushed herself to her feet, he got a better look at the cut. The monsters had cut an irregular line into her leg, like a lightning bolt, at least a foot long. They’d used crude stitching to sew her up. Why would they do such a thing? It doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes any sense. Why are they keeping us tied up as prisoners? Why would they do that to her?
“I bet they keep tools of some sort over there,” he said, gesturing with his chin.
She walked that way, the chain clinking as she went.
“No, John,” he heard her say.
“You’re almost there. You can do it, Rochelle. Just a little bit farther.”
She maneuvered her body so that she had another inch or so of leeway. The tip of her finger touched the pointed end of a screwdriver. Her breathing was ragged as she pushed and pulled and miraculously managed to knock the screwdriver from the table. It clacked to the floor, and luck was on their side because it rolled in their direction.
She did it! Such a clever girl.
She picked up the screwdriver and held it up for him to see. Her eyes were filled with pain and suffering. He loved her so much.
“See if you can loosen the ropes,” he whispered.
Her chains allowed her to reach the front of him, but she had to strain even further to reach his hands tied behind his chair. She managed to stick the screwdriver between the knots and push and prod. The ropes were loosening. He’d never felt such relief. Just a little longer and his hands would be free.
Hope.
For the first time since they’d been taken, he felt hope, a light ethereal feeling, almost tangible within a room so thick with despair.
“You think I’m weak, don’t you?”
He could see that she was trying to be brave, but the tears wouldn’t stop.
He closed his eyes, concentrated on breathing. He had never loved anyone as he loved Rochelle. Before he could comfort her, the cellar door creaked open.
“Rochelle,” he said, his voice a frantic whisper now. “Somebody’s coming. When he gets close enough, use every bit of strength you can summon to stab him with the screwdriver.”
He let his head fall forward as if he was dead.
Judging by the footsteps, it was only one person. Perfect. He struggled to get his hand loose so that he’d be able to stab the man.
“What’s going on down here?” the man asked.
“Please stop,” Rochelle cried. “I can’t take any more of this. Let me go!” Her forehead fell limp, her head resting on John’s knees, her body shaking.
The man came closer, grabbed her arm, and yanked her away.
John’s eyes were closed, but he could smell the man’s sour breath as he leaned over him. Now, Rochelle, he thought. Do it now.
He heard the clink of her chains. He opened his eyes.
The man hovered over him as Rochelle brought her arm down hard, stabbing him with the screwdriver again and again. He’d never seen her look so angry. She must have gotten him good, because blood was everywhere.
John’s pulse skyrocketed. He pulled with all the strength he had left inside him, twisting and yanking, shocked when his right hand came loose. He reached for the screwdriver and pulled it from the man’s body, then used it to work the knots around his other wrist.
CHAPTER 18
It wasn’t as dark and scary as it sounds. I had a lot of fun…killing somebody’s a funny experience.
—Albert DeSalvo
Davis
Friday, May 25, 2012
Hayley stood in front of her mirrored closet door. She didn’t like the jittery feeling inside. Her nerves were getting the best of her. Jared and Lizzy had talked to her mom and somehow convinced her to come to dinner. Hayley had
been at Lizzy’s for a few weeks now, but this was the first time she’d gone out of her way to look “presentable.” She had on a pair of jeans and a mossy green top with three-quarter-length sleeves that Lizzy had bought for her. The clothes felt strange and too snug for her liking.
When she glanced in the mirror, she didn’t recognize herself. Her hair had grown long, a few inches past her shoulders. The ends looked like shit, but whatever. She couldn’t remember her hair ever being so long. She hadn’t bothered to have her piercings redone, mostly because of the restrictions due to her ankle monitor. She had to admit, she was getting used to looking at her face without all of the adornments.
An hour ago she’d thought it was a dumbass thing to do, primping and worrying over things like hair and clothes. But then she’d decided her mom wasn’t the only one who needed to change if they wanted to turn things around. And that’s exactly what Hayley wanted. She would do anything, including dressing up a bit, if it would help her mom stay sober and get the hell away from Brian.
The moment she heard the front door open, her heart pounded harder and faster against her chest. She straightened, took a deep breath, and headed for the other room. It had been almost ten months since she’d seen her mom last, but it felt like years. Jessica had said that her mom appeared to be free of drugs and alcohol, but that was hard to believe since Hayley could count on one hand the number of times she’d spoken to her mom when she was sober.
As Hayley entered the living room, she saw Lizzy come through the door first, followed by Mom. Her hair was now more gray than brown, but she’d combed it and fastened it with a clip. She wore blush and mascara, too.
Hayley was afraid to move, unsure of what to do next. They both stood there and sort of looked each other over. Hayley found her voice and said, “You look good, Mom.”
Her mom stepped her way and reached out to gently brush the hair out of Hayley’s face. “Your hair has gotten long.” She sighed. “You’re so grown up.”
Jared came through the front door next, and he and Lizzy went to the kitchen and made themselves busy.
“Come on,” Hayley said with a wave of her hand toward the couch, disappointed when she caught a whiff of alcohol on her mom’s breath. “Let’s sit down.”