by Mary Burton
She headed outside, closed the door behind her, and clicked the dead bolt into place. This time she pocketed the key, instead of putting it under the flower pot.
Dashing down the walk, she spotted the morning paper. ‘Finally.’ She reached down and scooped it up.
The instant she touched the newsprint, she knew something was terribly wrong. The paper was too heavy and bulky, and it was wet.
She glanced down and saw the red stain of blood seeping through the newsprint and onto her hand. Terrified, she screamed and dropped the paper.
Her hand was covered in blood.
And at her feet lay a severed hand.
Warwick’s cell phone rang as Zack pulled the Impala into Lindsay’s neighborhood. ‘Warwick.’
The cop’s face tightened as he listened. ‘Right. We’re minutes away.’
Zack sensed the shift in Warwick’s tone instantly. Warwick hung up. ‘What happened?’
‘You were right. Lindsay O’Neil just got another delivery. A hand wrapped in her morning newspaper.’
A protective urge exploded in Zack. ‘Is she all right?’
‘Yeah, she’s fine, but the patrolman says she looks like she’s about to freak.’
Zack maneuvered the Impala down the side streets. As he rounded the final corner to Lindsay’s cul-de-sac, he saw the blue and white patrol cars and their flashing blue lights. He parked the car and he and Warwick got out.
Yellow tape looped around bushes and a light post and blocked the sidewalk leading to Lindsay’s town house. A crowd had gathered.
Lindsay sat in the backseat of a patrol car. The door was open and her head rested in her hands. Even from fifty feet away, she looked rattled.
He strode to Lindsay and crouched by the open door. He wanted to touch her but was careful not to. He was mindful that Warwick’s gaze was trained on him. ‘Are you all right?’
Lindsay lifted her head. Her eyes were red as if she’d been crying. ‘No, I’m not all right. I’m completely freaked out.’
‘What happened?’
‘I was on my way to a meeting with my boss. I spotted the paper and picked it up. Immediately, it felt wrong. Then I saw the blood. I dropped it, and then I saw the hand and screamed. The maintenance man heard me and called the police.’
‘Did you notice anyone different standing around?’ The question came from Warwick, who now stood behind Zack.
‘No. But I was running late and I was distracted. And then after I saw the hand, I didn’t see anything else.’
‘When’s the last time you saw Burt Saunders?’ Warwick asked.
Her lips flattened. ‘You were there yesterday. He attacked me in the parking lot at Mental Health Services.’
‘You haven’t seen him since?’ Warwick said.
She glared up at him. ‘No.’ She paled. ‘Is that his hand?’
Zack rose and faced Warwick. ‘Did anyone call the EMTs? Lindsay should be checked out.’
Warwick frowned. ‘She looks fine to me.’
Lindsay got out of the car. ‘I am fine. Do you know whom that hand belongs to?’
‘Do you have an alibi for last night?’ Warwick said.
‘I was out with a friend.’ She sighed. ‘Dr Sam Begley.’
Zack frowned but said nothing.
‘He’s at Mercy Hospital?’ Warwick said.
‘Yes.’ She kept her gaze on Warwick. ‘He’s the one who called me about Gail Saunders. We went out for dinner.’
‘He’s also the doctor who treated Jordan Turner and Gail Saunders,’ Zack said.
‘He didn’t have anything to do with this,’ Lindsay said.
Zack’s brow lifted, surprised by her defense of the man.
She shook her head. ‘I know how cops think. Everyone is a suspect.’
Warwick studied her. ‘The doctor has a connection to both victims.’
‘Dr Begley is one of the good guys.’
‘How long have you known him?’ Zack said.
‘Seven months.’
‘Are you dating?’ Zack challenged.
‘That’s my business.’
Zack muttered an oath as the forensics van arrived. Warwick excused himself and went over to the technician as he unpacked his equipment. Zack caught Lindsay glancing toward her town house. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘No.’
‘Is someone in the town house? Maybe your Dr Begley?’
She met his gaze. ‘Sam is not in my town house.’
Two hours ago, Zack had been inside her. In those moments they’d been so close, the world had felt right, balanced. Now, she was doing her best to keep space between them. They were back to being near strangers. ‘Is there anything else I should know?’
She shook her head. ‘You have all my shelter records. I don’t have any more secrets to hide.’
‘You’re protecting someone. I know it. Is it Dr Begley?’ Zack challenged.
Her face flushed. ‘I told you, Sam has nothing to do with this.’
He lowered his voice so that only she could hear him. ‘You’re holding back on me.’
‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘Warwick is running this investigation now. He’s got a reputation for being tenacious as hell. He won’t give up until he has answers. Tell me what you’re hiding.’
The slight shift in her gaze spoke volumes. ‘I’m not hiding anything.’
He’d felt nothing but frustration from the moment he’d laid eyes on her two days ago. ‘Don’t make this harder than it has to be.’
She almost smiled. ‘It was never easy for us, Zack. So why start now?’
Zack cursed and strode away.
Vega and Ricker pulled into the parking lot in front of the church. Vega shut off the engine. His phone rang and it was Warwick who updated him on the latest murder.
‘Thanks,’ Vega said. He gave Ricker the rundown.
She shoved out a breath. ‘This gets nastier by the minute.’
‘Yeah.’
Ricker checked her notes. ‘Pam Rogers has a brother and a half brother. She and the accountant shared both parents. She and the minister share only a mother. The accountant checked out, so now let’s have a chat with the minister.’
They got out of the car and crossed the graveled lot toward the modern church. ‘The church was built last year,’ Ricker said. ‘It already boasts three hundred families on its Web site.’
Vega shrugged. ‘Business is booming.’
They entered the side door and followed the signs to the office. At this early hour, the place was quiet. It felt deserted and kind of creepy as far as Vega was concerned. And the new-carpet smell didn’t sit well with him either.
There was no one sitting at the reception area, so Ricker pushed past it to the door to an inner office. She knocked on the door.
‘Yes?’ The voice was male, cultured, and sounded a little annoyed.
Ricker pushed open the door. ‘Pastor Richards?’
The young minister looked up from his computer. He sat behind a large modern desk. Behind him were rows of shelves filled with books. A large wooden cross hung on the wall across from him. ‘Yes?’
‘We’re detectives with Henrico police. We have a few questions.’
The minister was dressed in a golf shirt and light-colored pants. He rose. ‘What is this about?’
‘Lindsay O’Neil,’ Vega said.
Recognition flashed in the minister’s eyes. ‘Come in and have a seat.’
They each took one of the seats in front of the desk.
Vega didn’t feel like beating around the bush. ‘You know Ms O’Neil?’
‘I do. Our church has kind of adopted her shelter in the last couple of months.’
Vega didn’t like the guy. He was too polished. ‘Does she know that your sister was a resident at Sanctuary?’
The minister’s brows knitted. ‘No. I never told her that Pam was my sister.’
‘Why not?’
He steepled his fingers. ‘I’ve wa
nted to. In fact, I almost did the other night. She was here speaking to a group of parishioners about domestic violence and she used Pam’s story as a case study. It nearly broke my heart.’
‘Why didn’t you tell her?’
‘I like her. I know Pam’s death hurt her. I didn’t want to cause Lindsay any more pain. The woman is practically a saint.’
‘How did you two hook up?’ Ricker said.
‘A couple of months ago, I was looking for an outreach project for the church and I saw the article about her in Inside Richmond. It felt like a sign from God, so I called Lindsay.’
Ricker’s eyes narrowed. ‘Lindsay. You’ve called her Lindsay twice.’
‘That a problem?’ Richards asked.
‘It’s the way you say her name. You really like Ms O’Neil, don’t you?’
He swallowed. ‘There’s a lot to admire about her.’
Vega picked up Ricker’s vibe. ‘Feels like a little more than admiration.’
Richards stiffened as if he’d been caught doing something illicit. ‘Does this have to do with the murder at the shelter? Because if it does, I can tell you I had nothing to do with it.’
Rickard leaned forward. ‘Where were you early Monday morning and early this morning?’
‘Here, working at the church on sermons and budgets.’
‘Any witnesses?’ Vega asked.
The minister shrugged. ‘No.’
Chapter Twenty-One
Wednesday, July 9, 10:10 A.M.
Lindsay worried about Nicole as she numbly sat in the back of the police car watching the forensics team do its job of collecting evidence. Warwick interviewed the complex’s worried-looking maintenance man, Steve, while Zack talked to neighbors. No doubt they’d check Steve’s past and also look into Sam’s background. Everyone she knew was being pulled into this mess.
One killing had been sensational enough. Two equated to a pattern – and major headlines, a fact that was driven home to her when Kendall Shaw arrived with her cameraman.
The last thing Nicole needed was for Lindsay to be the center of a major news story.
Across the street, a black Mercedes pulled up and Dana Miller got out. She was dressed in white Armani and carried a thick, efficiently designed purse. She frowned as she surveyed the scene from behind large white-framed sunglasses.
Lindsay rose and moved toward her boss. ‘Dana.’
Dana offered a curt smile. Her expensive perfume swirled around her. ‘I got your voice mail. When you said there was trouble I decided to see what was happening for myself. What’s going on?’
The story was so outlandish, she felt foolish telling it. ‘Another man was murdered. And another hand was sent to me.’
Dana’s rouge-painted lips flattened. She reached in her purse and pulled out a long, slim cigarette case. ‘Is the murder victim connected to the shelter?’
‘Not to the shelter, but to me. I think the victim’s name is – was – Burt Saunders.’ She recapped the highlights of the last few days.
Dana removed a cigarette from the case and lit it with a monogrammed lighter. She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. ‘This is not good, Lindsay.’
Lindsay’s worried expression reflected in Dana’s sunglasses. ‘I know.’
Dana glanced toward the camera crews. ‘Do you have any idea who’s behind this?’
The question almost made her laugh. ‘If I knew I’d be sharing it with the cops.’
Dana studied the scene. Her frown deepened when Kendall Shaw started her report. Neither could hear what the reporter was saying, but they got the gist of it. ‘Lindsay, I’ve always believed you were Sanctuary’s best asset. You’re a big part of our success. You have a passion for your work that few possess.’
Her boss rarely tossed out compliments. ‘But …’
‘But right now, you are our biggest liability. The press is on your doorstep because some crazy person is fixated on you. By tomorrow, you won’t be able to move without someone spotting you.’
‘Dana, I’ve worked under pressure before. I can handle the media.’
‘That’s yet to be proven.’
An uneasy helplessness tightened Lindsay’s belly. ‘Then let me prove myself. I don’t want to abandon Sanctuary.’
Dana puffed on her cigarette. ‘I’d like to. I really would. But none of us can afford the bad press.’
Us. Dana didn’t want the bad press.
‘I’ve called in every favor to keep this story as quiet as possible, but nothing is going to keep the media away from this.’
‘Dana, let’s just give this another day or two. The police might find the killer and then all the questions will be answered.’
Dana dropped her half-smoked cigarette to the concrete sidewalk and ground it with the tip of her high heel. ‘I wish it were that easy, but it’s not. I’ve no choice but to suspend you.’
Lindsay couldn’t swallow her outrage. ‘You’re firing me?’
Dana looked away. ‘Not firing, but suspending you until this mess is cleared up. I don’t want you associated with the shelter.’
Lindsay curled her fingers into fists at her sides. ‘I didn’t do anything wrong.’
Dana lifted her chin. ‘No one said you did. You’re a victim.’
‘I am not a victim.’ How many times had the social workers said that Lindsay was a victim? A victim of a bad family. A victim of domestic violence. A victim of fate. ‘I can overcome this.’
The force behind Lindsay’s tone had Dana softening. ‘I’ve no doubt that in time you will. You’re smart and bright. However, in the short term you are a liability to the shelter and me. Don’t take it personally, Lindsay. This is business.’
Aware that Kendall was watching, Lindsay kept her voice low. ‘Dana, how can I not take it personally? You’re canning me.’
‘I’m not firing you. This is a paid leave.’
‘Sanctuary is more than a business to me. It’s more than a paycheck.’
Dana pulled her Blackberry out of her slim purse. Consciously or not, Dana was shifting her mind to the day’s next problem. ‘I’ve got to go.’
Lindsay once again clenched her fists at her sides. ‘That’s it? I’m out?’
Dana checked her watch. ‘Call my secretary. We’ll set up a meeting. Hopefully, this will all be behind us in a week or so.’ She hurried toward her car and vanished behind tinted windows.
Lindsay had the sick feeling that this was going to be with them for a long, long time.
She stood alone, her fists still clenched, her stomach churning.
Zack walked up to her as Dana drove off. ‘What was that all about?’
Unshed tears tightened her throat. She wanted to bury her face in his chest. ‘I’ve just been canned.’
His hands slid to his waist below the black handle of his shoulder holster. ‘She fired you?’
‘I’m on “paid leave.” But I know that look. I’m done with Sanctuary.’ A wave of helplessness washed over her, reminding her of the months following her mother’s death. No matter what she’d done then, she hadn’t been able to regain control of her life.
Zack frowned. ‘Your boss is an idiot.’
She was grateful he didn’t toss any pity her way. That would have been her undoing. ‘She’s very savvy. And very image conscious. I’m now a liability.’
‘Like I said, an idiot.’
Silver bracelets jangled as she ran her hands through her hair. ‘I want this guy caught, Zack.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘We all do.’
‘I’ll do whatever I can to help.’
He lifted a brow. ‘That’s a change.’
‘This guy, the Guardian, is tearing at my life. I won’t be able to help anyone if he keeps at it. I want him stopped. I want my life back.’
‘The detective going through your shelter records would appreciate your help. She was having trouble deciphering your handwriting in some of the files.’
She was eager to get started. ‘I can go by h
eadquarters now.’
‘First, I want you to see something.’
The delay frustrated Lindsay and it showed in her voice. ‘What?’
Zack disregarded the snap in her tone. ‘The Guardian left another note.’
‘Where?’
‘It was wrapped in the newspaper.’
‘What does it say?’
‘I’ll let Warwick tell you.’ Tension laced the words but she was too worried to question them.
Zack guided Lindsay over to the edge of the yellow tape roping off the front of her town house. She’d been shut out of Sanctuary and wondered now if she would be barred from her home.
Warwick approached her. ‘Ms O’Neil.’
Lindsay braced. ‘Detective. What does the note say?’
Warwick glanced at his notebook. ‘ “One less demon to battle, Lindsay. P.S. Be careful of cars when you jog. The Guardian.” ’
Despite the heat, a chill shot down her back. ‘He’s watching me.’
‘When’s the last time you went running?’ Warwick said.
‘This morning. I ran near Bandy Field. I was nearly hit by a van when I crossed Three Chopt.’ Anger rose up in her. ‘The bastard is watching me.’
Zack’s jaw tightened. ‘Did you see anyone this morning?’
She couldn’t look at him as the memories of this morning returned. ‘No. But I wasn’t running alone. I was with my friend Tasha Winters. She works with the canine unit. I can call her. She might have seen something.’
Warwick shook his head. ‘I’ll take care of it. What time were you running?’
‘Between six and seven.’
‘Winters was with you the whole way?’ Warwick said.
Color flooded her cheeks. ‘No. She had to get to work. I ran longer.’
Zack straightened at the simple lie that masked their complicated meeting. ‘You might as well hear this from me, Warwick. Lindsay was at my house this morning.’
Warwick lifted a brow. ‘Your house?’
Lindsay wanted to melt into the ground. ‘That has nothing to do with this.’
Zack held up his hand to silence her. ‘When Lindsay and I were together, she admired a house near her jogging route. I recently bought the house. She asked for a tour.’