Nowhere to Run (Stephanie Carovella)

by Nina D'Angelo

  “Gena, you didn’t arrange this little get together just to lecture me on my spending habits. What do you want?” Stephanie asked bluntly, refusing to let Gena bait her.

  She wasn’t sure why Gena had called her. They hadn’t spoken since Dominic’s funeral. Too many angry words had been spoken between them. Too many truths aired. Even now, the words Gena had flung at her still stung deeply.

  ***

  “Did you ever love Dominic, Stephanie?” Gena asked furiously, glaring at the woman in front of her.

  Stephanie continued to stare blankly out the window, ignoring her friend. She refused to let Gena bait her today, of all days.

  Gena grabbed her arm, spinning Stephanie around to face her. “Dominic loved you with everything he had. Right up until the day he died, he still loved you. But you used him. He was nothing more than a plaything, one you discarded once you were bored. To make matters worse, you moved straight onto his best friend. How could you do it Stephanie? How could you put Dominic through everything you did? And now you’re standing here, without so much as a tear, without so much as any sign of grief, no indication whatsoever you even felt anything for him. Did he mean so little to you, Stephanie?”

  ***

  “Stephanie?” Gena questioned, noticing the battle of emotions on Stephanie’s face before she carefully hid them. Frustration welled inside her. Stephanie was always so careful around everyone. She didn’t ever let anyone see what she was really feeling inside. Shaking her head, she wondered what had happened in her friend’s past to make her so wary of anyone getting to close. It was almost as if she put a mental brick wall around herself and refused to let anyone get close enough to penetrate.

  Gena tried her hardest to break down those walls at Dominic’s funeral. She’d fought with Stephanie, remembering the bitter taste of her angry words as she threw them at her. She’d thrown empty accusations at Stephanie, driven more from grief than from truth. She’d rained accusation after accusation down on her, determined to break through the barriers just for some indication her friend was grieving like everyone else was.

  She grimaced, recalling how Stephanie had given as good as she’d got, accusing her of being in love with Dominic. She’d failed in her attempt to break down Stephanie’s walls. Instead Stephanie had further distanced herself from everyone and within days of Dominic’s funeral she was gone. She’d quit her job and left L.A without a word to any of them. Gena couldn’t help but wonder if she had been to blame.

  “What do you want Gena?” Stephanie repeated firmly.

  “Now Angel’s been laid to rest, I suppose you’ll be heading back to the rabbit hole you disappeared into after Dominic died,” Gena mused, casually taking a sip of her coffee and watching Stephanie’s gaze become shuttered at the mention of Dominic.

  “Actually, I thought I’d stay here for a while,” Stephanie answered with a calmness she didn’t feel.

  Gena scowled at her, not liking the answer she was given even thought she expected it after her conversation with Jesse.

  “Don’t you have a job waiting for you back home? Won’t your husband expect you to go back with him?” Gena asked, running a hand through her short, auburn hair and trying to hide her frustration.

  Stephanie casually shrugged one slim shoulder. “I’m taking a hiatus from work right now, and Leigh is none of your concern,” Stephanie said, adding sweetly, “But thank you for asking.”

  “Damn it Stephanie, I’m serious. Go home. Forget whatever you’re plotting. Just go home. Leave it up to the professionals to find Angel’s killer,” Gena snapped, slamming her fist onto the table. She ignored the startled looks of nearby customers, her eyes narrowing angrily at Stephanie’s nonchalant behavior.

  Stephanie quirked an eyebrow at Gena’s explosive reaction. “Are you trying to scare me, Detective Evans? If so, you should know me better than that. I don’t scare easily, and I’m not going anywhere until I’m good and ready.”

  “I’ll have you deported,” Gena threatened.

  Stephanie laughed harshly at the obvious bluff. “I’m American. You can’t deport me.”

  “Then I’ll arrest you for interfering with my case,” Gena said bluntly. Watching Stephanie casually study her fingernails, she felt anger bubbling to the surface.

  “No, you won’t,” Stephanie said with a smug smirk.

  “What makes you think I won’t?” Gena bluffed.

  Leaning forward, Stephanie said confidently, “You need me.”

  “Like a hole in the head,” Gena grumbled, watching Stephanie throw back her head and laugh huskily. “I’m so glad to see I’m entertaining you,” she said sarcastically.

  Stephanie smiled brilliantly at Gena, before wrinkling her nose in disgust when Gena pulled out a packet of Marlboro’s from her jacket pocket. “You know those things will kill you,” she said.

  Gena grunted, sticking a cigarette between her lips and lighting it. “I’m trying to quit,” she said, adding defensively, “I’ve cut back to four or five cigarettes a day.”

  Stephanie said nothing, suddenly leaning forward, her expression serious. Watching Gena cup her hand around her cigarette as she lit it, she waited until Gena took her first drag before she spoke.

  “Now Gena, do you want to tell me why you really invited me down here? I’m guessing it’s not to reminisce on what great friends we used to be, or because you want to know what I’ve been doing for the past six months. If you’d really wanted to know, you would have picked up the phone. So just tell me, what the hell do you want?”

  ***

  He watched them from across the road. His eyes moved over Gena in contempt, assessing the Detective with a smirk. She still thought she knew everything. The bitch always did think she was better than everyone else, even him. In fact she hadn’t even been aware of his existence despite the fact they’d had a couple of classes together.

  He couldn’t wait to make her pay for all her sins. He planned on spending hours inflicting torture upon torture, making her suffer as he had suffered. He’d make sure she, not only remembered his face, but also his name while she took her last breath. He dismissed her coldly, feeling nothing but loathing for the woman who had treated him so callously.

  Turning his attention to Stephanie, his breath caught in his throat. Lovingly, he ran his eyes over her lithe figure. She took care of herself and he could have spent hours watching her on the treadmill at Body Maxx. He loved to watch her. He always had. He’d spent many hours watching her run the track at U.C.L.A. He’d admired her concentration, her ability to concentrate on nothing but the path in front of her. She kept her own pace, her only connection to the world her music; oblivious to the tiny trickles of sweat running between the vee of her breasts. His tongue ran along his parched lip, unable to hide the anticipation of applying a soft whip to her skin. He would take his time breaking her.

  He closed his eyes. She had noticed him in University. She’d always had a smile for him and taken the time to acknowledge his existence, even when her friends hadn’t. He’d always known he loved her the most. Known she was the special one. Known it would take time and practice before he was skilled enough to show her his love.

  Turning the key in the ignition, he started the car, smiling coldly. He was finally ready to show her the real him, to give her all of his love. But first, he would court her.

  Chapter Eleven

  Gena leaned against the store counter, the feel of her concealed gun digging into her side soothingly. Watching Stephanie pay for their coffees, she rolled her eyes at the way the teenager, behind the counter, fell over himself to serve Stephanie.

  Scanning the busy café, she didn’t like what she saw. Twenty-Something’s, drinking their coffees and typing busily on their laptops, so immersed in writing the next great American novel that she doubted they even knew what was going on around them. Those not attached to their laptops were permanently attached to their cells, or hooked into an IPod. All of them were so wrapped up in their own worlds,
without even a care.

  Had they even bothered to read today’s newspaper? Would they be so self-absorbed if they knew there was a serial killer on the loose? Would they even give a damn? No doubt they’d think they were safe in their little bubbles. She knew differently.

  Shaking her head ruefully, she wondered when L.A had made her so jaded. Impatiently, she picked up a copy of the L.A Times, dropping a dollar bill onto the counter, and skimming the paper for news of her latest murder victim.

  “I figured you could use another fix. You still drink Caffé Americano’s, right?” Stephanie interrupted Gena’s musings, handing her a Grande.

  Gena nodded, raising her eyes from the paper to take the coffee cup from her. She jerked her head towards the teenage boy who’d just served Stephanie. “I see another fell under your spell.”

  Stephanie snorted. “Men don’t fall under my spell, as you put it.”

  “No. They just fall at your feet,” Gena shot back. “Ben is a perfect example. You snap your fingers and he drops everything, including poor Ana, to do as you command.”

  Stephanie frowned at Gena, opening her mouth to argue. She closed it again, pursing her lips together, unsure why Gena disliked her so much. There was a time when they had been close. Not just Sorority Sisters, but also best friends. “You still haven’t told me why you called me," she reminded Gena.

  Gena silenced her with a glare. “No, not here, Stephanie. I won’t discuss it here. Let’s go outside where we can talk more privately,” she said curtly, moving stiffly past Stephanie to walk outside and sit at an empty table.

  Stephanie followed, noticing for the first time how tense her friend was. She took a seat opposite Gena, watching her drum her fingers restlessly against the table. She grinned, realizing Gena wasn’t just tense, but also nervous. It was the first time she’d seen Gena act so fidgety.

  “Here, read this,” Gena said, sliding the folded newspaper across the table.

  Stephanie took it, unfolded it and spread it out onto the table. She scanned the newspaper in confusion. “What exactly do you want me to read?”

  “The third article down, on the left,” Gena said quietly, taking a sip of her coffee.

  Stephanie looked back down at the newspaper, finding the article immediately. Reading it silently, she pushed it aside, and said quietly, “This is your case?”

  Gena watched the bafflement on Stephanie’s face turn to one of disgruntlement. She smiled coolly, knowing Stephanie was already assuming she’d brought her here to get her thoughts on the case. Her smile defrosted slightly, acknowledging she had but not quite in the way Stephanie was expecting.

  “Here’s what the article isn’t going to tell you,” she said slowly, taking another sip of her coffee. Stephanie did the same. Giving her a knowing look, she said, “You know this is off the record, right?”

  Stephanie hissed out an impatient breath. “Unless you’ve forgotten, I’m no longer a reporter for the Times. In fact, I’m no longer a Journalist, in L.A. Period.”

  Gena nodded in affirmation. “Of course I do, I’m just making sure you know this is strictly off the record. Let’s face it once you’re a Journalist, you’re always one. So tell anyone I spoke to you-”

  “And you’ll deny it,” Stephanie cut in, irritation creeping into her voice. Forcing herself to remain calm, she said evenly, “Let me guess, you’re going to throw some ideas of what you think happened to this poor girl, and you want me to get into the killer’s head, right? Just like old times?”

  Gena nodded slowly, quietly turning her head to study the congested traffic flowing down Sunset Boulevard. Frowning, she tried to think up ways she could approach Stephanie with what she really wanted to ask her. She peeled her eyes off the traffic, watching Stephanie fold the paper meticulously and push it to one side of the small round table.

  “We think the victim is a Hollywood actress. We’re still waiting on her dentals to confirm this, but she was found with a bloodied scrapbook. It had hundreds of articles in it about her. Not just articles, but photos. Some of the photos were over ten years old, including personal photos from when she was at university. Other photos in the scrapbook were taken by the killer while he was torturing her.”

  Stephanie tucked her hand underneath her chin. Leaning forward, she listened to Gena talk. This wasn’t the first time Gena and she had discussed cases. When she’d worked at the L.A Times it had been a weekly occurrence to catch up for dinner and discuss – off the record – unsolved cases. During university, they’d done the same thing. Over Chinese food from Hoy’s Wok, they would pour over Gena’s case studies.

  “Our victim was raped, tortured and her throat slit,” Gena said quietly, watching Stephanie’s head jerk up at this information.

  “Like Angel?” Stephanie whispered. “Are you thinking a possible serial killer?”

  “Maybe,” Gena said noncommittally. “This is the first murder I’ve seen that’s similar to Angel’s, so it might mean nothing.”

  Stephanie looked at her sharply. “Cut the bullshit, Gena. I saw Angel’s crime scene photos. I read the damn report. Now you throw a paper at me, ask me to read an article and then tell me your victim was raped, tortured and her throat slit, just like Angel. Are you telling me you don’t think we have a serial killer loose in L.A? Just what the hell are you playing at?”

  “I think we have something else altogether,” Gena said slowly, watching Stephanie lean even closer, her body tensing with raw excitement.

  “Do you know who she is, your victim? Assuming Angel was even killed by the same killer, what’s the connection? Do you think they knew each other? There’s a connection somewhere, whether it’s the way they both looked, or maybe something as random as a scent.” Stephanie paused, lost in her own thoughts. “If we are talking about a potential serial killer, then there was a quality about both Angel and your victim – one, which drew them to him. Whatever it was triggered the animal within.” Glancing at Gena with a frown, she asked, “You think it’s the same killer, don’t you?”

  Gena nodded. “Yes, yes Stephanie I do.”

  “Why, and more importantly how?” Stephanie asked suddenly, leaning back in her chair.

  Gena was unable to suppress a grin. “I’m not a novice, Stephanie. I have solved more than my fair share of murders.”

  Stephanie’s eyes narrowed. “You’re keeping something from me. You’ve found something to link your Jane Doe to Angel, haven’t you?”

  Gena lifted her coffee cup to her lips, draining the contents slowly. She placed the paper cup on the table, pushing it away from her. She jerked her head towards Stephanie’s coffee. “Your coffee’s getting cold.”

  “You’re avoiding the topic. Tell me, damn it,” Stephanie insisted, chewing her bottom lip in frustration.

  Gena smiled coolly. Ignoring Stephanie’s impatient growl, she pulled her Marlboros out from the inside of her black, leather jacket and tapped out another cigarette. Lighting it, she took a long drag, enjoying the smooth texture of it lingering in the back of her throat.

  “I found a connection,” she confirmed, studying Stephanie’s animated expression. “I don’t think it’s one you’re going to like though,” she confessed. “In fact it’s one I don’t like myself. No, Stephanie, I don’t like this connection at all.”

  “Did you find trace evidence to link both murders?” Stephanie asked, unsure where Gena was heading with their conversation. Her insides churned at the idea of finding something to help them catch Angel’s killer.

  “No, the crime scene was clean. In fact, I think it was staged. Like Angel’s.”

  “You think Angel’s was staged?” Stephanie asked slowly, not ready to confess she’d already come to that conclusion herself.

  Gena raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Oh, and you didn’t?” Smiling at the woman opposite her, Gena grinned. “You saw it, didn’t you? I know you did. A Dominatrix, dominated. You can’t tell me you didn’t think it was staged. Hell, Stephanie you said it yourse
lf, you read the report. There was no trace evidence, not one damn print to give us a clue to who killed her or why. The crime scene was clean. The son of a bitch cleaned up after he raped, tortured and left our best friend to bleed to death. He removed any trace of himself.”

  Gena spat the words out in disgust, taking another drag of her cigarette, before she continued. “He did the same with this victim. An actress dumped in plain view of the Hollywood sign. Hell, that’s a connection in itself. It’s his signature.”

  Dropping her eyes to her hands, she missed the way Stephanie froze at this news, before she forced herself to relax.

  “But that’s not the connection you found, is it? What’s the connection?” Stephanie urged, more to herself than to Gena.

  Gena leaned back in her chair again, waiting for Stephanie to make the connection herself. She half-smiled, knowing Stephanie well enough she was already going back over what she’d told her, analyzing everything and inputting her own mental notes.

  Gena was constantly amazed at how skillful Stephanie was at putting together profiles on serial killers. It came so easily to her. It was a skill she envied. While Gena had spent years training and learning from experience, Stephanie did it without thinking.

  “Was it the scrapbook?” Stephanie burst out suddenly, breaking into Gena’s thoughts. She reached for her cup, taking a sip of her now tepid coffee.

  Gena grimaced, watching her drink the coffee. “How the hell can you drink that?” she asked, shuddering in disgust.

  “Gena, “Stephanie hissed, drawing out her name in annoyance.

  “Yes, it was the scrapbook.”

  “What was in it?” Stephanie asked, unable to hide her excitement. She knew any connection to Gena’s victim and Angel meant the L.A.P.D could put together a clearer dossier on their killer.

  “I told you, mainly newspaper articles and photos. Our killer stalked his victim, like I think he did with Angel.”