Barker’s helping me track down the man who ruined my life, when his own life has just been shattered. And he’s never said a word.
“It must be hard for him not to know where his daughter is.”
Leo was reminded of Kara Stanislaus and her family. They too would be worrying and waiting for a girl that may never return.
“How old is Taylor?”
“She’s probably in her early twenties by now,” Nessa said, cocking her head. “I’m pretty sure she’d just turned eighteen when Caroline, Barker’s wife, got sick. The cancer took her within a year of diagnosis, the poor thing.”
Nessa put a hand on Leo’s arm and squeezed.
“Just take it easy on him, Leo. He may act tough, but he’s really a softie. And he means a lot to me.”
Leo nodded, glad that Barker had a loyal friend in his corner.
A loud crack startled them as a branch from the ancient elm tree outside the garage splintered onto the pavement. Nessa looked at the gnarled branch with wide eyes.
“I better get going on this.” She held up the plastic bag. “I guess the sandbags will have to wait a little longer. Jerry won’t be happy.”
“Thanks, Nessa. I really appreciate it.”
“I’ll get this to Alma…if she’s still here.”
“If the prints come back showing Dr. Bellows was at the scene, will you be able to get a warrant to search his house and vehicle?” Leo asked, impatient to get Bellows off the street. “And will you bring him in for official questioning?”
Nessa bit her lip and shrugged her shoulders. The dejected look on her face didn’t give Leo much Hope.
“The chief’s determined to do everything by the book now, so it may not be easy to convince him that this evidence is viable, but I’ll do what I can.”
“I just hope that’s enough,” Leo murmured as Nessa ran back toward the police station.
He kept his worried eyes trained on her yellow rain slicker until it disappeared into the torrential downpour.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Alma Garcia had no intention of evacuating her crime scene lab during the hurricane, or so it seemed to Nessa as she walked into the cold, sterile room and looked around. The long, white counter on the far wall held a collection of neatly arranged packages. Alma stood over the counter, a boning knife in one gloved hand, as Nessa approached, her eyes drawn to the blade.
“Were you able to confirm that’s the murder weapon?”
Alma nodded, and Nessa watched the five-inch blade disappear into a big paper evidence bag. She blinked away the images that came to mind: the gruesome, gaping neck wound, the blood splattered walls, the dead, gray eyes staring at her in silent accusation. It seemed surreal that the knife, now safely wrapped and sealed, had been used to slit a woman’s throat only the day before.
“Any surprises or smoking guns in all this stuff?”
“The only surprise is how little the evidence is revealing so far,” Alma said, her forehead furrowing in frustration. “No fingerprints, hair or viable DNA samples so far. It even appears as if the perp had some type of cover over his shoes.”
“He left nothing behind, and wore protective booties?” Nessa found herself frowning along with Alma. “Sounds like our killer was very careful. Maybe too careful to be a civilian.”
Alma glanced up at Nessa and raised her eyebrows.
“You think someone in law enforcement had something to do with this homicide?”
Alma didn’t sound as shocked by the theory as she might have been before Detective Reinhardt had been outed as a dirty cop. He’d committed a variety of crimes, including the attempted murder of a fellow detective. Nessa had been a victim of Reinhardt’s depravity, and everyone on the force had lost something that would be very hard to get back: the trust of their fellow officers and the respect of the community.
“Well, it’s definitely someone who knows how to cover his tracks,” Nessa said, not wanting to sound paranoid.
Can’t let people think I’m crying dirty cop just because I got shot.
Alma picked up another package, then looked over at Nessa.
“Was there something else, Nessa? Is that something for me?’
Alma nodded at the plastic bag under Nessa’s arm.
“Oh, uh…yes,” Nessa said, holding out the bag to Alma. “I’m hoping you can do me a favor and see if you can get any prints off this glass.”
Alma stared at Nessa.
“Where did you get that?”
She didn’t reach out to take the bag.
“I got it from a trusted source,” Nessa said, still holding out the bag. “Someone who’s trying to track down Natalie Lorenzo’s killer.”
“Someone outside the department, I’m guessing?”
Nessa nodded, and laid the bag on the counter.
“I know anything you find won’t hold up in court, but it could help guide us in the right direction. We think Natalie’s killer may have also killed Penelope Yates.”
Alma considered Nessa’s words, then cocked her head.
“Vinny Lorenzo’s prints were collected at Natalie Lorenzo’s crime scene. But now we know he was there trying to find his mother. He wasn’t the one who killed her, right?”
Nessa nodded, not sure where Alma was heading.
“Well, if the prints on this glass match other prints from the Lorenzo scene, it won’t necessarily prove that the person who matches the prints is the perp, either.”
Nessa scratched her head, wondering if the lack of sleep was finally proving too much. She took a deep breath and tried again.
“I’m not saying this proves anything, Alma. And the results won’t be used to convict anyone. It’s just a hunch anyway, but I’d hate to ignore the hunch and then find another dead body.”
“So, whose prints are these?”
Alma finally picked up the plastic bag and peered inside.
“This isn’t from someone in the department, is it?”
“No, it isn’t. I promise. The prints on the glass belong to a doctor at the community health center where Natalie visited before she was killed. If the prints don’t match, we can save some wasted time. If they do match, then we can look into him more closely.”
Alma sighed and shook her head.
“Okay, I’ll do it, but if Chief Kramer finds out we’ll both end up on his shit list.”
“I hear you, Alma. I’ll go by Kramer’s office and fill him in after I leave here. I think I can persuade him to let you test it so long as we don’t try to submit it as evidence.”
Alma looked doubtful, but she just nodded and reached for the next evidence bag in the pile. She read the label, then reached in and pulled out a small USB memory stick
“You might want to listen to this before you leave, Nessa.”
“What’s on it? Files from Penelope’s computer?”
“No, actually. This is from the emergency response team. They were kind enough to download the 911 call on this memory stick so that we can keep a copy with the rest of the evidence.”
“How sweet,” Nessa said, fighting back the unease that gripped her at the thought of listening to Penelope’s murder.
Nessa watched as Alma crossed to the computer and inserted the stick in the USB slot. She moved the mouse and clicked. The emergency operator’s voice sounded out clear and loud.
“You’ve reached 911. What’s your emergency?”
The response was a frantic rustling, followed by an inaudible whisper and a raspy laugh. Then more rustling and the sound of the phone falling. Again, the operator tried.
“This is 911. Are you calling to report an emergency?”
Now the sounds of a muffled struggle could be heard: gasps, a terrible gurgling, followed by a heavy thud. Silence, then the soft padding of footsteps before the call was disconnected.
Nessa turned to Alma.
“Did you hear the whisper? Could you understand what he said?”
Alma shook her head and began moving the mou
se around and typing on her keyboard.
“No, I couldn’t really hear it, but I’ve got a program that will remove the background noise and enhance the audio.”
After a few more minutes of clicking and typing, Alma looked up.
“Okay, let’s try it again.”
This time the whispered words were clear enough to understand, and they raised goosebumps all along Nessa’s arms.
“Remember me?”
Alma stared at Nessa in horrified silence.
“It was someone she knew,” Alma said in a low voice.
“Someone she wasn’t expecting to see or hasn’t seen in a while.”
“Could be someone like that doctor,” Alma suggested, looking at the plastic bag that held the glass. “Someone she worked with twelve years ago.”
Nessa nodded slowly, then headed toward the door. She needed to find Chief Kramer and get his buy-in. She had a feeling she was going to need a warrant before the day was through.
✽ ✽ ✽
The lobby of the police station was buzzing with activity as Nessa hurried toward Chief Kramer’s office. All essential duty personnel had been instructed to prepare for a direct hit.
The hurricane had gained strength, with reported sustained winds of up to one hundred and thirty miles an hour, and no one was sure exactly where it would make landfall.
The city’s hotline had already taken a dozen calls from citizens reporting downed trees and flooded streets; but the worst was yet to come.
Nessa charged down the hall toward the executive offices, then stopped short when she saw that the lights were off in the corner office Chief Kramer had occupied ever since Nessa had joined the force. He was usually there when she arrived in the morning, and still there when she left at night.
Only a natural disaster can get Kramer out of the office before five.
She spun around and made her way back to her desk, feeling deflated and fatigued. The picture of Cole and Cooper on her desk brought the sting of tears to her eyes.
The poor kids are probably scared to death.
Impulsively she picked up the phone and called home, resolved to face Jerry’s wrath so that she could reassure the boys that everything would be okay.
“Hi, Mom!” Cooper’s high-pitched greeting sounded far away. “Are you in the hurricane?”
“No, honey, I’m still at the station.” Nessa couldn’t help smiling. “And I’m safe.”
She heard scuffling in the background and then Cole’s voice.
“Mom? When are you coming home? I thought you were gonna bring sandbags. Dad’s madder than a-”
“I get the idea, Cole. Just put your daddy on the phone.”
“He’s outside putting boards on the windows.”
“Well, once he comes back inside you tell him I called and that I’m going to bring those sandbags home real soon.”
“Okay, mom. I gotta go. I’ve almost reached the next level.”
“See you soon, honey. Love you.”
But Cole was already gone. Nessa stared at the phone, stuffed it into her purse, and slung the purse over her shoulder.
Time to get those stupid sandbags.
She stomped out to the lobby and was pleased to see Mayor Hadley, Chief Kramer, and several of the other town leaders gathered by the front doors.
By the way they were laughing and slapping each other on the back, Nessa would have thought they were heading out to a Friday night football game instead of a press briefing about the big, bad hurricane that was pounding on the door of their little town.
Little town, little town, let me come in.
Nessa looked around at the brick walls inside the lobby and swallowed hard, hoping the foundation of the building was made of something stronger, preferably steel and concrete.
Otherwise the storm just might blow this old house down.
She hovered just behind Kramer, waiting for a break in the conversation so that she could ask him about the fingerprints, and about questioning Dr. Adrian Bellows. But one of the old men in the group kept talking and going on about the old days.
With a sinking sensation she realized the old man was the previous medical examiner, Archie Faraday. She was tempted to creep away, but Archie looked over Kramer’s shoulder and caught her eye.
He produced a lukewarm smile and kept talking.
Oh no, you don’t ignore me, you old windbag.
Nessa tapped Kramer firmly on the shoulder, and he looked around, then turned to face Nessa.
“Everything okay, Detective Ainsley?”
He kept his deep voice low, perhaps reluctant for any nearby reporters to get a scoop.
“Are you and Jankowksi making progress on the Yates case?”
“Actually, we do have a hot lead we want to follow up on right away, but I need your okay, since it’s not strictly by the book.”
Nessa noticed Archie Faraday straining to listen, and she purposely lowered her voice.
Kramer leaned in, stooping over to listen intently as she explained the situation with the glass, the fingerprints, and her suspicion that Bellows might be involved with the Lorenzo murder as well as the Yates homicide.
“Isn’t that the same man you brought to my attention on Saturday?” Kramer asked in surprise. “Now you’re saying you think he’s killed two women?”
Faraday moved closer, his eyes bright with curiosity.
“I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but are you saying you’ve identified a suspect in the recent murder?”
Kramer looked over at Faraday with irritation, but he nodded and turned back to Nessa with grim eyes.
“Check the prints. If they come back matching, bring him in.”
Relief flooded through Nessa and she spun on her heel, eager to give Alma the good news. But she’d have to call her from the car. She needed to see if the city had any more sandbags available. It might already be too late.
The rain pelted her as she pushed through the lobby door, and before it could close behind her she heard a raspy laugh that turned her blood to ice.
She paused, holding the door open, letting in a swirling gust of wind and rain, and looked back at the crowded lobby.
A sea of familiar faces looked back, their attention drawn to the open door and the fury of the wind.
“Sorry,” she called out, taking one last look around the big room. “Ya’ll stay safe now.”
As the door swung shut behind her, Nessa shook her head and rubbed her eyes, trying to convince herself she was hearing things.
You’re just tired, Nessa. You know all those folks; no one there is a killer.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Doc knew something was wrong as soon as he pulled into the driveway. All the blinds in the house were drawn, even the ones upstairs. He couldn’t remember closing them when he’d left after lunch, and Terri couldn’t have closed them on her own.
Not wanting to waste time pulling into the garage, Doc brought the van to a jerking halt on the driveway and jumped out, oblivious to the rain and wind that pelted him as he ran to the front door. He grabbed the doorknob and twisted, expecting it to be locked, but it turned smoothly in his hand, causing his heart to drop.
This is all wrong. Terri would never leave the door unlocked.
Doc stepped into the hall, listening for the sound of Terri’s wheelchair rolling toward him over the hardwood floor, but only an eerie silence greeted him.
“Terri?”
A gentle creak on the stairs lifted the hair on the back of his neck. Someone was in the house. Someone that wasn’t in a wheelchair.
“Who’s there?”
The house was quiet. Perhaps the sound on the stairs was just the big house reacting to the raging wind outside.
Doc moved further into the hall and looked over into Terri’s office. He breathed a sigh of relief. Terri’s wheelchair sat facing the desk. Her head was slumped, and it looked like she was wearing some sort of plastic hood. Had she gone out in the rain?
“Terry, hone
y? You okay?”
He walked in to stand beside the desk and looked down at his wife. A silent scream built and stuck in his throat. He stared in horror at Terri’s open, staring eyes, the pupils grotesquely dilated behind the clear plastic bag. He automatically reached out and put a shaking hand on her wrist. The skin was cold to the touch. No pulse, no life moved under the alabaster skin.
“I’m sorry, Doc. I know how much you loved her.”
The scream finally burst forth as Doc spun around to face Ace, who wore blue hooded crime scene coveralls and gloves. Protective shoe covers completed his outfit.
“But there are too many people asking questions, so I had to make the tough call. It’s time to abort the mission.”
Doc dropped his eyes to see what Ace was holding; he shook his head and stepped back when he saw the gun. It was the little Ruger handgun he kept under the bed. Terry had hated it, but he’d insisted. They needed to protect themselves from the bad guys, didn’t they?
“Ace, what have you…done? Why would you hurt Terri?”
“It’s nothing personal, Doc.”
Ace stepped closer, holding the gun higher.
“But it’s time to erase the evidence. Time to tie up loose ends. Terri was a potential risk to my freedom. So are you.”
Doc’s knees buckled and he leaned against the desk for support. He bowed his head, trying to catch his breath, and saw that a blank sheet of notebook paper had been placed on the desk in front of Terri. A ballpoint pen sat neatly beside it.
Ace followed Doc’s gaze and smiled.
“You know what that is?”
Doc didn’t respond, he just stared mutely at the blank paper, shock setting in, his limbs starting to shake.
“That’s going to be your suicide note.”
Doc’s legs finally gave out and he collapsed at Terri’s feet, which had remained undisturbed on the padded footrest during the attack. He laid his head in Terri’s lap and pulled her limp hand to him, wanting to feel her hand in his hair. Wanting to feel her comforting him and telling him that everything was going to be okay.
He closed his eyes when he saw that Terri’s fingernails were torn and coated with blood from her desperate struggle to remove the bag.
Girl Eight: A Mercy Harbor Thriller Page 20