The 13th Victim: Andi Carter Mysteries Book 1

by Linda S. Prather

  Jerry pushed back the barstool and grabbed his beer. “Suit yourself.”

  “Want me to kill him?” Patty smiled, but his greenish-blue eyes were dead serious as he followed Jerry’s path to a booth.

  Andi finished her beer and shook her head. “No, Patty, just put my drink on his tab. He owes me that. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She held her head high and refused to glance at Jerry’s table as she quickly exited the bar.

  The air outside the bar was what Californians called “balmy,” with a light breeze blowing in off the ocean. Her earlier pride had sunk into the abyss of despair that still woke her in the middle of the night, her face wet with tears and her hands clenching the sheets. Tell me what I want to know, and I won’t hurt you again.

  Andi fished a twenty out of her pocket and entered the liquor store on the corner. She needed something stronger than beer. She dredged up a smile for the clerk. “Give me a fifth of Jack Daniels.”

  The clerk rang it up and passed her the bottle in a brown paper bag. “Hope you’re not drinking alone.”

  Andi walked toward the door, the bag clutched tightly in her hand. She was supposed to call her sponsor when the past came roaring back like that or when his voice played inside her head. “I never drink alone. The demons always come out to join me.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Tracy?”

  Tracy Knuckles peered out from her hiding place beneath the bridge, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. It was almost dawn, and she’d expected Mollie hours ago. “I thought they’d gotten you.”

  “They’re everywhere looking for you right now.” She handed Tracy a small package, bundled up in newspaper. “I brought you some bread. It was all I could steal without being caught.”

  Tracy ripped the paper and bit into the bread. “Thank you, Mollie. Please don’t come back. I’ll be okay.”

  “We managed to steal a little money too, but I don’t know if it’s enough for a bus ticket. And a phone. I was worried at first that it could be traced, but Erin said it was one of those burner phones you add minutes to so it should be safe. I kept the number so I could call you.”

  “Thank the others for me.” Tracy took the crumpled bills from Mollie and stuffed them into her jeans pocket, but waved off the phone. “Give me the number, and you keep that. I’ll call you as soon as I’ve figured something out. Stop worrying about me. You, Erin, and Wendy need to go before they catch you.”

  Mollie fidgeted the way she always did when she was nervous, wobbling from side to side. “That construction guy caught Wendy. We watched the warehouse all night, hoping he would bring her there, but he didn’t.”

  “Jesus, Mollie.” Tracy took the money from her pocket and held it out. “Take this and get as far away from here as you can.”

  Mollie shook her head. “Erin called her father. He’s coming to pick us up tomorrow. If we’re lucky, they’ll never find us.” She bowed her head, and a tear coursed down her cheek. “Please come with me, Tracy.”

  The bread stuck in her throat as bile rose. “I can’t, Mollie. If the others don’t find me, the police will. It’s too late for me.”

  “You killed that banker, didn’t you?” Mollie placed her arm around Tracy’s shoulder and hugged her tightly. “I’m glad.”

  “He killed Sheila, and he was going to kill me.” Tracy took a deep breath and smiled. “I can’t go with you, but maybe I can buy you some time. As long as they’re looking for me, they won’t search too hard for you and Erin.”

  Mollie kept hugging her. “As soon as I find my stepmother, we’re coming back for you.” Releasing her grip on Tracy, she swiped at the tears then pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. “That’s the number to the phone. Promise me you’ll stay alive.”

  “I promise.”

  Mollie turned and ran, her sobs echoing in the early morning stillness. Tracy scurried into the drain beneath the bridge. She wouldn’t cry, not as long as Mollie and Erin were safe. She stared at the phone number, memorizing it before taking another bite of bread then unrolling the newspaper Mollie had wrapped around it. The Daily Drudge. Laughter bubbled up inside her, and she realized she was one step away from becoming hysterical, or perhaps she was going insane. A crow landed a few feet away, and its beady black eyes honed in on the bread. “At least it’s not a buzzard.” She tossed a few crumbs to the bird then turned her attention back to the paper.

  The headline shined like a beacon of light in a world of darkness. She devoured the article, holding her breath as the words gave her hope that someone out there would understand she wasn’t a killer and that Barnsworth was evil.

  Caw, caw, caw.

  Two more birds joined the first, and Tracy realized her mistake in sharing her food. She needed to get rid of them before the noise brought someone to investigate. She tore the remaining bread into small pieces then ran outside and threw it as far as she could. She grabbed a few small rocks and returned to her hiding place. If the birds came back, she’d have to scare them off. “No more stupid mistakes. I promised Mollie I would live, and I want to keep that promise.”

  She quickly finished reading the paper then counted the money Mollie had given her. She had enough for one night at a cheap motel, but she would need one with a free computer and internet service. Newspapers often paid for stories, and all she needed was enough to survive and stay hidden for a few days until Mollie and Erin were safe. Then, she could turn herself in to the police.

  The sun rose, giving the trees a magical appearance as dew glistened like diamonds on their leaves. Tracy listened to the simple everyday sounds of life: children laughing, parents scolding, and men jabbering on their cell phones as they walked to work—the things she’d taken for granted, never seeing or hearing them because she’d been too busy existing to live. She crawled out of the hole and dusted off her jeans. I may not be able to keep my promise to Mollie. But I’m not going to die before I tell someone my story. An image of Wendy’s sweet, innocent face flashed through her mind. Our story.

  ~ ~ ~

  The pounding inside her head grew louder, and Andi groaned and rolled over. Light seeped beneath the crack in her eyelids, and she groaned more loudly as her cell phone rang somewhere inside the townhouse. Moving her tongue back and forth, she tried to swallow, but there was nothing there except a mound of dry cotton. What the hell did I do last night? Forcing her eyes open, she moaned as the empty bottle of Jack Daniels crashed to the floor. Oh, that’s what I did.

  The pounding increased, followed by a loud “Andi, open the door!”

  Andi tossed off the covers and stood waiting for the room to stop spinning and her eyes to focus on the clock beside her bed. It’s only midnight, what is Irish doing here? She held onto the wall and made her way one cautious step at a time to the door. “Don’t break it down, Irish. I’m coming.” She flipped the lock and swung the door wide. “Jeez it’s only midnight. What do you want?”

  His face flushed a lovely shade of pink as he pushed past her. “Cripes, you’re two sheets in the wind. Since when does the sun shine at midnight? It’s after noon. Sinclair is ready to call in the SWAT team.” He swallowed and looked away. “You might want to put on some clothes.”

  Andi closed the door. She glanced down at the thin camisole and her hot-pink lace bikinis, which covered little—and more disturbingly, they revealed the jagged scars she hid from the world. “Make some coffee. I’ll run through the shower and be ready in thirty minutes.”

  “Use some mouthwash, your breath almost knocked me out.”

  She moved quickly down the hall and to the bathroom, where she turned the cold water on full blast and stood beneath the shower head until the last of the fog cleared from her mind. Good going, Carter. You convince Sinclair to let you do exactly what you’ve dreamed of all your life, and you screw it up.

  Sinclair was probably furious, and Shamus would never be able to look her in the eyes again. What if he asks me about the scars? She shivered and switched the water to warm as she quickly
washed her hair and lathered up. Shamus is too sweet to ask embarrassing questions. She leaned against the cool shower wall, allowing the warm water to wash away the soap. The only people who knew the full extent of the torture Thomas had put her through were Gambini, Jerry, Patrick, and the doctors.

  Fifteen minutes later, she entered the kitchen and took the cup of coffee Shamus was holding out. “Thanks.” At least he isn’t avoiding looking at me.

  “I called Sinclair and told him you were okay, but wouldn’t be in today.”

  Andi flopped in a chair and waved at the one across the table. “Why was Sinclair worried that I wasn’t okay?”

  “Jesus, Andi, you’d think the feckin’ world blew up. We’re on our third printing of the newspaper, and it’s still selling. Sinclair’s phone hasn’t stopped ringing. The police chief, the mayor, and a bunch of other people want to talk to you. When you didn’t show up, he thought somebody had offed you.”

  Third printing? Andi sipped the coffee, running through the story in her mind. “The article is factual, so Sinclair doesn’t have anything to worry about.”

  Shamus chuckled. “Worry? He’s on what you Americans call cloud nine, and I don’ think anyone can pull him down. He said to tell you not to talk to anyone but him. His exact words were, ‘screw the bastards, we’re outselling the Tribune.’” Shamus ducked his head, suddenly seeming to find his coffee extremely interesting. “Thank you for adding me to the byline.”

  “You deserved it. Without your help, I wouldn’t have had the picture.” Andi smiled. “And without your twenty, I wouldn’t have had Jasmine’s quotes for today’s article, which I need you to read and email to Sinclair. My laptop is in the living room.”

  Shamus retrieved the laptop, and Andi brought up the article. “I might not have been totally sober when I wrote that, so clean it up.”

  “You left out the part about how she’d hooked herself a good tipper, but they threw them out before she could even get his pants down.”

  “Tempting, but I don’t think Sinclair would see the humor like we did. If it’s okay, go ahead and send it.”

  Shamus nodded and pulled up her email files. “You’ve got a new message here marked urgent.”

  “Read it.” Andi rubbed her right temple. Pain throbbed behind her eye.

  “Holy crap, Andi. You need to read this.” Shamus turned the laptop around, and Andi blinked a couple of times to clear her eyes.

  He deserved to die.

  Andi shivered as a flashback of Thomas’s bloody body flashed through her mind. He’d deserved to die too, but there was something about taking a life that left a hole in one’s soul that there just wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to fill.

  “Are you okay, Andi?” Shamus asked.

  “Fine.” Andi turned her attention back to the email.

  Those words echoed inside my head as I ran. I knew I couldn’t run far enough, or fast enough. Eventually they will find me.

  There were fifteen of us in the beginning. We thought there was safety in numbers, but we were wrong. Now there are twelve victims. Nameless bodies buried deep below the surface of some concrete foundation. I will be number thirteen.

  Andi reached for her coffee cup. “My God, Shamus, she’s telling us there are twelve young girls buried out there somewhere.”

  “Aye.”

  I killed a man yesterday.

  There may be times when that thought will haunt me. But for the most part I feel this overwhelming sense of triumph and freedom. He was fat and the knife went in easy, just like cutting butter. It was the look in his eyes that bothered me. The pain and disbelief. But his final words spurred me on as I twisted the knife.

  He called me a useless whore.

  I’m sixteen years old, alone and scared, but I’m tired of running and I’m tired of being scared. I know who they are.

  I’m fighting for Alene, Kittie, Mary Ruth, Sheila, Thelma, Carla, Trinity, Beth, Darla, Gwen, Hazel and Wendy.

  I killed a man yesterday, and today I’m going to kill another one.

  They all deserve to die.

  We have a story, would you like to hear it? I read your paper every day.

  TK

  “Shew.” Andi blew out a long breath, sat back, and picked up her cup, which was empty. What she really wanted was another shot of Jack Daniels. “I need more coffee.”

  “You don’ think she’s talking about Barnsworth, do you?” Shamus rose and refilled their cups.

  Andi nodded. “That would be my first guess.”

  “So, what are you going to do? We’ll have to turn it over to the police.”

  The thought irritated Andi. There was something in the girl’s tone that demanded respect. She had a story that needed to be told. And she’s a damn good writer. She reminds me of me with her facts, innuendo, and drama. Andi glanced at the clock. “Is Sinclair running another printing?”

  “In about an hour, and if it keeps selling, probably two more before the day is over. He even called in extra help for delivery.”

  “I need to run a personal ad, Irish. Can you do that?”

  “Nothin’ to it.” He pulled the computer across the table and logged in to the paper’s email. “What do you want to say?”

  “TK, you sound very interesting. I’d love to get together for a cup of coffee and talk. Call me. AC.”

  Shamus raised an eyebrow. “Why not just answer the email?”

  “Because I doubt she’s still there. I wouldn’t be. And if I’m right, the last line was her way of telling me to get in touch through the paper.”

  “You sure you want to do this? She said she was going to kill someone else today.”

  Andi rapped her nails against the table, her mind overwhelmed with scenarios that all had a bad ending. If she’s telling the truth, there are twelve bodies out there somewhere. Her body began to tremble. And men willing to kill. Damn it, Thomas, you’re not going to scare me anymore. “I’m a reporter, Irish. I need to tell this story.”

  He shrugged and hit the send button. “Well, your ad sounds like you’re trying to hook up with a lover.”

  “I can’t very well say, ‘Hey, girl who killed Barnsworth? Give me a call, and let’s talk,’ now can I?”

  “So you’re not gonna call the police?”

  “I’ll talk to Sinclair about it. I’m not particularly fond of the idea of having my laptop seized, plus my computer at work, or to someone looking over my shoulder all day.” Andi scratched her head, the article from yesterday’s Tribune popping into her mind. “Besides she never actually said the man she killed was Barnsworth. The email reads to me like someone prostituting girls or women and then killing them.”

  “Gambini?”

  “He’s too smart for that, and he pays his girls well. He’s protected under the disguise of a legitimate escort business. He even offers them health insurance.” Andi sipped her coffee, her mind churning, grabbing onto ideas then tossing them aside.

  “Doesn’t mean he’s not killing off his competition. Where do we start while we’re waiting to see if she calls?”

  Turning the computer around, she scanned the email and grabbed the notepad she always kept on her kitchen table. “She gave us twelve names. We’ll start there.”

  “Only the first names, though. Be like looking for a black cat in a coal cellar.”

  “That’s why they used to call us investigative journalists. Search through obits and missing persons, then see if you can trace that IP address and find out where she sent the email from. I’ll be back in an hour or two.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To have another chat with Jasmine. If there’s another group working the streets, she’ll know about it.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Jerry Palano closed the door to the captain’s office. “You could have told me Andi Carter was back.”

  Captain Alma glanced up from the paperwork he was reviewing. “I wasn’t aware she ever left. Have a seat, Jerry.”

  Jerry too
k the seat across from his boss’s desk. “Everything I’ve found so far is there in the report. No hard evidence, but I’d be willing to bet Grange and Sammons are on the take. Maybe Cooper, but I’m on the fence with him.”

  Alma nodded. “Forget about that for the time being. We’ve got bigger problems with the Barnsworth murder. The mayor has already called twice this morning. Carter needs to be shut down. If you can’t talk her out of printing these damn articles then put some pressure on Sinclair and have her fired.”

  Jerry unclipped his badge, stood and removed his pistol, then placed both on the captain’s desk. “Sorry, sir, but I can’t do that. You’ll have to put someone else on the case.”

  “Dammit, Jerry, why?”

  “I know Andi well enough to know she isn’t going to let go of a story until it plays out to the end.” Jerry walked toward the door. “And I owe her one.”

  “What about the kid, Shamus O’Conner? Get to him.”

  “He’s loyal to Andi.” His hand closed on the doorknob. “And so am I.”

  Alma pushed back his chair and picked up the badge. “All right, damn it. You’re too good a detective for me to let you walk out that door for a piece of crap like Thaddeus Morgan.” He tossed the badge to Jerry. “Pick up your gun and hit the streets. Find out what Carter knows about Barnsworth, and I can use it for leverage the next time the little bastard calls.”

  Jerry grinned, clipped the badge on his belt, and retrieved his pistol. “I’ll do my best, but don’t be surprised if Andi shoots me.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Andi parked behind the apartment complex that housed Jasmine as well as several other pros. She gritted her teeth as her hands trembled slightly on the wheel. She’d known coming here would evoke old memories, but it was the only option she had. Besides, the therapist had said she had to face her fears before she could get past them. I’m not afraid. It’s not him this time. It can’t be.