The 13th Victim: Andi Carter Mysteries Book 1
Page 6
She waited until the door closed then pounced. “Don’t you dare tell me you don’t want to run this story, because if you do, I swear I’ll take it to another paper.”
“Calm down, Carter. You know as well as I do, no paper out there will buy a story from you with your history. It’s about time you realized how lucky you are that I gave you a job.”
Her hands clutched the arms of the chair, and she gagged as the air swooshed out of her lungs. The cruelty of his words seared its way through her system, and she grabbed his trashcan and vomited. “Damn you, Sinclair.” She gasped for air then spit. “You son of a bitch. Who got to you? The mayor?”
Sinclair chuckled. “Nobody got to me, but you lied to me about that phone call and said it probably wasn’t her. From now on, I want to know everything as soon it happens.” He tossed her a roll of paper towels. “Clean yourself up.”
She wiped her mouth. How the hell does Sinclair even know my story? I should just walk out and tell him to go to hell. If it only concerned her, she could do that, but TK trusted her and was depending on her. “And the story?”
“Of course we’re going to run the story.”
“Then what?” Andi started pacing, anxious to get out of the room. But she still needed the money for TK.
He grunted something under his breath. “Wasn’t it a case like this that got you in trouble the last time? And don’t you ever threaten me with another paper again, or you can get your crap and get out.”
Andi turned her back to him, clenched her hands, and swallowed hard. “It wasn’t a threat. Regardless of my past, any paper out there would pay big money for this story, and you know it.”
“How much money do you want?”
“She probably needs food, clothes and a place to hide out. We could start with a thousand and see where it goes.”
Sinclair nodded thoughtfully and pointed to the bookmark. “We’re going to print this, right?”
“Not until we have more information on this Sheila, who she says Barnsworth killed. We print that without any facts to support it, the family will sue. Plus, we’ll need to be prepared for the onslaught of police and other reporters.”
Sinclair turned to the safe behind his desk. “All right, Carter. I just wanted to make sure you were serious. You pull this off, and I’ll see you get a nice bonus.” He held the money out to her. “Mess it up, and this comes out of your check.”
Andi took the money and shoved it into her purse. “I shared the email with Detective Palano, but he doesn’t know about the note yet. I’d like to keep it that way until we’ve got something more to go on.”
Sinclair pulled a cigar from his shirt pocket and lit it. “It’s your story, Carter. I don’t know anything about any money or a note. You do whatever you think is best.”
In other words, if I get in over my head, I’m on my own, and when the heat comes down I’ll be the one they burn. It was already after five, and she wouldn’t have time to plant the funds that night. If she were lucky, she would just have time to get to O’Reilly’s before Palano decided to show up again. At least he’d kept his promise to call, and he had given her enough information for a lead story in the morning edition. “I’ll email you the story for the morning run. I’m calling it a day.”
Sinclair waved her off, already relaxing in his swivel chair and focused on the painting of his father. Andi suddenly understood why he kept it on the wall opposite his desk, and why he was willing to give her this trial run as a crime reporter. Sinclair had hated his father, never quite measuring up to the old man’s standards. If he made it big, that was a slap in his father’s face.
Something niggled at the back of her mind as she made her way back to her desk. A deep throbbing started just above her right eye. Andi stumbled, catching herself with the back of the chair.
“Are you okay?” Shamus rushed to her, took her arm, and helped her sit down.
“Headache.” She rubbed her temple. “They never last long.”
“You’ve been getting a lot of those lately. Maybe you should see a doctor.”
“It’s already easing off. I’ll be fine in a minute.” She glanced up and grinned. The bruising on Shamus’s nose had spread to his eye. It was quite a shiner. “You look like shit, Irish. Why don’t you go home?”
“And miss all the excitement? So, what did Sinclair say?”
She pulled the city map from her desk and circled a building. “I need another personal ad.”
Shamus came to stand behind her, looking over her shoulder. “Another library?”
“Unless you’ve got a better idea. We have to get the money to her somehow.”
“How about leaving it with a priest?”
Andi sighed and rolled her neck from side to side, stretching her aching muscles. “I don’t know any priests, and I doubt she does, either.”
“I do. You should probably pick her up a change of clothes, too.”
“Clothes?” Andi raised an eyebrow.
“Aye, from what the librarian said, she’s not going to be welcome in too many stores the way she looks now.”
“Clothes come in different sizes, Irish. I wouldn’t have a clue what size to buy.”
“From the looks of her face, I would say she’s medium height, and on the run the way she is, probably slim. With shorts and a T-shirt, it doesn’t matter if they’re a little big.”
Andi passed the money to him. “You’re the expert, so I’ll let you take care of it. Don’t forget to run the ad. If you lose that money, it comes out of your paycheck. I need to finish the morning post.”
Shamus busied himself at his desk, while Andi typed her article from the information Palano had given her about Marconi’s murder. Once satisfied it was factually correct, she emailed it to Shamus and smiled when his computer pinged. “I’ve emailed you tomorrow’s post. Read it and send it on to Sinclair if it’s okay. I’ll be at O’Reilly’s if you need me.”
“See you tomorrow,” Shamus said, already lost in reading the article.
Andi didn’t answer. The scene in Sinclair’s office had left an angry knot in her belly. She’d swallowed her pride and let him have his say, but she needed a drink and she needed to get away from the office before she did something really stupid. TK’s message raced through her mind as the door closed behind her. There are still three out there. Be careful around businessmen and professionals. Sinclair was a businessman, although she wouldn’t call him a professional. No matter what he said, she still believed someone had gotten to him. In the five years she’d worked for him, he’d never mentioned her past until this case came up and she’d wanted to write crime. And he is the mayor’s brother-in-law. The thought caused a shudder to go through her as she rushed across the parking lot.
~ ~ ~
Tracy crawled inside the hole under the bridge, pulled her knees to her chest, and rocked back and forth. Once the rage had subsided, the horror of what she’d seen took hold. He deserved to die. They all deserve to die.
The consolation those words had given her after Barnsworth wasn’t as easy to dredge up this time. Sobs shook her body as tears coursed down her cheeks. I want to go home.
The thought shook her to her core as an image of her mother’s body floated through her mind. The first few weeks after her mother’s death were still a blur, but the month she’d spent in the custody of her abusive uncle was fresh and clear. She doubted he’d even reported her missing. He knew she’d tell the officials what he’d done and what he’d tried to do. Men are all disgusting.
Darkness closed in around her, and she dug through her purse for another stale donut. What am I gonna do if Carter doesn’t come through?
She bit into the donut and chewed thoughtfully. Carter would come through. She felt that in her gut, way down deep in the part she trusted. It was there in the article she’d written about Barnsworth, and in the follow-up about the hooker. Carter was strong, and she had to be brave to post that story that insinuated perhaps Barnsworth wasn’t what everyone
thought he was. All the other papers were singing his praises. Fat, sick bastard.
Tracy leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. The blonde had said she had twenty-four hours, and then she was going to kill her. She had no clue why, but it didn’t really matter. If the blonde didn’t kill her, one of the men from the warehouse that night would when they caught her. The voice behind the curtain was the one that scared her the most. She didn’t know if it was a man or a woman, just that whoever it was pulled the strings and had insisted all the girls be used for profit, then killed.
She wanted that one most of all. They didn’t have to kill us. We wouldn’t have told.
Tracy clenched her hands and pummeled the ground beside her. Maybe if they’d simply killed them that night, she wouldn’t hate them so much. It was the deadness in the eyes of the girls who did return from a night out that ate away at her soul. Some things were worse than death.
CHAPTER TEN
Andi knew the minute Jerry walked into the bar that she was in for an ass-kicking. His lips were pulled down into a thin line, and the brown in his eyes had darkened to obsidian. She saw Patrick approaching from the corner of her eye, and she waved him off. The last thing she needed was for the two men to go at it. Besides, she’d known the minute Jerry told her that the girl had taken Marconi’s phone that this moment would come. If he wasn’t such an ass, he would have realized that Andi couldn’t possibly have talked to her when she called the paper. For once, she had the perfect alibi—she was with Jerry when the call went in.
She turned around on the barstool and met his glare. “Rough day?”
“In the back, Carter. We need to talk.”
Andi swiveled to the bar, picked up her glass, and took a small sip. “What’s wrong with here?”
She heard his sharp intake of air and almost laughed. He wasn’t totally immune to her. She still had the power to infuriate him. “Never mind.” She pushed back the stool then brushed past him and through the double doors, with Jerry close on her heels.
He didn’t bother with foreplay. “Why didn’t you tell me she called you?”
“Because she didn’t.” Andi sat at the table the four of them had shared earlier. “She called the paper and asked for me. Sinclair told her I wasn’t there.” She lifted her glass. “A good detective would have checked the time the call was made then verified my whereabouts.”
Jerry shoved his hands into his pockets.
He really does want to strangle me. “If you’d cared to check, you would find I have three witnesses to my whereabouts.” She patted the table. “I was sitting right here with you.” She changed her tactics, hoping to appease him. “Did you get anything else from Marconi’s phone?”
“It was a burner.” He pointed a finger at her. “But I’m putting a tap on your phone and the one at the paper. She calls again, we’ll get a trace.”
Andi plopped the glass onto the table. “If it’s a burner, then how did you know she called?”
Jerry didn’t bother answering her, which told her what she wanted to know. Sinclair, the asshole. He’s the only one that knew. “So what else did Sinclair tell you? You can do whatever you want with the paper, but it will be a cold day in hell when I agree to let you tap my phone. You need a court order, and trust me, buster, when I tell the judge you accused me when you knew I was here with you, they’ll laugh you out of courtroom.”
“This isn’t a game, Carter. She’s killed two men, and that’s only the ones we know about.”
Andi straightened her back and raised her chin. “She’s safer talking to me than she is talking to the police. Or have you forgotten?”
His shoulders slumped, and his voice lowered. “I haven’t forgotten anything.”
Mist clouded her eyes, and she headed for the door. “Damn you, Jerry. Stay the hell out of my life.”
~ ~ ~
Ralph Sammons paced the small office in the front of the warehouse. His shift as a police officer had ended an hour earlier, but his real work began when he clocked out. He stopped pacing as Kenneth Grange strolled in, and the office phone rang. He didn’t care for Grange, who he thought was too cocky and sure of himself. Unfortunately, he was stuck with his partner until they found the girls. “Any luck?”
Grange shook his head. “Garland must have taken off after talking to Palano. His boss said he’d left on a week’s vacation.”
“Shit.” Sammons stared at the ringing phone. “Palano didn’t put anything in his report, and I need to know what that bastard told him.”
“You should answer the phone.” Grange flopped into the raggedy armchair and propped his feet on the coffee table. “They don’t like being kept waiting.”
His hand trembled slightly as he gripped the handset. “Sammons.”
Silence greeted him over the line, followed by the sound of someone breathing and then a loud click.
“Shit.”
Grange shifted his weight in the chair and lowered his feet. “If we don’t find those girls pretty soon, I say we book a flight out of here. Palano is getting closer, and now we’ve got that damn reporter to worry about. I told you it was a bad idea to wait on killing them. If we’d killed them all that night, we wouldn’t be here now.”
Sammons shuddered. The boss was everywhere and heard everything. “Damn, Grange, don’t say stuff like that. Don’t even think it.”
“Cops don’t last very long in jail, Sammons. You might be willing to take that chance, but I’m not.”
A knock sounded on the door, startling them. “Who is it?”
A cute blonde stuck her head through the entrance. “That only comes under need-to-know, and you’re not that high up. The boss wants to see you.” She swung the door open. “Now!”
Sammons walked quickly through the doorway, glancing at the girl and checking for a weapon.
Her heels clicked on the concrete as she followed them. “Don’t worry, boys. If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t need a weapon.”
The back of the warehouse had been cordoned off with a huge screen barrier and two chairs positioned in front of it. The blonde patted them down before pointing to the seats. “Sit.”
Sammons glanced at Grange then took his seat. He hated that damn screen almost as much as he hated Grange. He’d never seen the boss’s face or been given a name to call him.
The blonde stepped to the side of the curtain and nodded. Sammons admired her long, luscious legs and small, rounded bottom. The boss was one lucky guy.
“Well, gentlemen, one of you needs to tell me why you haven’t found this girl.” The voice was gravelly and gave the impression they were talking to a ninety-year-old man. “I’ve lost two good men, and someone has to pay for that.”
“We’ve got people everywhere looking for her, boss.” Sammons’s lower lip trembled, and he bit into it. “It’s like she disappeared into thin air. Odds are she left town after killing Marconi.”
“Labor is cheap, Sammons. Especially crooked cops. What do you think the odds are of you leaving here tonight?”
He started to shake. “I’m sorry, sir. Give us a few more days, and we’ll find her. Palano is on our tail half the time, and now we’ve got a damn reporter nosing around.”
“I’m surrounded by idiots. You have a serial killer loose in your city. I think Palano should be her next target. Nothing fires a police force up more than a cop killer. And they won’t be looking to arrest her.”
“Yes, sir. What about the reporter?”
A guttural laugh came through the speakers. “Leave her to me. Now, get out of my sight before I change my mind about letting you live.”
Sammons rose quickly. “Yes, sir.”
“Mr. Grange?”
“Yes, boss?”
“Mention catching a plane out of here again and my assistant will break your legs before she cuts off your testicles and makes you eat them.”
“Yes, sir, boss. I won’t mention it again.”
The blonde nodded toward the door. “Scat.”
Grange caught up with him as he unlocked his car. He grabbed his partner’s arm. “Who else is on his payroll?”
Sammons shook his head. “I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. If you’re smart, you’ll stop asking questions.” He slipped behind the wheel and pulled the door closed. Something about that blonde had left a sour taste in his mouth. She was dangerous, and he needed to find out who she was. He revved the engine and squealed out of the parking lot. That bastard Grange is going to get us both killed. Palano isn’t the only one who needs a knife in the back.
The thought comforted him, and he eased off the gas pedal. He needed the autopsy reports on Barnsworth and Marconi. Once he knew what kind of knife she’d used, the rest should be easy.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Andi scanned the street in front of her townhouse, looking for any unusual cars. She loved Patrick and appreciated his offer of a place to stay, but home was a security she needed, along with a stout drink. She would have to forego the latter if she wanted to be on top of things the next day. She was actually proud of herself, because she’d managed to drive by every liquor store without stopping. She parked behind her unit, exited, and locked the car behind her.
Her next-door neighbor poked his head out the door, and Andi groaned inwardly. He was a nice, lonely guy, but the last thing she wanted was to spend twenty minutes exchanging pleasantries. Not tonight. She waved, stuck her key into the lock and disappeared inside, not even bothering to flip on the light. Her first indication something wasn’t right was her shin connecting with the table directly in front of her. Andi fumbled along the wall for the switch. “Shit.”
Chaos wasn’t a strong enough word to describe the condition of her living room. She bent down and righted the coffee table before tossing the cushions back onto the couch and righting herself. Broken glass crunched under her feet as she made her way to the kitchen, which was worse. Dishes had been jerked from the cabinets and tossed on the floor, and most of them were shattered. Legs had been broken from the chairs, and the refrigerator stood wide open, its contents tossed amidst the broken glass. All except a carton of milk, which had been tipped over, and was still dripping slowly.