Double-Edged Detective

by Mallory Kane

  So she’d sat still while he removed her blouse and carefully washed her face, neck arms and torso with a soft terry washcloth and warm water.

  She’d endured his ministrations. That was the best spin he could put on it. She’d closed her eyes when he’d started bathing her chest and back and belly. When he’d told her to stand so he could take off her pants and wash her legs and feet, she’d obeyed, acting like a doomed prisoner.

  Touching her, ministering to her, had him hard and groaning to himself in no time, but her sad, exhausted demeanor quickly turned his lust into concern.

  Could she just be drowsy from the tranquilizer? He’d like to believe that, but he was pretty sure there was more to it than that.

  He’d finally gotten her reasonably clean and helped her put on one of his undershirts. Then he’d led her from the bathroom into the bedroom and helped her into bed.

  Now as he watched her, all the horror of finding her in that kitchen at the mercy of the October Killer came back to him in spades. “I am so sorry, Nic. I didn’t take care of you.”

  She murmured something, then sighed quietly and her breathing evened out. She was sound asleep.

  As he bent down to kiss her forehead, he heard the unmistakable ring of his cell phone out in the living room. He slipped out the door and pulled it shut, then answered the phone.

  It was Bill. “How’s Nicole?”

  “She’s asleep. What have you got?”

  “Between the EMTs and the crime scene analysts, we’ve got a pretty good picture of what happened. Moser must have either been at the restaurant already when he called you, or he was watching the sheriff’s office to be sure you headed toward Covington. From the way he parked the Focus, it was pretty obvious he’d planned to go in the kitchen door. But I think seeing Ingram surprised him. Ingram had his back to the street, checking the alley when Moser shot him.”

  “Damn,” Ryker said. “In the back.”

  “Yeah.” Bill went on. “Job told us he’d come out to get Ingram to go inside and have a sandwich. When he heard the shot, he drew his gun but Moser managed to shoot him in the shoulder before he could get a shot off.”

  “And he left both of them to die in that alley in their own blood.” Ryker pushed his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know, Bill. I guess he fooled me completely. I can’t picture him as a cold-blooded killer.”

  “You never know what people are capable of,” Bill agreed.

  “So he went straight inside to find Nicole?”

  “Yep. Nicole had ducked behind the stove to hide.”

  Ryker allowed himself a grim smile. “Good for her. Where did all that sugar come from?”

  “From what she told the EMT, she’d been about to sweeten a jug of tea, and dropped the bag when she heard the shots. She hid behind the stove, which was big enough to shield her until Moser got close. Then she shoved the pot at him. Burned the crap out of him. The EMT said the pot must have bounced off Moser and hit her in the side as she dived for cover.”

  Ryker’s eyes pricked with emotion. She’d saved herself. She’d done what she’d told him she could do ever since he’d first spoken to her. She’d taken care of herself.

  He cleared his throat. “Are they going to release Moser from the hospital?”

  “Yeah. I think we’ll be able to get him in for questioning within the next hour. You going to be able to make it? I can handle it if—”

  “I’ll make it. See you there.”

  Ryker hung up and rubbed his eyes. He went back into the bedroom to check on Nicole. She was still asleep. He touched a strand of her hair, pushing it away from her face.

  “You didn’t need me after all, did you?” he whispered. “I guess keeping a hot pot of chicken broth on the stove could qualify as reasonable precautions.” He bent over and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I love you, Nic. I know you don’t trust me. I know you think we’re too different. But I swear—” He stopped, his heart in his throat. She’d moved.

  Holding his breath, he watched her stir, heard her murmur something, then wince, as if she was in pain.

  He thought she’d said his name.

  “It’s okay, Nic. You’re home. You’re safe.”

  She made a little noise in her throat, then settled down and her breathing evened out.

  He hadn’t meant to wake her. Surely she hadn’t heard him. His heart in his throat, he started to back out of the room, and then thought about clean clothes. If he was going to interrogate Moser, he needed to shower and change.

  He headed into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. He looked at himself in the mirror for a second. He needed a shave and his eyes were red—because he kept rubbing them. Not because he’d been close to crying.

  He took a quick shower and shaved. After he dressed, back in the living room, he grabbed his cell phone and dialed his brother.

  “I heard about the shooting, old man. Are you all right? What happened?”

  “I’m fine. Nicole’s got burns on her hands. Just first degree, but they’re going to be painful. She’s asleep now, here at my house. I’ve got a thousand things to do and I don’t want to leave her alone. Would you—?”

  “Your timing sucks.” Reilly sighed. “Okay, let me call and tell Jen that I can’t do dinner tonight.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t date.”

  “I don’t. It’s for damn sure that Jen won’t go out with me again after I stand her up.”

  “Reilly—”

  “No worries, Ryker. I’m on my way.”

  AN HOUR LATER, Ryker was sitting across from Albert Moser in an interrogation room at the sheriff’s office in Chef Voleur. Under his folded hands was a scrapbook. The first half of it contained pictures of a young happy family—husband, wife and two daughters. The pages were filled with pictures of the girls at every age, from infancy to adulthood. Both of them were beautiful.

  The second half of the book contained enough evidence to put Albert Moser in prison for the rest of his life.

  “If you don’t talk to me, Albert, I’m going to have to assume that you not only killed these lovely young women, but you killed your daughter, too.”

  Moser looked at Ryker with undisguised agony in his eyes. Ryker was certain he hadn’t killed his own daughter. But nothing else had worked to get Moser talking. So he’d resorted to baiting him with the accusation that he’d killed Autumn.

  “Listen to me, Albert. I can’t begin to understand the pain you must be going through. I lost my older sister several years ago, but as bad as that was, I’m sure it’s not much compared to losing a child. I’ve seen what’s in this scrapbook. You had two beautiful daughters, and someone took one of them away from you.”

  Moser was looking at his hands. He didn’t react to Ryker’s words.

  “All the women you went after were babies you’d written life insurance policies for, weren’t they? That’s how you found them. How you chose them. You knew when they were born because you had their insurance policies.” Ryker took a deep breath. He was pulling out all the stops.

  “It’s all right here in your scrapbook. The policies. The newspaper clippings about the murders. Why’d you do it, Albert? To cover up your murder of your daughter? You wrote a policy on her, too, didn’t you? Twenty-five thousand dollars. That’s a lot of money. And it’s not like Autumn was a good girl. Not like your older daughter, Christmas. Autumn didn’t deserve that money, did she? You knew she’d only use it to buy drugs—”

  Suddenly, Albert Moser sprang up out of his chair and lunged at Ryker. He didn’t get very far, because his hands were cuffed, and Ryker easily sidestepped him.

  “You’re wrong! You bastard, you’re wrong!” Moser collapsed on the scarred wooden table, sobbing.

  Two uniformed deputies appeared at the door, but Ryker waved them away with a shake of his head. He glanced at the two-way mirror and held up his hand, palm out, hoping Mike and whoever else was watching would get his message. He just needed a little more time
.

  Albert Moser was about to break.

  Ryker went around the table and helped Moser back into his chair. Then he sat down again. “Tell me how I’m wrong, Albert. All I have to go by is this scrapbook. I see the insurance policies, the newspaper clippings. What I don’t see is anything that shows me that your daughter is any different than the girls you killed.”

  “I loved my Autumn. I’d have done anything for her,” Moser said brokenly. “She was my baby. But after her mother died, she got a little wild. She got mixed up with some lowlife—some married man. That’s who killed her. If I could have got my hands on him, I’d have beat him to death. I’d have made him suffer before he died.”

  “But you killed Daisy Howard and Jennifer Gomez and Bella Pottinger and Jean Terry instead. What did they do—that they deserved to die? You know, each one of them was somebody’s baby, too.”

  Moser shook his head back and forth, back and forth. “I know. It hurt me—so bad. But I had to get the police’s attention. Police don’t care anything about girls who get killed walking around in dangerous alleys late at night. They figure those girls get what they deserve.” He stopped shaking his head and looked at Ryker. “That’s what the detective told me. He said my daughter, my girl, shouldn’t have been out there. Said I should have taken better care of her.”

  Ryker grimaced. Samhurst shouldn’t have said that. “He was wrong. I know. You tried your best to take care of your daughters, didn’t you, after your wife died. So why did you kill those other girls? Was it to get the police’s attention?”

  “Sure. I figured if women kept dying on the same day every year, the police would take notice. They’d look back at other cases, and they’d find Autumn’s case and reopen it. Then they’d find the man who murdered her.”

  Ryker had expected something like what Moser was telling him, but he was still stunned. Moser had thought that he could get his daughter’s case reopened by repeating the murder. He’d killed a woman each October, on or near his daughter’s birthday—the day she’d died.

  Ryker rubbed a place in the center of his forehead that was hurting, then studied Moser. How had the man made the leap from getting his daughter’s case reopened to killing women with similar birthdays?

  “But, Albert, Autumn was killed in New Orleans. Wouldn’t it have made more sense to focus there?”

  Moser shook his head. “I would have, if I’d had data on young women there. I only sold a couple of policies in New Orleans. Most of my clients, especially for the babies, were in St. Tammany Parish. But Autumn lived here, right here in Covington. The St. Tammany sheriff should have avenged her death.”

  “Albert. I want you to calm down. I’ll be back in a minute. I’m going to get you some water.” Ryker exited the room and nodded at one of the deputies. “Stay in there until I get back.”

  He opened the door to the viewing room and stepped inside. Mike and Bill Crenshaw and Dagewood were there.

  “What do you think?” he asked them.

  “He’s crazy as a loon,” Dagewood said immediately. “If he killed his own daughter—”

  “You really think he did? I don’t,” Ryker responded. “Bill?”

  Bill Crenshaw shook his head. “Hard to say. I’m inclined to think he’s not crazy, but what he did was sure a crazy stunt. Hard to imagine why he’d think killing women in St. Tammany would make the NOPD sit up and take notice about just another mugging.”

  “Ryker, book him. Let the lawyers sort it out,” Mike said around the toothpick he was chewing. “You’re holding the damning evidence right there in your hand. He’s obviously the October Killer.”

  Ryker ran his fingers through his hair, leaving it spiked. He looked at Mike and Bill and Dagewood in turn. “I don’t like it. We’re going to put him away for the rest of his life, and he still doesn’t know who killed his daughter. I feel like somehow we’re letting him down.”

  “Letting down a murderer? Damn, Delancey, you’re more of a wuss than I thought you were.” Dagewood’s voice carried an unmistakable note of disdain.

  Ryker glanced at Bill and Mike. They were more polite, but from the expressions on their faces, they thought the same thing.

  Ryker sighed. He had a lot to do before he could go home, including the difficult task of calling Albert Moser’s other daughter and telling her what her father had done.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Nicole woke up thinking about home. She lay there for a few seconds, trying to figure out why she was thinking about something she’d really never had.

  We’re going home.

  You’re home.

  Who in her dreams would be saying things like that?

  Ryker? Was it his voice she’d imagined telling her that everything was okay? That they were going home?

  She moved to push herself upright in bed, and her palms and fingers burned. “Ow,” she muttered and looked at them. They were covered in snow-white gauze. She stared at them blankly.

  The bedroom door, which was cracked, pushed open. “Hey, Nicole. You all right?” a vaguely familiar voice said.

  Ryker? “My hands hurt. What hap—?” She gasped. “Oh, I remember. Job! How’s Job? And that Deputy Ingram? Did you check on them for me?” She squinted at the silhouette in the doorway as he spread his hands. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not Ryker,” he said gently. “I’m Reilly.”

  She stared at the familiar chiseled features that were vaguely outlined in the pale light that came from behind him. “Not—?” She gaped at him. “You’re who? I don’t understand—”

  “I’m Ryker’s twin brother, Reilly.”

  “Tw-twin? You’re twins?”

  “Yeah. Identical. Sorry about the scare. Ryker didn’t think you’d wake up. Can I get you something?”

  “Identical? Twins?” Nicole was certain she was still dreaming. “Ryker told me he had brothers, but he didn’t mention a twin.”

  Nicole saw Ryker’s twin brother’s silhouetted jaw tense and his body stiffen. She looked more closely.

  “I could turn on the light if you like.”

  She nodded. He reached for the switch and the room was flooded with light. She found herself staring at a human being that was as much like the man she knew as anything on earth could be. An identical twin. Of course there were some differences. Reilly’s hair was longer. And he wasn’t quite as heavy as Ryker.

  “This is too weird,” she whispered.

  Reilly laughed. “We get that a lot. Do you need something? Some water?”

  She shook her head. “Where did Ryker go?”

  “He had to interrogate Moser.”

  “Moser? The man whose daughter was killed? Why?”

  Ryker’s twin brother moved a little farther into the room. “He’s the one who attacked you, Nicole. And he had a scrapbook filled with newspaper clippings of the other deaths. I’m not sure, but I imagine they’re going to book him for murder.”

  “Murder? That can’t be right. His own daughter was killed. That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Nope. It doesn’t. But he shot your friend Job and Detective Ingram, and tried to kill you. Don’t worry. Ryker’ll get the truth out of him.”

  Nicole shuddered. “When’s Ryker getting back?”

  “I don’t know. He might stay all night if he’s close to breaking Moser.”

  She winced at Reilly’s words. Breaking Moser. It sounded so cruel.

  “Hey, you need to get back in bed. Ryker told me to give you a painkiller if you woke up. You were asleep when he got back from the pharmacy with them. He said they were on the bedside table here.” Reilly walked over to the table and picked up the plastic vial. “One every six hours as needed.”

  He started to open the vial.

  “No,” Nicole said sharply. “I don’t want a pain pill. It’ll make me groggy.”

  “That’s what it’s supposed to do. You’re supposed to be sleeping as much as possible, so your hands can heal.”

  She looked at her hands again
. “The chicken stock,” she whispered, wincing. “It was really hot.” The pot had burned her hands. They hurt.

  “I heard how you overpowered Moser with hot chicken soup.” Reilly grinned.

  Nicole didn’t feel much like laughing.

  “Now how about taking your medicine?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I’m fine. The EMTs gave me a tranquilizer. That’s already made me sleepy.”

  Reilly paused and gave Nicole the once-over. “Okay, if you’re sure. I’ll bet your hands are hurting, though.”

  “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  Reilly nodded, as if he’d expected no less from her. He sat down in a chair near the bed. “So what are your plans? I mean now that the threat is over.”

  Nicole’s heart squeezed. She hadn’t even asked herself that question.

  What was she going to do? First of all, try to figure out how to live without Ryker Delancey.

  Ryker didn’t know it, but she felt as if she’d known him for a year. Ever since he’d started coming to the restaurant several nights a week. It had irritated her at first. Seeing him there in the restaurant night after night kept the memory of the killer’s foiled attack uppermost in her mind. But it hadn’t taken her long to realize that she’d never felt so safe in her life.

  What would it feel like to have all his protective, responsible qualities, plus his love, forever? So wonderful it didn’t bear thinking about.

  She realized what she had to do. It would break her heart, but not as badly as waiting for Ryker to tell her.

  “Hey,” Reilly said. “Are you all right? You look like you’re about to cry. I think you should take one of those pills.”

  Nicole shook her head. “My plans? I need to go home—” Her throat closed on the word home. She cleared her throat. “Back to my apartment. Will you take me?”

  Reilly stood and held out both hands, palm up. “No. No way. I’m not incurring the Wrath of Ryker. He told me to stay here with you, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

  She frowned at him. “You always do everything your twin brother tells you to?”