Killing Streak

by Merit Clark

  “Where’s your coat?” Serena asked.

  Aranda’s smiling face when Jack bought her coffee flashed through his mind. Her flirtatious turn to let him see her naked back at the wine tasting. Corie at that same party in the silvery dress. Both of them so beautiful and so exquisitely alive a few short days ago.

  A man in a dress coat was bent over the stairs. Warren. He motioned them closer and gave them a quick rundown. Between the flooded crime scene and the snow, tire tracks were long gone. Same for footprints or shoe impressions. DNA would be possible but difficult, with the likelihood of cross-contamination.

  “Perp tried to destroy evidence,” Warren said. He handed Jack an evidence bag. Inside was a muddy scrap of fabric. “Cut her clothes off. Raped her. Then cut her up, too.”

  Cut her. “Any idea yet on the time of death?” Jack asked.

  Warren hesitated. “Found her phone propped on her hand. Look at the last number in her outgoing call list.”

  Jack looked. The last call was to him. Fuck.

  “I doubt she made that call,” Warren said. “I think she was already dead.”

  Jack stared, wanting to punish himself. Aranda’s arms were still spread wide and her slim wrists had swollen so that the handcuffs cut a nasty channel into the decaying flesh. Animal activity was obvious, mostly on her legs and torso. Her head was turned to one side, her face somehow still beautiful, flawless pale skin that, when alive and pulsing with blood, was once the color of a mocha latte.

  “Jack?” Serena’s voice.

  “You hear me?” Warren’s.

  Aranda’s soaking wet hair hung limply. It used to be so shiny. Serena and Warren watched him as if he might keel over at any moment.

  It pissed Jack off. “If you’re right, she was killed more than twenty-four hours ago.”

  “The phone was a prop,” Warren said. “She was already dead. The bastard’s screwing with you. Don’t let him get in your head.”

  “Too late.” Jack wouldn’t take his eyes off of Aranda.

  Warren and Serena spoke as if they lived on some other, saner planet. One where missing a phone call didn’t leave a beautiful woman mutilated and dead. If Jack had answered his goddamned phone they could have traced the call. If they’d traced it he would have found her. She may have already been dead, but she wouldn’t have been out here for a day exposed to the elements and bait for animals. If Jack had done his fucking job, the water wouldn’t have had twenty-four hours to destroy evidence. He wanted to hit something.

  “Jack, it wouldn’t have mattered if you got the call,” Warren said. “It was snowing like a son of a bitch last night. The roads were impassible. We had trouble getting equipment up here as it is now. Had to call out a road crew to put down sand.”

  “When are you gonna move her?” Jack asked.

  “I want to do as much processing as possible at the scene. We’re bringing in some heaters to warm up the stairs so we can lift the body without pulling off too much skin. It’s going to be damned near impossible not to damage it when we move it.”

  Jack’s voice was a snarl and he looked at Warren with narrowed eyes. “Her body. When you move her. Not it.”

  “Anything else we need to know?” Serena asked.

  Warren looked back at Aranda and a muscle moved in his jaw. “It’s a construction site. Dozens of guys were through here on Monday before they shut down. There was a bottle of whiskey on one of the desks inside. Probably belonged to one of the workers. We’re gonna test it for DNA.”

  “What kind of whiskey?” Jack asked.

  Warren looked at him curiously. “Jack Daniels. Why?”

  Abruptly, Jack turned and walked fast, back toward his car.

  Serena caught up with him. “Why’d you ask what kind of whiskey?”

  “Evan wouldn’t drink Jack Daniels.”

  “Would it even matter if they find Evan’s DNA? He’ll explain it away like he does everything. He’ll claim it got here while he was consulting on the project.”

  Jack succumbed to frustration and pounded on the side of the car with his fist.

  Serena looked around. “I wonder where D’Ambrose is? Maybe they have him in a car or back at the station for questioning. I’ll go find out.”

  When she came back, Jack could tell by her expression there was more bad news. “What now?”

  She watched him, a little warily it seemed, as she spoke. “When they got here Roger was experiencing chest pains. They thought he might be having a heart attack, so they took him to the hospital to get checked out.”

  “Two birds with one stone. Nice work, Evan.” Jack pounded on the car again.

  Serena gave him a minute alone. When he finally got in the car and joined her she’d cranked the heat up to high. Her voice was kind. “You must be freezing.”

  Jack looked at her for a second in her parka and scarf but didn’t really see her. His eyes traveled back to Aranda; he wanted the sight of Aranda’s body burned into his brain for all eternity. Or at least for the rest of his miserable life. But he didn’t have the time to indulge in self-loathing. All he could do was catch Evan Markham and he was goddamned well going to do it.

  “You’re human you know,” Serena said.

  Without a word, Jack put the car in gear and turned around.

  “Where to?” Serena asked. “We gonna go talk to Roger?”

  “I doubt Evan’s gonna go visit him in the hospital.” Jack exhaled and shook his head. No use taking this out on her or Warren or anyone. “Where do you think Evan would go?”

  “Ordinarily? To see Mommy.”

  Jack looked at her in surprise. “Yeah.” He thought about it and nodded. “Serena, you might make a good detective after all.”

  Chapter 73

  Evan did, as Jessie stated, know people. The pilot he’d hired—paying triple the usual rate—would fly Jessie out of the country as soon as there was a break in the weather.

  He drove Jessie to the airport himself, and when he said goodbye, she called him “darling” and touched his cheek in the way he used to relish. He tried to hate her for what she did to Corie but he couldn’t.

  And he was so tired. It wasn’t like him and he didn’t understand it at first. He prided himself on not needing sleep. And then he remembered; the nights when he played were exceptions. Nine, ten, twelve hours—as if he fell into a coma. It was the only time he could rest and the exhaustion was usually blissful. But this time he had nowhere to go.

  Driving in circles, thinking in circles. Only one of them—Jessie or Evan—could escape. Not both and he’d known that all along. But he wasn’t a whiner. Jessie was his responsibility. He’d taken care of her ever since his father died, since he was sixteen, back when he still idolized her. It didn’t matter what she did. It didn’t matter whether or not he still liked her. She was his mother. Evan had never disappointed her and he wasn’t about to start now.

  Saying his father died made it sound benign, as if he’d simply fallen asleep with no outside intervention. His father. Hadn’t thought about him in decades, but all of a sudden Evan couldn’t stop thinking about him. Perhaps because Evan now tasted failure. All his life Evan lived secure in the knowledge that he wouldn’t end up like his father, that he was better, that he was stronger. Now, for the first time it felt possible that Evan was not so different after all.

  What had his father’s final failing been? Evan never asked Jessie, that was out of the question. Disappointing Jessie was dangerous and his father had known that better than anyone. He’d tried his best and given her everything but evidently it wasn’t enough. Perhaps Jessie had simply tired of his father’s health problems and physical limitations. She wanted someone strong; Evan could understand that.

  Her solution, like all of Jessie’s solutions, was dramatic. At the time, Evan hated his father for doing nothing more but sit there and die. He knew he’d never be that weak.

  Driving in circles, thinking in circles. It wasn’t that way at all. Evan gripped the steerin
g wheel. He remembered it wrong. Jessie didn’t purposely screw up the dosage. Evan had watched her help his father with his insulin dozens, hundreds of times over the years, marveling at the way Jessie could make even an injection seem tender. Evan was wrong. It was an accident. He was only sixteen after all.

  What wasn’t an accident, though, was the way Jessie sat there and waited. Evan put a dog to sleep once and it happened the same way, its breath became shallower, its chest moved less and less, the whole process was so subtle that it was hard to know exactly when it was over. When Evan begged his mother to do something, she laughed and gave him his first drink. She treated him like a grownup and wanted to celebrate with him. What were they celebrating? Evan didn’t know but he couldn’t refuse. He needed to show Jessie that she could rely on him. He needed Jessie to be happy. So he sat with her and watched his father go while every fiber in Evan’s body told him to run and get help.

  Driving in circles, thinking in circles. Each memory in its own little compartment, like treasures in a jewelry box. Only now they tumbled out, crashed into each other, contradicted each other. Evan couldn’t fall apart like this. He wouldn’t. She still needed him. He had to think. He couldn’t afford to be disorganized and melodramatic. Cold, tired, confused—it wouldn’t do. But as Evan wrestled with his thoughts, one broke free and wouldn’t stay contained: what if, in the end, Jessie was nothing but a silly, selfish woman and it had all been for nothing?

  Chapter 74

  Jack watched the wipers move slush around on the windshield. During the drive back to central Denver it had started snowing lightly again. No word yet from Tiffany. He picked up his phone and looked at it so many times that Serena finally commented.

  “It’s probably—it takes a long time. Surgery.”

  Jack didn’t say anything, focused on his driving, the white road in his headlights. Now that the sun was down, everything had turned to ice. He was driving slowly but his thoughts were racing. If Jessie went with Evan willingly, why were there drag marks in the snow outside the crawl space? Or was that from dragging Corie? He hadn’t had time to take a thorough look and determine if the marks indicated someone being brought in or taken away. If Jessie had been dragged she was going against her will. Which meant what?

  The bigger question was why had Corie gone there? She certainly wouldn’t have gone to see Evan. But she might have gone if Jessie called.

  Jack’s phone buzzed and he grabbed it. “Tiffany. Speak to me.” He heard her say the words and closed his eyes for a moment. Relief washed over him. Corie made it through surgery and was in recovery. She was alive.

  “I told you she was strong,” Serena said.

  “Yeah.” Stronger than anyone realized. “Tiffany said Corie would be out of it for a few hours still. It would be awesome to be able to tell her Evan was in custody when she wakes up.”

  “See, this is why I don’t date cops.” Serena’s lips pressed into a thin smile and the mood in the car lightened a little bit. “They’re always cops first and boyfriends second.”

  “That’s not true. And besides, I’m not her boyfriend.” But Jack was giddy with relief and the thought made him smile for a second, too.

  “You might want to stop and get something warmer to wear,” Serena said. “Your getting hypothermia isn’t going to help us catch anyone.”

  “My house isn’t that far from here. I’ll grab a coat. I should let that damned dog out anyway before he destroys my carpet.” Not to mention that it wouldn’t do much to cheer Corie up if he killed her dog.

  Jack took Washington south from Sixth Avenue. He turned left onto Kentucky and was beginning a slow right turn onto Ogden, his street, when he saw the Mercedes.

  Serena saw the car at the same time and he heard her sharp intake of breath.

  Jack cut his lights and slammed on the brakes; the Audi stopped. “Going to be easier than we thought.” Jack looked over his shoulder and backed up quickly to the alley entrance.

  Serena reached for the radio and Jack stopped her.

  “No.”

  “Are you insane? That’s Evan’s car.”

  “Parked in front of my house.” Jack turned into the alley. “I want to hear what he has to say.”

  “You really think he wants to talk to you? I know you don’t want to talk.” Her eyes went to his .45. “This is a very bad idea. I’m calling for backup.”

  “I said no.” Jack slammed on the brakes again. “If it has to be an order, consider it an order. I don’t have time to argue. Evan’s made this personal from the very beginning. If he’s after anyone, he’s after me. You get out of the car here. There’s no reason for you to put yourself in danger.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m not a dark-haired woman with full breasts.” And it hit him. The answer had been right there in front of him all along. “Go on. He probably heard us. I don’t want to spook him off.”

  Serena shook her head. “Mm-mm. I’m not leaving my partner, even if he is insane.”

  Jack drove a short way into the alley and parked. “I want him to think I’m alone. Give me ten minutes and then call for backup. Tell them no sirens.”

  “Jack—”

  But he was out of the car.

  Chapter 75

  In the dream Corie was doing laundry, hanging shirts on a line with old-fashioned wooden clothespins. She was outdoors and the sun was glaring. Corie wanted to shield her eyes but couldn’t because she needed both hands to manage the wet clothes.

  A man called her name but she didn’t turn around. “You’re going to be all right,” the man said. “You don’t have to worry.”

  But she did. She had a nightgown that really needed a hanger. Instead she used the clothespins and wondered if she was going to get caught.

  “You don’t have to be perfect,” someone in the dream said.

  They didn’t understand. She would get caught and then everything would go all wrong.

  She would like to think later that she knew when Jack was there. That she heard his voice. But in reality she didn’t hear anything. It was like going underwater; there was no sound.

  Her puffs of air were shallow, like a fish. She moved her mouth. If only I didn’t have the gag. She moved her mouth again. But I don’t. Her tongue raked the back of her teeth.

  Like a dream, time was one large, dark, undefined mass. Like a dream, everyone from her past and her present talked to her and did strange things. She would swim to the surface of consciousness, see the light through the water, and then go down again.

  In the dream she heard a man’s voice. Felt him hold her hand. And then strangeness again, staircases, the laundry, houses she’d never really been in that somehow felt familiar. She took a bath in one of them in a large, claw-footed tub in the middle of an empty room with a wooden floor.

  Beeping. Her head heavy on a pillow. Or was there a pillow? She licked her lips.

  “She’s thirsty!” a voice said, as though that was the most remarkable thing in the world.

  In her dream the light was white and harsh. Corie tried to see what it was, but when she looked to her left she was overcome by pain. Instinctively, in real life, without knowing what to do, her slim hand groped for the call button. It pressed something, a click, and then came the merciful darkness again.

  In the dream her hands swam next to her. She felt sand and heard the ocean and tried again to look into the light. Jessie walked toward her across the sand, still wearing the blue sweater, still smiling. She said something but Corie couldn’t hear what it was, only heard the laundry flapping and snapping in the breeze.

  Someone gave her water in a cup with a straw. She drank and drank.

  “You’re safe now,” someone said, someone not Jack. “You’re all right now, darling,” the voice said.

  In the dream someone touched Corie’s arm, and in real life she flinched.

  Chapter 76

  Jack slipped between houses, gun drawn. It was late. People were asleep and lights were off.
It was hard to see if anyone was inside the Mercedes. It was so quiet he could hear Murphy barking from inside his house across the street.

  The snow made it easier to see but Jack was very cold. He willed himself to stop shivering so he could maintain a steady grip on his gun. The house he was next to had a large bush in front and Jack used that as cover. His eyes scanned his front yard up to the steps where Evan sat.

  Slowly, his gun on Evan, Jack made his way across the frozen street.

  “Don’t move,” Jack called.

  Evan looked up. “I think the dog needs to go out.”

  “Let me see your hands.” God, Jack wanted him to do something. Anything at all.

  But Evan knew better. In slow motion, he pulled his hands away from his body and raised them, palms out. “Detective.”

  “Evan.” Jack’s breath fogged. Christ, it was freezing.

  “Where’s your partner?” Evan held himself perfectly still.

  “Nearby. What do you want to tell me?”

  “What makes you think I want to tell you anything?”

  “You’re at my house and this sure as hell isn’t a social visit.”

  “Why aren’t you with Corie?” Something resembling an emotion crossed Evan’s face. “Did she—”

  Roughly, Jack cuffed Evan, gratified to see him wince at the cold metal. “What a loyal, loving husband. Loyal to business, loyal to pleasure. Which one is Corie again?”

  “She’s gone.”

  “No. Not that you give a shit.”

  “No, Jessie. She’s gone.”

  “You killed your own mother?”

  Within Jack’s grip Evan stiffened. “Of course not. I got her a plane. I got everything set up and it wasn’t easy. She said she wanted to go to Mexico so I hired a private pilot to take her. He called me a few minutes ago. Jessie never got on the plane. She left and he doesn’t know where she went or how. But I know where she’ll try to go. That’s why I’m here. Jessie’s going to kill Corie.”

  It all tumbled out. A confused story about Evan’s father, and insulin, and Brice’s computer.