Dominic raised a brow, the picture of pure innocence. “No, man, I’m just tired. Been a long day already.”
With a beleaguered sigh, Rick laid the doll flat on the evidence examination table. “I did some research while I was waiting on you two to get here.” He lifted his gaze to Serena. “You know how I said something seemed familiar about this killing?”
“Yes.”
“I started looking stuff up. Past crimes where a doll was left behind.”
A bad feeling started in her gut. “And?”
Rick motioned them over to his computer. He wiggled the mouse and the screen lit up. “Here.”
Serena leaned in to read. “The Doll Maker Killer.” She frowned. “I don’t remember this.”
“That’s because it was before your time. You’re a few years younger than I am. You’re what? Twenty-eight?”
“Just turned twenty-nine last week. Why?”
“This guy was killing people back from ’92 to ’95. You would have been a child.”
She quirked a brow at him. “As would you. You’re only three years older than I am.”
“Yes,” he conceded with a nod, “but I generally remember just about everything I read and I remember reading about this guy a couple of years ago. Drake Lindell. He was trying to get parole, made a plea that he’d been rehabilitated, found God and all that jazz.”
“How many did he kill?” Dominic’s quiet question made her jerk.
Rick rubbed his eyes. “The FBI says nine that they know of, but they suspect more.”
“How did he get his victims?”
“Some just wouldn’t come home. Others left to go to lunch from work and were never heard from again. Several were snatched from their homes. There didn’t seem to be a pattern. Two of the women reported they thought they were being stalked. Notes left in their mailboxes, dead flowers delivered, et cetera.” He scratched his nose with the back of his wrist, then said, “But really, the only connection between the victims that anyone could find was the doll and the note.” He looked over his glasses. “Really bad poetry most of the time, mocking the police, saying he was going to kill again and the police, the FBI, could do nothing about it. He was on a real power trip for a while there.”
Dominic winced and Serena felt her skin crawl. Dominic shook his head. “I should remember this one. We would have studied it at the academy.”
“Maybe.” Rick shrugged.
She looked back at the article and asked, “So is this killer back? Could he have killed Leslie?”
Rick shook his head. “Can’t be him. He’s still in prison.” His lips twisted. “Trust me, I checked.”
“Then we have a copycat,” Serena said.
“Looks like.” Dominic blew out a breath. “I need to call my boss.”
Serena looked at him. “Will the FBI get involved after one killing? Doesn’t the FBI usually wait until after the second death before they will identify the killer as a serial?”
He nodded. “Usually, but if this is a serial copycat, and it’s definitely looking like it, I’m going to ask to be assigned this case. Now.” His eyes narrowed. “I don’t want to wait for a second death to happen. We have to catch this guy before he goes after his next victim.” His attention zeroed in on the doll and the note. “The killer’s made it clear. There’s going to be a next victim.”
Who would get to play next? Waiting on the phone call was annoying. But necessary. Only HE had the names. Only HE would know who would be the best players.
Waiting was necessary.
Waiting could be fun. Anticipation of the coming game caused shivers of delight to dance up and down the killer’s neck.
Eager eyes roved over the names in the book. So many to choose from. Who would it be?
Was it her? Beth Hollister? Or maybe Stacy Hathaway?
The killer shut the book with a snap and placed it back on the shelf.
It didn’t matter.
The phone would ring soon.
And the game would begin again.
Dominic hung up the phone and felt a grim satisfaction. Local authorities had agreed to let the FBI take this one and run with it while offering their cooperation.
His boss, Deputy Director Zeb Tremaine, had given Dominic the go-ahead to take over the case as the lead investigator. A task force was being assembled and would be dispatched to the Columbia office within hours.
He walked back into Rick’s office and said, “We’re treating this as a copycat killer. The package, the note, everything indicates the killer is out there right now stalking his next victim. We’re going to jump on this and try to stop him before he strikes again.”
Serena looked at him, then back at the doll. “Why would he leave a note? Why taunt us?”
“It’s part of his game,” Dominic said.
“I don’t like this game and I don’t want to play.”
Dominic tilted his head. “Not sure we have a choice.”
Rick said, “If he’s a copycat—and it’s sure not Drake Lindell—he’s sticking to the MO, an MO the FBI and police never could figure out.”
“What do you mean?” Dominic asked.
“With each body, the Doll Maker Killer would leave the doll, but it was never determined who the doll was supposed to represent. Sometimes she was dressed like the victim. Sometimes she looked completely different. There wasn’t any pattern, nothing to pull from the dolls to help figure out who the next victim would be. The authorities were sure it was a message, but they couldn’t decipher it.”
Dominic saw Serena’s lips tighten. Then she asked, “But what kind of message and who was the message for? In the note he said ‘someone you know.’ Someone who knows? Who is the you in that statement? You?” She pointed to Dominic. “The investigating officer? Me? The medical examiner?” This time she jabbed a finger against her chest. “Or the person who found her and called it in? How are we supposed to know who the message is for?”
“All good questions,” Rick said. “Unfortunately, they’ve all been asked before and no one could come up with an answer. Another question that needs to be asked is, how does this person know all the details of these killings?”
“I’ve already been asking myself that. I don’t have an answer to that yet.” Dominic pointed at the doll. “We know one thing for sure. If the Doll Maker Killer has a copycat, the copycat’s only getting started.” His jaw tightened. “Which means, so are we.”
It was crazy. Totally crazy. She’d never come across anything like this before. A serial killer sending a message to the people working the murder? Okay, so it had been done before, she supposed, but never anything she’d worked on.
Serena watched Rick, then bounced her gaze to Dominic, who was engrossed in something that had just come across his phone.
She thought about the break-in at her home last week. About the man she’d shot.
She shivered. She hadn’t been some random homeowner who woke to find an intruder in her house. She racked her brain, trying to figure out who was targeting her. Had possibly pushed her in front of a bus.
Were the incidents related?
God, I think I’ve had enough excitement to last me awhile. Boredom would be nice at this point. Seriously, God, what’s happening? Why is my life suddenly spinning?
She added a prayer for protection and for wisdom to find Leslie’s killer as she watched Rick testing for fingerprints.
She couldn’t help but think about her intruder and wonder why the man she’d shot hadn’t just killed her while she lay in bed. Why search her bedroom? Because he’d planned to take her alive when he found what he wanted? Or force her to tell him what he wanted to know when he didn’t find what he was looking for?
Whatever his intentions, she’d interrupted his plans. Rick’s phone rang and Dominic said, “You get that. We’ll be in touch.”
“Sure.” Rick waved and turned his attention to his phone.
Dominic took Serena by the arm, and she couldn’t help the small thrill
that invaded her at his touch.
“So, Katie and Hunter are the detectives on this one, along with Chad Graham and Colton Brady,” Dominic said.
“Colton Brady, huh?” She mulled over what she knew about the man. Not much.
“Yep, he’s back.”
“I’d noticed that.”
“Sounds like a great team.”
“It is.”
“Katie’s at Leslie’s house, looking for something—anything—that might give us a clue as to how and why this killer picked her. Colton and Chad are questioning family and co-workers. We’ll have a pretty good picture of her life soon. Maybe there’ll be something we can work with.”
They made their way out of the building and Dominic said, “Are you in the mood to do a little research?”
“On what?”
“The Doll Maker Killer.”
Serena swallowed hard. “Yes, I suppose. But you don’t need me. I’m sure you can find what you need without me being in the way.”
“True. I don’t necessarily need you there. But . . . what if I want you there? And you won’t be in the way.”
Her mouth formed a silent “Oh.” He wanted her there because he wanted to spend time with her? The thought made her stomach dip and swirl. She snapped her lips shut. “Well, I suppose I could lend a hand.” She smiled. “Could put my FBI clearance to good use again.”
He lifted a brow. “FBI clearance?”
“I handled a pretty sensitive murder. As a result, I was going to be exposed to a lot of information about this particular victim in trying to figure out how he died. He was in the witness protection program and died right before the trial. The US Marshals were fit to be tied—as well as the FBI agents working the protection detail.”
Dominic’s brow furrowed and she could almost see the wheels turning. Then he let out a low whistle. “The Sandino case.”
“Yes. The FBI wanted everything I did on the case to be top secret. I had to pass all kinds of background checks and basically go through everything you guys do when you first apply to become agents. Anyway, I passed. So now, when the FBI needs something pertaining to a case and they need it top secret, they come to me. I’m an FBI consultant.”
Admiration glowed. “You’re amazing.”
Serena let out a self-conscious laugh. “Not really. It’s just the way things worked out.”
“Then you really could help me out here. I won’t have to be too careful what I say around you.”
“I can help.”
“Great. You want to follow me?”
“Where?”
“Back to my office. I’ll pull everything I can find on Drake Lindell and we’ll go through it.”
Serena bit her lip. She would love the excuse to spend more time with him, but she had two more autopsies to do before she went home. “I said I can help. And I can, but I really need to get back to work. How about you pull the info and call me. I’ll meet you somewhere.”
“Deal.”
He placed a hand on his door handle, then turned back. Serena waited, wondering at the frown he wore.
“Be careful,” he said. “There’s no proof that the message was for you or anyone else associated with the crime scene, but I do find it odd that someone broke into your house last week and now you’re a victim of a purse snatching gone wrong. And you’re the ME for this death?” He shook his head. “That’s just too many things in a short period of time to be a coincidence. And I’m not a big believer in coincidences.”
“I know. I’m not either.” She paused. “Although, I have to say that the more I think about it, the more I think the purse snatching was just a purse snatching gone wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“I remember I felt the tug on my purse, but I had a good grip and reacted reflexively by pulling against the tug—” she licked her lips and said— “and then I was in front of the bus, so now I’m doubting whether the person was really trying to hurt me. I think he was just trying to grab my purse and when I resisted, he let go and I ended up falling in front of the bus.”
Dominic frowned. “That’s a reasonable argument, but we don’t know that for sure, and I have to admit I’m still a little hesitant to leave you alone.”
A puff of air escaped her in a humorless laugh. “Well, there’s not much we can do about that. We both need to work.”
Still, his hand hovered above the handle of his car door. “Just . . . be on your guard.”
He was truly worried about her.
“I will be, I promise.” A shiver shuddered through her. The doll’s oval face and pink jogging suit danced at the forefront of her mind. She would definitely be careful. And she wouldn’t be jogging through the park again anytime soon.
“You have my number,” he reminded her. “Promise you’ll call if you need anything at all?”
“Promise.”
He gave her a warm smile, his eyes lingered on hers a moment longer, then he was in the driver’s seat and backing out of the parking space.
Serena climbed into her Suburban and cranked it.
On the drive back to the morgue, she considered everything that had happened to her in the last week. Receiving the package, the break-in, the dead classmate, the attempted purse snatching—and now a possible serial killer copycat with a victim who was found on her watch. Something was going on in this town and it seemed to be revolving around her.
She still didn’t understand how the man had managed to get into her house without setting off her alarm.
And Yoda hadn’t barked, but she wasn’t exactly a watchdog. If someone paid her the slightest attention, she was a friend for life. All her intruder had to do was bring her a treat, and if she could have, Yoda would have thrown the door open with a welcoming lick.
Chewie, her cat, would have found a place to hide.
No, getting past her animals wouldn’t have been an issue.
Before she had a chance to think about it further, she arrived back at the hospital. She pulled around to the back and parked in her reserved spot.
She thought of spending more time with Dominic, and liked the thought. The man had gotten under her skin before she was old enough to realize what the phrase meant. Now, as an adult, she got it. She was attracted to him. And she wanted to explore that attraction.
Maybe.
As she walked into the morgue, she waved to Dorie. “What time do you get off today?”
“I leave at five.” Today Dorie’s hair was a light brown, and she had it pulled back with two pins on either side of her temples.
“Meant to tell you this morning, nice hair color.”
“Thanks. I was ready for a change.”
“You’re ready for a change about once a week, aren’t you?”
Dorie laughed and shrugged in agreement, then rolled her cart toward the office at the end of the hall.
Serena stuck her head in her boss’s office. “Hey, Daniel, I’m back.”
“What’s up with the girl you brought in?” He consulted his notes. “Leslie Stanton?”
Serena filled him in on the murder and the doll. She didn’t bother to mention the doll’s resemblance to herself. “Now I’ve got that cardiac patient, Gary Hanson. The family still insists someone at the hospital was responsible for his death.”
“Any chance of that?”
She shrugged. “He had a history of heart problems. He had his first attack at the age of thirty-eight. I’d say he was probably lucky he made it to sixty years old.”
Daniel grunted. “Well, glad it’s you doing the job. At least I know it’ll be done right.”
Serena lifted a brow. “Something wrong?”
“Naw.” He grimaced and waved her away. “Go do your thing. I’m just ticked about the funding issues that are popping up everywhere I turn.”
“Oh.” Serena wrinkled her nose. “More cutbacks?”
“Looks like it.”
“I’m sorry. Anything I can do?”
He shrugged and sighed. �
��Nope. Get outta here.”
She did, but she couldn’t help the ping of anxiety that ran through her. She felt pretty sure her job was secure. But there were those she worked with—the tech, the cleaning staff, and others—whose jobs could be on the line. She prayed as she walked to her office and slipped into a gown.
Just as she released the brakes on Mr. Hanson’s gurney, her phone rang. Pausing, she pulled it out and looked at the number.
Camille. One of the girls with Adopt-a-Sis, a program Serena tried to volunteer with at least once a week. Camille had wiggled her way into Serena’s heart. Unfortunately, she lived with a father Serena felt sure was emotionally and verbally, if not physically, abusive.
She pressed the button to answer. “Hello?”
“Hi.”
Then silence.
“Camille? Are you all right?”
Sniffling.
“Darling, what’s wrong?”
A long sigh filtered to her. Then Camille cleared her throat. “My dad kicked me out of the house.”
Serena flinched. “I thought you two had kind of worked out your differences in counseling.”
“Well . . . um . . . yeah . . . we did. Sort of. But . . . ”
“But?”
“That was before he found out that I’m . . . p-pregnant.” Loud sobs came from the girl.
“Ohhhh.”
“Yes.” Camille’s sobs faded to a whisper and Serena had to strain to hear her.
“You need a place to stay?” Serena asked.
“No, but . . .”
“You need some money?”
Weeping once again filled Serena’s ear. “Okay, honey, it’s going to be all right. I have to do an autopsy. It’s going to take me about an hour, but I want you to go to the address I’m going to give you and wait for me there. Can you do that?”
More sniffling, a long sigh, then, “Yes.”
Serena closed her eyes and gave her the address. “See you there.” After Camille hung up, Serena stayed still a moment longer, praying for the girl.
She continued praying even as she rolled Mr. Hanson under the light.
7
MONDAY, 4:32 P.M.
When a Heart Stops Page 4