“But I’m not dressed!”
Mitch took a step toward her and she scrambled for her clothes strewn on the floor.
“Two.”
The lady started to pull clothing on. Mitch took another step toward her.
“Katey, I’d leave if I were you. She’ll do it. Get dressed outside.” John looked on in amusement. He still lay in bed, his hands clasped behind his head.
Katey froze, unsure of what to do now that John wasn’t taking her side. Mitch took another step toward the blonde. Katey grabbed her remaining clothes and her purse and started backing toward the bedroom door, giving Mitch a wide berth.
“Three.” Mitch took two angry strides toward her. Katey squealed in fright. Before she disappeared through the bedroom door she screamed, “You’re a shit, John! A real shit!”
He smiled. “And you, my dear, are a cheap slut.” She reddened and ran. A moment later, the front door slammed hard enough to rattle the living room windows.
Mitch turned her fury on John. Her entire body shook with rage. “Let me tell you something. I will only say this once. If you ever bring another one of your whores into this house, not only will I throw her out without her clothing, I will call the sheriff’s office and have you bodily removed from the premises, and you will be served with divorce papers the next morning. From now on, until you can show me a good reason why, I will be sleeping in the large guest bedroom. Alone. If you want to fuck around, you go do it somewhere else. Do I make myself clear?”
She had hoped for at least an apology, for him to swear it was a one-time thing and it wouldn’t happen again, a reason to keep the marriage alive. Instead, he simply nodded. “Understood. “
Mitch recalled standing in the bedroom doorway, staring at him, trying to remember why she fell in love with him. She couldn’t. Despite what she’d told the blonde, any chance for her to stay married to him vanished when she opened the door and found the woman on top of him, his hands on her hips. Mitch suddenly felt a wave of tears threaten as she fought the nausea rising in her throat.
“Why?” she managed to choke out.
He shrugged. His equanimity infuriated her even more than his actions. “I got bored. You’ve been a good wife. I can’t say a bad word about you. I just need something else now.”
Mitch turned and ran from the house, barely remembering to grab her purse. She held back the tears until she was in her Bronco and down the street. For several weeks, she’d suspected something was up. He took more business trips, and acted evasive when she asked him how they went. She found cell phone bills with repeated calls to local numbers at all hours of the day and night.
She found a condom in his briefcase.
Mitch had hoped she was wrong, that it was a mistake, but John had started to pull away from her a couple of months after their marriage. Mitch thought he was a wonderful lover, and, at first, he seemed as pleased by her as she was by him.
She blindly headed to Aripeka, seeking solace and comfort there. By the time she pulled into the marina parking lot, she managed to get herself under control. She remembered the surprise on Ed’s and her father’s faces. When she stepped off the dock and into the stern, her dad closely studied her.
He put down the reel he’d been working on. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”
That was all it took to start her sobbing. He put his arms around her and sat her down on the stern, rocking her, trying to comfort her. Ed patted her on the shoulder and kissed her on the top of the head before walking up to the dive shop to leave them alone.
Mitch finally got herself back under control. When she sat up, her dad offered her a clean rag to blow her nose with. He studied her face. “John?”
Her gaze dropped to the deck.
He sighed. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She shook her head and looked back up at him.
“Okay, sweetie. If and when you’re ready, you can talk to me. Promise?”
She nodded.
“You moving out soon?”
She nodded again.
He rubbed her shoulders. “I’m going to ask you this, and you better not lie to me. Did he or has he ever hit you?”
She vigorously shook her head. “No, Daddy. Nothing like that.”
He nodded. “That’s good. For him.” He sighed. “Are you going to tell your mother?”
She thought about it. “She loves John. The only thing it’ll do right now is make her try to talk me into patching things up. I don’t want to do that.”
“You’re right about that. You know you are always welcome to come back home, whenever you want and for as long as you want.” He put his arms around her and hugged her.
She rested her head against his shoulder. “I know, Daddy. Thank you. Not right now, but maybe in a few weeks or something. I don’t know what I’m going to do yet.”
Ed walked back down to the Sun Run and sat next to her. “You okay, hon?”
She looked up into his blue eyes and saw the genuine love and concern there.
“Yeah, I’m better, Ed. Thanks.”
He hugged her, ruffling her hair as he let go, something he used to do when she was a kid. “I’m here for you, too.”
* * * *
Mitch looked out over the saw grass flats behind the house and thought of Ed’s final statement to her that day before she returned to the Tampa house. Unlike John, Ed had been there for her when he promised.
She put her empty bowl in the sink and spied one of the pictures hanging on the wall at the end of the breakfast bar. Mitch dried her hands and walked over to it, studying it as if she’d never seen it before. It was of her and Ed, taken by her dad a couple of months before he died. She took the frame off the wall and looked at it. She held a fillet knife in her hand because she was getting ready to gut a grouper. Ed had his arm around her, hamming it up, but there was something different now, something she’d never noticed before.
He wasn’t looking at the camera. He was looking at her, with an unmistakable expression on his face. He had a look of wistful sadness in his eyes. Mitch’s fingers traced the shape of his face as she stared at the picture.
I’ve been through one marriage. Why would I want to repeat the same mistake?
Eventually, she replaced the picture and tried to sort out the confused emotions in her heart. On the one hand was the almost irresistible tug to be with Ed, but then there was the caution to protect her heart.
Pete’s barking on the porch startled her out of her thoughts and she looked out the window. Rick Singer was climbing her stairs. She opened the front door for him and Pete dashed in between his legs.
“I’m sorry to bother you here, Mitch, but I was over this way and thought I’d stop by. Am I interrupting anything?”
“No not at all. Come in. Want some coffee?”
He perched on a barstool at the counter. “Sure. That’d be great.”
She poured Rick a cup and sat across the counter from him. “What’s up? I know you. This isn’t just a social visit.”
Rick nodded and sipped his coffee. “Want to hear a little gossip?”
Mitch smiled. “Sure.”
“I made a few phone calls to some of my buddies. The talk is that the Emmerand was headed to this area when she sank.”
“Where? I’ve never seen that boat around here before.”
He shook his head. “They’re not sure. I don’t have to tell you how close-knit this community is. They can’t get a good inside man positioned to find out about the operation. They don’t know if it was coming here or Hudson or Hernando Beach, or maybe even Bayport. But it was somewhere in Pasco or Hernando.”
“This isn’t just gossip for my listening pleasure, is it?”
Rick smiled. “You’ve always been quick. Just keep your eyes open, if you see anything that doesn’t look right, if you hear anything—”
“I’ll do what I can. I can’t go around asking questions, though. You know that. Everyone’d think I was a narc, and there’d go my charter bu
siness.”
“Oh, that’s not what I had in mind. Just keep your ear to the ground.”
“That I’ll do.” She looked up at the clock. “Listen, I’ve got a few things I need to do today, and you’re not getting any work done, either.”
He finished his coffee and handed her the mug. “I’ll get out of your hair. Thanks again.” She walked him to his Bronco and returned upstairs to make the call to John.
Chapter Eleven
Kenny Schoenborn made his way to his office, acknowledging the various greetings issued to him, but not really hearing any of them.
George watched his friend enter his office and waited a moment to follow him in. “Kenny, are you okay?” The major’s face was lined with exhaustion, making him look ten years older than his actual forty-seven.
Kenny dropped his briefcase on his desk and wearily collapsed in his chair. He scrubbed his face with his hands, trying to rub away the dreams that plagued him.
“No, George, I’m not okay. I’m exhausted.” He turned to look out his window at the magnolia tree next to the building.
“Is it the dreams or is it Romeo?”
Kenny looked over his shoulder at George. “Both.” He returned his attention to the magnolia tree. “I hate working cases like this anymore. I hate knowing he’s going to kill again.”
“You don’t know—”
“Like hell we don’t. He’s got the hang of it. He’s got a taste for it now. Thank God all he’s doing is killing them and not carving them up, too.”
“You want a cup of coffee?” George offered.
Kenny sighed as he opened his briefcase. “If you don’t mind, that’d be nice, thanks.”
George went out to the coffee machine and wondered if he should suggest Kenny see the psychologist. George moved up from Miami a year after Kenny, at Kenny’s recommendation. He’d known Kenny Schoenborn for more than fifteen years and was probably his closest friend. Their wives were—had been, he reminded himself—best friends.
He finished stirring the sugar into the coffee and carried the foam cup into Kenny’s office. “Here you go.” He set the cup on the desk.
Kenny was poring over the piles of reports laid out in front of him. “Any more news on the Stanley girl?”
George took a seat in front of his friend’s desk. “No, not yet. They’re still working on it, trying to research her history. They went through her apartment, and, as we expected, nothing to help us out. Romeo didn’t know her, either.”
“No, he doesn’t know his victims. He probably doesn’t even stalk them for a day or two. He’s got a need, but not an overpowering one. When the right person and opportunity arises, he kills. He’s too careful, too methodical. He knows we have nothing to go on right now and he’s so cocky he doesn’t think we can catch him. That’s why he’s let himself kill more than one in the same area.”
“That’s presuming those others are his work as well.”
“Exactly. And it’s a presumption I have to make at this point. It just feels like him.”
George studied his friend’s face. “Kenny, you want to talk about this?”
Kenny looked up. “What do you mean?”
“How bad are the dreams?” George carefully watched his friend’s face, trying to gauge if he was telling him the entire story or not.
Kenny leaned back in his chair. He sat silent for many minutes. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded low and full of emotion. “I see her every night, George. I knew I would hurt for a long time after she was gone, but it’s been six years now, and she’s back as strong as ever.”
“She” was Jenny Schoenborn, Kenny’s wife. Kenny had been in charge of the investigation into murder charges against Roberto Campenello’s youngest son, Tom. Roberto Campenello, at the time, was the largest drug importer in south Florida. After finding that he couldn’t bribe Kenny into hiding evidence, he ordered Jenny’s murder.
Father and son had both been sentenced in separate trials to over thirty years in the state prison at Starke.
“Do you think you ought to go talk to someone?” George suggested.
“I don’t know. I think it’s just the stress getting to me. I’ll be okay.” He went back to his papers. “I know I can find this guy.”
George waited a moment longer before standing to return to his own desk. “I’ll talk to you later then. You want to have lunch?”
Kenny nodded. “Sure.”
Kenny waited until George left to lean back in his chair again and stare out the window. He missed Jenny like hell. After all the years, the guilt still hadn’t passed. He wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger, but he felt he might as well have been. Because he was a cop, she got killed. It was something that normally happened only in the fantasyland of fiction. Then again, Miami was a fantasyland of sorts.
He had a gut feeling Romeo lived in or near Tampa since he found himself more than one victim in the same area. Romeo wasn’t about to quit, not now, not since he’d gotten away with it so easily. Kenny had a feeling that once they did catch the killer, they’d discover that not only had he killed the women they’d found so far, but probably many, many others.
Another Ted Bundy.
Kenny flipped through the file until he located the map of the state. In red ink he’d drawn dots and written in the dates of the various killings. Miami, Tallahassee, Palm Beach, Naples, Tampa, Tampa, Tampa.
The earliest victim he could comfortably attribute to Romeo was Jennifer Robbins, twenty-six, also a prostitute, from Hollywood. Her body was found in Miami, out near Miami International. That was June 28, four years earlier. A gap of two years passed until the next one that could clearly be attributed to Romeo, Tracy Golez on March 10 two years prior, in Tallahassee. Then Angela Jones on April 6 in Naples, followed by Mary Davis in Palm Beach on November 23 last year.
This year’s body count was Paula Jenkins on June 10, Karen Myers on August 2, and now Denise Stanley, all from Tampa. Kenny shuddered to think about the victims as of yet unaccounted for.
Kenny knew that if he started to go through all the missing-persons cases, he would probably find several more names to add to the growing list. Letting his mind slip a notch further down into the case brought the hunch that there were probably twice as many close calls as there were actual victims, times when he intended to kill but someone or something blew the opportunity for him.
Kenny started catching up on paperwork with thoughts of Romeo circling in his mind.
* * * *
Jenna looked at the laptop he set up on the kitchen counter. “Boy, this is a nice one. Mine isn’t nearly this powerful.”
John smiled. “Nothing but the best, I always say.” He checked his e-mail. “A few years ago, I was computer illiterate. My wife got a computer and got me into it. Now, I’m a regular computer junkie. Everything’s on my computer.”
She watched his nimble fingers and a shiver of pleasure ran down her spine as she recalled what those very same hands did to her just mere hours earlier. “Would you like to come over to my place tonight?”
He smiled. “I would love to, but I need to go in early tomorrow to catch up on today’s work.” He looked up and saw disappointment flash across her face before he added, “How about I take you out tonight and you can stay here again? I’ll just leave in the morning and you can go when you like. I’ll be back in the evening.”
Her face brightened. “That would be wonderful.”
It was so easy once you knew which buttons to push.
* * * *
Mitch had to look up the number to his office. It had been so long since she’d last called him that she couldn’t remember it. She didn’t have his new cell number.
She didn’t want it.
She waited until his secretary came on the line.
“Gulf Coast Images,” she answered.
“Yes, good morning, Donna. This is Mitch. Is John in?”
There was an audible pause as Donna had to think for a moment who Mitch was. Once re
cognition set in, a new warmth filled the secretary’s voice. Donna and Mitch had always gotten along well. “Mitch! Hi, I’m sorry. I haven’t talked to you in so long, it took me a minute. How are you doing?”
Donna was a plump, cheerful grandmother who could charm the pants off the Devil himself if she had to. “I’m fine, Donna. I need to talk to John today, if possible. Is he in?”
* * * *
“I’m sorry, Mitch, but he called in and left a message that he’s not coming in today. He didn’t say where he was.”
Donna wasn’t sure exactly what had transpired between her boss and his wife, but she had a gut instinct that Mitch literally caught him with his pants down. She knew very little about her employer’s actual business dealings other than through the phone messages she took and the few letters he had her type, but she knew he couldn’t keep his fly zipped. Donna was little more than a figurehead for him. John Tyne paid her to open and close the office Monday through Friday, screen phone calls when he was in, take messages when he wasn’t, and perform basic errands and computer entry. Other than that, he did it all.
Her intuition also told her that his business probably took in a lot more money than he actually claimed, but she wasn’t paid to know those things. She was smart enough to not make any comments about her beliefs regarding the real reasons for all his trips to Grand Cayman, just like she knew she was deliberately being overpaid to basically do nothing for most of the week. That suited her just fine.
“Is he supposed to be in tomorrow?” Mitch asked.
“He said he would, but you know how he is.”
Donna heard Mitch sigh. “Yes. He hasn’t changed a bit. Would you please leave him a message that I would like to come in and see him? He doesn’t have to call me back himself. If he could give you a day and time and you could call me? I’d like to do it in the next day or two if at all possible.”
“Sure. No problem.” Donna wrote the message down. “He usually calls in around two on the days he’s out, so I’ll tell him.”
Dalton, Tymber - Red Tide (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 9