Kiss of Deceit

by Patricia A. Rasey

  “Son-of-a-gun.” Bob smiled. “We finally got us a break.”

  The detective placed the fibers in a small plastic bag and tagged them as evidence, then indicated on his sketch where they had been found. LeAnne knew the two counties would share evidence in this case since there might be a possible link to the crime in Henry County.

  “You know, the sooner we wrap this up, the better off we are.” LeAnne leveled her gaze on Bob. “Otherwise, we’re likely to find another victim. This SOB isn’t going to stop. And that’s what scares the hell out of me.”

  * * *

  Dusk had long since fallen as LeAnne stepped from Bob Reese’s car, thanked him for the ride home, then headed up her driveway. Her bones were worn and weary; her mind tired of thinking. She was halfway up the driveway before she noted the lights in her living room.

  Chad had evidently decided the confrontation for her actions could not wait.

  LeAnne groaned.

  Damn if she did not feel like just crawling in the shower and beneath her sheets. She could still smell poor Harold’s death, as the stench had lodged itself in her sinuses, her clothes, her hair—and here sat the county prosecutor waiting for answers.

  She opened the door and stepped in. The foyer light flicked on, momentarily blinding her. When her eyes focused, she saw Chad, all six feet of him, standing with his hands on his hips, glaring down on her.

  He cocked one brow. She leaned back against the door, needing the support to keep her on her tired feet.

  “An explanation?” he asked, his tone condescending.

  LeAnne pushed off the door and tried to brush past him. The last thing she needed was Chad’s insecurities. But not allowing her the respite, Chad gripped her shoulders almost painfully, stopping her from going into the living room.

  “Oh, no, you don’t. You’re not running away from me this time. I asked for an explanation. What the hell were you doing with Marcus Gallego so late? Having such a good time you’d make me”—his voice rose an octave—“your fiancé, come home by myself? You left me at Judge Hargrove’s making excuses. What the hell were you thinking, LeAnne?”

  Chad wore the same expression she had seen her father wear many times. She flinched as though he might strike her. Born from old habit or genuine fear, LeAnne did not know. Chad had never struck her, but her father had. Too many times to count.

  She shrugged off the image and out of Chad’s grip.

  “I need this like I need a hole in the head,” she mumbled on her way to the bathroom.

  LeAnne wasn’t even aware Chad had followed until she flipped on the tiny room’s light and saw his angry reflection staring back at her in the mirror.

  “You won’t get me to drop this, not this time, LeAnne,” he growled. “I want an explanation. What the hell were you doing with Gallego so long?”

  LeAnne whirled about on the heel of her foot, fixing him with her glare. “Christ, Chad, is that what you think? That I was with Gallego the entire day? You really do have a vivid imagination.”

  “I don’t know, LeAnne, you tell me what the hell I’m supposed to think.” His face reddened, making his blond hair appear even lighter.

  “Suppose I would have left you at the engagement to ride off with some chick.”

  LeAnne laughed, though she felt little humor. She could never imagine Chad ever doing something so daring. She knew he liked his little life safe. And that’s what irritated him the most. LeAnne never thought about her actions; she went by her instincts, and they weren’t always the safest path to follow—just as today’s actions had been.

  “Is that what you think? I rode off with Gallego to spend the day with him? God, you are delusional. Do you stand around creating scenarios in your head?”

  LeAnne gave him her back and grabbed a wash cloth. She placed it beneath a stream of cool water when Chad grasped her shoulder and swung her around, sending water spraying about the room. For a second, she saw her father’s dark face, the one he sported before he delivered the crushing blow.

  She suppose she deserved it, done things her father could not tolerate from his little princess. LeAnne had always been a willful child. Hadn’t she known Chad would react this way? But she had gone with Gallego anyway.

  “Look,” LeAnne said, keeping her tone soft, her best bet to soothe his ire, “I went with Snake to his wife’s grave on the possibility of new evidence—you knew that. Someone vandalized it.”

  Chad let go of her shoulder, his gaze softened. She could see his concern. “You’re kidding! How could anyone be so disrespectful?”

  LeAnne shrugged, then returned to the sink and her wash cloth. After thoroughly soaking it with cool water, she rung it out, then blotted her face. “Besides, if it will make you feel better, I wasn’t there all day with Gallego. After showing me her marker, he left when I went to the caretaker’s house to use the phone. I figured one of the deputies could bring me my car.”

  “So you did find something?”

  Rubbing the cool cloth across the back of her neck, she said, “Someone painted obscenities on the plaque—defaced it. You can see why Snake would be upset.”

  “I suppose,” he consented. “What did it say?”

  “You know that’s privileged. But I can tell you this, I have a strong inkling, whoever killed Jillian did this.”

  “That’s probably a no-brainer.”

  “Anyway, that’s not what took me so long. When I got to the caretaker’s house, you’ll never guess what I found.”

  “Someone spray-painted the house, too?”

  “Worse.” She dropped the cloth to the counter. “A dead caretaker.”

  His eyes widened. “Jesus!” Then as if he realized how misplaced his anger was, he pulled LeAnne into his arms. Warmth and protection surrounded her. “God, I’m sorry, babe. I should have known. I should have trusted you. I’m still getting used to this, you know. You being a cop and all. It takes so much of your attention away from me. I get a little jealous sometimes.”

  She snuggled against him and wrapped her arms around his waist as the tears began to fall. His show of tenderness had been her undoing. She had remained strong and tried not to let this case get beneath her skin. After all, it was her job. But she had seen the ugliness of life, the cruelty it offered. Again, evil reared its ugly head.

  Chad’s hand smoothed down her hair, then slipped the band from securing her braid. His fingers separated the strands. He kissed the top of her head. “A hot shower is just the thing you need.”

  LeAnne wiped away the tears with the back of her hand. “I suppose you’re right. After all, I can still smell the poor guy. I must stink.”

  “Not at all,” he said, his voice full of his ever-present charm. “I was thinking about joining you. Want the company?”

  LeAnne stepped from his arms and contemplated the idea, then realized it would not help in the way she needed. Exhausted, the only thing she wanted was to crawl into bed—alone.

  “I’m not really feeling very amorous at the moment.”

  He grinned, pulled her back into his embrace, and whispered against the top of her head, softly stirring the hairs. “You have a tough job. Not everyone is cut out to do what you do, babe. I suppose that’s why I love you so much. You’re strong, unlike most women.” Then he kissed her, warm and inviting. Not taking, demanding. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

  But the kiss ended quickly and Chad stepped from her embrace. “You get some sleep.” He winked at her. “Rest up and I’ll see you in a couple days.”

  After following him to the door, LeAnne watched him walk to his car, then locked the door behind him, heading for the much-needed shower. Tomorrow began a new week. And if there was a God, when Bob Reese went to BG in the morning, the lab would have good news.

  News that would link all three cases together.

  Chapter 14

  “Hylomar?” LeAnne asked, not having a clue as to what Bob Reese had just said.

  He stepped into her office only a f
ew moments ago. A smile lit his face like a Christmas tree. She wasn’t sure she had ever seen Bob quite so jovial. But today, something actually evoked this response, and that something was Hylomar.

  He pushed his rolled sleeves past his elbows, placed a foot on the metal chair beside her desk, and laid his forearms across his knee.

  “Hylomar,” he repeated, with a grin. “It’s certainly circumstantial, but I think it might be the link we’ve been looking for.”

  “I’m not sure I follow,” LeAnne said. “How would Hylomar link Jillian Gallego with Miranda Holliday?”

  “It’s a gasket adhesive. They use it on engines to repair oil pumps, water pumps, and the like. That’s what the lab found in the ripped bandanna tying Miranda’s hands to the headboard. Not something the Hollidays would ever come in contact with.”

  Her brow furrowed. “How would the killer get this adhesive on the bandanna? That doesn’t make any sense, unless he’s a mechanic of some sort. And how does that tie Jillian to Miranda. I don’t recall finding any Hylomar in that crime scene.”

  Bob began pacing beside the desk. “We didn’t, and I don’t think the killer knew the Hylomar was on the bandanna.”

  “Then how do you suggest it got there?”

  Bob greedily rubbed his hands together. He definitely felt right at home with this type of work, being a good candidate for her job, had she ever felt the need to leave. He actually enjoyed putting the pieces together. Not that she didn’t, just not with as much enthusiasm.

  “Snake Gallego’s wife was tied by bandannas to the headboard.”

  “Correct,” LeAnne agreed, following his line of thinking. “Miranda’s hands were also tied in the same fashion with a similar type of bandanna. The first one was relatively clean—no found stains or anything marring the cloth. The second has Hylomar in it. The owner of the bandanna must work on motors in order to come in contact with the adhesive.”

  LeAnne’s eyes rounded. “Snake Gallego works on motorcycles.” Bob’s smile widened. “Bingo.”

  “But wait a second,” LeAnne countered; she gnawed on her lower lip. “Snake was in jail at the time of Miranda’s death. He has me as an alibi. I was talking to him at the time of the murder. What about one of his buddies? They all ride bikes. Could it be possible they work on their own motorcycles?”

  “A lot of them do. But we can rule out the copycat theory.”

  “Because…”

  “Because a pubic hair found on Miranda is consistent with the third pubic hair found on Jillian. Circumstantial, yes, but we also have latex residue in both cases.”

  LeAnne looked down at the files that the BG lab had released on

  Miranda Holliday. “So whoever was doing Jillian was also doing Miranda.”

  “Wymer?”

  LeAnne’s gaze snapped up to Bob’s. “You think we could connect him to Miranda?”

  Bob shrugged. “I don’t know. We don’t have enough probable cause to get a search warrant, and I doubt he’ll willingly give us a sample of his pubic hair or tell us what type of condom he uses.” He paused as he grasped his foam cup of coffee and took a sip. “We need a witness who can place them together. Any luck with friends of Miranda’s seeing her with another guy?”

  “No one’s seen her with anyone other than her husband,” LeAnne said. “But Tom Jenson said he found a woman who had heard Miranda talking about a guy named Sid.”

  “Sid?” Bob asked, his brows causing a deep crease over the bridge of his thin straight nose. “No last name?”

  “No description either.” LeAnne dropped her pen on the desk and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms beneath her chest. “Sid? Sidney? A nickname? An alias more than likely. If he planned to kill these women ahead of time, I highly doubt he uses his own name.”

  “Possibly, but see if we can find a Sid or Sidney in Jillian’s past. I say we find this man, we can connect him from Miranda to Jillian, Jillian to the grave, and the grave to the caretaker. The fibers at the grave came back a positive match to those found by poor Harold’s feet. We’re dealing with one man, here.”

  “So, because of the Hylomar then—we know our man’s a mechanic of some sort.”

  “Not exactly, I’m seeing another angle, too. If this man killed Jillian, it’s possible he took a bandanna from the Gallego scene. If the bandanna belongs to Snake, then it would make sense that it has adhesive on it.”

  “You really think he’d take a dirty bandanna? Knowing we might find something like this on it to link our killer to the Gallego case as well?”

  “No. But if he pulled a clean one from the drawer, it would still have Hylomar in it. You could wash the thing twenty times and the adhesive won’t come out.”

  “But we shouldn’t rule out a mechanic at this point either. I say we question some of Snake’s friends again. One of them could have hated Jillian.”

  “I agree, but we have to also link them to Miranda.” Bob paused, rubbing his freshly-shaven jaw. “You start with Snake’s boss, Kip. Though he has an airtight alibi, he might know of someone who wanted Jillian dead or had a strong dislike for her—someone who also knew Miranda. While you’re at it, stop by Wymer’s, too. See what he has to say—ask him about Miranda, see if he squirms. Me? I’m going to pay a little visit to Blade D’Angelo. He’s certainly made his thoughts about Jillian Gallego clear when you questioned him. Though he and Snake were good friends—there was no love lost between him and Snake’s wife.”

  * * *

  Being a late Monday afternoon, Noel’s Place appeared relatively empty. Only a few scattered motorcycles and cars littered the stone parkway adjacent to the building, along with Blade’s ’62 Chevy pickup. Bob, being off duty and not wanting his actions reflecting on the sheriff’s office, parked his car and walked around to the front of the building. The first-shift crowd would just be getting settled in for a few beers.

  He walked through the opened door and stopped just inside, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. Smoke hovered about the low- hanging ceiling lights and swirled about the few patrons. Ceiling fans spun slowly, stirring the already warm air, but doing little in the way of cooling the place.

  All conversation hushed as a stranger entered their territory. Obviously, this was a hangout for regulars. A woman with tattoos crawling up both arms and wrapping her ankle in the way of barbed wire sat with her legs draped over a bald, aging biker with long sideburns. An over-long, salt-and-peppered goatee surrounded his slit of a mouth, while eagles’ wings and Harley-Davidson banners littered his skin.

  The man placed one of his tree-trunk arms on the bar, flexing his triceps as he turned his stare on Bob. A normal man might be cowed by the biker’s size, but Bob Reese was not a normal man. He chose to ignore the display.

  Seeing the object of his focus, Bob left the large man gaping after him and walked to the end of the scarred bar and took a seat.

  Blade D’Angelo reared his ugly mug and glared at him. “Do I know you?” he grumbled. LeAnne’s description of him had been right on the nose.

  “I don’t believe so,” Bob replied. He thumped his knuckles on the bar, attempting to retrieve the bartender’s attention.

  A heavy-set man, obviously a biker himself, walked over to Bob with the words “Harley Rules!” emblazoned in red with the head of an eagle across his black tee.

  He laid his white cloth on the bar in front of Bob and braced both arms on the edge, not saying a word. It was likely the only invitation he would get to place his order.

  “I’ll take an OJ and another beer for my friend here,” Bob said, tapping the bar beside Blade with his fingers.

  The bartender walked away.

  “I ain’t your friend,” Blade said, then took a pull from his draft. He picked up his lit cigarette from a black ashtray and stuck it between his lips, inhaling deeply. The tip glowed red. “But thanks, anyhow,” he spoke, the words rolling out with a cloud of smoke that curled toward the ceiling.

  The bartender returned wi
th another draft and a small bottle of Tropicana. The heavy man grasped the few bills Bob had left on the bar, then walked away without uttering a word.

  Bob kept his attention focused on Blade, who tried his best to ignore him. He wouldn’t allow the ratty-looking biker the discourtesy.

  “As nice of a guy as I am,” Bob said, shaking the small bottle then twisting the metal cap, “I didn’t just buy you a drink because you have a pretty face.”

  Blade sneered. “What are you, some sort of faggot?”

  Bob slowly set the bottle back on the counter, then stood beside the biker, placing one hand on the bar beside him.

  He leaned close to Blade’s ear, the heady scent of grease assailing his sinuses. “I’m Chief Deputy of the Henry County Sheriff’s Office, off duty, of course, but I have a few questions about a murder we’re investigating—and you know what? You’re going to answer them with a smile on your ugly face.”

  “Huh,” Blade said, turning his attention back to his draft. “I ain’t got nothing to say. Go screw yourself.”

  Acting as though Bob wasn’t beside him, Blade tipped his draft to his bushy mouth, cigarette still dangling from his lips. With his leg, Bob knocked the stool from beneath the heavy biker, then slammed Blade’s forehead into the wooden rail of the bar on his way down.

  “What the f—” Blade cursed from the floor, holding his forehead and soaked from his draft. “You’re a crazy mother. You come into my territory…”

  Bob grasped Blade’s torn tee in his fist and, with little effort, hauled the two-hundred-and-fifty-pound man back to his feet. Blade spit the soggy cigarette from his lips. All eyes in the bar quickly went back to their own business.

  “I go where I see fit,” Bob growled into his face. “You got a problem with that, I can haul your sorry butt to the sheriff’s office and throw you behind bars.”

  “On what grounds?” Blade hissed, pulling himself from Bob’s grasp. He righted the bar stool before plopping his heavy backside on the seat.