by Vella Day
Why the hell had Steven kidnapped her? Surely he wasn’t responsible for all the mass gravesite deaths.
Kerry closed her eyes to concentrate on the sounds around her. She wanted to find something to help identify what was going on. The tree limbs banged together, but no breeze dared to sneak into her neat little closet. If she could manage to stand, she might be able to turn around and push open the door.
Then what? She couldn’t walk. Kerry slumped back down on her perch. Kind Steven had left the seat up. Guessed he didn’t want her soiling her cozy home.
Wait.
The sound of a tractor roared to life. Tractors dug things.
Dear God. Was Steven digging a grave? Kerry’s heart nearly jumped out of her skin. Sweat trickled between her breasts and crotch, and tears slid down her cheeks. Her nose clogged. Not being able to breath was the last thing she needed. With her hands behind her back, she was unable to remove the tape from her mouth.
There had to be something she could do. The urinal on the side wall had a ragged edge. She leaned over and dragged her face across the sharp edge. Ouch. In the process of trying to free the tape, she scraped some of the skin off her face. One end lifted. Progress.
She repeated the process. Before she’d got the entire piece off, the door flew open, and panic clawed her insides.
“I see you’ve awakened from your nap.”
The rumbling engine was silent. Damn it. When had he stopped digging?
She refused to answer him. She wanted to cover her breasts, but her hands were tied behind her back.
“You have any last requests?” He had the balls to smile as he ripped off the tape from her mouth.
Last requests? Like he’d grant them? She gasped for air, and then swallowed hard. Her gaze ran the length of him, assessing the situation. Even with her legs tied together, she could kick him, but what good would it do? She’d never get away.
Kerry tilted her head, refusing to let him see her beg. “Tell me why? Why this? I thought we were friends. What did I do to you?”
“To me? Nothing.”
“Then why...” The word, kill, stuck in her throat, “take me?”
“It’s a long story.” He held up a needle and squirted out a few drops.
Her thoughts jumbled as her blood pressure soared. She had to stop him. Had to convince him killing her would serve no purpose. “I’ve got time.”
He laughed. “Not much.”
Kerry squared her shoulders. “Give me one reason why I have to die.”
“So I don’t.”
“That makes no sense.” She kept her voice low and non-threatening.
“You want to know why? I’ll tell you why. My uncle, the one and only Paul Dalton, is blackmailing me.”
“Your uncle?”
“Yeah. It was only a matter of time before you figured it out. My last name is Dalton.”
“I never paid attention.”
“I know.”
She shifted in the seat. “Why is he blackmailing you?”
“I killed my father, and he knows it.” He laughed, only this time his voice was filled with self-loathing.
She sucked in a breath. Steven was a murderer. “How old were you when you...”
“Killed him? Eighteen.”
Of legal age. Her insides turned to liquid. He couldn’t let her go after confessing. Think. “My father abused my sister. I know she wanted to kill the bastard, and she would have too if he hadn’t died of a heart attack first.” A lie, but she was desperate to connect with him, convince him he didn’t have to kill her.
“I wish mine had died by some flesh eating disease.” Steven’s lip curled. “God, but I hated him. My dad wouldn’t leave me alone. Ever. Like his dad before him, he had to take out his hatred of life on me.” Steven spat on the ground.
She bet his dad didn’t rape him like her father had done to Susan. “How did he hurt you?” She leaned forward, acting as horrified as she could.
“He’d beat me whenever he got drunk, even tied me up, and locked me in a closet when he didn’t want to deal with me.”
Despite her fear, sympathy tugged at her. Steven basically was doing to her what his father had done to him. “I’m so sorry. Surely, the law would take your circumstances into consideration. You could claim self-defense.” Please let him see reason.
He laughed again, his eyes wild. “Won’t wash.” He snarled. “Besides, I killed two other women—on Uncle Paul’s request. I’m not buying your little sympathy ploy.” He leaned inside the tomb and stabbed her with the needle again before she had a chance to react.
“And if I don’t kill you now, he’ll kill me. Goodbye, Kerry.”
All hope vanished of seeing Hunter again. She wanted to cry out for what would never be, but her eyes rolled back into her head.
Hunter glanced at his watch for the fifth time and tapped his desk with his yellow pencil. Kerry should have phoned by now to pick her up. She’d told him she wouldn’t have a full day of work. Damn it. He’d left several messages on her cell, but she hadn’t returned his calls.
Phil rushed over to him with a smile on his face. “We got him.” He slapped a folder on Hunter’s desk.
“Got who?”
“Dalton.”
Hunter straightened, adrenaline spearing his heart. “Tell me.” Two phones on nearby desks rang and an unruly prostitute made a racket fifteen feet from his desk.
“We received the lab results back from the shovel Gina and I found at the cemetery.”
“You think it might relate to the shovel mark in the dirt Kerry found?”
“Yes. Her mark showed a bent edge, as did ours, so I had the lab process it. Not only are Willie Wyble’s prints on the handle, but Dalton’s are too.”
“Holy shit. Dalton’s prints must be on file then.”
“Yup. He works at the shelter, which means he’s a county employee.”
“You know his prints alone don’t put him at the scene of the crime. They just mean he touched the shovel.” There was always a catch. “Though how or why Dalton would be using a shovel located at the cemetery is anyone’s guess.”
Phil leaned on the edge of Hunter’s desk. Hunter always left the right corner bare for him. Chairs weren’t Phil’s thing.
“True, but coupled with the fact the belt loop we found near one of the gravesites matches the missing belt loop on Willie’s jeans, I’m thinking we got Dalton.”
“You might have Willie Wyble at the scene but not Dalton. The evidence is purely circumstantial on the good doctor, but it might get us a warrant to seize his records just on the fingerprints alone.”
“I’m hoping.”
“Let me know the moment you hear.”
“You got it.” Phil shot a look at his watch. “Aren’t you late picking up Kerry?”
“She has to call me. I tried to contact her earlier, to check up on her, but she’s not answering her phone.” He ripped the phone off the handle. “I’m calling Ahern to see what’s holding her up.”
John answered on the fifth ring. “Ahern.”
“It’s Hunter. I’m worried about Kerry. She hasn’t answered her phone in the last hour. Have you been checking on her?”
“Sorry. I had to leave work early. I’ve been—” John sneezed. “Been home with a cold. Let me call my assistant and see if he can hunt her down. Call you right back.”
Phil grabbed Hunter’s coffee mug, took a swig, and skewed up his face. “What’s in this shit?”
“Cold coffee.”
“It needs sugar.” Hunter put the cup down and stood. “Or a microwave. I’m going downtown and see what’s keeping her.”
“I guess our search for Dalton’s records will have to wait. It’s a holiday. No one will be around.”
“Bummer.”
“I’ve got to head that way myself. I was thinking, why don’t we three grab a bite to eat? Kerry will want to celebrate, I bet, once she learns we’re going to nail the killer.”
It might be
nice to have a real date with her, even if Phil had to tag along. “Where’s Gina?”
“At her mom’s. It’s Lucinda’s birthday today.”
Lucinda? He knew her mom’s first name? It must be serious. “Then sure, if Kerry is up for having dinner with two old homicide detectives.” Hunter could use a little R&R. As he finished packing his gear, his cell rang. “Yeah.”
“It’s John. Dalton isn’t answering either. I don’t know what to tell you.”
Hunter’s heart nearly stopped as he halted in his tracks. “Did you say, Dalton?”
“Yes.” John’s tone came out leery.
“Any relation to the plastic surgeon, Paul Dalton?” Please say no.
“As a matter of fact, Paul Dalton is Steven’s uncle. Why?”
“Shit.”
He told Phil about the identity of Steven Dalton, forcing his voice to stay calm as the two of them took off toward his car. “John, I’m going to let Phil fill you in.”
He slid into the driver’s seat. Phil jumped in and slammed the door closed.
When Phil finished detailing what they knew about Dalton and his connection to the murdered women, Hunter grabbed the phone back from him. “Can you meet us at the office? I want to make sure I can get in the building.”
“No problem.” John sneezed again.
Hunter turned on the siren and raced through I-275 traffic. Fortunately, the traffic in his direction wasn’t a problem.
When they arrived in front of the Medical Examiner’s office, John Ahern was waiting for them, pacing back and forth with a handful of facial tissue pressed to his nose. Hunter and Phil dashed out of the car.
“I just got here myself,” John said. “I haven’t checked to see if she’s here.”
Hunter searched for worry or panic lining Kerry’s boss’s face, but found none. Good.
Once John opened the door, Hunter pushed past him and raced down the hall. The echo of his feet against the tile matched the blood pulsing in his head. Two more pairs of feet matched the cadence right behind him.
Hunter pounded on the door, but received no answer. John stopped next to him and pressed the code. Lights out, the scent of human decay filled the room. His chest constricted. He flipped on the overhead bank of lights. “Kerry?”
He didn’t really expect an answer but he’d prayed she’d fallen asleep in her chair. He searched for her big brown satchel that held her gear, but it was gone. Perhaps she was out in the field where she couldn’t get cell phone service.
“I’ll check a few other places,” John Ahern said.
“What do you think?” Phil asked, standing behind him.
“I don’t know what to think. There has to be a logical explanation, like she didn’t recharge her batteries or something.”
John panted as he entered. “I just looked in the other rooms. She’s not there. Nor is Steven. I didn’t see his car in the lot when I drove up.” A hint of anxiety laced his tone. Crap.
Hunter tunneled his fingers through his hair and forced his mind to think where she might have gone. “Would she have been called out on a case?”
“Not without me being notified.”
“Then Steven took her. I know it.”
“Now don’t jump to conclusions,” John said. “Steven’s a fine young man.”
Hunter whipped around to Phil. “I don’t know if we should try to find Paul Dalton or go after Steven.”
“Have you tried calling her house?”
“Yes. She wasn’t there or with her sister.”
John sneezed again. “How can I help?”
“You ever tail anyone before?”
“Once. My daughter when I suspected she was doing something I didn’t approve of. She never caught me.”
“Fine.”
“If you think Paul Dalton is such a creep, give me his address. I’ll drive by and see what I can find out. He doesn’t know what I look like,” John said.
“Thanks. I appreciate your support.” Time was of essence.
John grabbed the door handle and stopped. “You know, Steven talked about building a home in North Tampa. You could check out his property if you really suspect him.”
“Do you have the address?” Hunter said, pacing the room.
“Not the one in North Tampa, but I do for his Seminole Heights home.”
“Good. We’ll check there first.” His gut twisted. Was his imagination going wild? “Give me another sec.”
He raced over to Kerry’s computer and logged onto the Hillsborough County Property Appraiser’s site. A minute later the printer spit out the information he needed.
Dread ripped at him like a dull edged knife. Kerry might be with Paul Dalton and not with Steven.
Uncertainty clawed at his belly.
Phil grabbed his arm. “You coming?”
“Yeah.” Hunter growled, flicked off the room light and raced out of the cold lab.
John headed towards Paul Dalton’s office, and Hunter and Phil to Steven Dalton’s Tampa home. He handed Phil the directions as he leapt into his cruiser.
Ten minutes later they arrived at Steven’s house. He pounded on the door. No answer. Shit.
“Let’s go around and look in the window,” Hunter said.
He had to climb over a bush to see inside. It was dark and apparently quite empty.
“Now what?” Phil asked.
“We try his north Tampa place.”
“Just because Steven is related to Paul Dalton doesn’t mean he’s dirty.”
“I know, but we may have two killers on our hands. We know Paul Dalton couldn’t have killed Chanel since he was with the Mayor, but these murders all scream Dr. Dalton—pregnant, abused, and scarred. Someone had to help him, help set up an alibi.”
He raced back to the car with Phil right behind.
“Doesn’t mean Steven did the deed,” Phil said.
Phil barely got in the passenger’s seat when Hunter took off. He jetted out of the parking lot and headed toward I-275—toward Steven Dalton’s property.
Phil’s phone rang. “Tedesco.”
Hunter glanced over at his partner whose lips were pressed together.
Phil thanked the person on the other end. “You are not going to believe what the lab turned up on Chanel Carlitto’s driver side window.”
“What?”
“A handprint.”
“Whose?”
“Guess.”
If both hands weren’t on the wheel, he’d have strangled his partner. “Phil.”
“Steven Dalton’s.”
“Motherfucker. The bastard is guilty.”
“Your gut telling you Steven Dalton has Kerry?”
“Yeah. The worst part is that she trusts him. He’s driven her to crime scenes before. It would be easy for him to get her in the car. Fuck.”
An avalanche of emotions flooded his system. Anger, frustration, guilt and some other factor he couldn’t name—fear perhaps that he’d lose the woman he’d come to...love? Yes, he loved Kerry. She inspired him. And as corny as it sounded, she made him whole. Her passion matched his like no one else’s ever had.
“We still need proof,” Phil said.
Hunter knew what his partner was doing. Trying to calm him down, but this time it wouldn’t work. Not where Kerry was involved.
His cell rang. With one eye on the road, he pulled his cell from his pocket and glanced at the display. It was his boss. Shit.
“Markum.”
“It’s Jack. You won’t believe this. You know that new guy we hired to work cold cases?”
Hunter didn’t have time for this, nor did he remember the rookie’s name. “Sure.”
“Guy’s amazing. He unearthed some evidence regarding Denise’s death.”
The cars in front of him seemed to stand still, and his hands went numb right along with his mind. “Denise?”
“Can you imagine? With ten years of improved technology, the rookie decided to rerun some tests. He found flecks of blood on Denise’s
pants that aren’t a match to her.”
Kerry, Denise. His mind froze. “Do you have a person of interest?”
“We have a name, or rather a witness. Seems some vagrant saw the murder.”
A shot of adrenaline brought his body back to the living. “Why didn’t he come forward before?” My God. All those years of waiting, wondering would have been erased. His fingers gripped the wheel as his foot pressed harder on the accelerator.
“Name’s Chester Gomez. Says he’ll only talk to you. He’s in Tampa General Hospital. Dying. You need to come now. The doctor said the guy may not make it through the night.”
More than anything Hunter wanted to know who’d killed his sister, but Kerry needed him more. “I can’t.”
“You shitting me? The case may go cold forever if you don’t talk to this guy. Do I have to order you? I’m outside his room, but he won’t say a word other than your name.”
“Kerry needs me. The bastard took her.” Denise was dead. Soon Kerry might be if he didn’t reach her in time. “Here’s Phil. He’ll fill you in.”
“Hun—”
Hunter handed the phone to Phil as he raced up I-275 to State Road 54. They had the man who knew Denise’s killer. If he died before Hunter got to him, his family may never have closure, but that couldn’t be helped. Kerry needed him. Now.
After a short conversation where Phil asked for backup to help save Kerry, he dropped the cell on the seat beside him but didn’t toss out any accusations. Phil had every right to ask why Hunter didn’t try to find out who’d killed Denise. Hunter’s admiration for the man took a few leaps upward, especially since Phil’s older brother had been engaged to Denise.
As his siren whirred and shrieked, no one moved aside. Either every car was blasting the stereo, the drivers were on the phone, or they were daydreaming idiots.
After he weaved through one clump of cars after another, Hunter finally reached State Road 54. The moment he exited, he cut the siren. No use announcing his arrival.
He’d been on Bruce B. Downs Boulevard no more than ten minutes, when Phil jabbed a finger at a dirt road. “Turn right.”
“Shit man. Give me a little warning next time,” he said as he slammed on the brakes and fishtailed up the road, dust billowing behind them. He slowed. “So what’s our plan?” Hunter wasn’t able to formulate much in his state of mind. “Do we drive in and confront the bastard, or sneak in?”