Sloane Monroe Series Boxed Set (Books 1-3)

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  “Do you know what first attracted me to you?” he said.

  This caught me off guard. I brought him to my office to discuss Sinnerman, not feelings.

  He continued. “You’re bright. You take the time to look at things from all angles. You see the things others can’t and go far beyond the evidence presented to you. Most people only scratch the surface, but not you. And that’s a rare quality in a woman.”

  “Do you believe me?”

  “I believe in you.”

  The conversation had taken a turn for the awkward, to say the least. I’d never been great at being showered with compliments. To make it even more intense, he hadn’t taken his eyes off me. It threw me off balance. He seemed to sense this and said, “What can I do to put your mind at ease?”

  I smiled. Now we were getting somewhere.

  ***

  A short time later, I sat on a cheap tan metal chair in a dingy grey room devoid of adornment of any kind. The man accused of the Sinnerman murders sat across from me. I gazed at him, and he stared down into his lap. Even though he didn’t look at me, I could tell he was scared. His face was pale, his shoulder blades were arched inward, and his frame was weak, like someone who hadn’t slept for days. From what I’d been told, he hadn’t spoken to anyone except his lawyer, and his lawyer had yet to make a statement.

  “Do you know who I am?” I said.

  He didn’t flinch.

  “You should. You’ve written me several notes, remember?”

  Silence.

  “No? Let’s see if I can jog your memory then,” I said.

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out a slip of paper and slid it over to him.

  “Recognize it?”

  His eyes scanned the paper, but he didn’t move. I gave him a moment and then reached over and took it back. Now that I had his attention, or at least some of it, I upped the ante. With my pointer finger, I inched a photo over to him. And we had movement. He glanced at it and shuttered and then shielded his face with his cuffed hands, just like I thought he would.

  “That’s a picture of my sister,” I said. “Taken right after her body was found.”

  “Get it away from me,” he said.

  I reached over and flipped the photo around to the other side.

  “Is that better?” I said.

  He nodded and looked up at me, flashing his sweet baby blues. “Thank you.”

  I nodded but didn’t utter a word. I hoped he would talk. He didn’t. I waited.

  A few minutes went by and he said, “I saw you at the station the other day. You a cop?”

  I shook my head.

  “Why are you here then?” he said. “Is it because of your sister?”

  I nodded.

  He looked around the room like he was afraid someone would eavesdrop on our back and forth banter, which was an accurate assumption, and then leaned in toward me.

  “I’m sorry about your sister,” he said. “I don’t know how her hair got in my car. I swear I don’t. But I didn’t do it. I’ve never hurt anyone.”

  I slouched back in my chair and closed my eyes and breathed. When I opened them I said, “I know you didn’t do it. I don’t know if I could sit across from you like this if you did.”

  He shifted his eyes and they reflected something I hadn’t seen in them before—hope.

  “Wait—what?” he said.

  “The photo I showed you of my sister was taken over three years ago, and her hair wasn’t found in your car. It was hair from the two most recent victims. Tell me something,” I said, “if you’re innocent, and I believe you are, why haven’t you said anything to the cops?”

  “I was afraid I’d say the wrong thing, and just make it worse.”

  “How much worse can it get?”

  “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “But my lawyer said not to talk unless he was present, so I didn’t. Besides, I didn’t think anyone would listen to me anyway. They all think I did it.”

  “What do you know about the case?” I said.

  “Not much. I only moved here about six months ago.”

  “Is there any reason why someone would frame you for the murders?”

  He shook his head.

  “I don’t even know many people here yet. I haven’t been here long enough to make enemies, not that I do anyway.”

  “Why did you move here?” I said.

  “I got a waiter position at a new restaurant in town.”

  “Seems like a long way to go to be a waiter.”

  He shook his head.

  “You don’t understand. One of the best chefs in the country works here, and he said he’d let me work under him on my days off.”

  “What’s your name?” I said.

  “Ryan Saunders.”

  I stood. “Well, Ryan Saunders, my name is Sloane. Let me see what I can do to help you.”

  “What makes you think you can?”

  I grabbed the door and turned the knob and looked back at him.

  “Watch and see.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Giovanni and his brother were in the hall when I exited the room. His brother wasn’t smiling.

  “He didn’t do it,” I said. “He doesn’t fit the profile, and if you studied it long enough, you’d know that.”

  Agent Luciana wasn’t amused.

  “Lots of serials don’t fit the profile; that doesn’t mean it’s not him,” Agent Luciana said.

  “I’m telling you, this guy isn’t the killer. He just about catapulted off his chair when I showed him Gabrielle’s picture.”

  “I know, I saw,” Agent Luciana said.

  “Then you’re aware of how inconsistent that is from typical behavior. Put this photo in front a serial killer, and they won’t even flinch. They’d lean in for a closer look and then ask if they could keep it.”

  “Or it’s all just an act.”

  “Nothing about it seemed staged to me.”

  “Doesn’t mean it wasn’t,” Agent Luciana said.

  “Lock him away then,” I said. “And when the real killer strikes again, and he will, don’t call me to help you cover your ass.”

  “You’re overstepping,” Agent Luciana said.

  “And you can’t see what’s right in front of your face.”

  “So maybe the guy didn’t kill your sister. That still doesn’t account for the hair and the photos that were found in his car.”

  “Easy,” I said. “They were planted. It’s happened before.”

  Giovanni, who up until that time seemed amused by the back and forth banter between us, turned toward his brother and placed his hand on his shoulder.

  “If she says it’s not him Carlo, I believe her.”

  “Since when do you let a woman cloud your judgment Gio?” Agent Luciana said.

  “Never,” Giovanni replied. “What does that tell you?”

  CHAPTER 34

  Sam Reids watched the news on the television unfold. A reporter announced a man had been arrested and was being held for questioning in the Sinnerman murders. Sam was delighted by this and proud of his latest coup. Everything worked out just the way he wanted. He relished the thought of it and hoped tomorrow would afford him the opportunity he needed to secure his grand prize. In the meantime, he needed to tend to a different matter.

  Sam climbed into his car, revved the engine a few times and drove six miles away to the local gas station. It was dark out when he arrived, but in the pale glow of the street light, he could make out her frail frame blending with the shadows of the monstrous trees next to her.

  “Took you long enough,” she said when he exited the car.

  He glared at her but didn’t speak.

  “You got my money?” she said.

  Sam lifted his wallet from his back pocket, opened it, and took out a series of bills and held them out to the woman. She stared down at the money he presented to her with a foolish grin on her face. The money called out to her like the drugs she couldn’t resist, and she didn’t fight
it. All she wanted to do was grab it and stuff it inside her leopard-patterned bra. She reached her hand out and wrapped it around the top of the bills and pulled back. Sam tightened his grip and clutched the money tight in his hand.

  “What gives?” she said.

  In a whisper, he replied. “First I want to know how the other day went.”

  “I did what you said.”

  He gripped the money tighter.

  “Details.”

  “Alright, fine. I went to the station at the time you told me to, and when the guy came out of the room with those cops all cuffed and everything, I told them he was the one who attacked me. And then they had me come into a room and give them a statement.”

  “And did they believe you?”

  “The vultures ate up every word of it,” she said.

  “Anything else?”

  She shook her head.

  “And the cops were the only ones you spoke to?” Sam said.

  “Just one other person, but it wasn’t a big deal.”

  Sam’s nostrils flared, and he balled both hands into fists but was careful not to strike.

  Through gritted teeth he said, “I told you not to speak to anyone else.”

  “There wasn’t nothin’ I could do about it. She just started talking to me and wouldn’t shut up.”

  “She—who?”

  “Some woman who sat by me in the waiting room before all the drama went down. Said her name was Simone, I think.”

  Sam felt his body temperature fluctuate, and a sensation of hot and then cold coarse through his veins. His face perspired, and tiny beads of moisture seeped from his hands.

  “Was it Sloane?”

  “Oh hey yeah, that was it,” she said. “How’d you know?”

  Sam sealed his eyes shut and tried to suppress the rage building inside his body. He thought about how nice it would be to kill her—right then, right there. But after a moment, he assured himself that it didn’t matter. Sloane wouldn’t be able to figure things out—she couldn’t.

  “What did you say to her?”

  “Why do you wanna know?” she said.

  “What did you say!”

  The woman took a step back from the man. She didn’t like the look on his face. It reminded her of the way her father looked at her when she was a child, just before she felt the sting from the back of his hand.

  “Geez, calm down,” she said. “It was no big deal. She was just concerned about me and wanted to know what happened.”

  “You said what we went over and nothing more?”

  “Yeah, just like you said.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She gave me one of her cards,” she said. “And she told me to stop by her office. But that was before the guy came out of the room and things got crazy.”

  “Give it to me.”

  “What?” she said.

  “The card.”

  “Why?”

  Sam’s patience had crossed the finish line. He flashed the bills in front of her face.

  “You want the money,” Sam said. “Give me the card.”

  She shrugged and shook her head.

  “Alright then,” she said.

  Sam gave her the money in exchange for the card.

  “Remember,” he said, “there’s more to come after you testify. A lot more. But keep your mouth shut and stick to the story.”

  The woman nodded.

  “Can I ask you something?” she said. He didn’t respond so she persisted. “This guy is guilty, right? ‘Cuz he just didn’t look like the type of person to do all those horrible things.”

  Sam was halfway to his car when she finished. He turned and said, “Nice dealing with you Trisha.”

  CHAPTER 35

  Right outside Park City is a mountain range along a dirt-filled back road overspread with towering trees and wildflowers in all sorts of shapes and sizes. If you stand in a certain spot trees are all you see for miles and miles. Hiking was one of my favorite things to do in the whole world, especially on a day like today. The morning dew was still on many of the flowers, and the air had an aroma that was fresh and new, like the smell of rich Earth when I plunged my spade into the dirt and planted my summer garden. I often thought it was what a tropical rainforest must smell like.

  Lord Berkeley kept pace alongside me until he spied a butterfly, and then he was off to capture it. I reached the top of the hill I’d climbed and took a deep breath in and absorbed every bit of beauty the landscape offered. It was times like this when I realized just how much everyone was connected to each other in one way or another—good and evil, young and old; we all shared a part of ourselves with the universe in which we all lived. And yet, we were all so different.

  I thought about Sinnerman and what kind of a life could have driven him to the madness that came with his decision to take a life, or in his case, several lives. I’d studied the profiles of other killers before him, but I never grasped what must have gone through their minds the second they killed for the first time and took their first life. His fascination with murder wasn’t the only thing that plagued me. The more I studied the lifestyle, the more I came across the same thing—their troubled childhoods. It wasn’t always the case, but in many instances it was, and I wondered what would have become of them had they been raised in an environment different than their own; one where they were engulfed in love. Would it have changed them from the beasts they’d later become?

  I didn’t know what I would do when I faced him one day. The hatred I had burned so deep within me all I could think about was seeing him dead. I pictured it in my mind over and over again. I wondered if I would be able to hold back if I ever had the chance to put an end to his wasted life. Would I take it or would I let him go? The question haunted me, following me around like an itch I constantly needed to scratch.

  Halfway back to my car, I heard a sound. A twig snapped and then another. Lord Berkeley’s head shot up, and he backed up to me until his body touched the front of my pant leg. He gnashed his teeth and sounded off a series of warnings, but the wooded area had gone quiet around us.

  “Come on, Boo,” I said. “It’s okay.”

  He looked up at me, canvassed the woods and then gave me a look to indicate we were clear for takeoff. We made it back to my car and I opened the door. Lord Berkeley hopped in and I shut him inside and then circled around to the trunk and popped it open. I tucked the bag of pinecones I’d collected to the side and then pushed the lid down.

  I grabbed the door handle and heard someone approach from behind. I turned just in time to see a needle plunging toward my neck. I swerved and felt it brush the side of my face when it forced its way by me, but it didn’t connect. The man who held it was dressed in a black hooded sweatshirt which he had up over his head. The tassels were tied in a bow under his chin. A blue ball cap peeked out under the hood, and his eyes were shielded by glasses that made him look like an oversized wasp. It didn’t matter how many precautions he took to conceal his identity; I knew who he was.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lord Berkeley inside the car trying to scratch his way through the window. I planted both feet into the soil beneath me, regained my footing and aimed my left foot straight for an area a man resists injury the most. Upon impact the needle shot out of his gloved hand into the air and twirled around in circles before it stuck to a branch on the tree; the fluid remained inside of it. I ran to my car, whipped the door open and went for my gun. He sprinted after me, but once he saw what I held in my hand, he turned and made a mad dash for the nearest thicket of trees. I fired off a shot, and his squeal echoed around me. His hand gripped his shoulder—he’d been hit. It wasn’t where I intended to get him, but at least it connected, and now the hunter had become the hunted. I was the predator and he was my prey.

  I fired off another shot, but by now he’d hidden himself well within the trees. I ran toward the path Sinnerman hobbled across before me and then stopped when I heard two more shots go off. Two other men
stepped forward out of the trees. The heavy set one nodded at the thin one, and the thin one disappeared. The other guy walked toward me. I crouched down behind a tree and aimed.

  “I’d stop right there if you don’t want a bullet between your eyes,” I said.

  “Sloane, are you alright?”

  “Who are you?” I said. “And how do you know my name?”

  He accelerated forward.

  “I said stop! I’m in no mood to screw around, so don’t test me.”

  He halted but was close enough now to get a good look at him. His face was familiar, and I’d seen him months before on another case I worked on—he was the man in black.

  “Why are you here?” I said.

  “Giovanni sent us.”

  “Are you two the ones he’s had watching out for me this whole time?”

  He nodded.

  “If you’re here to help, can you put the gun down?” I said.

  He shook his head and said, “It’s for your protection.”

  I nodded at my 9mm and said, “I can take care of myself.”

  He shrugged but didn’t lower his gun. It wasn’t aimed at me either; it just rested by his side.

  “Have you been here the whole time?” I said.

  He nodded.

  “How’s that possible? I never knew you were there.”

  “Boss said not to get too close. You weren’t ever supposed to see us.”

  “I’ve seen you before, six months ago,” I said.

  He nodded.

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  “And I remember trying to get you to tell me your name, but you wouldn’t,” I said.

  “It was better not to at the time,” he said. “Lucio.”

  “What?” I said.

  “That’s my name. Sorry.”

  “For what?” I said.

  “How long it took us to get to you.”

  “Where were you anyway?”

  He walked closer to me, and I noticed his cheeks were flushed with color.