“This girl is in her twenties. Approximately five foot four inches tall, she weighs between one hundred five and one hundred fifteen pounds.”
Marissa stood frozen to the spot. She felt the room spiral around her and only just managed to hold on to what he was saying. Meeks’s broad description fit Brooke. She looked past Meeks, her eyes drawn to the steel table like iron filings to a magnet.
Crawford’s brow furrowed.
“You’re sure you can handle this?”
Fear gripped her throat in its choking grasp, robbing her of any words. She wasn’t sure at all, but she nodded anyway and he led her forward.
Marissa gasped, horrified by the sight of the body laid out on the cold metal table. Her knees buckled. She would have fallen if Crawford hadn’t caught her arm. He held her steady in his strong grip.
The body didn’t look real. It looked like someone had hacked apart a little girl’s doll and reassembled it on the table in some grisly form, like a jigsaw puzzle. Marissa’s stomach heaved. Bile rose in her throat. She swallowed hard, forcing it back.
“The police are still looking for the head,” Meeks assured her, but Marissa barely heard him. A black rose blossomed in front of her eyes, and she swayed against Crawford. He gripped her with both hands, gently shaking her as he stared straight into her eyes.
“Look at me,” he said.
She did, blinking hard, knowing she would never be the same again. Nothing would erase the horror of this moment. Unable to stop herself, she turned back and stared at the severed hand on the table. The fingers were bruised. Swollen. Unrecognizable. These weren’t Brooke’s delicate fingers.
How many times had she held Brooke’s hand to keep her safe as she crossed the street? How many times had she trimmed Brooke’s fingernails and painted them with sparkly pink polish? How many times had Marissa brushed Brooke’s golden curls away from her forehead or stroked the silky-soft skin of her cheeks?
What kind of animal could do something like this? He had taken a beautiful girl and defiled her in every possible way. Only a monster would cut up another human being and discard her like trash. Only a monster would kill another person like this.
Tears filled her eyes. She turned away from the body on the table, unable to look for another second longer. Her watery gaze fixed on a set of X-rays pinned to a light box above the table. Cold, bluish light illuminated discrete sections of bones: arms, legs, hands, pelvis, and clavicle. Documenting the disembodied parts of a girl who could never be made whole again. The X-rays swam in front of her eyes. Marissa blinked her tears back.
In a flash she remembered Brooke playing on the monkey bars. She had been little, no more than five. Hand over hand Brooke swung, blonde curls fluttering in the breeze, until that awful moment when she let go.
Marissa’s mouth dropped open as a sudden thought dawned on her. She turned back toward Dr. Meeks.
“I don’t know if this helps.” Her small voice echoed in the sterile room. “But Brooke broke her wrist when she was five years old.”
Crawford shot a keen look at the medical examiner. Meeks shook his head. His narrow lips twitched.
“There were no broken bones on the X-ray.”
A crushing wave of relief flooded through Marissa. It wasn’t Brooke. It wasn’t her baby lying here. Just as quickly, though, relief gave way to a deep, aching sadness. Slowly, haltingly, she stepped forward. Her fingers trembled as she reached out toward the table. She touched the bruised and swollen hand.
The brush of cold flesh under her fingertips felt alien, and Marissa wished the girl’s family were here so this poor girl wouldn’t have to be alone. No one should be alone in a place like this. She thought about the girl’s family and the horrible news awaiting them. Like her, they had a missing daughter. And like her, they were no doubt desperate for news, for her safe return. Suddenly she understood Holt’s mission in a way she never had before.
“Marissa?”
She turned at the sound of Crawford’s voice. With a heavy heart, she followed him to the door.
#
Marissa stared listlessly through the rain-streaked car window, feeling empty and alone. No place would ever feel like home again until both of her daughters were back where they belonged.
“How do you do it?” she asked, resting her head back against the seat and staring at the empty husk of a house.
“Do what?”
He sounded surprised, and she angled her weary gaze back toward him.
“Look at death every day and still stay sane?”
“You’ve got to disconnect from it.”
“And you can do that?”
“My first few years on the force, I brought every case home with me. Every victim, every family, until I reached a point where I couldn’t do it anymore.”
“So you disconnected?”
“You have to maintain some distance so you can remain objective about a case, otherwise you’re going to jump to the wrong conclusions, not to mention ruin your life outside of work.”
“And do you have a life outside of work?”
Marissa wasn’t sure what had spurred her to ask the question. Crawford’s expression closed, and she realized she’d pushed too far. Whatever the truth was, she imagined he kept it close to the chest. She hoped she was wrong. She hoped he had family to go home to, something more than just his job. But the more she thought about it, the more certain she was that Crawford’s life was as empty as the house awaiting her.
Marissa climbed out of the car. She hesitated, feet glued to the sidewalk. Cold drizzle chilled her to the bone. All the adrenaline-induced panic had drained from her body, and she felt like she had aged twenty years in the blink of an eye. Behind her she heard a car door close. Crawford’s light tread approached.
“Are you okay?”
Lies were easy. Dozens of worthless ones sprang to mind, but she dismissed them all. She shivered. Without thinking, she closed the distance between them. She wanted to step into the warm circle of his arms and hang on to him like he was the only thing that could stop her from drowning in a deep pool of fear and uncertainty.
His face was turned toward her. It wasn’t the twisted mass of scars she saw when she looked at him, but the fine arch of his eyebrows, the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the full curve of his lips.
He took a quick step back, as if reading her intention, and she knew there wasn’t going to be a replay of the scene in Kelly’s room, where she had been able to draw on his comfort and support. An invisible wall formed between them.
“Marissa,” he said, and gave a small shake of his head. “I should go.”
She shivered and trudged down the cracked sidewalk to the empty house.
Chapter 40
Drew propped an elbow on the bar and fingered the small velvet box in his pocket. Alicia was running late. On any other night this might have irked him, but tonight he was on a roll.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.
“Grey Goose martini. Dry and dirty.”
“You’ve got it.”
“Have I seen you before?” Drew asked, eyeing the bartender. There was something familiar about him.
“Could be. I work a bunch of places. Jesse Morgan.”
Drew shook the bartender’s outstretched hand. His phone beeped, and he pulled it out. The text was from Alicia. Drew frowned.
“Bad news?”
“Just my girlfriend. She’s stuck in traffic,” he said, and slid the phone back in his pocket. “You’d think the dumb shits in this town would learn how to drive in the rain.”
Jesse chuckled.
“My wife never made it anywhere in her life on time,” said a middle-aged man with a bulbous nose and gin blossoms staining his cheeks. “Except for divorce court. Goddamned right she made it there on time.”
Jesse shook his head. He strained the drink into a chilled martini glass. He skewered a couple of olives and plopped them into the briny drink.
“Big night?” he asked Drew, placin
g the glass on a cocktail napkin.
“You could say that.” He pulled out the velvet box and opened it. The diamond ring sparkled in the light.
Jesse pursed his lips and emitted a low, appreciative whistle. For good reason—the ring had cost a fucking fortune.
“Lucky girl.”
Gin Blossom snorted. He inhaled a sip of his drink and swiped a hand across his fleshy lips.
“You got something to say?” Drew asked, glaring down the length of the bar, fixing his cold gaze on Gin Blossom’s face.
“Listen, kid, if it were me, I’d just give the bitch half now and save yourself the trouble.”
Imagine, a catch like him, divorced. Drew sneered. No doubt the drunk asshole had gotten everything he deserved. No point in saying so. Guys like him, like his father, weren’t the introspective types. They were experts at foisting blame for their shit onto others. Nothing was ever their fault. It was always the booze or the drugs or the socks they’d left on the goddamned living room floor that started it.
Why can’t you ever do anything right? Why are you so fucking stupid? Go on, cry. Cry, you little pussy faggot.
Drew shook his head, banishing Rick’s voice from his mind. He gulped his martini. Alcohol burned down his throat. He grimaced and turned his attention to the television behind the bar, where Charles Sully was the big story of the day.
“Crazy bastard had a body stuffed in his trunk,” the drunk said, pointing his raised glass at the screen.
“I hear he hacked her up,” Jesse answered, pulling glasses off the revolving dishwasher behind the bar and drying them.
“I wonder how many more bodies they’re going to find,” Gin Blossom said, and slurped noisily from his drink. “Where there’s one, there’s more. And for once the cops did the right thing by killing him. Jail’s too good for the bastard.”
“Oh yeah, mob justice is totally the way to go,” Drew quipped.
“Well, if you can’t kill Gary Ridgway in this goddamned nanny state . . .” Gin Blossom’s voice rose. He lifted his glass and pointed it at Drew.
“You mean execute?” Drew said, cocking an eyebrow.
“Exactly. If you can’t execute the Green River Killer, then . . .” Gin Blossom trailed off, slurping from his glass.
Drew’s lips stretched into a condescending grin. He shook his head and turned back toward the television.
So far everything was going better than planned. The public believed Sully was a monster. And he was. The body Drew found in the Super Bee’s trunk confirmed Sully was no Boy Scout. Once the police identified the body and found the MedicAlert dog tags in the trunk along with the duffel bag . . . well, Charles Sully’s death tied a very nice bow on a very big mess.
At the far end of the bar, Gin Blossom’s head snapped around, and Drew glanced up.
Alicia walked through the doors wearing a form-fitting ivory dress that left her shoulders and arms bare. Her dark hair was swept away from her face, pinned at the back of her long, graceful neck. Earrings dangled from her earlobes like golden dewdrops. Drew stirred at the thought of what he’d like to do to her.
“Yours?” Jesse asked, inclining his head.
“Mine,” Drew confirmed, draining the last of the martini.
Jesse grinned and stuck out his hand. “You’re a lucky man.”
Drew shook Jesse’s hand and dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the bar.
Alicia’s full lips parted in a warm smile as she caught sight of him. She showed no signs of still being miffed from this morning’s argument. Leaning forward, he brushed a kiss across her cheek. Nuzzling her ear, he felt her shiver. The sweet floral scent of her perfume filled his head. He froze. Gretchen flashed into his mind. Had she been wearing the same perfume the night he drove her home? Impossible. Drew pulled back and brushed thoughts of Gretchen aside like he was dusting lint from the lapel of his jacket.
“Hello, beautiful. How was your day?”
Goosebumps dimpled the smooth flesh of Alicia’s bare arms.
“Sorry I’m late. Traffic’s a nightmare.”
“Our table is waiting.”
He extended his arm, and Alicia started off toward the dining room. Drew paused beside Gin Blossom’s stool, stooping low to whisper into the old man’s ear, “You don’t even dream this good.”
Gin Blossom grunted. Alicia turned with a questioning look and Drew smiled.
The mouthwatering smell of crispy duck and braised rabbit filled the dining room. Having skipped lunch, he was starving. He couldn’t wait to dive into the evening. This would be a night both he and Alicia would always remember. He would make sure of it.
The host led them through the dining room to a small table for two crammed into the corner. With a courtly, sweeping gesture, the host pulled out Alicia’s chair and held it, waiting for her to sit.
Irritation bristled at the back of Drew’s neck like tiny needle pricks racing across his skin. There was no fucking way he was going to get stuffed in a dark corner. Not tonight of all nights. Not with Alicia looking so perfect and the dining room only half-full. Didn’t he look like the type of guy who could afford a place like this? Didn’t he fit Maximilien’s clientele?
Drew forced a chilly smile. “I specifically asked for a window table.”
“Sir, we’re booked this evening, I . . .”
“Booked? The place is half-empty. I don’t see ‘reserved’ signs on any of those tables.”
Alicia looked up. A crease formed between her perfectly arched brows. “Really, Drew, this is fine.”
“It most certainly is not. There’s a table right by the window. That’s where we’re going to sit tonight.”
“But, sir, it’s reserved.”
Drew forced a smile and stepped close to the host. Placing a hand on the back of the man’s narrow shoulder, he leaned in. With his other hand, he grasped the man’s balls with a firm grip. They felt like overripe plums in his hand. The host gasped.
“Listen close. If you’re smart, you’ll seat us over there. Got it?”
The man gave a terse nod. Drew released his grip and stepped back. Anger pinched the corners of the host’s mouth, but Drew refused to back down. Finally the host cleared his throat.
“Of course,” he said in a tight voice.
With a stiff, upright gait, he marched toward the window table. Head bowed, Alicia followed. She quietly thanked the host as he held her chair. The man gave a stiff nod. Satisfied, Drew took a seat and unfolded the crisp linen napkin on his lap. He turned to admire the view.
The rain had stopped at midmorning, and while thunderclouds gathered heavy and black to the north, the skies over Puget Sound were uncharacteristically clear. Moonlight rippled silver across the cobalt waves. Out on the pier, tourists rode the garish Ferris wheel. The spokes lit up, forming a spider web of blue and green.
Drew turned his gaze on Alicia. She sipped her water and studied the menu in a thinly veiled attempt to mask her ire. She was pissed at him for making a scene. While he wasn’t the type to indulge her moods, Drew reached across the table, laying an open hand in the space between them. After a slight hesitation, she placed her hand in his. He squeezed her fingers and stared directly into her blue eyes.
A waiter approached. Before he could ask about drinks, Drew ordered a bottle of Dom Pérignon and waved him away. Alicia raised her eyebrows.
“Are we celebrating?”
“Of course.”
“Anything in particular?”
“The day I met you.”
“Really?” Her lips twisted into an impish grin. “Do tell.”
“The day I met you, everything changed. I went from a guy who was drifting through life to a man who finally knew what he wanted. Everything I want, Alicia, is sitting right across the table from me. I know it’s fast. I know it may seem crazy. I also know that there is no one else in the world more perfect for me than you. And so, Alicia Wright, will you do me the great honor of being my wife?”
Alicia’s eyes popped
wide as she spied the box he slid onto the table. One hand fluttered to her lips. Her eyes glistened with tears. Unable to speak, she nodded.
The waiter arrived on cue, champagne was poured, toasts were raised, and by the time they ordered dinner, Alicia’s two-carat diamond sparkled around her slender finger. After a slight hiccup, everything was back on track. Drew sipped champagne, his mood soaring higher than the top of the Space Needle.
Dinner came and went. The food was as good as the reviews said. Local ingredients. Clean flavors, everything expertly prepared. He had the rack of lamb, with new potatoes and baby carrots. The meat was tender, succulent. Alicia looked pleased with the scallops. She all but licked the butter sauce from the plate before the waiter arrived to whisk the table clean. So far the night was living up to his expectations.
Alicia excused herself and strutted her way across the dining room toward the ladies’ room. Drew was quite sure he wasn’t the only man admiring the view as she exited the dining room.
The night was full of promise. Drew turned to gaze out at the pier. Puget Sound glittered like a sapphire in the moonlight. He was thinking about Alicia and all the ways he wanted to celebrate after they got home, when her cell phone whistled.
Curious, Drew reached across the table. He slid the phone along the smooth white tablecloth. The display sprang to life, and Drew thumbed the message icon.
The gentle buzz from the champagne evaporated. His eyes narrowed. Incredulous, he read the text twice.
I know you’re still mad at me, but there’s something you should know. Drew is not who you think he is. I’m serious. Call me.
A fast-burning anger ignited like a fuse inside Drew. Goddamn Liam. Stupid motherfucker didn’t know how to leave well enough alone. Alicia had made it perfectly clear at Gretchen’s funeral she never wanted to see him again, and still he refused to fuck off.
If the Crown Prince of the Dot-Com had hired a private investigator to dig into Drew’s past, there were all kinds of secrets he might have discovered. None of them good. He should have dealt with Liam sooner. Naïvely, he’d hoped Liam would just go away. But like a pot left on a stove unattended, he had just boiled over.
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