by Alexa Grace
"I dumped my plate of prime rib, baked potato, and green beans in his lap and ran out of the room. I drove for hours until I checked into a Hampton Inn, and stayed the weekend in my room ordering room service and wondering why a man would screw his fiancée's friend behind her back, along with why said-friend would want to be a bridesmaid in my wedding. If Mitch wanted out of the engagement, just telling me would have been fine."
An urge to protect her from any more hurt washed over Gabe, and he pulled Kaitlyn into his arms. Wishing he could lift some of the burden from her slender shoulders, he pressed her head against his chest and kissed the top of her head. A pang of longing shot through Gabe. He wanted to hold her in his arms, soothe her and kiss away her pain. And that was such a monumentally bad idea. She was Abby's sister and now a client. It was beyond inappropriate. So why did it feel so right?
Kaitlyn tilted her head back and gazed at him for a long moment. Then she pressed her soft lips against his, making him tense once he realized what she was doing. He'd been fantasizing about kissing her since he discovered her in his office, but the reality was a trillion times better. Moving his mouth over hers, he devoured her softness, until finally he raised his head and gazed into her eyes. She was Abby's sister and his client. Besides the fact she was intoxicated. No matter how much he wanted her, he was taking advantage.
"Kaitlyn, we can't do this."
"I am so sorry, Gabe. I don't know what came over me."
"Don't apologize. I wanted it as much as you did. That's why I have to take you home."
<><><>
Later, Gabe tossed and turned in his bed. He was having the dream again, the same dream that had haunted his sleep for years. He jerked awake, sat up, and looked at the clock — 5:20 in the morning. Pushing back against the headboard, he wondered why he relived in a dream events that happened twenty years ago.
He was seven-years-old and watched as a girl emerged from the school building. Her eyes scanned the playground until they landed on him, and then her smile widened in recognition as she ran toward him like she did every school recess. Her silvery-blond hair was long, nearly reaching her waist, and whipped in the wind as she approached him.
He called her "Cat" because her family owned several cats that spent their time in the front windows of her house. She'd become his best friend the year before in the middle of first grade, when her family moved to Morel to live in a big house on Main Street. He'd first seen her from the window of his school bus as she emerged from her house to walk to school. At recess that day, he'd approached her and pulled out a miniature Matchbox truck and car from his pocket and handed them to her. "Want to play?"
She smiled and followed Gabe to a large oak tree, where they sat and pushed the cars in the dirt. In the days to follow, the two spent every recess together climbing the playground equipment, chasing each other in a game of tag, or just talking about their families or what had happened in their class the hours before.
At lunch, Gabe carefully placed his tray of cafeteria food on the table and saved a seat for Cat. His mom was the busy county sheriff and bought his school lunch each day. Cat had a stay-at-home mom who made her lunch, which often included delicious sandwiches, soup, and home-baked goodies. Gabe looked forward to the days when Cat agreed to trade lunches, especially on days near holidays when Cat's lunch included an assortment of gourmet treats.
It was on April 7th of his second grade year that everything changed. Gabe's teacher, Mrs. Harrison, held his class back from recess for five minutes because Billy Eden was talking, which was not unusual for him. Billy talked incessantly to anyone who would listen. Once they were released for recess, Gabe looked everywhere for Cat. He couldn't find her at first, but then spied her talking adamantly to Ralphie Smith, who had a reputation as being the class bully. The thought of Ralphie hurting Cat tore at his insides and Gabe raced toward them. He had to protect her. But before he could reach Cat, Ralphie had pushed her to the ground where she hit her head.
Gabe pulled at her arms to help her up but Cat did not respond. She lay there lifeless on the ground. Soon Mrs. Harrison arrived, and a circle of kids surrounded them.
"Gabe, two County EMTs are giving a talk in Mrs. Olympia's class, please run as fast as you can and bring them here!"
One EMT returned with Gabe while the other drove the ambulance near the playground, opened the back, and pulled out a gurney, then rushed back to Cat, who was not responding to Mrs. Harrison's efforts at CPR. The EMTs lifted Cat's small body and placed her gently on the gurney, then covered her face with an oxygen mask before positioning her in the ambulance. Gabe threw himself against the closed ambulance door, begging the EMTs to let him go with Cat. Mrs. Harrison wrapped her arms around him and held him close to her as he cried hysterically.
He never saw Cat again. For weeks, he asked Mrs. Harrison and his mom about her. They each answered that she'd been transferred to a hospital in Indianapolis. Finally, Mrs. Harrison shared that Cat's mother had withdrawn her from school and the house where she once lived was empty. Gabe became convinced that Cat was in heaven where his mom said people go after they die. He'd spent the rest of the school year mourning for his best friend, worrying his mom so much that she took him to a doctor.
He fell into a light sleep. The beep of his laptop announcing a new email woke him. Glancing at his clock, he noted it was 6:30. Pulling his laptop off his bedside table onto his lap, he logged in and read the message.
Hello, Little Sheriff Bro.
It's time to introduce you to our game. Here's how it works: We contact you, and you contact your big brother, Sheriff Brody Chase. Once you receive our email, you need to act fast, because the message goes to the media at the same time.
We're leaving a little surprise in the alley behind the Morel Bar and Grill. And Gabe, this one's for you.
If the Jim Ryder case is any indication of his team's detective skills, Sheriff Chase and his blithering band of idiots will never stop us, no matter how many clues we leave.
This is going to be the best game ever.
— Gamers
Gabe's insides turned to ice. The email had been sent by Abby, at least it had been sent from her email address.
<><><>
A dark cloud blanketed the morning sky, and heavy rain pelted the windshield of Gabe's truck, blurring the glass, as he raced to town. He'd trace the email back to its true origin. It had been sent from Abby's IP address, and if this was her idea of a joke, he wasn't laughing. What the hell? She'd been missing for days.
Was the email sent from Abby's laptop in her apartment? Did she send it? Did someone hack her account? Please let this be a bad joke. A wave of apprehension swept through him, and he prayed he'd find Abby alive and well.
He dug his cell phone out of his pocket and called Cameron. No answer. When he heard the voice mail message, he hung up. What message could he leave that wouldn't sound completely insane?
The Morel Bar and Grill was one of the less-desirable establishments in town, and was just off Main Street where the city hadn't started its rejuvenation project. Gabe was unsure the Morel Bar and Grill owners had ever heard or used the word "rejuvenation." Their building was in disrepair with peeling gray paint, cracked and chipped red brick, a roof that needed replaced, and a couple of bullet holes in its windows. At night, its parking lot was packed with Harleys, pickup trucks, and Shawnee County deputy cars. The deputies were inside breaking up fights. This early in the morning, the lot was deserted.
Gabe turned left on Covington Avenue, and then made another left into the alley that ran behind the bar.
There was something or someone leaning against the building that Gabe couldn't make out, thanks to the blinding, driving rain against his truck window. Dressed in a black golf shirt and jeans, Gabe searched the truck for a rain poncho or jacket, until he remembered he'd left them at the house. Leaping out of the truck, he slammed the door shut, and turned up his collar as he hunched down, running and slipping in the rain until he could se
e what was against the brick-lined building. His hair hung in wet slicks against his neck, and water dripped into his eyes and mouth as he drew closer. Wiping his eyes, he could see clearly.
Propped up near a dumpster overflowing with trash was a young woman. Her skin a purplish hue and her head bent, she was completely nude, her body peppered with droplets of rain. A plastic bag, beaded with moisture, covered her head and was secured tightly at her neck, while her arms and legs were bound with duct tape.
Gabe yanked his cell phone out of his pocket and punched in his oldest brother's number. As soon as he heard his voice, he said, "Brody, I just found a body in the alley behind Morel Bar and Grill. Get here fast."
"Gabe?"
"Just get here, Brody. It's bad."
Gabe disconnected the call and jammed his cell back in his jeans pocket. Careful not to disturb the crime scene, he bent to try to get a closer look at the victim's face. His gut clenched as he fought the nausea rushing up his throat. He had to be wrong. This body couldn't be Abby's. He remembered the end of the email — "this one's for you". What did that mean?
Pushing back to his feet, he swayed and scrambled back until he smacked against the building with his shoulder. By then Gabe heard a siren. The sheriff's SUV skidded around the corner and raced up the alley toward him, trailing a boil of muddy water behind it. Brody braked to a stop, jumped out of the vehicle, and ran toward him.
"Gabe!" As soon as the words flew out of his mouth, Brody saw the body and froze. "Sweet Jesus. What sick bastard did this?"
Running back to his vehicle for a plastic tarp, he returned to the body, carefully covering it to prevent the loss of even more trace evidence being rinsed away by the rain.
Slowly, he walked around the body. Like Gabe, he was careful not to disturb the scene. Pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, Brody tapped a name in his speed dial list. "Cam, we've got a body in the alley behind Morel Bar and Grill off Covington Street. You know the drill. Get the coroner and crime scene techs down here ASAP. Send some deputies to block the alleyway and seal off the crime scene. Come right away and bring Carly with you."
Turning to his brother, Brody said, "Tell me what's going on? How did you find the body?"
"I think it's Abby," Gabe whispered.
"Who?"
"Abby Reece."
"You mean the girl you brought to Carly's party?"
"Yes." Gabe swallowed hard, still fighting the urge to vomit.
"Okay, let's start over. How did you find her body?"
Wordlessly, Gabe pulled a folded printout of the email out of his back pocket and handed it to Brody, who opened and read it.
"When did you get this?"
"It came this morning at six-thirty, before I left the house."
Movement drew their attention to the far end of the alley where a local news truck was maneuvering into a parking space.
"No!" Brody shouted, waving his arms. "This is a crime scene. Move your truck and back off!"
Three patrol vehicles, followed by Cameron's unmarked car, came to a screeching stop in the middle of the street. A brawny deputy climbed out of his vehicle and directed the driver to park the news truck across the street from the alley, while another deputy stretched yellow crime scene tape across the alley entrance from one building to the other. Once that was finished, he raced to the other end of the alley to do the same.
Reporters from radio, television, and newspaper arrived and were clamoring for answers to their questions. But the officers ignored them. A couple had cameras that they aimed down the alley toward the victim.
Running toward the group, Cameron directed his attention toward a deputy who was standing near the alley entry-way. "Well, if it isn't Deputy Gail Sawyer. I didn't recognize you without the giant black medical boot on your foot."
"It made quite a fashion statement. Didn't it?" Gail returned sarcastically.
"Good to see you off desk duty and back in the field," Cameron said. "I need you to move the media all the way across the street."
"They're not going to like that much."
"Do I look like I give a shit what the media likes? Get them away from this crime scene. The first photo any of them get of the victim is on your head. Move it."
Carly Stone pulled her rain coat's hood up to cover her head, and got out of her car to join Cam. She'd left the house right after Brody got the call from Gabe. The two made their way down the alley toward Brody and Gabe, who looked like they were having a heated discussion.
<><><>
"Sweet Jesus, Gabe. Do you know how bad this looks? You're dating the victim and you're the one who finds her body?" The lines of Brody's face were etched with concern. "Go back to my office. Wait for me so we can talk. Don't talk to anyone until I get there."
"Bullshit, Brody. I am not waiting at your office. You're not going to treat me like a suspect. I had nothing to do with this, and you have to know that. I've been searching for Abby since I learned she was missing. I'll be at Mollie's Cafe. And if you decide to meet me there, come as my brother, not the county sheriff."
Sadly, Gabe glanced at the body one more time, then got into his truck and left.
Brody approached Cameron and Carly. "The body was found in that position about twenty-five minutes ago. There's no purse or wallet, so no identification. I covered her with the plastic sheeting so we wouldn't lose any more trace evidence than we already have from the rain."
"The crime scene techs are on their way, as is the coroner," Cameron told Brody as he inched toward Carly, who was already bent over the body.
"Unusual," Carly remarked softly as she lifted the tarp to scrutinize the body.
Brody eased close to her, and got under her umbrella. "What's unusual?"
"Her body has been posed. That doesn't happen often. A very small percentage of murder victims are left staged in an unusual position like this."
Brody eyed the body curiously. "Why do you think she was posed?"
"The killer or killers want to thwart our investigation. In addition, they posed the body to shock the finder, as well as the investigators. It's the killer's perverted, cheap thrill."
"Sick," Brody said with disgust.
Carly bent down to look closer at the victim's face beneath the plastic bag covering her head. "Brody, she looks familiar."
"Yeah, I think so, too," said Cameron, who bent down next to her.
Brody whispered, "Gabe thinks it's Abby Reece, the woman he brought to Carly's party."
"Oh, no. It can't be," Carly said sadly.
"What do you think? Crime victims are only people we don't know?"
"C'mon Brody. You know what I meant," said Carly. "I was thinking about Gabe. I saw him here earlier, and even from a distance, I could tell he was upset. Is he the one who found the body?"
"Later. Can't talk here."
Carly quickly replaced the plastic tarp and backed away, as Coroner Bryan Pittman arrived with two of his assistants. "How many of you are trampling all over my crime scene?"
"Not even one. Wouldn't think of it, buddy," said Brody. "You know you've been saying that for years, and not once has a member of my staff compromised a crime scene."
"Just keeping people on their toes. That's all." Bryan hid a wicked grin. He and Brody had been best friends for years, and there was nothing better Bryan liked to do than give the sheriff a hard time. It distracted him from the unpleasantness of crime scenes.
Slipping on a pair of latex gloves, Bryan moved close to the body, pulled up the plastic sheeting, and examined the plastic bag on the victim's head. "I don't think suffocation is a stretch here." He paused when no one laughed. "A little coroner humor." Grinning as the others grimaced and shook their heads, he slowly inched his way around the body.
Bryan then looked back at Brody. "This is a secondary crime scene. This isn't where the murder occurred. I won't know until the autopsy if she was raped and/or tortured prior to death. Our killer is fearless, stupid, or unfamiliar with this area, considering the
time it took to pose the body. There are drunks ambling through this alley from the bar all hours of the night."
"Interesting." Carly focused her attention on the only thing the victim was wearing. "Check out her shoe. It looks like a vintage brocade-covered high heel, the kind girls wore to the prom back in the day. It's at least two sizes too big for her."
"You're right," Bryan responded. "It doesn't look like it belongs to her. I'll send it to the State Police Crime Lab in Indy for trace evidence and DNA testing."
Thoughtfully, Brody rubbed his chin. "If the shoe doesn't belong to the victim, who does it belong to?"
Next to him, Cameron stopped writing in his notepad. "If this isn't the first kill, the shoe could lead us to another victim."
"Please don't let this be another serial killer in this county. Please," Brody groaned.