by Mary Burton
“Any signs of his DNA?” Melina noted scented lotion and more lipstick beside the sink.
“I’ve collected multiple hair and skin fibers,” Matt said. “At this point we don’t know if it’s the killer’s or someone else’s.”
“He knows her,” Ramsey said. “She invites him into her house, and he strangles her and then places her in the tub. Why does he get in the tub with her?”
“He isn’t ready to leave her,” Melina said. “He’s lonely and wants to spend time with her. Bathing together is very intimate.”
“He doesn’t have to worry about expectations or unnecessary conversation from her. She’s totally his and exists only for him.”
“It’s not the violence that attracts him, but the need for connection,” Melina said. “I’ve seen a similar character profile with pedophiles. The sick bastards want the emotional connection.”
“And he takes the fourth finger on the left hand,” Ramsey said.
“Which is supposed to be the direct line to the heart.” She glanced at her hand and traced her naked ring finger. Bonnie had been in Nashville to find Sonny. And though Bonnie had not admitted it, it wasn’t a huge leap to assume she had stolen the jar filled with fingers from Sonny. And if anything Bonnie had said about Sonny was remotely true, he was her half brother.
“I would bet he’s charming,” Ramsey said. “He woos his victims. Why force them when you can coax them into your arms? He’s moderately, if not very, attractive. The lack of struggle with his victims is a big part of the reason he has stayed under the radar.”
“If he sticks to his pattern, then he’ll only kill once in the Nashville area,” Melina said.
Ramsey shook his head. “If he keeps to his pattern.”
“A half sibling hit in the ancestry world is akin to hitting gold. Whatever DNA we pulled from the crime scene that we think belongs to this guy should be compared to mine. If we can confirm he’s my brother, we might be able to use that to our advantage.”
Resting and meticulous wound care had paid off for him. Though the gash was still tender, he was now mobile and ready to make his next move.
Now, nine days after nearly snagging his dream date, he drove to the Bottom in a rented dark-blue four-door sedan ready to get his van. But as soon as he approached his warehouse, he spotted the notice on the front door. CRIME SCENE.
“Shit!” he shouted.
As he drove past, he was careful to keep his head ducked. There were always cameras watching. How the hell had they found his van?
Angry now, he blamed this mess on Ms. Perky Breasts. She had hurt him, and she must have told something to the cops about his van and they had found it.
He needed to figure out who Ms. Perky Breasts was, find her, and make her pay.
He circled the block for almost an hour, but he found no sign of the girls she had been with last Monday night. A week was a long time for girls like Ms. Perky Breasts. He dreaded the thought that she had moved on or found a new corner to work.
He drove around the block again and decided any girl at this point would do for now. The sex was boring when there was no pain, but he might get lucky and find out something.
Three girls stood on the corner just ahead. They huddled close. All were wearing high heels and short skirts. One had a cigarette dangling from her hand. All the women were blondes, or at least wore blond wigs. Not the look he wanted. None of this felt right.
He slowed his vehicle to a stop in front of the women. He lowered the passenger window as the tiniest blonde approached his car. “I need a date.”
She tossed her cigarette aside. “How long?”
“Half hour. Get in and we can go around the corner.”
Her smile told him she liked the idea of staying close. A quick turnaround meant she could find another client quickly. He bet she thought her evening was looking up.
They agreed on a price and she slid into the front seat, locking in her seat belt. As promised, he drove to a darkened alley. He shut off the engine and killed the lights.
“Take the wig off,” he said.
She hesitated and then pulled the blond wig off. Dark hair tumbled out. It was not as lush as Ms. Perky Breasts’, but it was better.
“You like it?” She tousled her hair with her fingers.
“Yeah.”
She unhooked her seat belt and twisted in the seat toward him. Her gaze dropped to his lap, and, not seeing signs of an erection, she licked her lips and rubbed her hand over his crotch. The sensation was pleasant enough, so he nodded, giving her the go-ahead to unzip his pants. She pulled his cock free and took just the tip while looking up at him.
He imagined Ms. Perky Breasts chained to the floor of his van. An electric prod to her breast would make her scream. Or maybe a solder gun to her belly. He could burn his initials into her pale tight skin.
“There you go, baby,” she said. “Nice and hard. Want me to climb on top?”
“No.”
As if understanding, she wrapped her lips around his cock and began to suckle. He fisted a handful of her hair and drove her face down hard. She gagged and shifted her hand to his thigh to steady herself. Her fingers brushed his wound and he hissed in a breath as pain cut through him.
“Careful!” he shouted. He released the pressure on her head.
She instantly sat up and stared at him with wary eyes. No doubt her instincts were telling her to run. “Did I hurt you?”
He ran his hand lightly over his thigh. “No. Finish it.”
She moistened her lips, hesitated, and then went down on him again. He grabbed her hair with both hands this time and twisted the strands until he knew it hurt. A whimper rose in her throat.
Her suffering excited him, and he gave in to the pleasure and coiled his hand tighter around her hair. Finally, he came in her mouth. She choked, trying to catch her breath. If he kept her like this, she might suffocate.
Suffocate. It was too easy a death.
“Swallow it,” he ordered.
When she complied, he let her up. She drew in a deep breath and pressed her back to the passenger door. She was smart enough not to complain.
He zipped up his pants and then fished a couple of twenty-dollar bills from his pocket. “I’m looking for someone. Tall, lean, dark hair. Doesn’t dress like a hooker. She was on your corner Monday night a week ago.”
“I don’t know her.” She eyed the bills. “I could ask.”
“I can do my own asking.”
“You a cop?”
“No.” He folded the bills neatly in half, creasing the edge to a fine point. “Who else would know about this woman?”
“The best person to ask is Sarah. She runs the Mission. She knows almost all the girls.”
He handed her the bills. “Get out.”
She quickly opened the door and stumbled into the alley. His headlights turned on with the engine, catching her slim frame pressed against the wall. Even if she remembered him, he had altered his appearance enough to throw any cop off.
He backed out of the alley, turned, and headed back toward the city. He needed to get a van.
Buying a van in the Nashville area was not a smart idea. He decided to return to Atlanta, Georgia, to the dealership he had used when he had bought his old van. Maybe it wasn’t smart to repeat past moves, but he was willing to risk it.
The rental car created a digital trail, but he was not worried. In all his years, the cops had never come close to finding him.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Thursday, August 27, 6:00 a.m.
Bonnie Guthrie smiled as she signed her name on the bail bondsman’s paperwork. The bail bondsman’s name was Ralph, and he reminded her of a guy she had dated when she’d lived in New York during a summer of decadence after leaving home for good.
Ralph stacked his papers into a neat pile. “It shouldn’t be much longer, Ms. Guthrie. I’ll deliver this check to the magistrate now, and you should be out real soon.”
“You’re amazing, doll
.” She ran her fingertips lightly down her breasts.
“Do you need a ride?” Ralph asked.
“A ride? That’s full service.”
“We’re accustomed to transporting our clients to a destination within twenty miles.”
“Well, that would be lovely.” She winked. “Remind me to write an online review for you.”
“Always appreciated. The judge wants you back in two weeks for a preliminary hearing.”
“I’ll be here,” she lied. The truth was she planned to find Elena. Sonny did not know it yet, but his future was tied up with Bonnie and that little girl. And once he had Bonnie and his “sister” back, he would stop doing whatever it was with the severed fingers. The boy had never been right after she had dumped Melina, but she had never figured he was this messed up.
All Sonny had to do was produce the key, and the three of them would have enough money to live in style in Mexico. She could have told Melina the name Sonny was using now, but she had kept quiet to protect him. They could search Dean Guthrie all they wanted, but it wouldn’t lead them to Nashville.
She might be partly responsible for his messed-up mind, and she had a chance to help him, the kid, and herself. Win-win for everybody.
Ralph escorted her to his car and opened her door. She slid into the front seat, showing him the full length of her tanned legs. She was glad to be out of jail.
“Doll, I’m starving,” she said. “What say I treat us to breakfast?”
Melina hustled back to her town house after an early-morning run. It would have been smarter to catch some shut-eye in the few hours she had, but she had to burn off steam. Her mother used to say Melina needed to run to get the wiggles out.
She kicked off her shoes and opened a can of tuna fish. She set it out on the patio table for the neighbor’s cat.
She switched on the television to a weather channel that offered the right amount of background noise so that she did not feel alone. As coffee brewed, she opened her laptop; then she poured herself a cup and dumped in two teaspoons of sugar.
As she sipped her coffee, she clicked on the DNA website and logged on to her account. Her name appeared, and beside it in red letters were the words New Information.
“New. That can’t be good,” she whispered.
If her job had taught her anything, it was that the situation could always have more surprises. She held her breath as the icon bounced back and forth before the section opened. She scanned the list and saw that she had several fourth-cousin matches. The initial burst of excitement faded as she calculated that tracing those relatives would mean going back to their shared great-great-grandparents. It was possible but would take a ton of man-hours.
Still, she clicked on the cousin located in Ohio. He did not have a picture attached, but she noted he was sixty-two years old. The next cousin was not much more promising. She lived in North Carolina and was in her early seventies. No picture attached to her profile either.
She fished out her phone and pulled up Andy’s contact information. She wanted to ensure that Andy was cross-checking her DNA against the killer’s.
She took another sip from the coffee cup, copied the link to her test results, and attached it in an email to Andy. She paused for a moment and then hit send.
An email response from Andy came back almost immediately. I’m on it.
“Ready or not,” Melina said.
One way or another, she was going to learn something about her past.
Her phone rang and she half expected to see Andy’s name. Realizing it was her mother, she wondered if this woman had an inkling of what she had done. She felt like a traitor and closed her computer screen.
“Mom.”
“Don’t go by the hospital to see Elena today. She’s not there anymore.”
Melina sat forward. “Where is she?”
“She’s with Dad and me. Dad pulled a few strings, and social services agreed to let her come home with us. We picked her up late last night.”
Relief washed over her. “Isn’t that going to be a lot on you with Dad laid up?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.” Her mother’s voice sounded buoyant, as if she welcomed the challenge.
“What can I do to help?”
“Nothing you can do, honey. I’ve got this under control. She’s sleeping in your old bed now.”
“Did you turn on the purple night-light?” Her mother had bought it for her when she was about six, and it still remained in her old room.
“Of course. Put a fresh bulb in yesterday.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Just wanted to let you know so you can focus on the job.” Her mother dropped her voice a notch. “The poor thing was exhausted when we got her home. We watched a movie and ate dinner. She fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. But a dream woke her up within the hour.”
Melina remembered how the fatigue had always mingled with the fear of dreams. “Has Elena said anything that might help me?”
“Not yet, but if she does, I’ll pass it on.”
“Good.” She sipped her coffee. “I look forward to catching this guy.”
Ramsey met Melina at the TBI offices. He had two coffees waiting, one for himself and the other for her. He had already learned Agent Melina Shepard was more approachable if caffeinated.
“Thanks,” she said, prying off the lid. “I can really use this.”
“Didn’t sleep well?”
“I dabbled on the genealogy website, trying to trace my family tree. I had very little luck. I emailed off what I had to Andy. She’s already on it.”
“Good. Your time is better spent with me.”
“I came to that conclusion very quickly.”
Ramsey drove Melina to the medical examiner’s office. They showed their badges, though the guard recognized Melina. “Agent Shepard, we meet again,” he said.
Melina tucked her badge in her pocket. “No offense, but I can’t say I’m glad to be back,” she said with a smile.
The guard nodded with a slight grin. “No offense taken.”
As Melina and Ramsey walked toward the elevators, she said, “I was here a few times over the winter. A van filled with undocumented workers was found. All the occupants were dead. It took several visits here to sort out identities and causes of death.” When he arched a brow, she added, “Asphyxiation. The truck had a faulty exhaust system and the occupants kept it running to stay warm. They all expired from carbon monoxide poisoning.”
“How did missing persons get involved?” Ramsey asked.
“I tried to match up the dead to their families. I was able to locate families for three of the victims.”
She had worked days, fearing some of the women and men had left behind children and loved ones. In the end, she had been forced to stop and move on to a new case.
They rode the elevator down to the lower level, where the medical examiner performed his autopsies. They gowned up and met the doctor in his autopsy suite.
He stood by the badly decomposing body of Jennifer Brown. Her skin had loosened and drooped from her arms and her abdomen. The decaying process had also darkened her skin and shrunk her cuticles, which gave the impression that her nails had grown. Her left ring finger was missing.
Her head rested above the block tucked under her neck, arching her bruised chin upward. Her blond hair was brushed back, and her eyelids were closed.
“We were just about to start,” Dr. Connor said.
“Thanks for waiting on us,” Ramsey said.
“After seeing that jar full of fingers, I’m happy to expedite this investigation,” Dr. Connor said.
“How long has she been deceased?” Ramsey asked.
“I took her liver temperature, and I estimate she died last Monday to Wednesday.”
“Over a week,” Melina said. “She died before Bonnie stole the pickle jar. Are her prints a match to one of the unidentified fingers?”
“Yes,” the doctor said.
“Cause of death
?” Ramsey asked.
Dr. Connor moved to the top of the table. He tilted the head, angling it so that the bruised neck was exposed. “Unless I find evidence to the contrary, I’d say strangulation.”
“The bruising around her neck is defined,” Melina said. “It’s consistent with a choke hold.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what happened,” Dr. Connor said. “Sometimes you see shadow bruising that indicates the killer had to adjust his grip because he didn’t have the strength to maintain the initial choke hold. But in this case, I see none of that. I suspect this killer is physically fit and strangled her without hesitation.”
Dr. Connor then repositioned the head and reached for a scalpel. He positioned the sharp blade at the top of the breastbone and made the Y incision between and under the breasts.
For the next hour, Melina and Ramsey watched as Dr. Connor inspected and weighed the organs, took tissue samples, and then examined for signs of sexual assault. As he had theorized, the victim had been healthy, and there were no signs of intercourse.
When Melina and Ramsey walked out of the medical examiner’s office, she craved the warm sunshine on her face. “I need to call the tour company,” she said. “I want to talk to her boss.” She wondered how Elena was doing with her mother.
Ramsey checked his watch. “It’s eight thirty. They should be open by now.”
“I’ll head straight over and try to catch the crew before too many tourists swamp the place.” Next to learning about any potential stalkers, she wanted to establish a timeline for Jennifer Brown’s last days.
“I’m going to meet with the forensic department and see what evidence they were able to pull from Jennifer Brown’s house,” Ramsey said.
“We’ll reconvene later today.”
“Perfect.” Ramsey dropped Melina off at the TBI offices down the road. As he drove off, she shifted to her car and sat still for a moment, letting the day’s heat warm her chilled bones.