“I don’t want to die. But if these are my last days, I won’t spend them being afraid.” She kissed him, soft and gentle, before leaning her forehead against his. “I don’t want him to steal my life. I’ve worked too hard to make it mine.”
He inhaled her sweet scent, burying his hands in her magnificent hair. “I don’t want to live with knowing I failed to do something that could have saved you.”
“Maybe it’s not your job to save me,” she said quietly. “Maybe you’re here to help me to save myself.”
Chapter 33
I can’t sit here, doing nothing. Ben drummed his fingers against his knee, staring toward the bedroom’s window, trying not to be aware of Katie and Ray in the other room, sharing Katie’s notes with Orlund. I should be in there with her. His logical brain held him back with two inarguable reasons. Orlund still has a bug up his butt, and wants me thrown under the jail. However, the second reason kept him in place.
Katie had asked him to trust her to handle it. Which meant if he charged into the room, it would be the same as calling her weak and incompetent. Not to mention demonstrating he couldn’t respect her wishes. I need to find something else to keep me from making a mistake. Something productive. His wandering gaze landed on his phone.
I’ll bet Lucy will still help me regardless of my official status. He dialed the number, and Lucy answered before the first ring finished.
“Ben? Are you okay? I saw the news.”
He kept his voice low. “A few bruises, but nothing serious.”
“The EMT report says you might have a concussion.”
“They write that any time someone gets hit on the head. Listen, I was hoping you could run a search for me.” He should have guessed she would hack the medical files.
Silence filled the line for a long moment. “I guess you’re not coming back to Denver soon.”
“I can’t leave this half-finished.” Ben glanced at the door to the suite’s main room. “We have a name which might be the Director’s first victim. Vivian.”
“That’s all you have?” Lucy sounded surprised. And something he’d never heard in her voice before, reluctant.
“I’m hoping you can find me more.” He shifted his weight uncomfortably, wondering if she would refuse. “She would have died more than ten years ago.”
“All right. Searching for murder victims named Vivian from between ten and fifteen years ago.” The steady click of a keyboard filled Lucy’s pause. “I’ve got two hits. A Caucasian woman in her seventies who was bludgeoned to death in a home invasion. And an African American woman who was killed by her husband during a custody dispute.”
“Neither of those sound like the Director.” Ben had been so certain the lead would play out. The Director might not have established his M.O. for his first kill. “What did they do for a living?”
“The wife was an accomplished lawyer, and the elderly woman was a homemaker and mother. No connections to theater, or anything else entertainment related.”
“I’m missing something.” Ben closed his eyes, picturing Katie’s notes. “Wait, Vivian might have died of an overdose. The police wouldn’t have classified it as a murder.”
More clicking. “I have three Vivians with accidental deaths linked to drugs. One died during surgery. Two overdoses . . . oh.”
“What is it?”
“I found her. Vivian Moreno, she died of a heroin overdose thirteen years ago. I’m sending you the information on her now.”
The brief report on the crime scene filled less than a page. The deceased was discovered sitting on her couch after a neighbor called emergency services. Deceased was wearing a green summer dress, a gold cross, and pearl earrings. Jewelry has been collected to be returned to the next of kin. Ben opened the photos of the scene, and immediately caught the incongruities. The filthy apartment covered with discarded papers, clothing and food. The victim sat neatly on the couch, wearing an outfit more suited to a backyard barbecue than a drug den. Neatly brushed red hair framed her face. Her makeup had been done in an attractive and sophisticated manner.
“There’s an arrest record.” Lucy sent the file. It listed numerous arrests for prostitution, drug use, and petty theft. Her mug shot displayed a woman with greasy, lank hair and blotchy skin. The two photos seemed like entirely different people. Add in the jewelry that any drug addict would have long since pawned, and the whole thing should have raised suspicions.
“Did they do an autopsy?” Ben asked.
More files appeared on the tablet. The post-mortem confirmed Vivian Moreno had died of a self-inflicted drug overdose. She’d had several close calls before the fatal injection, and the narcotics came from her usual dealer. There had been a man in the apartment, but given Moreno’s work as a prostitute, the officers assumed the signs were from a customer.
Despite his rising excitement, Ben didn’t rush his approach. The easiest way to miss details was to assume the answers were already in hand. Moreno had been nineteen when she died. Her school records revealed a model student until being lured to Los Angeles by a pimp. She’d only been seventeen, and had believed his promises to make her a movie star.
A movie star. A young woman with ambitions in the entertainment industry. She’d been discovered dead wearing atypical clothing and jewelry. It certainly sounded like the Director, except for the overdose instead of murder.
“He didn’t kill her. But he dressed her up, and posed the body. It gave him a thrill, one he’s tried to recreate with each successive victim.” The theory felt right.
“And that’s my official cue to sign out.” But there was no click to announce Lucy’s departure. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.” Ben opened up the other victims’ files, searching for similarities. “Thank you. You’re the best.”
“Right.” She didn’t sound happy with his compliment before she hung up.
I’ll make it up to her later. He opened the file on Rhonda Carson, the Director’s first acknowledged victim.
She’d wanted to be a model. Her records indicated two arrests for public intoxication, and she’d lost her job after a failed drug test. The Director had staged her on a park bench near her agency.
Tina McNally, aspiring actress with minor roles in indie movies. Two stints in rehab for alcohol abuse. Staged in her home as if reading a book.
Juanita Baez, who sent audition tapes to the major news networks. She’d lost her children when an investigation revealed she routinely left them home alone while she ran out to buy drugs. Staged in a model house as a fifties housewife.
Seraphique Dion, a dancer and actress. Member of several AA groups with an apartment full of hidden liquor bottles. She was left in a public park in a leotard and tutu.
Catherine Fucile, fired from a kids’ show after showing up drunk. Dressed as a clown, and posed in the network’s lobby. Ashley Gilpin, the aspiring model with prison rehab under her belt. Propped up in a department store’s window among the mannequins. Sonja Freeman, who failed every audition, and was arrested for dealing prescription pills, propped on the stage clutching a human skull, and wearing a costume from Hamlet. Aisha Jackson, aspiring actress, whose family had been trying to convince her to go to rehab for alcohol abuse. She had been staged at a movie theatre, wearing red-carpet attire.
He created the illusion of success. As if they achieved their dreams instead of getting trapped in addictions. He checked the five victims who had been killed but not staged. All of them had records for substance abuse.
“Katie still doesn’t fit the profile. She barely even drinks coffee.” He’d been surprised by how strict both she and Aggi were. The Director would have seen it when he stalked her. So why is he targeting her?
“What if it’s not about drugs or alcohol?” He frowned at the tablet. “What else could it be? They got addic
ted, and it blocked them from achieving their dreams . . .”
Insight hit hard. “They blocked themselves. And he thinks Katie’s loyalty to her sister has blocked her from her own career.” That’s the connection. That’s the common factor.
“You okay in there, partner?” Ray opened the door.
“I figured it out.” Ben peered around his partner to check out the other room. “Orlund’s gone?”
“Yeah. Still threatening legal action. He might get our library cards revoked if nothing else pans out.” Ray pinched his nose tiredly.
“He tried to convince me you were biased because of our relationship,” Katie added, arms folded defensively across her chest. “He implied he would be more objective, and you would be too obsessed to protect me.”
Ben’s white-knuckled fists longed for another opportunity to pound the FBI agent for his slimy accusations.
“And your hands illustrate why we kept you in the other room.” Ray sighed. “I’ll never know how I resisted descending to his immature level. It’s so tiring being a paragon of exemplary virtue.”
Katie laughed, and some of the hurt defensiveness faded from her posture. “You said you figured something out?”
“Orlund was right about one thing, you didn’t fit the profile. You’re not an aspiring artist or an addict.” Ben explained his theory. “We’ve been looking at it backward.”
“So he thinks I’m not fulfilling my potential.” Katie rubbed at her arms, pacing across the suite.
“He could see Aggi as equivalent to addiction. Her career is the focus of your life,” Ray added. “We know he believes you should be independently famous.”
“Then why freak out about karaoke? Shouldn’t he be happy I’m doing something on my own?” Katie paced faster. “Or is it useless to assume a psycho uses consistent logic?”
“His logic is consistent to him. He’s obsessed with memory, and leaving an impact.” Ben caught her as she stalked past him.
Holding her, even at arm’s length, relaxed him. And from how her posture softened, it grounded her as well.
“So what does he want from me?” she asked.
“You were singing other people’s songs,” Ray said quietly.
Ben nodded. It made sense. “He wants you performing your own material.”
“Not my own songs. His song.” Katie’s breath caught. “He wants me to write him a song, and perform it. One about him and what he’s suffered.”
“A legacy.” It all fell into place. Normally Ben lived for this point in an investigation, where the psychological strings controlling the unsub came into view. Even the most horrific actions followed a twisted logic, allowing Ben to anticipate the next moves, and stop further violence and trauma.
But now it was only a first step. His eyes met Katie’s. I have something else to live for.
Katie pulled out her phone. “It’s Aggi.”
As she disappeared into the bedroom to take the call, Ray asked, “You okay?”
“I’m not going to lose her.” Ben couldn’t take his eyes off the doorway separating the two of them. “I won’t let him take her.”
Ray stayed uncharacteristically silent.
“You should go back to Denver. Even if this goes well, my career is over. And if it doesn’t, I’ll be looking at prison.” Or the inside of a morgue drawer. “If you walk away now, you’ll be okay.”
“I wanted to help people. I took this job because no one else was lining up to do it, even though they could help lots of people who needed it. I’m not walking away from a woman in danger, even if my partner called dibs.” Ray finished his quiet declaration with a sly smile.
Katie reappeared, her face ashen. “We have to go to the hospital. There’s been an accident.”
Chapter 34
Katie held on to Aggi’s ice cold hands as they sat in the hospital, waiting for news on Bernice’s condition. Someone in the waiting room had recognized her sister and insisted on taking a picture. Aggi’s usual patience with her fans snapped, and she’d shouted at the woman.
People had recorded the incident on their phones, all of their eyes locked on their screens. It’s probably already online.
No one bothered to actually look at Aggi. Black lines streaked her pale face from smudged tears. Her nails were chewed nearly to the quick, her pink nail polish chipped and cracked. The tabloid media would gleefully use the harsh ugliness to sell clicks and advertising space. Katie wondered if they or their viewers ever remembered the real person behind the unflattering photos and video, someone undergoing real pain.
Hospital security broke up the argument, and the administration allowed them to wait in one of the doctor’s offices. The low slung couch looked long enough to sleep on, and if surgery went on much longer, they’d be finding out.
“It’s taking too long.” Aggi bounced up, pacing the six steps between the walls of the office.
“It means they’re still operating. It means there’s hope.” The last word rested bitterly on her tongue. Hope seemed like the most inappropriate word to apply to their current situation.
Bernice lay in an operating room two floors away with doctors struggling to reconstruct her shattered body. Her car had jumped a concrete barrier, and plummeted onto the highway below.
A light knock on the door made Aggi and Katie jump. Ben stepped inside, and Katie felt the knots in her neck and shoulders ease themselves.
“There’s no word. She’s still in surgery,” Ben said quietly.
Aggi’s face crumpled, and her hands shook. “If she dies, the last thing I did was cut her off.”
Katie pulled her sister into a hug. “You did what you had to. This isn’t your fault.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ben flinch. There’s something he’s not telling me.
“I have to tell her I still care about her. That I want her to get better.” Aggi sagged onto the couch, covering her face with her hands.
“I’ll get you coffee and something to eat.” And find out what he knows. “Will you be okay for a few minutes on your own?”
Aggi nodded numbly. Katie took Ben’s arm, and led him out of the office.
Once the door closed, he cupped her face in his hands, stroking his thumbs along her cheek. “How are you holding up?”
“I don’t know what to think yet.” She pressed a kiss onto the meat of his palm.
Her relationship with Bernice had been combative, a battle waged despite Katie’s age or experience. But she hated seeing her sister so devastated. Pain threatened to overwhelm her, and Katie did what she’d always done. She took refuge in practical matters.
I need facts. “Have you heard any news from Ray? Does he know what caused the accident?”
“It’s not important.” Ben paused at the threshold of the automatic doors to let her precede him. “You should concentrate on your sister.”
“I want to know what’s happened. There’s too much crazy shit going on. I won’t cope well with a surprise, bad or good.” Katie stayed out of his arms’ reach. If he held her, she’d be too tempted by the prospect of sheltering comfort to push for what she needed.
Ben faced her, his face impassive. “Ray found two sets of skid marks.”
He hadn’t lied, or tried to evade her question. His answer still sent a slap of cold across her flesh.
Katie took a deep breath to steady herself for the next question. “Could the Director have set up an accident? It seems impossible but—”
“It’s not.” His eyes pleaded with her to not ask any more questions.
The reply slammed into her efforts at denial, punching through to lodge deep in Katie’s awareness. Her hand curled around her stomach. “It’s not impossible?”
“He sabotaged the safety barrier to flip a car over the edge,”
he said. “I’m sorry.”
I will free you from those who have held you back. He’d written those words in the latest letter.
“Oh my God. He tried to kill her.” She twisted to look back at the office door. “He could go after Aggi next!”
“Hold on.” Ben gripped her arms. “He went after Bernice because of the interview. She called you a fraud, and his worldview couldn’t tolerate that. He’s never killed aside from his target—”
“This is my fault. I wanted him off balance. I provoked him, and he lashed out”
She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud until Ben replied.
“This is not your fault. Only one person is responsible, the man who targeted you. There is nothing you did, or failed to do. This is all on him.” His hands stroked along her arms, the warmth counteracting the sterile chill of the hospital halls.
His words made sense, but the tears forced their way to the surface. Normally, she would want to hide and be alone, but her instincts were pushing her in another direction. She buried her hands in the soft, cool fabric of Ben’s button down shirt. Pulling him closer, she tucked her head into the nook of his shoulder, closing her eyes, and surrendering control. His arms crept around her, making himself into a barrier to keep away the perils of the world.
It seemed dishonest to cry about Bernice. Katie despised her stepmother, and had worked hard to protect her sister from the woman’s manipulations. If she could have removed Bernice from their lives without hurting Aggi, she would have. But not like this. Never like this. She still found herself drowning in a sea of hurt, fear, and uncertainty, clinging to Ben as her only anchor.
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