by Jen Talty
Callie turned, pulling out the chair. She pushed through a bunch of the papers and files. She wasn’t quite sure what she was looking for, but her brain told her she needed to find what pulled them all together, and she knew the connection was in this stack somewhere.
It had to be.
“Who found Patterson’s body?” Callie asked.
“I didn’t get that far. I think I might have been ten years old when those murders happened. I don’t remember them at all.”
“Why would you at that age?” Callie said. She found the file and scanned it.
“It says her roommate found the body. The officer first on the scene reported that she entered the room, saw the body and freaked out, running down the hall screaming for someone to call 9-1-1.”
“She didn’t stay to see if her roommate was alive or to perform CPR?”
“Not according to the report,” Callie said, holding up the case file she remembered reading, and a few things jumped out at her. “Another interesting thing is the victim didn’t die until about an hour after she got to the hospital.”
“So, it’s possible that either the roommate did it, or the roommate walked in and saw something.”
“That’s what I thought,” Callie said. “The roommate said she didn’t see anything but the body on the floor. She did say the door was locked and that was rare when they were in the room on a Wednesday afternoon. Also, the dorm room was on the first floor, and the window was open, so the killer could have escaped that way when the roommate was trying to get in.”
“Who was the roommate?” Jag asked.
“I hadn’t looked that up yet.” Callie flipped to the front of the report. “The police cleared her pretty quickly. She was barely a person of interest.”
“That doesn’t sit right with my stomach,” Jag said. “Most people find their friend like that, they’re not going to run away.”
“Not everyone is cool under pressure.”
“That’s not being cool. That’s being human,” Jag said.
“Holy shit.” Callie tapped her finger on the piece of paper. “Read that name out loud, because I think I’m seeing things.”
“Carol Armstrong,” Jag said. “Any relation to Leslie Armstrong?”
“I don’t know. But you have quicker access to birth records and whatnot than I do,” she said, twisting her body and handing him the laptop. She batted her eyelashes and tilted her head. “And while you’re at it, find out where she might be now.”
“As if you had to use that ploy to get me to find out that answer.” He leaned over and smacked her lips with a wet kiss. “Give me a few minutes.”
While he went about finding out about Carol Armstrong, she started making copies of important parts of different files. With different colored pencils, she made notes on each one, tacking them up on the board and drawing arrows to any potential connections they’d made between the victims.
Which were nearly none.
Only the Mood Ring Killer victims knew each other.
And two random victims of the Trinket Killers had a connection because they crossed paths working out at the same gym.
But one was killed holding a gold dolphin.
The other a silver one.
And they barely knew each other, just took the same spinning class on occasion.
But that meant the killer might have done the same.
“Motherfucker,” Jag said. “Carol Armstrong is indeed the daughter of Leslie and John Armstrong. I’m shocked this didn’t get red-flagged or that Matt or especially Levi didn’t know about it.”
“Well, they might have a few years on you, but I’m not sure either of them were on the force that year. Matt might have been a senior in high school.”
“True,” Jag said. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re always the smartest person in the room?”
She laughed. “You used to tell me the complete opposite.”
“I was jealous.”
“Of course. I’m awesome,” she said. Her skin heated, and her heart swelled. It had been a long time since she felt this at ease with Jag. Actually, she wasn’t sure discussing an investigation had ever been quite like this. “But that’s because right now I’m working with the best.”
“Oh, babe, flattery will so get you whatever you want tonight,” he said with a wicked grin. “So, it looks like Leslie and John got a divorce when Carol was in grade school. The last known address for Carol Armstrong is college. She seems to disappear after that, and I can’t find a marriage license. I do have a current address for her father, so let’s pay him a visit tomorrow.”
“As in us?”
“Absolutely. We’ll do it right after I’m officially off duty.”
“What if I do it while you’re working?”
He stood, heaving her to his chest. He wrapped his arms around her waist, splaying his hands over the small of her back. “I don’t want you going anywhere alone. I don’t trust that this killer doesn’t have a thing for you.”
“You keep saying that, but other than my body type, which there are lots of women who—”
He hushed her with his mouth. “Last year, I tried to show you I loved you by being a Neanderthal and telling you what you can or can’t do. I won’t do that now, though I’m not going to give you his address.”
She cocked her head. “That’s pretty much telling me what to do.”
“We both have learned to trust our gut instincts over the years. This killer has been waiting for something to happen to start killing again. Now, you had nothing to do with the start of the last cycle, but your sister finished it, and you showed up in Seattle, and we have a dead body. And not on the mainland. On my island.”
“You can stop now. I get it,” she said as a chill climbed up her body. No matter how much she wanted to deny she couldn’t have anything to do with what was happening, her conscious wouldn’t allow it. Everything he said was spot on. “I’ll wait until you get off work.”
“Thank you.” He leaned in to kiss her, but she pulled back.
“Why are you doing all this? Sharing all this with me when we both know damn well you shouldn’t be.”
“If I tell you the truth, you have to promise you won’t toss anything at me.”
“I promise,” she said with narrowed eyes. She couldn’t imagine what he might say that would piss her off so much she’d want to cause him bodily harm.
Then again, he did have a way of finding her Achilles’ heel and slicing through it with a razor-sharp knife.
“Because you’re not going to report on it. You’re not going to use it to get ratings. You’re not going to go behind my back and use police information that we’re keeping from the public to better your career.”
For about five seconds, rage seared her heart. It burned through her bloodstream, reaching every part of her body, but it was quickly doused with a cold dose of reality.
Because he was right.
She’d been a ruthless reporter, willing to toss her own boyfriend under the bus if that meant getting the story first. She’d used him and the information he’d been kind enough to feed her during any investigation.
And all she’d done was shit on him.
“Oh, Jag, I’m so sorry.”
He jerked his head back. “For what?”
“For being such a fucking bitch. You did so much for me, and I treated you like shit.”
“Babe, we both made mistakes. But that was then, and this is now.”
“You know, when you catch this bastard, I’m going to have to ask the publisher for an extension to rewrite the damn book.”
“We could write it together,” he whispered.
She swallowed, trying desperately to digest his response, but his lips came crashing down on hers. His tongue probed, finding every crevice inside her mouth, making it impossible for her to process the ramification of his words.
His hands found the back of her thighs, and he lifted her effortlessly off the floor, resting her ass on the desk.<
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All of a sudden she was painfully aware of her surroundings. She froze.
“What’s wrong?”
“Not here.”
He lifted her into his arms and pulled open the door. “Good call,” he murmured against her ear. He dabbled her neck with kisses as he made his way up the stairs.
Once in his bedroom, it was a frenzy to remove their clothing. She couldn’t get hers off fast enough. Her desire for him raced through her bloodstream like a freight train out of control. It was as if she were afraid she might not ever have him again, so she needed to make sure this time his passion would be burned inside her forever.
So she’d never forget him.
Ever.
Oh, God. She loved him so much that letting him go again would be damn near impossible.
They tumbled to the bed. His hands cupped her breasts, pinching and twisting her nipples while he kissed her with intense greed.
She reached for him, but he kept batting her hand away, so she gave up and sank into the mattress, letting him have his way with her.
He knew her body better than she did. He teased her with his fingers and tongue, bringing her to the edge, letting her hang there for seconds before pulling back, only to start again. Only this time, he thrust into her hard and deep.
Digging her fingers into his back, she gasped. Her body jerked and shuddered. She couldn’t catch her breath. She tried to fill her lungs, but all she managed to do was make herself dizzy.
She wrapped her arms and legs around him as tight as she could while he buried his face in her neck. Their bodies moved as one while their orgasms collided in a fiery ball and exploded between them, connecting them as one soul.
“I love you,” he whispered.
A single tear rolled down her cheek. “I love you too,” she said. “But it doesn’t change anything.”
Chapter 14
Jag stared out at the water as the ferry made its way across Puget Sound from Whidbey Island to the mainland. He had spent most of the morning grappling with his feelings for Callie. She said the words. She might have tried to discount them, but she still let them come out of her mouth.
That was a start.
Of course, she’d said nothing about his thought on them co-writing the book, which had honestly come out of nowhere, but it made sense in a weird way. Hell, he’d already helped her rewrite a few chapters, and he’d worked a little bit on his chapter this morning before leaving for work. She seemed to like his suggestions. Well, most of them.
And she didn’t argue with him on the few things that he asked she remove, though she did ask for clarification.
While he hated dealing with the Trinket Killer again, he loved working with Callie.
Now he was going to spend the afternoon dealing with three dead bodies, bringing the count to five.
He pulled off the ferry and headed toward Carkeek Park where all three women had been found. The Trinket Killer had never gone on a mass killing before. Nor had she accelerated her murders like this. It had taken her six years to kill twelve people. And if she was responsible for the Mood Ring victims, six in a twelve-month period.
Those numbers churned up his heartburn. They could mean something. Then again, the Trinket Killer seemed to be acting erratically lately by not following her usual MO. There had to be a reason.
There was always a reason.
He pulled into the parking lot of the park where it was already a bustle of activity. His heartburn kicked up as he rolled past the Channel 5 news van and Bailey and her crew. He parked his vehicle near all the other police cars and made his way to the crime scene tape. He flashed his badge and signed the log before ducking under the tape and finding Matt.
“Hey, thanks for coming out,” Matt said.
“Can’t say I’m thrilled to have an invite to this party.” Jag swallowed the bile bubbling up his esophagus. He took a deep cleansing breath, mentally prepping his mind for what he was about to see. For the last year, he’d lived a quiet life. No murders. No deadly crime that required him to harden his soul. Sure, there had been a deadly car crash on the island, which affected him just as deeply, but the emotions were different. “So, tell me why I’m here.” Jag already knew the answer, but he wanted Matt to give him the rundown.
“We’ve got two prostitutes.”
“The Trinket Killer never murdered a prostitute before,” Jag said.
“Maybe not and as we’ve both said, this could be a copycat who doesn’t know that or doesn’t care, but we’ve got rose gold trinkets in their left hands. However, a big difference is the bodies were just dumped. Tossed into a shallow grave together. And they’d started to decompose, so they’ve most likely been here a few days.”
“We still don’t have an ID on the girl from the island,” Jag said, rubbing his temples. The killer had burned off the victim’s fingerprints, and so far, they couldn’t match the victim to any missing persons. “Any idea who these girls are?”
“Yeah.” Matt led Jag toward the shallow grave where the medical examiner was still working on the bodies while the CSI team set down numbers and took pictures of evidence. “Both had licenses on their persons. They were reported missing by a friend last week.”
“Another sex worker?”
Matt nodded. “They use an adult chat room sometimes to meet clients. According to their friend, they were both to meet someone on that app the night they went missing.”
“That’s a bit of a coincidence.” Jag eased down a slight incline, careful not to slip on the muddy hillside. The sound of a camera shutter echoed in his ears. The CSI team milled about, logging in evidence. The medical examiner knelt over the bodies.
“Hey, is that a wig?” Jag made his way to the head of one of the victims. A blond wig had been tossed to the side, exposing short red hair.
“I wonder if our killer knew or even cared.”
“This doesn’t feel right,” Jag said with his hands on his hips. He glanced around the wooded area. “The bodies aren’t presented in the same way the others were.”
“But we have rose gold raven trinkets in their hands, and we have this.” Matt waved to one of the other detectives who strolled over and handed Matt a plastic bag with a note inside. “This is really why I wanted you out here now.”
Jag took the bag into his hands and held it up high. It was a white piece of computer paper with bold words written in dark ink matching the last note that Callie had gotten. He drew it a little closer to his face and squinted.
Bringing me back has forced my hand. It’s all your fault. Had you just let it go and let me stay away from Seattle, this would have never happened.
“What do you make of it?”
“I don’t know,” Jag said, scratching his head. “Mind if I take a picture of this?”
“I’m not showing this to the press, so I don’t want it getting out.”
“I’ll just write the message versus the image,” Jag said. “I have a feeling this is meant either for me or Callie, but I’m not understanding the concept of bringing me back. It makes it sound like the Trinket Killer left the area and came back. Which makes sense in a weird way since we had that fourteen-year gap between the mood rings and the dolphins. But other than Stephanie and Callie’s ruthless coverage of the killer, I don’t get the connection.”
“I’m glad you said ruthless, because that’s exactly what she was doing back then,” Matt said. “She played a fine line between sensationalizing the killer and being a bitch to the cops all in the name of telling the public the truth, but she wasn’t half as bad as Bailey. She’s already going down the Trinket Killer road.”
“With me here, she’ll take that angle, I’m sure. I mean, why bring the Langley chief of police into the city of Seattle, unless it had to do with his one unsolved case.”
Matt took the note and handed it back to his detective. “We can certainly connect the two bodies on Whidbey with these two, which officially gives us a serial killer. What I can’t decide is if I want to
acknowledge we believe the Trinket Killer is back or not.”
“What happened with your other case?”
“Oh, we caught the guy, so that’s closed,” Matt said.
“All right. Do you want my opinion?”
“I do,” Matt said. “Because if we announce the Trinket Killer is back, that’s going to create a shitstorm for both of us.”
“Bring on the shitstorm,” Jag said. “But I’ve got one more suggestion for you.”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
Jag glanced over his shoulder and stared at all the news crews setting up for a live feed for the evening news.
“Let me do it.”
“Excuse me?”
“Let me make the announcement, and let me talk directly to the killer, calling her a she, and let’s see what happens.”
Matt pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long breath. “Calling the killer a she is a big deal. The public will react to that, and so will the killer.”
“I’m banking on that,” Jag said. “I want the Trinket Killer to talk back to me, though it will probably be to Callie, so I was hoping she could at least be in the picture frame.”
“That’s dangerous,” Matt said. “I doubt the commissioner will go for that.”
“Ask him and then set up a press conference. I don’t want her to say anything. I don’t even want her front and center. I just want her present and visible.”
“Why is this so important to you?” Matt asked.
“I don’t think the killer has any faith in me to solve the case, but I think she believes Callie can. And I think the escalation in murders and that note are ways to scare Callie into leaving again.”
Matt’s eyebrows curved. “That’s a bold theory.”
“You don’t buy it?”
“Actually, it sounds spot on,” Matt said. “I’ll set it up.”
“Let me know. I’ve got an errand to run, and I’ll make sure Callie is on the next ferry to the mainland.”
“Don’t talk to the reporters on your way out.”