I ran my fingers through my still wet hair, coming to an abrupt stop at its now shoulder length end. I was used to it being longer, at least to mid-back, but after the attack I’d gotten it hacked off and layered. The stylist said it suited me. I didn’t argue—it was less for someone to grab onto too.
“Thanks. I like it.”
We reached the shop with little more awkwardness and ordered our vastly different caffeine concoctions, his whipped, frothed, sprinkled, flavoured something or other to my black. I’d always liked that he was confident enough to embrace his girlie drink habit. Whipped cream on his upper lip never diminished his masculinity.
We seated ourselves outside, decently removed from the rest of the patrons so our conversation wouldn’t carry.
Eddie pushed the file folder toward me. “I’d like to know your thoughts.”
“What does this have to do with Arthur?” I fingered the file, sorely tempted to open it like some voyeur out for a thrill. I knew what was inside would be horrifying in some way.
“We’ll get to that.” Eddie waved his hand as he took a sip of his coffee. “Go ahead. I know you want to.”
Fine. I huffed a bit, then decided to play his game.
The pictures were on top. Crime scene photos. A girl, young, maybe early twenties was seated at a table, elbows positioned in a triangle so they braced her body. She was blonde, her hair long, to her ass at least, covering her nudity. Her eyes were open, cloudy, appearing to be reading the paper in her hand.
“How is she sitting like that? I mean, her head is upright.”
“Yeah, her hair is secured to the chair.” Eddie tapped a few pictures to the side and revealed one that showed what he was talking about. “It took some time to get her just right for sure.”
I squinted at the photo in my hand, scanning it in its entirety. “Hey, that’s…”
“Yeah, Memorial Library on campus. Told ya it was at your old school.”
I snapped my eyes up. “Was she murdered there?”
I was shaking my head before he could answer, my gaze drifting back to the photo.
“No, it’s believed she was moved there. Positioned.” He took another sip of his coffee.
She was posed. Like some macabre kind of photo shoot. “The library is wired. What did the cameras pick up?”
“Nothing, actually. They were conveniently down for maintenance that night. The library was closed.”
I nodded. “So someone who had access brought her there.”
“Exactly.”
I shifted through the photos, coming into the autopsy ones fairly quickly. She had substantial bruising around her throat, deep, dark marks. “She was tortured?”
Eddie spun the photo around and leaned toward it. “She was raped repeatedly, anal, vaginal, her throat and mouth also had signs of trauma. It had to have gone on for hours. But she had no defensive wounds and no wounds on her wrists to suggest she was tied up. The coroner thinks that she may have been unconscious through it all because the rape didn’t happen post-mortem. Perhaps repeatedly strangled, there was internal bruising, deep tissue damage to her throat. Not drugged, her tox screen came back clean.”
“That would require a lot of stamina. Was there any semen?” I shook my head, puzzling through the information. “Not exactly a power struggle for the rapist. No resistance if your victim is unconscious, so where’s the power play here?”
“No semen. Spermicide though. No indication that any object other than a penis was used to penetrate, either, but we’re not ruling anything out. We don’t have a crime scene to process so there’s no way to know if any devices were used on her.”
“Well, the description of the vaginal, anal trauma suggests that this wasn’t consensual edge play.” I glanced at the report where a copy of her student ID stared back at me. Candace Bryne. Pretty in a wholesome, farm girl way. Not that you could really tell much from a photo, but this girl didn’t look like the type who would have been in for kink. I snorted to myself, realizing that I was the last person who should be profiling someone who looked innocent. Many men had made the same mistake about me. I shuffled the pictures again, coming to the one of her vagina. “Definitely not enjoyed. She’s totally torn up.”
Eddie nodded. “This wasn’t consensual and no lube was used, no traces found in any orifice.”
“Okay, so she didn’t struggle because she wasn’t conscious but it was violent. Typically rapists gets off on the power, the fear and control. That wouldn’t be happening here.” My mind flashed to Kassey. I shoved the memory back, taking a sip of my coffee to banish the flash of pain and guilt that I knew I couldn’t hide.
“Like I said, some kind of sexual deviant behaviour. We can’t get a good profile together on this guy because he’s not following the typical behaviour of a rapist.”
“No, not typical but perhaps some kind of dominance thing. We aren’t talking about a rapist here necessarily. We’re talking about a killer who rapes. I can see why you’re stuck on profiling. This does deviate from the normal patterns.” I was reading the autopsy report, scanning for anything I hadn’t already seen for myself. My eyes widened as I read over cause of death. “You think she was strangled with her own hair?”
“Yeah, there were a few strands still wrapped around her throat. And then there was this…” Eddie shifted through the papers and pulled out a photocopy then handed it to me. “It’s a poem by Robert Browning called Porphyria’s Lover. It’s about a guy who wants to capture a woman’s devotion by killing her in the very moment that she shows her love for him.”
I scanned the poem, letters written in delicate cursive, flowing beautiful…brownish-red. “Is that written in blood?”
“Yep, you’ve got a good eye.” He tapped the paper. “Blood from her vagina. There were vaginal cells embedded in the paper.”
“Poetic.” I grimaced. Something was definitely fucked up about this, other than the fact that a young girl had been killed. Mimicking a poem, writing it in the victim’s own blood, raping an unconscious woman… “I’d say there are control issues here but not in the usual way. Like an attempt to preserve innocence or minimize the conscious trauma. Maybe the killer did feel something for this girl. Couldn’t handle her looking at him while he raped and murdered her. Like an impulse that needed to be vented in some way.” My thoughts were rambling like my words. “Or maybe it’s all about the poem. Capturing a moment. There’s some kind of ego stroking here too, to position her, put her out for someone else to find. Like it’s art in some way. Arrogant as all hell.”
I hadn’t realized that Eddie was taking notes until I heard the scrape of pen on paper and glanced up. He motioned for me to keep going. “This is good stuff.”
I sighed, let the paper drop and took a gulp of my coffee. “You said there was a second girl?”
“Yeah, Alexis Chase, same MO pretty much. Except in this case the body wasn’t as sexually traumatized. It was as if something happened to stop things from progressing.” He pushed some of the file contents aside to reveal more photos.
I could tell right away what the difference was. “She didn’t die pretty, did she?”
The girl was young, blonde, beautiful but there were scratches on her neck, like she’d tried to rip away the source of strangulation. Her eyes bulged with deep red streaks of burst blood vessels. “This one fought,” I said.
Eddie nodded. “Yeah, her fingernails had been removed and the nail beds scraped down. The killer must have gotten scratched too. Got rid of all the damn evidence from one of the best sources.” Eddie tapped his pen on the notepad.
I flipped through the autopsy photos of the second girl, grimacing when I came to the one of her vagina. She’d been mutilated. “Sick.”
“Yeah, this guy isn’t the run of the mill in any way.” He motioned to the papers. “Both bodies were washed down with peroxide. Not a trace of foreign anything on either, except for what was in her, spermicide. That’s it. Whoever this guy is, he’s meticulous and clearl
y not worried about time. It would have taken hours to prep the body as he had.”
I leaned back with narrowed eyes. “And you think my old professor has something to do with this?”
There was no way Arthur was involved. The man was intelligent, witty, chaste. He’d lost his wife to suicide a few years ago, the love of his life, and had never fully recovered from it. He’d used it as a teaching source. Taking us through psychotherapy by sharing his own experiences of grief and depression. He’d been a powerful teacher. A great mentor to me. He’d given me the knowledge and resources to overcome my own battles with those dark demons. He’d saved my life in many ways, literally, figuratively. He’d supported and encouraged me as I’d worked through my Masters and PhD. He’d been there every step and had come to be like a father to me. There was no way I’d ever believe that a man like that would get himself caught up with impulses to rape and murder. It was absurd.
“We don’t think he had something to do with it necessarily. Both girls were students of his. Both had close ties with him as a mentor. Both were working with him on research. There were text conversations between him and both of the victims.”
“Nothing inappropriate, I’m sure.” I waved away Eddie’s shrug, anger bubbling at the implication that Arthur had done something wrong. He was the epitome of honour. A gentleman through and through. The idea of anyone thinking otherwise made me want to vomit. “He’s just like that. A strong cheerleader if you show the potential for greatness.”
“Like you?” Eddie cocked an eyebrow. “How much potential for greatness did he see in you?”
I frowned. “If you’re implying something sexual happened between Arthur and me then you’re wrong. He didn’t even look at me in a sexual way. When he develops a relationship with his students, it’s in a wholly fatherly way. Nothing more.” I clenched my fist in my lap, fighting the urge to leap across the table and punch Eddie in the face for the suggestion. As if I couldn’t achieve greatness on my own without having to fuck myself there.
“He likes to surround himself with young women.”
“He’s a fucking university professor. How is that unusual?” I snapped.
“He refuses to meet with me.”
“Maybe that’s because you’re an asshole,” I mumbled.
“Nice.” Eddie nailed me with a hard look. “If he’s innocent, why won’t he meet with me?”
“Is that really how you’re doing your detective work these days? Do you have any evidence linking him to the crime? I’m guessing that the text conversations didn’t yield anything or you wouldn’t be having trouble pulling him in for questioning. Are you placing charges?”
“No, but an innocent party wouldn’t decline an opportunity to say so.”
“Arthur isn’t a game player. If he doesn’t feel like your request has merit then he won’t go along with it. He’s not stupid.”
Eddie sighed. “He’s not helping himself.”
“So what? You want me to get you in to speak with him? Is that what this is all about?”
“I don’t want to pull the guy in for questioning again. We did that on the Alexis Chase case and it was a mistake. As I’m sure you remember, major media fiasco. The university has stressed the importance of discretion, my Sergeant is supporting it.” He curled his lips at that. “It’s making things difficult…and Arthur doesn’t like me after the last go round. Probably why he won’t speak to me this time.”
“Ya think?” I grumbled as I sipped my coffee then spat it back into the cup. I hated it when it got cold. Problem was, I didn’t remember. I didn’t have a clue that a girl named Alexis Chase had been murdered on campus or that Arthur had been involved. “When did this Chase girl get murdered?”
Eddie grimaced but covered it up quickly. “Just shy of six months ago.”
Ah, right. I nodded slowly. Right around the time when I wouldn’t have been invested in anyone but Kassey. That and totally mired in my own self-pity.
“We have no suspects, Jade. None. This is looking a lot like a serial. Two girls dead in less than six months on campus, similar MOs. We need to pursue any leads we have. Arthur is a person of interest. I’m trying to minimize the impact on his life by not dragging him to the station. Do I think he’s responsible? No, but I need to do due diligence and question everyone. He had a text conversation with Candace the night she was murdered. And you’re right, there was nothing untoward in that chat but I need to speak with him and if he won’t let me in to see him then I’m going to be forced to drag him out again.”
Despite the fact that he’d just admitted that he didn’t have his Sergeant’s support, I knew enough to read Eddie’s conviction. He’d overstep the wishes of the university and his commanding officer if it got him some answers. I needed to step in if only to spare Arthur the stress and embarrassment of being hauled into the precinct again.
While he was talking, I’d crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair, assessing his sincerity. “You just want to talk to him? No grilling, third degree bad cop shit, right?”
Eddie screwed up his face and snorted. “You’ve been watching way too much TV.”
“Fine, I’ll go talk to him.” I raised my hand. “Alone.”
Eddie started to argue and I slammed my hand down on the table with enough force to make my coffee spill a little.
“No, that’s not up for negotiation. I’ll go and speak with Arthur first. Warm him up to the idea of talking to you.”
Now it was Eddie’s turn to lean back in his chair with folded arms. “I don’t have time to sit on this, Jade.”
“Give me twenty-four hours. Let me talk to him.” I was pretty good at persuasion when I needed to be. Arthur would understand an appeal to clear his name if it came from me.
“Twenty-four hours or I go in with a warrant.”
“A warrant? Ha!” I smirked. “You’ve already shown your hand, Eddie. You can’t get a warrant. You need me to help you.”
He gave me one of his cute boy smiles, the kind that made his dimples wink. “You got me, Jade.” He ducked his head, his smile growing. “So you gonna help an old friend out? I’ll make it worth your while.”
The suggestion was there and it wasn’t repulsive. Gut check, the man was hot as fuck and I’d always have a weakness for that.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
His smiled dropped, eyes shining with heat, determination. “I’m not above breaking the rules to get what I want. You know that.”
Tough talk from the naughty cop.
It kinda turned me on.
5
Eight months ago I had been a different person. Okay, maybe not totally different. Maybe I’d always had a darker side. Maybe I had always been just a bit of a bitch. Maybe there had always been that edge to me. Not like now. Not like the razor sharp one I carried as my shield. I’d developed into a different person. I’d let the dark demons out.
Eight months ago I’d been happy. Kassey was my bright light, always there to keep me from the darkness, to show me what was wondrous about life.
I stood outside her room; the rehab centre always smelled like hotdogs for some reason. And there were constantly people milling about in the halls. Fucked up people. Ones who were never going to leave the place. Damaged beyond repair. Like Kassey but not like her. One day she’d get out.
“Haven’t seen you around for a while.” A nurse whose name I could never remember moved past me with her arms full of towels. “You here to visit someone?”
I pointed to Kassey’s door. “Same as usual. She resting?”
The nurse frowned, slowing her pace a little. “Ah, well, I don’t know.” Her frown deepened as she glanced from the door to me. “She might be. Everyone just got their meds.” She gave me one of her soft smiles. “The garden is free if you want to go out there. Would give you some privacy.”
I nodded. “Thanks.”
She waved a hand, somehow without dropping her load, then quickly turned down another hall.
; I twisted the knob and creaked the door open. “Kassey?”
She was lying down, her eyes closed, head back. Her bed was inclined so she was upright and she was fully clothed, probably because she knew I was coming. The blinds had been pulled back so the sun was shining full on her face. Her lips curled into a smile but she didn’t open her eyes.
“You’re going to get a sunburn like that.” I moved into her room, noting that the bed next to her was unoccupied. Another one bites the dust. “What happened to what’s-her-name?”
Kassey opened her eyes as she turned her head to glance at the bed. “Who? Silvia? She swallowed a row of staples and had to go to emerg.”
“How the fuck did she get staples?” I perched on the edge of her bed and patted Kassey’s foot.
Kassey shrugged. “Where there’s a will…” She frowned.
“There’s a way. Got it.” Sometimes Kassey forgot things. Sometimes her thoughts trailed off. “How are you feeling?”
“Bored.” Her eyes flashed with mischief. “Ready for trouble.”
I laughed, had to look away for a second because tears welled. I wiped them away hastily. “Well, you’re in luck. My middle name is trouble.”
Kassey rolled her eyes. “Help me up.”
I bounced from my seat and grasped her outstretched hand, snagging her cane with the other. She’d progressed well in the past six months, after she’d woken from the coma. If I believed in such things, I’d say it was a miracle. She’d been immobile at first, her legs just not working the way they were supposed to. Her speech fucked up. Words coming slow, if at all. But she’d done well with rehab. She moved from a walker to a cane. She only had a slight stutter every once in a while. She’d worked hard to get to this place. Her tenacity was something that I’d always admired. No matter what had happened, she hadn’t lost that.
She groaned a bit and I helped her steady herself, getting close enough that I could smell her hair, her skin. She didn’t smell the same. Before she’d had this scent, the most delicious smell you could ever encounter. Like cherry cheesecake, or something equally as sweet. Just like her. Now she smelled like hospital soap with a hint of hotdogs.
Burning Kiss Page 3