A Killer's Watch (3 page)

Removing the hooded mask was a relief, so much so that he
took a moment to breathe deeply, before attending to his least favorite task.

Cleaning up the blood, washing down the body, making sure to
remove any trace of his skin from hers was both tedious and boring. He so
wished he could delegate this aspect of his new hobby to an associate, but he’d
yet to find someone he felt was trustworthy.

Someone he could control, completely.

Anson’s teachings had been crystal clear on this point.
Never entrust your secrets to an unworthy partner.

As he sprinkled bleach over Shelby’s body, he let his mind
drift to the beauty awaiting him in the next chamber. He hadn’t planned to take
Allison so soon, but her decision to sneak out to the club alone was an
opportunity too good to miss. Given the fact his time with Shelby was cut
short, taking Allison had been a fortunate turn of events.

Whistling softly, he pulled down the overhead nozzle, turned
on the water, and squirted evidence of Shelby’s last moments into the drain in
the floor. Blood and bits of bone slid off the stainless steel table,
disappearing into the cavern beneath the tile floor. From there, the water took
the debris through a series of underground pipes, eventually flowing into the
river behind his estate.

When the room was saturated clean, Graham left the body on
the table, allowing it time to dry before he rolled it in plastic. It was much
easier to handle, if it wasn’t bogged down with water.

Slipping off thick, rubber gloves, and the apron that kept
his clothes pristine, he flipped off the lights and closed the door, locking it
behind him. None of the servants were allowed in the cellar, but he took
precautions, just in case.

Deciding to peek in on Allison, before joining his mother
for lunch, he opened the next door in the old hallway just a crack, enough so
he could look inside.

Silent hinges made it possible for him to watch her,
unobserved. That, and the fact that the bed faced away from the door. Still, he
had a good view of her terror, saw that she still struggled against the tape.

That will stop soon enough
,
he thought, pulling the door shut. In his experience, they all gave up trying
to get loose within the first few hours. The screaming stopped, too, but only
until he moved them into the event room. Once there, they all took up screaming
again. It was pitiful, really, that they thought it would do them any good.

Shaking his head, Graham picked up the pace as he moved
toward his other life. Born into wealth and privilege, Graham Grant had never
truly worked a day in his life. It was one of the reasons that the job of
clean-up was such an abhorrent waste of his time.

“Perhaps one day I can divest myself of such menial duties,”
he said aloud as he opened the thick, cellar door, made from trees mined from
the estate.

Past owners had used the cellar to house summer vegetables,
canned by slaves and housekeepers for centuries. The underground space had also
been used to store liquor, during prohibition, and weapons during the civil
war. For the past fifty years, during the time his father ran the estate, the
cellar had remained empty. There was no longer a reason to hide things away, or
to store foodstuffs for the coming winter. The Grants had no need for such
banal oddities as canned food, or homemade alcohol.

Among other things, Graham inherited a wine cellar, when his
father passed away last spring, filled with an exceptional selection from the
world’s best vineyards. Their cook, Marie, was always willing to prepare
whatever dish Graham, or his mother, desired.

Closing the cellar door firmly, Graham replaced the lock,
supposedly to keep anyone from wandering down inside the tomb and getting hurt.
Rusty and old, with a skeleton key that outdated any other on the estate, the
lock spoke of abandonment, of a structure that long outlived its purpose.

Pocketing the key, Graham emerged from behind the hill,
obstructing the cellar door from view of the house.

It was a lovely day, really, he thought, strolling casually
along the grounds to the terrace. Anyone peering through the windows of the
vast mansion would think him out for a breath of air. Nothing sinister, or out
of the ordinary, just a walk along the river, killing time as he appreciated
the beauty of his birthright.

“I’m assuming that Dylan thinks this is more than just a
runaway, or a teen hiding from her parents for a night,” Jeri questioned Ethan
in depth as they drove to Iowa.

“Of course. Apparently, the girl, Shelby Torrent, fifteen,
has the acting bug in a big way. She has an audition today, for some big role
in a local playhouse, one her mother said she would never miss.”

“The report says that she disappeared, walking from the bus
stop to her house, yesterday,” Jeri read, scanning the notes Dylan sent over.
“And no one saw anything.”

“That’s it. They’ve issued an Amber Alert, but so far there
are no clues to go on,” Ethan told her as he entered the highway.

“Fifteen, jeez. I really hope that this isn’t our guy. I
hate it when they target kids.” Disgust rang clear in Jeri’s voice.

“It may not be our guy, but someone took that girl, if you
believe her mother’s story.”

“Dylan spoke with the mother?”

“Yes, but she was a mess, understandably so. At least she
agreed to meet with us.”

“What happens if we find out that this isn’t our killer? I
still think we should help find Shelby, if we can.” Jeri turned to look at
Ethan, knowing that he would agree.

“Of course,” his sideways glance held a grin. “I’ve already
got Anna compiling a list of pedophiles in the area, those who prefer teenage
girls. If this becomes a second investigation, we can use Chloe and Monique,
even Jackson, if he shows up. We’ve enough manpower in the area to work both
cases, I think.”

“Good, I think so, too. But don’t count on Jackson. I doubt
they’ll even let Jen out of the hospital for a week. Then he’ll want to stay
and help her recuperate. I know we need him, but I don’t want to push.”

“Nor do I,” Ethan agreed. “We can always ask Anthony to
leave Europe early, join us sooner than planned.”

“Did you ever speak to Monique about hiring him?”

“Not yet, it hasn’t come up. She’ll be fine with it, they
worked together years ago, so at least they have a history.”

“That can be good, or bad,” Jeri grinned. “Monique doesn’t
strike me as a woman to mince words. If she has something to say about Anthony,
I’m sure we’ll hear about it.”

“No doubt. But seriously, I don’t expect there to be a
problem. Everyone seemed amiable enough five years ago.” Ethan reached over and
patted Jeri’s leg. “Besides, she and Jackson got along okay, we can always
partner Chloe with Anthony, if needed. Or we can leave Monique and Chloe paired
up. Whatever works best for the team.”

“Agreed, but I’ve found that male-female teams work best, in
the field. Typically, one’s strengths complement the other’s weaknesses, and
vice versa.”

“I bow to your lead, as far as that goes. You’ve had more
experience managing teams than I have.”

“True, you are a bit of a lone wolf,” Jeri squeezed his
hand. “But I have to say, you do play very well with others.”

“Thanks,” Ethan laughed, catching the note of seduction in
her voice. “I aim to please.”

“There’s no question about that, Mr. Barnes.” Jeri glanced
down as the sun sparkled off of the canary diamond, hugging the ring finger of
her left hand.

Ethan saw the direction of her gaze.

“When are you going to let me add a band to that beauty?”

“I don’t know, I really haven’t thought about it,” Jeri
lied. She’d thought of little else, since he proposed. Part of her wanted to go
ahead and just do it, and another part of her wanted to wait. Only she didn’t
have a clue what she was waiting for.

“It’s okay, Love. I’m a patient man. As long as I know
you’re mine, I can wait on a wedding.”

“Do you really want a wedding, I mean the whole hoopla? I
was thinking of something quiet, private, just us and maybe your parents, a few
friends.”

“I don’t care if we get married on the side of the road, by
someone ordained on the internet. Whatever makes you happy, hoopla or none.”

“Really? I don’t think your mother will agree. She’s hoping
that we’ll do it in Australia.”

“My mother will be happy, wherever we do it. She only wants
what we want. I know so,” Ethan nodded, forestalling Jeri’s objections.
“Seriously, Love, we’ll do it however you like, whenever you like. No
pressure.”

He always knew the right thing to say. Jeri smiled, grateful
for the sincerity she heard in his voice. Her phone rang, before she could
respond.

“It’s Anna,” she told Ethan as she answered.

“Hi, Anna, you’re on speaker with me and Ethan.”

“Hi, guys, I’ve got the sicko list ready. Man, who knew
there were so many of these perverts in such a small area?”

“One is too many,” Jeri remarked. “How many did you find?”

“A hundred and fifty seven in the two hundred mile radius
you requested, including Kansas, Nebraska, Missouri and Iowa. That includes one
group home, but I separated those names out. I figured the perv you’re looking
for will need a private place to do his business,” she finished with disgust.

“Good thinking, thanks, Anna. Check with Dylan, see if he
needs help searching for similar cases. And Monique or Chloe may be in touch
this morning. Help them however you can.”

“Sure thing, Jeri, will do. Later, guys.”

“One-fifty-seven? That seems excessive,” Ethan glanced down
at the list Jeri pulled up on the tablet.

“Not really, sad to say. The good news is that seventy
-
seven of those reside in the group home. That leaves
eighty scattered in the four states. Anna’s already separated them out by
region, so we can start interviewing the ones in Iowa today, while we’re
there.”

“Good idea. Any of them live close to Shelby Torrent?”

“Give me a few minutes, I’ll make a list.”

~~~

“I thought we were going to an office? This is an apartment
building,” Chloe commented, parking the car near the curb.

“It’s the right address,” Monique confirmed, double
checking, just in case. “Perhaps the owner runs the business from home.”

“It’s definitely possible, since they solicit clients
through the website. How did Anna get this address?”

“No clue, but I’m trusting that she’s right.”

“Who is the owner?”

“Candace James. Suite six-thirteen.”

“There’s no doorman, which helps. I don’t see any cameras,
either.”

“Apparently Ms. James is not concerned with security.”

“Good for us, not so much for her,” Chloe held the door to
the elevator open. “How do we play this?”

“We’re private investigators,” Monique grinned. “Ones who
will keep the true nature of her business to ourselves, as long as she
cooperates.”

“But we don’t have any proof that she’s running an illegal
business.”

“No, but she doesn’t know that. We found her, so that says
something. Maybe it will be enough.”

The ride to the sixth floor was quick and smooth. Chloe felt
a knot begin in the pit of her stomach, trepidation over her first official
interview as a member of EJB.

“Relax,” Monique shot a quick look in her direction. “This
has to be easier than living through a war.”

“It’s different,” Chloe looked down at her petit
e
partner, wishing she could feel as cool as Monique
looked. “I’m totally out of my depth, here.”

“You’ll catch on quick enough,” Monique assured her. “Follow
my lead, and for goodness sakes, don’t fidget. We are the ones in control here,
remember?”

With a rapid tap on the door, Monique squared her shoulders
and prepared to get the information she needed.

“That was fast,” a female voice trilled as the door slid
open. “I didn’t expect you for…who are you?”

“Monique Pellier,” Monique flashed a badge she’d retrieved
from her pocket. It meant nothing, but Candace didn’t know that. “My partner,
Chloe Carson and I would like to ask you a few questions.” Monique prepared to
step inside the doorway.

“About what?” Candace held her ground, closing the door
slightly, to keep them from entering.

“About your business, your real business,” Monique eyed her
haughtily, a true feat as she stood at least eight inches below the woman
facing her. “We can come in, or give your neighbors an earful. Your choice.”

After considering her options for a moment, Candace finally
stepped aside, allowing them to enter.

“What about my business?” she asked warily.

“Let me be more specific,” Monique said, choosing to sit on
the sofa, without being invited. Chloe followed suit. “We need to know
everything you know about Pepper Sweet’s last client.” Monique pulled out a
notepad, preparing to write.

“I already told the cops everything I know,” Candace tossed
her hair back, before sitting down across from Monique and Chloe.

“Sure you did. I want the rest of the story. Surely you keep
the client’s IP address, or a record of his previous transactions.”

“He was a new client, Pepper was his first date. If you want
his IP address, you’ll have to ask the web company. I don’t keep those records
here.”

“How did he pay?” Monique glanced over to the laptop, set up
on the dining room table.

“I already told the cops, he used a prepaid debit card. Why
are you asking the same questions? I really don’t have time for this.” Candace
started to stand.

“Sure you do. Unlike the cops, we don’t care that you’re
running a whorehouse from this cute little two bedroom. We’ve got the time, and
the resources, to gather every bit of incriminating information available on
your ‘Escort Service’. For example, we know that only the deposit is made via
debit or credit card. The balance is handled via iGold, a supposedly
untraceable online currency.” Turning to Chloe, Monique grinned. “It still
amuses me that people really believe that. Untraceable! Right!” she laughed.