Accidental SEAL (SEAL Brotherhood #1) (26 page)

He’s gone.

When the knock came on her door, she almost opened the door without checking, hoping Kyle had changed his mind. Through the peephole, she saw Sergeant Mayfield’s large frame, along with the woman officer. Woodward.

She cinched her robe, put on her game face, and opened the door.

“Morning, ma’am.” Mayfield was all smiles today. A little apologetic, she thought.

“Sergeant. You two like to come in?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said as he passed her. The creak of leather from his belt and all the equipment he wore sent a shiver up her spine. Woodward whispered a curt “Thank you” as she passed by. Christy could smell cigarettes on her clothes.

“I made coffee a bit ago. Let me go make some more…”

“That won’t be necessary, Ms. Nelson.” Mayfield looked ridiculous, armed to the teeth, in the middle of her living room. His flack vest looked uncomfortable, with his arms and legs protruding from under the heavy layer like the parts of a turtle protruding from under its shell. Unnecessary protection. He didn’t seem happy to be here.

“All right.” She joined them and motioned for them to sit down, which they both ignored. “Okay then, would you please tell me what this is all about?”

Mayfield took out the little book from his vest pocket and flipped through white lined pages. “You know a Marla Cunningham?”

Christy found Kyle’s chair and sat. Her stomach felt vacant. Her heart pounded. Little black dots began swirling around, clouding her eyesight.

“I can see you do.” Mayfield was stern. Suddenly unfriendly.

“She’s my trainer,” Christy said as she looked up to his face. She felt all the blood rush from her cheeks.

“When was the last time you saw her?”

Christy had to think. It had been after the open house. “Sunday night. I took a spinning class from her.”

“Seems that she called into a crisis hotline to report a possible attack.”

“When?”

“Two days ago.”

“Oh.”

“You know about anyone who had a thing for Ms. Cunningham?”

“No. We never talked about
her
personal life. Just about mine.”

“And so now I gotta ask you about yours. Your SEAL boyfriend…”

“Look, he’s not…” But she was lying now. Kyle had said cooperate with the police. “What does
my
personal life have to do with…just what exactly are you saying? Is something wrong with Marla?”

Did she want to hear this?

“She’s been found dead.”

Christy’s chest caved. She couldn’t find the air to fill her lungs. Black spots played checkers before her eyes, obscuring the large officer and the lady.

Dead?

She pulled herself back together. They had not offered condolences. Both of them were watching her. She wrapped her arms around her torso to stop the shaking and the buzzing in her head that was like a dentist’s drill.

“Where?”

“And what difference would
that
make?” Mayfield was cool as he frowned. Woodward was checking out Christy’s pink toes.

“Well, I was supposed to meet her at the gym Thursday night. She never showed.”

Mayfield and Woodward looked at each other.

“She was found in her office,” Mayfield answered.

Now Christy remembered the light under the office door. Poor Marla might have been fighting off her attacker at that very moment. Christy could have helped her. But instead she’d run. Run to safety. And now her friend was dead. She had to ask the question. “And why do you think Kyle is involved?”

“I can’t say, exactly, due to the investigation.” Mayfield put his forefinger into his collar and stretched it loose. “Seems Marla kept a journal of her activities and sessions at the club. Her entry for Sunday night was interesting in light of what we found today.”

Christy looked at the woman, who was having difficulty keeping eye contact. This was going to be bad.

“She wrote that you’d had an altercation yourself. That a crazy showed up and restrained you, and then let you go.”

“It was a misunderstanding,” Christy said, the defiance in her voice putting a chill in the room.

Woodward shot her a look that told her the officer had heard it before and hadn’t believed it then, either.

“We’re thinking it was the same person.” Mayfield let it sink in. Christy was starting to get sick to her stomach.

“Why?” She had to force herself to ask it. This was not going to be something she really wanted to know.

“The method of restraint. The man who killed Marla used pantyhose.”

Chapter 25

Mayfield was surprised to see Deputy Hilber at the crime scene, since it wasn’t the sheriff’s jurisdiction. The little prick from the Navy was dutifully at Hilber’s side. Mayfield hoped like hell the man never applied to work in his department and he made a note in his book to check the test roster to see if he’d qualified for consideration. Had to be some way to lose Carlisle’s application, if he was stupid enough to have submitted one.

“I imagine this is a little different than checking cars at the guard shack on base, sailor.” Mayfield had years of practice looking stern. The young MA might not pick up on the twinkle in his eye.

“Fascinating, sir, watching them work,” Carlisle said, scanning the crew from the coroner’s office, the photographer, and forensic team. “Just like on TV.”

Mayfield made a mental note this time. The guy was digging the gore, and the details of a murder

Hilber was another story. He was admiring the angle of broken fingers protruding up from the body of Marla Cunningham, whose hands were secured in place by a pair of black pantyhose. He noticed the pantyhose were tied in a bow.

Calling card.

This was someone who was begging them to chase after him. Well, Mayfield might just have to comply.

The coroner’s assistant came over and asked Mayfield to step aside so she could take another picture of the hands. She must’ve seen the same thing Mayfield did.

“These were tied together after death, am I right?” Mayfield whispered to her.

She nodded and clicked the camera, which set off a bright flash.

“I know you can’t say anything officially, but how long has she been dead? Guess.”

“More than a day, probably two.” She pointed to the excrement and fluids leaking all over Marla’s desk chair, which had formed in a puddle on the floor. Marla’s purple lips and chalky white skin were ghastly enough, but the white coating over her eyes was something right out of a horror film. If the perp had known her, he would have closed her eyes. With no apparent mutilation other than the fingers, it appeared this wasn’t personal. And too many clues had been left to be professional.

Marla had been chosen because she’d had information. Information on Christy.

Woodward stood next to him, a handkerchief over her mouth and nose. Mayfield watched her bring out a small brown bottle with lavender label that read
Clarity.
He’d seen several of the officers with this womanly brand of smelling salts around at the station.

“Who found her, sir?” Woodward asked through the hankie.

“The manager, when he opened this morning. I’m guessing the smell probably tipped him off.”

“She died the night she made the call?”

“April here thinks so. More than twenty-four hours ago, and that was the last anyone heard from her.”

He collared the coroner’s assistant again. “Can I see the journal?”

The book had been wrapped in an oversized clear evidence bag, left open on the same page it had been opened to when it had been found on the desk. Mayfield put on gloves and carefully removed it.

The assistant frowned.

Hilber had lost interest in chatting up a female reporter. “What’s this?” he asked, looking at the journal.

“The lady’s notebook.”

Hilber blanched, then furrowed his brow. “She able to name her attacker?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Mayfield showed him the passage.

“
Raised security concerns today on deaf ears. Now they’ve gone and hired a new janitor and not told us…
”
Hilber recited.

“No. That’s Thursday’s entry, which she didn’t finish. Look at the one for Sunday.”

“
Christy Nelson has been attacked today by a crazed psycho who tied her up with her pantyhose. I tried to get her to call the police, but she seems to think there is an explanation for it. Though this happened off site, I’m going to bring it up at the next staff meeting, without naming names. Security has been lax lately.
”

Hilber beamed after he read it. “You’re right. All we need to do now is find the guy who attacked Christy. This lady was directing us right to the guy.”

Mayfield watched Hilber’s back as the man chuckled his way out to the hallway, too happy with this finding. And a long way from his jurisdiction.

He looked for the Navy guy and didn’t see him anywhere.

The sergeant flipped through the day planner’s address and phone numbers, carefully. He found a listing for Christy Nelson, including her cell phone number and email. And her condo number: 14J. Checking back on the monthly calendar, he saw her name in the box for Thursday. And it wasn’t crossed out.

He looked back at the journal entry. Would Marla have had the strength to get the book, open it up, and leave it perfectly centered on her desk, just before she died? And after the torture she’d been through, with the broken fingers, which was a specialty of the local youth gangs, would she have had the presence of mind to do this?

He thought not. More than likely it was the recipe the killer needed to stage it to look like the other attack.

Biggest question in Mayfield’s mind was why Hilber was so pleased with it.

“Make sure I get prints on this,” he said to the assistant as he placed the book back in a new evidence bag she handed him.

The attractive coroner’s assistant stood a little close beside him, holding out her clipboard so he could deposit the cellophane wrapped package on top. He’d known she had the hots for him, but he pretended to not pay attention. God, why were women always trying to ease his pain? And they were younger women, too. Still, her perfume was a welcome reprieve to the dastardly smell of rotting flesh and bodily fluids released after death.

“I can get you a copy of the report tomorrow morning, unless you need a phone interview.”

“Thanks, April. I appreciate that.” He did. But he didn’t look at her. Wasn’t fair to give her hope. Her eyes on his face and chest were soft and dewy. And dangerous. At least the part he could see. He smiled and whispered, “Thanks,” to the floor.

He motioned Woodward to leave with him. They stepped out into the hallway just as Hilber ducked into the elevator. He’d just hung up his cell phone. He didn’t hold the doors for them, pretending to try to push the buttons a little too late. It was a complete act. Mayfield could see Hilber shrug as the elevator doors closed and left he and Woodward standing in the hallway.

He cursed and heard Woodward giggle at his side.

“Sir, if it makes it any better, I can’t stand the guy either. I mean, why is he even here?” she said.

He appreciated her sentiment.

“Probably because he’s got the Feds convinced it has something to do with his murders in the Santa Nella forest. And I’m sure they are linked. Just not sure how Hilber’s putting the pieces together.”

“Understood, sir. So can I ask?”

“You honestly think I know?” He was pleased she thought so, but everything was swimming around and he didn’t know where it landed.

“Yes. I think your instincts are the best I’ve ever seen. That’s why I’m here. To learn, sir. If I became half the cop you are, I’d consider myself lucky.”

“I thank you.” He looked down at the top of her head. He’d never noticed how pretty her hair was—and what the hell was he doing? How easily a woman could get to him, still.

“I want the trash searched. Probably won’t be in the gym area, but I’m guessing there’s a cardboard or plastic wrapper for those pantyhose, and if I’m not mistaken, they would be a medium, the size Marla would wear. I don’t know about the black, but maybe she liked the color. Someone would know. Ask her friends at the gym. They might have seen her dress up to go out. Most women would have a pair of flesh-toned hose around.”

“Very good, sir. Consider it done. How about the girl, Christy? Should I ask her?”

“Nah, I’d leave her alone for now. She’s spooked out of her gourd. I need her cooperative.”

In the early afternoon, Mayfield got a call from Woodward. They’d found a trash bag in the back of the complex. It contained a cellophane wrapper with one pair of black pantyhose remaining, size medium. It had been a two-pack.

And there were dustable prints all over it.

Hilber dropped by Mayfield’s office, without his buddy this time.

“You guys done with the Hummer yet?” Hilber looked like he was trying to whistle or do something to look like he wasn’t as interested as he clearly was.

“Haven’t heard back from forensics. Should be soon, though. Maybe tomorrow morning.”

“And I’m guessing no one’s called about it?”

“You mean called to claim it?”

“Yup.” Hilber checked his fingernails as he leaned into the doorframe.

“That’s a Roger that,” Mayfield returned.

“All his equipment still logged in?”

“Everything I was given.” Mayfield wondered why Warren was concerned about the guns and shit.

“Got the coroner’s or crime scene reports yet?”

Mayfield wasn’t going to tell him about the pantyhose wrapper they’d found. He leaned into his desk, throwing down a pen. “Hilber, suppose I refrain from asking you what the hell you’re doing over here, sticking your nose into
my
business? How about you quit interfering? You’ll get your goddamned report soon enough.”

The cold blue stare Mayfield got froze his bones. Given the chance, this man would put a bullet in the back of his head rather than get caught.

“How did you boys in the Sherriff’s Department manage to get the impound order?” Mayfield asked.