All the Pretty Faces (19 page)

His dismissive attitude helped put her back on track. Charity and Patty needed her to help him find their killer.

He dropped into the seat at the table, his jaw firmly set. If she’d hoped for a compliment on the meal, he didn’t bother.

Of course he had more important things on his mind.

She unfolded her napkin and spread it across her lap. “Tell me what you found out while we eat.”

He dug in with his fork. “It’s about that plastic surgeon, Dr. Silas Grimley. Apparently Easton sends referrals to him. He performed cosmetic work on both victims.”

Josie’s mind raced. “You think he’s involved in the murders?”

“I don’t know yet. His childhood is disturbing, though. His father rescued raptors, and he used to lock Silas in the cages with them. When Silas was young, he was attacked by the birds.”

Josie’s throat closed as images hit her. “My God, I was thinking earlier that the killer might have been attacked by birds. Coupled with the fact that his father allowed it, that kind of abuse could seriously alter a child’s mental state. He could have suffered a psychotic break.”

Dane sipped his coffee as if considering her theory. “Grimley was scarred pretty badly on his arms and legs. His face took the brunt of the attack. He spent most of his youth disfigured and cast as an outsider by other kids.”

“That fits with the killer’s MO.” A mental profile formed in Josie’s mind. The pretty girls would have run from Grimley, too. Rejected him.

Was he murdering women to get revenge for the way they’d treated him when he was young?

Dr. Silas Grimley was definitely at the top of Dane’s list of persons of interest.

“Thanks for breakfast.” Dane polished off the omelet as if he hadn’t eaten in days. “I called Dr. Grimley’s office in LA, but the receptionist said he’s taken a leave of absence. Apparently he’s in Knoxville attending a conference for plastic surgeons.”

She rinsed the dishes and stacked them in the dishwasher while Dane did some research on his computer. “Maybe someone rejected him recently. He could have gone through a bad breakup and that triggered his killing spree.”

“That’s possible. I called the hotel and Grimley is registered for the convention, but he wasn’t in his room. I left a message on his cell phone, but so far, he hasn’t gotten in touch. He could easily drive down from Knoxville to Graveyard Falls and then back.”

Dane gestured toward his laptop screen. “The lab sent me a link to a blog he writes called
The Bird Diaries
.”

“
Bird Diaries
?”

“Yeah.” Dane had read some of them earlier. He swung the laptop around for her. “As a kid he kept a diary of his work with the raptors. He turned that experience into a series of fiction stories. They’re extremely disturbing. They sound autobiographical.”

“You mean he describes being attacked?”

“Yes. He blends fiction with his accounts, but he describes in detail how it felt when they clawed at this boy and ripped his skin and muscle.”

Josie skimmed a couple of short entries. “That doesn’t mean he’s a killer. It’s probably therapeutic for him, just as it was for me to write my book.”

“No, but at one point he calls the boy the
bone collector
because he collects bird bones. He makes collages out of them.”

Josie’s face paled. “That is troubling.”

“He’s also written a story about a woman being mauled by vultures.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “In that story, the woman’s face is left scarred with claw marks.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

An hour later, Dane stood behind the podium in one of the conference rooms in the courthouse. Sheriff Kimball had organized a press conference to address the two murders.

He spotted Corbin Michaels in the crowd and braced himself for an inquisition. Today at least four other reporters had shown up, along with the mayor, the film crew executives and staff, actors, and the local residents.

Sheriff Kimball introduced himself and Dane. “Thank you for coming. Unfortunately, we have a situation in Graveyard Falls, and we need your cooperation.”

“We heard two women were stabbed,” one of the reporters shouted. “Are they related to the Bride Killer murders?”

Sheriff Kimball held up a hand to halt more questions. “First, let us report the information we have, then we’ll open for questions.”

Voices rumbled, people shifted uncomfortably, and Dane gestured toward the sheriff. “As Sheriff Kimball said, my name is Special Agent Dane Hamrick. Yes, two women have been murdered. The first victim’s name was Charity Snow, the second, Patty Waxton.”

“Did he dress the women in bridal gowns?” one of the reporters asked.

“No.” Dane didn’t want to divulge the women’s state of undress yet. Withholding key elements and details of the MO might help later to weed out false confessions if the need arose.

“This is not a copycat crime, nor is it related to the Bride Killer or Thorn Ripper murders,” Dane said. “There’s no need to panic, yet at the same time, since there have been two murders bearing the same MO, we’re concerned that the killer may strike again. I would like to caution all the young women in town to be careful, not to go out alone at night, and to travel in pairs. At this point, we haven’t determined how this unsub, unknown subject, is luring his victims to their deaths, but we suspect that the killer is someone these women trust. He is probably in his midtwenties, and he may be connected to the film business. We also believe he’s attractive and charming, so the women are not afraid to go with him.”

“Were the victims sexually assaulted?” Michaels asked.

Dane forced a calm to his voice. He’d seen this reporter around bothering Bailey Snow for an interview. “There is evidence the victims had sexual relations, but no clear indication of rape.”

“What about victimology?” Michaels asked. “Is the killer targeting any specific type? Blondes? Brunettes? Professional women?”

“As I said earlier, both women were actresses, but no, no definitive physical description. The women did not know each other, and we haven’t found anything in common other than the fact that they were in town for auditions.”

He intentionally omitted the detail about cosmetic work—he didn’t want to create a panic or give the other women in town a sense of false security in case the plastic surgery element wasn’t a key factor.

With the similarities in MO, the violence bordering on overkill, and the short time lapse between crimes, he suspected that this unsub would kill again.

And soon.

A female reporter waved her hand. “Do you have any suspects?”

Dane bit back a response. He had too damn many. “We have a couple of persons of interest, but we’re not prepared to disclose that information.” He scanned the crowded room, searching for any suspicious behavior, someone who appeared nervous, or someone watching Josie.

Josie had claimed a seat beside the casting director. Irritation nagged at Dane as Michaels sidled up to them.

“If you have any information regarding the murders, or if you see or hear anything suspicious, please contact the sheriff’s department.” He glanced at the women in the group, who looked panicked and frightened. “Please, ladies, be careful. Don’t trust anyone.”

Of course half of the women in the room wouldn’t heed that advice. They were all eager to be discovered and would schmooze with industry professionals. The housing and the timing of auditions placed everyone in close proximity and created camaraderie. It also created an air of false trust and intimacy and paved the perfect ground for women to be victimized.

Worse, his prime suspects consisted of the makeup artist, the photographer, and an actor. Except for the plastic surgeon, all were an integral part of the film company. Although Easton gave referrals to Dr. Grimley, whom the women would easily trust as well.

Dammit. This unsub had a virtual pool of vulnerable targets in one location.

The question was—which one of them would be next?

Déjà vu struck Josie as panic rumbled through the crowd. Two years ago, the residents of Graveyard Falls had been on edge because of the Bride Killer. Now another murderer lurked in their midst.

Corbin Michaels waved his hand again. “With the controversy over the project, do you think the killer is targeting the town as a way to protest this film?”

People in the crowd turned to stare at Josie.

Olive leaned closer to Josie. “Don’t let him make you feel guilty. You simply wrote the story. People deserved to know the truth.”

“Thanks, Olive.” Josie offered her a smile. She felt like such an outcast in this town; it was nice to have a friend.

“No, I don’t believe that’s the case,” Dane said. “How could one justify killing innocent women as a way to stop publicity over past crimes?”

“Serial killers are not always logical,” Michaels pointed out.

“Maybe not, but there is a certain logic to their pathology,” Dane replied. “The MO of these crimes indicates this unsub wants to make a point.”

“He hasn’t contacted the media,” one of the reporters said.

Across the room, Porter McCray flashed Josie a sinister smile, reminding her of Billy Linder when he’d chained her to that bed.

Relief filled her when Dane answered for her. “That’s all the questions we have time for. We have an investigation to work.”

Michaels shouted his name. “Isn’t it true that the killer is carving the women’s faces with talon-like marks? That’s his signature, isn’t it? He’s a butcher.”

Anger shot through Dane, and he went stone still, his gaze focused on the reporter. That was the name he’d given the unsub in the paper, although he hadn’t printed specifics. Now he was digging. “Where did you hear that?”

“It is true, isn’t it? He carves their faces before he stabs them, then he takes a bone chip as his trophy.”

Rumblings of unease and shock echoed through the crowd. Josie pressed a hand to her chest. How did the reporter know that detail?

“Is that true?” someone shouted.

“There’s another serial killer in town!” a woman in the back cried.

A man pushed his way through the crowd. “Why aren’t you telling us everything?”

Dane raised his hand to quiet the hysteria. “I don’t know where you received that information, Mr. Michaels, but the details of this case have not been released yet. I’m asking everyone in town not to panic but to be cautious. When we have more information, I’ll inform the public.”

“He also leaves one of those kids’ dolls,” Michaels continued. “The Mitzi doll. What does that mean?”

Dane ignored him and started down the steps, but the other reporters swarmed him while Corbin strode through the crowd toward Josie.

“Did the killer contact you?” Olive asked in a hushed whisper.

Josie was tempted to confide in her, but Dane wanted to keep details confidential. “I can’t discuss the investigation.”

“Oh my God.” Olive pressed her hand to her chest, her silver nails shimmering beneath the light. “He did, didn’t he? Do you have any idea who stabbed those women?” Olive looked around the room, paranoid. “Is he in here now?”

“I don’t know,” Josie said honestly, although she sensed he was watching the fuss, enjoying the fear on everyone’s faces.

Olive squeezed her arm. “Be careful, Josie. I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

“I don’t want
anyone
to get hurt,” Josie said. “I’ll do whatever I can to find the sick son of a bitch and put him away.”

“Good for you. I admire your grit, Josie.”

Josie smiled wanly. “I’m just doing what I have to in order to survive.”

A heartbeat of silence passed, and Olive squeezed her arm again. “I know and that’s why I like you. Please let me know if you write this story. If people show interest in this film, we might option the next one.”

Olive excused herself to chat with some of the girls, and Josie squared her shoulders as the reporter approached.

Michaels stopped in front of her. “Did the killer contact you?”

Josie straightened her spine. “I should ask you the same question. Where did you get your information?”

“It’s correct, isn’t it?” Michaels asked.

“You need to direct your questions to the sheriff’s department,” Josie said. “I’m simply in town to work with the film company on my book. I don’t appreciate reporters who sensationalize crime and create panic.”

Disbelief filled Michaels’s gray eyes. “You’re the one who wrote the book, Miss DuKane. I think you know a lot more about these murders than you’re letting on. You want the exclusive story, so you’re cozying up to the agent in charge.”

Rage heated Josie’s blood. “That is a horrible thing to say. My heart goes out to these two young women and their families and friends.”

“You still may profit from it.”

“You know nothing about me.” Guilt rose from the bowels of Josie’s conscience. “I didn’t write the book for money. I wrote it to help people heal.”

“Yet here you are embroiled in another murder case,” Michaels said snidely.

Dane appeared from the crowd, anger emanating from him. “Harassing Miss DuKane is not going to get you what you want.”

Michaels glanced back and forth between Josie and Dane. “What I want is the truth, to warn women who they should be watching out for.” Disapproval rang in his voice. “To be able to tell people that they can walk the streets in Graveyard Falls without fearing for their lives.”

“Then we’re in agreement on that.” Dane glared down at the man. “Where did you get your information?”

Michaels winced slightly. “You know I can’t reveal my source.”

Dane snatched the man by the arm and dragged him to the side. “Listen to me, this is not just some story, you asshole. Women’s lives are at stake.”

Michaels gripped Dane’s fists to pry them from his arm. “I’m trying to warn them who to look out for.”

“
Where
did you get your information?” Dane asked again, his tone harsher.

Michaels’s nostrils flared. “I told you, I can’t reveal my source.”

Dane shoved him against the wall. Dark clouds moved above, casting shadows across the place. People passing paused to gasp, but he motioned them to move along. “Withholding information in a homicide is against the law. If you really want to help stop this killer, start talking.”

Michaels lifted his chin in a challenge. “Only if you give me an exclusive.”

Dane’s steely eyes met Michaels’s. For a moment, Josie thought he was going to pound the man’s face in.

She couldn’t blame Dane if he did.

“Fine,” Dane said icily. “But you can’t print anything without my permission. Now spill it, dammit.”

Michaels tore Dane’s fingers from around his collar. “I received an anonymous text.”

Josie’s stomach knotted. She’d gotten a text with photographs. So why was the killer sending this reporter texts as well?

“With pictures of the victims?” Dane asked.

Michaels narrowed his eyes but said nothing.

“Show me the damn text,” Dane said through gritted teeth, “or I’ll arrest you for impeding a homicide investigation. Do you want another woman to die?”

Michaels snarled at him, but he removed his phone from his pocket.

Dane’s gut tightened as he read the message.

All the pretty faces lined in a row,

All the pretty faces, I’ll carve them as I go . . .

Dammit. The unsub had not only left a cryptic message but also sent the reporter the same photographs he’d sent Josie. Why?

Because she hadn’t gone public with them, and he wanted to be memorialized?

Dane stepped aside to call the lab to see if they could trace the origin of the text.

Michaels turned back to Josie. “Did he send you pictures, Miss DuKane?”

“Leaking that information to the public was dangerous and underhanded,” Josie said instead of answering him.

“People have a right to the truth,” Michaels argued.

“Trust me, Mr. Michaels,” Josie said, “I understand the need to know the truth and report it. Being irresponsible can cost people’s lives.”

Dane stepped back to them.

“I’m assuming you put a trace on my phone,” Michaels said.

“You want the story, then help us and you’ll get your exclusive. If I discover you’re in contact with the killer and you hold back that information, I will arrest you as an accomplice.” Dane handed the man back his cell phone. “Now excuse us. I have a killer to catch.”