All the Pretty Faces (6 page)

Damn. “I’ll call a crime team to come over and dust for prints. Tomorrow you should get new locks and install a security system.”

She clamped her teeth over her lower lip. “Don’t worry, I will.”

His gaze swept the room. Had the killer touched her personal belongings?

Josie pictured a demented killer roaming through her room and her stomach roiled. This house had always felt claustrophobic, but at least Billy Linder hadn’t been inside it.

This killer had.

Dane gestured across the room. “Look around, see if anything is missing.”

She forced her feet to move. Her files lay on the table, stacked as she’d left them. Her grandfather had nothing valuable in the house, and she had no expensive jewelry. The only thing of value was her computer, but it appeared to be untouched.

She checked the closet, and her clothes were just as she’d hung them. Then she opened her lingerie drawer, and gasped. He’d rifled through her underwear.

The doorbell rang, and Dane strode to the living room to let the crime team in. Footsteps pounded, then Dane reappeared in the door. “They’re going to start looking for prints in the living room and around the doors and windows. Is anything missing?”

Her stomach churned as she faced him. “He took a pair of my underwear.”

“Dammit, Josie. He’s making this personal with you.”

“He wants to frighten me,” she said, and it was working. She hated that most of all.

“He’s not going to get to you.” His voice cracked a notch. “I’ll drive you to a hotel tonight.”

Josie exhaled. “I couldn’t find a room if I wanted. All the hotels within a fifty-mile radius are booked with the film people and actors.”

The implications of the murder and film came together in her mind. “This woman could be one of the actresses or part of the film crew.” A helpless feeling engulfed her. “What if she came to Graveyard Falls to be in the movie and someone killed her to sabotage the film?”

A firm shake of Dane’s head indicated he didn’t buy her theory. “That’s doubtful. Not a strong enough motive for murder.”

Josie curled her fingers into her palms and backed away from her dresser drawer. “Maybe so. But if this murder wasn’t an isolated event and he’s looking to kill again, he has a whole pool of women to choose from now.”

Dane couldn’t argue with Josie about that point. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Hopefully this is an isolated murder, and we’ll find this killer, and everything can go back to normal.”

The skeptical look she shot him indicated she didn’t believe him. He let his comment stand, though. He didn’t want to stir up panic.

One of the crime techs appeared, and Dane handed him the doll. “Be sure to dust the dresser and bed. The SOB took a piece of Miss DuKane’s lingerie.”

The crime tech gave a clipped nod. “No problem. We’ll be thorough.”

Dane gestured toward the living room. “Let’s talk. I want to know more about the press conference and what happened afterward.”

Fear darkened Josie’s face. “You think the killer was there? That he pushed me into the street?”

His expression was grim. “We have to consider every angle.”

She rubbed her hands together, then led him back to the living room. Two crime techs were dusting the windowsills and doorways in the den and kitchen while another handled the laundry room.

Josie walked over to the kitchen bar. “Would you like a drink?”

Yeah, he would. But he was on duty. “No, thanks. Go ahead, though.”

Josie poured herself a glass of merlot and sank into the couch. He waited, giving her time to settle down.

“Tell me about tonight,” he finally said. “Were there a lot of people at the press conference?”

“Yes. About a hundred. A lot of locals, a few reporters, the mayor.” She took a sip of wine. “I talked about the book, then answered questions.”

“What was the atmosphere like?”

“Just what you’d expect. Some people were supportive, others complained that I was sensationalizing the murders.” She traced a finger along the rim of her glass. “I’m not trying to do that. Everyone in town, even ones who didn’t lose a loved one, was affected by the Bride Killer murders. Their sense of security, sense of peace, their trust and naiveté are shaken. I hope that high schools will work with their students on bullying and cliques. That it’ll open the doors to communication on those topics.”

“Linder wasn’t bullied, Josie,” Dane said, unwilling to excuse the man’s violence for any reason. “Those teenage girls didn’t deserve to die just because they didn’t allow some girl to join their group.”

“No, but tolerance and kindness to others need to be taught.”

In theory, he agreed with that. Except Betsy’s tolerance and kindness had gotten her killed.

“Anyway,” Josie continued, “Billy was molested just as Charlene’s father sexually abused her. Unfortunately, it’s a vicious cycle—the abused becomes the abuser. The child’s concept of love is skewed.” She sipped her wine again. “Someone should have noticed and done something to help Billy escape so he could have had a chance at a normal life.”

He was a detective—he couldn’t afford to let sympathy interfere with a homicide investigation. “Forget the do-gooder lecture,” he said, his tone more callous than he meant. “Let’s just stick to the facts. What happened after you spoke?”

“Some of the people in the crowd made noises about me exploiting them, so I just wanted to get off stage. I turned the program over to the mayor. He was going to introduce the director of the movie, the casting agent, and the producer and answer more questions.”

The attitude of the town toward her bothered him. That push into the street might have been a disgruntled local and could have nothing to do with the murder. “Did anyone approach you? Did you see anyone watching you?”

“No. I ducked under the awning of the diner to compose myself while I looked at the text.” She toyed with the stem of her glass. “Then I was upset and wanted to get out of there. I walked toward my car. It was across the street. A group was waiting at the crossing, so I tried to blend in.”

“Did anyone in that crowd stand out?”

She shook her head no.

Dammit, he wished she’d seen something to help. “Anyone look familiar?”

“No. Well, not at first.”

Her hesitation made him sit up straighter. “What does that mean?”

Josie released a weary sigh. “After I fell, it was chaos. The driver who almost hit me was frantic and apologetic. Another man helped me up.”

“Who was it?”

“Doyle Yonkers, Candy Yonkers’s brother. I saw him at the press conference, too.”

The fact that Yonkers was close by during Josie’s fall raised more suspicions in Dane’s mind.

“For God’s sake, Josie, he could have shoved you then rescued you to make himself look like a hero.”

If Yonkers was opposed to the movie or thought Josie had glorified the murders, his anger might have pushed him to murder.

Dane could be right. Josie sipped her wine in an effort to calm her nerves. Today’s episode resurrected the fear she’d worked so hard the past two years to overcome.

“How dangerous do you think Doyle Yonkers is?” she asked.

Dane took a fraction of a second too long to answer. “He doesn’t have a record, but he was traumatized by his sister’s death. He also was bitter because his girlfriend dumped him when he was admitted for psychiatric care. You should be careful around him. He might break at some point.”

“What about the woman who was murdered?” Josie asked. “Do you have an ID on her?”

Dane’s jaw tightened. “Not yet.”

She accessed the text again. A mental image of Yonkers stabbing the young woman and then leaving her by the trash made her shudder.

Her heart ached for the victim. She couldn’t be over twenty-two. She’d had her entire life ahead of her. “I’ll do whatever I can to help find this guy.”

She leaned back against the sofa, trying to process how a person could do something so vicious to another human.

Dane made a low sound in his throat. “When you sent the photo, I was hoping there might be a clue as to where the unsub killed her. But that photo is from the dump site.”

Josie pushed aside her disgust. Logic and getting into the killer’s mind would be the way to find this bastard. “You think he killed her somewhere else?”

“Yes. There would have been blood on the ground if he’d killed her by the trash.”

Josie studied the picture again. “She looks wrong—her limbs are twisted at an odd angle. He intentionally posed her like that, didn’t he?”

Dane nodded. “He scrubbed her clean, too. Wiped off all her makeup. Hopefully the ME can identify what kind of soap he used. That might give us a lead.”

Josie wrinkled her brow, her criminology training kicking in. “Why clean her and then leave her by the garbage? Why contort her body like that?”

Dane scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I don’t think it’s about her being clean. I think he wanted her face as naked as her body.”

Josie’s chest clenched. “So we could see what was underneath, what she was really like.”

“That’s my guess. She also had breast implants. He exposed those as well.”

A possible profile took shape in Josie’s mind. He was probably midtwenties to early thirties, smart and confident on the surface, but underneath he was insecure.

Dane leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. “There’s something else even more disturbing.”

She took another sip of wine, trying to wash down the distaste in her mouth. “More disturbing than carving her face?”

“Yes,” he said, his tone darkening. “He removed a sliver of bone from her cheek. I think he took it as a souvenir.”

She closed her eyes, trying to eliminate that image from her mind. Impossible. It was so vivid it sickened her. “Dear God. What kind of person would take a human bone as a trophy?”

CHAPTER FIVE

Dane studied the fire as Josie paced over to the fireplace. She’d needed time to assimilate his comment about the bone.

The gas logs glowed and sparkled, warming the room and adding a soft glow, a sharp contrast to the gloomy skies outside and the macabre state of the murder victim.

He’d been wrong about there being no family pictures in the room. There was one on the mantel. A snapshot of the former sheriff with a young girl about seven, probably Josie’s mother, Anna.

No pictures of Josie, though. And none of Anna as a teenager.

The former sheriff must be a coldhearted bastard to have treated his granddaughter so badly.

The clock on the mantel chimed, and Josie walked back to the sofa, sank into it, and dropped her hands in her lap. “What if it’s my fault this girl is dead?” Josie said. “If she’s an actress, she wouldn’t have been here if not for my book.”

Dane shook his head. “Don’t go there. You are not to blame for some madman’s psychosis.”

Josie stared into the flames, her face strained with worry. She looked so small and lost and vulnerable that he wanted to pull her into his arms and console her.

But that would be a mistake.

A young woman’s body lay in the morgue, one who needed justice. Her family had to be told. Clues investigated.

A demented killer had to be found and put away.

That’s what he did. He didn’t get involved on a personal level with anyone. He had to focus on his job.

This was the case he’d been working ten years for. There were differences in the MO, but those crisscross cuts on the victim’s chest and the marks below her eyes were too similar to totally rule out that they’d been inflicted by the same killer.

Nothing could distract him from finding out the truth, not even Josie.

Josie rubbed her hands up and down her arms, uncomfortable as she watched the CSI team comb through her house.

“We didn’t find anything suspicious,” the crime scene investigator said. “We collected three sets of prints and will run them through the system.”

“Mine, my grandfather’s, and my mother’s,” Josie said. “The killer probably wore gloves.”

“Probably, but run the prints anyway,” Dane said.

She and Dane escorted the team to the door. The lead investigator, Lieutenant Ward, promised to contact Dane with the results and any forensics they found on the doll. According to Dane, the bureau’s analyst, Peyton, was working on tracing the text.

Dane turned back to her as the others drove away. “Do you want me to stay here tonight?”

She did, but she refused to let fear run her out of town. So she pasted on a brave face. “Thanks, but I’m fine. I’ll lock up.”

Although he had nailed the laundry window shut, someone could still pick a lock. Only if the killer had broken in earlier and wanted to hurt her, he would have stuck around.

Dane’s gaze met hers. He was obviously thinking the same thing.

“I have my grandfather’s shotgun,” Josie said, determined to hide her worry. “Before you ask, yes, I know how to use it. Besides, if the killer wanted me dead, why didn’t he just wait around instead of leaving that doll on my bed? He wants my attention, not to kill me.”

“You’re forgetting about the street incident.”

“I haven’t forgotten.” How could she when her palms still stung from the fall? “I think that was someone in town who’s upset about the filming. They just wanted to scare me.” At least she prayed it was.

That it wasn’t the man who’d killed that woman and carved a piece of bone from her face.

“I hope you’re right,” Dane said in a gruff voice. “I’ll stay and sack out on the couch if you’d feel better.”

Oh, yeah, she’d feel better. Except she’d want to beg him to hold her all night, to keep her warm and make her forget about murder and sadistic men who took women’s lives. She wanted him to make her feel safe and alive.

That was dangerous in a different way. “I’m really okay, Dane. Just go home and rest.”

A flicker of something like heat—or admiration—stirred in his eyes. A second later, his professional mask slid back into place. “Don’t worry, Josie. I won’t rest until this case is solved.”

Her admiration for Dane mounted. Dane might be a loner, but he was dedicated to his job and protecting innocents.

She clutched the edge of the door to keep from reaching for him. “Thanks for coming over.”

Dane gave a clipped nod, although his gaze remained on her face. “If you receive any other communication from this killer, call me, no matter what time of day or night.”

She tightened her grip on the door. “I will. Where are you staying?”

“At those cabins on the river where Cal stayed.” Dane brushed her arm with his fingertips. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

Josie took a deep breath. “Yes.” Although tonight she wished Mona was here. And her mother and Johnny. She could use the family support.

If she admitted the depth of her fears, they’d insist she come to Knoxville. She couldn’t do that. She had to see this movie through and find out who’d sent her that picture of a dead woman.

Dane hesitated, one hand on the door. She mustered up a smile. “Go.”

His jaw tightened as he walked down the steps to his SUV. He started the engine, and she closed the door and locked it, then poured herself another glass of wine.

Maybe this one would help her sleep tonight without the nightmares.

Last night her dreams had taken her back to that nasty cabin. Billy was forcing her to put on that wedding dress. Forcing her to bathe his mother and cook for her while he used his taxidermy skills to dig out the eyes of a mountain lion he’d killed.

Sometimes she dreamt she was trapped in a room with those animals, and they were attacking her.

She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. How could her nightmares stop with another murderer stalking the women in Graveyard Falls?

Too antsy to sleep, she checked her computer for messages. A note from the casting director said they were going to hold auditions and interviews for various parts in the film starting the next morning. She was invited to attend if she wanted.

Josie set her alarm so she’d have time to shower and make it to the auditions. Maybe meeting the actors and watching the project come to life would distract her from today’s horror.

Still, a woman had been murdered in town. With the photograph fresh in her head, she opened a new file on her laptop and began typing notes.

She detailed where the body had been found, who had found her, her state of undress, and the possible profile she and Dane had discussed for the killer.

As they learned more, she would add to the story.

The MO intrigued her. The talon carving on the woman’s face, the Mitzi doll, the broken mirror . . . The fact that he’d removed a sliver of bone from the woman’s cheek.

They were clues—she and Dane just had to piece them together and figure out what made this killer tick.

Rain began to ping on the roof, the strong winds making it slash against the windowpanes so hard she thought the glass would shatter. She shivered and checked the gas logs, the house echoing with the turmoil of the past. She could almost hear the arguments her mother and grandfather had had. Taste the ugly words and tension in the air.

Josie had missed having a father and craved her grandfather as a substitute, but he’d hated her before she was even born. Now she understood the reason—he’d thought she was Johnny Pike’s daughter and that Johnny was a killer.

Even when he’d learned the truth, he hadn’t welcomed her into his arms.

Because he was too caught up in his bitterness and his insistence that he was always right.

No wonder her mother had left town and never come back.

The faces of the Thorn Ripper’s victims, then the Bride Killer’s victims flashed through her head. Both those serial killers had taken pieces of the victims’ jewelry as trophies.

This killer was more sadistic. He took a piece of bone.

The MO had the markings of a psychopath who’d enjoyed the kill and would do it again.

She traced a finger over her mother’s high school yearbook and smiled, grateful that Johnny had been freed and they’d gotten justice for the girls.

The young woman who’d been left in the trash deserved the same.

Josie would help Dane find it for her.

And nobody would scare her away.

Not ready to sleep and at a dead end on the current case until the lab identified the victim, Dane grabbed a burger on the way back to his cabin. He wanted to review the files on his sister’s case one more time.

Two women had been gossiping about Josie in the diner, saying she wasn’t concerned about the people she hurt with her movie, that she just wanted the money.

That wasn’t true. Josie was kindhearted and cared about the victims. Her compassion had been evident in the way she’d portrayed them in her book.

Small towns always intrigued him. People either gathered together and supported one another, or they turned on their own.

He was so annoyed the burger lost its appeal, but he ate it anyway while he spread out his notes.

How many times had he looked at this file hoping to see something new, a detail he’d missed?

He rubbed a hand over his tired eyes.

Hell, it didn’t matter if he’d done it a thousand times. He’d do it again. This time he’d look for clues that the unsub in her case and the current one were the same.

Remembering Betsy should be here now—helping kids,
having
kids of her own—made him renew his vow to find the truth.

The date on the file took him back ten years.

He was twenty-one, Betsy nineteen at the time of her death. They’d lived in Knoxville and had lost their father three years before to a heart attack.

Guilt pressed against his heart.

Betsy was just a teenager when he’d died. After that, Dane was supposed to be the man of the house, but he’d been wrapped up in his own anger and grief. Instead of being there for her, he’d searched for love and comfort from any girl who’d crawl into bed with him.

The school counselor had suggested he and Betsy volunteer in the community. Unlike him, his sister had listened. The next three years while she finished high school, she’d worked at a ranch for troubled kids and adolescents.

Ironic that she’d been murdered when she was the good child. It should have been his body in the ground, not kindhearted, selfless Betsy’s.

He opened his desk drawer and removed the folder of photographs he’d brought with him.

Different shots of Betsy through the years. A baby photo, a picture of her playing soccer at five, her first fishing trip with their father, Christmases and birthdays, and her first date to homecoming.

His heart ached as he looked at her sweet face—she was funny and freckle-faced with a laugh that had made him smile even when he was in a pissy mood.

While most girls would have been upset over the scar on her forehead she’d gotten in a car accident, she laughed about it, saying if people didn’t like her because of a little scar, they weren’t worth having as friends.

He’d been so proud of her attitude.

Grief clogged his throat, and he grabbed a beer from the refrigerator. He walked to the back door. The woods behind the cabin rose into the mountains, thick with trees and wildlife.

The howl of a coyote resounded off the sharp ridges, and the wind roared like a mountain lion, the sound eerie as if a warning that danger lurked in the hills.

He swallowed a sip of the cold beer, then returned to the file and forced himself to press on.

His sister had been murdered in Chattanooga on a chilly spring night when a storm was brewing just like tonight.

Earlier that day, she’d phoned to tell him she’d arrived at the campus and planned to tour the school and meet with the director of social work.

According to the detective who’d investigated her murder, she’d kept that appointment. The hours after that were murky. Notations in her pocket calendar indicated that she’d planned to attend a couple of parties.

The police questioned the girls at the first sorority house, but no one had seen her. The second was a big spring blowout at a frat house. With alcohol and possibly other recreational drugs flowing, the attendees hadn’t offered much information at all. One or two claimed they’d seen Betsy around eleven o’clock, but they didn’t know who she’d left with.