“A nomadic, mission killer whose murders are both victim and method specific. What does this really tell us?” Annabelle shook her head as she spread her hands, palms up, in an exasperated manner.
“Lawrence said the person we’re looking for was probably abused as a kid, suffered severe emotional trauma and maybe physical abuse. Removing the right index finger of each victim could be symbolic of a female authority figure who pointed her index finger at him while chastising him. A mother, a teacher, a foster parent, a nun…”
“People who had shit childhoods number in the millions,” Quinn said. “And I’m one of those millions, as are some of my friends and employees. The Judge Harwood Brown Boys Ranch is filled with guys who came from very unstable home environments.”
“Since you mentioned the ranch, I’ll go ahead and toss out one of our scenarios,” Griffin said. “You’ve helped a lot of kids over the years, mostly boys from the ranch, but several troubled girls, too. Three former delinquents make up your personal entourage. What if one of the kids you came into contact with through your work for the ranch fixated on
you for some reason and transferred his hatred of this female authority figure in his life onto your lovers.”
“You aren’t suggesting that Aaron or Jace might—”
“I’m not suggesting either of them is guilty of anything. But I would like your permission to dig around in their pasts. And put out some feelers about other alumni of the ranch.”
“Go ahead and dig,” Quinn said. “You’ll find that both of them—Jace and Aaron—were abused as kids. That doesn’t make either of them a killer.”
“No, it doesn’t. But they do travel with you and would know your itinerary. And that includes Marcy Sims.”
“Marcy? A female serial killer.” Quinn laughed. “Good God, Marcy wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“Never underestimate the rage of a jealous woman,” Griffin said.
“I know what you’re suggesting and you’re way off base.” Quinn’s gaze connected with Annabelle’s inquisitive glare. “Marcy’s got a crush on me. She has for years, but there has never been anything romantic between us. For heaven’s sake, when I first met her, she was barely sixteen.”
“Once again, I’m not accusing anybody of anything, just presenting possibilities.” Griffin stood. “Are you going to Kendall Wells’s funeral?”
“Yes,” Quinn replied.
“The press will be there. And her family may not want you to attend.”
“Screw the press. As for Kendall’s family—who are we talking about anyway? Her ex-husband, some cousins, an elderly aunt. Kendall was an only child and her parents are both dead.”
“By not going to the funeral, you could avoid a possibly ugly scene,” Griffin said.
“Kendall was my friend and my lawyer, not just an old lover. The least I can do is go to her funeral.”
“If you’d like, I’ll go with you,” Annabelle said.
Griffin groaned. “The press will be there, lurking about, hoping for a scoop. You two are asking for trouble.”
Annabelle smiled at Quinn, then looked right at Griffin. “Together, Quinn and I can face anything.”
Griffin shrugged, then headed toward the door. He paused and glanced over his shoulder, spanning his gaze across the table from Quinn to Annabelle. “Love can’t conquer all, you know. You two can shut the world out today, but when tomorrow comes…Annabelle, I don’t think you should be alone. Our killer is apparently targeting Quinn’s lovers and that now includes you. I suggest you let me assign a guard for you whenever you aren’t with either Quinn or me.”
“You believe I’m in danger?” Annabelle asked.
“Griffin’s right,” Quinn said. “From now until we find this guy, you can’t be alone. When I can’t be with you, Griffin will be or one of his agents.”
“Yes, of course, if that’s what you think is best.”
“Good decision,” Griffin told her. “I’ll talk to y’all tomorrow or before then if I have any relevant news.”
As soon as Griffin left, Quinn shoved his chair back from the table and got up, leaving behind his untouched breakfast.
“Quinn?”
With his back to her, he inhaled and exhaled, trying to calm his anger. Anger directed at himself. What had he been thinking becoming Annabelle’s lover? Hell, he hadn’t been thinking and that was the problem. He’d wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anyone. And what Quinn wants, Quinn gets.
“I’ve put you in danger by becoming your lover,” he told her. “God, Annabelle, I’m sorry. So sorry.”
With his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, he didn’t hear her approach, didn’t know she was behind him until she slipped her arms around him and laid her head on his back.
“Don’t do this to yourself. You didn’t become my lover without my full cooperation, you know.”
“But what if he comes after you?” Quinn couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to Annabelle.
“If he does, you’ll stop him. Or Griffin will. Or Lieutenant
Norton.” Annabelle gasped. “Quinn, what if…if the police were to set a trap for him and use me as bait.”
Quinn whirled around, grabbed her and hugged her fiercely. “Don’t think such a thing. And never, under any circumstances, suggest such a thing to the police. Do you hear me?”
When she didn’t respond, he grasped her shoulders and shook her. “Annabelle? Do you understand?”
She wrapped her arms around him and whispered, “Yes, I understand.”
They hadn’t gone out at all today, instead they’d stayed in Annabelle’s suite and made love. After leaving their uneaten breakfasts on the table, they’d talked for a while, then Quinn had made a phone call. Half an hour later, a bellman had come to the door and delivered a small sack, which Annabelle soon discovered contained a box of condoms.
“What if he tells the reporter?” she had teased Quinn.
“You don’t care any more than I do.”
They had made love in a wild frenzy, then slept for a couple of hours and ordered a late lunch. After devouring every bite on their plates, including a sinfully rich dessert that they shared, they made love again.
What better way to spend a rainy Sunday afternoon? Annabelle stretched her arms above her head, then rolled over and snuggled up against Quinn, who suddenly seemed a million miles away as if he were thinking very hard about something. Was he still worrying about the fact that the killer would find out they were lovers and possibly come after her?
“Penny for your thoughts,” she said.
He slipped his arm beneath her shoulders and kissed her forehead. “I don’t want us to have any secrets. I’ve told you why you shouldn’t be with me, why I’m such a poor risk for any woman.”
She placed her index finger over his lips. “That’s the past.
This is the present. You may not realize it yet, but you love me.”
“Is that right?”
“That’s right.”
“Before we take things any further—make any kind of plans—there’s something I have to tell you.”
For about half a minute, Annabelle couldn’t breathe. “What?” she asked in a whooshing gasp.
“About a year ago, I had an odd sleepy episode, sort of a blackout of some kind. And I’ve had three more since then.”
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“No. I didn’t think much about the first two, just chalked each one up to being overly tired. And even the third time, I wasn’t sure. But the fourth time, I knew something was wrong.”
“We’ll make an appointment with the best doctor in Memphis and—”
“No, not yet. I can’t. I…” He sat up in bed, pulling her with him, then turned her to face him. Looking at her, but not touching her, he said, “The first spell happened the morning Joy Ellis was murdered in New Orleans and the second happened the night Carla Millican was killed in Dallas.”
Annabelle thought her heart stopped at that moment. For half a second at least. “And the other two times?”
“The night Lulu was killed and the night Kendall was killed.”
Oh, God! What was he trying to tell her?
“Annabelle…
querida
…what if when I blacked out, I didn’t know what I was doing and I actually killed—”
She grabbed him and wrapped her arms around him. “No!” She screamed the word. “You did not kill anyone and you know you didn’t.”
Silence.
“Quinn Cortez, I love you. And I trust you.”
“You don’t know what it means to me for you to say that
to me now. I don’t think I’m capable of cold-blooded murder, but it can’t be a coincidence that I’ve passed out each time one of my lovers was murdered.”
“You’re right, it can’t be a coincidence, which means someone is drugging you. Someone wants you to think you might have killed those women. And they’re making sure you don’t have an alibi for the time the murders occur.”
He enfolded her completely in his embrace and pressed his cheek to hers. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I swear I’ll protect you. If I lost you—”
“You aren’t going to lose me. Not ever.”
“Is that a promise?”
“That, my darling, is a solemn vow.”
Jim Norton didn’t subscribe to the daily
Commercial Appeal
or any other paper or magazines. He usually glanced over the newspaper at work, but got the bulk of his news from TV, the way most people did. So, today when he’d been running late and hadn’t even flipped on the nineteen-inch television in his small living room, he had missed the news that the entire Criminal Justice Center was abuzz with this Tuesday morning. He heard snippets of gossip in the elevator, just enough to pique his curiosity. Something concerning the big story in the
Commercial Appeal
about four of Cortez’s lovers being victims of a serial killer. After getting off the elevator on the tenth floor, he went in search of a newspaper, which wound up being easy to find. Sandra Holmes handed him a copy when he stopped by her cubicle.
“Somebody’s going to be in deep shit,” she said. “Only a handful of people were in possession of this information, right?”
Jim scanned the headlines—DEADLY LADY-KILLER—and then the accompanying article that informed the readers about Quinn Cortez’s connection to four murder victims, the two most recent here in Memphis.
“Goddamn,” Jim cursed under his breath. “Where’s Chad?”
“He’s in Inspector Purser’s office. And the director is in there with them. Why do you ask? You don’t think Chad—”
“It’s a sure bet that Cortez, his lawyer or Griffin Powell didn’t leak this information to the press, so that leaves the Memphis PD. I know I didn’t breathe a word of this to anyone, so by process of elimination…”
“Jim, don’t go in there half-cocked and make accusations you can’t prove,” Sandra warned. “For all you know, Chad’s in there right now covering his ass if he did do it.”
“I wouldn’t put it past the little prick to try to implicate me.”
“I doubt he’d do anything that stupid. Purser has known you for a long time. He knows you’re a man of integrity.”
Jim halfway smiled. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
Sandra looked at him with a soft glint in her eyes as if remembering their recent night together. That hungry look lasted all of thirty seconds, then she smiled back at him and glanced at the newspaper he held. “Why would Chad, or anyone else, leak that info?”
“To sway the court of public opinion. Chad wants Cortez to be guilty, but we don’t have enough evidence against the man to arrest him. If the public demands an arrest, that will put pressure on Director Danley, which in turn puts pressure on Ted Purser to make an arrest.”
“I don’t like to think that one of our own would try to manipulate the situation. I know Chad’s got his faults, but maybe you’re wrong about him.” Sandra reached up and grasped Jim’s arm. “Don’t do or say anything you might regret later.”
Jim pulled loose of her hold and handed her the newspaper. “Anything I have to say, I’ll say one-on-one to Chad. But you can be sure that Cortez’s lawyer is going to be demanding some answers. I see an all-out inquiry into this matter. Somebody’s going to get blamed for this and it sure as hell won’t be me.”
“Norton!”
Recognizing Ted Purser’s gravelly voice, Jim groaned.
“Jim, please…” Sandra issued him a cautionary look.
He smiled at her, then turned and headed toward the inspector’s office, where Ted stood in the doorway waiting on him.
“Yeah, what’s up?” Jim took his time, sauntering leisurely toward his boss.
“We need to talk. Now,” Purser said.
As soon as Jim entered the inspector’s office and the door closed behind him, he glanced around at the small group assembled there. Ted Purser, of course. And Director Danley, Chad George and DA Campbell.
“You’ve seen this morning’s
Commercial Appeal
,” Purser said in a matter-of-fact manner.
Jim nodded.
“I’ve already had a call from Cortez’s lawyer,” Director Danley said. “He’s demanding somebody’s head on a silver platter and he wants it served to him ASAP.”
“I was just explaining to the director that I do not believe anyone in my department leaked this information,” Ted Purser said. “Chad’s assured us that neither he nor you were in contact with any reporters.”
“Jim and I aren’t the only ones who possessed this information about Cortez’s link to these four murder victims,” Chad said. “There are others in homicide who could have leaked the info to the press. Sandra Holmes ran a check—”
Jim growled, the sound coming from deep in his chest. Before he hit Chad with a scurrilous glare, the sergeant stopped midsentence.
“I wasn’t implying that Sandra is the one who did it,” Chad said. “As a matter of fact, I don’t think she did. She’d have no reason to have done it. Right, Jim?”
“That’s right,” Jim said. “But all we have to do is find someone who did have a reason to want the public up in arms about Cortez, someone who wants Cortez arrested, even without hard cold facts to back up that arrest. Now, who would that be?”
Chad flushed. Inspector Purser glanced back and forth
from Jim to Chad. Not picking up on Jim’s subtle accusation, the director and the DA looked at him with puzzled expressions.
Ted Purser cleared his throat. “We’ll be doing an internal investigation into this matter. We wanted you two to be forewarned since you’re the detectives in charge of the Vanderley and Wells murder cases.”