Dead Ringer (17 page)

"Detective."
She couldn't decide if this was a stroke of
luck or not.

He
turned, unrushed and seemingly not caring that he'd been caught staring at her
pictures. He set the paperweight down. "About time you got back."

Kendall
pulled back her shoulders and smiled. She refused to betray the flutter of
nerves in her belly. "
This a
social call, Detective,
or are you going to give me an interview?"

A
second glance at him and she noted the dark circles under his eyes. She'd bet
he and his partner had been working around the clock since the first body had
been found. "No to both."

That
puzzled her. "Okay. Why are you here? I've got a story to write."

Warwick
hesitated as his gaze lingered on a picture of Kendall and her parents. "You
look happy in this picture."

"It
was taken at my high school graduation." She wasn't sure why she felt the need
to explain. "That was the last picture taken of the three of us. Dad died three
months later."

A
hint of regret darkened his eyes. He understood her loss. He had loved and lost
a foster father who had been just as dear to him as her father had been to her.
Losing a parent left a wound that would never quite heal no matter how much
time had passed. Suddenly, she felt sadness for Warwick.

"You
don't look like your parents."

She
cleared her throat. "Mom always said I was a throwback to another generation."
Her mother's lie had been told so often that it rolled off Kendall's tongue
automatically. "Why are you here?" Impatience had leaked into her voice.

He
met her gaze head-on. "What I'm about to say has to stay off the record for
now."

Her
senses perked up. "There's no such thing as off the record."

His
gaze pinned her. "If you can't give me your word that none of this will leak
out, then I'll go."

Reporters
were nosey by nature and she was no exception. Warwick had something important
to tell her and not knowing would drive her nuts. But she could see in his
expression that he would walk out of her office right now if she didn't give
him her word. Damn. There was no way around it. "You have my word."

"I
mean it, Kendall. No leaks."

That
irritated her. "When I give my word I keep it.
Period."

He
hesitated and she couldn't tell if he was trying to read her or gauge his own
words. "Did Phil White ever mention that you look like his wife?"

That
took her aback. "I do not look like Jackie White."

"He
did, didn't he?" He boldly studied her high cheekbones and her vivid green
eyes. "She wasn't as pretty as you are, but the similarities are there. I saw
it even when she was lying by the river, pale and lifeless. You had to have
noticed."

Kendall
drew in a deep breath. "Is that supposed to spook me?"

His
eyes narrowed. "The second victim looks like you as well."

Her
stomach dropped. "Brown hair and green eyes are common traits. Whatever
similarities you see are strictly coincidence. Now if you don't have anything
else to add, it's late and I want to work."

He
pulled two Polaroid pictures out of his coat pocket and laid them on her desk.
They were of the two murdered women. Unexpected sadness washed over her as she
stared at the lifeless faces.

She
swallowed. "The women look similar, but nothing
like
me."

"You
don't believe that, do you?"

"Yes,
I do."

He
tapped the desk with his index finger. "Have you had any odd e-mails lately?
Obsessed fans?
Irate ex-boyfriends?"

There
had been the tipster who'd sent her the text message.
"Nothing
out of the ordinary.
Some send me notes frequently but none have been
menacing." She tried to look nonplussed. "I think you're grasping at straws."

He
stared at her as if trying to read her thoughts.

Those
thoughts flashed to the dreams she'd had. The unknown woman's screams echoed in
her head. She pushed aside the memory and focused on logic. "I've had no
threats. No creepy guys. No odd phone calls. It's been business as usual. You'd
think if someone was living out some strange fantasy I'd have some sign."

"Not
necessarily." He was a dog with a bone. "What about ex-boyfriends?"

"My
ex-boyfriend would like to patch things up." She folded her arms over her
chest, not sure why she mentioned it. "I've been very clear we are not getting back
together."

Warwick
raised a brow. "Did he say anything to make you concerned?"

"No.
I mean he was a little frustrated with me but Brett's always frustrated with
me."

"Brett
Newington?"

Loyalty
made her hesitate, but then she answered, "Yes."

"Why
would he be frustrated with you?"

"I'm
too independent, I suppose. He likes his women a bit more biddable." She
frowned. "I've known Brett for years. He's stable."

"Right."

"Hey,
this is the kind of thing that could really hurt his career."

"I
can be subtle when I ask questions."

She
arched a brow. "You're about as subtle as I am biddable."

A
smile tugged the edge of his lips and for a moment it transformed his face. He
didn't look so fierce. He looked attractive even.

She
rubbed the back of her neck with her hand. "You went out on a limb to tell me
this."

"Yes."

"Why?"

His
face tightened. "I owe you."

That
surprised her. "You don't owe me anything."

"That's
not how I see it." He shrugged. "Just keep your eyes and ears open, Kendall. Do
you have an alarm system in your house?"

"Yes."

"Good.
Use it."

"All right."
She held out her hand to him, trying to prove
to them both that there was no snap of energy between them. "Thanks."

Strong
powerful fingers wrapped around hers, and for a moment she felt a jolt zigzag
through her body.

"You'll
keep me posted," she said.

"When it's necessary."
He released her hand, picked up the
Polaroids and tucked them in his pocket, and left her office.

Kendall
stood stunned and not quite sure what had just happened. If he'd come to her
about anyone else, she'd have a dozen ways to crack the story without breaking
her word to him. But the angle he'd brought her put her dead center in the
middle of the story. She'd been there once. And knew that was a place she never
wanted to be again.

Brett
Newington sat in a chair and stared at the woman standing before him. She had a
long, lean body and the dark wig he'd supplied draped her slender shoulders.
The woman wore black heels, a pencil-thin skirt, and a silk blouse, all of
which he'd supplied as well. In the dim light he could almost pretend it was
Kendall standing before him.

"Unbutton
your blouse," he said.

She'd
been instructed not to speak except when she was spoken to. And then she only
said, "Yes, sir."

Her
hands trembled as she unbuttoned the blouse. He smiled. She was afraid of what
was to come. The others had told her. Good.

She
let the blouse fall to her shoulders and then slide to the floor. Full breasts
rose up over the black lacy bra.

"Now the skirt."

She
wriggled out of the skirt and kicked it toward the blouse puddled beside her.

The
woman was curvier than he
liked,
her belly not as flat
as it should be. But she would do.

Brett
rose, walked toward her, and stopped when he was only inches away. She stared up
at him. Under the heavy makeup he could see the pockmarks on her skin. He could
see that she wasn't Kendall. That she was a cheap imitation.

Rage
rolled inside him. He raised his hand and slapped her hard on the face. The
impact sent her to her knees.

She
touched the back of her hand to her lips, now crimson with blood. But she
didn't scream or fight back. She'd been paid well for the violence as much as
the sex.

"Stand
up," he ordered.

She
rose up and faced him. Fear darkened her eyes. The money was good, but he
suspected she was wondering now if it was worth the pain.

He
grabbed her arm and yanked it back hard. "You're going to earn every dime."

"Yes, sir."

Brett
smiled, pleased by her obedience. He slapped her a second time and then pushed
her down on the bed.

Dana
sat in her car and watched as Nicole drove off. In the dimming light, Dana
smiled. She flipped open her cell phone and dialed a familiar number. "I need
to buy a gun."

Sunday, January 13, 8:00
P.M.

Jacob
leaned against a wall on the first floor of the medical examiner's building
while Zack finished his call to his wife. Zack and Lindsay had barely seen each
other in the last week, thanks to the murders. But Zack made sure he called
whenever he could. Jacob admired the couple. They'd pulled a failing marriage
out of divorce court and found their way back to each other.

Zack
frowned as he snapped the phone closed and tucked it in his belt holster. "She
sounded tired."

Jacob
pushed away from the wall.
"She all right?"

He
frowned. "Yeah, it's just that she's trying really hard to get her new women's
center together. It opens soon."

"Lindsay
thrives on work. She'll be fine."

Zack
shoved out a breath. "She's pregnant."

Jacob
straightened. "No shit."

Zack
grinned.
"Yeah.
She's only about six weeks along. She
doesn't want me telling anyone for another month, so keep it under your hat."

Jacob
clapped him on the back. "Good job, old man."

Zack
looked pleased with himself. "We hadn't expected to do this so soon, but it's
pretty damn cool."

They
started down the hallway. "That explains why you've been calling her every five
minutes."

"She'd
overdo it if I didn't remind her to slow down."

Jacob
shook his head. "She's smart. And she'll do whatever it takes to protect the
kid."

"Yeah."

A
wave of emotion burned through Jacob. He couldn't decide if it was jealousy or
relief. He didn't have a family and told himself that he liked it that way. His
ex-girlfriend could testify to that. But there were moments when he did wonder
what it felt like to really love someone and have them love you back.

He
doubted he'd ever know. Love required trust and he had none of that to give.
For the first time, he was sorry.

They
strode down the hallway to the medical examiner's office and found Dr. Butler
behind his desk. The space was small, crammed full of books and
a half
dozen diplomas on the walls. Papers piled high in an
in-box.

The
doctor sat facing a laptop computer on the side of his desk. He was typing
furiously and didn't notice Jacob and Zack in the doorway. Jacob knocked.

Dr.
Butler started and his gaze swung around to the two cops. "Crap, I wish you
wouldn't do that."

"Do
what?" Jacob couldn't help but smile.

"Move
like a damn cat. Both of you never make any noise. Do me a favor and make some
noise once in a while."

Jacob
smiled. "What do you want me to do, tie bells to my ass?"

Dr.
Butler's face was deadpan. "That'll work fine."

Jacob
found himself wondering if the guy was serious or not. Shaking his head, he
followed Zack into the office. He sat in one of the two government-issue chairs
in front of the desk. With all three of them in the office the place felt very
small.

"So
I hear you did our Jane Doe's autopsy," Zack said as he propped an ankle on the
opposite knee.

"She's
not a Jane Doe anymore." Dr. Butler's eyes glistened with pride.

"That
was fast," Jacob said.

The
second body had ramped up the pressure on all of them. "I rolled her prints an
hour ago and Tess came up with a match. Your victim's name is Vicky Draper. Her
ID came up so quickly because she has a record. She did five years for drug
trafficking. She was released two years ago."

Zack
tapped his finger on the arm of his chair. "What else can you tell me about
her?"

Dr.
Butler read his notes. "She was strangled from behind. And she also had a
pronounced bruise on her right jaw. Someone hit her hard before she died." He
raised his eyebrows. "And she had a nasty scar on her right hand. It's got to
be years old.
Reminds me of a defensive wound."

Jacob
grabbed a rubber band off of Dr. Butler's desk. He strung it around his index
fingers and started to roll it in circles. "Someone tried to stab her?"

Dr.
Butler shrugged. "It was my first thought when I saw the cuts. She also had
nicks on the inside of her arm.
Also old."

Jacob
shoved out a breath. "What about needle marks on her arms?"

"Scars of old ones.
But they're a couple of years old.
Nothing fresh.
But there's no doubt she was a heavy user at
one time. Her teeth are a mess. I'll need a few days before I'll have results
of a tox screen to tell me what was in her system when she died."

Zack
leaned forward, his gaze full of interest. "Vicky and Jackie look alike. Jackie
could have been at the wrong place at the wrong time. The killer could have
been after Vicky. Maybe she'd gotten back into drugs and had pissed someone
off."

Jacob
shook his head. "Vicky was wearing a charm."

Dr.
Butler nodded. "
Judith
."

"If
not for the charms, I'd agree with you, Zack. But the charms change
everything," Jacob said.

Zack
nodded slowly.

Dr.
Butler leaned forward.
"A serial killer."

"I
sure as hell hope not," Jacob said. But he already knew he'd return to the
office and file a report with ViCap and make sure Tess had entered her DNA
evidence into CODIS. ViCap was the FBI's primary database of violent offender
profiles.
CODIS was
a national DNA database of
offenders. Jacob wanted to know if this killer had struck elsewhere.

"Any other similarities between the victims?"
Zack asked.

"I've
run a battery of tests. But it's going to take time before I get any results
back."

Jacob
could feel a headache forming behind his temple. "The press is going to eat
this one up." He'd told Kendall about the murder, and now he wondered if she'd
be good to her word.

"Like
a pack of wild dogs," Zack said.

The
rubber band snapped in Jacob's hand. Would Kendall Shaw be leading the pack?

The screams had stopped. Only the child's quick, panicked breaths broke
the silence. Even the baby that lay beside her was quiet, as if it too sensed a
momentary reprieve. She huddled in the back of the closet her face pressed in
the corner. Coats hanging above brushed the top of her head. She didn't trust
that it was safe. Her heart pounded in her chest.

And then footsteps.

Slow, unhurried footsteps creaked outside the closet. "Come out, come
out wherever you are."

The familiar voice was soft, kind even.

The little girl wanted to trust the honey-coated words. She wanted to be
held in a safe, protective embrace, but she didn't move. Behind the sweetness
she sensed evil lurked.

The baby started to flail and kick its legs. Kendall laid her hand
clumsily on the baby's chest, hoping to calm it. The infant's rapid butterfly
pulse thrummed under her fingers. But her touch only agitated the baby more.
The baby started to kick, to whimper, and then to cry.

Outside someone moved closer to the closet door. Fear burned in
Kendall's chest as fresh tears filled her eyes. She pressed her back against
the hard wall behind her and held the baby's arm. The baby started to wail. The
closet door snapped open.

A man stood in the doorway. The light behind him obscured his face but
caught the steel edge of the knife in his hand. Blood dripped from its tip.

"No!"

Kendall
sat upright in bed. Sweat soaked her nightgown and tears streaked her face.

She
raked a shaking hand through her hair and shoved out a deep breath.

She
glanced at the clock and groaned. It wasn't even eleven o'clock. Soon she'd be
a walking zombie.

She
got out of bed and grabbed the robe she kept on the bedpost,
then
shrugged the robe on.

Moving
to her dresser mirror, she stared at her tired expression as she rubbed her
aching shoulder. All the dreams had one thing in common: in each, she was a
little girl--afraid, alone.

She
had no memory of the house or the infant.
The closet or the
man with the knife.
Yet the dream kept coming to her.
Night
after night.

"Damn."
She prided herself on control and this dream was stealing it from her.

She
drummed her fingers on the dresser and continued to stare at her face. What had
happened to her before she was adopted? She thought about the pictures
displayed in her parents' home. From the age of three onward the Shaws had
proudly documented every moment of her life.
Birthdays.
Halloween costumes.
Awards.
Graduations.
They'd savored every moment and cherished her.

But
before the adoption her life was a glaring blank slate. No pictures, birth
records, birth parents' names. She had nothing.

"Who
are you?" she whispered as she stared at her image.

When
her mother had died, Kendall had been too upset to go through her papers. She'd
simply boxed them up and put them away. And when she'd moved into this house,
she'd had the movers stow the untouched boxes in the attic room. They'd sat
there for the last five months.
Forgotten.
Ignored.

Kendall
moved to the closet in her room that accessed the attic. She opened the door
and shivered as a cold blast rushed down from the eaves above and cut through
her robe. Shaking off a quiver, she clicked on the light and climbed the
unfinished stairs to the landing. The single lightbulb cast shadows in the
darkened corners.

There
wasn't much in the attic. The few decorations she bought for Christmas, files
from old stories she'd done and her mother's papers. There were six of those
boxes and they stood grouped in the far corner.

Kendall
crossed the plywood floor to them. She un-capped the first box and started to
thumb through the records. This box contained Irene and Henry Shaw's tax
records for the last three decades. She picked up one of the files and opened
it. Her dad's handwriting was neat and precise and he'd pressed down on the
paper so hard with the black ballpoint pen that the letters still indented the
page. She smiled and traced her fingers over the page. Her throat tightened.
Ten years since his death and she still missed him.

Kendall
shoved out a breath, replaced the file, and covered the box. The cold made her
hands tremble and the bottom of her bare feet prick. In another box she found a
dusty album filled with black-and-white pictures that documented Irene's life
from early childhood up until her marriage to Henry.

They'd
been married in the midseventies and Irene wore her blond hair loose, no veil,
and a slim white dress that had chiffon sleeves with thick cuffs. Henry wore a
blue tux, thick sideburns, and a large bow tie. Kendall smiled as she studied
her father's full crop of hair. For as long as she could remember, his hair had
been thinning.

Kendall
closed the album and gently laid it back in the box. She set the box aside and
dug through the others.
More financial papers.
And
then finally, in the last box, tucked in a brown accordion file full of tax
records she found a slim file that had
Kendall
written in her mother's
neat cursive.

Kendall
had never seen the file before. And she found her hands shook anew, not from
cold but fear. She smoothed her hand over the dusty manila folder.

A
chill snaked down her spine.

She
tucked the file under her arm and headed back down the stairs, then shut off
the light and closed the attic door before climbing back into her bed.

The
sheets had grown cold and it took a moment for the chill to leave her body. She
rubbed her hands together and opened the file to find a picture and a single
sheet of paper.

The
picture stapled to the left side of the manila folder was of Kendall. Unlike
the hundreds her mom and dad had taken of her, this one wasn't in color but
black and white. Kendall's hair was cut short and her face was pale. She
frowned as she stared off into the distance as if she were searching for
something.

Kendall
traced the outline of her young face. "You look so unhappy."

What
had happened to her before the picture had been taken? Had her birth mother
just left her? Was she mourning the loss?

Her
heart heavy, Kendall flipped the picture over, but the reverse side was blank.
She shifted her attention to the single sheet of paper in the file. It was a
letter from an adoption agency informing the Shaws that the closed adoption of
Kendall Elizabeth Shaw had been finalized. All birth records had been sealed by
the courts.

The
letterhead read
Virginia Adoption Services
. Her heart thumped wildly in
her chest. This agency had the key to her past. Its staff could tell her where
she came from.