“Excuse me, Doctor. I’m looking for a law enforcement officer named Will Brannock. He was brought in here earlier tonight with a gunshot wound in the torso. Is he still here?”
“Yes, he’s already up on the surgical floor.”
Julia swallowed hard, nerves jumping. “Is he going to be all right?”
Retta turned then and looked Julia straight in the eyes. “We thought we were going to have to tie him down at first. Would your name be Julia, by any chance?”
“Yes. I’m his partner.”
“He kept mumbling your name when he came out of sedation. We had to take out the bullet.”
“Oh God, how bad is it?”
“It took out a good chunk of his side, but mostly muscle. Fortunately, it didn’t hit any vital organs. He’ll be all right. I stitched him up myself.”
Relief hit Julia with a force she couldn’t even explain. Her knees nearly buckled, and she had to brace one hand on the wall. The doctor nodded with understanding. “He’s been grousing about getting back to work. You won’t have to hold him down long—they’ll be giving him an injection of morphine anytime now.”
Relieved and able to summon up a smile now, Julia took a moment to pull herself together as she made her way to his room. Her emotions were still running pretty ragged.
Okay, Julia, Will is going to be fine
, she thought.
Just suck it up and go see him
. She showed her badge at the nurses’ station, and then found Will’s room and opened the door. He was lying on his side, bare-chested, his lean torso wrapped in bandages. The IV taped to his left arm led to a rolling stand. A sheet covered the rest of him.
“I hear you’re not exactly a model patient around here,” she said, moving up next to the bed.
Will’s eyes flew open and he grabbed the hand she held out to him. “Thank God, you’re all right. You had me scared.”
“I had
you
scared? You’re the one who took the bullet.”
“You took off after that guy alone. My God, Julia. Backup was on the way. You should’ve waited.”
“I guess I did it for the same reason you would have if he’d just shot down your partner. Which would be me.”
Frowning, Will said, “Damn straight.”
“I couldn’t catch him. I heard his car start up but couldn’t see where it was. You were pretty out of it when I got back.”
Twisting and trying to sit up, Will grimaced and held his bandaged side.
“So how do you feel?” Julia lowered her voice. “You ready to go home and show me that big bedroom of yours like you promised?”
“Ready and willing, maybe. But not able.”
“Well, that’s disappointing. I expect you to make this up to me.” She smiled down at him, so relieved she couldn’t see straight.
Will tried to smile but didn’t appear to be in a particularly holly-jolly mood. “Did you work the scene?”
“Yeah, most of the night. Tam took over so I could come see you. She was an eager beaver about getting back to work, so I let her.”
“I’m ready to get out of here. You got my truck?” When she nodded, he said, “Good. Let’s go home. Hand me my clothes. They’re in the top drawer over there.”
“Sorry, Charlie, but the nurse says you’ve got to stay overnight. Maybe longer. So just relax and enjoy the time off.”
“No way. Help me up. We’ve got to get back out to Parmentier’s.”
“We’re handling it, Will. Calm down or you’ll pop your stitches.”
“I’m fine, damn it. I’ve gotta get out of here.”
“Wait a couple of days till you’re back on your feet and walking around. There’s a whole task force working this case. Let us do our jobs. Besides, they’re going to shoot you up with a painkiller any minute now.”
“They already did.”
“Then you aren’t going to remember a thing a couple of minutes from now. Relax, rest, get a good night’s sleep.”
Will did not look pleased or appeased. “The victim was Folger Parmentier, right?”
“Yes, sans tongue and a few other things. The rest of the MO’s the same as the other victims. Except he was flogged with one of his own ugly-looking whips. I’m going back to your place and read the rest of Varranzo’s file on the Parmentier trial. So I’m going to have to get your card for the gate. Maybe I can figure out who’s next on the killer’s list.”
“Call me before you do anything. Keep me informed. Promise me.”
“Don’t I always?”
Will took her hand, entwined their fingers, and squeezed tightly. “Will you stay awhile? Keep me company?”
“Sure. The doctor said that I might have to tie you down. Actually, I rather like that idea. Has an erotic ring to it.”
“Now you’re just being cruel.”
“I can wait for the fun and games. We’ve got lots of time once you get out of here.”
Will smiled at that and closed his eyes, but he didn’t let go of her hand. She stood beside him and held it while he drifted off to sleep. Oh God, she was simply crazy about him. When did her feelings get this deep? After a while, when he was sleeping soundly, she covered him up with the sheet and blanket and retrieved the card to his gate and his house key from his possessions. She went back to the bed and gazed down at his handsome face, now quite relaxed and still. She kissed his cheek and smoothed back his hair, and then she left him in the care of the nursing staff at North Park, thinking he was no doubt having some very interesting pipe dreams. She just hoped she was in them.
Chapter 23
Around noon the next day, Julia finally made it back home to her boathouse. After leaving Will sleeping peacefully on the surgical floor of the hospital, she spent the rest of the night up at the crime scene. They had brought in floodlights and worked until after dawn. Tam had been great, taking over while Julia was with Will at the hospital, and she showed herself to be a good investigator, even though she’d only been at it for a year or so. They had collected some evidence, more at this scene than at the others, mainly because she and Will had surprised the killer.
Once daylight lightened the sky, she had found the spot where the Slasher had opened fire on Will. He had either not had the time to pick up the spent shell, or he couldn’t find it in the dark. In any case, the TBI forensic team had it in their capable hands. They’d also found tire tracks in the small grove of pines where the killer had hidden his car. Maybe, just maybe, they’d get lucky this time.
Exhausted, she let Jasper out of the backseat. She’d gone to North Park again on the way home, just to make sure Will was still doing okay. He was sleeping, or maybe just drugged up on his own special drug cocktail, but Dr. Davis assured her that Will was going to be fine and up on his feet again in no time. All kinds of unfamiliar emotions had boiled up inside her as she stood looking down at him. She needed to sort them out, but one thing she did know. She was in love with Will Brannock. Whether that was good or bad remained to be seen.
Inside the boathouse, she fed Jasper, then took a long, hot shower, washed her hair, and felt much better. But she was dead on her feet. She sank down on the couch and turned on the television, hoping the press hadn’t gotten hold of the details of Parmentier’s ghastly murder. She tried to stay awake and watch the news but was gone to the world in two minutes flat.
When she woke up, it was late afternoon. She sat up and picked up her cell phone. Will had called. She hadn’t even heard the phone ring. She needed some coffee, something to get her going, and then she’d give him a call back. She heaped in a couple of extra spoonfuls of Starbucks coffee and then added another teaspoon for good measure. She needed to be alert. She wanted to nail this guy. He had killed four people already. He had shot Will. She was going to get him for that alone.
Turning around, she leaned her back against the kitchen counter and looked out the window at the river. She could see a bass boat out on the water, moving upstream. It looked like Charlie Sinclair, but she couldn’t tell for sure. It could be. It was Sunday; he always fished on Sunday. Sighing, still a bit groggy, she poured herself a cup of coffee and carried it into the living room. She sat down and sipped it, the warmth feeling good going down her throat. She dialed Will’s cell number, but got his voice mail. He was probably talking to his mom, or to Phil. Or to a redheaded flight attendant flying high above the Atlantic Ocean. No, he wasn’t like that. She knew that now. His feelings for her seemed sincere, and she believed him. He had been through a lot, lost his little brother. He had isolated himself for good reasons, and she knew that now, too.
Her gaze fell on the old photo album sitting on the coffee table, full of photographs of Lonnie’s family. His mother had lovingly pasted in each photo held between those plastic pages. Julia wondered how long it had taken her to make such a beautiful book. Maybe someday she and Will would marry and have a family. She smiled at the thought of handsome little Wills running around the house.
Whoa, Julia, you’re getting way ahead of yourself
, she thought.
Leaning forward, Julia turned the pages one at a time. She needed to make one for herself and J.D. Maybe that would make a great wedding present for Audrey and him: all the pictures from his childhood, his law enforcement career, and the more recent ones of Zoe and Audrey. When would she ever have enough time to do it? That was the pertinent question.
Mrs. Axelrod had started with pictures of her own wedding and moved on through the years: her children, their children, birthday parties, Christmases, Fourth of July celebrations. It was all there. Then Julia saw it. She stiffened and brought the picture up closer to her eyes. Two children were sitting on the boathouse dock, holding up double-dip chocolate ice-cream cones. Problem was, though, she’d seen those kids before. Last night. The same exact picture, cropped at the children’s shoulders. In Gloria Varranzo’s file on the Folger Parmentier vehicular homicide case.
The phone rang, and she grabbed it. It was Will.
“Will, you’re not going to believe this,” she began, trying not to panic. “You know those kids we saw in Varranzo’s file yesterday?”
“Where have you been? I’ve been calling you all day.”
“I’ve been asleep. Tam and I worked the crime scene all night.”
“What about those kids?”
“Their pictures are here in Lonnie’s family’s photo album. You know, the big one that’s sitting on my coffee table. You’ve seen it there, right?”
“Are you sure it’s them?”
“I’m pretty sure they’re the kids who died in that wreck.”
“If they’re involved somehow, Lonnie is, too.”
“Oh my God,” she murmured, half to herself. “If Lonnie’s connected to these children, he could be connected to the murders.”
“Are you saying he might be on the killer’s list?”
“I don’t know. Maybe not, but if they were his grandchildren, that means Victoria Cummings was his daughter. He could be on the Slasher’s list. It’s worth warning him about. Besides, maybe he can tell me something about the trial. He had to have been there. There might be someone he remembers who was spouting off or verbally abusive about Parmentier getting off. Maybe he knew the other victims’ family members. The Gentrys. He might be able to give us a good feel for what went on at that trial.”
“Yes, we need to talk to him. Wait for me. I’m coming over there right now.”
“No, you’re not. Don’t be ridiculous. I can handle this. Stay put. Get well.”
“I said I’ll be right over. Wait for me.”
“No way. I’ll call you as soon as I talk to him. See you later.”
Julia clicked off. She hoped he stayed right where he was and let that nasty wound in his side start healing. She dressed quickly in jeans and the pink T-shirt with a pink sequin bow that she purchased during breast cancer month, laced up her white Nikes, buckled on her Glock 17, and then clipped her badge on her belt. She intended to visit Will in the hospital, then revisit the Parmentier crime scene one more time. Ordering Jasper into the truck, she drove the short distance to Cathy’s house. Cathy’s car was gone, but Lonnie’s Explorer sat in the carport. Jasper trailed her to the front door, where she knocked and waited. There was no answer. Lonnie was probably out back in his studio.
“Here, Jasper,” she said, picking up an old gray sweatshirt of Lonnie’s lying on the back of a rocker. “Go find Lonnie.”
The bloodhound immediately bounded down the steps and headed around back. Julia followed. She had never been to Lonnie’s private studio, didn’t know exactly where it was, but Jasper would find it in nothing flat. He could find anything. She strolled after Jasper, who was sticking to the well-worn rocky path that wound its way out through the big trees and thick undergrowth, the cool darkness inviting and primeval.
She glanced around for Cathy’s dogs but didn’t see them. There was no distant barking as happened when they had squirrels treed and were jumping up at the trunk, trying to get to them. Cathy must have taken them out to Charlie’s for shots or something. It was pretty quiet out in the deep woods, except for the slight rustling of leaves high in the treetops and the faraway buzz of a boat’s motor on the river. Despite the heat of the sun, little of the warmth or bright light filtered its way through the heavy foliage in the canopy of trees stretching high above her. It was almost like trekking through a forest back in colonial days, shady and cool and silent.
After about a fifteen-minute walk on the meandering dirt path, she caught sight of the structure that Lonnie apparently used as his workshop. It was fairly large, and she had a feeling it had been the residence of an Axelrod relative at some time. It was certainly isolated enough for Lonnie to paint and sculpt and let his creativity blossom. Peace and quiet. Total peace and quiet. To an almost unnerving degree.
She made her way to the front door and knocked a couple of times but didn’t get an answer. Jasper had followed Lonnie’s scent directly to the door and now alerted her by sitting down beside her. She knelt and patted his head. “We aren’t having much luck, are we, Jasper, boy?”
Standing, she tried the antiquated white knob. It turned easily, so she pushed open the door and called out for Lonnie. All was quiet. Silent as a cemetery. She walked around inside the house, admiring the displayed paintings and worktables loaded with lots of paint tubes, sculpting tools, and blank white canvases. Surprised, she picked up a really exquisite metal sculpture of a woman sitting on a log. It looked a lot like Cathy. She smiled. Lonnie’s retreat. All his favorite toys. Sort of like Will’s fancy-as-Bill-Gates’s computer room.
Suddenly she heard the low whir of some kind of machine. She crossed the kitchen to the back door. When she opened it, Jasper ran out the door and headed around the side of the house to explore. She saw Lonnie outside, working with a welder under a corrugated-metal lean-to, sparks flying. She called out his name, but he couldn’t hear her over the sound of the welder. She descended the steps and headed out across the yard. When Lonnie abruptly stopped welding, he heard her behind him and whirled around to face her. Smiling, she started to apologize for scaring him, but then her gaze dropped down to the set of scales he was holding in one hand. Scales with a crossed-swords finial. The exact same scales that she’d seen at the Tongue Slasher crime scenes.
Stunned to a standstill, Julia couldn’t move at first. Lonnie did. He came right at her, and Julia scrabbled for her weapon, got it out, and fired a round. He cried out as it winged him in his left arm. She fired again, but he was too fast and lunged to the right, out of range. He swung the heavy base of the scales hard at her head, so hard that it knocked her to her knees and made her vision go dark for a few seconds. Dizzy, eyes blurry, she felt him grab her weapon and wrest it out of her grip, just as Jasper shot around the side of the house and went after Lonnie, barking and snarling and tearing at his pants leg. Lonnie clubbed the dog and then hit Julia again, this time so hard on the temple that the world went dark. She sank into it and knew no more.
As soon as Julia hung up on him, Will lay back against the pillows, fuming mad. She could be so hardheaded at times, it was downright infuriating. On the other hand, she was a trained police officer. She knew what she was doing and how to do it safely. She was just going down the road to see her friend, Lonnie Axelrod.
Relax, Brannock
, he told himself. He took a deep, cleansing breath, and then heard the low ding of his cell phone. He picked it up and looked at caller ID. Las Vegas PD. He pulled it up at once and found the picture Archie York had scanned in and e-mailed back. Maria Bota had drawn a circle around one of the men sitting in the courtroom gallery at the Parmentier trial. A seat right behind the prosecutor’s table. He stared at it in disbelief. Their eyewitness had circled a picture of a younger Lonnie Axelrod. But it was him, no question about it. Oh God—Axelrod was the Tongue Slasher. And Julia was on her way to his house.
Will jerked out his IV needle and threw off the covers. Julia was walking straight into danger and had no idea that she was. It all made sense now. Axelrod had lost his daughter and two grandchildren. The photos of the two kids were proof of that. Folger Parmentier was drunk when he hit them and had been living it up ever since. Varranzo was his attorney. Lockhart was the judge. Of course, of course, of course! Why hadn’t they put it all together before?
Wincing with pain, he pulled on his jeans and T-shirt, dialing Julia’s number with the other hand. She didn’t pick up. He cursed to himself. When he headed out the door, a nurse showed up in the hall and gave him some trouble about leaving, but he brushed past her. Nobody was going to stop him. He could drive, and he’d steal a car if he had to. Then he remembered the security guard down in the emergency room. It wasn’t far to Will’s house. The guard could get Will to his boat. After that, Lonnie’s place was less than ten minutes from there by water.
In the elevator to the lobby, he dialed J.D.’s number. If anybody could get to Lonnie Axelrod’s place in record time, it was J.D. He put in another call to the CPD and Phil Hayes, just in case. Then he headed at a run for the ER.
Julia blinked her eyes, trying to think how long she’d been unconscious. All she knew was that her head felt like someone had taken a baseball bat to it. She tried to keep her eyes open but couldn’t do it; it hurt too much. She could hear a dog hysterically barking somewhere far away. Jasper? She tried to garner her thoughts enough to remember what had happened. But her mind was immersed in a deep fog. She licked at dry lips and sank back into the hazy, strange dreamscape.
Later, when she came to again, she was shivering with cold. She was in a dark place, dank and damp. What—a cave? She tried to move, sit up, but couldn’t seem to do that, either. Oh God, what? Were her arms and legs strapped down? Finally she got her eyes open enough to recognize that there were several electric lanterns hanging on some kind of line strung up above her. The light made her blink. Jasper was still baying, somewhere far away. He sounded scared. What happened to him? She struggled desperately for coherence, felt blood running down the side of her face, and slowly, agonizingly, finally regained her memory. When she did, she was sorry she had.