FATAL FORTY-EIGHT: A Kate Huntington Mystery (The Kate Huntington Mysteries Book 7) (3 page)

“That’s what the M.E. speculated.” Judith put down the report and picked up a black vinyl appointment book. She handed it to Kate. “It’s already been dusted for prints. Look through it and see if anything seems weird to you. Go back at least seven months.”

Kate started leafing through the pages, working backward.

“Wait,” Canfield said. “If the wounds were postmortem, what was the actual cause of death?”

“They were smothered, probably with a pillow. Cloth fibers were found in their nasal passages. And there were large amounts of diazepam in their systems, but not enough to kill them.”

Kate looked up. “Valium?”

Judith nodded. “All the women were taken from their homes. The fifth one was the only one taken from the street, but he was due at a birthday party for his father that evening. He had planned the party himself so the family insisted he would not have blown it off. But the kid was a recovering addict and a prostitute. The police didn’t make the connection until his body was found. The speculation was that the perp changed to a male victim to throw the police off.”

“How’d they know he was the victim of the same guy?” Rose Hernandez spoke up for the first time.

Judith eyed the short, solidly built ex-police officer before answering. She was never quite sure how to take Rose Hernandez. She acted more like a guy than even Judith herself did.

“The postmortem torture and semen, and the bodies were posed. All found in parks or woods not far from where they’d been taken. The Feds believe the perp wanted them to be found.” Judith hesitated, then rummaged again in her pile. “There’s another detail that was held back from the press, so if it gets out now, I’ll know where it came from.”

She found what she’d been rooting for and squinted at it. “There were notes with the bodies. Last one said, ‘Robert Stern, discovered missing six p.m., April 30, 2013. Died six p.m., May 2, 2013. You could have found me, if you had really been looking.’” She put the paper down and picked up another one. “That was a slight deviation from the earlier four notes. They all said, ‘Why didn’t you look for me?’”

Canfield looked startled. “Why weren’t the police looking for the victims?”

“They were, after the first two, but they didn’t advertise that fact,” Judith said. “Rumors were flying. The press was making noises about a serial killer in town, had even dubbed him the Forty-Eight Hour Killer. Maybe the authorities didn’t want to fan that fire.”

There was a rap on the conference room door. A CSI tech stuck her head in. “We’re done, Lieutenant.”

Judith glanced her way. “Rush doesn’t begin to describe this case, Louise. A woman’s life is hanging in the balance.”

The young woman nodded and withdrew. Tolliver came in through the open door and handed a sketch to Judith.

“Thanks. You all might as well go home and get some sleep. I need to go deal with the Feds and the brass. We’ve got some good solid leads here, thanks to you. But there’s nothing more you can do tonight.” Judith dropped her voice to just above a whisper. “Keep a low profile, guys. I like my new title. I want to keep it. I’ll keep you posted.”

~~~~~~~~

10:00 p.m. Friday

Go get some sleep, Judith had said. Kate didn’t think she would ever sleep, not until Sally was back with them.

As Skip pulled his SUV out of the parking lot, she silently prayed,
Dear Lord, please keep her safe!

The next thing she knew he was leaning over her, trying to unbuckle her seatbelt. “Did I fall asleep?” she mumbled.

Skip let out a short chuckle. “You sure did, darlin’. Out like a light.”

The guilt that closed her throat must have shown on her face. His expression sobered.

“Adrenaline’ll do that to you. When it drains away.” He started to gather her up to lift her out of the truck, but she resisted.

“You’ll hurt your back.”

He stepped back on the sidewalk, letting her get out on her own. “Are you tryin’ to tell me I’m gettin’ too old to carry you around,” he drawled, his native Texas seeping into his speech.

Kate looked up at her tall, handsome husband and gave him a weak smile. “No. I, uh, just need to move around some. Get the blood flowing.” Normally she loved feeling safe and protected in Skip’s arms. But tonight it would make her feel more helpless, and she didn’t need that.

Skip took her hand and squeezed as they walked toward the house.

“We need a plan for tomorrow,” Kate said.

“Already got one, or at least the beginnings of one. Judith’s calling in a police artist tonight to help Charles fine-tune his sketch. She’ll fax me a copy of the finished product. Rose, Mac and I will be joining as many uniforms as Judith can drum up to canvas around the center and Sally’s apartment building. Rob’s gonna help too. Hopefully somebody else has seen this guy and can give us a lead on who he is.”

“What time are you going to start?”

“At first light, or maybe earlier. I’m setting the alarm for four a.m.”

“I think I’ll go to the police station then, and see if I can contribute anything to the FBI’s profilers’ efforts.”

Skip unlocked the front door. “They may not take too well to that, darlin’.”

They stepped inside and Kate stopped, looking around in amazement. The living room was spotless. She suspected the kitchen would be the same. No doubt due to the efforts of Maria, their housekeeper, and Rob’s wife, Liz.

She shook her head to bring her brain back to the topic at hand. “I’ll figure out a way to get them to let me help.” She set her mouth in a firm line and tried to think of how to do that. But her mind was a blank.

Skip was watching her face. “I pity those poor FBI agents. Come on, let’s try to get some rest.”

CHAPTER THREE

3:30 a.m. Saturday

Warm hands ran over her naked back. They stopped occasionally to knead a tight muscle. The hands were smooth-skinned but strong, massaging away the tension in her body.

She snuggled deeper into the mattress and let out a soft “mmmm” of satisfaction to encourage the owner of the hands to keep up the good work.

The massage continued for a few minutes. Then one of the hands moved to her shoulder, gently turning her onto her back. The hand moved down to her waist, slid in a lazy circle around her belly button and moved up her torso again to cup one breast.

Warm, wet lips encircled the nipple. Eyes still closed, she moaned softly. The lips sucked gently and heat shot down the core of her body, culminating in warm tingling between her legs.

The mouth sucked harder. The tingling intensified, morphed into liquid heat.

Cool air against her wet breast. She sucked in air in disappointment.

The mouth captured the other nipple, teasing it gently between teeth before sucking hard. Another shot of heat. She moaned louder and arched her back.

The hand had found its way to her naked hip. She prayed it would move around to touch the tingling heat between her legs, but it slid under her instead and massaged her buttocks for a moment as the mouth continued to devour her breast.

The delicious torture of anticipation was building to the almost intolerable stage. The first shudder rolled through her.

No!
She wanted him inside of her.

Her mind registered that she felt lonely and afraid. The insistent mouth on her breast distracted her before she could make sense of that.

She desperately needed to feel connected to him right now, to feel that sense of being one with him, of their bodies melting together at the moment of climax.

The mouth moved back to the first breast. It sucked hard.

Heat seared through her body. Even her fingertips were tingling.

She half opened her eyes, reaching up to grasp Skip’s broad shoulders and pull him closer. Her hands froze in midair.

An older man was smiling down at her, his thin, gray hair slicked back, evil lurking behind his eyes.

Her breath caught in her throat. She tried to scream but nothing came out.

The face evaporated and she bolted upright in bed. Grabbing the sheet, she pulled it up over her breasts.

Still disoriented she turned toward Skip’s side of the bed. He wasn’t there. The sheets were rumpled, the pillow showing the indent from his head, but he was gone.

“It was just a dream,” she whispered in the empty room. The words were not particularly reassuring.

Heat rose in her cheeks as she realized the lower part of her body was still throbbing. How could she be turned on?

Of course she knew the sterile, clinical answer to that. The body didn’t necessarily need the mind’s cooperation to be turned on, and obviously the first part of the dream had been about Skip.

Then it had morphed into a nightmare.

Her hand flew to her mouth as it hit her. The face in the nightmare was the one Charles had drawn.

~~~~~~~~

Sally woke to silence. She opened her eyes but the world around her was blurry. Her arms were crossed awkwardly across her chest. She tried to move them but couldn’t.

Random pieces of information popped into her brain. Her heart pounded as they slowly fell into place. She sucked in her breath and almost choked on the fabric stretched across her mouth.

Sweet Jesus, save me! I’ve been kidnapped.

”Are you comfortable?” a male voice asked.

She tried to turn her head in that direction, with little success.

“Don’t worry, the drug I gave you will wear off soon. You should have no lasting effects from it.” The voice was higher pitched than a normal man’s voice, but definitely male.

A face swam into her view. She couldn’t see it all that clearly, but he looked like he was about her age.

That’s crazy. Old men don’t kidnap old women.

But maybe he thought she was younger than she was. With the exception of her silver hair, she didn’t look her age. Or at least that’s what Charles, who was three years younger, kept telling her.

Pressure in her chest, squeezing her heart. At first, she thought it was a reaction to whatever drug this maniac had given her. Or maybe she was having a heart attack. That might be a blessing, to die rather than endure whatever this man had in store for her.

She realized belatedly that the pain in her chest was brought on by her thoughts of Charles.

He must be frantic!

“I do hope you’re not too uncomfortable, my dear,” the voice said.

Her vision cleared a bit more. The man was smiling down at her, and it looked like there was sympathy in his eyes.

Sally shook her head in confusion, then wished she hadn’t. She had a horrible headache. That probably
was
from the drug.

The man mistook her gesture as an answer to his question. “Good. I try to make people as comfortable as possible. If you promise not to try to shout or go into hysterics, I’ll take the gag off.”

“Yes,” she said. Because of the gag, it sounded more like
yish
.

“Good.” He fumbled with something behind her head. “It wouldn’t do you any good to scream anyway. The walls are soundproofed. But I do so hate a scene.”

The gag fell away from her mouth. She opened and closed her jaws, felt a slight crack. The gag had probably been in place for a while then, for her jaw to get so stiff.

Good, her brain was starting to function better.

She lifted her head slightly and looked down the length of her body. White canvas, crisscrossed with brown leather straps, covered her torso. It took her a moment to realize it was a straightjacket. There was something wrapped around each of her ankles. She couldn’t make out what it was before the weight of her head became too much for her neck. She let it drop back down.

She hadn’t taken the time to notice what she was lying on, but she surmised it was a bed. The surface below her wasn’t hard, but it wasn’t soft either.

“Here, let me rearrange the pillow,” the man said. He lifted her head slightly and slipped a pillow under it.

One of his earlier words registered belatedly. “You like to make
people
comfortable. You’ve done this before.”

“Oh, yes. You’re my sixth.”

Sally shivered violently. She struggled to control her bowels.

“Exactly what time was Mr. Tolliver supposed to pick you up, my dear?”

Sally vaguely remembered him asking that before, in her office. “Six forty-five,” she answered.

The man smiled down at her. “So I’m guessing he was supposed to get you to your retirement party by seven. I’ll give you that extra fifteen minutes then, and start the clock at seven p.m.”

She shuddered. He knew about the party. Her mouth went dry. “What clock?” she managed to get out.

“You’ll see, in due course.”

Adrenaline coursed through her system. Her arms, of their own volition, struggled against the straightjacket. She moved her feet apart a few inches, then couldn’t move them any further. They seemed to be hobbled together somehow.

Blood pounded in her head, making her ears ring.

CHAPTER FOUR

4:00 a.m. Saturday

Kate found her nanny and housekeeper already up and puttering around the kitchen. This was early, even for Maria, who usually rose at five-thirty. “Skip left a note,” she informed Kate. “He go to help wit de canvassing. I fix you breakfast now.”

Her stomach twisted at the thought of food. She shook her head. “My stomach’s not awake yet.”

Maria’s round face pinched into a frown.

Kate quickly apologized for dumping the children, plus a rambunctious puppy, on her. Saturday was supposed to be her day off.

The plump, little woman planted her fists on her hips. “You find yer boss lady. No worry ’bout de
niños
.”

A lump of gratitude clogged Kate’s throat. This woman was such a blessing in their lives. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Maria made a shooing motion with her hands.

Kate wasn’t surprised to find Judith already in her office at the police station. Indeed, it was unlikely the woman had ever gone home. The detective–no,
lieutenant
now, Kate silently corrected herself–introduced her to the two FBI agents by the name she still used professionally, Kate Huntington.