The sharp edge of Louise’s words sliced through her strength. All she wanted to do was run from this room. “Fay also had a boyfriend, other than Darius. What was his name?”
“I don’t know. Let your detective friend figure that one out. Get me a letter from Eva and maybe I might remember more. Like what Darius and Blue were really doing at the museum.”
Angie had reached the end of the interview. Louise had given all she was going to until she received communication from Eva.
Angie would not beg or plead with Louise Cross, nor would she ever involve Eva. She could only hope this visit had piqued the old woman’s interest so that she could
return and ask more questions. “Thank you, Mrs. Cross, for your time.”
She set the phone down. When she faced Kier, she could see the anger brewing below the stony surface. She walked stiffly toward the door.
A rap on the glass had Angie turning. Louise stood at the glass, laughing so hard that tears ran down her cheeks.
Angie could barely breathe as she hurried toward the security checkpoint. She wanted to get the hell out of this prison. Her hands trembled as she collected her purse from the guards and moved back through the scanner.
Kier was on her heels, shoving his gun in its holster and collecting his badge. He caught up to her but said nothing as they walked outside. The morning sun had warmed, and she tipped her head back to absorb the heat and energy.
“Do you remember the cane Darius used?” Angie asked.
“He was before my time.”
“It’s a piece of Fay.”
“We don’t know that.”
A shiver burned through her limbs. “We locked gazes during the trial. He raised the head of that cane at me during Eva’s trial.” She smoothed her hand over her hair. “I can’t believe my father would have helped Darius hide a murder.”
“I don’t completely trust anything she said.”
She shoved out a sigh. “I hope you’re right.”
“What else do you remember about Darius?”
“He liked ivory. He had cuff links. A tie clip. I remember them all from Eva’s trial years ago. Dear God.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Louise is a master at jabbing old wounds,” Kier said.
“I knew that going into the interview.” A breeze blew across the parking lot, teasing wisps of hair that had escaped her bun.
“Knowing and feeling are two different things.”
“Don’t feel sorry for me. I’m a big girl, and I can take it.” She checked her watch, wishing she could teleport back to Alexandria and put this whole scene behind her. “What’s your driving record for the trip north?”
“One hour forty-five.”
“Let’s see if you can break it.”
When Connor Donovan’s contact in the prison had told him Angie had scheduled a last-minute visit with Louise Cross, his interest had been stirred. He’d watched as Kier had picked her up at her house and quickly merged on I-95 South. He’d been unable to match Kier’s pace, but knowing where they were going had allowed him to hold back.
Now as he sat in his car, parked across from the women’s detention facility, and watched them leave, he wondered why she’d bothered to visit.
The Sorority House Murders were closed. And Kier’s most active investigation was Sierra Day, a woman who likely didn’t know Louise Cross existed.
So why did Carlson and Kier travel the two hours south? He picked up his phone and dialed. When his call was answered on the third ring he said, “Robert, I have another job for you.”
* * *
Minutes after Malcolm dropped Angie off at her house, his phone rang. He maneuvered into traffic as he flipped it open. “Detective Kier.”
“How did it go at the prison?” Garrison said.
“I’ll fill you in when I see you. What’s up?”
“We’ve found more bones.”
Shit.
“Where?”
“In an alley off of Temple.”
“Give me the address. I’ll be right there.”
He arrived in the alley ten minutes later. Ten squad cars flanked the alley and the street around it. Yellow crime-scene tape roped off the alley. Forensics was on scene, and he saw the flash of a camera.
He found Garrison, who stood at the lip of the alley, his hands on his hips. “The trash man found her bones piled by the Dumpster. These bones aren’t as clean as the others. The killer might have felt rushed.”
“He’s anxious for our attention?”
“Could be.”
“You said ‘her.’” The alley smelled of rotting food and urine.
Garrison shoved his hands into his pockets. “A guess by forensics.”
Malcolm glanced around, searching for surveillance cameras. He didn’t see any. “Witnesses?”
“The alley serves a grocery store on one side and a liquor store on the other side. Both were closed at midnight last night, and both proprietors did not see the bones at that time.”
“They were brought here last night?”
“Or very early this morning.”
“Any bones missing?”
Garrison nodded. “The femur bone.”
He relayed what Louise had said about Darius’s
fascination with bones. “Whoever is killing these women is keeping their bones as trophies, maybe even making them into things he likes to carry or display.”
Garrison shoved out a breath. “Darius Cross is dead.”
“Fay’s old boyfriend has got to be in his fifties.”
“At least,” Garrison said. “Whoever is behind this was a player then and now.”
“Or knew someone that was.”
“Like Angie Carlson?”
Malcolm shook his head. “She looked pretty shaken when Louise told her Frank Carlson helped dispose of a body.”
“I’ll bet.” Garrison shook his head. “She’s the common denominator for all the victims.”
“We know who this victim is?”
“Contact Lulu Sweet’s mother and see if she has dental records on file. I’ll bet money we found Angie’s missing client.”
Malcolm thought about that gooey kid with the sloppy grin. “Will do.”
Tuesday, October 11, 6
A.M.
The cool waters of the pool did little to soothe Angie’s ragged nerves. All night she’d tossed and turned and thought of her parents: her stern father, her vivacious mother, and the marriage that had imploded. She imagined her father relenting to Darius Cross’s demands. Could he really have helped dispose of Fay’s body?
Her father had never once spoken of his work at the museum and the dark tasks Darius had required of him. Was Fay the only woman Darius had killed, stripped of flesh, and turned into a trophy?
Angie dug deeper into the water, pulling against it as if the exercise could drive all the frustration and sadness from her body.
She paused at the wall, her lungs screaming for air. Her muscles demanded a respite. She pulled her goggles from her head and set them on the concrete lip of the pool.
“You’re tearing that water up.”
She glanced to the lane beside her and saw that swimmer guy. What was his name? Martin.
Water clung to his dark hair. “How goes it? You look a bit driven today.”
She pulled her goggles up. “It’s been one of those weeks.”
This close she could see that he had blue, blue eyes that made her want to stare. No doubt he’d heard a million comments about his eyes, and she did not wish to join the legion of women who likely followed him. Had her mother once looked into Blue Rayburn’s eyes and felt the same tingle of excitement?
“I haven’t seen you here for a couple of days,” he said. He swam faster than she did, even today, and he was barely winded.
“Work. Gets in the way of life.”
He laughed, flashing even white teeth. Her spirits lifted just being near him.
“So what’s on your agenda today?”
“Paperwork. Lots of it.” She never discussed work with anyone except Eva. Donovan had planted that seed of distrust.
In one fluid move Martin hoisted himself out of the pool and sat on the edge. “Well, if you can ever tear yourself away, Angie, we can grab coffee one morning.”
“Thanks, Martin. I’ll see how the work goes.”
He cocked a brow. “Remember, Angie, there’s always work to be done. But the moments when we can really enjoy our lives aren’t so frequent.”
Her name sounded sexy when he spoke it. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He stood and walked toward the steam room. She liked the shape of his body and the way he filled out
his suit. It had been a long time since she’d had sex. Suddenly she was painfully aware of it.
“That dirty look could get you arrested in half the world.”
Kier’s voice startled her and had her turning to face him. Dark circles hung under his eyes, and he wore the clothes he’d had on yesterday.
Heat burned her face. “It wasn’t that kind of look.”
He grinned. “Of course it was.”
“Fine. You caught me. What can I say? I really do have blood in my veins.”
“Hey, no need to be defensive. Nice to know there’s fire in your belly.”
She pushed out of the water and stood. The cold air brushed her skin. Her nipples hardened. Kier’s gaze dropped, lingered, and then rose to her eyes. He slid his hand into his pocket, managing to look relaxed and powerful all in an instant.
“You didn’t just come here to harass me.” She slipped on her flip-flops and reached for her towel.
Everything about Kier had to do with purpose and reason. “No.”
In the open air, her skin chilled. Goosebumps puckered her flesh as she dried her skin. “Why are you here?”
All traces of desire vanished from his gaze. “We’ve found another body.”
“Lulu.” The word was a faint whisper.
“For now it’s a body. But Dr. Henson has Lulu’s dental records and promises a confirmation soon.”
She clutched her towel. Oh, God. She’d barely known the girl, but that didn’t stem the sharp pang of sadness. She thought about David. Did he feel alone and abandoned? She hoped not. “Have you said anything to her mother?”
“Not yet.”
“If the body is Lulu I’d like to go with you when you talk to Vivian.”
“Death notices aren’t nice, Counselor.”
“No, I don’t suppose they are.”
“I’ll call you when we have a confirmation.”
“Thanks. Does Eva know?”
“Garrison is telling her.”
“Good.”
“We released Sierra Day’s body for burial. Her husband has scheduled the funeral for Tuesday of next week. Says he wants it all behind him.”
“Right.”
His phone vibrated. He glanced down at a text message. The lines in his face deepened. He appeared to age ten years in seconds. “Dr. Henson has identified the body. It’s Lulu Sweet.”
“If you give me ten minutes, I’ll change and go with you to see Mrs. Sweet.”
“Sure.”
Donovan stood at the back entrance to the restaurant waiting for his contact to emerge. She was late. Impatient, he took a long pull on his cigarette and let the smoke seep slowly from his mouth and nostrils. He’d never been a smoker until last year, and then after the stabbing and the nightmares he’d found smokes calmed his nerves, especially when he had to hang out in alleys waiting for nitwits from the medical examiner’s office.
They’d agreed that meeting at the medical center would be too obvious. Since last year’s coverage, Donovan’s much-guarded anonymity had been destroyed,
and too many people, especially in cop circles, knew his face.
A thin woman peeked her head out of the back of the door and quickly spotted him leaning against the wall. “Let’s make this quick,” she said.
Donovan inhaled from his cigarette. “Fast or slow. Doesn’t matter to me.”
She rolled her eyes and dug a folded piece of paper from her pocket. “You said to call if we got more bones in the medical examiner’s office.”
His senses perked. “That’s right, babe. What do you have?”
“We had a Jane Doe delivered early this morning. Nothing but bones, stripped almost as clean as the last.”
He lifted a brow. “Really.”
A grin tugged at the end of thin lips. “And for an extra hundred, I’ll tell you her name.”
“The cops have her name already?”
She glanced from side to side to make sure no one had spotted them. “Apparently they’ve been looking for a chick.”
He snapped his fingers. “Name. Give me the name.”
“The hundred first, pal.”
He dug five twenties out of his pocket and handed them to her. “Now.”
“Lulu Sweet.”
“Lulu Sweet? The hooker in the Dixon case?”
“Yep.”
Angie Carlson had torn her apart. Another connection to Carlson. On some days life didn’t get much better.
“How did you ID her so fast?”
“Dental records.”
“How’d she die?”
“Anybody’s guess.”
“Where was she found?”
“Laid out by a Dumpster near Temple and Redemption Streets.”
“Redemption? That’s interesting.” He pulled in a lungful of smoke. “Who called in her missing persons report?”
“From what I hear on the grapevine it was her attorney. Carlson someone.”
“Carlson was representing Sweet?”
“Custody thing, I hear.”
He pulled an extra fifty from his pocket. “You hear Carlson’s name come up at all again, you call.”
“Why do you care about her?”
“I’m going to nail her to the cross.”
Dr. Dixon studied the picture of Angie Carlson. He’d taken it a couple of weeks ago when she’d been walking out of King’s. Hair the color of ripened wheat brushed her shoulders as a light breeze teased the edges upward. Frowning, she’d looked both ways before she crossed the street toward her car.
He traced the lines creasing her forehead. “You need to relax. You need to stop worrying. You need someone who can look after you.”
His phone buzzed. He lifted his gaze to the receiver as he carefully tucked the picture in his middle drawer. “Dixon.”
“Your next appointment is here.”
“Right. Thank you.”
He rose, tugged the edge of his sweater vest down, and adjusted the collar of his white lab jacket. The door opened, and his secretary extended her arm. “You can go right in.”
Dr. Dixon tensed as he came around the desk and extended his hand. Aware that his nurse was watching, he smiled. “Welcome.”
The man smiled. “Thank you, Doctor.”
When his nurse shut the door, he pulled his hand free and backed up a step. “What are you doing here?”
The man sat back and folded his arms together. “I need some professional advice.”
Dixon glanced toward the door, wondering if he should lock it. He opted not to turn the dead bolt for fear his nurse would hear and wonder. Just play this smooth and easy. Normal.
“What kind of professional advice do you want?”
“Plastic surgery of course.” His smooth, even voice had the power to shred Dixon’s nerves.
As tempted as Dixon was to sit behind his desk, he took the chair next to his newest patient. “Do you want to change your face?”
“Good God, no. I’m fairly fond of my face.”
“Then what?” His gaze roamed over the man, who kept his body trim and his muscles sculpted.
The man stared at him, hesitating. “I have a few scars I’d like removed.”
“Scars?” In all the time Dixon had spent with this man they’d never discussed scars. But then their relationship wasn’t built on trust but dark murderous tastes begging to be fed. Dixon recognized that he was a sexual sadist, and his friend liked to kill. Dixon found his release when a woman screamed in pain. His partner found satisfaction when the light drained from her eyes.
Each was smart enough to know their individual desires would eventually draw the attention of the police. However, together, they could be unstoppable.
Dixon wanted to ask about Lulu Sweet. Was she
dead? Had he discarded the bones? But that had been their number-one rule after their initial agreement. No talking shop. Ever. And so they’d maintained an oddly impersonal relationship. Barely a word was spoken when his partner would deliver a woman to Dixon, and even less was said when Dixon handed her back for the final act.
“How old are the scars?” Dixon pulled a pen from his front coat pocket and clicked the tip.
“No notes. No records, please.”
Dixon set the pen and paper down on the desk. “Yes, of course.”
“Thank you.” He pulled an imaginary piece of lint from his pant leg. “The scars are old. I’ve had them since I was a teenager.”
“What caused the scars?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes. It will help me determine treatment.”
“I was burned.”
Dixon made several notes. “I’ve had some success with laser treatment.”
“I don’t want surgery. Anesthesia can dull the mind and make people say things they should not.”
“There are ways to numb your skin so that you would be fully awake and fully conscious.”
“Perfect.”
“Mind if I examine the scars?”
“Sure.” He rose and moved through the connecting door into an exam room. He sat on the table and pulled off his shirt. He had a well-muscled flat stomach and a sprinkle of hair on his chest, but the lower part of his belly was disfigured with puckered, pink flesh.
Dixon nodded. “This must have been terribly painful.”
“It was.”
“These are deep. It could take quite a few laser treatments, and even then it won’t be perfect. The skin will never be like it was.”
“I’m hoping you can get rid of it all.”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s important that you try. They link me to a past that I want to release completely.”
“Sure.”
He pulled his shirt back on. “When can we start?”
“I can schedule you next Tuesday.”
“Any time after two would work. I have a one o’clock appointment.”
The obits page in the paper had listed Sierra Day’s funeral for Tuesday of next week. Dixon had sense enough to stay away from the event, which would be crawling with cops. He prayed his friend had the same kind of sense.
“Tell me you are not going to her funeral.” He lifted his gaze. “I
need
to know. Are you going?”
The man raised an index finger to his lips. “It’s none of your business if I do or don’t.”
Dixon lowered his voice a notch. “We agreed to stay away.”
“I know what we agreed to.”
“So what are you doing?”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t the first to break the rules.”
“What do you mean?”
He leaned forward and flashed even white teeth. “You want to keep her all to yourself, don’t you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’ve been following Ms. Carlson.”
“I’ve not been following Angie.”
A thick eyebrow arched. “So it’s Angie now?”
“It’s always been Angie. She was my attorney. And I
went to see her because the cops came to see me. I needed legal advice.”
“Please, you did not need advice. You wanted to see her, to smell her.” His eyes danced with glee. “Don’t feel bad—I’ve thought about her too.” He leaned forward and whispered, “I’ve thought about the warmth draining from her skin as I choke the life out of her lungs.”
Dixon’s tension ratcheted up. He’d often thought about keeping Angie all to himself. “I don’t want her to die.”
“That’s the deal. You play. I kill.”
“I know. But she’s different.”
The man shook his head as he hopped off the table. “She’s not different. She’s just like the others. She’s a whore. Willing to sell her soul for fame, relief, or power. You fill in the blank.”
Dixon’s anger simmered below the surface. “I want her.”
“I can see that.” He leaned forward. “But you can’t have her for yourself. We share. That’s the deal.”
Dixon fisted his fingers. “I can stop you. I can stop you from killing her.”
Lightning-quick reflexes sent the man’s hand shooting up to Dixon’s throat. He tightened his hold, choking the breath. “You cannot stop me. No one can stop me.”
Dixon clawed at the hands around his throat. “Let me go.”
“Say it. Say that you can’t stop me.” He squeezed his fingers, bending cartilage and bone to the point of breaking. “Say it.”
Dixon twisted his neck trying to break free. His lungs screamed for air. “Fine. I can’t stop you.”
The pressure eased just a fraction to allow him to speak but not really to breathe. “And?”