Seconds to Live (Scarlet Falls) (22 page)

He motioned Stella to the lightboard and pointed at rows of X-rays. “This is the victim’s right hand. As you saw at the scene, all of her fingers were broken. With the damage to the skin and the way the bone is impacted, I suspect he used a hammer.”

Stella felt sick.

The next X-ray showed Dena’s skull and neck. “I found the vertebrae fracture her husband told you about.” He waved at the board, where images of Dena’s bones were displayed. “I found four more recently broken and healed bones: one wrist, an elbow, and several ribs. The Scarlet Falls hospital only has records showing Dena’s neck injury, so I had my assistant check with the three other hospitals in the area. Dena had records at all of them. Each emergency room treated her once. Each time she claimed to have fallen down the stairs.”

“Classic abuse history.”

“Repeat visits to the same ER would spark suspicion,” Frank agreed. “She was careful not to use hospitals in the same network to avoid the possibility of digital records automatically cross-referencing.”

Poor Dena.

Stella put aside her anger and sadness. Justice was all she could offer Dena now. “What else did you find?”

“She’d been recently washed and her fingernails were clipped.” Frank tossed the file back on his desk. “There was no sign of sexual assault. Tox screens are being rushed. The lab has promised to get Missy Green’s done by Monday morning as well.”

Stella left the medical examiner and hurried across the lot to the forensics lab. She still didn’t have enough to convince anyone that Adam Miller was a killer. The fact that his wife had multiple broken bones didn’t
prove
he murdered her.

Darcy Stevens, the county latent fingerprint analyst, leaned over her desk. Her coffee-colored skin looked too smooth for her to be a grandmother.

“How’s your grandson?” Stella picked up a framed snapshot of a two-toothed baby.

“Perfect.” Darcy smiled, then sobered. “I have something for you.”

“Is it going to make me happy?”

“I think so,” Darcy said in her rich, deep voice.

Stella dropped into a chair facing her desk.

“I found several sets of fingerprints on the envelope of cash you found in Missy Green’s apartment.” Darcy opened a file on her computer. She pointed to the envelope, encased in a protective plastic sleeve. “Missy Green’s matched right away. That was easy. But then I had an idea, and I pulled Dena Miller’s prints. Perfect match.”

“You matched prints from Dena Miller
and
Missy Green?”

“I did.”

“You are a genius.”

Darcy rubbed her fingernails on her black suit jacket. “I know.”

Dena was keeping cash at Missy’s house.

“Do you know if Vinnie’s in?” Stella asked.

“He was. I saw him at the coffeepot an hour ago.” Crime didn’t adhere to a weekday schedule, and Saturday was often a time for playing catch-up.

Stella’s steps were quick as she went down the hall to Vinnie’s office. The swarthy forensic tech looked like a
Godfather
extra.

Vinnie was holding a paper evidence envelope. “You’re just in time. The tech just came back from your house.”

“Did he find anything besides the scarf?”

“Nothing interesting. The rain destroyed the scene.” With gloved hands Vinnie opened the envelope and looked inside. “This scarf looks like the ones found on the dead girls.”

“What do you know about them?”

“Polyester. The tags were removed.”

“Not Hermes?” Something high end would be easier to trace.

“No. Sorry. These are fairly generic.” Vinnie set the envelope on the desk. “I don’t like that he left this at your house.”

“That makes all of us,” Stella said. “What about Dena Miller’s crime scene?”

“Opposite problem. The scope of the scene gave us a lot of evidence to sort through. My team barely got the evidence bagged, tagged, and locked up yesterday. I called in two techs to work overtime, but it’s still going to take a while.”

“Thanks, Vinnie.”

Spivak was in jail, but Stella had no idea when the scarf had been tied to the tree, so that didn’t eliminate him. The tree wasn’t visible from the driveway, mailbox, or front windows. It could have been there for a few days. Could everyone else be right and Spivak be the killer? It felt too easy, and Frank’s suspicion that Dena Miller was a victim of domestic abuse made Stella doubt Adam Miller’s alibi further. She knew he was violent—and lying.

Chapter Thirty

Mac parked Art’s silver Lincoln Town Car in front of Gianna’s apartment, then he banged on her door. No one answered. The windows were dark. He cupped his hands over his eyes and peered into the kitchen. No Gianna. Mac knocked on the doors to the left and right of Gianna’s. Silence was his answer.

Where was she?

Except for the apartment complex, the neighborhood was mostly businesses. No nosy old women sitting on porches or watchful young mothers pushing strollers.

Mac leaned close to the lock. Tiny scratches marred the brass, but the lock was old. Hard to say which scratches were new.

A neighbor came out of the apartment next door. A brittle blond, she was probably in her forties but a deep tan had aged her skin twenty years. She sucked deeply on a cigarette, giving Mac a serious once over. Her eyes lit with appreciation. “Never mind. You can bang on anything you like.”

Mac grinned wide and stepped out into the light. If a little charm got him answers, he saw no harm in trying. “I’m looking for Gianna. Have you seen her?”

She shook her head. “Not since yesterday.”

“You wouldn’t by any chance have a key to her apartment?” he asked.

“No, sorry.” She stepped back into her own unit. “This isn’t that kind of neighborhood.”

The door closed before he could ask any other questions.

Mac sized up the entry. He didn’t want to pick the lock in case the police needed to dust it for prints. He went to the kitchen window. Pulling out his knife, he popped the window lock and slid open the sash.

The apartment complex clearly didn’t spend much on security.

He sheathed his knife and hoisted himself through the window. He swung his legs around and slid off the tiny kitchen counter next to the sink.

The apartment looked much the same as when they’d visited on Thursday. One glance verified that the kitchen and adjoining living area were empty. He headed for the short hall that led to the bedroom and bath.

He stopped in the middle of the corridor. A ceramic lamp lay in broken pieces on the carpet, and a framed poster had been knocked from the wall. Under the fractured glass, script over a photo of a mountain read:
Dream. Believe. Hope.
Mac’s gaze tracked to six spots of red that dotted the beige carpet. Blood.

No
.

Being careful not to step on any evidence, he quickly checked the bedroom and bath. Empty. There were no signs of a disturbance anywhere else in the apartment. Standing in the hallway, he imagined a man watching Gianna through the kitchen window, then picking the lock while she was in the bedroom. Whoever had taken her had waited in the hall for her to emerge from the bedroom, then overpowered her. It wouldn’t have been hard. The girl was sick and weak.

And in the hands of a killer.

He opened his phone and called Stella to give her the bad news.

“Oh no.” She quickly masked the distress in her voice. “I’ll send a forensic team to her apartment. Maybe they’ll turn up some prints.”

But they both knew they wouldn’t find any.

“The kitchen window was locked when I got here,” Mac said. “I’m going to the dialysis center to see if I can sweet talk any information out of them.”

“I’ll trace Gianna’s phone, and we’ll put out an alert on her,” Stella said.

But who would see the girl if she was being held by a madman?

Mac picked up a picture of Stella and Gianna from the table. “I’m stealing that photo of you and her to show around.”

“Good idea. Would you bring it to the station?” Her voice caught. “I remember that day. I brought Gianna back to the house for a barbecue for her birthday. She loved hanging out with my family. Why didn’t I do that more often?”

Mac tucked the photo into his pocket. “We’ll find her.”

“We’d better. If she didn’t make it to dialysis today, she’s going to get sick fast. He won’t have to kill her. Without treatment, she’s just days from death.”

“I’ll start looking for her in the neighborhood.” He ended the call, left the apartment, and drove the few blocks to the dialysis center.

He walked into the dialysis center and flashed a wide smile at the woman in her fifties wearing maroon scrubs behind the reception desk. “I’m looking for Gianna Leone.”

She gave him a tired stare. “Privacy regulations prevent me from giving you any information.”

Mac sobered. “Gianna is missing. I need to know if she showed up for dialysis today, and if she didn’t, then how quickly she’s going to deteriorate.”

“Hold on.” The woman disappeared for a few seconds. When she returned, she showed him to a private office.

A tall woman in gray slacks and a white blouse rose behind the desk. “You said Gianna is missing?”

“Yes. Did she show up for dialysis today or not?” Mac couldn’t get the images of dead bodies out of his head. He couldn’t let that happen to Gianna. He had to find her. “I don’t want to look at her medical files, I just need to know how long she’s been gone and how much time we have to find her.”

“I could lose my job for this, but I’m worried about her, too.” The woman sighed. “She didn’t come today. We called her, but she didn’t answer her phone.”

The anxiety in Mac’s belly flip-flopped. “How much time does she have?”

“Some of our patients have partial kidney function, but not Gianna. She has practically no kidney function at all. Her last treatment was Thursday. Without dialysis to filter the toxins and fluid from her body, she won’t last long.”

Chapter Thirty-One

At the station, Stella slipped into the conference room. On the other side of the table, Lance stood, studying the crime scene photos, notes, and pictures of evidence that were tacked to their murder board. Stella’s case notes were spread out on the table. Pinned to the left side of the board were pictures of Dena and Missy before and after death. On the opposite side, photos of Adam Miller and Noah Spivak stared back at Stella.

“I’ve heard you’ve been busy.” Lance turned and regarded her with serious eyes. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” Stella sank into a chair, fear for Gianna a cold, queasy lump in her belly. Where was she? Stella’s trace on her phone had turned up nothing. Her phone was either off or the battery was dead.

“Is your house secure?”

“There’s a unit there, and Grandpa and Morgan are both armed.” Her sister might be depressed, but she was a soldier’s wife, a cop’s daughter, and a very protective mother.

“Let me know if you want me to spend the night there for a while.” Lance said. “I live alone. It’s not like anyone will miss me.”

Stella smiled. “Thanks.”

The conference room door opened and Chief Horner strode in. He picked up a remote control, turned on the TV that sat on a side table, and tuned to a local news station. On the screen, Adam Miller sat in a newsroom. “Detective Dane focused her investigation into my wife’s disappearance on me, while my wife was being murdered.”

The picture shifted to the interviewer. “Two women have been found dead this week in Scarlet Falls. Is a serial killer stalking women in the New York suburbs?”

Stella winced.

“I read your report.” Chief Horner pointed the remote control again, muting the TV. “You should have come to me or Brody instead of letting this investigation get out of hand. What the hell were you doing meeting with a drug dealer this morning?”

“I didn’t meet with him. I was purely there for backup. Mac has connections—”

“I don’t want to hear another word about Mac Barrett.” Horner pointed a rigid finger at her. “You’ve been spending too much time with him. The Barretts’ rogue tendencies are rubbing off on you.”

Angry thoughts popped into Stella’s head like cartoon captions. She bit the inside of her mouth to keep them from slipping out, but worry about Gianna and her family taxed her control. Mouthing off to Horner would get her suspended. All she’d wanted was to be a detective. She wasn’t a political person. She didn’t want to deal with Horner or the media. She wanted to solve two murders and find Gianna.

Horner dropped his hand and paced between the table and the wall. “Do you know how this looks? You’re the only female in the department. It’s going to appear as if I promoted you because you’re female even though you’re incompetent. You’ve devoted half of this investigation to investigating Miller when he has an alibi.”

Stella kept her voice level. She would not let him get to her. “Sir, we have two dead women who knew each other, and now another girl is missing. Adam’s alibi is weak; his associate refuses to give a specific time he left the club.”

“He was being honest. He didn’t know the exact time.” Horner huffed, then shook his head. “Wait. What do you mean another girl is missing?”

“Gianna Leone. Another member of the same Narcotics Anonymous group that Missy and Dena belonged to.” Stella’s spine snapped straight. “She was supposed to come in this morning and sign a statement that she saw Adam Miller outside the church the night Missy disappeared. Adam Miller hasn’t been straight with us since the very beginning of this investigation.”

“Why would Adam report his wife missing and call us to find her if he killed her?” Horner paced the room.

“The ME suspects Dena was a victim of domestic abuse.” Stella filled him in on the ME’s findings.

Horner shook his head. “There’s no way to prove that Adam inflicted that damage on his wife. I still like Noah Spivak for the murders. He was hanging out at the church, and he has priors. Adam Miller’s record is clean.”

“But Gianna saw Adam outside the church the night Missy disappeared,” Stella insisted.

Horner’s face reddened. “The word of a junkie doesn’t mean much. You and Lance saw Spivak outside a meeting. That’s a better link.”

“Gianna Leone is a
former
addict,” Stella said.

“She was a drug addict and prostitute. A jury wouldn’t take her word over Adam Miller’s.” Horner didn’t care, but Stella knew he was right. No one would believe Gianna.

“I want to bring Adam Miller in for questioning.”

“No.” Horner straightened his tie.

“But I have another member of his wife’s Narcotics Anonymous group who says she saw him hanging around outside the meetings, and two additional people claimed he constantly checked up on his wife. I think he was stalking her.”

“Why would he have to stalk his own wife? They lived together.”

“Because he was controlling,” Stella reasoned. “He checked her phone. Called her dozens of times a day. He made her submit to home urine tests for drug use, and it’s likely he beat her as well. He didn’t like her to have friends. Maybe he saw her with Gianna and Missy and got jealous.”

“Adam Miller’s attorney isn’t going to let him be dragged in here repeatedly.” Horner jabbed a finger in the air at Stella. “You have no actual evidence he did anything to his wife. I want you to focus on building a case against Spivak. We need a search warrant for his vehicle and parents’ house. That is your job today. We have a few hundred tips that came in on the hotline. Maybe one of Spivak’s low-life friends will turn on him for the cash.”

“But if Gianna was kidnapped this morning, Spivak couldn’t have done it. He’s in custody,” Stella said. “And Dena wasn’t killed until six p.m. at the earliest on Thursday. Spivak was in custody a little after nine. That leaves six to nine p.m. as the window of time for him to have placed her body in the park. It wouldn’t have been dark yet.”

“It’s still possible. Kidnapping her in broad daylight was bold, too.” Horner’s phone rang. He answered it, his face darkening as he listened. Hanging up, he stood. “Spivak is out on bail.”

“What?”

“Apparently the judge granted him bail late yesterday. A high-powered attorney showed up and convinced the judge we didn’t have enough to deny bail. He’s filing a counter suit for excessive force, claiming he was pursued for no reason and had his face slammed into a brick wall.”

Stella winced.
That
actually did happen.

“Excessive force won’t be tolerated,” Horner said. “We’re lucky no one recorded the incident for YouTube.”

“This morning Mac and I learned that Spivak is a member of the White Survival Alliance. Let’s see if we can find other members. He might be hiding with them.” Stella’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the display. “It’s Mrs. Green. I have to take this.” Grateful for the moment to regroup, she stepped out of the conference room and answered the call.

“Stella?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Stella put her finger in her other ear to block out the hum of voices. She ducked into an empty interview room and closed the door. “What can I do for you?”

“This is going to sound silly, and I hate to bother you . . .”

“You’re not bothering me.”

“I went to the medical examiner’s office today.” Mrs. Green’s breath hitched then steadied. “I signed papers to have Missy picked up by a funeral home, and I picked up her things.”

Sorrow enveloped Stella.
That poor woman.
No one should have to bury her child. “I’m sorry you had to do that. I would have gone with you.”

“My sister is here. She took me.” Mrs. Green sniffed. “But they didn’t have Missy’s patron saint medal. She never took it off. I gave it to her the day she came out of rehab. St. Maximilian Kolbe is the patron saint of drug addicts. I was wondering if you had it.”

Stella froze, remembering the pendant in Spivak’s pocket. “Can you describe it?”

“I have a picture of Missy wearing it on my phone. I’ll text it to you.”

“I’ll check the evidence log.” Stella ended the call. She opened the message when it came in. In the photo, Missy was sitting in a restaurant wearing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, as if she pasted it on to make her mother happy. An oval pendant rested in the V of her white blouse. Stella enlarged the picture with her fingertips. It looked like the same medal they’d found in Spivak’s pocket.

She hurried back to the conference room and leafed through her reports.

“What is it?” Horner asked.

She pulled out her copy of Spivak’s arrest report and skimmed the list of personal effects: One patron saint medallion of St. Maximilian Kolbe. “Mrs. Green says Missy had one of these and it’s missing.”

“I knew it.” With a satisfied smirk, Horner folded his arms. “Spivak is our man. Get a warrant and search his room. Talk to his parents. Find a friend who will squeal on him. And find Spivak! I’ve assigned two uniforms to the investigation. Get one of them to research this White Survival Alliance.”

Horner turned to Lance. “Put out an alert. I want him back in custody before dark. Also, get a warrant to impound his vehicle and have the forensic team fine-tooth it. This guy is a registered sex offender. They always have high recidivism rates.” Horner’s eyes sparked with near glee. “All focus is on Spivak. Are my instructions clear?” He focused on Stella.

“Yes, sir,” she said. “What about the missing girl?”

“If we find Spivak, we’ll likely find her.” Horner blinked. “But let’s get a picture of her distributed to all local law enforcement.”

Brody walked into the room. Horner brought him up to speed.

“You’re not going to like what I found.” Brody leaned both palms on the table. “The business associate who alibied Adam Miller is his old fraternity friend. And while they were active members, someone at a frat party slipped a girl Rohypnol and she died.”

“Were any charges filed?” Horner asked.

Brody shook his head. “No. I checked with the police who handled the case. There was no evidence against any of the fraternity brothers. The boys stuck together.”

Horner clasped his hands behind his back and turned to Stella. “Then we proceed on the plan to get Noah Spivak back into custody before he kills your witness.”

“I have one more thing for you to consider.” Brody tossed a paper onto the table. “Remember Dena’s physical therapist, Lyle Jones? His ex-wife just filed for a restraining order. He’s been following her for weeks. Last night he showed up outside a restaurant as she was leaving with a date and busted her windshield with a baseball bat.”

Stella shuffled through the papers in his file and pulled up Lyle’s arrest report. “He had those two assault charges in Jersey, too. But assault and torture are two different things. Lyle’s problems are more likely attributed to ’roid rage.”

“Do we have anything to tie him to Missy Green?” Horner asked.

Brody shook his head. “No.”

“Then we go after Spivak.” Horner enunciated each word. “We can’t expect help from the county or state. Major flooding throughout the county has caused road and bridge closures.”

A uniform popped his head into the room. “Detective Dane, there’s a Mac Barrett here to see you.”

Stella went to the reception area. Mac held Gianna’s picture. The desire to walk into his arms and let him hold her nearly overwhelmed her. She held back. The two feet of space between them felt like twenty. “Thank you. I’ll be right back.”

She made a stack of copies and brought a few back to him.

Mac put the photos in his pocket. “I’m going to knock on doors in her neighborhood. Someone saw something. I just have to get them to talk.”

“I’d love to send an officer to do that,” Stella said. “But we don’t have enough uniformed bodies.”

“I think I have a better chance of getting information. Uniforms aren’t welcome in that area.”

“Probably.” Worry rose into her throat like a bobber on a pond. “Be careful. That’s not the best neighborhood.”

“I’ve seen worse,” he said. His hand curled at his side, the fist bumping his thigh. “We’ll find her. She’ll be all right.”

Stella didn’t respond. No one could make that claim. “I have to go. We have a couple of leads.”

“
You
be careful.” He lowered his voice, his gaze turning fierce. “Please.”

“I’m with Brody today.” But she wished she could be with Mac. The possession that rolled off his body was both intimidating and reassuring. No lover had ever made her feel as if he’d lay down his life for her in a heartbeat.

But he would. She knew that without a doubt. She was more worried that
he’d
take chances. He seemed to view himself as more dispensable than other people.

“It’s you I’m worried about,” she said. “You’ll be alone.”

“No need. I’m durable.” With a quick glance to make sure no one was in sight, he gave her a quick kiss. “I’ll call you.” Mac turned and left.

Stella returned to the conference room.

Lance was on his way out. “Come with me. We have a woman filing a missing persons report for her teenage daughter. The missing girl’s name is Janelle Hall.”

He led the way to an interview room. The woman was slumped at the table and didn’t look old enough to have a teenager. As they walked in, she jumped to her feet. Sniffing, she wiped bloodshot eyes and shook her red bob out of her face. “Do you know where she is?”

“Mrs. Hall?” Stella held out her hand. “I’m Detective Dane. How can I help?”

“I’m not married. You can call me Tonya,” the woman said. “My daughter is missing. She’s seventeen. She’s run off before, but she always comes back.”

Stella steered her back to a chair. “Has she ever been in trouble?”

Tonya sniffed. “Yeah. She got picked up for smoking pot in school before she dropped out. The judge let her off with some community service.”

A drug user.
Strike one.

“What does Janelle look like?”

Tonya fished a photo out of her purse and handed it to Stella. Janelle was a slim girl with dark hair that fell to her shoulders.

Both Dena and Missy had dark hair.
Strike two.

“When was the last time you saw her?” Stella asked.