Shattered by Death (A Jo Oliver Thriller Book 2) (13 page)

We stood together in silence. Heat poured over my face and neck, but it was receding, bringing a welcome coolness in its wake.

Mitch unfolded her arms and placed her hands on her hips, calling out her inner cop. “Is it just me, or is someone going around eliminating some of our Chief’s worst enemies in a strikingly similar fashion?”

The words floated past me so I could examine them in fragments before letting them soak in too deeply. My pulse sped as the three murder scenes pieced themselves together. There had to be a sense of order. I had to create coherent thoughts and forge steel tracks to the next stop in this nightmare before another train wreck—before another murder.

“But that just can’t be.” So much for coherent thoughts. I shook my head, but nothing else came out.

“But it
is,
Jo. Look, I didn’t buy the similarities theory before, but I do now. We’ll have to wait ‘til the crime scene boys do their thing, but we know what we’re going to find. Don’t we?” Mitch dug her feet into the soft earth, widening her cop stance.

“All three murder scenes do look to be connected.” Nick’s voice was softer than usual. It wasn’t like him to use vague language.

“What do you mean, ‘
look to be connected’
? They didn’t teach you better than that at Quantico? You don’t
know
that they’re connected, or are you just not saying what you know?” The chords in my neck strained under my skin, and my ears were heating up.
Where did Richardson fit in the midst of this theory?

It seemed like we were at a funeral, my funeral, and everyone kept talking about how great the body looked.
But hey, people, I’m
dead
! How good could I really look? Dead don’t look so good in my book!
I needed some quality time alone. I needed a safe place to sort this all out.

Nick stepped into my space, placing his finger under my chin before turning my face toward his.

“A word with you, Chief?” A wisp of heat flowed through me as I met his gaze. It melted away as splintered glass broke open in my stomach. Nick nodded his head toward his SUV, cocking an eyebrow at me.

Leave it to him to sense what I needed and to offer it—a little one-on-one with my favorite man-hunter.
Or was he turning his scope on me next?
I blinked and took a deep, settling breath.

“Looks like I’m riding shotgun with Nick on the way back, Mitch. Think you can manage the drive home without me?” I winked, tossed the keys toward her, and laughed as she snatched them out of the air.

“Whatever.”

“Muttering does not become you.” It felt good to get our banter back.

“Whatever.” She turned and trudged to my car without looking back.

“Madame?” Nick held his arm out to me, and I took it. That familiar warmth oozed through me.

How could I even question my Nick?
“What the heck? Do we believe in coincidences all of a sudden? Or am I in some kind of deep, deep trouble?”

Nick paused at the passenger door and opened it for me. Worry was etched across his face so deeply that chilling fingers tapped up and down mine. If I was hoping for reassurance, I was about to be disappointed. Badly.

He waited until I was seated and belted in before addressing my fears. “We’re in it up to our eyeballs this time, Jo.”

“Is it that bad?” He’d just spoken, but my thoughts trekked over muddy, sludge-filled rows of half-tilled soil.

His silence filled the front seat, accentuating the drumming in my head. I pressed my fingers to my temples in surrender to short blasts of pain sparking behind my eyes.

“I didn’t sign up for this.” I sighed and shook my head. Bad move. A subtle groan escaped my lips.

“Someone is and has been targeting you. You’re being set up.” His matter-of-fact tone forced its way around my heart and squeezed.

“Ya think?”

“Yes, I do. No one believes you killed Del and the woman.” Nick’s voice was all business. I loved him for that… and for not saying her name. “And the perv? The circumstantials put you two closer than six degrees of separation—but that’s because you’re
you
. And you made your views pretty clear.” His driving was just like him: smooth and fast.

“And by
pretty clear,
you mean everybody and their brother could go on record to quote me saying how much I’d love to get my hands around his puny neck and choke the life out of him until he couldn’t hurt kids ever again?” I turned my head toward Nick and slid down in the seat, stretching my legs.

“Yes. That was pretty clear. And pretty public.” He glanced over at me, eyebrows raised. “And distressingly frequent.”

“Yeah. Not arguing that point. But
everyone
wanted him dead. Any cop alive who had seen what he’d done to those boys would’ve wanted the same things, would’ve said the same things.” I raised my hands, palms up, and stared at him.

“But you’re the only Chief of Police on record as having said it. And not only to colleagues.” He accelerated, moving left to pass a milk truck.

“Oh, yeah. That.”

“Yes. That.” He didn’t need to fill in the blanks. There was TV footage of me saying the same thing into the camera, in the rain, at a crime scene. He swerved the car back to the right, blinker on and off.

“My judgment may not always be stellar.”

“But you have a heart of solid gold. Unfortunately, it’s not always visible.”

“Hey now! I’m not that bad!” I sat up and gave him my full attention.

“Did you really tell Kira that you’d love to, and I quote, ‘see that SOB rot in hell, the sooner the better’ and that you’d ‘like to be the one that puts him in the ground’?”

“Ah, well, it mighta come up. But those records are privileged. Just because she chose to share that with Mr. Handsome Secret Agent Man, doesn’t mean anyone else will ever see them. That’s a need-to-know kind of comment. And as far as I’m concerned, no one else needs to know.”

“I didn’t talk to Kira.” He kept his eyes fixed on the road straight ahead.

“Then how?”

“Flick of the wrist. If I can gain access to your confidential records online with the help of one of the newbies in the Computer Crimes Commission as easily as I did, any prosecuting attorney worth their salt will find a way in too. And so could an average teenage hacker.” His voice was steady, even. He kept his eyes trained on the road ahead.

“So, someone has targeted my known enemies and killed the four people I’d most love to see dead. And they’ve left breadcrumbs any toddler could follow to all three crime scenes.”

“So far.”

Gray, hooded shapes wielding scythes and spiked clubs pulled victims though black, mist-shrouded trees in my hazy mind. Moss-covered stones lined my stomach. My head wobbled like a wrecking ball on a rusty chain.

A pasture full of newborn foals galloping by my passenger window snapped me out of my internal descent.

I swiveled my neck to give Nick my full attention as he drove.

“So, we’ve got some whack job on the loose, killing in my name. Only the
real
signature we’ve found so far happens to be the choice of the targets. Culling victims off an imaginary list similar to one only I would create. Talk about your invasion of privacy! And I thought spy drones were bad.” My tone sounded forced, even to me.

How much more did Nick know? Were there new details that would strengthen the beliefs of the multitude of garden-variety cops hungrily clinging to the notion that I’d suddenly unhinged and gone on a killing spree? Did I even
want
to know?

“This is where you might want to speak up and share anything else you know. Preferably something that will point suspicions elsewhere. If you have anything. Anything at all.” My hands emphasized what my mind couldn’t quite verbalize, all but finger spelling to underscore my point.
Talk to me, Nick! Don’t give up on me!

“Desperation is not attractive—not even on you.” Half his mouth smiled, giving him that Cary Grant appeal as he pulled into the parking lot of the Rocking Horse Lounge.

I turned to him, eyebrows arched.

“I thought you might like to talk it out.” He put his hand out, waiting for mine.

The moment our hands met, he wrapped his fingers around mine. I closed my eyes, drinking in the warmth.
Safe.
I drew his hand up, pressed it against my cheek, and let it go.

Tension fell away from my temples, eased down my neck. I smiled. Mitch pulled in just as I was getting out of the SUV. And there, across the lot, sat Gino’s gleaming Z28. We threw each other a nod and headed up the wooden steps.

Stale beer and cigar smoke greeted us as we pushed past a curtain of heavy beads on our way to the bar. Sawdust covered the floor. The red vinyl covers adorning the bar stools had seen better days. War-torn bistro tables with taller stools were scattered between the bar and the pool table. We claimed a four-top and ordered a pitcher of diet pop and a pot of coffee. Gino’s booming voice heralded his arrival.

“
M’hija
, while this is a dark day for some, the light is about to dawn all around us. But first, we eat.” He set down a tray loaded with breakfast plates, complete with napkin-wrapped utensils, and placed them around the table.

Gino set the tray on a tabletop behind ours and joined us. “Bon appetit, amigos. And for those of us who may have a bird-like appetite for food and a voracious appetite for information, perhaps you would like to feast your eyes on this.” Gino pushed my untouched plate aside and replaced it with a large manila envelope. “You had another special delivery back at la hacienda. I managed to get a set of copies for us to review together.
Cuidate, m’hija
.”

I gave him a puzzled look and opened the envelope.

I pulled out another envelope. This one was a quarter of the size of the other, compact, and white. “More photos?”

No one spoke. Nick frowned and handed me his butter knife. I pried the envelope open, pulled out four glossy, black and white photos, and placed them on the table. My nostrils flared, and I sucked in as much air as I could. White noise roared inside my head.

Pushing myself away from the table, I walked over to the wall and braced myself there for several seconds on shaky legs. I took a few deep breaths and stretched up straight, waiting until my heartbeat slowed to a fast trot before I pushed past the swinging doors to catch a breath of fresh air.

Five minutes later, I retook my seat at the table. All the dishes had been cleared. The photos lay out in order around the table. Everyone looked up at me. I gave a slow, small nod and sat down again, expelling a long, heavy breath.

“Now, just what on God’s green Earth is this? And what are we going to do about it?” My words jarred my senses back to order.

Mitch’s eyes were shiny with tears. She was like me—we both soldiered through horrific scenes in the moment. But our emotions always showed up later. Gino stood behind her, one protective hand resting on her shoulder. He put the other hand on my shoulder. Nick slid his stool over close enough so that our shoulders touched, like puppies crowding into one another for warmth and protection during a thunderstorm.
I can handle this. I’ve got my pack
.

Each photo depicted one of the three murder scenes, spotlighting the victims. Nick picked up the shot of Del and his girlfriend and studied it out of my field of vision. He placed it back on the table, face down, and picked up Derrick Deter’s shot.

“Anybody else notice the two things that turned my blood to ice?” He pulled his gaze from the photo long enough to look each of us in the eye for a few seconds.

“
Si, mi amigo.
Only, I think we have all noticed
three
things of great concern.” Gino was holding the fourth picture. I couldn’t piece together who was featured in that shot.

Nick looked up at Gino and frowned. Had he missed the third thing?
“Each one of the victims of our three murder scenes is represented in the photos, and they’re not tech shots. They had to have been taken by the killer.” Nick spoke slower than usual, as if hoping one of us would finish his thought out loud. We didn’t. “And all of the victims are still alive in the photos. Barely, but clearly still alive.”

“Right. There’s movement in these pictures. It’s as if the killer said or did something to make them move right before taking the shot. Schlichting’s hands seem caught in mid-air. It’s like he was trying to sit up.” I was focused now, buzzing with awareness.

“See that?” I pointed to an image in the dirty glass windowpanes on the shack behind Schlichting.

“What is that? Is that...” Mitch’s whisper set my teeth on edge.

“Yeah. A reflection. It looks like the killer isn’t very big. And she’s got a lot of hair.”

“And a sledgehammer.” Nick’s voice was low, cold.

“Yeah. Looks like it.” Mitch, leaned in, shaking her head.

“Either that, or she or he is wearing a wig. Let’s not get tunnel vision and limit our options.” We had to be missing a whole lot more.

The pictures were fresher than death—they caught the terror of the victims right before they died. Del and the other woman, bloodied, eyes dull and pleading. Del’s mouth hung open in impotent debate. Derrick Deter, propped up against his van in the parking lot, two freshly smashed legs and one black eye, staring into the distance and not right at the camera. Schlichting’s puzzled eyes looked straight into the killer’s lens. But there was something different about the fourth photo.

Nick and Gino exchanged glances and, at Nick’s nod, Gino placed the fourth photo down, face up, a little further apart from the others. “And these are copies. The killer must’ve wanted you to see them. But who could know how soon you would see them? Unless this monster also has friends on the force?”

“Richardson’s beginning to feel like a one off to me. A rogue cop maybe? Too soon to say. All we have for sure are three murder sites. Three sets of victims, each depicted in the perp’s macabre photos.” Nick had taken on the role of leader again, gesturing to the photos. “We know these four are dead, and we know how they died. But what we don’t know, is anything at all about the woman in the fourth photo. Who, as far as we can tell, was very much alive when this picture was taken.” Nick picked the shot up and held it out for all of us to see.

The last photo was hard to decipher. It was grainy, blurry, black and white. No time stamp, no date. It revealed a stern-looking woman, seated in a straight-back chair in what looked like an office, but could have been a cubicle, it was too fuzzy to tell for sure. She had one hand on a phone at her ear, the other on the keyboard of a desktop in front of her.

“So who is she, and how much time does she have left?” I took the photo from Nick and held it in front of me. The woman’s features were completely obscured. Why? Who was she? Why had she made the killer’s list?

“What are we looking at, compadres?” Mitch would go all cop on us, helping us move from the soft side of our hearts to the stone-cold man-hunters we had to be. We needed her leading right now.

“These photos were delivered to you,
m’hija
, after you left last night. By courier, paid via a gift card bought with cash. Thus completely untraceable. The way the envelope was marked bothered the receptionist, and she called the commander on duty. He opened them, catalogued them, and they were entered into evidence last night.” Gino was gathering the photos up and placing them back into the envelope.

“And our close personal friends in evidence sent a file to Nick, and he had you print them on the way to see us this morning, is that about the size of it?” Mitch’s voice flowed with chastisement and admiration in equal parts.

“Something close to this,
si.
” Gino was not displeased with himself.

“So, safe to assume we’re all thinking, we’re all
fearing,
the same thing about the woman in the fourth photo?” I cut to the chase. I
had
to. The crepey threads of my nerves started popping.

“She’s everything different from the others.” Nick nodded, tapping a finger on the Formica tabletop.

“She’s alive, for starters.” Mitch moved a hand to her hip and leaned forward. “Making this anything but a pre-murder shot.”

“
Por cierto
. This is no death shot. This, this is surveillance.” Gino crossed his arms in front of his chest and sat back, narrowing his eyes. “This is the strongest message we could receive from the killer.”

My face scrunched up. A new set of worry lines started settling in. “Sure, right. I got it. I just don’t know what that message is, G.” I turned to Nick. “Do you?”

“Oh, yeah. And it’s coming through loud and clear.” He ran a hand through his silky curls.

“I get the loud part, but not the clear.”

“’Come and get me. The race is on.’” Nick stood and stuck his phone in his pocket.

“And don’t spare the horses.” Mitch was up and on her way out the door.

A cold wave washed over me. I turned and followed them out of the dark bar and into the hunt.