Touching Evil (21 page)

He glanced at Sophie as her gaze sought his, immediately saw the recognition on his face.

The woman in the picture had just been excavated from the mass grave they’d found.  With no identifying marks except for the number seven burned into her back.

Chapter 10

“You’re quiet.” Cam turned off the exit ramp onto Interstate 80.  “I’ve got copies of the case file from Timmons back at the office.  It was solid enough police work.”

Kevin Stallsmith’s anguished expression as he’d made the identification of his dead wife in the morgue a half hour earlier was still vivid enough in her memory to lend her voice bite.  “Solid?  How can you say that when Emily Stallsmith was never reported as a missing person?”

“You can’t blame the detective.  The scene was obviously staged so people would think she’d left on her own accord.”  Cam shot a glare at a driver in a bright red Camry in the lane next to his who was more concerned with her cell phone than she was in keeping her car from drifting over the line.   

“Neighbors said the couple used to fight.  A suitcase was packed.  Her car was never found.  A woman without the cash to take off and start over could use credit cards to buy easily disposed of items that can be turned into cash.”  He slowed when the car drifted his way again and gave a honk of his horn.  The driver started, shot him a filthy look and straightened the car, speeding away.  If he had had the time and inclination, he’d have her pulled over and arrested for driving while stupid.  

“You said it yourself,” Sophie said with some heat.  “The scene was staged.  Timmons should have seen that possibility.  Especially with a bullet found in the ceiling of the garage.”

“Which Stallsmith couldn’t swear hadn’t been there when he bought the place.  Bad luck, Soph.  Not bad police work.  In Timmons’ place I might have done the same thing.”

“No.”  Her denial was certain.  “You’re much too suspicious not to have seen the possibilities.”

He considered that for a moment.  “Not sure that was meant as a compliment, but I’ll take it.”

She fell silent and he was left to wonder in what direction her amazing mind had veered now.  Regardless of the wig and dark makeup that could still throw him for a loop when he looked at her sometimes, she was the same Sophie.  And he could hear the wheels turning.

“So Klaussen was Vance’s first.  Stallsmith was the seventh, although it’s uncertain whether Vance, his accomplice or both played a part in her murder.  They could have still been evolving.  What was the total of the credit card purchases after her disappearance?”

Cam searched his memory.  “Six thousand or so.  Another five hundred from their bank account.  Not a fortune for sure, especially considering that fencing the goods or selling them on Craigslist or eBay would have resulted in less than the ticket price.”

“Then there’s the car.  Which could have been sold to a chop shop for a thousand more.  Not a bad haul.  Nothing like what Vance was getting from the six victims found in the cemeteries,” Sophie mused.  She had her head turned toward the window, but he’d bet money she wasn’t noticing the scenery.  “Vance hatched that idea in prison, according to his cellmate.  So it’s hard to believe he spent the first few years that he was out selecting victims who yielded him so little cash.”

“Okay, so we’re back to your other idea.  That the two were in a competition.”

“Sixteen victims in four years is a heck of a competition,” she said grimly.  “And for the life of me I can’t figure out their numbering system.”  Her voice turned musing.  “Given the victim numbering, Vance would have had to come to Iowa almost immediately upon his release from prison in Nebraska and gotten started.  We need to figure out when and how he hooked up with the UNSUB.”  She turned to face him again.  And he didn’t trust the speculative gleam in her eye.  “How long will you be at the river scene?”

The reminder sobered him.  “No telling.”  His last phone call had arrived while he was at the morgue with Stallsmith.  The dig team had found a fourth body and was working to excavate it.  The dive crew, according to Franks, still had found nothing.  “Probably all day, or until the divers call it quits.”

“Maybe I could take your car after dropping you there.”  The suggestion had his head whipping around to face her.  “I really need to talk to Rhonda Klaussen.”

“Are you kidding me?  There’s not a chance in hell of you going anywhere without protection.”

She gave an incredulous laugh.  “Even looking like this?  My own mother wouldn’t know me.  As a matter of fact, if anyone I knew did recognize me in this mess I’d be sorely offended.”

“So be offended.”  His gaze returned to the road.  “It’s a wig and makeup, not a cloak of invisibility.”

“And colored contacts,” she reminded him.  “As of this morning.”

“Fine.  Great.  You turned your blue eyes brown.  I think there’s a country song title in there somewhere.”

Now she was amused.  “I believe that song is the other way around.  ‘Don’t You Make My Brown Eyes Blue.”

Impatience filtered through him.  And this time he couldn’t blame the red Camry.  “Whatever.  You still aren’t going anywhere alone.”

She settled in her seat with an air of satisfaction.  And there was a note in her voice that he didn’t quite trust.  “That works for me.”

*  *  *  *

Sophia stared at the 1940s style white clapboard house tucked neatly between a newer ranch and a rambling Queen Anne.  “When you said Sheldahl, Iowa I honestly don’t think I could have found it on a map.”

“Lucky then that you didn’t have to.”  From the clip in his tone, the force with which Cam put the car in park, Sophia could tell he was still smarting at the detour.  And the reason for it.

“Don’t be a sore loser,” she said, trying to keep the amusement from her voice.  “We drew cards to decide where to go first.  A king beats a two every time.  Had it been the other way around…”

“Had it been the other way around,” he opened the car door, aiming a meaningful look over his shoulder, “we’d be playing for something far different and you’d be naked.”

“At least then you’d be happier,” she muttered as she unfastened her seatbelt.

“Got that right.”

Shock mingled with amusement.  She clearly recalled the incident he was alluding to.  There had been a time while they were together that they’d played cards for clothing.  Strip gin.  As she recalled, she’d won then, too.  

It was his reference to the memory that she found most surprising.  Cam had been solicitous, protective, and yes, bossy since she’d escaped from Vance.  But barring that kiss outside Screwball’s, he had kept things between them strictly professional.

If it could be considered professional to curl up beside her in bed and hold her until her demons faded.

Drawing a shaky breath, Sophia joined him on the walk before the tiny house.  They’d never mentioned last night.  And more telling, he hadn’t used it today as a lever to convince Gonzalez that his fears about Sophia consulting on this new case were justified.

“This place…” he started.  She stopped his words when she went up on tiptoe to brush her lips softly over his.

When she moved away he blinked at her.  

“It occurred to me that I owed you a thank you for last night.”  Drawing the strap of her purse more securely over her shoulder, she walked by him toward the small wooden front stoop.  Heard his surprised, “You’re welcome,” and smiled.

He’d joined her on the porch before the door was finally cracked open.  A pair of wary hazel eyes peered around its edge.  “Oh.  It’s you.”  The words were delivered with a decided lack of enthusiasm.

“Miss Klaussen.  I have a few more questions.”

The door opened more fully, framing the woman in it.  “We already talked twice.  I don’t know what else I can tell you.”  But curiosity lit her expression as she surveyed Sophia.  “Who’s this?”

“Dr. Mona Kilby.”  Sophia smiled.  “I’ve recently started consulting for the DCI on this case.  I hope it’s not a bother, but I’d like to speak to you about your ordeal.”

“Doctor.”  The corners of her mouth went down, but she reached out to unlock the rickety front door.  “Saw one of them, too.  He said I was fine.”  She shot a meaningful look at Cam.  “At least fine enough to sit in jail for two days.”

“I’m sorry you were inconvenienced.” They stepped into a postage stamp-sized living area.  It boasted threadbare carpet and a sagging couch next to an end table and lamp that could have time traveled out of the sixties.  

Klaussen stared at Cam for a moment.  “What the hell,” she said finally.  “Got three meals a day and that wasn’t always the case when I was with Mase.”  She waved them to the decidedly uninviting brown sofa.  “May as well sit down.”

The woman was lean but large-boned, heavily made up with bleached blonde hair showing brown roots.  Despite the lack of air conditioning inside the house she wore jeans, paired with a skimpy black cami and men’s flip flops.  And her interest in Sophia was evident.

“What kind of work do you do for the DCI?”

“I’m a forensic psychologist, which means I ask a lot of questions.”  Cam remained standing while Sophia sat down on the sofa, hoping that the other woman would join her here.

With a sidelong glance at Cam, Klaussen sank to the edge of the opposite side of the sofa.  “A head doctor, you mean.”

“A thought doctor,” Sophia corrected with a smile.  “I’m primarily concerned with the way people think.  Why they do the things they do.  How they feel.”  When Klaussen didn’t answer Sophia scanned the room.  A miniscule kitchen could be seen through the next doorway with only ancient appliances and a counter and sink in it.  The entire home was sparsely furnished and it occurred to her that the woman wouldn’t have been allowed to take many of her things—if she’d had any—from the home Vance had been living in.  

“How’d you happen to end up in Sheldahl?”

The woman jerked a bare shoulder.  “Victims’ Services arranged it.  The lady that visited me gave me a choice of places to go.  Never been here, but she said it was a small town…”  She rubbed her arms with her hands, as if suddenly chilled.  “It sounded safer.  Like if people knew I was here…they’d notice if I was gone, you know?  Maybe help if I needed it.”

“The way you needed help in Alleman?” Sophia asked quietly.

The woman looked down.  Gave a quick jerk of her head.  “They didn’t know I was there, I figure.  When Mase…did stuff…I was usually gagged.  He didn’t like that as much, though.  He liked to hear me in pain.”

The memory of Courtney Van Wheton’s screams careened across Sophia’s mind then, on a sharp jagged wind that left trails of blood in its wake.  It was hard—oh, so hard—to slam the door shut on the memory.  To steel herself  against the echoes that pulsed in her ears.

“Sometimes it’s easier to feel visible in a small town.”

Klaussen looked around.  “It’s not much and it’s only mine for a month.  But they let me use that old Chrysler LeBaron out front for thirty days, too.  It’s enough to get me on my feet again.  Next week I’m going to start applying for jobs.  Had a pretty good job bartending once when I lived in Omaha.  With tips and stuff I did okay.”

“Omaha.”  Sophia sent a surprised glance to Cam.  “Is that where you first met Mason Vance?”

Rhonda hauled in a shuddering breath.  Released it.  She reached up and captured a strand of her hair.  Wound it nervously around an index finger.  “Yeah.  About eleven or twelve years ago.  We were hot and heavy for that first year until I got tired of his temper.  Got out and took a different job across town.  Took him six months to find me.  Another six to make me pay for leaving.”

A stab of sympathy speared through Sophia.  The other woman’s rough edges were apparent.  According to her record, her past choices had been questionable.  But no one deserved what she’d suffered at the hands of Mason Vance.  None of his victims had.

“He’d taken to tying me up when he left the apartment.”  The strand of hair was unwound, then twined tightly again.  Wind.  Unwind.  Nerves were apparent in the gesture.  In the way her words started tumbling out.  “He swore that he’d never let me leave him again.  I got to where I prayed for him to take another of his trips and leave me alone.  I’d half starve but at least the torture would stop.”

Cam had straightened his stance against the wall.  Sophia circled around the new information.  “He left you without food?”  The sympathy in her voice was unfeigned.  It wasn’t hard to believe of Mason Vance.  He was guilty of far worse.  

Klaussen nodded.  Dropped the strand of hair to set both large hands on her denim-clad knees.   “At first it was just for a night or two.  Then a weekend here and there.  At the end he was leaving me for a week at a time.  I don’t know where he went.”  Her gaze lifted to Cam’s.  Became earnest.  “I swear I don’t.  But I was always real glad.  Just glad to be left alone.”

“How’d you live when he left you for that long?”

The woman froze.  Then lunged from her seat with a suddenness that startled Sophia.  “You don’t understand.  You can’t possibly understand.”  She took a quick turn around the room, checking her pockets, coming up empty.  “I need a cigarette.”  She tossed a look at Cam.  “You got a cigarette?”

“You weren’t tied during that time, were you?  He didn’t have to tie you anymore.”

Something in Sophia’s quiet voice got through to the woman. She came to a halt,  one fist clenching and unclenching against her leg.  “It’s like that underground fencing for dogs, you know?  And they wear this special collar to go outside and it zaps them when they get too close to it.  So after a while, the dogs stay far away from the fence, even when they aren’t wearing the collar, because they just don’t want to get zapped no more.”

“Because by then he was in your head.”  

Klaussen whirled to face her.  “Exactly.  And no one understands.  No one who hasn’t been there.  He’d say, ‘You stay put, girl.  Don’t make me come after you.’  And you know what?  I did.  He’d stick me in the bathroom before leaving for days and tell me to stay there.  And I’d stay.  Even though there was food in the kitchen…help maybe outside the apartment…  When he was arrested in Nebraska it took me ten days to get the courage to leave the apartment.  And then I ran.  Got as far as Des Moines before I went to a library and looked for some newspapers online.  Seen he got himself arrested.”  A small hard smile crossed the woman’s lips.  “I hoped he’d get exactly what he had coming in prison.  Never expected to find him waiting in my van one night five years later when I got off work.”