When a Heart Stops (14 page)

He nodded to a door. “I assume that leads to a storage area?”

“Yes, but I keep it locked.” She walked over and tested the knob. “Still locked.”

He nodded. “All right.”

“Hey guys, what do you have for me?” Rick called as he walked up the drive.

Serena waved him over. Mickey trailed behind him, camera ready for action.

Rick looked in the car and let out a low whistle. “Well, this makes things even more personal, doesn't it?”

“Just a little,” she agreed, not bothering to filter the sarcasm.

Rick examined the door. “I'll see if I can get some prints off the handle, but if you've already touched it, I'm not sure what I'll get.”

“I touched it to open it. I didn't see the doll sitting there until I was already in the car.”

“Well, the doll's in the passenger seat, maybe he used the other door.”

Colton walked up. Serena greeted him. He said, “Dom filled me in when he called. Hunter's got someone tailing Alexia today.” He looked at Serena. “I'm sure he would be grateful if you wouldn't mention that to her.”

Serena shook her head. “I won't say a word. Whatever works to keep her safe.”

Colton nodded, then jerked his head at the doll. “Does she look familiar to you?”

“She could be anyone.” Serena paused. “If the dolls are actually supposed to represent real people. And it's beginning to look like that's the intent.”

“All right,” Rick said. He walked around to the back of the vehicle. “Can you pop the back?”

She clicked the button on the remote and the back hatch lifted as though in slow motion.

“Um, Serena? I think I know what the message means.”

She walked around to the back and sucked in a deep breath. A young woman stared up at her with dead milky hazel eyes. The bullet hole in her forehead gaped.

Serena looked at Rick, then Dominic. “He's not wasting any time upping the body count, is he?”

“Do you recognize her?”

“No, but that doesn't mean she's not in my yearbook.” She swallowed hard. “Is the task force making any headway on contacting the class?”

“Yeah,” he said, sounding subdued, “but this one obviously didn't get the message soon enough.”

An hour and a half later, Serena slipped off her gloves and blew a stray hair from her face. Sorrow snagged her and wouldn't let go. Three women dead now. Plus Howard.

Because of what?

What was this all about?

“We've got the pictures, so let's get this stuff bagged. We'll need to keep your car, Serena.”

Serena grimaced. “I don't like it, but all right.”

“You'll like it if we get a print or two that gives us a hit and leads us to the killer.”

“True,” she sighed.

“Need a ride to the rental car place?” Dominic asked.

She looked into his eyes. His kind, concerned, bright green eyes. “Looks like I do.”

“I'll be happy to volunteer for taxi duty.” Those eyes crinkled at the corners as he offered a sympathetic smile.

“And I'll let you.” Exhaustion swept over her and she realized how long they'd been diligently working the area. It felt like she'd been up twenty-four hours straight. But it was only 11:00 in the
morning. This case and being stalked by a serial killer was wearing her down.

Serena stood. “Why is this sicko leaving a doll and a dead body in my car?”

“He left a package on my front porch, a dead body in my shed, a doll and a dead body in your car. He's leaving messages all over the place,” Dominic murmured.

“Yes, but what do they mean?” she asked. “I don't understand what his messages mean other than I'm—we're—targets.” She sliced her hand through the air to emphasize her point. “Okay, I get that. I'm tired of his games.”

Dominic nodded. “I am too, but we can't stop now. He's already planning his next move.”

Serena allowed Dominic to usher her out onto the driveway. The sun still beat down and she broke into an instant sweat.

Rick was just finishing up. He looked at her. “She's on her way to the morgue.”

“Thanks.”

After getting what she needed, she climbed into the passenger seat of Dominic's F-150. Once she'd gotten her rental, she said goodbye to Dominic and headed to work.

She'd called Daniel, her boss, and explained that she was going to be late but hadn't told him why. When she walked into her office, she saw Paul on the computer. He looked up at her entrance. “Hey, everything okay?”

“I'll explain later. What'd I miss in the meeting?”

“Nothing. It was postponed. Daniel was called into a meeting with the bigwigs first thing this morning and said we'd meet later.”

“So what time are we meeting?”

Paul glanced at the clock on the wall. “In thirty minutes. They're serving us some kind of cheap bag lunch thing from the cafeteria.” He stood and nodded toward the body on a nearby table. “Patricia Morris. I'll have her prepped for you before the meeting.”

Thirty minutes later, Serena slipped into her lab coat, then into the chair in the conference room for her hour-long meeting. As she munched on the chicken salad sandwich, chips, and apple provided, Daniel discussed cutbacks and what he was doing to try to preserve everyone's job.

Paul leaned over and whispered, “If they'd let us buy our own lunch, that would save a few bucks.”

Serena smiled. “I don't think it's going to matter in the long run.”

Paul didn't smile back. “If I lose this job, I'm toast.”

Patting his arm, she whispered back, “I know, Paul. That's why Daniel's doing everything he can to make sure that doesn't happen.”

He gave a slow nod, but the furrows over the bridge of his nose told her he was still worried. Then Daniel called for her report.

She gave an update on the autopsies she'd performed and got her assignments for the rest of the day and tomorrow.

After the meeting, she walked to her office, her mind spinning with everything going on. She had two autopsies today. Patricia Morris and the Jane Doe who'd been placed in the back of Serena's car. She was anxious to get to them and see if she could get some answers that would help the authorities find the killer.

Then she would catch up on her paperwork. And at some point, she really needed to touch base with Camille. Serena sent the girl a text asking her to meet her for an ice cream at the park later this afternoon.

Paul strode along beside her. “We only have two today.”

“I know.”

“That's not good.” At her lifted brow, he hastened to assure her, “I mean, not that I want people to die, but what if Daniel sees that I'm not very busy? He may think you can handle everything on your own.”

Serena walked into her office, motioned Paul inside, and shut the door. “Paul, you're a great assistant, one of the best I've worked with. You're insightful, smart, and seem to know more about
diseases, drugs, and death than I do.” His lips quirked at that statement. “In fact, I've often wondered why you haven't gone on and become an ME.” He shrugged and looked away. Serena said, “You've had wonderful evaluations and I know for a fact that Daniel thinks very highly of you. We both want you here and we'll fight for you, okay?”

His blue eyes met her gaze once more. Some of the tension left his shoulders and his jaw relaxed. “All right. Good enough. Thanks.”

“You're welcome. Now, let's go see what Patricia has to tell us.”

Unfortunately, Patricia didn't have a lot to say. And so far, neither did Jane Doe. Serena had called Daniel in for help on the autopsies in order to finish them and get the results for the police fast. With his and Paul's help, they'd discovered nothing new, but at least they were finished. Daniel left after telling her to call him if she needed anything else.

Everything Serena had deduced while at the crime scene was just reinforced by Jane Doe's autopsy. Dominic had arrived toward the end, ready to take Serena over to the prison for their meeting with Drake Lindell.

Looking up, she told Dominic, “The bullet in Patricia's forehead killed her. There's no trauma, no defense wounds, no sign of sexual assault, nothing.” Her gaze bounced back and forth between Dominic and Paul. “She's been cleaned up—post-mortem. I haven't even found a stray hair. There was some residue from the shed, of course, but nothing that will lead us to the killer. At least nothing obvious. Maybe the lab will find something more.” She sighed and frowned. “Jane Doe's results are pretty much the same. I'm stumped and I don't like it.”

“What about the tox screens?”

“I'm waiting on them.”

“What about Leslie's tox screen?”

“Still waiting on that too. I called about it before I started Patricia's autopsy and Christine said she'd have it to me ASAP.” Serena removed her gloves and threw them in the red hazardous waste bin to her left. She walked to the computer in the corner and with a few clicks saw the information in her inbox. “And Christine was as good as her word. It's back.”

Serena pulled up the document and read while Dominic stood behind her, leaning over her shoulder. “She had some alcohol in her system, but it's about the amount you'd have if you had a glass of wine with dinner. No red flag there.” She scrolled down. “But here. Wait a minute. What's this?”

“What?” Dominic moved closer. Crowding her. She inhaled a whiff of his spicy cologne and decided she didn't mind his close proximity. Blinking, she focused back on the screen.

“Scopolamine.”

“What is that?”

“A drug.” She drew in a deep breath. “Well, that's interesting.”

“I know it's a drug. What kind?”

“I don't know a lot about it, but—”

“I can tell you about it,” Paul said.

Serena's fingers halted on the keys as she said, “Okay, fill us in.”

Paul slipped his gloves off and tossed them in the red biohazard materials bin. “It's used to render victims helpless, docile. And it's not like the common date rape drug, Rohypnol, better known as roofies. With scopolamine, the drug blocks any formation of memories, so victims don't have a memory of anything they do or anything that happens to them while under the influence of it.”

“What about hypnosis?” Dominic asked.

Paul shook his head. “Nope. Hypnosis isn't even an option, because with hypnosis, you're looking for a repressed memory. Unfortunately, with this drug, the way it works on the mind, there's no memory to bring forth.”

“And you know this, how?” she asked.

Paul pursed his lips. “I was in pharmaceutical school for two years before I dropped out.”

Dominic shook his head. “Scopolamine. I'd never heard of it before this case, but now that you say the name, I recognize it from seeing it in one of Drake's files. Where does the drug come from? Where would someone like this killer get it?”

“It comes from Bogota, Colombia, mostly,” Paul said. “That's where the tree grows. But most people who want to use it illegally don't bother harvesting the drug from the seeds that are scattered all over. They just get it from Ecuador already in drug form. It's used for human trafficking, robbing people blind, all kinds of rotten things.”

“Is it available in the States?”

“Yes, just not very widespread as it is in Bogota.”

Dominic rubbed a hand down his cheek. “Why is the fact that this drug was in Leslie's system so interesting?”

Serena exchanged a look with Paul, then turned her gaze to the white board with the nine known victims of the Doll Maker Killer. “Because it was found in the systems of every one of those girls.”

THURSDAY, 4:00 P.M.

Dominic eyed the chart. “Okay, I think it's beyond time to pay Mr. Drake Lindell a visit.”

Paul stepped around and said, “I'm going to leave that stuff to you guys. I have another appointment I need to get to if you don't need me anymore.”

“Sure, go on,” Serena said. Then she looked at Dominic. “I guess it's just you and me then.”

“I guess.” He smiled. That worked just fine for him.

“I'll need to take my car, though. I might be meeting a friend later.”

“Oh.” Hoping he sounded casual, he asked, “So, who are you meeting? Alexia?”

“No. Another friend.”

“Ah.” She didn't want to tell? She was meeting a guy? The dart of jealousy took him by surprise.

Then she sighed. “I'm working with some girls, troubled girls who've been kicked out of their home, runaways, et cetera. One particular kid who has a grip on my heart seems to need a little extra TLC. And I find myself wanting to give it to her.” She looked at Dominic. “It's Camille, the one who showed up at my house
last night. She really needs to know someone cares about her, and I told her I'd meet her today at the park.”

Relief swept over him. It wasn't a guy. Then the rest of her words registered and admiration filled him. “When do you find time to do that?”

A smile curved her lips. “I don't find it, I make it.”

As he walked Serena to her rental car, he picked up his phone and called Terry O'Donnell at BSU, Quantico. Although Terry's main job with the Behavioral Science Unit was as a research analyst, he spent a lot of his time tracking down missing people. “Hey, I want you to check on the Lindell family.”

“Lindell? Drake Lindell? The Doll Maker Killer?”

“That's the one. See if there's any connection between them and Ecuador or Bogota, Colombia, will you?”

“Sure.”

Thirty minutes later, Dominic stepped into the prison and felt Serena behind him.

He couldn't believe she'd insisted on being there. But he supposed the doll on his doorstep and the one in her car had freaked her out enough that she took the threat personally.

He didn't blame her.

If the tilt to her chin said anything about the way she felt, he figured it might be in his—and Drake's—best interest to stay out of her way.

Or be honest and tell her what she needed to hear.

“You okay?”

“Just fine, thanks.”

The metal door clanked shut behind them and Serena flinched. She composed herself fast enough, but her moment of vulnerability touched him, made him want to protect her.

He squelched the feeling.

For now.

Walking the corridors of the prison made her nervous. Like she'd done something wrong. And when they were ushered into a small visiting area, her pulse rate accelerated and she felt like the walls were closing in on her.

Claustrophobia.

“Is he going to be in the room with us?”

“Yes. We'll also have a guard in the room and one outside the door.”

“I thought he'd be on one side of the glass and we'd be on the other.” The thought of coming face-to-face with the man who'd killed those women turned her stomach. And made her mad.

Dominic shot her a glance. “Are you going to be all right?”

She nodded. “I'll be fine. I've just never really come across anything like this in all my days of working as an ME.” She'd had some doozies but had definitely never walked into a prison to confront a killer.

“You don't have to stay. I can do this, and I promise I'll tell you everything.”

Serena shook her head. “For some reason, I feel compelled to stay.” At his raised brow, she said, “Don't worry, it's not because of some weird fascination. The killer has made this personal. He's made this about me—and you. I'm hoping Mr. Lindell will have some answers about that. And I might have a question or two for him I need to be here to ask. To see his face when he answers.”

Dominic didn't have a chance to respond. The door clanked open. One guard entered followed by the prisoner and another guard.

She was rather relieved to see he had chains on his hands and feet but was surprised when she looked into his eyes. A light blue, they didn't hold the hardness she'd expected. They landed on her first.

“Hello, Mr. Lindell,” Serena said with a nod.

“You must be Dr. Hopkins.” His low, gravelly voice vibrated through the room.

“I am.”

Dominic said, “And I'm Special Agent Dominic Allen with the FBI. Thanks for agreeing to meet us.”

Drake settled into the chair opposite her and Dominic and rested his hands on the table. The chains gave a loud clank, but the man didn't seem to notice. His once blond hair was now gray. He shrugged and offered a wry smile that reached into eyes. “My schedule was pretty open today.”

Dominic gave a low chuckle and Serena leaned back in her chair, allowing her shoulder muscles to relax a fraction.

This man was a cold-blooded killer?

She continued to study him while Dominic took the lead. “We have a few questions for you concerning the women you killed back in the nineties.”

Drake's eyes didn't change, but a subtle thread of tension ran through him. Serena saw it and felt her own muscles respond in kind. Then Drake let out a low sigh as he lifted both hands to scrub his face.

Then he looked at them. “So you still think I'm the one.”

“And you're still protesting your innocence.”

Drake nodded. “I am. My attorney is in the process of filing another appeal.”

“I know.” Dominic shifted. “I hear you've changed, found the Lord.”

A soft smile crossed Drake's lips. “Indeed. The church service here is one of the highlights of my week.”

Serena wasn't so sure about his claim of being saved. While that was between him and God, something just didn't ring true. Something in his eyes . . .

She leaned forward. “Mr. Lindell, I'm the medical examiner working with the FBI and we've had three murders that mimic
your . . . ,” she paused, then reworded, “that mimic the Doll Maker Killer's MO.”

He stilled. For a moment he didn't even blink. “Oh?”

Dominic took over. “You keep saying you're innocent. Okay, let's say that I believe you for a moment. Do you have any idea who would want to frame you for the murders? Any idea who the real killer is?”

Lindell let out a slow breath and shifted in his seat. His eyes lifted toward the lone barred window in the room. “No. I just know I didn't kill them.”

Serena watched his body language. His fingers remained clasped together, but she didn't see them flex. His gaze remained calm even though his nostrils flared. She found herself wanting to believe the man.

“Have you ever heard of the drug scopolamine?” Serena asked.

“Of course. It was the drug used by the killer to incapacitate those women before he killed them.” Drake shifted, his eyes bouncing between her and Dominic. “It was mentioned at the trial, but I hadn't heard of it before then.”

“And do you have any connections from Ecuador?”

“Ecua—” He broke off and shook his head. “That's a new one. No.”

“Bogota, Colombia, or Ecuador is where the drug originates. Most people who use it for nefarious purposes generally get it from there. I looked up your trial transcript. I'm amazed no one questioned you about that. Apparently, they just assumed that you got the drug from somewhere here in the States.”

Serena glanced at Dominic, wondering what he was thinking. His furrowed brow told her his mind was working, mulling over each and every nuance the man gave off.

“The evidence was found on your property,” Dominic said, changing the topic.

“In a secret room under the shed in my backyard. Yes, I'm aware of all of that.”

Dominic spread his hands, palms lifted. “Well, if you didn't put the evidence there, who did?”

Lindell's lips tightened and he shook his head. “I don't know. I never went out there. It was an abandoned shed that I dragged home one afternoon. I was working all hours because the cleaning business had taken off. That shed sat there for two years without me ever paying it the slightest attention. I haven't a clue how that stuff got there.” His eyes lifted to meet hers.

Serena cocked her head. Nothing about him said he was lying. No nervous twitch, shifting eyes, or defensive body language.

“You're protecting someone,” Serena said softly.

The man jerked and narrowed his eyes at her soft statement. For the first time since they'd entered the room, he showed emotion other than calm, cool, and collected.

She'd nailed it, she knew she had. “Who are you protecting? One of your children?”

He stood abruptly and she froze. The guard stepped forward, ready to intervene, but Drake waved him off. “I'm not going to do anything.” To Serena and Dominic, he said, “We're done here.”

Serena didn't say anything more or try to stop him from leaving. Neither did Dominic. One thing she noticed before the guard led him away.

Drake's eyes.

They resembled hard chips of ice.