He jerked away and slapped her hand down. “Be nice.”
“Nice. Drop dead.”
“That’s your move, not mine.” In one easy move, he drove the needle roughly into her neck and pushed the plunger.
Liquid burned into her skin, sending death through her body. Her heart beat faster and faster, as if fighting against the attack. A vein in her neck throbbed.
She drew in a breath, but her lungs wouldn’t accept
any air. She pulled a second time, but her body refused the command.
The eyes that stared down at her now fired with excitement and life.
Like a vampire, he fed on her death.
Oh, God, I don’t want to die!
Panic exploded as death stole the last bit of life from her body.
It was past nine when Detective Sinclair checked the address, glanced at the green tri-level, and got out of her police-issue car. The neighborhood was mid-income but nicely kept. The houses were older, smaller, but the lawns were large. The extra land was a real luxury in Alexandria, where nearly all the available land was developed with closely placed homes, condos, and high rises.
She crossed the lawn and rang the front bell. A dog barked inside the house, and she could hear the hum of a vacuum cleaner. When she didn’t get an answer, she rang the bell again and knocked. The dog barked louder and the vacuum stopped. Seconds later footsteps moved toward the door, and after a pause, the door opened.
Standing behind the screened door was a neatly dressed woman who’d pulled back her graying hair into a neat ponytail. She wore minimal makeup, which softened the lines around her eyes and mouth. “Can I help you?”
Sinclair pulled out her badge. “I’m Detective Jennifer Sinclair with Alexandria Police. Are you Flora Redman Knight?”
“Yes.”
“I was hoping you could answer some questions for me about Fay Willow.”
She straightened. “Fay? She died almost thirty years ago.”
“Yes, ma’am. We’re looking into her case.”
“Why now?”
The neighbor next door came out on his front porch and glanced toward her. He stared without shame.
Sinclair stared back until he shifted his gaze and retreated back into the house. “Would you mind if I came inside?”
“Sure.” She pushed the screen door open wider.
Sinclair was greeted by the scent of pine cleaner. The living room was decorated in soft greens and was showroom clean. A baby gate between the kitchen and the living room kept a barking Pomeranian at bay. The dog yapped as if its home had been invaded.
“Tootsie, stop!” Mrs. Redman said. She moved to the gate, pulled a treat from her pocket, and fed it to the dog. “She’ll calm down. She’s been nervous around strangers since my husband died last year.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Sinclair never considered herself a dog person. Cats were more to her tastes. They were quiet, independent, and not emotionally needy.
“You wanted to ask me about Fay.”
“Yes, ma’am. The original police file listed you as her roommate at the time of her death.”
“Yes. We shared an apartment for about a year.”
“Can you tell me about her?”
“Beautiful. Ambitious. She liked men and they liked her. When she went missing I knew something was wrong. We’d been scheduled to travel to New York for the weekend, and she loved New York. I knew when
she didn’t come home to pack her bag that something was wrong.”
“Any idea who might have killed her?”
“You know she was sleeping with Darius Cross?”
“There was a brief mention of it in the police file.”
She adjusted the pearl stud on her ear. “Darius never would have admitted to the affair, of course, but I knew. Fay couldn’t keep a secret so well.”
“How did the two meet?”
“At a party for the Talbot Museum. She was in charge of inviting the rich and famous to an opening. She delivered an invitation to Cross personally. I guess he took one look at her and decided to follow. Shortly after, he made a big donation to the Talbot.”
“How long did the affair last?”
“Six months. Up until about a month before her death. She and Darius got into a fight.”
“About?”
“She wanted marriage, and he of course did not. She was so sure that she had him wrapped around her finger. It was almost as if she had some kind of leverage. And don’t ask me what. For once in her life she was very quiet about juicy details. I can tell you when she left Darius, she jumped into another man’s bed within days.”
“Who?”
She folded her arms. “I don’t know his name. But he made deliveries to the museum. She never brought him around, and I was planning my wedding at that point and wasn’t so worried about her dramas.”
He stared down at the woman’s lifeless eyes, savoring death’s stillness. He brushed knuckles against her warm skin, knowing her temperature had already dropped a
few degrees. In an hour she’d feel cold to the touch, her limbs would stiffen, and she’d be harder to manage. He’d have to get her into the melting vat soon so that the liquid could strip the flesh from her bones and erase all traces of evidence linked to her death.
His father had always said, “Cover your tracks. If you’re smart enough you’ll never be caught.”
And he didn’t want to be caught. The idea of living the rest of his life in a small gray cell conjured nightmares for him. So he would do as his father had once advised and erase the evidence from her body.
If only he could erase his own evidence from his body. The scars and mutilated skin, such a source of bitterness, would be with him until he died, and his flesh decayed away from the undamaged bone beneath.
He stroked her pale skin. He didn’t have to take her right at this moment. He had a little time to savor the quiet stillness—the way her chest did not rise and fall with breath, the way her gaze did not judge or recoil from his naked body.
Death brought its own special beauty to a woman that nothing in life could match.
For so long, he’d denied his taste and dark yearnings to kill. He’d put all his energy and power into blending in and simply disappearing.
But that had changed a couple of years ago. He’d met his partner. Seen the dark need in his eyes and known together they would be invincible. Together, they’d taken a hooker. When his partner had finished with her, the creature inside of him, hungry after its long slumber, would not be denied. It no longer whispered that he kill. It shouted and demanded that he kill.
And so he’d answered the call. One, two, three, four, and now five times.
Killing the hookers had been satisfying for a time. But then he’d grown bored. What was the point of genius if no one knew about it?
So, they’d agreed upon the actress. And now the hooker turned good girl. He wasn’t afraid of the cops at all now. He was smarter than they were.
He stared at her a long moment and then leaned forward and pressed his cheek to hers, inhaling the growing scent of death. He cupped her face, stared into the vacant eyes, and kissed her on her lips, savoring the chilled, still softness. With his fingertips he traced her jawline, her collarbone, and then he circled her nipple. He grew hard.
Other women intrigued him far more than this one ever would. Soon he’d find them and release them from their frantic holds on life. Their limbs would still, and the heat would evaporate from their bodies. They too would become perfect.
But until then, he had this one. He slipped his hand under her torn blouse, squeezed her breast, and slid his hand down her flat belly. There’d still be warmth inside of her to welcome him. He smiled.
For the next few moments, she was the perfect woman.
Saturday, October 8, 8
A.M.
Angie had dreamed of Kier. She was not sure where last night’s dreams had come from. They’d been dark and erotic, and they’d stirred her from slumber well before dawn. It had been a long time since she’d felt desire, and she’d missed it. Craved it.
She had always had a healthy sexual appetite. There’d only been a few men in her life, but she’d enjoyed them all. That had all changed with Donovan. His sweet, soft words had set her up so perfectly for the cutting betrayal that had left her so wounded and fearful.
Now as she stared down at the morning paper and Donovan’s byline on the front page, she wondered why she’d given that creep so much power. Why was she denying herself because he’d been such a shit? She’d never been afraid of risk before, and yet he’d turned her into a risk-phobic ninny.
Donovan’s article was an artful blend of fantasy and fact. He’d turned Sierra into a saint. He’d taken jabs at Angie and the cops, namely Kier and Garrison,
questioning why there’d been no leads since the body had been found five days ago.
Five days.
Kier and Garrison had worked almost around the clock in that time. She knew cops well enough to know that they barely had time to shower during an investigation. And to top it off, Kier’s girlfriend had broken up with him.
Her mind skipped to Kier’s face last night. Dark circles had hung under his eyes, and fatigue had softened his rough edges. He would hardly want or expect her pity. In fact he’d likely resent it. But she found a tender spot for the man.
Maybe that moment of tenderness is what had stirred the dreams.
Angie’s cell phone rang. The shrill tone yanked her attention from the morning paper. She glanced at the caller identification. Eva.
She flipped it open. “It’s good to see you know where your phone is.”
“Yeah. Sorry. I saw the missed calls.”
She picked up a steaming mug of coffee, raised it to her lips, and paused. “You drive me crazy when you don’t answer.”
“I can only hope my winning charm makes up for it.”
Angie laughed. “You sound like you’re in a good mood today.”
“I am.”
“So, I assume you worked out your issues with the good detective.”
“I did.”
“Any salacious details you can share with the lonely lawyer?”
Eva laughed. “Sorry, no.”
“Too bad. So what prompts this call?”
“Remember when you said not to tell Garrison about our family connection to the Cross family?”
Angie set down her cup. “You did.”
“I did.”
She pressed fingertips to her temple. “And?”
“He wants to talk to you. So does Kier.”
Heat rushed in her face. “When?”
“One hour. At headquarters.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“Garrison says it’s a friendly chat.”
“What about Kier?”
She dropped her voice a notch. “Kinda pissed.”
Angie’s laugh had a nervous edge. “Great.”
“But you’ll come?”
“See you in an hour.”
Malcolm stood at the dry-erase board in the conference room, staring at Sierra Day’s name. He’d drawn a circle around it and from it lines that extended to the names of those who’d wanted to kill her. Her husband. Her lover. Dixon?
And then there was Fay. Dead twenty-eight years. An employee of the Talbot. Darius Cross’s mistress.
And then there was Lulu. Missing. From her name he had only one line, and it extended to Dixon’s name. He knew Sierra, and he sure as hell had a reason to kill Lulu.
Malcolm wrote another name.
Angie.
He circled it three times, and then drew lines to Sierra, Fay, Lulu, and Dixon.
Right now the only common denominator was Angie.
Malcolm’s cell phone buzzed. “Yeah.”
“It’s Garrison. Eva and I are here.”
“I’m in the conference room.”
In a few minutes, Garrison and Eva appeared in the doorway. Both looked tired but in a good way. Eva had a glow, and Garrison had lost the angry edge that had left him so sharp and brittle last night. They were holding hands.
He didn’t resent their happiness, but it sure as hell didn’t improve his mood. “You two look chipper. Work out the kinks?”
Garrison nodded. “We did.”
“Good for you.” He looked at Eva and managed to soften the gruffness in his voice. “So where is that sister of yours?”
Her cheeks held a glow. “She’s on her way.”
“I’m very curious to hear what she’s found out about your family.”
“She gave me some of the highlights last night, but I was a little distracted. She can give you the full report.”
“Can’t wait.” Angie had sat with him last night, and for just a few moments he’d felt a strong tangible connection to her. His attraction to The Barracuda hadn’t shocked him as much as it had the first time. In fact, he was getting used to it. Maybe that was what bothered him now. He felt a connection. And she didn’t.
And to top it off, he’d dreamed about the counselor last night. They’d been in his bedroom. There’d been a candle flickering and casting a soft glow on her pale skin. He’d reached for her shirt and slowly unfastened pearl buttons that trailed between her breasts. When he’d peeled back the silk he’d discovered a red push-up bra that made her breasts so sinfully beautiful he’d been unable to resist suckling them through the lace.
He shoved out a breath. The counselor had secrets,
but it wasn’t naughty underwear. It was a big-ass skeleton in her closet that involved the Cross family.
The elevator in the hallway dinged, and he tensed, just knowing it was Carlson. Seconds later she appeared in the doorway. She carried her worn briefcase, but her hair was free around her shoulders, and she wore a soft blue turtleneck. Jeans hugged her hips, and black boots gave her an inch of height that brought them eye-to-eye.
“Looks like a party,” Angie said.
“And it seems you’re the guest of honor,” Malcolm said.
“Really?” She moved into the room and set down the briefcase on the conference table. She tossed a quick glance toward Eva, then lobbed it right back at him.
“Seems you’ve done a little digging, discovered a few gems, but chosen not to share.”
She leveled her gaze. “I’ve never been good at sharing, Detective. I guess I just don’t play well with others.”
“Maybe you’d better learn.”
Her eyes narrowed, and he suspected she was calculating all the pros and cons of working with the police. “You worked with us last year and helped us in a murder investigation.”
A former client of hers had asked her to broker a deal with the cops. He would trade info on a murder if he could walk on breaking-and-entering charges. She’d agreed to the deal but had been clear she’d do nothing to impede the murder investigation.
“I thought I was investigating a family matter,” she said. “I didn’t realize it had anything to do with the police.”
He folded his arms. “You dug up a juicy gem. I want to know what it is.”
“Why? I don’t see what the connection could possibly
be between my family history and your current investigations.”
Garrison cleared his throat. “We had a ViCAP hit on Sierra Day’s case. A similar crime occurred almost thirty years ago. The woman who was murdered, Fay Willow, worked for your father, and we suspect was also having an affair with Darius Cross.”
The look of shock on her face gave Malcolm a moment of satisfaction. Nice to know she could be thrown off balance. But she was too practiced and careful to reveal too much emotion. He’d have bet she was one hell of a poker player. “Okay.”
He felt a muscle tighten in the back of his neck. “I can appreciate that you did not know this when you discovered your family connection to the Cross family. But now that Garrison has told it to you, it would be nice if you shared.”
“I haven’t made sense of what I have found, so I really don’t want to discuss it.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the conference table. “What connection did you discover between your father and the Cross family?”
“Like I said, I’ve not fully analyzed it. And, to make my position clear, Wellington and James now represents Micah Cross. So for me to discuss anything related to him with the police would not be appropriate.”
“You’ve taken Micah Cross on as a client?” Disgust bled through each word.
She raised her chin. “Not me personally but the firm. We’re representing his charitable foundation.”
Garrison glanced at Eva. “Did you know about this?”
“Yes. She told me before she accepted him as a client.” Eva cleared her throat. “I have no ethical bounds in this matter.”
Angie shrugged but didn’t look upset or ready to silence her sister. “No, you do not.”
“So I can tell them what you told me?”
Angie shrugged.
“My father, Blue, worked for the Talbot Museum as the security director. Angie’s dad was the museum director. Shortly after my father arrived at the museum, he began an affair with my mother. As you know, that affair ruined the Carlsons’ marriage.”
“Counselor, can you tell us what your father did during his time at the museum? I mean, I doubt that would raise any conflicts of interests,” Malcolm said.
Angie absently traced the FCT initials on her briefcase. “He was the director. Administrative, membership, ticket sales, exhibits. He
was
the museum.”
“What kind of exhibits?”
“The Talbot Museum wasn’t large, or widely known beyond academic circles. It was dedicated to the Talbot family. My grandfather served with the senior Mr. Talbot in World War II. I’m not sure of the details, but after the war my grandfather went to work for the family. The Talbot family was wealthy and had ties that went back in this country a couple hundred years. Long story short, the family decided to set up its own museum. My grandfather was put in charge. And when he died my father took over.”
“What did the museum display?”
“Memorabilia and souvenirs from the family’s extensive trips to Africa and Russia. As I said, the family has a long history so the collection was quite extensive.”
“What kind of memorabilia?”
“Portraits. Clothes. Furniture. Muskets. You name it. Whatever was collected was processed and displayed by my father and grandfather.”
Eva cleared her throat. “Darius Cross made a large donation to the Talbot. I argued that Darius never did anything without good reason.”
Malcolm frowned. “If this old family was so rich, why did Cross make a donation?”
Angie folded her arms. “Every pot has its bottom. The younger Talbot generation wasn’t so wise when it came to money. A lot was lost in the stock market. They cut way back on museum funding. My father, out of loyalty to the family, tried to keep the museum alive and healthy.”
Garrison grunted. “It would have appealed to Darius to ‘save’ a rich old family. It would have made him feel superior.”
Eva nodded. “Darius would have expected a favor in return for the donation.”
Angie frowned. “Dad wouldn’t have done anything illegal.”
Eva shook her head. “Darius made good people do awful things. I’ve seen pictures of the Talbot’s collection. Your father displayed animal skeletons.”
Angie’s lips flattened. “Look, if you’re saying that Dad had something to do with this Fay Willow’s death, you are way off base.”
“Maybe not her death,” Malcolm said. “But maybe Darius needed help disposing of her body. Your father must have understood how bones were stripped if he managed animal bone collections.”
“That’s one hell of a leap,” Angie said.
“Not when you consider the way the bodies were handled after death. The manner is almost identical.”
“And you think the guy that killed Fay killed Sierra?”
“I don’t know,” Malcolm said. “But I’ve got a correlation, and I can’t ignore it.” She didn’t speak, her mind
clearly trying to regroup. An attack on her father was the last thing she’d expected today.
He eased up his tone, knowing he’d get more from her if she wasn’t so defensive. “According to Fay’s roommate, Fay had been having an affair with Darius Cross. I’m willing to bet that old Darius never intended to marry her, and that when she got a little out of hand, he killed her.”
Garrison nodded. “Reasonable to assume that he turned to Frank Carlson, called in a favor, and asked him to help dispose of the body.”
“No,” Angie said. “No.”
“Darius was a bit like the mob, Angie. You know that,” Eva said quietly. “Darius would think nothing of calling in a favor from your father.”
Angie’s fingers furled and unfurled as if grasping for a lifeline. “I can’t believe my father would be involved in a murder cover-up. He was a gentle man. Flawed, sure. But he’d never hurt anybody.”
Eva looked at her. “You remember how Darius was. He forced me to plead guilty. I lost ten years of my life because of him.”
Angie seemed to be the type that turned to logic when emotions got out of hand. “Eva, Darius has been dead two years. He wasn’t around to kill Sierra.”
“His son was,” Malcolm said.
Angie raised her hands. “Stop right there. I am not having this kind of discussion with you regarding my client.”
“Apple might not fall far from that very rotten tree,” Malcolm said.
Angie leveled her gaze on Malcolm. “If your apple theory holds true, Detective, then Eva and I are just as guilty as our fathers. Are you saying we are guilty?”
He leaned toward her, lowering his voice a notch. “Don’t play word games with me, Counselor.”
Color warmed her cheeks. “I will not let you crucify my father when he’s not here to defend himself.”
“Right now your father’s reputation means nothing to me. Nothing. I have a killer to catch. And if you find out something that can help me with this case, and you keep it from me, I promise I will make your life a living hell.”
She snatched up her briefcase. “Legally, you can’t compel me to say anything, Detective. And I don’t scare easy. Take your best shot.”
Some of the fire left his belly. “I’m not trying to win a debate, Counselor. I’m trying to solve a murder, maybe two or three. If you can help, you should.”
“I won’t let you ruin my father’s memory.”