Scraps of Evidence: Quilts of Love Series (4 page)

5

H
er name was Samantha Marshall,” she began. “She was eighteen and the first victim of a serial killer who has since murdered four more young women about the same age.”

He stopped her by touching her hand lying on top of the table. “I’m sorry. I didn’t say that well. Tell me about your friend, Tess.”

Tess stared at his hand covering hers and then lifted her gaze to his. She saw compassion, not pity in his eyes.

“I called her Sam,” she said. “We grew up together, in the same neighborhood. Went to the same school. Double-dated. She was a tomboy, and there wasn’t a sport she couldn’t play. She won a scholarship to U of F—University of Florida. We were going to go off to college, be roommates—until she got killed.”

She stared off into the distance. “It was the night of the prom. We’d gone to dinner before with the Johnson boys—we were seeing twin brothers. She thought that was funny—we were so alike we could have been twins, and we were dating them. Sometimes life is stranger than fiction.”

The waitress brought their meals, but she let hers sit as she remembered. “I left the dance because Jimmy couldn’t seem to keep his hands to himself. He kept saying he hoped he’d get lucky that night.” She blushed. “I asked myself what I’d seen in him. He was cute, but he was so crude, so selfish.”

“He was a teenaged guy,” Logan said. His mouth quirked in a grin. “I’m not sure I was way more mature at that age.”

“I’m sure you were a
lot
more mature than Jimmy. Anyway, I stomped out of the place they were having the prom and then realized I should have told Sam I was catching a cab home. But I couldn’t find her. Turned out she’d gone looking for me after she heard the brothers talking, and Jimmy admitted he’d been a jerk.

“The three of us went looking for her. We spent hours going every place we could think of. Mrs. Ramsey went with us. You know, the cat lady who couldn’t find her necklace the other day? She was a chaperone at the prom. So she and her husband joined the search. It was so not like Sam to go off without saying something.”

She took a sip of her sweet tea. Her throat suddenly felt so dry. “Finally, we all went home. They found Sam the next day in the park near the lighthouse.”

Tess looked at him. “It was so ironic. She loved that lighthouse, even worked part-time in the gift shop.”

“You and Phil said Toni had the same mark today as Sam.”

“Yeah.” She pulled out her cell phone and called up the image. “See, it’s the same as Toni’s.”

“Could it be a copycat?”

“I don’t think so. We’ve never released that detail to the public.”

He studied it. “Any speculation on what it means?”

She shook her head. “Everyone just thinks it’s a letter M. But of course it means more than that to the killer.”

The waitress stopped by their table. “Something wrong with the food?”

“No, Kim, I’m sure it’s fine.” Tess picked up her fork and began eating. “I was just telling Logan here about Sam.”

“The two of them used to come in here after school with some friends,” Kim told Logan. “I was just out of high school and starting waitressing.”

Tess smiled. “We used to order cherry Cokes and French fries.”

“One of the other girls got jealous,” Kim said. “She was this little rich girl, daddy was a doctor. Wanted to know why Tess and Sam used to get a bigger plate of French fries than she did. I told her it was because they shared.”

She sighed. “Gotta go see what old man Roberts wants now. Let me know if you need anything.”

“We shared because we were like sisters,” Tess explained. “But we also shared because our families didn’t have much money. My mom was a single parent, and Sam’s dad was out of work a lot. We even shared prom dresses.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “She was wearing one you’d worn before?”

“Yes. And don’t think I didn’t feel guilty over that later. What if the killer had been targeting me? We know they often know their victims or they stalk them for a while.”

He took a sip of his sweet tea. “Anything stick out about that night? Anyone leave the prom?”

She grinned. “Have you forgotten your prom night? It’s all about the couples sneaking outside to make out.”

“True. What I mean is, was there anything about the night that bothered you? Made you suspicious of anyone?”

Tess stirred her mashed potatoes. “Well, I remember that Gordon gave Wendell a lot of grief over where he was when Sam went missing. Gordon was working security. Anyway, Wendell had an alibi. He’d gotten into trouble for adding the contents of a flask he’d sneaked in and put into the punch bowl. The coach saw him and was going to send him home, but then I walked up to them and asked where Sam was.”

“Finish eating and we’ll go make a report to the shift supervisor, then pull the files on the previous vics and start looking at them.”

She wasn’t really in the mood to eat but who knew when they’d take time again to eat. And she hadn’t been able to shop earlier today, as she’d intended.

Kim came to refill their tea and then returned to offer Logan dessert. He chose the apple pie she said was fresh baked.

When Kim turned to leave, he stopped her. “Tess, aren’t you having anything?”

“Oh, I know what she’s having,” the waitress told him breezily. “She can’t resist our baklava.”

Tess made a face at the woman’s back, then laughed, and shook her head. “She thinks she knows me so well.”

“I guess that’s the blessing—and the curse of small towns, eh?”

“You’re right,” she said. “You’re so right.” Then she frowned.

“What?”

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? The killer is one of us. He’s lived here all this time, walked among us. Maybe gone to the same schools, the same beach, eaten at the same restaurants.”

She smiled as Kim placed the Greek pastry in front of her. “Knows us well.”

“Huh?” said Kim.

“Nothing. Just thinking out loud.”

Kim grinned and made a circular motion with her head near her temple before she walked away.

“I’m not crazy,” she said as she dug into the baklava, savoring the bite of the flaky pastry, honey, and almonds.

“No, you’re not,” he told her. “That’s why he’s been hard to catch. He’s been able to blend right in and not call attention to himself. But the thing about serial killers is that they think they’re smarter than everyone else. Sometimes they get arrogant and slip up.”

He smiled, an almost . . . feral smile. “We’re going to get him, Tess. Count on it.”

Tess had learned to count on herself and no one else. She didn’t know Logan McMillan well yet. But she had the feeling she could count on what he said.

Talk about a challenge.

Logan liked one although he sure hadn’t wanted it to come about this way. So, this seemingly quaint historic city with the people he’d found so friendly—harbored a serial killer . . .

Well, no one should have been surprised, he guessed. The city had a violent past—five countries had sent soldiers great distances to kill for it and claim it for the crown. Five countries had flown their flag. Five countries had spilled blood to grasp a city and state that was an entrance to the continent and untold riches.

When Tess had shown him around the first day, he’d started to tell her that he’d visited it for vacations several times. Then he’d decided to stay silent so he could see the city through her eyes. And see something of who and what she was in the showing him around.

So far they’d worked well even with their differing styles—how
did
the woman think of so many questions when she was talking to the M.E.? Granted, asking questions showed a quick and agile mind, and there was a steep learning curve to being a detective. He’d been on the job longer than she had, but not so long that he didn’t remember being just like her when he started.

And since he was the new guy in town and didn’t have the advantage of knowing the details of the past murders, he was going to be the one asking a lot of questions.

He looked over and was sorry he did. Tess seemed to be deriving a great deal of pleasure in licking the honey from her fork. She set it down and sighed.

Kim slapped the check down on the table and shook her head. “You’ll just hate yourself if you have a second piece.”

“I know.”

Logan reached for the check. “My treat,” he said when she asked what her share was. “I have a feeling I’m going to be very glad that you introduced me to this place.”

“Yeah, well, you might not thank me if you get as addicted to that apple pie as I have to their baklava.”

“True.”

She grinned. It was nice to see her face light up after the stress and sadness earlier.

Logan got his change, left a tip for Kim on the table, and followed Tess out to the car. The heat hadn’t let up. He was afraid to ask just when it started getting cooler in these parts.

“Chief wants to see the two of you,” his assistant said when they walked into the station.

They exchanged a glance and changed direction to head to his office. Jeremy Wallace was talking on the phone, but gestured for them to enter. Tess closed the door behind them and took the chair closest to Wallace’s desk.

He hung up and looked at them. “Phil says our friend is back.”

“Perp left his mark in the usual place,” Tess said.

“Is it possible we have a copycat?” Wallace leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers.

“Anything’s possible, but no, I don’t think so. The mark he left has never been revealed to the press.”

“Both of you be back here at 0800 for a briefing.” He flicked a glance at Logan, then studied Tess. “Big case your first week as a detective.”

“Yes sir. I’ve done nothing but get ready for this for years.”

He nodded. “Gordon thinks you can handle it. Says you’ve obsessed about trying to solve your friend’s murder.”

“Sometimes it takes obsessiveness.”

“True.” He turned his attention to Logan. “I want to catch this guy and lock him away for good. Maybe having some fresh eyes’ll help.”

“I hope so.”

The phone rang. He picked it up and snapped, “I said no calls.” He listened and muttered under his breath. “Tell him I’ll call him back in five. No, don’t let him try to bulldoze you. Tell him five minutes and hang up.”

He slammed the phone down. “Press got wind. You two make yourselves scarce and don’t say anything unless I tell you. Got it?”

“Yessir,” they said in unison.

“Okay, briefing at 0800.”

They were nearly out of the room when he barked, “I want your report on my desk pronto. Overtime’s already authorized.”

Logan followed Tess to their desks. “Let’s get that report out of the way and then pull the files for all the cold cases. Four, right?”

“Right.” She sat down and logged in on her computer. “Let’s do this.”

They worked well as a team even though they hadn’t known each other long. Logan deferred to Tess sitting behind the computer and typing the report. Since he’d been a detective for longer than her, he knew more about doing them but her writing skills were better and, as she put it, his spelling was “atrocious.” He’d reminded her he used a spell checker, but she’d dismissed that with a sniff. He couldn’t argue that spell checkers stunk.

When the report was finished, she printed out a copy and handed it to Logan to deliver.

“Why not just send it to him?”

Tess shook her head. “Chief’s a little old-fashioned. He wants to hold it in his hands. Give it to his assistant if she’s there.”

So Logan took the report and delivered it to the chief, then returned to find Tess had pulled a stack of files and set them on his desk.

“Just a little light reading, huh?”

Tess just made a noncommittal noise as she looked at something on her computer.

He sat down and opened the first file. The photo of a young woman lay on top. He studied it, aware that she’d looked up and was watching him. What must it have been like to see photos of her best friend like this? It couldn’t compare to the first time he’d encountered a dead body on duty. He’d been lucky the victim had been a stranger.

“I made up a file of my own,” she told him. “I can give you an overview.”

He watched her body language. She lifted her chin—a tell that showed she was a little defensive. Someone had made her feel so. Smithers? So far she’d shown she was intelligent, methodical, and years ahead of others at her level of service. His gut told him she’d save him hours getting up to speed.

His gut had always stood him in good stead.

He nodded.

She pushed her chair around to the side of his desk and handed him a map. “Shows all the locations where the bodies were found.”

“He started at the lighthouse, moved to the beach, then the fort, and a cemetery. Toni’s different—she was killed at her house.”

“That’s different,” she agreed. “But the killer does follow a pattern in the ages of his victims—they’re all in their late teens or twenties. Pretty typical of serial killers.”

She pulled out photos of the others and laid them on his desk. He found himself admiring her courage when she added one of her friend.

“Any pattern about time of year? Occupation? Any of them prostitutes?”