Shadow of Perception (41 page)

He scrubbed a hand down his face, then stood and stretched. Needing a break, and something to eat, he went into the kitchen. The frying pan still sat on the stove, the bowl containing a few egg yolks remained on the counter, along with the carton of eggs. He cleaned up the mess, tossed the warm eggs in the trash, then made himself a sandwich. He also realized the animals hadn’t eaten and fed them, too.
 

Plate in hand, he headed back into the living room. Eden hadn’t moved. As he ate his sandwich, he continued to work.

By four-thirty in the morning, he’d made it through the L’s. At this point he had compiled a list of one hundred and thirteen women who slightly resembled Eden, and all had had both breast implants and liposuction. Damn, and he still had about six hundred M clients to review.
 

He rubbed his eyes, and laid his head against the cushion…

Eden woke with a jerk. She blinked several times and glanced next to her. Hudson’s long legs were stretched, his feet propped on the coffee table. He had one hand on her thigh, and the other draped over Fabio, who had curled his big body on Hudson’ lap.
 

A part of her wanted to shove Fabio aside and take his place. Although still hurt and pissed, she couldn’t deny the way her body and heart ached for him. Not in the mood to go there, she looked from Hudson to the notes he’d made. Slipping his hand off her thigh, she reached for the notebook.
 

Impressive. While she’d slept, he’d made it all the way through to the M’s.
 

She glanced at the clock. Not quite six, she decided to let Hudson sleep, and began reviewing the M clients’ photos and surgical procedures. When she came across a woman who had long black hair, breast implants and liposuction, she jotted down the name next to the others Hudson had written. After they completed the client list, Eden hoped Rachel could run the names they’d noted against death records. The killer had said he loved two women, both were dead. Based on the killer’s obvious need for vengeance, his hatred for the plastic surgeons, she firmly believed they would make their connection to the killer through one of these women on the list.

Thirty minutes later, she’d gone through another one hundred and fifty clients. She stared at the screen when another woman with black hair caught her attention. This client had had breast implants and liposuction, but beneath the list of her procedures was a set of double asterisk marks sandwiching the letter W. Beneath the asterisks and W was ten percent.
   

Unsure of what the W and ten percent indicated, she made a note next to the woman’s name, then continued to scan through the list. Twenty women later, she discovered another set of the asterisk, W, and ten percent combination. As she was about to look at the next client, Hudson stirred, then woke.

Rubbing his eye with his palm, he said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to doze off. What time is it?”

She glanced at the clock on the computer. “Quarter to seven. I’m the one who’s sorry for conking out on you. I can’t believe how many names you got through.”

“I’m just amazed at how many people get plastic surgery.” He stretched, then added, “How far are you into the M’s?”

“I think I’ve looked at around a hundred and seventy. One thing I’ve found…when you were going through these, did you happen to notice this beneath any of the procedures?” she asked, and pointed to the asterisk, W, and ten percent grouping.

Leaning forward, he looked at the screen, then nodded. “Yeah, I remember seeing it a few times, but assumed it was some internal office code for pricing.”

“Which makes sense, but why only for some clients?”

“I don’t know, maybe they were running a special, or maybe the clients who received the discount knew the surgeons and got a friends and family deal.”

“Didn’t you say Rachel had their financial records as well?”

He tapped at the keyboard, then pulled up the file containing Med Spa’s financial records. After a few minutes, Hudson said, “Nothing looks out of the ordinary, but I’m not an accountant.”

As he browsed through another screen, she touched his hand. “Wait. Look at that.”

“Holy shit.”

A column titled “Westly” contained hundreds of names with dollar amounts next to them.

“I think we’ve just found the dentist’s connection to Med Spa,” she said, excited that they’d made excellent progress. “My guess is that the ten percent is what Westly had received for client referral. He knew Dr. Thomas Elliot. What if Elliot offered a kickback for every client Westly sent to Med Spa?”

“Which would mean that the woman, or women, we’re looking for had also seen Westly.”

“A patient who had gotten veneers,” she said, then picked up the notebook. “Let’s narrow our list, starting with Sheila Abbot.”

Hudson opened up the clientele list, then scrolled back to the A’s. When he stopped on Sheila Abbot’s information, he smiled. “There’s a W.”

“Good. So she stays on the list. Next up, Natalie Anderson.”

By the time they’d finished going through all one hundred and fourteen women on their list, they’d discovered that fifty two of them had been, if their hunch was correct, referred by Westly. With the list narrowed, and the rest of the M’s to tackle, Eden suggested that they still make note of the women who held a resemblance to her, and had had both breast implants and liposuction, even if they didn’t have a W beneath their procedure record. In case they were wrong about Westly.

“I can use some coffee,” Hudson said. “Brutal probably has to go potty, too. If you want to take a break and wait for me—”

“No. I want to get this done,” she said, and didn’t look up from the screen until the front door clicked shut. Releasing a deep breath, she leaned back into the couch. While she was still angry at Hudson, when they’d discovered the possible Westly connection, she had been so thrilled, she’d wanted to give him a victory kiss. Bad idea. At this point, she didn’t see the purpose in salvaging their relationship. Yeah, he could be sweet—he had an obvious affection for her animals—considerate, thoughtful, sexy…

Needing some caffeine herself, she stood, and decided to head into the kitchen to make the coffee anyway. While she knew Hudson was a good man, he had trust issues. Not that she was one to talk. With Hudson, though, she’d realized she had wanted to trust him, that she could trust him. She still did. The problem they faced wasn’t about her lack of trust and commitment, but his. She couldn’t be with a man who remained on constant guard. Sure, after she’d told him off, he’d been ready to talk. He’d even told her he loved her. Unfortunately, the damage had already been done. While the betrayal had lessened, she worried if they did try to stay together, she would always wonder if he was keeping secrets.
   

As she poured the coffee into a mug, the front door slammed shut. Seconds later, Brutal raced into the kitchen on three legs, his tail wagging as he nudged his dog bowl.

“I’ll feed him. Although the little piggy ate around one this morning,” Hudson said when he entered the kitchen. “When you were in the hospital, I noticed you were low on cat food. I hope I had Lloyd buy the kind Fabio likes.” He showed her the box.
 

Damn. He would be the perfect man if he lost some of his emotional baggage. His thoughtfulness toward her and the animals tempted her to stop the icy attitude and make things right between them. Only she felt like a fool for having told him personal, private secrets, and being so caught up with loving him that she hadn’t noticed he’d kept himself, his personal private secrets hidden. Some investigative reporter she turned out to be.
 

“That’s the right kind of food,” she said, and only because he was feeding Fabio and Brutal, she poured him a cup of coffee. “I’m going to get back to work.”

Her cell phone rang. She quickly glanced at the kitchen clock, then at Hudson. Her pulse quickened. Was the killer giving her another wakeup call?

She grabbed the phone off its charger, then checked the caller ID. “It’s work,” she mumbled, disappointed and relieved. A part of her had hoped she’d have the chance to talk with the killer. If he hadn’t already taken Roth, maybe she could have talked him out of it. Doubtful, based on his need for vengeance, still, she would’ve at least liked to have tried.

“Morning, Rodger,” she answered.

“Eden, I know you said you wouldn’t take any more stories, but I need you.”

Rolling her eyes, she leaned against the counter. “It’s twenty after seven on a Sunday. What’s so earth shattering that you can’t have Ryan or maybe Tabitha take care of it?”

“There’s been a shooting at Saint Mark’s Catholic Church on Westminister. Ryan Anders can do it, but with this kind of situation, I need another person there. Someone with experience. Tabitha’s too green.” He paused, then said, “Look, we just heard on the police scanner that anywhere from twelve to seventeen people are dead or injured. The gunman is still in the church and holding the parishioners hostage. You know I don’t kiss ass, Eden. But you’re this city’s most popular reporter. I need someone Chicagoans trust.”

She didn’t care if Rodger was kissing her ass or not. Her heart ached for the people who had died or had been injured by the assailant. For the parishioners being held hostage, their families, and their whole community. Violence had been on an upswing. For this type of violence and devastation to happen during Sunday morning mass…

“I’ll do it,” she said as she made her way to the bedroom.
 

“Thanks, Eden. I owe you. David’s gearing up the van. Your place is on the way to Saint Mark’s, plan on him picking you up in about thirty minutes.”

Eden dropped the suit on the bed, and began undressing. “Sounds good.”
 

“Kyle just got here, and is going live in a few. He’ll be your contact person once David has you and Ryan set up. I don’t want any of the bullshit that happened on Monday.”
 

The bullshit hadn’t been her doing, but now wasn’t the time to go there. She had thirty minutes to make herself presentable. “As always, I’ll be nothing but professional,” she replied, then ended the call before she said something that might bite her on the ass. Kyle was a douche bag. She’d love to tell Rodger that. She’d love to tell Kyle that. What did it matter at this point? This would be the last and final story she’d cover for WBDJ. Right now her concern lay with the innocent people at Saint Mark’s, their families, as well as giving Chicagoans some peace of mind.
 

She finished buttoning her blouse, then slipped on her suit coat. Rushing into the bathroom, she released her ponytail. After she brushed her hair, she realized fixing it would take too much time. Besides, the blisteringly cold November weather called for warm accessories. Once she’d brushed her teeth, then applied her makeup, she grabbed a warm, knit hat, gloves and boots from her closet.
 

“Eden,” Hudson shouted from the living room. “I found her.”

She finished zipping her tall boot, and hurried from the room.
 

Hudson met her in the hallway. “I’ve already called Rachel,” he said as he grabbed her hand and rushed her into the living room.
 

“How do you know this is the woman we’re looking for?” she asked as he sat her on the couch in front of the computer.
 

“Look for yourself.”
 

She glanced from him to the laptop screen, then gasped. “Oh my God,” she whispered as she stared at a young woman with long, straight black hair and green eyes. The resemblance uncanny, she could have been Eden’s younger sister or cousin.
 

“Read the procedures,” Hudson prodded, and pointed to the screen.

“Breast implants, liposuction, and…rhinoplasty.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I didn’t think about checking for patients who had nose jobs, too. Especially considering it was Dr. Roth’s specialty.”

“I didn’t think about it either. But it doesn’t matter. Scroll down.”

She did, then covered her mouth and looked at him.

“Scary, huh?”

“Horrifying,” she said, her stomach and chest tightening as she gaped at the after photo of Eliza Morrison. “She doesn’t even look like the same person.”
 

“I know. They butchered that poor kid. I don’t even understand why they performed any of these procedures on her in the first place. She was a beautiful girl. Hang on,” he said when his cell phone rang. “It’s Rachel.” He answered the call, put the phone on speaker, then set it on the table in front of them. “I’ve got you on speaker. What’d you find?”

“Hopefully our killer,” Rachel said. “Okay, I’m looking at Eliza Morrison’s death certificate.”

“Damn,” Eden muttered, and despite the wool suit and lined boots, a chill swept through her.

“Right,” Rachel said. “She committed suicide seven years ago. Her parents are…were Michael Adam Morrison and Sarah Marie Morrison.”
 

Eden glanced at the clock. David would be by to pick her up in about fifteen minutes. Now she wished she hadn’t agreed to cover the shooting. If Eliza ended up being the link to the murders, she wanted to finish what the killer had started, and hopefully save Roth.

“Sarah Morrison…this is weird, she died days after her daughter. Suicide.”