Authors: Stephanie Bond
Hannah scoffed. “In love with my pussy, maybe.”
“And you don’t have feelings for him?” Carlotta fished.
“No, but the fat man can give head for hours, so I’m in as
long as his tongue holds out.”
Carlotta looked off in the distance.
“Whose tongue are you thinking about?” Hannah asked
dryly.
A flush burned her neck. “Nobody’s.” Damn Jack.
“If Peter can’t keep it up long enough to have sex, the least
he can do is go spelunking.”
“Enough, okay? We’re…waiting.”
“For what, a Beatles reunion?”
“We’re going to Vegas next week.”
Hannah’s eyebrows went up. “Really. For how long?”
“Five days.”
Hannah gave a dry laugh. “Maybe that’l give Richie Rich
time to get to third base.”
“This is serious, Hannah. I can’t keep stringing Peter along.
He’s talking about us having kids, for heaven’s sake.”
“Is he planning to hire someone to impregnate you?”
From the table Carlotta’s phone rang. She gave Hannah a
chastising look, then climbed out of the hot tub and
padded over, wrapping a towel around her. The number
was local, but she didn’t recognize it. Frowning, she
connected the cal . “Hel o?”
“Is this Carlotta?”
Her mind raced to identify the man’s thick country accent.
“Yes.”
“This is Kendall Abrams.”
The Chief M.E.’s hick nephew. “Yes, Kendall, what can I do
for you?”
“I’m trying to reach Wes, but he’s not answering his
phone.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know where he is.”
The young man emitted a groan and she pictured him
hitting himself on the head. “We’re really shorthanded at
the morgue. I’m on a commercial pickup now, but I have a
residential job after this one, and those are the ones my
uncle says I suck at. Can you try to find Wes for me?”
Carlotta pursed her mouth and glanced across the patio to
Hannah, who looked bored to death. “My friend Hannah
and I could give you a hand.”
From the silence on the other end, she could tel that
wasn’t Kendall’s first—or second—choice.
“Or not,” she sang. “You probably have other experienced
body movers who are available at a moment’s notice.”
Kendall sighed. “Okay. I’l meet you there.” He gave her an
address in west Atlanta. “It’s a blue house. Iffen you get
there first, tel my uncle I’m on my way.”
Hannah needed no coaxing. They were out of their suits
and into dry clothes in a matter of minutes. Carlotta left a
note for Peter in case he came home before they
returned, then they clambered into Hannah’s van and
sped off. It took them thirty minutes to pick their way
across town through traffic, but once they got into the
newly developed neighborhood, they found the house
easily, due to the number of flashing lights and official
vehicles.
“Oh, shit,” Carlotta muttered. “This looks serious. There’s
a GBI van…and Jack’s car.”
“Did the goober nephew tel you what had happened?”
“No, and I didn’t think to ask.”
Hannah glanced at her side mirror. “There’s a TV news van
behind us.”
Carlotta’s heart sped up. “Maybe The Charmed Kil er has
struck again. God, I hope not. But if so, it’s good for Coop
since he’s home under surveil ance.”
Hannah pul ed up to the police-car perimeter, and they
presented their morgue IDs. Carlotta recognized the
uniformed officer as the same cop who’d spil ed his guts
while she’d borrowed a light from him on a former murder
scene. He recognized her, too, and waved them in. The
news van behind them wasn’t afforded the same
treatment.
The tidy blue house was lit up like a torch. As soon as
Hannah brought the van to a halt, Carlotta slid out and
approached the residence, looking for a familiar face.
Suddenly a man appeared in the open front door—Jack.
From the haggard look on his face, she knew The Charmed
Kil er had taken another victim. He moved woodenly down
the steps of the home. She hurried toward him. “Jack?”
He looked up and when he saw her, pain descended on his
face.
“Jack, what happened?”
His jaw hardened and he seemed to be struggling to
maintain control. “It’s Maria. She’s dead.”
Horror knifed through Carlotta’s heart as she realized this
was Detective Marquez’s home. She covered her mouth.
“Oh, no. Jack…how?”
His face contorted. “That sick bastard. He drowned her in
the bathtub. Held her down by her neck.”
“The Charmed Kil er?”
He nodded, his expression bleak.
She put her hand on his arm. “Jack, I’m so sorry.”
His phone rang and he strode away a few steps to answer
it.
Carlotta felt nauseous. Her mind raced, trying to make
sense of a senseless act. Had The Charmed Kil er targeted
Maria because she had profiled him? Other than the
Assistant District Attorney, no one else had been
associated with the case, and the A.D.A.’s only distant
connection had been that she was an officer of the court.
All the other victims had seemed random. Was The
Charmed Kil er changing his pattern?
Chief Medical Examiner Bruce Abrams and M.E. Pennyman
stood at the top of the steps conversing. Pennyman held
up a small clear plastic bag under a light. From her vantage
point, it looked like an evidence bag. Suddenly a gust of
summer wind tore it out of his hand. Both men lunged for
the bag, but it tumbled down the steps and landed
practically at Carlotta’s feet. As she picked it up, she
identified the contents—a silver charm, probably the one
taken from Maria Marquez’s mouth. Through the plastic
she saw it was a tiny lipstick.
The bag was plucked out of her hands and when she
looked up, Dr. Abrams was standing there, a frown on his
pinched face. “Why are you here? Where’s my nephew?”
Carlotta drew back at the man’s sharp tone, but reasoned
everyone was under a tremendous amount of stress, and
having key evidence blowing around the crime scene
would make anyone testy.
“Kendall called me, saying he needed a hand,” she
explained. “He was on another call and asked me to tel
you he’d be here shortly.”
Dr. Abrams made an exasperated noise, then gave her a
curt nod and rejoined Pennyman at the top of the steps.
At the sound of Jack’s raised voice, she glanced in his
direction. He jammed his hand into his hair, obviously
distraught, then he snapped the phone closed and stood
stock stil .
“Jack?” She approached him slowly. “What now?”
The raw emotion on his face tore through her. “Coop is
missing.”
Denial exploded in her brain. “How’s that possible? He’s
wearing a GPS ankle bracelet.”
“There’s a crowd demonstrating outside his place. A
uniform stopped by to check in and found the GPS
bracelet attached to a damned robotic vacuum. It was
programmed to move around, so no one realized he was
gone.” Jack fisted his big hands. “He kil ed Maria, and now
he’s gone again.”
Carlotta shook her head, but she couldn’t summon the
words to defend Coop because she knew Jack didn’t want
to hear them. And deep in her heart, she wondered if
Coop had learned about the death of Sarah Edlow, and if
the news had sent him over the edge.
23
Wes lay in the filthy green bathtub, wracked with pain. The
scent of his own sweat and vomit permeated his nostrils.
He wanted to scream, but didn’t have the energy. Merely
blinking his eyes sent avalanches of agony through his
head. His body needed Oxy…demanded it. And in the back
of his mind, he knew the real torture hadn’t even begun.
He didn’t know how much time had passed when the
bathroom door opened, was barely conscious of being
picked up and dragged. He was limp, unable to resist. He
thought he was drooling because his mouth felt wet…but
maybe he was crying.
When he stopped moving, he became distantly aware of
lying prone on a hard surface—the floor, maybe. And then,
someone was pulling at him, tearing off his clothes. He
was naked…freezing…his body shook violently. He had the
sense of hours passing, or it could’ve been minutes.
At some point he was picked up and set in a chair, then
strapped down. He remembered the chair. It was where
Mouse had held him while The Carver sliced his initials in
Wesley’s arm. The pain was worse this time. He was
stabbed again and again. Inside he screamed, but he
wasn’t sure if he made a sound. Merciful y, he finally
passed out.
When he woke, he was being held under water. He clawed
at the hands holding him and finally got his face above the
surface. He choked, dragging air into his lungs, then was
stabbed in the arm again. As he slid into unconsciousness,
he came to the realization that he was probably being
gutted in the bathtub. When the plug was pul ed, his blood
would go down the drain with the water. Then he’d be
easier to cut up and dispose of.
Carlotta would never know what happened to him. She’d
think he simply abandoned her, like their father.
And Meg…Oh, Meg…
24
The memorial service for Maria was held Friday afternoon.
Carlotta went through the motions like an automaton. She
was numb, afraid to let herself absorb too much of what
was going on around her.
The manhunt for Coop had gone nationwide. Rainie
Stephens had come forth with the information she’d
uncovered about Sarah Edlow’s terminal brain tumor and
subsequent death, as wel as the woman’s connection to
Coop. With a possible trigger for his kil ing spree revealed,
Coop had already been tried and convicted in the public’s
eye. And since he wasn’t around to defend himself, it was
getting harder for Carlotta to hang on to her faith in him.
Just like with Randolph.
Meanwhile, the fake article designed to smoke out
Michael Lane had been cut, confirming to Carlotta that
even Rainie was now convinced that Coop was their man
and suggesting that Michael’s crimes weren’t shocking
enough in the scheme of things to warrant attention.
Granted, though, nearly every column inch of the Atlanta
Journal-Constitution was devoted to covering the horrific
new developments in The Charmed Kil er case.
The memorial service was solemn and inspirational. The
minister spoke lovely words about Maria being a beautiful
person inside and out. But Carlotta kept replaying in her
mind the spiteful things she’d said to the woman to her
face and behind her back. Maria hadn’t done anything
except save Carlotta’s ungrateful butt a time or two,
encourage her to get to know her friends better, and warn
her about putting her trust in the wrong man. In fact,
Maria’s only offense was looking better than any woman
with a gun should, and turning Jack’s thick head.
The casket was pearlized ivory with silver hardware—
stunning. But when Carlotta looked at it, all she saw was
Maria lying in her bathtub, dressed in a modest white
cotton nightshirt, stil wearing one fuzzy house shoe. The
other shoe had been dislodged during the struggle, along
with the shower curtain. The woman had been brushing
her teeth when she was attacked. She had put up a fight,
even broken two fingers defending herself. But with the
element of surprise, and what appeared to be a
considerable amount of strength, the kil er had
overpowered her.
Carlotta sat in the balcony of the cathedral. The floor level
was a sea of blue uniforms—hundreds of fel ow police
officers from all over the country had come to pay
respects for their slain comrade. The visibility of the case
coupled with the fact that now Coop had been labeled a
cop kil er pretty much guaranteed he would be shot on
sight.
Jack was sitting in the front row in his dress uniform, his
back straight. His head never moved. She suspected he’d
chosen a spot on the opposite wall to stare at during the
ceremony, holding his gaze with laser focus. He hadn’t
called when she’d returned home that awful night, nor last
night. And she didn’t expect him to call tonight, either. He
needed time alone to grieve and to beat himself up
properly. Because regardless of what Maria had meant to
him personally, Carlotta knew enough about Jack to know
he was broken inside that he hadn’t protected his partner.
The fact that he blamed Coop, someone he had once held
in esteem, for Maria’s death undoubtedly only cut deeper.
Near the end of the service, a tall dark-haired man dressed
in a decorated police uniform walked to the casket and
placed a single red rose on top. He looked grief-stricken,
his shoulders bowed. He leaned over to kiss the casket and
his sobbing could be heard throughout the cathedral.
Carlotta assumed he was Maria’s ex-husband, Rueben
Garza. She glanced at the In Memoriam card she’d taken
from the stack at the entrance.
In Memoriam, Maria Elena Marquez,
a brave public servant, a loving companion