Cold Hearted (Cold Justice Book 6) (21 page)

Should he take the sister?

He pressed his lips together. She was hot, although not as hot as Erin. But, no. The sister was too obviously linked to Erin. It showed his hand. She was also in Manhattan. He sucked in his lips and narrowed his eyes.

It was time to set another plan in motion. Fuck with the system and maybe eventually someone would realize how broken it was. Hadn’t he been trying to tell them that all these months? What would it take to get them to listen to him?

Maybe this had always been the path he’d been meant to walk. Showing how easy it was to manipulate anything as long as you were smart and knew the rules others played by.

He checked his wristwatch. Almost time to go. He took the laundered red panties out of his pocket and slipped them into Erin’s lingerie drawer. He ran his fingers slowly through the silky material, picked up a black lacy bra, and let it dangle from his fingers.

He imagined it against Erin’s ivory skin.

Pretty.

Very pretty. But not what he wanted.

He let it drop back into the drawer and closed it without making a sound. The top of her chest of drawers was cluttered with knickknacks, perfume bottles, candlesticks. The lid of her jewelry box was inlaid with walnut. He opened it and picked up a silver cross on a chain. He ran it over his skin, enjoying the cool touch of the metal. He let himself get aroused even though he didn’t intend to do anything about it. Sometimes denying himself a simple pleasure produced much more intense results later. And he still had the little freshman dangling on his string. He was enjoying her naiveté and her eagerness to please. He pocketed the cross, even though it was one Erin wore often and might miss. He liked to have something of hers on him at all times. The tangible connection gave him something to hold onto. It would have to be enough until she realized they were meant to be together.

He smiled grimly.

She was a smart girl. She’d get there eventually.

He was going to make sure of it.

*     *     *

The moment Darsh
walked back into the police station, he knew something significant had happened. The atmosphere had shifted—the tension eased. He spotted Erin talking to the chief by his office door and went to meet them.

Strassen wore a wide smile. “You hear the news?”

“Which news?” Darsh said carefully.

“We found the killer.”

“Really?”

“Tell him, Erin.” Strassen instructed her.

Erin’s expression was less joyous. The corners of her mouth were drawn tight. Her eyes guarded. “A couple of patrolmen found a homeless guy by the name of Peter Zimmerman—AKA ‘Stinky Pete’—under one of the bridges wrapped in what looks like the sheet from Cassie Bressinger’s bed.”

“He say where he got it?”

“He says he took it when he killed the two girls and raped one of them.”

The fact that only one of the girls had been raped wasn’t a detail that had been released to the media, although the rumor-mill was rife with speculation after Alicia Drummond had posted online about how she’d found her friends dead and feared she might be next.

“And we found blue rope consistent with the crime scene tying his tarp in place,” she told him.

Darsh stared hard at Erin, but her expression was shut down, revealing nothing. “Can I question him?”

Erin opened her mouth to speak, but the chief cut in. “Not a lot of point under the circumstances.”

Circumstances being that his job was supposed to be determining whether the previous series of rapes were related to the new murders.

The chief continued, “He only moved into the area around last summer. Right, Erin?”

Even though this vindicated the police department he didn’t see jubilation in Erin’s gaze. He saw mistrust and indecision.

“First time he was reported to the cops was back in September. It’s doubtful he was here for much longer before that.” Her smile gave him chills. “Forbes Pines isn’t too fond of vagrants, but this guy kept to himself and didn’t cause any trouble. Pretty much flew under the radar.”

“I’d still like to talk to him,” Darsh insisted. A homeless guy wasn’t who he’d profiled as the killer, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t true. They obviously had a lot of physical evidence tying him to the crime.

The chief looked pissed, but Erin nodded. “I think you might be better served doing it tomorrow when we know more about him. He has an outstanding warrant for a DUI down in Texas. I have a call in to the detective involved in the case, but he’s not back at his desk until morning.”

“This Peter Zimmerman have a family?” asked Darsh.

“That’s one of the things I’m trying to find out.” Erin dragged her hair back from her face.

“Okay.” Darsh nodded.

The chief reached out to shake his hand. “So I’m guessing you’ll be leaving soon. Thanks for your help with this one.” Strassen checked his watch. “I have to go make a statement to the press. Hopefully they’ll leave us alone now.” The chief went into his office, dismissing them both.

Darsh followed Erin back to her desk. Harry Compton wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Darsh checked his watch. It was nearly seven, and they’d all been working overtime for the last few days so it wasn’t that surprising the station was quiet.

“So…” He left the sentence hanging.

“So?” She eyed him narrowly.

“You don’t think this guy did it?”

Erin slumped in her chair and looked away. “That’s not what the evidence is telling me.”

“But…”

“But this time I don’t want to listen to the evidence, and if that isn’t bias, I don’t know what is.” And he could tell from the light in her eyes that it pissed her off. Or maybe her cop instincts were starting to ping the way his had been since he’d seen Cassie Bressinger tied to that bed.

“Where were you, anyway?” There was a glint of suspicion in her eyes.

“Working.” He put his hands in his pockets, not ready to tell her he’d been to see Hawke. “Did you check the surveillance cams yet?”

She shook her head. “I was just leaving to do that when they brought Zimmerman in.” Her mouth twisted. “He was a Marine. You might be able to get more out of him than I could.”

An arrow of denial hit him, but he ignored it. Marines were more than capable of fucking up. It gave him a useful avenue to pursue, a way of bonding with the guy. The hog’s tooth necklace he wore around his neck suddenly felt warm against his skin.

“What are your plans now?” It wasn’t his business, but he wanted to know anyway.

“I’m going to read witness statements to see if there’s any mention of seeing a homeless guy in the area on Monday night.” She grabbed her mug off the desk and shoved to her feet. “The thing is,” she muttered quietly under her breath as if afraid of being overheard, “when the evidence pointed to Drew Hawke, I readily accepted it.”

Darsh shrugged. “You had two victims who were willing to be polygraphed about the identity of their attacker.”

“I know.” She blew out a big sigh. “But now I have a confession and physical evidence and yet I still want to follow up on Jason Brady’s alibi for Monday night, and if I do that, I’m screwed.” She gave a humorless laugh. “Maybe I do subconsciously hate football players unless they play for the Giants.” Her voice lowered even further. “The Dean of Students was in Strassen’s office earlier. If Stinky Pete hadn’t been brought in right at that moment, I’m pretty sure I’d be clearing out my desk.” The muscles in her jaw flexed. “So if I push for more digging into Brady, I’ll be out on my ear. I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all.”

She strode away, leaving him standing there. He watched her go and wondered if it was part of the abusive ex thing where she always had to be the one to take control and walk away. Maybe she just wanted to be alone. Whatever it was, he wasn’t chasing after her. Not today. He headed to his office.

This guy, Peter Zimmerman, didn’t fit the profile of the UNSUB who’d committed these murders, but profiles were only guidelines as to whom the cops should be looking at. They were often wrong… But the locals were rushing their assumptions, probably in an effort to calm the fears of the local community. Removing some of the seething tension wasn’t a bad thing.

He frowned as he remembered Drew Hawke’s assertion someone had set him up. Was there some sort of conspiracy? Or a dirty cop on the force? It wasn’t difficult to plant evidence, not in a situation like this, but that didn’t explain the witness statements.

Outside of Erin he hadn’t looked at any other members of Forbes Pines PD—maybe he should start. He also needed to talk to Agents Rooney and Chen about looking into Zimmerman’s background. False confessions by the mentally ill or people seeking attention were always an issue when investigating high profile cases. This confession didn’t feel right, and Donovan obviously felt it too.

Would she let it ride? Or fight for the truth?

The answer to that question would tell him a lot about her integrity, but it might also cost her her job. She was damned if she didn’t and damned if she did. He pushed inside his crowded office and dialed Brennan, hoping he could stay long enough to figure it out.

E
rin read every
witness statement taken over the last two days, and not one of them mentioned seeing a homeless guy near the scene of the murders. She’d also called the evidence techs, and they hadn’t logged any cell phones, scissors, or letters found in Peter Zimmerman’s camp. There were some magazines and newspapers the guy had used for warmth when it got really cold. She ran her hand through her long hair, which had fallen out of its braid and kept getting in her face.

The idea of being out in this cold was mind numbing and reminded her that no matter how hard things had gotten, she’d always had a roof over her head.

She pulled Peter Zimmerman’s mug shot out of the file. The eyes were staring, the face haggard. It could easily be the face of a murderer because that was what they looked like, right? Unclean, straggly, wild-eyed, slightly deranged?
Sure
. If they were so easy to spot she wouldn’t have a job.

She tucked the photo into a folder and pushed to her feet, grabbing her jacket off the back of her chair. She bumped straight into Darsh.

“Damn. You move quietly. You scared me.” She backed up quickly and pressed the palm of her hand against her thumping heart. His eyes followed the movement and skimmed the vee of her shirt; they were almost black when his gaze met hers, and the tingle of arousal shimmered across her skin.

They were both trying so hard to pretend they weren’t attracted to one another. Thankfully they wouldn’t need to pretend for much longer. He’d be gone, and she’d go back to the uncomplicated, celibate life she was used to.

The idea didn’t bring the comfort it should—just the sense of an opportunity lost and a chance not taken.

“Heading home?” he asked.

“No,” she admitted, almost changing her mind as the idea of dragging him back to her place hit her in the solar plexus. But last time had ended badly. Very badly. “I’m going to check out the homeless shelter. See if anyone remembers seeing Peter Zimmerman there on Monday night.”

Surprise flicked over his features, then something else she couldn’t identify. He checked his watch. It was nearly nine. He had dark circles under his eyes and probably hadn’t had a decent sleep in days.

“I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t have to. I can look after myself.”

He tilted his head, assessing her. Trying to figure out how good a cop she was. She put a little steel in her spine.

“Erin,” he said slowly. “I saw you take down Jason Brady, remember? I know you can take care of yourself, but you have a target on your back and backup isn’t a bad idea under the circumstances”—
i.e. two dead girls and a town that hates your guts
—“and I want to take a look at this shelter if I’m going to interview the guy tomorrow. Hear what the people who run the place say about him. See where he lives in relation to the crime scene.”

She’d known from the look in his eyes earlier that he hadn’t bought the confession any more than she had. Damn. The chief was going to bust her ass if he found out they were trying to prove the guy was innocent. “Fine. I’ll drive.”

“Shocker,” he muttered, but there was a twinkle in his eye. She hated how his humor warmed her.

She turned away. She couldn’t afford to drop her guard. He was charismatic and handsome—which was why she’d picked him up in that bar all those years ago. But she didn’t want him to see the reflection of that night in her eyes, or the renewed feelings of lust. The only thing she had left was her integrity. If she lost that, she’d have nothing.

“Meet me outside. I’ll go warm up the truck.” She watched him walk away and tried not to admire the view. Darsh Singh wasn’t safe, she reminded herself. He wasn’t her friend, and he still had the power to destroy her career. But she’d rather go down searching for justice than rolling over because the truth had become inconvenient to the people in power.

On the back steps of City Hall, she paused long enough to pull on her gloves. It was quiet out. A layer of fresh snow three inches thick shrouded everything in sight—she hadn’t even noticed it was snowing. It was still falling softly, large, fat, lazy flakes drifting out of the air. She raised her face to the beauty of it, enjoying the relatively warm temperature and lack of an arctic breeze.