Cold Truth (5 page)

“No. But Phyl thinks she knows who our lady of the morning is.”

“I think she’s the manicurist at the Red Rose. Lisa something. I could be wrong, Detective. God, I hope I’m wrong. But I saw the pictures on your desk. I didn’t mean to, I just came in to bring you a phone message that had been put in the chief’s box by mistake. And the pictures were there, right on your desk . . .”

“I’m so sorry you had to see them, Phyl. They weren’t pretty. And it must have been a shock, once you realized that you might recognize the woman.”

“It was. It still is.” To steady herself, give her hands something to do, Phyl took a sip of Diet Pepsi. “I can call down there, to the Red Rose, if you want. I’ll see if she’s there . . .”

“No, no. I’ll do that.” Cass glanced at the chief. “I’ll do that right now, and I’ll let you know as soon as I find out.”

“Do it.” Denver nodded. “Do it right away.”

“I’m on it.” Cass disappeared through the doorway.

“And then there are all those reporters. The sergeant on the front desk is getting a little rattled. Everyone wants to know what’s going on,” Phyl said as if to prod him.

“I’ll come out and speak with them. Not much I can say, though.”

He rubbed his chin and wished he had taken more time to shave this morning. He knew he’d be appearing on the six and eleven o’clock news all across the state, with a serious five o’clock shadow.

“Chief, Chief!”

“Chief Denver, is it true there’s a serial killer in Bowers Inlet?”

“Chief Denver! Chief Denver . . . !”

The crowd of reporters pushed forward the minute Denver started down the hall toward the lobby. It was as if they had smelled him. They moved en masse, and he held up both hands to stop them in their tracks and quiet them.

“Okay, let’s just settle down here,” he said, feeling like a first-grade teacher. “Everyone take six big steps back, please. Spread out a little, give yourselves some space, for crying out loud.”

The crowd did as they were told, then raised their hands and waited to be called on.

Yep,
Denver thought.
Just like grade school.

“Okay, let me first say that, yes, there have been two murders this week here in Bowers Inlet. Both victims were women in their thirties—the second victim hasn’t been identified as yet, but appears to be of an age similar to Linda Roman, who as you all know was thirty-one.”

“Were both women killed in the same manner?” someone called out.

“I’ll need to see the medical examiner’s report on the second victim before I can answer that,” the chief replied.

“I’ve heard that both women were very similar in physical appearance—young, pretty, with long dark hair.”

“I can confirm that, yes.”

“Is the killer typing his victims, then?” a dark-haired woman in the back asked, a tinge of apprehension in her voice.

“I’d be looking for a red wig if I were you, Dana,” someone called across the room to her, and there was a scatter of nervous laughter.

“We don’t know about that,” Denver said. “I wouldn’t make any assumptions just yet. For all we know, the killer had some connection to both women.”

“So you think the same person killed both women.” It wasn’t a question.

“The evidence is still being analyzed.”

“Can we get details on the investigations?”

“I’ll have a report available to you by six.” Denver glanced up at the clock. That would give him almost two hours to decide what to release. “You can wait around for it, or you can leave your name and fax number, and we’ll fax the report to you.”

“Why can’t you just tell us what you have?”

“I don’t have a whole lot yet. I’m still waiting for the reports from the lab and the medical examiner’s office. I was just about to sit down with my detectives and go over this with them, when you all showed up. I thought I’d deal with you first, let you know we’re working on getting something together for you so that you can all meet your deadlines. I don’t want to give you incomplete information, so if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to return to that meeting.”

Denver smiled perfunctorily and started back to his office.

“Chief Denver, how many victims do you need to have to consider this the work of a serial killer?”

The chief stopped in mid-stride and turned around slowly.

“I think it’s a little early to start throwing around terms like that. I also think it’s irresponsible, frankly, since you’ll only serve to panic our residents, who are already upset enough.”

“But how many, Chief?” The question was repeated softly this time. “I’ve heard two or three. Which is it?”

Denver turned heel and returned to his office, closed the door, and buzzed for his detectives to come in and bring their notes.

“We have a positive ID on this morning’s vic.”

Cass didn’t wait until she was seated to begin her verbal report.

“Lisa Montour. Age thirty-one. And as per Phyl, she was in fact the manicurist at the Red Rose Salon in town. I called the salon and found that she hadn’t come in yet today. Called her roommate, she said Lisa went out to meet up with some friends last night, but didn’t come home. The roommate didn’t realize
that,
however, until the salon called this morning.”

“Can we get the names of the friends she was meeting?” Denver asked.

Cass held up a stenographer’s notebook.

“The roommate gave them to me, along with phone numbers. She was supposed to go with Lisa last night, by the way, but got home from work really late and was just too tired to go out. I’ve already spoken with two of the four she was supposed to meet, but they both said Lisa didn’t show up. They figured she got home from work and maybe just fell asleep.”

“What time did she leave her apartment?” Denver sat back in his chair. “Walk me through what you’ve got.”

“Her roommate—Carol Tufts, her name is—said Lisa left around nine-fifteen for Kelly’s down on Twelfth Street. Should have taken her ten minutes at the most to get there.”

“She was driving?”

“Walking. Her car had a flat, and she had no spare tire, so she decided to walk. Carol said she offered her the use of her car, but Lisa said she’d just as soon walk, since it was a nice night.”

“When was the flat tire discovered, do we know?” Denver asked.

“Yesterday morning. According to Carol, the tire was flat when Lisa went down to leave for work in the morning. Found the tire flat, realized she didn’t have a spare, so she had someone from the salon pick her up, and got a ride home yesterday afternoon.” Cass looked up from her notes. “I’ll bring the tire in for inspection.”

Her cell phone vibrated against her hip, and she glanced at the number.

“It’s the lab,” she told the chief. “I think I want to take this.”

Denver nodded, then turned his attention to Jeff Spencer, who’d been silent since he’d entered the room.

“So what do you have to add to Detective Burke’s report, Spencer?”

Spencer shrugged. “Not much.”

“Well, you were there at the scene this morning, weren’t you?”

“Yes. But Burke had things pretty much in control when I arrived.”

“What time did you get there?”

Spencer rubbed the back of his neck and shifted in his seat.

“I don’t recall what time I arrived.”

Denver stared at him. He didn’t want to have this conversation. Especially he didn’t want to have it
now.

“You having a problem, Spencer?”

“Yes, sir. As a matter of fact, I am.” Spencer’s face was emotionless.

“Solve it. Take care of it. And do it fast.” Denver stood, hoping to walk off his temper. “There’s a killer in my town. He’s just getting his game on. I don’t have time to baby anyone through their personal problems. If you’re not one hundred percent on this, Spencer, for God’s sake, tell me now.”

“Well, Chief, I hadn’t planned on talking about this yet. What with these murders and all.” Spencer’s face flushed, the first reaction he’d shown since he sat down.

The chief motioned at him to go on.

“I’d really rather wait until . . .” Spencer’s voice dropped and he shot a glance in Cass’s direction. She was wrapping up her call.

“No semen found on either body, though both women had been sexually assaulted. The position of the bruises on each woman’s neck is exactly the same, the thumbprints the same distance apart. Trace is still being examined, but Tasha found one interesting thing.”

She leaned on the corner of Denver’s desk, oblivious to the exchange between the chief and Spencer.

“Tasha found little bits of fibers in the hair of both victims. She’s going to analyze them to see if they match.” Cass looked up from her notes.

“Have this morning’s vic’s clothes been found?” Denver asked.

Cass nodded. “In the Dumpster. Neatly folded. Just like Linda Roman’s were.”

“Well, that tells us something about our man,” the chief noted. “Speaking of which . . .”

Denver held up the envelope.

“Communiqué number two,” he said dryly as he opened it and held it up.

“Remember me . . .”
Cass read aloud.

“I think it’s clear he wants us to think he’s the Strangler. He wants us to believe that he’s back. The question is, of course, is it really him? Or is it someone who thinks it would be fun to make us think it’s him? And either way, what do we say to the press?” The chief returned to his chair and lowered himself into it. “I promised to have something for them by . . .”

He turned his left wrist to look at his watch.

“In about another hour and thirty-five minutes. What do I tell them?”

Neither detective spoke. The room was suddenly very, very quiet.

“If I tell them, they’ll have a field day with the story. And it will egg him on. The killer. He’ll like it, I think.”

“And if you don’t tell them, will we be putting more women at risk?” Cass asked. “Isn’t it better if the public knows what’s going on, so they can protect themselves better?”

“I think we can let them know that another woman has been killed by what appears to be the same person. That alone should let women know they need to take care; we can address the issues of safety with the public without adding to the hysteria by sensationalizing this more than it has to be.” Denver tapped his fingers quietly on the arms of his chair. “And of course, the summer season recently opened.”

“You get a call from the mayor, or something, like how this is going to be bad for business?” Spencer asked.

“This isn’t Amity, Spencer, and I think I can safely say our killer isn’t a great white shark.” Denver stared at him coldly. “I only bring it up because our population will triple by the end of the month. Which will give him a greater selection of victims to choose from.”

“Which means we have to do everything we can to find him, and stop him,” Cass said, then shook her head. “Stupid statement. It’s obvious we have to find him before he kills someone else.”

“To that end, Burke, I want you to get with Tasha and go over everything she has. And I want you to get Lisa Montour’s car down to the garage and have it gone over with a fine-tooth comb, especially that tire.”

Cass tapped Spencer on the shoulder. “You coming?”

Before he could answer, Denver spoke up.

“No, he’s not. And close the door on your way out, Burke.”

Cass paused at the doorway and looked back over her shoulder. Spencer’s neck had turned beet red and Denver’s eyes were beginning to narrow as he focused on the detective who remained seated.

“Was there something else, Burke?” the chief asked.

“No, I just . . .”

“Close the door on your way out.”

Cass did as she was told.

She returned to her office and dialed Tasha’s number, wondering what was going on between Spencer and the chief. Whatever it was, it hadn’t appeared that either one of them was happy about it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Spencer that quiet, or the chief so tense. Her instincts told her it had more to do with Spencer’s attitude than with the recent homicides.

Well, if anyone could adjust someone’s attitude, it was Denver.

Forty minutes later, Cass had left voice mail for Tasha, called Carol Tufts and asked if she had the key to Lisa Montour’s car, and arranged for Helms to meet her at Lisa Montour’s apartment.

That done, Cass left the station, walking out the side door just as Jeff Spencer’s wife pulled into the parking lot and stopped by the front of the building.

Within seconds, Jeff came down the sidewalk, a box in his arms. He balanced the box on one knee while he opened the rear door and slid the box across the seat before getting into the passenger side.

Puzzled, Cass stood on the steps and watched as the car left the lot on two wheels.

Well, shit,
she thought.
That doesn’t bode well.

“You on your way to pick up that car, Detective?”

She turned at the sound of the chief’s voice.

“Yes, I’m meeting Helms there. I spoke with our vic’s roommate. She said the car keys are still on the hook inside the front door, where Lisa left them.”

“Good. I’m on my way to the mayor’s office to go over what little we know before the press conference he decided to call. Want to trade places?”

“No thanks.”

Denver started to walk past her and she touched his arm.

“Chief, Detective Spencer just . . .” She pointed to the street.

“Ex-detective Spencer. He’s no longer with the department.”

“What?” Her jaw dropped.

“His choice. He’s going back to Minnesota or Michigan . . .”

“Wisconsin.” She supplied the name of Spencer’s home state.

“Whatever,” Denver grumbled. “His wife hates it here, she hates the beach, she misses her mother, she misses her sister, she hates that he’s at work all the time, she hates that she has no friends here, the baby’s always sick, he’s never around to help her . . .”

He paused. “Did I miss anything?”

“If you did, it probably doesn’t matter.”

“I knew there was something going on there, his attitude has changed over the past month or two. So we had to have a chat. Told him that I need him to be on the case, one hundred percent, you know, we have a killer here, we need his full attention and if he can’t give it to us, he needs to rethink his career choice.” He paused again. “Apparently he had already done that. He’d applied for and was offered a job at a police department fifteen miles from his hometown.”