Deadly Deception (20 page)

"She wants to know where Ally is and why she didn't return to the apartment after checking out of the hospital."

"Who's she asking?"

"She called the clinic head nurse who told me.  I called her back and told her Ally was in Florida with her father and that she may not be coming back."

"Did she believe you?" 

"I don't know.  She's suspicious.  Ally told her she'd changed her mind about giving the baby away."

"Shit!  Is she asking about the baby too?"  Christ! He hated complications and this could be one that could land him in prison for life.

"Yes.  Do you want me to take care of her?"

"No, not yet.  But keep an eye on her."

Lane and Frankie arrived at the crime scene within an hour.  Having slapped an old police dome light from his suitcase on the dashboard, he'd flown up the Interstate with speeds as high as 95 to 100 mph.  The medical examiner and the crime scene technician vans were still parked with half a dozen sheriff cars alongside the road.  Flood lights in the distance illuminated the crime scene.  They were already out of their vehicle when they noticed a deputy headed toward them.

Lane pulled out his badge and the deputy let them pass, telling them to steer clear of the dirt path where technicians were collecting evidence.  They entered the woods, wading through scrub and underbrush as they followed the yellow plastic crime scene tape, careful not to add their footprints to the dirt path.  They passed a crime scene tech who was making a cast of a shoeprint on the path.  Soon they could see a group of men in a huddle focusing on a small body on the ground.  As they approached, Sheriff Brennan raised his head, noticed Lane and Frankie, and then moved away from the group to walk toward them.

"You got here just in time.  The medical examiner is getting ready to take her back for the autopsy once the techs complete the shoe and tire print casting. He wants to do it as soon as possible.  He thinks she's only been here a day or so.  She looks young, younger than Mandy Morris.  Can't be more than sixteen.  The doc's got a daughter about her age and he's taking it bad.  So keep that in mind if you ask him any questions.  He's in a nasty mood."

"What do you think happened?" Lane asked as he brushed an insect out of his hair.  He heard the buzzing of flies and knew there must be a thicket of them covering the body by now.

"The kill wasn't clean like with Mandy Morris.  It looks like her clothes are ripped by the undergrowth so she must've run from her killer.  We won't know for sure until the doc finishes the autopsy.  I saw the entry wound, and it was surrounded by soot, so I think the kill shot to her back was in close range and most likely went clear through her heart."  He paused as two men with a stretcher passed them tramping through the brush.  "Now that you're here, I'm heading back to my office.  Call me when you get the autopsy results. The prosecutor will want a briefing."

Frankie joined the huddle of men to see the body lying face down, her arms stretched above her head.  The victim’s loose top was ripped in places, probably the result of a pursuit by the perp.  She was small and didn't look much over five feet tall.  There was a tattoo of a tiny heart on her ankle.  A couple of her fingers were bloody with the fingernails missing indicating she put up a fight.  There was a ring of dark abrasions with dark bruising circling each wrist suggesting the killer had tied her up to subdue her.

Frankie joined Lane as he talked with a crime scene technician.

"What did you find?" she asked.

"The killer left tire tracks on that dirt lane we've got cordoned off on the other side of those trees.  There were some pretty clear shoeprints that we're casting too.  Already got the farmer's shoe impressions for comparison."  He pulled a plastic bag out of his kit.  "Oh, and she had a cell phone."  He held up a zip-locked bag containing the phone. "I'll get it to you later after we've processed it for fingerprints."

"Let me know when you've run her fingerprints through AFIS for identification."

"No problem."

Frankie turned to see the men lifting the girl's body, now in a black body bag, strapped onto a stretcher.  She watched them as they headed toward the road trudging in the thicket of weeds and undergrowth next to the dirt path that was still cordoned off.  The medical examiner trailed behind.  She felt Lane's presence behind her instead of turning in his direction.

"I'm going to the autopsy.  Do you want me to drop you off at your house?" 

"Oh, hell no.  Do you think I haven't attended an autopsy before?  This  isn’t my first time off the ranch!"

It was one in the morning, but one wouldn't guess the time by the lighting and bustle of activity in the autopsy room, Frankie thought as she peered through the large glass window.  Dr. Meade was scrubbing up next to a stainless steel sink.  His assistant, Joan, was arranging surgical instruments on a white cloth lined tray.

“The x-rays are done,” called a male assistant who wheeled in the body  covered with a white sheet from Radiology where they'd taken extensive x-rays.  Frankie knew this was protocol in gunshot wound cases.  Bullets were unpredictable and often moved in unusual paths through the body, especially if they should strike bone.  The x-rays would help the doctor identify the exact location of the bullet if it was still lodged within the body.

Per protocol, the girl's clothing had been stripped from her body, carefully placed in brown paper bags and handed to a crime scene technician along with the body bag and the sheet that was wrapped around her body. Once in the lab, the items would be searched for trace evidence such as hairs, fibers, dirt, and any other materials. 

The paper bags had been removed from her hands which meant her nails had been scraped for trace evidence and her fingerprints had been taken.

Frankie looked at the tiny body lying under a clean white sheet, her dark hair spilling over the stainless steel table.  She looked so very pale and innocent that Frankie's heart squeezed.  What kind of a monster would kill this girl?  What threat could she possibly have offered?

Lane joined her holding two paper cups filled with hot coffee. He handed one to her.  She sipped the brew as they both moved into the autopsy room. Dr. Meade was ready to begin.  He adjusted the tiny microphone clipped to his lab coat and began.

"The deceased is a white female with a weight of one hundred pounds and height of sixty-three inches..."

Three hours later, Frankie and Lane ran three blocks in the pouring rain to Michael Brandt's office.  By the time they reached the building, their clothes were soaked through and the air conditioning chilled them.  They dodged into the restrooms and soaked up what moisture they could with paper towels.  Then they met in the hallway and took the stairs up to the meeting they’d been summoned to in the prosecutor's office.

Joining Michael, the sheriff, and Dr. Meade, they sat at a round conference table.

"Doc, what was the cause of death?"  Michael asked as he watched the sheriff bring a full pot of coffee to the table along with some pastries.

"A gunshot wound through the back. The bullet sliced through the aorta of her heart then it exited through her chest," said Dr. Meade.

"The lab called me," said Lane.  "They found the bullet lodged in the victim's loose blouse.  They think it is a .38 hollow point like the one used to kill Mandy Morris.  They're sending the bullets to ATF in Indianapolis for definitive identification.  In addition, they're running her fingerprints for identification."

"Another thing you need to know is that this girl had given birth within days of her murder," offered Dr. Meade.

"Do you think this murder is connected to Mandy Morris’s?"  Michael asked the question of the sheriff who gave Lane the nod to respond.

"Yes, I do," said Lane.  "Her body is dumped in the same place as Mandy Morris's and she was killed with a .38 hollow point bullet.  She'd recently given birth, just like Mandy."

"What about a motive?"  Michael looked to Frankie for her input.

"Once we get identification, we'll see if she’s associated with the Forever Home Adoption Agency.  If she is, my bet is that she decided to keep her baby.  If the baby had already been sold, as we suspect, that creates a big problem for Dr. Caine who owns the agency.  We had to pay $50,000 up front and are expected to pay another $50,000 once the baby arrives.  I imagine the dollar amount for this baby is the same. That's a lot of money.  Like I said, this is a big problem for Caine and getting rid of the mother is one solution."

"How close are you to getting into Dr. Caine's inner circle?"

"We've identified a person who appears to be Dr. Caine's hired gun.  His name is David Chambers, and he's a former Army Sniper.  He's registered a Wesson Smith & Wesson Model 438 Bodyguard which can shoot .38 hollow point bullets.  He drives a Lincoln Town Car that is registered under Caine's name.  We’re looking forward to getting the results of the tire print analysis to see if we have a match."  Frankie looked at Lane then continued.  "I’m a volunteer for one of his charities, and he's having a dinner at his house this weekend for the volunteers. Lane and I hope to get more information then."

The sheriff's cell phone sounded and he moved into the hallway to take the call.  When he returned, a worried expression creased his face.  "If you two are going back to Bloomington today, you better take off.  The weather report predicts severe storms in this area."

They were less than twenty minutes into their two-hour drive when the sky darkened. Moments later rain pelted the SUV windows and glossed the highway surface.  Around them, vehicles slowed down. The ones that didn't learned first-hand how slippery the surface of the road had become.

Frankie felt a wave of anxiety sweep over her and she bit her lower lip.  She'd never been a big fan of thunderstorms. As a child, she'd typically hid under her bed.  She was even less of a fan of driving through these kinds of conditions.  Hail began beating against the vehicle as the thunder rumbled overhead.

"Lane, do you think we should pull over?"

"Not yet."  He glanced at her. "Hey, are you okay?" 

"Sure."  Her response was a lie because icy fear now gripped her heart as the thunder boomed louder and the hail pelted the car harder.

Frankie glanced at Lane whose focus was on the road. He gripped the steering wheel tightly and increased the speed of the windshield wipers. 

Frankie turned the radio on and searched for a channel with a weather report.  Each station was filled with more static than the last.  Finally, she gave up and turned it off.  They were in farmland now and the rain was so heavy she could barely see a couple of feet beyond her car window. 

She looked down to see Lane was now holding her hand with his fingers laced through hers in her lap.

"Honey, at the next town we'll pull over at a restaurant or something." 

She met his gaze and nodded in agreement.  Then she looked out the window.  The wind seemed to have picked up because the raindrops assaulting the vehicle popped against the glass.

Something pulled at her to look behind them.  She turned in her seat so she could look out the wide window at the back of the SUV. She saw her worst nightmare — a turning, twisting, spinning top of a dark monster spewing rain, dirt, and debris as it headed right for them.  Tornado!  She didn't know she had screamed until Lane grabbed her arm and jerked her around in her seat.