Her Dying Breath (7 page)

Louis raised a brow. “How did you get here so quickly? Are you on the police scanner?”

Brenda shook her head. “I can’t say just yet. Sheriff Jake Blackwood, his deputy, and Special Agent Nick Blackwood are on the scene. For the sake of the victim and until the family is notified, we can’t divulge details or photograph the inside of the room. But we can shoot some preliminary footage.”

Dr. Barry Bullock, the medical examiner, parked and climbed from his vehicle, giving Brenda a look of disgust, then charged toward the motel room. She’d heard the man enjoyed his job a little too much, that he was obsessed with bugs and weird particulates.

She ignored him, and directed Louis to start shooting live footage.

“This is Brenda Banks coming to you outside the Slaughter Creek Motel, where a man’s body has been found. Special Agent Nick Blackwood and Sheriff Jake Blackwood are both on the scene, along with Deputy Mike Waterstone.” She gestured toward the police car and ME’s van.

Jake appeared from the motel lobby with the motel manager, a thin rail of man with a bad toupee, smoke-stained teeth, and a set of keys jangling from his left hand.

Brenda made a beeline toward them.

“Sheriff Blackwood, what can you tell us about the victim?”

Jake shot her a look of disdain. “Unfortunately we have found a deceased man, but the ME has not confirmed cause of death yet.”

“Have you identified the victim?”

“Not at this time.” Jake gestured toward the crime scene tape that his deputy was beginning to roll out to cordon off the area. “Now, please stay behind the tape and let us do our jobs.”

“Of course.” Brenda faced the camera. “Ladies and gentlemen, as soon as we have details on this case, we will inform you. What I can tell you right now is that an anonymous tip was received tonight, alerting authorities to this crime. Details are not clear as to the circumstances surrounding the death, but we should know more soon.”

Jake and the motel owner had reached the doorway. “Get a shot of the manager,” Brenda said to Louis.

Louis already had the camera trained on the man. A moment later, Jake led the manager back outside. The man looked peaked, leaning against a tree as if he might be sick.

Brenda rushed to him. “Sir, you are the manager here, correct?”

Jake gave her a warning look. “Don’t say anything, Mr. Feldon. This is an official investigation.”

The older man rubbed his head, sending his toupee askew. “I don’t know anything.”

“Who rented room seven?” Brenda asked.

“Brenda,” Jake said. “I told you we have no comment. Next of kin has to be notified before we can disclose the man’s name.”

“That means the dead man
did
reserve the room, not another party?” Brenda pressed.

Nick glared at her again, then motioned for Jake to join him and the crime techs heading into the room. Mr. Feldon pulled out a Marlboro and lit up, his hand shaking as he flicked the lighter.

“Mr. Feldon, was the man alone when he checked in?” Brenda asked.

“I didn’t see anyone with him,” Feldon muttered as he took a deep drag. “Man paid cash.”

“Do you have security cameras in the lobby?”

“Don’t have a camera,” the man said. “But after this, I guess I need to install one.”

Brenda gestured toward the pickup and RV. “Was he driving one of these vehicles?”

The embers of the cigarette sparkled against the night sky as Feldon flicked the ashes onto the ground. “Didn’t see the car. I was watching TV and barely looked up when the man dropped cash on the counter and took the key.”

“You don’t have your renters leave their car tag numbers with you?”

The manager’s eyes, which were set a little too close together, narrowed in anger. “Lady, look where we are. We rent by the night, by the hour sometimes. I mind my own business. Now mind yours.”

“A dead man is lying in one of your rooms, and it appears to be murder,” Brenda fired back. “If you saw something, you need to help the police.”

He dropped the cigarette into the dirt and smashed it with his boot, then strode back toward the office. “Like the sheriff said, lady, I ain’t got nothing to say to you.”

Brenda bit the inside of her cheek as he stalked off. He was already lighting another cigarette by the time he reached the office. Deputy Waterstone had finished winding the crime scene tape, so she headed toward him.

“Deputy Waterstone, did you find out who the two vehicles in the parking lot belong to?”

The deputy ran a hand through his thick blond hair. He was handsome, a flirt with the ladies in town. But he did nothing for Brenda.

“Pickup belongs to the manager,” he said. “The RV, to a family who left it here while they drove the Jeep they were towing to Nashville. Had plans to see the Grand Ole Opry. They’re supposed to be back tomorrow.”

“A dead end,” Brenda murmured.

Two more cars turned from the road into the motel parking lot, the people jumping out. “Is this where that murder was?” a middle-aged man asked.

The teens in the next car whipped out their cell phones. “Cool, man. Can’t wait to post this on YouTube.”

Deputy Waterstone jogged over to circumvent the rubberneckers while Brenda watched the door, waiting for Nick or Jake to appear. Hopefully soon the ME would exit with the body, and they could get a shot of the medics wheeling the corpse to the ambulance to transport him to the morgue.

Questions pummeled her. Nick would need to run a trace on her phone. But why had the killer chosen her? Was the perp from Slaughter Creek? Would she hear from the killer again? And why had the killer chosen this victim—as some kind of statement to Commander Arthur Blackwood?

“What can you tell us about the body?” Nick asked the ME.

Dr. Bullock pointed to the red slashes and bruises on the man’s neck. “It appears he died of asphyxiation, but I’ll verify that when I get him on the table.”

Nick scanned the room again, noting the thick ropes used to bind the victim to the bed. “He weighs, what, about two hundred pounds?”

The ME nodded. “That’d be my guess.”

“So he probably agreed to be tied up. That is, unless the killer held a gun to his head.”

“That’s possible,” the ME said, “although he wasn’t shot.”

“Man probably thought he was in for a night of fun,” Jake muttered. “But the fun got out of hand, just like that damn choking game kids have been playing.”

“I haven’t seen one of those yet, and don’t want to,” the ME commented as he scraped beneath the man’s fingernails.

The crime unit had already photographed close-ups of the man’s body, including the cock ring around his penis.

“Any scratch marks or body fluids evident?” Nick asked.

“Not so far.” He shone an instrument onto the man’s genital area, then on the sheet. “Looks like she probably made him use a condom. I don’t see any evidence of vaginal or seminal fluids.” He began to untie the man’s wrists, and Nick untied the legs, allowing the CSI team to photograph close-ups of the bruises made by the ropes.

Nick pointed to the torn, rope-burned skin. “Looks like he struggled.”

The ME peeled back the wire from the victim’s neck. “Probably realized that his partner wasn’t playing.” He indicated the depth of the bruises and cuts in the man’s throat. “In fact, if I’m guessing right, the killer was sadistic. It looks like the victim was subjected to repeated strangulation.”

Nick swallowed hard, contemplating the text on Brenda’s phone.
A present for the Commander.

Was the text connected to the limerick his father had received?

Seven felt the sweet satisfaction of watching Brenda Banks airing the story about the motel murder while she relaxed in a hot tub of lavender-scented water. She had to wash the stench of the vile man from her skin.

Not the scent of the man she’d fucked.

Arthur Blackwood’s black scent.

His evil had permeated her years ago, and the only way she could purge the darkness he’d birthed inside her was to show the world what he’d turned her into.

And to exact revenge on other men like him.

She closed her eyes, the memories of her earlier years starting to take on new meaning. Memories of friends who had not been friends. Of babysitters and caretakers who, she realized now, had been guards.

Red Rover, Red Rover

Send Seven right over.

She had obeyed the Commander because he was the only father figure she’d known. He was her family.

Now she had no one.

Only the mindless games of survival he’d taught her. Disappear into the dark for days and survive, and he would finally love her.

The image of Jim Logger’s eyes bulging as he drew his last breath taunted her. The Commander had looked into her eyes and watched her die so many times, only to revive her.

And for what?

To make her suffer and die again.

Her laughter pierced the air.

Now it was his turn to suffer.

N
ick jotted down notes on the details of the crime scene while the crime techs dusted the motel room for prints and searched for clothing fibers, strands of hair, and other forensics.

“There are dozens of prints in this room,” Marc Maddison, the lead investigator, said. “Apparently whoever cleans this dump doesn’t do a very good job.”

“That’s obvious,” said Nick. Water rings marred the scarred dresser top, clumps of dust were stuck to the lampshades, and a nasty brown stain colored the ugly chair in the corner. He motioned to Jake, and they stepped to the threshold of the door for some air. Three more vehicles had appeared, people climbing out to see the murder scene after Brenda’s story aired. The deputy worked to maintain control in the parking lot and keep curiosity seekers behind the crime scene tape.

He’d seen Brenda talking to the motel owner, but she must have ticked off the man, because he stalked back to his office in a huff.

Jake cleared his throat. “The owner, a Mr. Feldon, said the man who checked in signed his name as Jim Logger. I got a copy of his signature for analysis.”

“You don’t think that’s his real name?” Nick asked.

Jake shrugged. “We’ll run his prints and DNA and find out.”

“What kind of vehicle was the victim driving?”

Jake shook his head. “He didn’t see the automobile or the person with him. Logger signed in, then dropped his cash on the desk and left.”

“Obviously the killer drove off in the car.”

“Yes. But we have nothing on the vehicle. Feldon doesn’t require guests to leave their tag numbers when they register.” Jake paused. “But I’ll find out what he drove and put out an APB for the vehicle.”

“Let me know if you find it,” Nick said. “What time did Logger check in?”

“Around midnight.”

“Dr. Bullock,” Nick said, addressing the ME, “what is the estimated time of death?”

“Judging from rigor, I’d say several hours ago.”

Nick frowned. “Did Logger rent the room for two nights or one?”

Jake checked his notes. “One.”

Nick contemplated the timing. “Maybe a midday rendezvous.”

Jake glanced around the room, then went to check the door. “Looks like either the vic or the killer left the Do Not Disturb sign on the door to keep the cleaning staff out.”