Hold on to Me (10 page)

“The conversation is simply postponed, Falconetti.” He rested a hand along the top of the doorframe and studied the averted curve of her face. “This isn’t over, precious, not by a long shot.”

A nude body rested on the stainless steel table, a tall, slender blonde Caitlin recognized from the crime scene photos as Amy Gillabeaux. Tick let the door close behind them with a quiet click and the woman clad in scrubs and a face mask peered up from arranging her tools. Her hazel eyes crinkled at the edges. “Hey, Tick.”

“Hey, Jolie.” His voice was quiet, tense, and Caitlin didn’t look at him. They’d driven the entire thirty miles to Moultrie in silence. “Cait, Agent Jolie Williams, GBI. Jolie, this is Agent Caitlin Falconetti, FBI.”

“Talk about alphabet soup.” Williams pulled on a pair of thin latex gloves. Picking up a scalpel with ruler markings along the edge, she glanced at Caitlin. “So you’re the profiler Tommy Gillabeaux wanted down here so bad.”

Caitlin nodded. “I’d like to talk to you about the victims and the autopsy results.”

“Can you talk while I cut? It’s the only way you’re going to get results soon.” The other woman gestured toward the refrigerated room behind her. “We have a backlog.”

“Sure.”

Williams scrutinized Tick, who had turned his back on the bodies to stare at a chart on the wall, one hand covering his nose and mouth. “Calvert, don’t you have some calls you need to make or something?”

He spun, his face pale. “Yeah. I’m going to check in with Palmer and Price, see if they have anything on that forgery case we’ve been working. Let me know when you’re ready.”

Caitlin held her breath until he left, releasing the pent-up tension with a slow exhale. She faced Williams, whose eyes creased in an unseen grin as she lifted the scalpel. “He’s okay until I get out the saw or crack the skull. I thought he’d throw up the one time he was in here when I started pulling the lungs.”

He’d been teased without mercy at Quantico about his sporadically queasy stomach. A gory crime scene he could handle—an autopsy was another thing all together. He wasn’t alone, either. Caitlin had seen many seasoned detectives undone by the sights, sounds and smells of an autopsy room.

Williams tilted her head toward a shelf over a long sink. “Gloves and face masks are over there if you want them.”

While Williams talked into the overhead microphone, describing Amy’s age, height and weight, along with the external condition of her body, Caitlin listened. She eyed the bruising along the girl’s throat, noting the circular bruising Tick had pointed out in the crime scene photos.

Over the next hour and a half, Williams removed organs, weighed and examined them, including an analysis of the stomach contents. Watching closely, Caitlin took notes and asked questions, wincing a little at the squishing sound the lungs made as they were pulled free. When Williams reached the lower abdomen, she paused, an odd look flashing over her face.

Caitlin leaned forward. “What?”

“She was pregnant.”

Caitlin’s intuition tingled to life again. They’d already established in the preliminary examination that Amy had had intercourse in the hours before her death, although there was no seminal fluid present. “How far along?”

“Ten, maybe twelve weeks. I can take some measurements to determine the exact gestational age.”

“You’ll run a DNA profile on the fetus, right?” Caitlin snapped her notebook shut and tugged off her face mask. She pulled a card from the book and laid it on the table next to Williams’s tools. “My cell number’s on the card. Would you call me when that’s done?”

Thanking her again, Caitlin went searching for Tick. She found him in the reception area, leaning against the empty front desk, talking to a trim redhead holding a stack of file folders.

“I swear, Tick, she said you were the worst blind date she’d ever had,” the redhead was saying. “What is wrong with you lately? Did you really call her by the wrong name?” At the click of Caitlin’s shoes against the tile floor, he looked around. “Ready?”

She managed a nod and wrapped her arms around her midriff. She ached deep inside and it had nothing to do with how much or how little she’d eaten at lunch.

“Think about what I said about asking her out again, making things up to her, Tick. She’s good-looking and really smart, unlike your recent string of dates,” the redhead said, walking down the hall. “You could do worse.”

“Later, Kath.” Tick turned an inquiring look on Caitlin. “Jolie come up with anything interesting?”

She leaned on the counter next to him. “Amy had sex before she died.”

His brows lowered in a deep frown, and she knew he was thinking about Tori. “Rape?”

Caitlin shook her head. “No bruising in the vaginal area consistent with a sexual assault. Williams thinks it was consensual.” She paused, her throat tightening. “And she was pregnant.”

“Good Lord.” Tick gave a low whistle. “Wonder if Tommy knew about that? Hey, are you okay?”

“Of course.” Adopting a scoffing tone, she turned and blinked away yet another wave of the weak tears. This was ridiculous. She’d dealt with pregnant victims before. Amy Gillabeaux’s pregnancy shouldn’t affect her this way.

You’re just tired. It was unexpected and you weren’t prepared.
The method of strangulation, the stab wounds, the pregnancy…it was just too close to her experiences for comfort. She rubbed a hand over her eyes.

“Caitlin? Are you sure you’re okay?”

She dredged up her professional mask. “I’m sure. Just thinking.”

“About?”

“That her pregnancy could be a motive for her murder. It could help explain the increased violence of her death, why it seems so personal.” Her throat threatened to close. She could not deal with this, not with him here, not after his pushing for answers and that damn kiss earlier. Once they returned to Coney, maybe she’d find a way to get away from him for a while. Right now, with the memories crawling under her skin, digging in, she couldn’t handle him. “We should head back. I want to start on my preliminary profile.”

“Sure thing. Then we can run out and look at the stadium lot and Highway 112, where we found Amy and Sharon’s cars.”

“I can do that alone.” She settled for honesty. Maybe it would work, since nothing else seemed to. “I’d rather not be with you right now, Calvert.”

He blinked, obviously taken aback. For several long seconds, he studied her, frowning, before he nodded. “Okay. I’ve got payroll and some other paperwork to catch up on. And I’ll check in with you later.”

She tried working on the preliminary profile, but her heart and concentration weren’t in it. A quick shower washed the smell of the autopsy lab away but not the edgy tension dogging her. The walls of the generic hotel room pressed in on her, and in desperation she picked up her keys and notebook and went in search of Stadium Drive.

Set off from the street, Centennial Stadium loomed over the empty parking lot. The falling sun backlit the structure, casting deep shadows on the gravel parking area, offering pockets of coolness.

Caitlin stepped from her rental car and leaned against the hood. Hands tucked in her pockets, she surveyed the surroundings. To the north lay a set of recreation baseball fields. The administrative offices were to the south, blocking the view of the parking lot from the road.

If Amy had left her car here, meeting someone, leaving willingly with him, as Caitlin suspected, maybe the relative seclusion had been the reason. Maybe that someone didn’t want to be seen with her, or was someone her father would disapprove of.

Opposite the stadium, several pecan warehouses lined the street. They sat deserted in the off-season. Caitlin shivered. This might as well be the middle of nowhere, even in the midst of town.

A pickup rumbled down the street, followed seconds later by a sheriff’s patrol car with dark tinted windows. It slowed, turned into the long, tight drive before the warehouses. Caitlin watched, eyes narrowed, as it eased onto the street and headed in the opposite direction. She caught a glimpse of the tag on the front end:
C-7
.

With tiny frissons moving down her spine, she returned to the car and pulled out in the direction of the sheriff’s department. She stopped at the front desk.

“May I help you?” If the eager young man working the desk had had a tail, it would have been wagging.

She held her credentials aloft. “Agent Falconetti, FBI. I’m assisting with—”

He pointed down the hall. “Straight down—”

“I know where it is. Thank you.”

A young male voice drifted into the hallway. “I swear to God, she steps out of the car, buck naked, and starts putting her clothes on, right there by the highway—”

The moment Caitlin stepped into the squad room, silence descended. Cookie was tipped back in his chair. To the right, Tick’s office door was closed. Two other officers leaned against the counter. Discomfort twisted the two deputies’ faces. She’d interrupted a bull session.

Cookie grinned, a lascivious expression, his gray gaze sweeping over her in a calculating glance.

“Falconetti. What a pleasant surprise.” He shot a pointed look at the other officers. “Don’t you guys have anything to do?”

The deputies trooped out of the room, albeit reluctantly, mumbling about reports that had to be filed.

“What can I do for you?” His tone implied he hoped it was something out of the line of duty.

She regarded him with a cool stare. She was not in the mood for his flirtation, but she didn’t relish sitting in her hotel room with her memories, either. “I just went out and looked at the stadium lot where Amy Gillabeaux’s car was discovered. I’d like to drive through the route Sharon Ingler would have taken on her way home from school. I wondered if you’d go with me. Show me where the car was actually found.”

Cookie rose so quickly his chair toppled over. “Sure.”

“One thing.”

“Yeah?”

“You even think of hitting on me and I’ll shoot you with your own gun.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Even with that assurance, she didn’t have complete trust in him. He wasn’t Tick. Why did
he
have to be her benchmark for everything, anyway? If she were with him, she wouldn’t be gauging the distance from town as the countryside deepened around them or surreptitiously checking her holstered weapon.

The sun slid below the heavy tree line that made up the western horizon as they left Coney behind. At night, the memories were always closer, stronger, and she concentrated on keeping them at bay, watching pecan groves and houses and the occasional chicken barn flash by.

Cookie pulled over just beyond a green mile-marker sign, its reflective number glowing in the headlights. “Here it is.”

They left the Blazer, their footsteps loud in the silence. A whip-o-will called in the woods surrounding the road, and Caitlin grew uneasy standing in the dark by the side of the isolated two-lane highway. No one knew they were out here. She glanced back at Cookie. Completely relaxed, he leaned against the hood of his Blazer and unwrapped a piece of gum.

“Both the deputies on duty the night Sharon disappeared placed the car here?”

He nodded, pushing off the hood and adjusting his holster. “Yeah.”

She scuffed the bottom of her loafer in the loose gravel at the edge of the road. Tiny pieces of a broken beer bottle glittered up at her in the light from the truck’s headlights. “You said the three wrecker drivers in the area swap out nights. Each one takes calls on different nights?”

“Most of the time. Bobby Gene Butler is a vulture, though.”

“A vulture?”

“He goes out and rides the roads, looking for breakdowns. He’ll steal them out from under the others if he can.” He popped his gum, sweeping a foot at the knee-high weeds in the ditch.

“Bet everyone loves him.”

“Yeah, well, he ain’t too popular in the county, anyway. He’s an ex-con and he’ll steal you blind.”

“An ex-con? He served time? For what?”

“Manslaughter.”

“He killed someone?” A glimmer of excitement sprang to life. Maybe, just maybe, this was a lead. And she’d much prefer to have a suspect who was
not
a cop.

“Yeah. Caught some guy in bed with his wife and shot him.”

The anticipation flickered and died. She heaved an inward sigh. A crime of passion just wasn’t the same as a well-planned murder. But, maybe…if he wasn’t a suspect, he might be an important witness.

“So, who was on the road that night?” She walked out a circle in the thick grass. It whispered against her jeans and she resisted a shudder. Maybe all the snakes were in bed for the night.

“Mike Lawson was scheduled.” A slow grin spread over Cookie’s face. “But Bobby Gene Butler caught the tow.”

“How convenient. Where did he say the car was?”

“He says the first time he saw it, it was about two miles back, at the twenty-third mile mark.”

“The first time?”

“Well, that was about ten p.m. Then Chris Parker called him out to tow the car from here at just after one a.m.”

She lifted an eyebrow, intrigued. “So either he was wrong about where he saw the car the first time, or the car was moved. Or…”

“Or he lied,” he finished for her and shook his head. “Only thing is, Schaefer and Chris saw the car at the twenty-three, too. Jeff was doing a fill-in shift that night.”

She nodded. “So the car was moved.”

“Looks that way.” Cookie glanced at his watch. “Hey, it’s after nine and I’m off duty. Let’s go get a beer.”

She sent him a warning look, and he held up his hands.

“And work!” he protested. “I’ve got my copies of the files and we can go over them. I want to hear about your profile ideas. I’ll even buy you a Big Cheesy.”

“A Big Cheesy.”

“An experience not to be missed.” He chuckled. “Kind of like the Big Cookie.”

“You know, Cook, you’re really pushing your luck.” She followed him to the truck. In the morning, she was going to look for Bobby Gene Butler. She wanted to hear his story of the magical moving car firsthand.

The Big Cheesy turned out to be the house specialty of the Cue Club, a little bar and grill on the outskirts of Coney. The huge chili dog dripped with melted cheddar and she watched in awe as Cookie polished off three of them. “It would take Drano to clear your arteries.”

He wiped a dribble of greasy chili from his chin. “Probably. But, damn, it’s good. Just like the—”

“Don’t say it.” She pushed away the uneaten half of her own Big Cheesy.

“You got it.” From the chair beside him, he lifted a small handful of file folders and dropped them on the table. He slanted a wicked smile at her. “But it is really, really good. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

She didn’t get guys naming their anatomies. Did she and Gina go around calling their breasts by nicknames? Well, actually, she could see Gina doing so, but Gina went in for a lot of things Caitlin didn’t.

“I guess you’re
not
on intimate terms with Little Lamar?”

Reaching for the folders, she froze and raised her gaze to his expectant face. “He doesn’t call it that.”

Cookie leaned back in his chair, rubbing his stomach. “Damn sure does. Or he did, back when we were partnered the first time.”

Her attempt at impassivity failed, and she laughed, the sound a little shaky, and covered her face with her hands. “God, I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you. When were you partnered with him?”

“When we were both at the Dougherty County PD and he was a skinny, piss-ant rookie.”

“Oh, I can’t imagine…”

“The stories I could tell, huh?”

“Seriously.” She picked up the top folder. She pushed away the desire to learn more about Tick, to find out what she didn’t know. She had to get her equilibrium back where he was concerned. Like she’d ever had any to begin with. “Quick question. How are your cars assigned here?”

“For road officers? By dispatch number, except for Tick.”

“What do you mean?”

“He drives his personal vehicle and submits the mileage. He has an unnatural attachment to that damn truck of his. The cars are given dispatch numbers to match up with the deputies, starting with me, C-3.”

“So who’s C-7?”

“Chris Parker. He’s our K-9 officer. Why?”

She shrugged. “I saw the car earlier and was curious. He was the one who found Sharon Ingler’s car?”

“That would be Chris-boy.”

“So her car breaks down. We know it wasn’t operable, right?”

He nodded, taking a long swig of his beer. “Yeah. Slung a rod through the oil pan.”

She tapped her fingers on the paper in front of her, thinking out loud. “The car breaks down. No cell phone?”

“We didn’t find it. Not in the car, not in her parents’ home. Never got any pings off of it. It wouldn’t have been useful anyway if she did have it with her. That whole area is a cellular black hole. Can’t get a signal.”

“Okay. So does she get out and walk, or does she wait?”

“Nearest house is a quarter mile away.”

“She drives that route every week when she comes home from college. She knows where the houses are. But it’s dark, and that’s a long way to walk alone. Maybe someone stopped.”

He frowned, unconvinced. “And she got out of the car?”

“Maybe. A vehicle she recognizes or someone who represents safety, security. A cop, a tow truck driver, a volunteer fireman. A lot of women would get out of the car.”

Cookie scratched the back of his neck. “You’re a woman. If you were stranded, who would you get out of the car for?”

She regarded him with a level stare. “No one.”

After almost three hours spent putting the department’s weekly paperwork in order, Tick emerged from his office. The mind-numbing tedium always left him feeling shell-shocked and a little brain dead.

The odor of scorched coffee hung in the deserted squad room. The conference area held only Jeff surrounded by file folders and Caitlin’s notes. Tick eyed her neat handwriting, regret pulsing in him.

He’d tried calling her cell, twice, and both times had gotten her voice mail.

She hadn’t returned his calls.

I’d rather not be with you right now, Calvert.
Yeah, he’d definitely pushed the issues between them too hard today.

Tick paused in the doorway, watching the young investigator scribble in his notebook. “Jeff, have you seen Agent Falconetti?”

Jeff didn’t look up. “She’s with Cookie.”

That didn’t make him feel better. “Got any idea where?”

“He’s off duty. He went ten-six right after nine o’clock when I signed on.”

He glanced at his watch. Almost ten thirty now. Tension curdled in his stomach. No way. She wouldn’t. Not Cookie, not after kissing him the way she had. And Cookie wouldn’t, not knowing his past with Caitlin.

Damn it, Cookie wasn’t her type, and she definitely wasn’t Cookie’s. He couldn’t deny Cookie had a way with women, but the other man’s taste ran to loud, blatantly sexual women who wore too much makeup and too little clothing, women turned on because he had a badge, women who didn’t care that he wouldn’t call again.

Except Tick had pushed every button she had earlier and hell if he could predict how she’d react.

Hell, Cookie would, too, if Caitlin showed the least amount of interest. Who was Tick kidding?

He was jealous. And he hated it.

“He’s probably at the Cue Club,” Jeff offered, and Tick snapped out of his reverie to find the younger man watching him with a quizzical expression. “You know it’s his usual Friday night hangout.”