No Chance in Hell (13 page)

The autopsy report was gruesome. Chris had seen this in person, which had to have been a hundred times worse than a picture. He could understand that she’d have nightmares. A lot of them.

Marcus had witnessed plenty of nasty shit while in the Army. Nothing as sadistic as what had been done to Chelsea.

He’d totally understood Nate’s reaction at the office. He’d been upset Kay had seen the pictures. Marcus hadn’t had the time to study them, so tonight, he searched for something others who’d seen them might have missed. The son of a bitch had carved her up little by little. Her blank stare spoke volumes. Why had he posed her? Had the sick fuck taken a souvenir? Something he could look at to relive his deed?

Marcus hated unanswered questions.

He opened the next file and found a picture he hadn’t seen before. Chelsea’s body had been washed off, cut up, and put back together. Her blond hair had been pulled back, the blood and makeup were gone. A sheet discreetly covered the incision across her chest. There was no doubt whose sister was lying on the medical examiner’s table.

Walking in on her sister’s death scene must have shaken Chris beyond words. He hoped the cops hadn’t kept her at the scene while they questioned her. His heart hurt as if somebody had reached inside his chest and squeezed.

He logged off. Once he was on this bastard’s trail, sleep would have to wait. Tonight, he’d try to get a couple hours of shut-eye. That was, if he could get that picture of Chelsea Holland out of his head.

****

DaVinci hated having to hurry. Hated the pressure he felt from his mentor to create. But after he’d gotten started, his creative juices had flowed like a river. She hadn’t believed that he would actually cut off her fingers. So he had. Nobody had heard her screams. Not this far out of the city where she was house-sitting for the weekend.
 

He stuffed a finger in six of her orifices. The four extras, he’d put in her lap. A little surprise for the cops. No way could he insert one into her anal cavity. Would not go there.

Too many horrific memories of abuse were tied to that part of his anatomy. He’d survived two foster homes where he’d been repeatedly violated. One attacker had been an adult male whose wife thought taking in kids with no parents was a good way to supplement their income. DaVinci had complained to his foster mom. Had she taken action against her husband? Hell, no. She’d had children services come get DaVinci, describing him as an unruly child.
 

The second home hadn’t been any better. The woman who was supposed to protect her charges had had a teenage son. He’d sneak into DaVinci’s room late at night and force himself on him. The bastard would never sodomize another foster kid who’d had the misfortune of being sent to that home. In fact, killing the son of a bitch and leaving his body behind the garage was one of the few good memories DaVinci had of his childhood.
 

He pushed the past from his mind and studied the colossal mess he’d just made. Adrenaline had pumped through his body, the resulting frenzy of slashing wildly instead of stabbing had left blood splattered and streaked across the walls and hardwood floor.

Ignoring the acrid smell of death and taking caution not to step in blood, he studied his creation, adjusted his camera, and took pictures, stopping only when he’d taken what had to be the winning picture.

DaVinci laid a plastic sheet on the floor, stripped naked, and cleaned himself, using wipes he’d brought from home. He changed into his spare set of clothes, wiped down everything he’d touched, focusing on not leaving any DNA behind. When his belongings had been rolled into a ball, he carried them and his bag of tools to the trunk of his car.

He drove away without so much as a glance back and took the long way around to the highway, suffering through the blackness of the night and the winding roads. He drove the speed limit, all the while fighting the desire to push the Mercedes to maximum speed and hurry home.

Christine kept invading his thoughts, making it hard to concentrate. Michelangelo would love this new creation, but the kill had left DaVinci cold inside. Even though she had been blond-haired and blue-eyed like Christine, her suffering hadn’t satiated his need.

Chapter 10

Marcus took Diablo out for his morning exercise. Without a rubber ball to throw, he broke off a small tree limb and tossed it to the back of the yard. The dog didn’t care what he chased. He enjoyed the chance to stretch his legs. Marcus knew this because Diablo hadn’t hesitated. He returned, dropped the stick, and watched his master. All the while, his tongue was hanging out and his tail was wagging.

“Good boy.” He dropped to one knee and rubbed the big dog’s ears, which set Diablo’s tail swinging at top speed. “We better wake up Chris.”

“She’s already up.” The voice coming from behind him was warm and pleasant.

He turned to face her. The explosion of blond curls was enough to make a man swallow his tongue. Her hair wasn’t pulled off her face today. It was loose, wild, and sexy as hell. The jeans and red blouse she wore fit as if they’d been tailor-made for her.

“Morning. I see you found the coffee,” Marcus said, trying not to stare at her. He joined her on the steps, accepting the cup she offered. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Go ahead and ask.”

“Ask what?” He’d never been good at games.
 

She elbowed him in the ribs. “My hair. It’s naturally curly. I not only didn’t have a dryer and flatiron, I couldn’t find a comb.”

“I like it.” Marcus found it easier to relax with her. In fact, he’d had more casual conversation with her than he’d had with anyone in a long time. But he couldn’t shake the horror of Wayne’s death. His focus had to stay on the case. “Did you sleep okay after your drink of water?”

“I didn’t. I kept thinking about Wayne’s wife. Did you rest at all?”

“I worked for a while after you went to bed, but I caught a couple of hours.”

“What was on the tablet you didn’t want me to see?” She lifted one eyebrow. “You didn’t shove it far enough under the couch.”

“I wasn’t sure until I’d had a chance to look. Kay sent additional information on your sister. It was pretty much the same information you’d gathered. The cops did interview the neighbors, but they didn’t produce any leads.”

“What now?”

“As soon as you’re ready, we’ll go to the office. Kay will send flowers for Wayne’s funeral, but I want to send something personally.” Diablo pushed his nose against Marcus’s hand.
 

“He worships you.” Chris leaned down and patted the dog’s back. “Just look at the way he stares, watching your every move.”

“He’s used to being fed after his morning run. We should go before he decides to drink your coffee.”

“Oh no,” she said with a laugh, holding her mug high. “I draw the line at sharing my coffee. Let me rinse out the pot, get my stuff, and I’m ready.”

Closing up the house took only minutes. Marcus grabbed his tablet, his belongings, and was waiting on the steps when Chris opened the back door, carrying her bag of clothes.

“Funny, the things you don’t remember until something triggers a bit of history.”

“What’s that?”

“Chelsea and I must have lived in a couple different foster homes. When they moved us to a different place, they put our clothes in a bag. Not one of these, but a trash bag.”

Marcus loaded Diablo in the back seat and joined Chris in the car. “That had to be rough on a kid. How long were you in foster care before you were adopted?”

Chris’s eyebrows dipped. “No one’s ever asked me that. I have no idea. It’s weird, but I don’t remember much before we moved in with the Hollands. The moving and plastic bags just popped into my head. Maybe more will come.”

“Did the Hollands have other children?”

“No. They’d tried in vitro fertilization and failed. Dad always said God sent me and Chelsea to them.”

Marcus drove the car around to the front of the house. He stopped at the edge of the driveway and scanned the area before driving to the freeway. They’d had a quiet night, meaning the safe house was a viable option for the future. Sequestering Chris might be the only way to keep her safe.

She poked him in the ribs. “How do you do that?”

“Do what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He could guess what she meant, because he’d gotten her talking about herself.
 

“I open up and spill my guts. Yet, I know nothing about you.”

“The more I learn about you and your past, the better I can protect you. I’m not only going to keep you safe, I’m catching the bastard who killed your sister and Wayne. And I’ll be there when the state puts the needle in his arm.”

“Touché. You win this one.”

Marcus stopped at the first fast-food joint he spotted. Diablo was hanging over the seat with his tongue hanging out when they drove away.

“Back.” He commanded the dog as he eased the car into morning traffic. Chris fed Diablo and then handed Marcus his coffee. The slurping from behind his shoulder gave him a chuckle. “My car will never smell the same again.”

“He doesn’t usually eat in here?”

“No.” A huge paw landed next to Chris. “Wonder if it’s like this when you have kids.”

“Don’t know. I’m not sure I want to know, either,” she said flatly.

“Really? I thought all women wanted children.”

“What if I couldn’t bear the pressure? Or died? I have no family left to step up and take over if they were orphaned.”

Marcus clamped his teeth together and kept his eyes on the highway. He could understand her fear, but she’d have a husband someday. He’d be her family.
 

Marcus parked in front of the Lost and Found office, put the leash on Diablo and escorted Chris inside.

“There you are,” Kay said, rising to greet them. She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him. “I’m sorry about your house. Did you drive by there this morning and see what it looks like now that the sun’s up?”

“No. The fire marshal will release the property when he’s through with the investigation. There’s a guy I know who will take over salvaging what’s left.”

“Call him now,” she insisted. “Chris and I will talk.”

She turned to Chris. “How’d the clothes work out?”

“Perfect fit.” Chris turned in a circle. “Thank you.”

Marcus unhooked Diablo’s leash and left the two women talking clothes. He walked back to his desk, where a thick folder had been placed on the corner. A sticky note from Dalton told him to check email. Marcus sat, cursing himself for not having checked earlier. He retrieved his tablet and located the overview from Dalton.

Before he dug into the reports, he made a call to the fire marshal’s office. The inspectors were at the house and had found evidence of arson. Next, he checked in with a friend who’d been in the construction business for years. Turning the job over to someone with his experience took that worry off Marcus’s mind.

 
He thought about telling Chris, then decided against making her feel any worse. Instead, he turned his attention to the information sent by Dalton. No murders had been reported that followed the same MO, so he’d requested all killings containing any torture. Those were the files on Marcus’s desk. Kay had made copies.
 

After looking through the first few cases, he went to the break room and dug around until he located the map of the states that had been left behind by a previous tenant. With that tucked under his arm, he grabbed the thick folder, a box of pushpins, and moved to the small room they used for meetings.

“Marcus?” Chris said, joining him as he affixed the map to the wall. “Have you learned something?”

“I don’t know. You want to help?”

“Sure. What do you need?”

He handed her the box. “I’ll give you the city name, and you pin it.”

“Midland, Texas.” He paused, allowing her time to insert the pin.
 

Her eyebrow rose in question. “Is that it?”

“No. Green Hill, Cali...” She had the city pinned before he’d finished. “How’d you find that so fast?”

“It’s outside of Los Angeles. Next?”

Chris hadn’t asked why she was sticking pins into a map, she’d just jumped in to help. She was smart and he didn’t have to explain the purpose of the exercise. He pulled up each unfamiliar name on a Google map and helped her locate the city on the wall map.
 

The tension in his neck increased each time she shoved a pin into the map. When he called out the last city and fell silent, she turned. Her blue eyes studied his face.

“You do this for a living. Tell me what you see.”

“Nothing yet. But I’m working on it.” Marcus rose and stood next to her.
 

“There are eleven pins. I didn’t put one on North Riverview. Is Chelsea’s file in that stack?” A manicured finger pointed at the oversize folder.

“No. She makes twelve. Go ahead and add her pin.”

“Twelve women have been killed the same way?” She backed up and leaned a hip on the table.
 

“That’s the rub. Except for torture, the murders aren’t identical. I’m looking for a pattern to the locations. Right now, they seem random. Some are in this area. Others are spread across the United States. Dalton must’ve seen something, because he asked me to study them and give him my thoughts.”