Nowhere to Hide (21 page)

She looked into his eyes to find he was staring back at her. Wordlessly, he lifted a hand to her chin, raising it up and then he leaned over and kissed her again, his arms sliding around her back, pulling her tightly to him.

The kiss deepened and her lips parted, inviting his tongue. For someone whose experience with sex had been fairly limited, she could feel her body going liquid with need and she welcomed it. Finally, she thought, though other thoughts pinged around in her brain like tiny alarms, warning her to be careful, questioning her motivation. She tried to shut her mind down, but she wasn’t good at that.

She pulled back and said on a gasp, “Fair warning. I could be using you to get back at my dad.”

“Already thought it. Don’t care,” he bit out.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

They grabbed at each other like starving people, ripping at each other’s clothes. September laughed and then cut herself off, aware that there were other ears that could maybe hear from below. She knew this was crazy, but there was no way she was going to stop.

The sudden ring of her cell phone made her jump, however, and then she froze, listening to the tone. Not one of the ring tones she’d chosen for her personal use.

“Can you ignore it?” Jake asked. His shirt was unbuttoned and yanked from his jeans.

Her blue shirt had been pulled from her head and she stood in front of him in her bra and capris. “It could be the station. I don’t know.” Reluctantly, she pulled away from his arms and searched her messenger bag for the phone. By the time she found it the ringing had stopped. Checking her missed calls, she said, “It is the station,” then the phone rang in her hand and this time she recognized the tone she had for her partner’s cell. “Sandler,” she said to Jake, then, clicking on, answered, “Hey.”

“Two kids found another vic’s body in a field. Do Unto Others’s whole phrase was carved into her skin. Drop point was over the county line, so we just got the word. Deputy Dalton caught the 911 call and guess what? Now, we gotta deal with the fucking feds whether we like it or not.”

Chapter 12

By eleven o’clock Tuesday morning the squad room had become a makeshift task force meeting room with federal agents Donley and Bethwick, two humorless, fortysomething white males, holding court. To September’s mind, they seemed more interested in seizing control and making sure everyone at the Laurelton PD “got it” than getting down to brass tacks. But maybe that was just her inexperience showing.

However, D’Annibal was standing at the back of the room, his arms crossed, paying attention, but physically letting them know they were on his home turf, so maybe she was picking up the correct vibe. Her gaze moved from the lieutenant to George, who was silently sitting at his desk, watching, and then on to Gretchen, whose “don’t fuck with me” couldn’t have been clearer if it had been written in scarlet neon.

Deputy Dalton from Winslow County sat several desks over from September, looking uncomfortable. The agents had come to county first and Dalton had been quick to point out that Lieutenant D’Annibal had usurped his case, and that neither he, nor county, was in charge of Do Unto Others. The agents had asked him to the initial task force meeting to report on the body, which he’d done, and though he seemed eager to stay—it would certainly look good on his resume—he was being kicked back to county and the dark look on his face revealed how he felt about that.

Auggie had insisted on coming, too, and the jury was out on what the agents thought about that. He was somewhere at the back of the room, behind September. He was still working his other case jointly with the Portland PD, so he wasn’t going to be available full time, but today he’d been able to show up to hear what the agents had to say. September wished she could turn around and make eye contact, but didn’t want to appear as if she weren’t paying attention.

Agent Bethwick, who sported a short crew cut and wore a black silk shirt under a gray suit that looked expensive, was saying, “. . . fingerprints on the vic were in the system as she’s a prostitute, working name of Lulu Luxe, out of southeast Portland. She was picked up outside of Richie’s, a tavern off Powell. The bartender found a wallet on the ground Saturday night when he got off work. Belongs to the john who was with her. David Smith. Smith swears he left Lulu in the parking lot and that she lifted his wallet. Could be true. Melanie Cooke from Portland vice confirms that she knows Lulu and that’s a definite part of her m.o. Are you with me so far?” He glanced around the room. Nobody said anything, and apparently he didn’t expect it, because he went on, “Smith says she serviced him in his car and then he left. It appears our killer was waiting for her. Maybe he saw their interplay, then after Smith left, stepped in. He strangled her with a wire or thin cord, which fits with your Do Unto Others killer—we’ve asked for more in-depth lab reports on fibers from the cord—and then he raped her and stabbed her and carved his message into her flesh, sometime late Saturday night.”

As soon as the county had found the body, they’d called the feds, and September had to admit they’d certainly jumped in feet first. When September had phoned into the station, she’d been told to call D’Annibal’s cell. He’d wanted to talk to each of his detectives directly.

“The FBI’s been circling this case ever since your television interview with Kirby,” he admitted. “They’re fast. They’ll do a good job. Just wanted you to be aware.”

She’d also heard the words behind his words:
And they’ll try to take the case away from us.

Now September thought about Lulu. A prostitute? This appeared to be a departure from what they knew about Do Unto Others. They’d been working on the assumption that he knew his victims personally.

As if reading her thoughts, Gretchen said, “Could this doer be a copycat? This is the first time he’s actually killed in the field where he left her.”

“We believe he’s escalating,” Bethwick said.

“Ye . . . ess . . . but this vic is different because, from what we’ve gathered, Do Unto Others seems to have personal connections to whom he chooses,” she pointed out.

Bethwick stated flatly, “We believe it’s the same doer. You have a picture of Emmy Decatur on your board. Lulu’s message is the same as hers. Though the message was released to the press, the public never saw the lettering on the body.”

Donley broke in, “It would be highly unlikely it’s not the same doer.”

Gretchen nodded curtly. September knew that she was only playing devil’s advocate. That she probably agreed with them, but she didn’t like their highhanded manner. Come to that, neither did she.

D’Annibal said, “So, he’s moving from women he knows, or he picks up in bars, to women who may be more available to him because of their line of work.”

Bethwick stated quickly, “Assumptions this early are almost always counterproductive.”

D’Annibal straightened and September wanted to jump up and defend him, but it wasn’t necessary. The lieutenant could hold his own.

Auggie drawled, from the back of the room, “We’re all on the same side, compadres.”

Donley and Bethwick just stared at him.

“You said he’s escalating,” September reminded them. “And his kills are getting closer and closer together.” Bethwick looked like he wanted to argue, but since September had stated a fact, he let it go. September added, “My partner and I will continue looking for connections between the first three vics.”

“All right.” Donley nodded once. A concession.

Fifteen minutes later they were finished and September went to talk to Auggie who said in a low voice only meant for her, “You took Westerly to the house?”

“Thought you didn’t talk to dear old Dad.”

“July gave me a call. Said you ran out of there with your hair on fire.”

“I’d just found out about Lulu.”

“Also said you seemed a little . . . mussed up.”

September narrowed her eyes on her brother. “We get called into a meeting with the feds and you want to talk about me being ‘mussed up’?”

“Down, girl. Just saying you were with Westerly. Caution is called for. I—”

“Detective Rafferty?”

Both Auggie and September turned at the sound of Agent Donley’s voice. He blinked a moment, apparently realized they were both Raffertys, and amended, “Detective September Rafferty?”

“I’ll see ya,” Auggie said, sliding away. September wanted to grab him by the sleeve and hang on, but there was nothing she could do. She gave him a “This isn’t over” look and turned to the agent.

“Could I have a moment with you?” the agent asked her.

“Sure.”

Donley led the way down the hallway to another room, one whose main purpose was interrogation. He was shorter than Bethwick, with longer hair and though he was in a suit there was something sloppier about him that made September feel less like she was enduring a military inquisition. Probably the point, she decided. Good agent/bad agent. Whatever, she preferred Donley, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have to be on her best behavior.

He took a seat at the table and invited her to do the same. She did, reluctantly, though she was beginning to understand D’Annibal’s desire to stay standing. It just felt less . . . subservient.

“I’m not going to waste your time, Detective,” Donley started right in. “You received a personal message from the doer, and we don’t believe you should be on this case any longer.”

September had been half-expecting this but it was a jolt nevertheless. “I wasn’t aware it had been determined that it was from the doer,” she said, borrowing from Auggie and Sandler’s notebooks. It was a complete bluff, but she didn’t want to be pulled off and would use whatever ammunition she had. “The message came on one of my own grade school projects, and I’m still trying to determine how whoever sent it to me got that information.”

“What are you saying? That you think it could be a prank?”

“Whatever it is, I think it’s to the benefit of the investigation that I remain on the case. I’m asking to stay.” She wasn’t quite certain of protocol here; she wasn’t sure he had the authority to yank her off if D’Annibal said she could stay. But whatever, she figured she would just be straightforward and see what that got her.

He lifted his chin and leaned back in his chair. “Tell me about the investigation so far. What have you found?”

Drawing a breath, September explained about the Twin Oaks school connection between Dempsey and Tripp and that Decatur had attended school in the same district, if not the same schools. She brought up the similar ages and descriptions of the three victims, and the fact that they’d been regulars at different bars around the Laurelton area, a possible avenue for the killer to find them. “You say this prostitute—Lulu—was found outside a bar as well,” she wound up. “Do we know anything about her background? Where she went to school?”

“She’s a lot older than your first three.” He gave her a look and she recalled with a faint flush that they’d been less than forthright about thinking they had a serial killer on their hands till now. On the other hand, until Lulu, they hadn’t had the evidence to make that call, whether they were convinced or not.

“Cooke from Portland vice is pulling her background,” he went on, “but at first glance, it appears he picked her because she was a prostitute. Nothing fancier than that.”

“Of course, assumptions this early are almost always counterproductive.”

Donley had hazel eyes with flecks of green. Those flecks seemed to light with amusement for a moment, but he didn’t comment. “Your lieutenant has seen fit to keep you on the case, so . . .”

“I can stay,” she finished for him.

“You can stay. For now,” he added repressively as she turned toward the door.

Sandler was waiting for her apparently, as she hooked up with her as soon as September returned to the squad room. “What’d he say?”

“I’m still on the case. He told me I wasn’t on the case, but he had a change of heart.”

“How’d you manage that?”

“Niceness.” She slid Gretchen a sideways smile. “Radical concept, I know.”

She snorted. “Dalton caught the call after the two kids who found the body reported to 911. He’s a putz. And Bethwick can kiss my ass if he thinks I’m helping the feds.”

“See, it’s that bad attitude that gets you in trouble,” September told her.

“You’ve come a long way from the wide-eyed newbie,” Gretchen observed. “Where’s this newfound confidence coming from?”

“I had an epiphany last night of sorts.”

“Yeah? About what?”

September shrugged. She didn’t know how to say that the recognition of how her father’s infidelity had contributed to her mother’s death, coupled with her own undeniable attraction to Jake Westerly, had sprung something loose inside her, something that had just been waiting to be set free. “I think this guy Sheila called Wart is our man,” she said. “I don’t know what the deal is with him going after a prostitute. That’s . . . something else. But this guy knew Sheila, and I think he might’ve known Emmy and Glenda, too. If not personally, through some connection.”

“The prostitute is just a quick fix to bring him under control,” she said. “Let the feds chase that one around, but I’m with you. The other three—he knows ’em, or knows of ’em. They’re specific targets. He goes for the Lulus out there because he’s either losing control, or he’s finished with his targets and has moved on. But the way we’ll get him is figuring out how he knows those first three vics.”

“So, what have we got?” September asked, glad that she and Sandler were on the same page. If nothing else, the FBI agents had brought solidarity between them.

“I don’t know. This school thing . . .”

“I didn’t find the rest of my stuff. Maybe it was thrown out after my mother died.”

September thought about how she’d racewalked from the attic stairs to the front door, ignoring both July’s “Hey!” and her father’s dark frown as Jake followed after her.

Outside, she’d gulped air, realized she was sweating and quivering, and had looked at Jake and said, “I was crazy. That was crazy. I’ve got work to do and I need you to take me home.”

“What’s happened?” he asked.