Phoenix Feather (6 page)

Bryan lifted the briefcase from next to the woman after it had been tagged and photographed, and set it on a bench to look at the contents. “It’s Kerri Broderick,” he said. The woman had been reported missing the previous Monday after she didn’t show up for work. There was no evidence of a break-in or struggle at her house, and officers couldn’t locate her car, so the theory had been that she had run off for some unexplained reason. That was, until the body turned up.

Jess stood over the victim, waiting for Casey’s determination. “You’re going to say strangulation, aren’t you? And those are burns like Jenny Rosland?”

Casey nodded. “I’m afraid so. A couple days old too. Looks like infection was starting to set in.” She pointed to the dark discoloration on the side of the victim’s legs. “Lividity, also inconsistent with the body’s position now.” Casey lifted the edge of the woman’s skirt. “There doesn’t appear to be any rape, but I’ll know for sure once I do the full exam.”

Jess shook her head. “I really didn’t want this to become a pattern.”

Bryan came closer. “Check it out: red hair. This guy may have a type.”

“Any sign of her car in the area?” Jess asked a uniformed officer.

“No.”

“What do we think about the guy who found her?” she asked.

“He’s a local. Walks his dog every morning down this side of the park,” the officer said.
 

“Alright.” Bryan ran a hand over his hair. “We’ll check him out anyway, just to be sure.” He turned back to Casey. “Any chance of physical evidence?” There had been nothing on Jenny Rosland. With no rape, they didn’t have a DNA sample, and whatever trace had been found on her was still being run against everything in the trash she had been dumped on. CSU would be busy with that for a while.

Casey shook her head. “Not much with the rain, especially if she’s been here all night.”

“Where are the cars?” Jess said. “Missing Persons said Kerri didn’t make it home the night she went missing: the mail was still in the box, and the empty garbage bins were still at the curb. So she must have been grabbed somewhere between work and home.”

“He doesn’t want anyone to know what’s happening until he’s ready,” Bryan said. “Up until now there was the possibility that Kerri had just taken off on her own. So he takes them and the cars because he wants that doubt. It takes a bit of the pressure off him.”

“Not anymore,” Jess muttered. “We should look at victimology, see if there’s anything else these girls have in common besides their hair color. Maybe a location where he picks them.”

Bryan sighed and shook his head. “It’s a good day to be blond.”

They watched the M.E. and her assistant place the body inside a black bag and zip it up.

“It’s only been two weeks,” Jess said. “We may be looking at another body soon.”

Casey stood up as officers lifted the bag and placed it on a gurney. “What are you going to tell the press?” She nodded to three reporters who had gathered at the perimeter.

Jess rolled her eyes. “Leave it up to the Chief.”

When Bryan and Jess arrived back at the station, two other reporters stood in front of the doors.

“Is there a serial killer on the loose?” one clamored.

“Should women with red hair be dyeing their hair a different color?”

“Are you insane?” Jess snapped.

Bryan grabbed her by both shoulders and steered her inside, leaving the reporters shouting after them. He led her down the hall to the bullpen and to her desk. He sat down across from her and folded his hands in his lap. “You know they say stuff like that just to get you to respond. They know we’ve been conditioned to ignore the typical questions.”

“Yeah,” she sighed.

Bryan stared at her for a moment. “If this guy was going after blonds, would you think about dyeing your hair?”

Jess gave him a dark look. “Is that what you want to tell the public? That every time a serial killer starts killing women, we all should just dye our hair so he won’t have any more to fit his type?”

He shrugged. “You don’t think it would slow him down, if he can’t find what he’s fantasizing about?”

“I think he’d dye their hair himself.”

Bryan thought about it, and then nodded. “You’re probably right. So, let’s see if we can’t find any commonality between our two victims.”

Many hours and two take-out meals later, they hadn’t found anything to suggest the two victims had crossed paths. The women lived in different areas of town, shopped at different stores; one spent most of her time at school while the other at work.

Casey appeared in the doorway. “No luck?” She had cleaned up and was dressed for a night out, her wavy brown hair spilling over bare, tanned shoulders.

Bryan looked at the clock with the realization that the workday was long over, and tried to blink the blurriness from his eyes. “Not yet. You finished?”

“Yes.” Casey handed him the autopsy report. “Everything’s consistent with your first victim, down to the type of instruments he used to burn them. Ligature marks on the wrists show they were restrained by something, but it’s a wide and straight pattern, like a shackle or something.”

Bryan looked up. “Shackles? You’re serious?”

“This guy is unique, to put it mildly. Shackles aren’t exactly common usage; maybe he doubts his own strength and is taking as much precaution as he can. That could also explain the rope he used to strangle them; he may not possess the physical strength to do it himself.”

“No rape?” Jess brought up.

“That doesn’t mean it’s not a sexually motivated crime,” Casey replied. “He gets a release from the torture and act of murder, but since the torture goes on for days, I’d say that’s his real pleasure.” Casey had been taking behavioral science classes and was becoming quite the profiler for their department. Though listening to her give a psychological analysis while dressed in a slim red dress made Bryan feel off balance.

Jess looked over the photos. “He doesn’t experiment. He obviously prefers fire.”

“Fire has a lot of different meanings,” Casey said. “From punishment to regeneration.”

“I wonder which is his,” Bryan said.

“Hard to say. Good luck.” Casey turned and left.

Bryan moaned and ran his hands through his hair. It had been a long day and he just wanted to sleep. It was a terrible feeling, knowing that they needed evidence to catch this guy, and the only way to get it was to wait for more victims and for the day the killer eventually slips up. What consolation does he give to the families of the victims that come between now and that time though? How can he look them in the eye, knowing that it was going to happen and being unable to stop it? Maybe that’s why Bryan avoided his friends now; they could see the toll this job takes etched onto his face, and they didn’t need the reminder that the world doesn’t work the way it should.

“Bryan,” Jess said. “Go home.” The way she said it, he knew she was thinking the same.

***

Trent wrestled with the tangle of tree debris that had snagged on the undercarriage of the fire engine. He had already banged his knuckles twice on the truck and concrete trying to dislodge the foliage. A head appeared at his feet.

“Found shears,” Frank said, and passed them in.

“Thanks,” Trent grunted. Leaves fell in his face as he dismantled the twig-like branches, until he had trimmed it down to the thickest part, which he then removed with ease. He pushed himself out from under the truck. It was early into the shift; they hadn’t even been on a fire call and he already needed a shower. “Undercarriage clear,” he said, and Frank marked it on the maintenance checklist.

“Did you see Aidan again?” Frank asked.

Trent couldn’t help but smile at the thought of her. “Yeah. And I’m seeing her again tomorrow night.” He swept the leaves and twigs into the garbage bin. “I’m cooking her dinner.” It was a pretty intimate step for him to take this early on, but he wanted genuine, not contrived like dinner out might feel.

Frank grinned. “You smitten?”

Trent laughed. “Somewhat.”

“Does that change your plans?”

Trent made a survey of the door latches, locks, mirrors and hinges. “I haven’t made plans yet.” Before he met Aidan, Trent had been considering moving back to Texas. He used to have his brother and his grandparents as a family base in Seattle, but then his grandparents took to traveling in their retirement, and Trent was happy for them. Then he thought of his brother and how Trent needed to stay and watch out for him. But his brother grew more distant every year, and Trent longed for the close connection of family. He loved Seattle, but missed Texas. Lately, there just wasn’t much left holding him here. Until he met Aidan. She cast those doubts into the realm of second doubts. He liked her, a lot. He had no idea where their relationship would go, but he had time to figure it out. He hadn’t made any definitive plans, or told anyone outside the firehouse he was even considering a move, not even his family. So he could wait and see if Aidan would become that anchor he had lost and was hoping to find again.

“Doors are good,” Trent said after he had surveyed around the whole truck.

Frank made a note on the checklist. “Okay, we’re good for now.”

Trent washed his hands with the hose. They’d have to do the inspection all over again after their next big fire roll out.

“What are you cooking for her?” Frank asked.

“I don’t know yet. I’ll probably just go to the grocery store and see what catches my interest.”

“At least I know you can turn anything into a good meal. That’s why I take my wife out to dinner.”

Trent grinned. “I bet she’d like it if you cooked for her.”

Frank gave him a wry look. “Up until the first bite.”

“Nah, it’s the thought that counts.”

“Yeah, well, I’m married. I don’t have to impress my wife anymore. So good luck with that.”

Trent shook his head. He was a pretty good cook. The men in his family had prided themselves on such a skill and passed it down through the generations. One thing was for sure: he wanted to impress Aidan. Dancing had been just the ticket for their first date. His attentiveness and thoughtfulness had been on the line then. Next, it would be his skills at cooking and hosting. He needed a good recipe. He grinned to himself, and went inside to call Frank’s wife.

Chapter Six

Aidan pulled up next to the curb and turned the car engine off. Trent lived in a nice townhouse across the street from a park. Perfectly shaped bush heads lined the sides of the walkway up to his door like a guard of green hedgehogs. Aidan glanced at herself in the rearview mirror. Tonight was a casual date, but she had still tried to look nice. Phoebe had helped her pick out the dark blue jeans and green cashmere sweater, which made the amber in her eyes seem to glow. She wore a simple silver heart strung on a chain and had pulled her hair back into a ponytail. Had it been dinner with anyone else, it wouldn’t have mattered. Aidan grinned in amusement at the fact she could still feel vanity.

She balanced her dessert dish on her hip as she got out and closed the car door. Phoebe had come through with a recipe for cherry almond torte. Though Aidan had claimed she could bake, in truth, Phoebe was more the kitchen whiz. But her friend, while glad to dictate directions and help, refused to give any hands-on assistance, so Aidan’s skill couldn’t be challenged when Chris later asked Trent how the dessert tasted.

Aidan shifted the dish so she wouldn’t drop it, and proceeded toward the front door. Trent opened it before she had a chance to knock. He wore jeans and a collared shirt, simple yet handsome.

“Welcome,” he said with a large smile. “Come in. Can I take that from you?”

“Just tell me where to put it.” She tried not to let her imagination get ahead of herself with the implications of him cooking dinner in his home. It had an element of vulnerability on his part: opening up an intimate aspect of his life for her inspection, and not to mention what most people expected “dessert” to really mean. He hadn’t given her any indication that tonight’s expectations went beyond that of an actual meal, so she tried to keep herself focused in the moment. If he asked, she was prepared to decline. She was just starting to warm up to the idea of loving again, and wasn’t going to jump in headfirst until she knew it wouldn’t break her in the end.

Trent led her down a short hallway, past a set of stairs, and into a den, which fanned out to the right with the kitchen to the left. Aidan smelled shrimp and vegetables cooking. Trent gestured to an open spot on the counter, and she put the dessert down next to a bag of fresh baked French bread from a farmers market. A guitar played from his stereo in the den.

“Can I ask what it is?” Trent said.

“Dinner first.”

“Alright. We’ll be serving shrimp in a buttery sauce over rice, and zucchini and tomatoes coated with Parmesan, with oil and vinegar dressing if you desire, along with a fresh loaf of French bread.”

“Sounds great,” Aidan said, impressed. “Dessert is cherry almond torte.”