Shocking Pink (36 page)

T
he snapping of Julie’s neck ringing in her ears, Raven looked frantically around her. She had planned carefully for this moment, so she would make no mistakes. Why couldn’t she think? Why couldn’t she remember?

She was sweating. It dripped into her eyes, burning them. She rubbed them, horrified to realize how badly she trembled. This had been so much more difficult than Leah Robertson. She hadn’t cared about her. Watching her die had been a curiosity. A rush.

But Julie…

A sound of denial and grief raced to her lips, and she choked it back. Raven couldn’t look at her. She averted her eyes and focused on the reasons she’d had to do it; she forced herself to focus on her plan.

Think. Think.
Her eyes fell on the stool. Of course, she remembered, the stool. She took a clean handkerchief from her pants pocket, stooped and carefully rubbed away the smudge her shoe sole had left on the white wood.

She looked at the floor. She had been careful to stay on the plastic runners and off the carpeting. There would be none of her footprints in the plush pile around the body. She held out her hands, knowing she had worn gloves the entire time, but wanting to reassure herself.

She thought back, carefully, to each step she had made. Before she had put on the gloves, she had touched the doorknob and the security keypad. Her prints on both would be expected: she was in and out of this model every day. Same with any other trace evidence they might find that would indicate her presence.

No, all the real evidence would point to one person, the one who owned the house, the one whose fingerprints and other biological evidence was all over the stool, the scarves, the rope. Julie’s body. The one whose footprints were embedded in the plush carpeting all around the corpse.

Just to be safe, Raven followed the plastic walkway to the kitchen, then back around to the foyer, down the hall and back to Julie, making a continuous line of impressions beneath the plastic. Now, she thought, checking her watch, finding it difficult to think over her pounding heart, for the last piece of evidence, the one that would link David Sadler to Leah Robertson’s murder fifteen years before.

Leah Robertson’s wedding ring. Her trophy. The little insurance policy she’d snatched from the scene all those years ago. She took it from her pocket and holding it carefully, along the rim, she manipulated it against Julie’s lifeless fingers, then let it slip from her own. It pinged against the stool, then bounced, landing on the carpet a few feet away.

Raven dared a glance at her friend then, tears pricking her eyes. She whispered goodbye, then let herself out, careful to rearm the security system and lock the front door.

T
he call had come in at 3:01 a.m. An anonymous tip. Something weird was going on over at the Gatehouse development site, the caller had said. They had seen lights.

Something weird, all right. A homicide.

Nick stood beside Bobby, listening to the coroner, his chest tight, stomach churning. Horror and revulsion warred with excitement. Excitement because they were going to get the sick son of a bitch this time. Nick felt it. In his gut. This was no copycat. This was the guy, the one who’d slipped through their fingers fifteen years ago. He wasn’t going to do it again. Not this time.

“Can you ID her, Nick?” the coroner asked, removing the blindfold with tweezers, tapping the body so it swung slightly in his direction.

“Holy shit,” Nick muttered, taking a step backward, her identity hitting him with the force of a blow. He struggled to speak, aware of the others looking at him, waiting for a response. “Yeah,” he managed to say, his voice thick. “I know who she is. Name’s Julie Cooper.”

“Julie Cooper,” Bobby repeated, drawing his bushy eyebrows together in thought. “Why do I recognize that name?”

Nick averted his gaze from the once-beautiful face, bloated and red in death. “She was one of the teenagers involved in the Robertson homicide fifteen years ago.”

And she was one of Andie’s best friends.

How was he going to tell her?

Bobby whistled under his breath. “Son of a bitch.”

“No shit.”

“Fellas, you want to take a look over here?”

They both turned. One of the uniforms was bent over, examining something on the carpet.

“What do you have, Mallory?”

She looked up. “It appears to be a wedding ring.”

They crossed to and squatted beside her. It was a lady’s ring, a plain gold band of medium width. Using tweezers, Nick lifted it from the carpeting. He held it up to the light, studying it.

“Was Julie Cooper married?”

“Several times, as I understand it. But not currently.” Nick squinted. “It’s inscribed. With love, 2–14–80.”

“1980?” Bobby scratched his head. “This isn’t her ring, then. Not unless she was a child bride.”

“Maybe her mother’s?” the uniform offered. “Or another family member’s?”

“No,” Nick murmured, the excitement growing, pulling at him. He forced himself to ignore the emotion, to go slow, to be careful. “It’s not Julie Cooper’s wedding ring, it’s not her mother’s.” He looked at the coroner. “Remember, Doc?”

The man met his eyes, understanding.
Leah Robertson.
“Are you asking me if Robertson was wearing her wedding ring? It’d be in my records.”

“Ours, too.” Nick looked at his partner. “But I’d bet we have a match here.”

Bobby nodded, following. “I’ll check it out, first thing.”

“Bag it, Mallory.” She took the tweezers from him, and he stood, thinking of Andie again. He glanced toward the door.
How was he going to tell her?

“What about next of kin?” Bobby asked.

“I’ll take care of it.” Nick glanced toward the door once more, then back at his partner. “I need to go see Andie. I need to tell her before…the media gets wind of it. I need to—” He passed a hand over his forehead, cursing the job he had to do. Knowing no one else could do it; that he wouldn’t allow anyone else to. “And I need to question her. She might have some information. She might know who Julie’s been seeing.”

“Just watch your ass,” Bobby said. “Considering her history and what’s been going on, she could be in danger, too.”

If Andie knew who the killer was, she could be in danger, too. Of course. So could Raven.

Without even taking the time to respond, Nick flew out the door.

T
he phone awakened Andie from a deep sleep. It was Nick calling.

“This is important, Andie,” he said, cutting off her sleepy, pleased greeting. “Is everything all right there?”

Andie sat up, instantly awake. Alarmed. “Yes,” she said, reaching to turn on her bedside light. “I think so.”

“Good. I’m in my car, on my way over. I’ll be there in two minutes. Don’t answer the door for anyone but me. Got that?”

“Nick, wha—”

“Got that?” he repeated, barking the words at her.

She said she did, and he hung up. She held the receiver to her ear for a moment, heart thundering. She moved her gaze over her bedroom, grateful for the light.

Something had happened. Something terrible.

With a squeak of fear, she jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom. She grabbed her robe and brushed her teeth, then scurried to the front door to wait for him.

He arrived moments later, swinging into her driveway and screeching to a halt. He leaped out of his car and ran for her door. She swung it open, and taking one look at his face, made a sound of alarm. “What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

Instead of telling her, he took her into his arms and kissed her. Long and deeply, holding her in a way that frightened her, holding her as if he had thought for a moment that he might never be able to hold her again.

“Thank God,” he muttered. “Thank God you’re here and safe. I was so afraid…I—”

She broke away from him, shaking, terrified. “Tell me,” she managed to say, her voice a croak. “What’s happened?”

“Inside,” he said. “Not here.”

“Nick—”

“Please, Andie. Just do as I ask.” She nodded and led him inside, into the foyer. He shut the door behind them. “It’s Julie,” he said. “She’s… Andie, Julie’s dead. Murdered.”

Andie stared at him, certain she had heard wrong but knowing she had not. She felt the color drain from her face, the warmth from her body. She shook her head, her mouth working, though no sound came out.

“We got a call a couple hours ago,” he went on. “An anonymous tip. The caller said there was something weird going on at the Gatehouse development. We found Julie there. Andie, she…”

“No!” Andie cried. “No, it’s not true!” She looked wildly around her, knowing she should be doing something, but not having a clue what. She began to tremble violently.

“I’m sorry,” he said, going to her, drawing her into his arms. He held her tightly. “I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head again, swamped with tears, unable to catch her breath. She curled her fingers into his shirt, clinging to him.

“Listen to me, Andie. There’s more.”

He told her then, how Julie had died. Quickly and with little emotion, as if to lessen the blow of his words.

Mrs. X. Hanging by her neck. Her face bloated and red, grotesque in death.

Andie squeezed her eyes shut, seeing Julie the same way. Her stomach rushed to her throat. She held the sickness back, gasping, light-headed.

Julie… Dear God, not Julie.

“Andie, honey—” Nick caught her hands and rubbed them between his. “You need to listen to me. It’s important. I need your help. Julie needs your help. Was she seeing anyone? Do you know anyone who could have done this?”

“David,” she said, lifting her gaze to Nick’s. “David did it.”

W
hen Raven heard about Julie, she seconded Andie’s shock and despair. She, too, gave the police a statement about Julie’s involvement with David Sadler. About her suspicions that Julie had been involved in something kinky.

But the police didn’t have to act only on Andie and Raven’s suspicions; the circumstantial evidence implicating David Sadler was overwhelming. He owned, and therefore had complete access to, the property where the murder had been committed. The ring found at the scene was, indeed, Leah Robertson’s. David Sadler’s prints were on the stool, the scarf that bound Julie’s wrists, on the one that covered her eyes. The footprints embedded in the carpeting around the victim matched his. Hair, fiber and other trace materials had been sent to the lab in St. Louis for analysis.

Once again, quiet little Thistledown made big news. Once again, Andie, Julie and Raven were in the spotlight. Only this time, Julie was dead.

Only this time, a murderer wouldn’t escape justice.

Within forty-eight hours, David Sadler was arrested for the murders of Julie Cooper and Leah Robertson.

Of course, as all criminals did, he proclaimed his innocence loudly and vehemently.

But nobody listened. Nobody at all.

T
wo weeks after the murder, the medical examiner released Julie’s body for burial. Raven insisted on making all the arrangements herself, and Andie let her. She didn’t have the energy or heart to tackle more than getting up in the morning and dragging herself through something that resembled her routine.

She was numb with grief, racked with guilt. “If onlys” tormented her. If only she had given David’s name to Nick. If only she had been a better, braver friend and tried harder to help Julie. If only she had been more astute at her job. If only she hadn’t been so naive, so trusting.

She should have seen through David Sadler. She should have known that he was Mr. X. That he was a killer.

If she had, Julie would still be alive.

But no, like the too-trusting, Goody Two–shoes Raven had always called her, she had wanted to believe in David, in his motives. She had wanted him to be what he said he was, a man who wanted help. Who wanted to change. And she had longed to help him. To be Super Shrink, or something.

So, she wondered bitterly, had it been her naiveté that had gotten Julie killed—or her ego?

She stood at the graveside, the pastor’s words floating on the morning air, and though Andie listened, she couldn’t recall a word he said. She missed her friend. It hurt. She felt responsible.

She had gone through the motions when forced to: with her patients, with her family, who had called the minute they’d heard; with the reporters, who for the first week, had hounded her every step.

Mostly, she had chosen to hole up alone in her house, refusing even to see Raven. Raven had been hurt by her refusal, but Andie had needed to grieve alone. Nick, on the other hand, had given her time, space. He had let her know that if she needed him, he was there. Then he had let her be. She missed him, ached for him, but she couldn’t bring herself to reach out to him. Or anyone else.

Beside her, Raven wept. Across the way, two young women Julie had worked with sobbed openly. Julie’s family hadn’t come. When Raven had called them, Reverend Cooper had told her that Julie had been dead to them for a long time. Her mother had sent flowers, though. A wreath of daisies and baby’s breath. Julie had adored daisies, choosing them over roses or orchids or any other more exotic bloom. Her mother had remembered that. In that small gesture of love and remembrance Andie had found comfort. Julie had been loved, even if secretly and without courage; she would be missed.

The service ended. Andie turned to go. And saw Nick. He stood at the edge of the gravesite, beyond the small circle of mourners.

She crossed to him. Their gazes met and she felt as if a ray of sunshine was spilling over her. The first in two weeks. “Thank you for coming.”

“Are you all right?”

She looked away, then back, eyes swimming with tears. “No.”

He reached out and cupped her cheek in his palm. She tilted her face into the caress, comforted.

“It’s not your fault,” he murmured. “Don’t blame yourself.”

How did he know her so well?
She swiped at her runny nose, brokenhearted. “He was my patient, Nick. I should have known. I should have turned him in so many times. When I learned he was the one that she was having an affair with. When I realized he was involved with all three of us. When I learned what—” Her throat closed over the words, and she cleared it. “When I learned the things they were doing together. I had so many opportunities to save her.”

“You had an oath to uphold. Without proof of his guilt, you had no reason to break that oath.”

“We have proof now,” she said bitterly. “Plenty of it. Only problem is, Julie’s dead.”

“He wants to see you.”

Andie froze, knowing who he must mean but unable to believe it. “What did you say?”

“David Sadler’s asking for you.”

She recoiled, sickened by the thought of facing him. “No.” She shook her head. “I can’t. I won’t.”

“He wants to talk, Andie. But he won’t speak to anyone but you.”

“Why me?” She searched Nick’s expression. “He must know how I feel about him.”

“He wants to be heard, to be understood. You were his shrink, you’re the most likely candidate.”

“I’m not his shrink anymore. Tell him to find another one.”

“Andie, he claims he’s innocent. Of both murders.”

She met Nick’s eyes, stunned, angry. “How can he say that? How, when all the evidence points right to him?”

“There’s more. He swears he didn’t leave the noose and scarf on your bed.”

She felt his words like a blow. Heat flew to her cheeks. “And you believe him?”

“I didn’t say that. But he admits to the clippings and calls, to breaking into your house and leaving the music playing.” Nick looked away, then back. “It’s odd, that’s all. I wanted you to know.”

For a moment she said nothing, just digested what he’d said. She met his eyes again. “If he didn’t leave them, Nick, who did?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you can find out. Maybe you can get us some answers.”

She hesitated. The thought of sitting across a table from David Sadler repulsed her. She rubbed her arms, rubbed at the gooseflesh that crawled up them. “I just don’t…know.”

Nick touched her face again, tracing his thumb across her cheekbone. “Stop being a victim, Andie. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Do something to help the situation.”

His words hurt; but he was right. “All right,” she murmured, chest tight. “But not as his doctor. He has to understand that. Nothing is confidential. If he agrees to that, I’ll talk to him.”