Six Killer Bodies (21 page)

She considered changing purses to something smaller, but

she’d promised Jack she would keep the stun baton with

her at all times. So she dropped her cel phone into her

shoulder bag and went downstairs. Peter waited at the

bottom, smiling up at her. Her heart squeezed with

affection.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“It was worth the wait,” he said, reaching up to clasp her

hand.

It was a beautiful summer night. Carlotta felt a pang for

the absence of the Porsche convertible, but the sunroof in

Peter’s luxury SUV let in the stars. A few minutes into the

drive, Peter’s cell phone rang.

He picked it up and frowned. “It’s Brody Jones, I have to

take this.”

“Of course,” she murmured, instantly anxious. Brody Jones

was chief legal counsel for Mashburn & Tul y. From the

side of the conversation she could hear, she knew the

topic was the connection between her father and Alicia

Sil s.

When Peter ended the cal , his face was creased. “Brody

wants to go with me when I talk to the GBI tomorrow.”

“Why? You’re not under suspicion.”

“Brody is concerned that the GBI or the D.A.’s office wil

use this as an excuse to look into the company’s records.”

“Look for what?”

He hesitated. “Evidence that your father has been

corresponding with someone in the building over the

years.”

She scoffed. “With Alicia Sil s? That’s ridiculous.”

“Probably,” he conceded. “But Brody is concerned that

even if Randolph has nothing to do with The Charmed

Kil er case, the D.A. wil see this as an opportunity to nose

around for information that might be relevant in your

father’s fraud case.” His mouth flattened. “And after all,

your father did contact me.”

Her pulse jumped. “Have you told anyone?”

“No. But if the company’s phone records are subpoenaed,

I’d have to think they’d be looking closely at mine.”

“Because of our relationship?”

He nodded.

She closed her eyes briefly. “I’m so sorry Randolph got you

involved. If you want to tel the GBI about the phone call

when you talk to them tomorrow, you should.”

“It’s not relevant to the case they’re working on.”

“I know, but I don’t want this to blow up in your face,

Peter. You can’t risk the appearance that you’re aiding and

abetting my father.”

He gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry.”

She smiled back, but anxiety stil gnawed at her as Peter

held open the door for her at the restaurant.

Morsels was tucked into a large former single-family

residence on Juniper Street, one block off Peachtree. True

to its reputation, the place was packed. The inside had

been gutted, with only the beamed ceilings bearing

testament to the original interior design. The lighting was

dim and lively piano music sounded from a far corner.

Their table wasn’t ready yet, so they stepped into the bar

area to order a drink.

“How about champagne?” Peter asked.

Her thoughts immediately went to the charm on her

bracelet of the two flutes touching, overflowing with

bubbly, celebrating…something. “Champagne makes me a

little headachy. Would you mind if we had wine instead?”

“Of course not. Whatever you want.”

She chastised herself for being superstitious. But right

now, she didn’t want to risk doing something that might

rip a hole in the fabric of the universe.

While the piano tinkled in the background, they sipped a

buttery white burgundy wine and made small talk.

“Someone is coming out to repair the fountain Saturday,”

Peter said.

A flush warmed her neck. “Have I apologized today for

demolishing the fountain and your car?”

He winked. “It was an accident. Insurance wil take care of

everything. Just think of it as…a contribution to the

economy.”

She laughed. “When are you getting a new Porsche?”

“Soon,” he said, toying with the stem of his glass. “Or

maybe not.”

“But you loved that car.”

“Yes, but it’s not very practical.”

“That’s not really the point of owning a sports car, is it?”

“No. But I’m at a different point in my life than when I

bought the Porsche. Then it was just me and Angie, and

we didn’t plan to have a family.”

Carlotta nearly choked on her wine.

Peter gave her a little smile. “So I think I’l hold off for

now.”

She was saved from responding by the hostess arriving to

say their table was available. As they were led to their

seats, Carlotta did a double-take when she recognized the

couple seated at an adjacent table—Jack…

And Maria.

And the way their heads were together, they weren’t

discussing blood-spatter patterns.

“Hel o,” Carlotta said, unable to keep the surprise out of

her voice.

They looked up and separated guiltily. “Hi, Carlotta,” Jack

said stiffly. Then he stood and extended his hand to Peter.

“Small world.”

“Yes,” Carlotta murmured in agreement.

Maria hid her reaction by taking a sip from her water glass.

“Peter, you remember Detective Maria Marquez,” Carlotta

said.

“Good to see you again,” Peter said.

“Yes, you look well,” Maria said, referring to the last time

she’d seen him—stretched out on Carlotta’s couch

recovering from an accidental zap from Carlotta’s stun

baton. Maria nodded to Carlotta. “Enjoy your dinner.”

Dismissed, Carlotta moved woodenly to her seat. Peter

held out her chair and murmured in her ear, “Do you want

to get another table?”

“Don’t be sil y,” she whispered back. It wasn’t as if their

tables were close enough to hear each other’s

conversations.

Darn it.

From where she was sitting, she had a perfect view of the

couple, just over Peter’s shoulder. Their server gave them

menus. Carlotta pretended to study the small plate items

while reeling inside—and peeking over the top. Maria

wore a clingy brown sleeveless dress and strappy sandals.

Jack wore tan slacks and a black col arless dress shirt. It

was clear they hadn’t just left the office and dropped in for

a beer before going home.

“What looks good?” Peter asked.

She jerked her gaze back to the menu. “Um…everything.

You pick.”

“Why don’t we start with an olive tray?”

“Uh…sure.” She glanced back to the table next to theirs,

noting the couple seemed to be concentrating on eating.

“Carly.”

She looked back to Peter. “Yes?”

“Are you going to be distracted by Jack and his girlfriend

al evening?”

She frowned. “I’m not distracted. I was looking at what

they ordered.” She turned her head and nodded to a

saucer of colorful food the couple on the other side of

them was sharing. “Is that pael a? It looks good.”

Peter gave her a pointed look, then nodded to her glass.

“Finish your wine.”

She lifted her glass for an obligatory sip. “Do you think I

have time to go to the ladies’ room before they bring the

appetizers?”

“Probably.”

“I’l be right back,” she promised, then shouldered her bag

and walked past Jack and Maria’s table. Once she was out

of Peter’s sight, she stopped a server. “Is there somewhere

I can step outside to smoke?”

The waiter nodded. “There’s a covered stoop through that

door at the end of the hall.”

Carlotta hurried down the hall, then pushed open the door

to step out onto a small concrete pad. Hemmed with a

thin metal railing, the stoop faced a line of trees about ten

yards away. Light from the house on the other side filtered

through the shadows of the thick foliage.

She slid out a cigarette and lit it quickly. The first drag

soothed her frayed nerves a bit, but as she chewed a

thumbnail, the hurt she’d been keeping at bay descended,

swamping her chest. When Jack hadn’t pursued a

relationship with her beyond their few trysts, she’d

assumed he wasn’t looking for a relationship, period. Yet

here he was, on a date with Maria, in a nice restaurant

Carlotta would’ve sworn he wouldn’t be caught dead in.

Obviously he was making exceptions for the new woman

in his life that surpassed simply dressing better.

She took another drag on the cigarette, irritated with

herself that seeing Jack with Maria bothered her so much.

She had Peter. She’d been living in his house for a couple

of weeks now, and was planning to go to Vegas with him

next week. Why should she care who Jack slept with?

She gave a little laugh—that was it. When she’d thought

he was only sleeping with Maria, it wasn’t so bad. But

dating Maria? Taking her to nice places and being seen in

public? That signaled…commitment.

From inside her purse, Carlotta’s phone rang. She removed

it and glanced at the caller ID screen to see Rainie

Stephens’s name appear. Curious, she connected the call.

“Hi, Rainie.”

“Hi, Carlotta. Is this a bad time?”

“It’s fine, but I only have a couple of minutes. Great news

about Coop getting bail, huh?”

“Yeah. That means the D.A. doesn’t have a slam-dunk case

even in the one murder they charged him for, the

Alderman woman.”

“I wasn’t on that scene,” Carlotta said, taking another puff

on the cigarette. “But I remember my brother talking

about it.”

“I was able to get my hands on what kind of DNA was

recovered at the scene. It was a pair of latex gloves with

Coop’s fingerprints on the inside, plus saliva on a paper

cup found in the kitchen trash.”

Carlotta scoffed. “Both of those things could’ve been

planted.”

“I know. I’m just tel ing you what the D.A. has.”

“Were you able to find out anything about Coop’s visit to

the neurologist?”

“Not yet, stil checking. But I did think of something we

could do that might flush out Michael Lane.”

Carlotta took another drag. “What?”

“How do you think he’d react to a story in the paper

announcing that you’d agreed to write an expose on him

for a tabloid? You know, air his dirty laundry?”

“I think he’d be furious. Michael could be flamboyant, but

he didn’t like other people knowing his business.”

“I noticed that on the profile, which is why I suggested it.”

“Profile?”

“Yeah. I got my hands on a report that a profiler with the

APD used to analyze suspects and compare them to the

one created for The Charmed Kil er.”

Carlotta smirked. “Really? Tel me about the profile for The

Charmed Kil er.”

The sound of papers being shuffled sounded in the

background. “UNSUB is male, aged twenty-five to fifty,

probably Caucasian. He probably has a dysfunctional

relationship with his mother. He’s a loner who struggles

with authority. He holds a job that he feels is inferior. Feels

wronged by society. Has above-average intelligence, is

admired by peers and coworkers. Is wel -read and

compel ed to achieve, but tends to misrepresent ability.

Craves approval, but is private and paranoid. Narcissistic,

not a joiner. Could be a physician or someone in the

medical field. Has a credible, non-threatening appearance

to gain trust of victims. Physical y fit. Probable scouting,

military, or police background, or otherwise trained in

kil ing methods.”

“Military?” Carlotta repeated.

“Does that mean something to you?”

Her mind scrol ed back over her interaction with Sergeant

Mitchel Moody. He had exhibited stalking behavior

toward Eva McCoy when she had been engaged to another

man.

“I have to think about it,” she murmured. “The murdered

prostitute’s friends said she was having trouble with a

client she cal ed Doc. If the kil er is a doctor of some kind,

it would help explain why Coop fits some aspects of the

profile. Doctors can be so arrogant.” Inexplicably, her mind

went to Frederick Lowenstein. And when she recalled that

she’d been with him on the nights when two of the

murders had occurred, her heart thudded in her chest.

The night that Tracey and her doctor husband had crashed

her and Peter’s blanket at the Screen on the Green event

in Piedmont Park, she’d left with Wesley for a pickup that

had turned out to be Alicia Sil s, victim number two. The

Chief Medical Examiner later determined she had died not

of a fall from a stepladder, but of blunt force trauma.

Frederick Lowenstein had arrived late to the event with

Tracey, not long before Carlotta had left to move the

body…at an address within a mile of the park.

And the night of the auction at the country club, Freddy

had left early after receiving a page, not long before she

and Hannah had left to join Wes on a body-moving job

that had turned out be Marna Col ins, victim number five,

poisoned with cyanide.

Not far from the country club.

Doctors could get cyanide. And Freddy Lowenstein had

always given her the wil ies…

“Carlotta, are you there?”

“Rainie, wil you do me a favor?”

“If I can.”

She squinted to remember the words that Dr. Lowenstein