Skin (9 page)

“Yeah, sure.”
Following him into the hallway, Lilith had a bad feeling. Was it Mama? Had Marlon finally broken her or worse? She forced her voice to remain steady. “What can I do for you, Officer?”

“Do you know a woman who calls herself Anna Youngheart?”

Lilith’s pulse sped up.
“My sister’s professional name.
She’s not in trouble, is she?” When the officer didn’t respond, she demanded, “Hannah
is
all right?”

The cop’s look of pity nearly stilled her blood.

oOo

LILITH MITCHELL SAT still as death in the glass-walled inner office. Pucinski exchanged a look with DeSalvo. His partner backed off and went to investigate the coffeepot. Pucinski figured it was understandable that the Mitchell woman should be stunned and looking as if she were unable to comprehend that her sister might now be beyond her
reach
forever.

“An old street lady saw it happen,” Pucinski told her. “Some guy was waiting for your sister when she came home last night. They went inside for a few minutes, then the door burst open, and he dragged her out, hands tied behind her back, something covering her mouth. She tried fighting. Unfortunately, the woman was too far away to give us a description.”

“Okay, so some guy dragged her off. That doesn’t make him a killer.”

The poor woman appeared a little green around the gills, like she was fighting heaving her cookies. Thank God she didn’t – his desk was messy enough. She sat frozen next to it as if she herself were dead. Pucinski knew he might look hard as leather on the outside, but inside his gut twisted tight.

“Neighbors told us she worked at Club Paradise, and we started putting it together. Part of
The
Hunter Case. Anna Youngheart fits the description, a lot like the other two women associated with the club who were taken. We found this in her locker.” He showed her a scrap of paper with her own address and that of Hamilton, Smith and Willis. “Someone at your workplace knew you would be at the gym tonight,” he explained. “We figured you might be able to tell us something about her.
Didn’t guess you were related.”

Voice catching, Lilith whispered, “Hannah left me a message at work sometime last night. She was going to call me today.” She blinked and tears rolled down her cheeks. “She ran away when she was thirteen.” She turned to him, her expression stricken,
her
eyes dark pools of pain. “After all these years, I just found her, and now it’s too late for anything.”

Pucinski said, “Thousands of kids disappear without a trace every year, Miss Mitchell. Most of their families never know what happens to them.”

“Maybe that would have been better,” she said, though she didn’t look like she meant it. “I-I feel as if I was given a second chance, and somehow I b-blew it. I couldn’t get her out of that damn club. I failed her
again
.”

Pucinski stood there like some sap, wanting to comfort her while needing to get as much info as he could. He did neither, rather waited her out.

She sniffed and took a deep breath.
“So what now?”
She bit her lips, perhaps to stop herself from crying. Her eyes were rheumy-looking. “Tell me, Detective Pucinski, what are the chances you’ll find her alive?”

Making nice with the family members wasn’t his favorite part of the job. “We’re going to do everything we can, but truthfully, we don’t have much to go on.”

“Was Hannah friends with the other women?”

“She hadn’t worked the joint long enough to know the first victim, a waitress.
But the second – the prostitute – maybe.”

He paced as if the activity could work off his frustration with the case. Even having an officer working undercover hadn’t kept Hannah Mitchell from being taken. But she wasn’t dead yet, he reminded himself. She still had a shot.

“They weren’t all dancers, then,” Lilith was saying. “Could there be some connection between them other than the club?”

“All three women were tall, good looking and had long, dark hair.”

The description could fit a thousand women in the city. As if she knew it, too – that the description could fit
her
– Lilith shifted uncomfortably.

“How long do we have?” she asked.

“The first one he held for two weeks.
The second only ten days.”

“So his patience is getting shorter.”

“Seems like.
No guarantees of how long this time.”

“Then the clock is already ticking. What are you doing about it? Why aren’t you interviewing everyone at the club?”

“Who says we aren’t?” He probably shouldn’t tell her this. “And we have an officer working undercover.”

“Undercover...”

She wasn’t looking at him, Pucinski realized, but past him. He glanced over his shoulder to see what had her attention. Gabe O’Malley was at his desk, doing paperwork.

Pucinski turned back to Lilith, whose attention was on him, again. She seemed to be trying to digest it all. He only wished he was convinced that having someone working undercover was enough to catch a murderer. He remembered seeing the bodies of the women who had been hunted and shot and then skinned like animals. He hoped Lilith Mitchell never had to see her sister like that.

Pucinski felt like crap. He should have let DeSalvo handle this one. While green behind the ears, the kid had to learn to deal with the hard stuff sometime.

“I already called the Feds. They’re working up a profile on this creep.”

The next hour passed with Lilith seeming in a daze even while trying to be helpful. When the question and answer session was over, she asked for the keys to her sister’s loft. Since the evidence technicians were done with the place, Pucinski didn’t see the harm. She needed the connection, and maybe spending some time in the place would give her some helpful ideas. He also gave her his cell number and offered to take her home or to call someone who could stay with her, but she declined.

So Pucinski watched her walk off toward the bus stop, hoping she was as strong as she wanted him to believe.

She’d need a strong stomach if she had to ID her kid sister on a morgue slab.

oOo

LILITH CALLED Elena to give her the bad news. Of course her friend insisted on accompanying her to Hannah’s loft.

“You think she’d be safe in a place like this, huh?” Elena murmured as she wandered over to the wall of windows with its river view. “I mean even though this particular street is a little off the main beat, this isn’t exactly the inner city.”

“She had...
has
... money,” Lilith said, unready to put her sister in the past tense. “Not that it was any kind of protection.”

She was unwilling to believe that her sister would die. Surely the police would find her in time. She didn’t want to think of the things the killer could be doing to torture Hannah in the meantime.

Meandering through the downstairs space, Lilith spotted something familiar crushed into the corner of the sofa. Gently withdrawing the stuffed animal, a tattered tiger cat, she realized it was the same one she’d bought for Hannah’s tenth birthday. After all these years, Hannah still had the remembrance of
her
. Tears stung the back of her eyes, and she pressed the stuffed animal to her breast.

“Oh, Hannah.”

“Hey, you okay?” Elena asked softly.

Lilith took a deep breath and ran her fingers over the reminder of their childhood, of the days a lifetime ago when their father had still been in good health and they had all been happy.

“I convinced myself Hannah found some peace,” she told Elena. “I used to imagine she was married to a great guy like our real father, maybe with a kid on the way. That she wasn’t scared anymore. But living like she did... she must have been scared all the time.”

“Look, photos,” Elena said, picking up an album from a small side table. She handed it to Lilith.

Hanging onto the tiger-cat, Lilith stared at pictures of the two of them as kids with Mama and Daddy.
Their real father.
There were a few other shots of Hannah as she matured with other people, but not many of these.

A publicity photo of a hard-looking woman made Lilith stare.

This was and yet was not the little sister she remembered.

And then she turned the page to find a familiar article from a national magazine, one chronicling a guardian ad litem case handled by her boss, Rita Henderson, and accompanied by a photograph. Lilith had worked hard on the case, and Rita had insisted she be in the shot.

Staring at her own image tucked into her sister’s scrapbook, Lilith said, “She knew I was here for months. Why did she never contact me?”

Elena’s dark eyes were loaded with sympathy. “Maybe she was trying to work up the courage... she probably figured you wouldn’t approve of her lifestyle.”

Lilith shook her head and closed the book. “And I let her know I didn’t.”

“Maybe you ought to come to my place for the night,” Elena suggested. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

A plan was forming in Lilith’s mind. She couldn’t do
nothing
. Couldn’t wait until the news of Hannah’s death hit the
media.
No, no! Hannah was still alive, she reminded herself. Pucinski said he kept them.

Knowing what she had to do, Lilith said, “I’m not going home.”

After walking Elena to the bus stop, Lilith returned to Hannah’s place to implement her budding plan. Pucinski’s telling her about the undercover cop working the club had given her the idea.

She went through her sister’s wardrobe, far more extensive and expensive than her own. Not exactly her style, but that was the point. She picked out a lavender dress that she hoped would fit her. The bodice was fairly modest, showing off shoulders rather than cleavage. She popped the heart-half beneath the material. The dress was so tight in the hips she wouldn’t be able to move if it weren’t equally short.

Ignoring the feeling of being a little overexposed, Lilith next found her sister’s scrapbook and removed a glossy of Hannah – one of the publicity shots taken at the club.

Placing it in the corner of the bathroom mirror, she used the photo as a guide to her own transformation.
First the makeup.
Base, blush, powder, eyeliner and shadow, mascara, lip liner and gloss. She loosened her French braid and brushed it out, then pulled it up into a fancy ponytail trailing over one shoulder.

Lilith was startled by her own reflection, so much more sophisticated and in-your-face than she’d ever seen it before. The resemblance between the woman in the mirror and the glossy of
Anna Youngheart
was eerie. Thinking about what she was committing
herself
to, she swallowed hard and stared at Hannah’s photo.

“I promise I won’t do what’s easiest this time.”

She and Hannah could almost be twins, she thought.

Her own mother wouldn’t recognize her.

But maybe the man who had her sister would.

oOo

HER ENTRANCE into the club caused something of a stir quite different from the one earlier that evening. She heard a few low noises which she assumed were meant to be complimentary. While she put on a good face, strutting into the main room of the club like she owned it, she wasn’t exactly comfortable with her new skin.

No hiding from curious eyes this time.

Heading straight for the bar, she forced her hips to sway to the loud beat of music. She took a quick glance around but didn’t see Michael Wyndham this time. The bartender stopped mixing a drink to stare, and she was certain he thought he was seeing a ghost.

“I’m looking for a job.” Her heart hammered like crazy. “I understand you need a waitress.”

Without taking his eyes off her, he pointed to a man standing a few yards away. “That’s the manager there.
Sal Ruscio.”

Thanking him, Lilith approached the man whose flowered shirt belied the expensive cut of his suit. Seeing her, he did a double take and couldn’t stop staring.

The sound of blood rushing in her ears accompanying her, she said, “Sign outside says you need a new waitress.”

“The last waitress I hired got herself in trouble.
The permanent kind.
Know what I mean?”

Lilith gave him a purposefully haughty look. “I can take care of myself.”

Though she didn’t feel as confident of that fact as she had before.
Her stomach was tied in a knot. Though scared, she brazened it out.

This Sal was staring at her face so hard, he might be trying to get inside her head. He was obviously buzzing with the possibilities.

“You kinda look like her.
One of my dancers.”
Now he eyed her body thoroughly as if mentally taking measurements. “Bet you could fit in her costumes, too.” Sal’s grin told Lilith exactly what he had in mind.

“Dancer?
Uh, no.
Waitress.”

“Okay, waitress, then. Maybe after you’re here a while, I can talk you into moving up in the world,” he said, looking up at the stage and then at her. Sal’s grin widened. “When can you start?”

oOo

WHAT HAD SHE been thinking? Lilith wondered as she brushed her ponytail, standing before the wall-length mirror in the dressing room ten minutes later.

“Damn!”

“You got a problem, child?”

A striking and very tall black woman entered the dressing room. She was wearing a tiny top and minisarong in an island print that barely covered the essentials.

“Name’s Caresse,” the dancer said.

“Lilith.”

“Hey, Lilith.
Where’d you work before coming here?”

 Lilith said the first thing that came to mind. “Los Angeles.”

“L.A., huh?
I was out there two, no, three years ago. What joint?”

Finding a hair clip that obviously met her approval, the black woman “borrowed” it, Lilith noticed, wondering if that was the norm around there. Then Caresse went back to her own seat in front of the mirror.

“You wouldn’t know the joint,” Lilith said. “The club only opened last year.”