Trust Me (8 page)

"Will do."

David hit the Off button, but he didn't pocket his phone. He shut the door so Lynnette couldn't hear him if she was home and dialed Skye's number. This was a business call; he didn't plan on saying anything particularly private. But he felt guilty whenever he contacted Skye.

"Hello?"

He doubted she'd been sleeping because she'd answered on the first ring.

"It's me," he said. "I heard about your caller."

"Jasmine told you?"

"She called the Marysville Boulevard station."

"Why? I told her I'm not within the city limits anymore."

"Does that mean you reported it to the sheriff?"

There was a long pause that told him what he'd already guessed. She thought she could handle it on her own. But that was crazy and reckless. She might overestimate her own strength and judgment, and the idea terrified him.

Shaking his head, he pictured Skye as he'd first seen her, in the hospital with forty stitches below her left eye. She'd also had several deep 50

cuts on her hands and forearms from trying to defend herself against Burke's knife. Just the memory of her injuries, and the disillusionment, was enough to strengthen his commitment to putting Burke away. She'd been so shaken, so fragile.

But she wasn't fragile anymore. The cut below her eye had healed into a thin scar, and the others were even less noticeable. Her body had gone through a sort of metamorphosis since the attack, too. She'd toned up, trading her soft curves for well-defined muscle. Now she was a convert to the gospel of health and fitness. But, as hard as she worked to make herself tough, there was still that sensitive core. David wanted to protect that, to vanquish the haunted look he saw in her eyes.

"Why didn't you call me?" he asked, angry that he wouldn't have heard about the incident if Jasmine hadn't reported it. "When something like this happens, you need to let me know."

"Why?"

He remembered the way Burke had said her name. I know her better than anyone. Including you. He was still obsessed with her. "So I know what's going on!"

Her voice dropped. "Would you have come over?"

He knew better than to spend much time alone with Skye. If he went over there now, he wouldn't be able to resist taking what he so desperately wanted--taking what she'd willingly offer. And then he wouldn't be able to make a life with Lynnette, would never be satisfied with what his conscience dictated he had to do. "If it meant protecting you," he told her gruffly.

"I can protect myself," she said and hung up.

Frowning, David hit the redial button.

She let it ring several times, but finally answered. "What is it?"

"Call me the minute anything like that happens again. Do you understand?"

"Because..."

"Because I'm worried about you, damn it!"

"Be careful, Detective. That sounds like you're beginning to care."

Except for that one kiss, and the time he'd nearly spent the night, he'd been circumspect, kept her at arm's length. But she knew how he felt. She had to know. He couldn't look at her without wanting her.

"I've cared from the beginning," he snapped. "Sometimes you're all I can think about."

He hadn't made an actual admission before, but those words didn't seem to improve the situation. Maybe because they'd been spoken so grudgingly.

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"You'd change that if you could," she said, the statement an accusation.

He didn't deny it. Surely it would be easier to fulfill his obligations to Lynnette and his promises to Jeremy if he didn't dream of making love to Skye. "Yes."

"And I'm supposed to be satisfied with that?"

He shoved a frustrated hand through his hair. "It's all I can give."

Click.

David nearly called her again. He wanted--needed-- something.

Closure. Understanding. Acceptance of his limitations. Concurrence that he was doing the right thing. But it wouldn't be enough, because what he really wanted was her.

Tossing his phone away to remove the temptation, he cursed under his breath. He had to let go, forget her if he was ever going to rebuild his family.

But now that Burke was getting out, he couldn't forget Skye--or she could wind up dead.

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What was he missing?

David had left his ex-wife's house the moment he discovered she was safe in her bed, and was now in his home office, actually the third bedroom of his Midtown apartment. Sunlight crept across his desk as the sun rose, making the lamp he'd turned on unnecessary. But he didn't bother to turn it off. He was too engrossed in the files he'd spread out. He'd already gone through them over the weekend, but he was studying every piece of paper and every photograph yet again. There had to be something here, some piece of evidence that tied Burke to the three young women who were murdered in their homes. What was it?

He went over it all in his mind, trying to recap what he knew and see what he might be missing. All three, Meredith Connelly, Amber Farello and Patty Poindexter, were between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five....

Burke's question came back to him as he studied their pictures: What do you imagine when you look at a nude woman in Playboy? Like Skye, these victims were all exceptionally attractive--and big-breasted. At the prison, Burke had mentioned that his own wife was "busty," which led David to believe Burke might have a fetish for that part of a woman's body.

David wasn't sure what that told him. Most guys liked a woman's breasts. But he tucked the information away in case it connected with something else later on, some way of determining how and where Burke had chosen his victims. Considering what he'd said about the women he saw in magazines, David was beginning to wonder if he'd been attacked those young women in an attempt to obtain what he idolized. Had he been spurned by someone in the past? Someone especially pretty who thought she was too good for him?

It was worth checking out. Making a quick note, David moved on.

Amber and Patty were single and lived with their parents. Meredith had been sharing a rental home with a boyfriend. Amber's mom and dad were in their bedroom during the attack but heard nothing, which made the situation particularly heart-wrenching for them.

Although Patty and Meredith had died in the evening around 8:00

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p.m., Amber had been killed between 2:00 and 4:00 a.m. A bicycle enthusiast. Oliver had ridden to work every day and sometimes didn't come home until well after dark, when he used a headlight to make his way back up the bike trail from downtown, where he'd worked, to Granite Bay, where he'd lived. That created the opportunity for the evening attacks.

What about the attacks on Amber and Skye? At first David hadn't been able to figure out how Oliver had managed to leave home in the middle of the night without waking Jane.

Fortunately, he'd solved that riddle by researching Jane's medical history, which revealed that shortly after she'd had Kate she'd suffered from postpartum depression and insomnia and had relied heavily on sedatives in order to sleep.

David still wondered where Oliver had put his bloody clothes after each murder, and how he'd cleaned up before returning home. Of course, two years had passed by the time Burke became a suspect and they'd inspected his house. They hadn't found any trace of Amber's blood in the drains or on any of Oliver's shoes or clothes. His vehicles were clean, too.

Rubbing his lip, David decided to reinterview Oliver's friends and neighbors. When the story broke, Burke had pretended to be such a martyr--

telling any reporter who'd listen that Skye had attacked him while she was on drugs. As a result, almost everyone who knew him had rallied to his defense. David had received letters that said, "How can you let the lies of one woman break up a loving family?" The mayor's daughter, one of Burke's patients at the time, had even testified as a character witness.

David wished Burke had come up with the "Skye on drugs" scenario when they could've tested to disprove it. But he'd wisely kept his mouth shut, offering nothing as he conferred privately with his lawyers. It was weeks before he claimed he'd gone to Skye's place for consensual sex, at which point she 'd attacked him. No one could prove anything one way or the other. There was no evidence to suggest Skye had ever taken drugs. But earlier that night she'd gone out with some new friends from work to a party where Ecstasy had been available. According to Skye, she'd left early because of it and gone home alone, but since her roommate was in Tahoe that weekend, it came down to her word against Burke's. Finding Oliver's DNA in Skye's bedroom merely established that he'd been there, not that he'd been there uninvited, especially because they couldn't figure out how he'd gotten in. Unlike the murders along the river, there was no cut screen.

The police found the front door unlocked when they arrived, but Skye claimed she'd locked it when she went to bed. David guessed Burke had seen her use a hide-a-key sometime before that and helped himself. He must've 54

put it right back, though. When they checked, the key was where she always put it.

Fortunately, Skye was a strong witness and they got the conviction, but it wasn't as easy as it should've been.

Skye... Frustrated that he couldn't think of her with the same emotional detachment he could put between himself and the other people he met through his work, he used his son's words as a talisman--You're still moving home, right?--and tried again to concentrate.

All three girls lived in single-family homes located in the Campus Commons area along the American River. One worked at the Pavilions, an upscale shopping center in an affluent area. The other two attended Sacramento State University, which was basically a commuter school.

The crime-scene photos drew his eye. So many of Burke's patients had been concerned about his family. But look what he'd done to these other families.

Knowing that Skye might've been in a similar photo if she hadn't managed to stab him, David cursed. The thought of Burke touching Skye, even looking at her, turned his stomach.

He took a sip of the now-cold coffee he'd bought on his way home this morning and held the photographs closer, studying them for new clues.

There had to be something here, he told himself again, something he hadn't previously spotted or surmised. But he'd already done everything he could with the facts he had. So he started making a list of what he knew so far:

--Considers himself normal but is sexually sadistic. The extra stab wounds and excessive bruising told him that.

--Raped and sodomized victims, but no evidence of necrophilia.

--Wore gloves. There was no fingerprint evidence at any of the murder scenes, even on the windows.

--Wore a hood. Skye had confirmed this.

--Most likely shaved his genital area. There hadn't been any pubic hair at the murder scenes.

--No footprints in the bushes near point of entry. Had he covered his feet with those cotton booties doctors wore over their shoes? Possibly, David wrote. But there'd been that one print near the front walkway of Patty Poindexter's house, so maybe he didn't use them all the time.

--Must have used a condom, which he took away from the scene. The girls' bodies yielded no semen samples, although it was clear they'd been forcefully penetrated.

--Was comfortable using a knife. Possibly from having experience with a scalpel?

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--Probably wasn't over six feet tall. Because the perpetrator had come through a bedroom window at least twice, he couldn't be very big. The bigger the guy, the harder it'd be to use that mode of entry.

--Stalked his victims, was familiar with their routines. This killer knew when the girls were alone in their bedrooms, even though they all lived with others. Was that part of the fun for him? Probably, or he would've chosen easier targets. Likes the chase, David added.

--Brazen. He dared to intrude, even when one girl's parents were home, so it followed that he liked flirting with the threat of capture. David guessed it gave him as big a rush as showing women that they weren't safe in their own homes, that he held the power.

--Disciplined. Or he would've left some evidence behind.

--Probably watches a lot of crime shows on TV in an effort to figure out how to avoid detection. Many violent criminals were fascinated with police, and Burke was no different. When David searched his home, he found no souvenirs taken from the victims, no bloody clothing, no knife, which was the hard evidence he'd been hoping to recover. But he did find bookcases full of true-crime books, many of them detailed accounts of slayings by serial killers.

Sitting back, David reread what he'd written. Every item fit the man who was already in prison. Equally compelling was the fact that there'd been no similar attacks since he'd been put behind bars. A dentist would be more comfortable cutting a person than someone who'd never sliced human flesh, he reasoned. A dentist would know how to make the most efficient incision and wouldn't be afraid of blood. Burke definitely considered himself

"normal." He was smart, short and had a slight build.

But even David had to admit these points could apply to a lot of men.

It was his own gut feeling that convinced him more than anything else, that and the strange look Oliver Burke had given him during the initial interrogation--as if he was tempted to confess...

A gut feeling and an expression were tough to sell to a prosecutor. Or a jury, for that matter. He needed more.

With a sigh, he closed the files. There was nothing else here. He'd been through all of this before. He had to come up with some fresh information or these cases would never be solved.

And, in order to do that, he had to appeal to the people who knew Burke best.

When I get out, I'm going to slit your throat....

Skye sat at her desk, staring into space. She hadn't been able to work all morning. Whether that call had come from Oliver Burke or not, she still 56

believed he'd want revenge against her for testifying in court. He'd come after her....

"Hello, this is Peter Vaughn, a volunteer with The Last Stand. We're a nonprofit organization dedicated to supporting the victims of violent crime...."