A Novel Murder (8 page)

The heat inside the closed vehicle grew stifling. Michelle grabbed her purse and hurried inside, not sure how to react. Her heels clicked against the pavement in rhythm with her panicked heart. Once again, a power she didn’t want had revealed an event that left her pulse racing and her life in a shambled mess. What better way to set yourself up as a suspect than to report something no one else but the actual perp knew about?
God, right now she hated her life. Eventually, someone would make the grisly find and phone it in. She’d just have to wait.

Pausing at the end of the corridor leading to the squad room, she took in a large breath and released it with a relieving slowness. She smoothed her slacks and hair, trying to compose before she faced her partner and others. Her hesitating steps echoed in the empty hallway until she transferred onto the carpeted floor in her unit’s workroom. Although just a chintzy inside/outside covering, it stilled the noise of the constant heavy footfall of the twenty plus people who occupied the space.

Tony noticed her right away. “Hey, you’re back.”

“Yeah, Persia wasn’t working yet.”
Michelle nibbled her bottom lip, picturing the face from her vision. Although she’d met a ton a people the same day she’d talked with Persia, the face Michelle had seen was a dead ringer for the stripper…hair, mouth, everything but those crystal blue eyes that stood out in Michelle’s memory.

“Dead ringer,” she muttered, appalled by her mental comparison.

“What?” Tony’s brow arched.

“Oh, nothing. I was just thinking out loud.”
She pulled out her chair and sat, stuffing her purse away. “Did you find out anything about the missing friend?” She struggled with the image still racing through her mind and hoped her partner had something to share that would wipe out the memory.

He slammed the thick telephone book closed and leaned back in his chair so far that he looked as though he might tip over. Raising his arms, he crossed his hands behind his heads and sighed. “Do you realize how many people with the same name are in the directory…on Facebook…on Google?
I swear if you put anything in Google’s search engine, you’ll find dozens, no matter what.” His exasperation furrowed his forehead.

“I take that as a no?”

“It’s not like I haven’t tried.” He picked up a tablet and displayed a list of scribbled numbers, more than half of them crossed through. “I’ve been making phone calls to try to find the
one
who knew our victim. So far, no luck.”

Michelle rested her chin in her palms, the urge to share her vision festering inside her. She stared into space and recalled facts from the first murder she’d witnessed months before. Luckily, another pair of detectives had solved that case, enabling her to distance herself from the situation. She hadn’t known the victim, and when it was assigned to another duo, she’d become lost in her own workload. There probably wasn’t a correlation between the first and the latest two murders, but still she wondered.

“Earth to Meesh.” Hearing Tony’s annoying nickname for her pulled her from her thoughts.

“You know I hate when you call me that?”

“I know…but it always gets your attention, doesn’t it.” He grinned, that same grin she loved…the one that made his eyes sparkle like a ten-year-old who just stole the last cookie without being caught.

“Where was your mind?” He cocked his head. “You looked so serious.”

“I was thinking about the shooting case Monroe and Masters solved not long ago. But the husband was convicted and is serving time. No way he could be involved in our murders. I just didn’t want to miss anything obvious.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to check anyhow. Who knows…maybe the husband knew someone at Kitty Katz. There could be something we’re overlooking. I’ll go see if I can snag a copy of their file.”

While Tony meandered across the room, Michelle pondered the arrangement she’d made for the evening. Meeting Louis tonight for a drink scared the Hell out of her. Although he seemed friendly and helpful enough, she felt quite sure the murderer had displayed the same traits to his victims in order to gain access to their homes. She recalled that in Cara’s case there hadn't been any visible trace of forced entry, and she’d bet anything, the same would soon be discovered at the scene of the third. God, she hating dwelling on cases that hadn’t even been reported yet.

Tony returned with a folder in his hand. “Monroe’s a nice guy. He had no problem sharing copies of their notes with us. You wanna go through them together?”

“No, you go ahead. I think I’m going to head home. I want to talk to Persia and she doesn’t start work until later tonight.” Michelle retrieved her purse and stood, slinging the strap over the shoulder. “If I don’t take a break, I’ll be on overtime, and the Captain will have a shit fit.”

His eyes wide, Tony walked around his desk and blocked her path to the door. “Tell me you aren’t planning to go back to that dive in the dark.”

“What’s the difference? I’ve been there a couple of times already.” She tried to sidestep him but he moved with her.

“There’s a big difference. Did it ever occur to you that the doer might have a day job and only go to the joint after five?
There’s an entirely new crowd that frequents places like that at night, and you aren’t going alone.”

While he continued to rant, Michelle’s mind wandered. Unless the perp was on his lunch break when he murdered victim number two, then she could discount his being a night killer as a concern. If she hadn’t been through this protective scene before, she’d be really touched by Tony’s sentiment.

Realizing silence gaped between her and her partner, she hoped he didn’t ask her to repeat what he’d just said. She squared her shoulders.

“Look, Tony. I’m a big girl. Before you came along, I had to explain the same to my previous partner. It’s a man thing. You want to protect the women in your lives. Well, get over it. I have a gun, I’m just as trained as you, and I’ll be fine. I’m going to Kitty Katz tonight, and I don’t need you to hold my hand.”

His mouth gaped, and he moved aside. “Well, I guess you told me. I just thought—”

“I know what you thought, and I appreciate it, honestly, but you have work to do here, so get busy and uncover something we can use to solve this case.”

On her walk to the car, she wished she wasn’t so darned independent. Having Tony hold her hand might not be as bad as she made it sound. She shook the thought from her head. Between fantasies about Tony and her unwanted visions, she was definitely bound for the nuthouse. Hmmm, she thought. Maybe from there, M.D. Lynch could write one heck of an autobiography. Her chuckle echoed in the hallway.

* * *

In her apartment, Michelle considered calling her mother, but thought better of it. She’d just dredge up old pains about Dad’s passing. Seemed it was all she had to talk about since he died.

Shell had to occupy her mind or she’d go mad. Scenes from her vision kept replaying. She had to tell someone, and who better than Naomi. She picked up the phone and dialed.

“Hey, Nay, you’re home already.” Michelle’s bestie worked at the library and had casual hours.

“Yeah, business was slow today, so I took off early. I swear all the Nooks and Kindles have turned the library into a graveyard. Amazon and Barnes and Noble are running the world.” She laughed.

“It’s a shame. Lots of bookstores have closed…and more threatening to, although I admit to being one who enjoys the new electronic age.“

“So, what’s up?“

“I was going to leave a message and ask if you want to come over.”

“Sure, you sound stressed. Is everything okay?”

“Not really. I’ll tell you about it when you get here?”

“Should I bring wine?”

“Lots…and I’ll pay this time.”

“See you in a few.”

Michelle changed into her sweats and pulled out her laptop, opening her latest manuscript. With her knees bent and heels tucked against the sofa bottom, she pondered her future. Sales from her first novel climbed slowly, and with the promo gal she’d hired, more and more people were discovering her work, at least electronically. She had yet to name her current story, but with her first, the title hadn’t materialized until she finished the last paragraph. As a fiction writer, she concluded that novel with the happiness reader’s craved…the murderer captured, imprisoned, and paying his debt to society with a life sentence. Although she wrote fiction, the ending had turned out to be true, but sadly now, a new perp roamed free, and quite possibly was a serial killer.

She eyed the phone on the end table, struggling with the urge to call Tony and ask if he’d found a connection to their case, but she tamped down her eagerness. This was ‘me’ time and a two-month publishing deadline hung over her head. Of course, her editor kept hounding her for a title, but as someone who didn’t plot her stories and wrote as ideas came to her, she continued to stall the woman with promises of calling with a title soon. “Pantser” was the term applied to Michelle’s writing style. You either plotted or wrote by the seat of your pants, and she often wished she could plan out her story ahead of time. She’d tried and couldn’t. Still, her style gave her the benefit of enjoying being witness to a story that unfolded before her very eyes—sometimes literally.

Unfortunately at the moment, the voices in her head weren’t talking, at least those who told her what to write. She’d run into the proverbial brick wall, not knowing whom to identify as the killer…or even having a motive. She hoped she’d tossed in enough ‘red herrings’ to lead the reader astray, but Michelle had no precise direction at all.

She hit the ‘save’ button and put her computer on the coffee table. If she’d learned one thing aside from backing up her work on a flash drive, she’d discovered when the words didn’t come, there was no use staring at the screen.

Lost in thought about the undiscovered murder, Michelle’s attention was tugged to the knock at the door. She found Nay on the other side. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here.”

“Is it me or the wine, you’re talking to?” Naomi laughed.

“You. She snagged her friend’s arm and tugged her inside. “If I don’t talk to someone, I’m gonna explode. I almost called Mom, but she never listens to me. She’s always too busy rehashing Daddy’s death, and I just couldn’t deal with that today.”

Nay carried the paper sack to the counter and turned, her brows knitted. “What’s go you so riled?”

“Another vision.”

“Really? Nay pulled a chair from under the table and sank into it. “Do tell.”

Michelle leaned against the counter.
“I’d just arrived back at the station from a failed attempt to see someone I think might be able to shed some light on the latest case, when there it was…just like an HD movie screen floating in the air. I saw another woman murdered…strangled just like the other one.”

“You seem even more spooked by this one. I hear it in your voice.”

“I sensed I knew this one! Honestly, if not for her eye color, I swear she was the stripper I met at Kitty Katz. She wasn’t at work when I went back, but I’m supposed to return around nine, when she’s on shift.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re going to a strip joint by yourself at night.”

“Not you, too. I already had this discussion with Tony, and I’ll tell you exactly what I told him. I’m a big girl and I’ve got it handled.”

“Well, you’ll excuse me if I point out the obvious?”

“What’s that?”

“You don’t seem to have a very good handle on anything at the moment. An unsolved murder, visions you can’t explain, and now a third killing you’ll have to pretend you know nothing about. Not to mention you’re freaked out about the victim being someone you’ve met.”

“Oh, is that all. I thought you were going to mention my lacking love life or the fact that I’m a frustrated author forced to work a depressing job that keeps me having these stupid visions.”

Michelle crossed to the gadget drawer and found the corkscrew. “Honestly, Naomi, you’ve got it right. I don’t know which end is up at the moment. I hate my job more every day.”

“Really?” Naomi gazed dreamily into space. “I always thought it would be exciting to be a policeman…ah…person. You have no idea what boring is like until you’ve worked in the stone silence of a library for years.”

“Wine?”
Michelle started to pour.

“Well, why shouldn’t I whine?
My life is just as bad, if not worse than yours.”

“No, silly, I meant would you like some.”
She chuckled.

“Oh…sure. “
She realized her blunder. “But, really, Shell, I don’t have anyone in my life either. I rarely see Paul these days. At least you have Tony to drool over, and you work with lots of other handsome men. All I see all day are nerds who come to read because they can’t find a girlfriend…or girls in the same situation as the guys. Honestly, I need that wine. Keep the bottle handy.”

Michelle carried two glasses over and placed them on the coffee table. Naomi changed from the chair to the sofa, and Michelle joined her at the opposite end. “Men aren’t all they’re cracked up to be…actually, you hardly ever hear of a woman committing more than one murder, and usually they offed a man, and probably for good reason. Ted Bundy, John Wayne Gassey, Jack the Ripper…all testosterone-toting beings who felt the need to kill continuously, and why?
Because their moms didn‘t breastfeed them long enough? Someone bullied them? I’d much rather be writing a book about a woman perp…at least I could maybe figure out and understand some possible motives, even predict the killer’s next movement, but I’m stumped on this case.