All the Pretty Faces (16 page)

McCray smirked. “The elk head and bear skin rug came with the cabin. I brought the others. Thought having some of Linder’s taxidermy work would be inspiring.”

Josie shuddered beside him. Dane wanted to pull her in his arms, but he had to keep it professional. Feeding McCray any personal connection between Josie and him might work against them at some point.

“Josie, you look tired,” McCray said in a quiet tone, as if the two of them were intimate.

Josie offered him a bland look. “I’m tired of violence, of men hurting women.”

“Where were you tonight?” Dane asked.

McCray turned his attention toward Dane. “I stayed at the community center until six when everyone finished up, mingling with the other actors. Have to get to know one’s competition.”

Dane needed exact time of death, but he didn’t have it yet. “Then what?”

McCray folded his arms across his chest. “I drove up to Graveyard Falls and went for a hike to get a feel for the falls and the woods where Linder lived.”

“Did you go to Linder’s old house?” Dane asked. That place had been roped off as a crime scene. As far as he knew, it had sat empty since mother and son had been incarcerated.

“Not yet.” He smiled at Josie, irritating Dane more. “I was hoping Josie might show me the house.”

That was not going to happen.

Dane gestured toward McCray’s shirt. He wished to hell the asshole did have blood on it so he could drag him to jail. Even if he hadn’t killed the women, Dane didn’t like the way he looked at Josie. “Is that what you’ve been wearing all day?”

“Yes.” McCray’s jaw twitched. “Why? What’s going on?”

“Another woman was murdered tonight.” Dane didn’t bother to ask permission or wait for McCray to stop him. He pushed past him and walked into the kitchen.

He opened the kitchen cabinets and drawers searching for a sharp sculpting tool, knife, or scalpel that McCray could have used as a weapon, but he found nothing but standard kitchen knives that were stocked in all the units.

McCray mumbled a protest as he followed on his heels. “Wait just a damn minute. Don’t you need a warrant?”

“Not if I have probable cause.”

McCray fidgeted. “What cause is that?”

Dane fought a grin. McCray’s slip out of character meant Dane was getting to him. “I don’t have to explain anything to you.”

Dane pushed past him and searched the lower cabinets, the small desk in the corner, then the garbage.

“You think that if I’d killed someone, I’d keep the weapon? That would be stupid, wouldn’t it?” McCray asked sardonically.

“Not all criminals are smart.” Dane flipped on the hall light. One bedroom held a bed, but the other looked as if it was being used as an office.

Beside a desk sat several foldable cardboard stands filled with articles about the Bride Killer and Thorn Ripper. Photos of the victims and a large picture of Josie holding her book along with the press release for the movie were tacked on one.

Even more disturbing, another board held photos of all the female actors who’d signed up for auditions in Graveyard Falls.

Charity Snow’s photo was in the middle of the board.

But the table in the corner made him suck in a breath. It held taxidermy tools and a squirrel with its eyes carved out.

Dane cursed. If one of those tools had Charity’s or Patty’s blood on it, he’d be able to nail the bastard.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Josie barely stifled a gasp at the sight of the photos. Porter McCray had immersed himself into Billy Linder’s life, but seeing the gruesome pictures of the Bride Killer victims on the wall seemed wrong, even cruel.

That dead coyote’s piercing eyes sent nausea through her.

Dane gestured at a book on taxidermy beside the tools. “Practicing carving up animals?”

McCray’s eerie smile twisted his face. “It was a unique part of Linder’s character.”

A very disturbing one.

Dane walked over to examine the tools, curious at the blood dotting them. “Is that all you’ve been carving?”

“Yes,” McCray said. “Before you ask, I didn’t kill the squirrel. It was already dead.”

Josie couldn’t tear her eyes from the pictures. “Where did you get those photographs?” she asked. “The press never released them.”

“Neither did the police,” Dane said sharply.

McCray shrugged. “I did some research.”

“You paid someone for them, didn’t you?” Dane asked. “Someone from the police department?”

A vein pulsed in McCray’s neck. “No.”

“Then you had someone hack into police files,” Dane guessed.

“Let’s just say I did my research.” McCray ran a finger over the coyote’s head. “Many actors go to great lengths to learn accents for roles. They change their physical appearance, lose or gain weight, dye their hair, take classes, do special tactical training, learn different languages, even immerse themselves in different cultures.”

Dane pointed to Charity’s photograph. “Why is Charity Snow’s picture in the middle of your board?”

McCray looked at her with interest. “I was scouting out the females who might play opposite me.”

“Did you know Patty Waxton?” Josie asked, her voice cold, accusatory.

“I met her earlier today.” He shrugged. “I met a lot of other people, too, Josie. You know everyone is chatty there at the center.”

Dane wanted the man’s attention off Josie. “Did you take her up to the falls to check out the locations of the murders?”

“No. What good would she have done me?” McCray angled his head toward Josie. “The only person I invited to go there was you, Josie. You could tell me things about Billy that no one else knows. Things that you left out of the book.” His voice grew low, disturbing. “Things that were personal, like how he talked to you, how he touched you.”

Memories bombarded Josie, making her lungs tighten. Billy had looked like a terrified child at the idea of his mother dying.

He was strong, though. His tentative touch had turned to cold steel when she’d thrown that gravy on him. She could still feel his hands around her neck, feel the thick ropes weighing down her arms and legs. Hear his mother’s cackle of laughter as he’d tied her to the bed.

“That’s enough.” Dane’s bark jerked her back to reality.

McCray wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively. “That’s for Josie to decide.”

Josie rolled her hands into fists. “Mr. McCray, you’ve taken this role-playing entirely too far.”

Dane shoved McCray onto the chair. “Sit down and don’t move. If I find one thing in this cabin to implicate you, you’re going to jail.” He pulled on gloves and began to collect the taxidermy tools to send to the lab. “I’m starting with these.”

McCray’s bravado crumbled slightly, but he pasted on a slimy smile. “You know I’m just acting, don’t you, Josie? You don’t think I killed those women?”

Josie didn’t know what she thought. He liked toying with her so much he could have sent those dolls and pictures to get her attention.

In her eyes, any man sick enough to stoop to frightening women was capable of murder.

Dane searched the closet and desk, but found nothing.

He shot a look over his shoulder, daring McCray to move.

After all, he might be the unsub who’d brutally stabbed two women. If Betsy’s death was related, possibly three.

Hope warred with caution. Dane wanted them to be the same killer, wanted to free his mother of the burden of knowing that her daughter’s killer was still out there.

He needed concrete proof to make an arrest, and to appease his own mind. So far, McCray didn’t quite fit with being near UT at the time of Betsy’s death.

Refusing to leave Josie alone with McCray, he took her arm and strode to the second bedroom.

Josie wrapped her arms around her middle. “I can’t stay in the room with that creep any longer.”

“I’m sorry,” Dane said. “I know this is difficult for you.”

Josie offered him a brave smile. “I’m fine. Just do what you have to do.”

Dane wanted to comfort her, but he admired her show of courage, and time was of the essence. He nodded, then searched beneath the bed and mattress, then the closet. If he found something, McCray’s lawyer might argue that it was inadmissible because he didn’t have a warrant, but Dane would argue that he saw the blood on those tools, and that he’d thought another woman might have been abducted—meaning Neesie Netherington—and that he suspected she was being held at the cabin.

Besides, the tools and photographs were in plain sight.

McCray’s unnatural obsession with the serial killer Billy Linder suggested he could be honing his craft, establishing his own MO to gain fame like Linder.

“What exactly are you looking for?” Josie asked.

“Murder weapon. Also any bloody clothing or towels, his or the women’s. A strong-smelling soap. I think he cleaned the victims’ makeup off with it.”

Josie folded her arms and watched as he searched.

Clothing from the man’s suitcase had been dumped into the dresser drawers, and a plastic laundry basket held dirty clothes, although none had bloodstains or smelled of bleach or cleaning chemicals. No women’s clothing either.

If McCray had killed the women, he’d disposed of their clothes somewhere else.

From the bedroom, Josie made a strangled sound, and Dane rushed to her. “What is it?”

She stood in front of the wardrobe, her back to him, and she was trembling. Dane slowly walked toward her, his heart hammering. Clothing and hats, ones that looked like costumes for different characters, overflowed the wardrobe. Pancake makeup along with two different hairpieces, hair dye, eyeglasses, and a fake mustache sat on the vanity, and a cane leaned against the wall.

When Josie turned and looked up at him, fear clouded her eyes.

Damn.

There were pictures of Josie tacked on the inner door. Photographs taken at the crime scene at Linder’s house.

Where he’d kept her hostage.

Neesie Netherington had a message from the author of that book, but it was too late to call her back tonight. She slipped into her room at the inn, half hoping her roommate was awake so she could talk about her evening.

She didn’t bother with a light and tiptoed over to the second double bed, but it was empty.

Granted she was late herself, but where was Patty? She was more of a homebody than Neesie and usually turned in by ten. Patty insisted that lack of sleep caused you to age faster, and she couldn’t afford a facelift if she had wrinkles at thirty.

Too wired to sleep, Neesie flipped on a light and went into the bathroom. The stark light accentuated the makeup that was smeared, and her lips looked swollen, her face chafed from an evening of sex.

The memory of Eddie Easton’s seductive smile warmed her, although truth be told, the photo session in the woods had rattled her nerves.

When he’d first explained his niche photography shoots—taking pictures in a setting simulating one of the scenes from this movie—it had sounded like a good idea.

She hadn’t been prepared for the emotions pretending to be strangled would have on her.

For a few moments, that garter had felt so tight around her neck, she couldn’t breathe. It had felt real, as if Eddie was going to choke the life from her.

She pressed her hand to her throat and examined the slight bruising around her neck. She wouldn’t do that again.

Exhausted and knowing she had her audition in the morning, she stripped, pausing to study the scar on her torso. Damn her ex.

No more bikinis for her. At least not unless she did something about the scar.

If she did love scenes, it would be visible. Makeup would help.

That charming photographer Eddie had noticed and offered her a solution, a discount with a surgeon he knew. If she landed a part here, she could afford it.

She pulled the business card for the plastic surgeon from her pocket and studied it. Dr. Silas Grimley. He worked in LA but was in Knoxville for a plastic surgeons’ convention.

If she got rid of the scar, maybe she could finally purge her ex from her mind.

She donned a gown, washed the makeup from her face, then took the card and laid it on the bedside table.

Tomorrow she’d call Dr. Grimley and set up an appointment.

“You can’t arrest me because I have a few pictures in my cabin,” McCray said haughtily. “That’s not against the law. It’s called research.”

Dane gritted his teeth. Unfortunately, the jerk was right. He needed blood, a weapon, something concrete to tie him to the crime.

“It can be considered stalking,” Dane said. “
That
is against the law.”

“I’m not stalking anyone.” McCray narrowed his eyes at Josie. “Am I, Josie? I haven’t touched you or threatened you. I only asked for consultation on the movie. I’m sure I’m not the only one here who’d like a private session with you.”

“I’m not offering private sessions,” Josie said firmly. “If you come near me again or bother me, I’ll file a restraining order.”

McCray’s eyes turned menacing. “How can you do that when we’ll be in the same building during the next few days?”

Dane snatched him by the collar. “Just be sure to stay away from her, or I’ll find a way to lock you up.” Dane leaned closer, using intimidation tactics he’d learned in training. “So, if you have nothing to hide, what is your real name? I know it’s not McCray.”

McCray averted his gaze, his tough façade fading. “I don’t have to answer that.”

“Either answer it here or down at the sheriff’s station.” Dane raised a brow. “If word spreads that you’re a suspect, what do you think that will do to your chances of landing a part in this film?”

Steam oozed from McCray’s pores. “All right. I’ll tell you, but I’d prefer my name remain confidential.”

Dane didn’t intend to make any kind of deal with this asshole. “What is it?”

He swiped sweat from his forehead. “Lou Hiscock.”

“Hiscock?”

“Yes,” McCray said in a tight voice. “No one in show business would take me seriously if I introduced myself that way. It sounds like a porn star.”

It did, but Dane refrained from commenting. Unfortunately, until the lab examined those tools and determined if the blood was human, he didn’t have enough to make an arrest. If he’d found prints at Josie’s, he could justify bringing McCray in for breaking and entering or for stalking. But he didn’t have prints.

Still, if McCray made one move toward her, he’d haul him in.

He gestured for Josie to lead the way, and they left the cabin and walked back to his SUV.

He texted Peyton McCray’s real name and asked her to run a search on him. Hopefully something concrete would turn up to link him to these murders. So far, all he had was a strong dislike for the guy and a few tools he’d used practicing taxidermy. The man even had a reasonable explanation for that.