All the Pretty Faces (20 page)

Dane mentally studied the facts he had so far, trying to make one of his suspects fit Betsy’s case as well.

“Why do you think the killer contacted Michaels when he’s been contacting me?” Josie asked.

“Maybe he’s disappointed that you haven’t revealed his MO. He wants his five minutes of fame?”

Josie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I guess that makes sense. It just seems odd that he wouldn’t escalate in his contact with me. Do something to make me put him in the limelight.”

Dane nodded, although he wasn’t convinced either. Was the text legitimate?

It had to be. It also had to have been sent from the killer. Or someone who knew the killer’s identity.

Only a select few people—those working on the case—had access to the details.

The ME. Sheriff Kimball. The crime team workers. Josie. Him.

Unless someone close to the killer figured out the truth, or the killer confided in them.

Josie lapsed into silence, then jotted notes on the suspects and victims, probably already planning her next book.

Still stewing, he phoned the sheriff and asked if he’d leaked the information. “Of course not,” Sheriff Kimball said defensively. “I
am
a professional.”

“Did you have any luck with that prisoner list?” Dane asked.

“Nothing concrete. The one prisoner who butchered his victims died in a fire. I checked prison escapees and mental patients. Zilch there as well.”

So he was covering all the bases. “Talk to the CSI lead and have him verify that none of his workers were the leak,” Dane said. “I’ll talk to the ME.”

Sheriff Kimball agreed, and Dane phoned Dr. Wheeland and explained about the reporter.

“He didn’t get any information from me or my office,” the ME insisted. “My people understand the importance of confidentiality.”

Dane thanked him, then punched Peyton’s number. He couldn’t discount the connection between Easton and Betsy—Easton had attended UT. He would have been a little older than Betsy, but it was possible they’d met at the party.

“Dane, I haven’t traced that text yet,” Peyton said. “Our best IT guy is working on it.”

“Thanks. Can you find out exactly where Gil Baines, Porter McCray, and Dr. Silas Grimley were ten years ago in May? May nineteenth, to be exact.”

“That might take some time.”

“I know, but it’s important. Find out if any of them, including Easton, had an affiliation, even if it was just a friend, who attended the fraternity that threw the party where my sister died.”

“Dane, what’s going on?” Peyton asked.

“This is personal,” he said, hating to share. But at this point he’d do anything to solve the case. Even ask for help. “I think this case might be connected to my sister’s murder.”

“All right,” Peyton said. “I’ll look into it.”

Relieved she didn’t push for more, he thanked her. “Anything on the second vic’s computer?”

“Patty Waxton was more active on social media than Charity Snow. She was a patient of Dr. Grimley’s.”

“You accessed her medical file?”

“No, I’m still working on that. Dr. Grimley was proud of his work, and a select group of patients signed waivers allowing him to display their before-and-after photographs on his website.”

“Blatant advertising—I thought that was unethical,” Dane commented.

“Could be. Grimley’s staff sings his praises and said the testimonials from patients make others feel more comfortable about going under the knife. His head nurse claims he is dedicated to his patients. His motto on his site is
I can make you look like anyone you want to be.
”

Dane chewed the inside of his cheek. “Patty agreed to be photographed and used in his promotions?”

“Yes.”

“How about Charity Snow?”

“She wasn’t on the site,” Peyton answered, “but the nurse’s assistant remembered her and said the doctor took special care with Charity, that she was shy, and that the implants changed her life.”

Yeah, but had they gotten her killed?

“There was one problem with another patient,” Peyton continued. “It happened a few months ago.”

“What kind of problem?”

“A female patient had a reaction to the medication during surgery and almost died. She sued him after that and ran a smear campaign to destroy his reputation. Grimley’s temporarily taken a leave of absence and went to that convention to connect with other surgeons to repair his reputation.”

“Where is this woman?”

“California. Apparently Dr. Grimley was upset about the operation. He offered to repair the woman’s face, but she didn’t want him to touch her again. It appears that he settled out of court, and she was well compensated.”

Interesting story. It didn’t make him a killer. Although an incident like that could be a possible trigger.

But there was one problem with the theory. Why would Grimley, a doctor supposedly devoted to his patients, kill two of them now when the publicity surrounding the movie and the referrals from Easton could put his career back on track?

Silas stared at the news reporter, his heart pounding. Two women had been murdered in Graveyard Falls.

Two women who had once been his clients.

A knot of apprehension squeezed his belly.

The last year had been hell.

That one woman’s face taunted him. The surgery, her reaction . . . he’d almost lost her.

Then she’d rejected the skin grafts, and he couldn’t fix her.

Save her.

Make her into the woman she wanted to be.

Instinctively he rubbed his fingers over his face. Dammit, he understood the pain of being scarred. Of wanting to be something you weren’t.

Of having people look at you like you were evil just because you looked different.

Easton was supposed to be in Graveyard Falls. He was also supposed to be recruiting more patients for him. He’d lost so many because of that botched surgery. That one was fucking complicated and a mess all the way around.

The TV camera flashed pictures of the two girls who’d died, and he flinched.

Seconds later, the image of another girl surfaced in his mind. Years ago.

Young, sweet, kind. She’d befriended him when he was ugly. When others shunned him and treated him like a monster.

He’d loved her, wanted her for himself, wanted to be with her forever.

Emotions clogged his throat as her cries sounded in his head.

She’d left him anyway, and he’d been all alone since.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Josie admired the ornate trim work, marble floors, and chandeliers as they entered the convention hotel.

A cluster of men in suits had gathered for coffee at a seating area to the right. Another man passed her and gave her a once-over, making her self-conscious. “It’s weird, going into a convention full of cosmetic surgeons.”

“What do you mean?”

“I feel like they’re scrutinizing me for flaws, contemplating how they would fix my face.”

Dane paused beside her, his gaze sweeping the clusters of people in the lobby. “There’s nothing wrong with your face.”

Josie gave a little laugh. “Well, I don’t have scars, but I’m not model pretty either. My nose is a little crooked—”

“Stop it, Josie,” Dane said gruffly. “You’re beautiful just the way you are.”

Warmth spread through Josie, a tingling starting inside her that made her want to forget this case and ask Dane to get them a room.

Oblivious to her thoughts, Dane moved forward.

Thankfully she’d held her tongue. She normally didn’t lust after a man, but the past few months she’d felt vulnerable. Seeing her mother with the love of her life made her think about her own future. About how since her abduction, she’d lived her life alone, not inviting men into her life.

Dane phoned Dr. Grimley and left a message. “Dr. Grimley, this is Special Agent Dane Hamrick. I’m at the convention hotel and need to speak to you. Please call me back at this number ASAP.”

Ignoring the curious looks of another suit who seemed to be staring at her nose—probably thinking he could make it smaller—she followed Dane to the registration desk.

He flashed his badge and identified himself. “I need the room number for a Dr. Silas Grimley.”

A thin twentysomething guy with big dark glasses frowned. “Sir, we can’t divulge that information, but I can ring his room for you.”

Bunch of fucking red tape. “Forget your rules. This is police business. I’m investigating a double homicide. Give me the damn number.”

The young man fidgeted with his collar, then clicked some keys. A minute later, he scribbled the number on a sticky note and shoved it toward Dane.

Josie kept glancing around, trying to fit the man with the scars to the men she saw walking through the lobby.

Dane gestured toward the hallway leading to the bank of elevators. They rode the elevator to the tenth floor and found the room. Dane knocked and called the man’s name. No one answered. “Dammit, the doctor could be anywhere in this hotel.”

Sensing his frustration, Josie jumped in to help. “Let’s have him paged.”

They rode the elevator back down and found the same young man working the desk. This time Josie asked him to make the announcement.

“This might be a bust.” Dane scanned the lobby. “Grimley might be in Graveyard Falls. This conference could be a front for an alibi.”

“Let’s hope not,” Josie said, although Grimley could be holding another woman hostage right now.

Five minutes later, a tall man with short, neatly clipped dark hair wearing a black suit approached the desk. He was handsome, tall, and broad shouldered, with wide cheekbones and crystal gray eyes.

But he looked harried. His tie was askew, his gaze darting around the room as if searching for someone.

Or hiding?

The desk attendant motioned to Josie that it was Grimley, so she and Dane headed toward him.

Dane flashed his badge and introduced them. Grimley wasn’t what Josie expected. This man appeared to be polished, and he was well dressed, his face flawless.

“Hamrick?” Dr. Grimley’s voice cracked. “That’s your last name?”

“Yes.” Dane narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

Grimley tugged at his tie. “No reason.”

Josie studied Grimley. Dane’s last name disturbed the man. Maybe he’d known another Hamrick?

Grimley quickly turned to Josie. “You’re that DuKane woman who wrote the book about the Bride Killer, aren’t you?”

Josie tensed. If he was the killer, he probably knew everything about her. Or he could have seen one of her interviews.

Had he sent her the picture of the dead girl and left her that Mitzi doll?

Dane steered the plastic surgeon toward the elevators. “Let’s go someplace more private and talk. Your room would work fine.”

Maybe he’d find something incriminating.

“What is this about?” Dr. Grimley asked as they waited for the elevator. “That insane patient who’s trying to ruin my career?”

“No,” Dane said bluntly. “It’s about the murders in Graveyard Falls.”

The doctor’s face paled slightly. “I heard about that on the news.” He clenched his briefcase as they entered the elevator and it zoomed upward. “I’m not sure what I can do to help.”

The elevator doors opened, and the three of them stepped out. Grimley fidgeted with his shirt collar as he walked down the hallway and opened the door.

As they entered, Dane quickly conducted a visual sweep, searching for a Mitzi doll, photos of the victims, a broken mirror—anything implicating the doctor—but the room looked neat and orderly. Bed made, Grimley’s suitcase open on the luggage stand, expensive suits hanging in the closet, bottled water on the nightstand.

The bathroom was neat as well—a toiletry bag held essentials, but nothing suspicious.

Of course, a smart killer wouldn’t leave evidence lying around. He might have his tools or trophies stashed in his car.

Frustration knotted his insides. He needed a warrant to search Grimley’s vehicle, but he didn’t have evidence to justify one.

The doctor dropped his briefcase on the desk. “I still don’t understand why you’re here.”

“You performed cosmetic work on the victims,” Dane said.

“I have performed surgery on a lot of men and women. What does that have to do with these women’s deaths?”

“That’s what we’re trying to determine. How long have you been in Knoxville?”

Dr. Grimley tugged at his tie. “Four days. I’ve been in and out of meetings at the convention all week.”

“The photographer Eddie Easton gives you referrals, doesn’t he?” Dane asked.

The man’s eye twitched. “Yes.”

Josie started to thumb through a stack of papers on the desk, but the doctor snatched them away from her and stuffed them in a drawer.

“Are you hiding something?” Dane asked.

Grimley’s eyes flashed with anger. “Those are confidential patient files,” he said tightly.

“May I use your bathroom?” Josie asked.

The doctor raised a brow as if to say no, but agreed, and Josie slipped inside the bathroom.

“All right, let’s get this over with, Agent Hamrick,” Grimley said.

Dane nodded. Hopefully Josie would find some clue about this man in the bathroom.

Judging from his attitude, Grimley was in a hurry to get rid of them. He’d bet his next paycheck that the moment they left, the doctor would be on the phone to Easton to warn him he was a suspect.

Time to get down to business. Treat him like a suspect. Play on his shaken mind-set. “Have you driven to Graveyard Falls to meet up with Easton for a consultation with any of the models and actors?”

Dr. Grimley glanced down at his hands. They were shaking slightly.

“No.” His voice cracked again.

Odd that he reacted to that simple question. If he was innocent, why was he so nervous? “Can anyone corroborate your whereabouts the night Charity Snow was murdered?”

A slight moment of panic lit the doctor’s eyes. “I don’t know. I was here, but I stayed in my room to do some research.”

“What about last night?” Dane pressed.

Alarm flashed across Grimley’s face as if he realized the timing was important. “I attended a session on burns. Later, I had a few drinks and retired early.”

“You had drinks with someone?”

He shook his head. “No, alone.” His voice rose in pitch. “You can’t possibly think I had anything to do with those deaths? I’m a renowned doctor, for God’s sake. I help people, not hurt them.”

Josie stepped from the bathroom. She shook her head slightly as if to indicate she hadn’t found anything.

She cleared her throat. “Dr. Grimley, do you know what a Mitzi doll is?”

Grimley pivoted toward Josie, his eye twitching again. “A what?”

“A Mitzi doll,” Josie said. “They’re popular with girls of all ages. Fashion Mitzi, Ferrari Mitzi, Bridal Mitzi.”

“Oh, right.” He shrugged, dismissing Josie. “I’ve seen the TV ads. What do they have to do with me or these murders?”

“That’s what I want to know,” Dane said bluntly.

Grimley looked annoyed. “I have no idea what you’re getting at, Agent Hamrick.”

“Your father was a falconer. You worked with him as a kid.”

“Yes.” The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose as if fighting a headache. Or panic.

Time to put the pressure on. “You were attacked by the birds when you were young, and you were scarred.”

Grimley stumbled back slightly, his eyes darting from side to side. “That was a long time ago. I don’t like to talk about it.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” Dane said. “You were locked in the cage with the birds. They tore at your skin and hands—”

“Yes.” Grimley rubbed his cheek. Was he feeling for the scars? “That attack is the reason I specialize in cosmetic surgery.”

Dane crossed his arms and moved closer, using an intimidating stance. “Both victims we found had talon marks carved into their faces.”

The color drained from Grimley’s face. “Good God.”

“We think the carvings were made by a scalpel.”

Grimley broke out in a full-fledged sweat. “Jesus, that’s horrible.”

“You use scalpels,” Dane said, the accusation clear.

Grimley backed away, hands raised in defense. “I didn’t do it. I fix women’s faces, make them prettier, repair their scars. Hell, I like transforming them into creatures to be admired. I would never disfigure someone.”

“Our IT department dug up a photo of you when you were young. The claw marks on the women’s faces are almost identical to the ones on your cheek before your reconstruction.”

Grimley dropped his head into his hands. Dane thought he was going to be sick. “I didn’t kill those women.”

“If you confess,” Dane said, “you might be able to plead insanity.”

Rage flickered in Grimley’s eyes as he gestured toward the door. “If you want to question me again, go through my attorney. Now get out.”

“Don’t leave town,” Dane said as he stepped into the hallway.

Grimley glared at them, then shut the door in their faces.

Panic seized Silas as the agent and Josie DuKane left. They were asking questions he didn’t want to answer.

Talking about murder and stabbings and young women and the birds of prey.

He wiped the perspiration beading on his neck and paced back and forth, debating what to do. He’d thought he’d covered his tracks, but what if he’d messed up?

What if that agent figured out the truth?

After that doctor had volunteered to fix his face years ago, he’d tried to repent for his sins. That physical change had transformed him into a new person.

He thrived on doing the same for others.

Last year he’d volunteered with Doctors Without Borders and donated his time to help children with birth defects and deformities. Cosmetic work wasn’t just for the vain. It impacted a person’s future, changed his or her self-concept, opened doors to a life the individual never thought he or she could have.

Only sometimes the scars lingered on the inside. Sometimes the mind refused to let them go. Then those scars became such an intrinsic part of your psyche that they shaped your thoughts and actions.

And your nightmares.

The psychiatrist called it PTSD.

Guilt was also a part of it. Only he didn’t talk about that. No one knew his darkest secret.

My mistake.

I can’t tell. Not ever. No one will understand.

Frantic, he snatched his keys and phone and hurried to his Mercedes. He punched Easton’s number as he barreled down the road.

Easton’s phone rolled to voice mail after the third ring. “It’s Grimley. That agent Hamrick and Josie DuKane just came to see me. He was asking all kinds of questions about the two murders in Graveyard Falls. We have to talk ASAP. I’m on my way.”