All the Pretty Faces (23 page)

A box of props sat inside.

Josie peered over his shoulder. Her sharp gasp followed his curse.

A Mitzi doll was tucked in the box, its face carved with the talon marks of a falcon, blood dotting the cheeks.

Neesie Netherington didn’t want to die. She clawed for something to hold on to, for a way to escape, but her bound hands met dirt and gravel. Panic shot through her. She was tied up, outside somewhere.

Too far away for anyone to hear her scream.

“Please don’t kill me,” Neesie whispered.

“I’m sorry, I have to. You saw too much.”

Tears blurred Neesie’s eyes, and she struggled to free herself, but the ropes were too tight, and her limbs felt weak. Heavy.

Oh God. She’d been drugged.

She tried to turn her head to see where she was, but she couldn’t move, and it was so dark she couldn’t make out anything. The metallic scent of blood filled her nostrils. Maybe a dead animal?

Or was it a human?

Bile rose to her throat. Was this what had happened to Charity and Patty?

Time stood still, her life flashing in front of her. Her acting career. Her ex. Her hopes and dreams.

Strong hands slid beneath her arms and dragged her across the ground. Dirt and gravel ripped at her skin. She tasted dust.

She blinked, desperate to figure out where she was.

First she’d been knocked unconscious. Sometime later she’d woken up in the trunk of a moving car. Engines had roared as vehicles passed. Wind howled. The road had been curvy, then bumpy as if they’d veered onto a dirt road.

Rough hands clenched her arms harder and jerked her back to the moment.

Neesie struggled again to make out her abductor’s face, but he slammed her against a tree, and her head swirled with a sickening rush.

Fear choked her.

“Just let me go,” she cried. “I promise I won’t say anything.”

A shrill laugh rent the air, and then the sharp sting of a knife pierced her skin. She opened her mouth and screamed as the point dug deeper into her cheek. Pain ripped through her. She tasted blood.

A second later, he jabbed it into her heart. Her body jerked and bucked. She gurgled blood.

Then the world blurred into a sea of black where she was floating away. Footsteps crunched. She tried to cry out. To beg him to come back. To save her.

But the scent of her own blood wafted toward her. The footsteps faded.

He was leaving her to die.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Using a handkerchief, Dane carefully wrapped the doll until he got it to the lab to be processed. Adrenaline pumped through him. If Easton’s prints were on it, he could use it to make a case.

“Josie, while I look around, page Easton to meet us.”

“Sure.”

“Be careful. If you see him, don’t let on that we suspect him. Text me and I’ll come to you.”

She agreed and hurried from the studio. Dane searched the rest of the box and the closet but found nothing incriminating. Just costumes and a copy of Josie’s book.

Dammit.

Still, the doll should be enough to obtain a search warrant for Easton’s cabin and car. In case Easton and Grimley had talked and planned to leave town, he called Sheriff Kimball. “Put out a BOLO on Easton. He’s driving a gray 2015 BMW.”

“I’m on it.” Sheriff Kimball cleared his throat. “By the way, Gil Baines spent the day scouting out film settings with some bearded guy in charge of sets and scene locations. They hiked around the woods and falls.”

Kimball had taken initiative. Dane was glad to have him on his side now. He needed eyes everywhere. “Anything suspicious?”

“Nothing concrete. I don’t think he had sex with the victims, though.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because he and this other guy have a thing.”

“I see.” Not that he cared about the man’s sexual orientation, but since both Charity and Patty had engaged in sex before their murders, they believed the killer had had sex with the women.

The trouble was he hadn’t left DNA on the victims.

“He also has an alibi for the last murder.”

Dane mentally checked him off the suspect list. The paging for Easton echoed over the intercom, and Dane hung up and headed to the interior hallway where he had a good vantage point of the rooms and front door.

If Easton was in the building and tried to flee, he’d catch him and haul his ass to the station.

Dane talked to the cameraman and the set director, but neither had seen Eddie all day. They’d also denied knowing Silas Grimley.

Were the two of them with Neesie? Or had they decided to run before he closed in?

“Speak to the casting director,” the set director said. “She brought Easton into this project.”

“Thanks.” Dane left the room in search of Olive Turnstyle.

Several actresses sat whispering nervously as they waited for turns to audition.

“Where is Ms. Turnstyle?” Dane asked.

“We don’t know. She was supposed to be here,” one of the girls said.

A second later, the woman burst into the room, looking harried.

“Sorry I’m late,” the casting director said. “I got sidetracked by a phone call.”

The women murmured they understood. When Olive noticed him, she smoothed down her skirt and offered him a smile, the harried look disappearing.

“Ms. Turnstyle?” He shook her hand, surprised at her firm handshake.

“Yes, Agent Hamrick. Please call me Olive.”

“All right, Olive.” He motioned for her to step to the side, then lowered his voice. “I wanted to talk to you about Eddie Easton. Is it true that you brought him into the film company?”

“Yes.” She jammed her notebook into her briefcase. “Actually, one of the actresses who worked on another film in LA introduced us. His unusual approach to the photo shoots caught our attention.”

He wanted her personal take on the man. “What do you mean, unusual?”

“He was creative and chose different locations and settings for the shoots, not just a studio approach. If an actor wanted a specific part, he suggested they dress to fit the character. He created sets or shot at locations similar to the setting in the story line of the script.” She hesitated. “Some of the pictures were disturbing, but he definitely created a niche for himself and got attention.”

“Did you ever sense Easton was dangerous?”

Her eyes flickered sideways as if she was contemplating how to answer. “His intensity made me nervous. He also has a propensity for the macabre.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“He kept a book of shots of women who’d suffered facial injuries.” Her nose wrinkled into a frown. “Before-and-after shots.”

“Before and after?”

“Yes. He’s friends with this plastic surgeon, Silas Grimley. Eddie referred models and actors wanting cosmetic work to him.”

He already knew that. He needed more. “Do you know Dr. Grimley personally?”

“No, but some of the actresses who’ve used him rave about his work. Although sometimes I thought he encouraged women to undergo drastic reconstruction that was unnecessary.”

That was no surprise. Being obsessed with perfect looks came with his job. “What did you think was unnecessary?”

“He carried things to the extreme.” She drummed her fingers on her notepad. “He told one woman he’d make her look like that Mitzi doll.”

Another indication Grimley might be guilty. “Anything else?”

She nodded. “There was also talk about a patient he’d accidentally disfigured during surgery. I think there was a lawsuit.”

“How did you know about the lawsuit?” Dane asked.

She shrugged. “Gossip. The acting community is small, Agent Hamrick.”

A botched surgery would definitely feed the grapevine. Women would want to warn other women.

Had the botched case and the lawsuit triggered Grimley’s desire to maim and murder these women?

Three of the women Josie spoke with mentioned seeing both Charity and Patty with Eddie Easton. He also recommended they schedule a consultation with Dr. Silas Grimley.

One actress was pleased with Grimley’s work, although she’d overheard an altercation about a lawsuit with a former patient while she was in the waiting room.

According to her, the good doctor broke down and left the office in an incoherent rage. The scene frightened the young woman so badly that she decided not to pursue another surgery.

Josie thanked them and went to find Dane. Just as she rounded a corner in the hallway, Doyle Yonkers appeared, his demeanor instantly putting her on edge.

She tried to sidestep him, but he snatched her arm and yanked her into a corner.

Back stiffening, Josie pulled her arm away. “What are you doing?”

“Haven’t you and this movie crew caused enough trouble?” he snapped. “Our families didn’t want the past dredged up and put on screen for everyone to see.”

“The past was dredged up when Billy Linder committed murder. All I did was tell the story.”

“You’ve brought more pain to the victims’ families than you can imagine. Even worse, you made it sound like my sister was at fault.”

“That’s not true,” Josie said firmly.

His eyes pierced her with condemnation. “That’s how my mother felt. That you think Candy should have been friends with Charlene. That girl was weird as shit, though, and dangerous. Nobody liked her.”

“She was definitely disturbed,” Josie said. “And I understand this has been painful for you.”

“You have no idea,” he snarled. “My mother was already ill, but when she saw the news about more girls dying this week, she couldn’t handle it. She took some pills and killed herself.”

Josie gasped. Sorrow for him and his family filled her. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I never meant—”

“To do what? Tear people’s lives apart?” He dragged her toward the back door. “To kill my mother? Because she’s dead now and it’s your fault.”

Josie’s sorrow quickly turned to fear as he shoved her outside.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Dane spotted Doyle Yonkers shoving Josie out the back door and took off at a dead run. What the hell was that man doing with his hands on her?

By the time he reached the exit, the bastard was pushing her down the steps toward the alley.

Dane’s hand went to his gun. From his vantage point, he couldn’t tell if Yonkers was armed or not.

He didn’t care, though. He had his hands on Josie, and that was not allowed.

“Stop, Yonkers!” he shouted. “Let her go.”

Josie spun around and pushed at Yonkers. The man stumbled and hit his back against the wall.

Dane pulled his gun. “Don’t move or I’ll shoot.”

Yonkers went wide-eyed and threw up his hands. “Don’t shoot. I don’t have a weapon.”

Dane stalked toward him and motioned for Josie to move away. She was already doing so, her expression daring Yonkers to touch her again.

“I wasn’t going to hurt her,” Yonkers screeched. “I just wanted to talk.”

“You always push women into alleys to talk?” Dane barked.

Yonkers paled. “No . . . I was just upset.”

“Keep your hands up,” Dane ordered. He didn’t trust that the man hadn’t lied about being armed, so he quickly patted him down.

“Tell him, Josie, I didn’t hurt you,” Yonkers pleaded.

“You forced me outside,” Josie said, refusing to cut him any slack. “That’s assault.”

Dane finished the pat down, satisfied the man wasn’t carrying a weapon. He didn’t necessarily need a gun to overpower Josie or any other woman, though.

“I just wanted to talk,” Yonkers said angrily.

“You mean terrify me?” Josie asked, arms crossed.

“Or get revenge?” Dane added.

Yonkers averted his eyes. “It’s not like that,” he said, his voice lower. “I was upset. My mother killed herself.” He gestured toward Josie. “All because of this movie and the publicity she brought to town. Because of her more girls are dead. My mother couldn’t take it anymore. It’s like the past keeps repeating itself.”

Dane didn’t give a rat’s ass about this jerk. He had no right to manhandle a woman. “Maybe you’re the one repeating the past. You want to get back at Josie, so you stabbed those other women?”

Yonkers staggered backward, shock on his face. “What?”

“Charity Snow and Patty Waxton,” Dane said. “You wanted to punish Josie and make the film crew leave town, so you killed two women to scare people away.”

“That’s absurd,” Yonkers said. “I haven’t killed anyone. I wouldn’t do that, especially to make a point.”

Dane hissed between his teeth. He didn’t think it was enough of a motive, but he had to do something to put the fear of God in Yonkers. “Why should I believe you? I saw you manhandling Josie.”

Yonkers turned to Josie. “I just wanted you to stop, the whole town did, but you refused and now my mother is dead, and I’ve lost the last bit of family I had.”

Yonkers sounded pathetic. If anyone understood the pain of losing a loved one, Dane did. But he hadn’t used his grief as a reason to push people around and blame innocents like this bastard was doing.

Guilt and sympathy filled Josie at the anguish in Doyle Yonkers’s voice. He had suffered an unspeakable grief in his childhood, borne the brunt of survivor’s guilt, as well as watched his parents bury themselves in so much grief that they’d failed him.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Doyle, and that your mother had such a difficult time with her grief,” Josie said. “You must have been very lonely growing up, living in the shadow of that loss.”

Dane reached for handcuffs, but Josie pressed a hand to his to stop him.

“Josie—”

“He didn’t hurt me.” Josie silently willed Dane to trust her. “You need to see a counselor, Doyle. Not blame me or the town. You suffered a terrible tragedy years ago. Sometimes that brings families closer together. Sometimes it tears them apart.”

His face crumpled, and tears leaked from his eyes. “If you hadn’t brought this movie to town, if you’d only left that day after the press conference—”

“That’s the kind of logic abusive men use to justify their actions.” Josie refused to fall into that trap. “You pushed me in the street that day, didn’t you?”

“I’m sorry.” Regret and shame flashed on his face. “I didn’t want to hurt you, only to scare you so you’d stop the film.”

“Did you run her off the road?”

He gave a nod. “I told you I wanted to scare her. I even stopped to make sure she was all right.”

Josie’s pulse pounded at his twisted logic. “I could have been killed.”

“I’m sorry.” Defeat weighed his voice. “I knew it was wrong after I did it.”

Dane pressed a hand to Josie’s waist. “Do you want to press charges, Josie?”

She rubbed her hands together. Yonkers had terrified her, but he’d had a rough childhood, and she understood that this film triggered bad memories just as it was doing for her. At least he hadn’t resorted to murder. She and Dane needed to focus on finding the Butcher. “No, not now. Not if you agree to get therapy, Doyle.”

He rubbed his eyes. “I’ve been to therapy before.”

“Then go again,” Josie said flatly. “I understand it’s difficult to talk about what happened, but it helps. I’ve done it myself.” She licked her dry lips. “Do it so you can move on and have a life and put all this behind you.”

Just like she was trying to do. Only it wasn’t easy.

He jammed his hands in his pockets and looked down at his shoes. “I will and . . . I’ll go back on my meds.”

Josie offered him an encouraging smile. “Good.”

A car door slammed. Footsteps crunched.

Josie glanced at the parking lot. Easton was walking toward them. They needed to talk to him.

He might be the unsub carving up women’s faces.

If he was, he had to pay.

Dane gripped Yonkers. “If you bother Miss DuKane again,” Dane said in a lethal tone, “I will arrest you and make sure you never see the light of day again.”

Yonkers threw up his hands. “I won’t. Don’t worry.”

Dane shoved him. “Then get out of here.” With Yonkers off the suspect list, he could focus on Easton and Grimley.

Yonkers looked relieved at escaping arrest and darted away. Dane was amazed at Josie’s compassion. He hoped she’d made the right choice in letting the man off the hook.

Dane didn’t want Easton to escape, though, so he rushed toward him. He half expected him to run, but Easton was either so cocky he thought he’d never get caught—or he was innocent.

Although as Dane neared him, a wariness shadowed the man’s face. “Mr. Easton, I need you to come with me to the sheriff’s office.”

Easton narrowed his eyes. “What for?”

“To answer some questions.”

Easton glanced at Josie warily, then back at Dane, his posture stiffening. “Do I need a lawyer?”

Dane stepped forward, towering over the man. “I don’t know, do you?”

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Easton said in a defensive tone. “I’m not this psycho you’re looking for.”

“Then come in and talk with me. Maybe you can help us catch him.”

Easton squinted against the sun, but agreed. Although he looked wary, he didn’t seem as worried as Dane would have expected.

The ride back to the police station passed in a tense silence. Josie seemed lost in thought. Probably worry over Neesie.

He wanted to console her and assure her the young woman was fine. But he didn’t believe in lies. He was worried, too. If Easton was involved and didn’t confess, and the killer had Neesie, they might be too late to save her.

When they arrived, Dane escorted Easton to the interrogation room, then he checked the fax machine and found information Peyton had sent over. Josie grabbed coffee for the three of them and met him in the room.

Easton settled in the wooden chair at the table, fidgeting. He gave a suspicious glance at the coffee as if he thought it was a ploy to lift his prints—or to make him feel relaxed enough to spill his guts.

“All right, why did you bring me here?” Impatience laced Easton’s voice. “I’ve already told you that I knew Charity and Patty. I saw them at the party, but I didn’t kill them.”

Dane laid a photo of each of the victims on the table. “Because we have two dead girls. And we think another is missing. Do you know Neesie Netherington?”

Easton licked his lips. “I did a photo shoot with her. That’s all.”

“Are you sure you didn’t kill her like you did these two women?”

Easton pushed up as if to leave. “Wait just a fucking minute.”

“Sit down and look at the damn pictures,” Dane said in a tone that brooked no argument.

Easton did as Dane said, his gaze dropping to the photograph. A second later, he made a strangled sound in his throat. “Jesus. That reporter was right. Someone butchered her face?”

Dane tapped the photos with his finger. “Yes, you did.”

Easton balled his hands into fists on the table. “It wasn’t me. I like pretty girls—I take their pictures to help them get modeling and acting jobs.” He paused, his beard stubble rasping as he wiped his chin. “Think about it. I would never destroy their beauty. It’s how I make my living.”

Dane studied him carefully. He sounded sincere, but some people were consummate liars. They could even pass polygraphs when they were guilty.

“You didn’t tell everyone that the girls were left naked.” Easton’s tone was accusatory, but his gaze remained fixated on the gruesome pictures. “Or about that claw mark on their cheeks. You practically denied it when that reporter mentioned those details.”

Dane laid the picture of the Mitzi doll he’d found in Easton’s studio on the table. “We found this one in the closet in your studio tonight.”

Easton’s mouth went slack, his eyes wide. For the first time, he seemed to realize that Dane had evidence against him.

Easton gulped. “You found that in my studio?”

Dane nodded. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what it is or where it came from.”

Panic streaked his face. “I know what the Mitzi doll is. Hell, everyone in the US does. But I didn’t have one in my studio.”

Dane gave him a disbelieving look. “Then who put it there?”

He flattened his hands, then rolled them into fists again. “How should I know?”

“A lot of little girls collect these dolls and want to be like them, just like they want to be princesses,” Josie interjected.

Easton’s gaze swung toward her. “Sure, kids fantasize and play pretend.”

Dane slapped the picture of Easton’s former girlfriend on the table. “You recognize her?”

The color drained from Easton’s face. “Of course I do. That’s Sherry. Why do you have her picture?”

Dane paused, letting the questions mount in Easton’s head. “Tell me about your relationship with her,” he said.

“She was the only girl I ever loved,” Easton finally admitted. “I asked her to marry me, but then she died.”

Dane gave him a flat look. “She was murdered. After being seen at a frat party with you.”

Easton nodded, pain flashing in his eyes. “Yes.”

“You were the last one who saw her alive,” Dane continued.

“No,” Easton said emphatically. “The person who killed her was.”

“You two argued,” Dane said.

Easton squared his shoulders. “We had a lovers’ quarrel, nothing big.”

“That’s not what we heard.” Dane paused for effect. He wanted the bastard to stew. “She broke up with you because you frightened her with your weird photograph ideas. And you stalked her afterward.”

Easton clenched the table. “I didn’t stalk her.”

“You wanted back with her?” Dane asked.

“Yes, I loved her,” Easton muttered. “I went to the party to convince her to give me another chance, but she told me no, so I got drunk.”

“Yet she ended up dead that night,” Dane said, the implication clear in his voice.

Easton shifted, guilt darkening his eyes. “I know, and I blamed myself. If I hadn’t passed out in one of the upstairs rooms, if she’d stayed with me, she might be alive.” He heaved a breath. “I didn’t kill her. I would never have hurt her. I loved her with all my heart.”

Dane hardened his jaw. His tone reeked of obsession. “Then who did kill her?”

“I don’t know. I wish to hell I did.” Easton slammed his fist on the table. “Those asshole cops fucked up by wasting their time looking at me instead of investigating.”