All the Pretty Faces (3 page)

“Nothing will bring back our daughters,” one woman cried.

“You should let them rest in peace,” another local added with disdain. “Not cause more agony to their families by making them repeatedly relive the sadistic crimes.”

Sara stepped to the front. “Every time I see your book and think about watching my daughter being murdered on screen, I feel sick.”

Josie tensed. Sara had talked to her freely during her interviews.

Apparently she regretted that decision.

Josie felt for the woman. She couldn’t treat her like a stranger or dismiss her emotions. “I’m sorry, Sara,” Josie said softly. “I understand your grief and pain. This is not easy for me either. I still have night terrors about being held by Billy Linder myself. This book is meant to honor those we lost. I hope you’ll see it that way as well.”

Tension escalated as a cluster of folks in the back shouted disagreement. Someone yelled at her to leave town.

Others called out support, excited that the filming would boost the town’s fledgling economy. Already the inn had been refurbished, and a local builder had renovated cabins on the river for production crews and others involved in the filmmaking process.

Cameras flashed, recording the scene. Reporters began to comb through the crowd, taking notes as they questioned individuals.

She should have kept up her distance. Letting down her guard with Sara had opened her up to being vulnerable.

Josie backed away from the podium, her breathing labored. The heated stares and shouts seemed directed at her. Tempers were rising.

The air grew hot around her, cloying. Stifling.

She had to escape.

“We don’t care about the money.” This voice came from someone in the back. “We want our nice quiet town back.”

She wasn’t sure Graveyard Falls had ever been a nice quiet town.

Nerves on edge, she scanned the group, then the street, searching for the sheriff. Although he was supposed to be on guard in case of problems, he’d texted earlier that he was meeting Agent Dane Hamrick from the FBI. She’d interviewed the federal agent for the book.

Neither of them were here now, though.

Judging from the mixed reactions, tempers were spiraling out of control.

The wind stirred again, and the hair on the back of her neck bristled as she inched down the stairs. She had the uneasy feeling that something bad was going to happen.

Or maybe it already had. That could be the reason Dane was in Graveyard Falls. He certainly wouldn’t be interested in the movie.

Her phone beeped with a text.

Horror washed over her at the photo that appeared. A young woman lying on the ground. Naked. Blood soaking her chest. Her cheek carved out.

Dear God, was it real?

He walked amongst the locals, invisible to their eyes. They were all caught up in the past. In their grief and anger and pain.

In the injustices and the need for someone to blame.

Reporters ran through the throng, taking notes and asking questions, hoping to find the spotlight for their bylines. The movie producers had arrived in their fancy cars and trucks with cameras and makeup artists and talent scouts.

The actors and actor wannabes were coming in droves.

The vision of the girl he’d left by that motel surfaced, spiking his adrenaline. He lifted his hands, the scent of soap and the woman’s skin mingling with the fresh scent of blood.

Ah, she had been so beautiful.

But she’d had to die.

Someone brushed his arm as they hurried past. Another pretty girl. Another fake smile.

He trembled with excitement. Yes, Graveyard Falls was the perfect hunting ground.

And the perfect place to hide.

CHAPTER TWO

Dane wiped his hand over his forehead, sweating in spite of the chill in his body. He couldn’t help but think about this poor woman’s family and what lay ahead for them. About the last few minutes of her life. Had she been terrified? Begged for the man to stop tormenting her?

Those were the same questions he’d asked about Betsy. Questions that still made him wake in a sweat. And the ones that had finally driven his mother over the edge. A few months ago, she’d fallen into such a depression that he’d had to commit her to a mental health care nursing home called the Loving Arms. The people were nice, but he still felt guilty every time he left her there.

The home was close to Graveyard Falls.

Dr. Wheeland scratched his head. “I can’t believe we’ve got another murder in town. Folks around here are barely getting over the nightmare of those Bride Killings.”

“I know. I heard they’re making a movie based on Josie DuKane’s book.”

“Damnedest thing.” Dr. Wheeland checked the victim’s feet. “Charlene Linder probably thinks she’s going to be a celebrity.”

“Maybe that’s what this creep wants, too.” All the more reason for Dane to analyze the scene carefully. Details would help find the unsub.

Once again, he studied the woman. Her long hair had probably looked nice earlier, although now it was dotted with blood and lay in a tangled mess around her face. The leaves and debris from the ground weren’t embedded in the strands, suggesting she was probably killed in another location. Or that she was dead when she hit the ground. If she’d been alive and fighting, her hair would have been filled with dirt.

“TOD?” he asked.

“Judging from her body temp,” Dr. Wheeland replied, “I’d say she died sometime last night.”

Anger heated Dane’s blood as he studied the sharp marks on her face. As many times as he’d seen death and the pain one human inflicted on another, the cruelty still bothered him. “How about the talon marks? Postmortem?”

The ME’s lips stretched thin. “No, look at the blood splatters. He did that before he killed her.”

Despite his disgust, Dane tried to get in the mind of the killer. “So he wanted her to feel the pain, to know that he was marking her. Scarring her.”

“Probably.” Wheeland examined the woman’s chest more closely. Bruises marred her torso as if he might have knelt on her to hold her down. “This stab wound was quick, to the point. Straight into the aorta.”

“He knew what he was doing,” Dane said. “So he could work in the medical field.”

Dr. Wheeland shrugged. “True, but anybody with basic knowledge of the human body would know that a wound like this would cause death.”

Dammit, the medical angle could have narrowed down their suspect list. “What else can you tell from the body? Sexual assault?”

Dr. Wheeland examined her thighs and lower extremities. “I don’t see bruising or visual signs of rape, but I’ll know once I do the autopsy.” He lifted her hands to look at her nails.

The medical examiner used a tool to pull back a small layer of skin around her areola where the killer had slashed her skin diagonally. “She has implants.”

Dane narrowed his eyes. “Those cuts aren’t deep, maybe a quarter of an inch.”

“They have nothing to do with cause of death,” Wheeland said, his voice laced with disgust.

“So he was just playing with her, inflicting pain,” Dane commented, a picture of a sick man forming in his mind. Sadistic eyes, a wild, crazed look. “You think he intentionally wanted to expose them?”

“Could be.” Dr. Wheeland took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, then put them back on. “We can use them to ID her.”

The wind picked up, shaking the trees and raining brittle leaves down on the ground. One landed on her cheek, sticking to the dried blood.

Dane picked it off. He wanted to know more about her. “Considering the film people descending on the town, she might be one of the actresses or part of the crew.”

“You can start there,” Dr. Wheeland said. “Meanwhile, I’ll run her prints and DNA.”

The CSI team arrived and introduced themselves, then began to comb the woods behind the motel for evidence. Dane surveyed the area surrounding the body as well.

“Any security cameras?” Dane asked the sheriff.

Sheriff Kimball shrugged. “Naw, owner said he’s been meaning to install some but hadn’t gotten around to it.”

Dane shook his head in disbelief. Hopefully CSI would find the woman’s purse and ID or a cell phone.

His phone buzzed, and he checked the number. Josie DuKane’s name popped up.

What did she want? Another interview? Hell, even though Cal had run the investigation, he’d talked to her about his surveillance on the Yonkers man.

Yonkers’s sister, Candy, was one of the three Thorn Ripper victims. The man not only owned a pet crematorium, but he was weird as shit.

He had fit the profile of the Bride Killer. He collected those damned dead animals Billy Linder preserved with his taxidermy skills. He’d also suffered a traumatic childhood and watched his family fall apart after her murder.

His mother became depressed, and Yonkers wound up taking care of her. Like Linder and his mother, Yonkers’s mother was ill at the time the Bride Killer struck. Yonkers’s mother also pressured him to find a wife.

Dane’s phone buzzed again. Josie was persistent.

Damn . . . she’d stirred something in him that he hadn’t felt in forever. Lust? Hunger?

Things he didn’t have time for.

She was too damn tempting. Despite the fact that she was held hostage and had nearly died at the hands of the Bride Killer, she was gutsy and faced the horror with a brave face.

He had to respect her for that. Which made her even more dangerous. Because he liked her.

She made him want things a man like him didn’t have a right to have.

If he got involved with her, he might lose focus.

There was no way in hell he’d do that and let his sister down again.

The awning of the diner provided a safe retreat while Josie studied the picture of the dead girl. Her hand trembled as she gripped the phone. She probably should have called the local sheriff, but she didn’t know Sheriff Kimball very well, and she’d dealt with Dane before. He was good at what he did.

He was also handsome and tough, all male sex appeal, but she didn’t want to think about that. Even if he had been interested, she certainly was in no shape for a relationship.

She would trust him to get to the bottom of this text.

He didn’t answer, so she left a message that it was urgent that he call her.

Horror flooded her as she studied the photograph again. The woman looked so young, so pale. Her lips were devoid of lipstick, her nails bare. She was naked, her eyes staring wide in death. Worse, those marks on her face had been carved by something sharp. A knife or scalpel?

Memories of Billy Linder holding that knife to her throat made her tremble. If she hadn’t noticed that photograph of Johnny on the mantel and used it to stall until Cal and Mona arrived, he would have choked her with that garter.

She’d been so terrified.

This woman must have been, too.

Fighting another panic attack, she relied on her criminology training to analyze the details.

In one hand, the poor woman held a broken compact mirror.

In the other, she held a Mitzi doll, also naked, the face mangled.

Her breath quickened. The Mitzi doll, a Barbie knockoff, had been popular when she was a kid, and it still was. She’d collected the fashion doll along with all her clothes and accessories, just like most of the little girls her age.

Her nerves prickling, she scanned the crowd and sidewalk, the sense that someone was watching her mounting. If the person who’d sent the photograph wanted a reaction, she didn’t intend to give him the satisfaction.

Of course it would be easy to hide among all the people. The town square was packed with locals, reporters, and tourists who’d come to catch a glimpse of the filming.

More voices shouted questions at the mayor, and a few protestors waved signs and yelled for the crew to go back to LA.

Growing more nervous about the text, she decided to go to the sheriff’s office. If this picture was real, a woman’s life had been taken. It was imperative the police know immediately.

She reached the corner to cross the street to the parking lot, but the sidewalk was clogged with people leaving the press conference.

The streetlight changed, and she blended in with the throng, hoping no one noticed her.

As she stepped into the road, someone shoved her from behind.

She stumbled forward and fell into the street, knees and hands hitting the pavement.

The sound of tires screeching reverberated in Josie’s ears. Then she looked up in horror.

A car careened toward her.

A prayer floated off her tongue as she tried to push herself up. Her life flashed in front of her.

She couldn’t have survived Billy Linder to die like this.

Tires screeched. People shouted. The car roared to stop an inch from her just as someone helped her up.

A pudgy man jumped from the vehicle and ran toward her. “My God, lady, are you all right?”

Her head spun, the world blurring as she struggled to focus. A woman from the sidewalk rushed toward her. She leaned on the man who’d helped her to stand.

“Are you okay, Miss DuKane?”

Doyle Yonkers.

Josie’s legs wobbled as she recognized the voice. How could she forget him? His voice was deep and gravelly. His beady dark eyes made chill bumps skate up her arms. She’d visited that pet crematorium to decide for herself if Dane had pegged the man correctly.

Yonkers might not have been the Bride Killer, but a creepiness emanated from him. He could be dangerous.

The driver of the car halted in front of her. “I’m so sorry, I almost hit you,” he said, sweat beading on his face.

“Do you need a doctor?” the woman asked.

Josie shook herself from the shock of the fall. Her hands and knees were scraped, but she hadn’t hit her head. “No, I’m okay.”

Yonkers and the woman ushered her to the sidewalk.

“Do you want me to call nine-one-one?” the woman asked.

Josie shook her head and stepped away from Yonkers. His touch made her skin crawl.

Other cars slowed, windows rolling down so the drivers could see what had happened. Horns began to honk, the traffic backing up.

She didn’t like being in the spotlight. She tucked her hair behind her ear, straightened her clothing, and lifted her chin.

An older couple rushed toward her, the man carrying her cell phone. “Is this yours, miss?”

“Yes, thank you.” Josie took the phone with a trembling hand.

The man who’d almost hit her coughed. “I’m sorry, I looked down for a second. You just came out of nowhere.”

Because someone had pushed her into the street.

Guilt and terror tinged the man’s voice. Josie squeezed his arm. “I’m sorry, sir. I slipped and fell, but I’m fine.”

Someone shouted that they recognized her. Another voice yelled for her to leave town. Josie looked up to see who it was—maybe the person who’d shoved her into the street?

The older couple hovered nearby. “Can we drive you somewhere?”

She shook her head. “No, my car is in the parking lot. I’ll be fine. I’m sorry for causing trouble.”

Anxious to escape before anyone else recognized her, she waved off everyone’s concern and darted in the direction of her car. Behind her, more horns blasted, and traffic resumed.

Just as she reached the parking lot, footsteps clattered on the pavement behind her. Fear gripped her. She twisted around to see who was following her—two teenagers heading toward Cocoa’s Café.

She sighed in relief, unlocked her car, and collapsed inside, her heart racing.

The wind howled off the mountain, and twigs and leaves pelted Dane, a reminder that another winter had barely passed in Graveyard Falls and that the turbulent March winds and storms were setting in.

Dane paced by the creek, one eye on the crime investigators, hoping they paid attention to details.

He reached for his cell to phone Josie, but Sheriff Kimball strode toward him, and Dane held back. Kimball had helped with the Bride Killer case, but something about the man bugged Dane. He was too quiet, distant, as if he had secrets of his own.