All the Pretty Faces (4 page)

The midday sun slanted through the trees. Yet storm clouds rolled above, the sky an ominous gray. They needed to work the crime scene fast before the rain hit and destroyed evidence.

“Six guests in the motel last night,” Sheriff Kimball said matter-of-factly. “No one saw anything.”

He wasn’t surprised. This motel was run-down and off the beaten path. “Anyone seem suspicious?”

The sheriff consulted his notepad. “Not really. Apparently there’s a garden club at the local church. Five out of those six guests were middle-aged women here to attend.”

“What about the sixth?”

Kimball gave a perfunctory glance toward the van in the lot. “Couple with two kids traveling through. Said their baby was up all night the evening before and they were dead asleep by nine o’clock.”

Dane contemplated various scenarios. “Get the manager to open up the rooms that were vacant. The killer could have gotten inside one, stabbed the woman there, then waited until everything was quiet to dump her body.”

All business, Kimball nodded. “I’m on it.”

The sheriff hurried toward the motel entrance, and Dane went to confer with the lead crime investigator from the county, Lieutenant Ward.

They’d met when Dane was working with the task force Agent Coulter had spearheaded. Having worked together on previous cases, Cal had recruited Dane as soon as he got the assignment. Dane was glad to have the seasoned investigator on the team.

“Have you found anything?” Dane asked.

“No. No signs of a struggle back here. Weeds are not mashed, no clothing fabric or weapon.”

Had the killer disposed of the victim’s clothes or kept them? “Have your team search the trash Dumpsters and woods for the clothing. How about footprints?”

Lieutenant Ward’s mouth slanted into a frown. “A partial by the bushes, but it’s not enough to cast.”

Dane surveyed the woods, the parking lot, and the exterior of the motel. From his vantage point the manager wouldn’t have seen anyone drag the body around to the Dumpster in back.

Sheriff Kimball walked toward him with the manager, a gray-haired man wearing a hearing aid and walking with a cane.

Dane gestured toward two rooms with the lights off. “Let’s check those two on the end first.”

Together they walked past the rooms that had been rented. The manager pointed to room number four as they passed it. “That one has plumbing issues. I can’t put anyone in there.”

They reached the two end units, then waited while the older man unlocked the doors.

Dane waved the manager behind him. “Stay outside.”

Sheriff Kimball shined his flashlight inside the first room, and Dane gestured that he’d search the corner one.

The scent of cleaning supplies hit Dane as he peeked inside. He shined a light across the interior, but the room appeared to be empty. He paused to listen for sounds that someone was inside. The wind whistled, voices echoed from the crime scene techs, but the room was quiet.

Dane kept his gun at the ready in case someone was hiding in the closet or bathroom.

He flipped on the switch at the door, and bright light spilled through the room, illuminating the dingy walls. The carpet was an outdated rusty brown, the bedspread an orange and green floral that looked like something from the 1980s.

He checked the closet and bathroom, but both were empty. The strong scent of Pine-Sol and bleach that filled the air made him examine the floor and walls more closely. He sniffed to see if it was the same odor on the victim’s hands, but that soap smelled sweeter.

He stepped to the door and called one of the crime scene techs to come inside. “See if you can find blood splatters in here.”

The young man nodded and went to work. Dane leaned closer to examine the bedspread. Stains darkened the faded fabric, although they didn’t look like blood. Of course the bedcovers were supposedly the dirtiest part of a motel room, and no telling where the stains had come from.

He gestured toward the bedding and told the investigator to bag them and send them to the lab.

“So far, no blood,” the tech said. “Did you see something specific indicating that the woman was killed in this room?”

This guy must be green around the collar. “No. The cleaner could have been used to cover the crime, though. Process it thoroughly.”

Dane excused himself and stepped outside. Sheriff Kimball was exiting the other vacant room. “That one’s clear.”

Dane poked his head in, but the chemical scent wasn’t strong inside that room. His phone buzzed. Josie again. Dammit, he was busy.

“Agent Hamrick.”

“I need to see you.”

Dane froze. He didn’t like the fear in her voice. “What’s wrong, Josie?”

Josie’s stomach churned as she replayed the last few minutes in her head.

“Talk to me, dammit,” Dane snapped.

She leaned her head into her hand and did the deep breathing exercises the therapist had taught her after her abduction.

The terror of that night returned anyway. Billy had ordered her to cook for his mother, and she had. His mother hadn’t approved, and Billy had insisted he had to kill her.

Then that photo of Johnny Pike had caught her eye, and she’d used it to stall. Billy claimed Johnny was his father. At the time, she’d believed she was Johnny’s daughter, so she’d used that relationship to make a connection.

She’d assured Billy he wouldn’t be alone when his mother died because they were siblings.

Her plan had backfired. He’d turned on Mona and decided to make
her
his wife.

Tears threatened. If Cal hadn’t arrived in time, they might both be dead.

“Josie, talk to me. Are you hurt?”

Dane’s concerned voice dragged her from the memory and touched a tender chord inside her. She’d never had a man care about her, just her mother and Mona.

Well, now she had Johnny and Cal, but they were family.

“I’m a little shaken up. I had a close call a few minutes ago and fell in the street. I just scraped my hands and knees. I’m all right.”

“You don’t sound all right.”

She tightened her hand around the phone. In spite of her bravado, her voice had trembled. “I didn’t just fall, Dane. Someone pushed me.”

“What?” Dane’s voice rose a notch. “Did you see who did it?”

“No, a group of us left the press conference at the same time and gathered at the street to cross.” She hesitated, self-doubt kicking in. “Maybe someone just bumped me. It was crowded at the crosswalk.”

A tense heartbeat stretched between them. Then Dane’s voice, low and soothing. “But you don’t think it was an accident?”

She massaged her temple, glad she’d called Dane instead of the sheriff. At least Dane knew her well enough to accept that she wasn’t imagining things. “No, I don’t. But I didn’t see who did it. Anyway, I was on the way to the sheriff’s office. That’s actually the reason I called.” An image of the photograph flashed behind her eyes. “I received a strange text, Dane. A photograph. I don’t know if it’s real, but it certainly looks real.”

“What kind of photograph?”

“It’s a picture of a dead woman,” Josie said with a shudder. “She’s naked and was stabbed in the chest.”

Dane’s sharp intake of breath rattled over the line. “Do you recognize her?”

“No, and I hope it’s not real.” She closed her eyes on a prayer, then opened them a second later and continued. “Even if it isn’t real, I want to know who texted me. If that picture is someone’s idea of a sick joke or intended to scare me, I want to put a stop to it. I’m forwarding it to you.”

She pressed Send, her pulse hammering as she waited for the text to go through.

“Dammit, Josie.”

Dread balled in her stomach at his dark tone. “What?”

“It’s real,” he said grimly. “I’m at the crime scene with the victim right now.”

CHAPTER THREE

Josie lowered her head into her hand again and tried to control the panic bubbling in her chest.

This wasn’t some kind of twisted game or joke. Someone had texted her a picture of a dead woman. A
murder
victim.

Dane cleared his throat. “Do you have any idea who sent this?”

She wished she did. “No. The text is from an unknown number.”

“Where are you now?”

Josie rechecked the door lock. Good. She was safe. “In my car in the parking lot in town.”

A heartbeat passed. “What happened before you received the text?”

“I was at the press conference talking about the book and answering questions. Things got heated. Just as I stepped down from the podium, the text came through.”

His voice hardened. “What do you mean—things got heated?”

The memory made her check around her car again. “Some people don’t like the idea of the movie. They think it’s making them relive the horrible nightmare of the murders, and that I’m exploiting them.”

Dane muttered something beneath his breath. “Did you see anyone specific stand out?”

She closed her eyes and mentally pictured herself on the podium. She’d recognized some of the locals. Cocoa from the café. The checkout lady from the grocery store. Sara Levinson. “No, not really. I mean, Sara Levinson was upset, but she wouldn’t do something like this.”

Dane studied the picture. “There’s something strange in the photograph. The victim is holding a doll. But there’s no doll at the scene.”

Josie’s heart hammered. “He must have taken it with him. But why pose her with it?”

“Good question. Does the doll mean anything to you?”

She had a whole box of them in her closet at home. “I collected them when I was little, but so did half the girls I knew.”

A second passed. “Jesus, I thought that it looked familiar. My sister had one of them, too.”

“Your sister?” Dane hadn’t mentioned family before, but then again, they’d only met for that interview to discuss his surveillance on Yonkers.

“Yes,” he said. “She got one for her birthday when she was ten. I don’t know what happened to it.”

“Maybe you can ask her if it has some kind of meaning that I don’t know about,” Josie suggested.

His breath hissed out. “That’s not possible. My sister is dead.”

Josie’s throat thickened at his abrupt tone. “I’m so sorry, Dane. I didn’t know.”

“Drop it,” he said gruffly. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

His pain sounded so raw she didn’t want to probe. “Where are you? I’ll meet you.”

“No. I don’t want you involved in this murder investigation.”

Again, he slipped back to the professional lone wolf.

Josie didn’t intend to let him deter her questions about the woman. Her need for answers overpowered the fear that had nearly choked her on the street. “I already am involved, Dane. The killer sent me this picture for a reason.”

The question was why?

To taunt her with the fact that she wasn’t safe in Graveyard Falls?

Dane mumbled an oath under his breath. He wanted to believe that the killer hadn’t sent the picture to Josie, but considering the book she’d written about the Bride Killer, he couldn’t discount the theory. That damn book had hit lists all over the place and made her name recognizable overnight.

Stars often drew the crazies.

He wouldn’t jump to conclusions, though. He had to consider other possibilities. Sheriff Kimball, the janitor, the motel manager, or one of the crime scene workers could have sent it to Josie. Maybe someone close to the scene wanted to give her the scoop for a new story.

Dammit, he hated the media. Swarming reporters stirred up interest from other weirdos. He’d seen it on numerous cases. Freaks wanting to take credit and get their five minutes of fame gave false confessions.

Reporters exposed family secrets and lies.

Just as they had with his sister. They’d dogged him and his mother, asking questions, making insinuations about Betsy’s sex life, implying she’d run away. They’d practically driven his mother to a nervous breakdown.

“Dane, what are you thinking?” Josie asked.

He willed his mind back to the case. “It’s possible that someone at the crime scene sent you the text. Someone who thought you might want to write about it.”

“If there is a story, I’d like to follow it. This town, the people in it . . . It’s personal to me.”

His fingers tightened around the phone. “Why?”

“You know why. Because the killer has focused on me. Because of what happened with the previous cases.” Impatience tinged Josie’s voice. “Johnny was railroaded into jail for a crime he didn’t commit. Look how many innocent women died because of it. I have to know why this girl was killed, if it had something to do with my book.”

“I don’t need or want a partner,” Dane said. “I work alone.”

He had no desire to be used by a crime writer. He especially didn’t want to be responsible for her safety.

He’d already fucked up with his sister.

The manager appeared on the sidewalk and walked toward him. “Just go home. I’ll come by your place later. We’ll see if the IT team can trace your phone to see where that text came from.”

Josie sighed. “Dane, I have to do something to help. I can’t get this woman’s face out of my mind.”

“I’ll find out what happened to her,” he snapped. “That’s my job.”

“But I’ve studied criminology, I might have some insight.”

“You could also get yourself killed,” Dane said through gritted teeth. “Remember what happened before.”

Josie’s sharp intake of breath punctuated the air. “Of course I remember. Every minute of every day. All the more reason I can’t back down now. I can’t let these crazies win. Besides, being informed might help keep me safe.”

Dammit, she was right about that last part.

He also understood her need not to give in to the fear. She’d had no control when Linder forced her to go with him or when he’d made her cook for his sick mother. For God’s sake, he’d chained her to the insane old lady’s bed.

Once she’d decided to write the story of the Bride Killer, she’d dived in, and there had been no stopping her. Hell, he admired her guts. He’d read the book, and she’d done a damn fine job of reporting the details while respecting individual family members’ feelings.

If the killer had decided to involve her or kill again, he might already have her in his target. Like it or not—and he didn’t like it—she needed his protection.

“All right, Josie. Let me finish here, then I’ll stop by. In light of what happened today, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be at the crime scene.”

She made a sound of frustration but finally agreed.

“Are you staying at your grandfather’s?”

“Yes. I’m not crazy about that place, but it’s free. My grandfather moved into the assisted living home near Knoxville.”

The hurt in her tone tore at him. Cal had mentioned that she and her grandfather hadn’t been close. That he and Josie’s mother, Anna, had been estranged for years because of the Thorn Ripper case.

He wondered how Josie felt being in the older man’s house.

“I’ll see you in a bit.” Dane ended the call, his shoulders knotted with anxiety as he walked over to question the motel manager.

“Sir, did you take a picture of the victim and send it to anyone?”

The man’s white eyebrows climbed his forehead. “Take a picture? What you talkin’ about? I ain’t got one of them fancy cell phones like all those young kids tote around.”

“How about the janitor? May I speak to him?”

“Sure,” the manager said. “I can tell you that he didn’t take no pictures. He’s my brother. He was so shook up when he found that girl, I had to give him one of my nerve pills.”

He led Dane inside the motel lobby where a pale-faced man around seventy in work clothes sat slumped on a tattered vinyl sofa. His hands shook as he slurped coffee from a disposable cup.

The manager hobbled over and nudged his brother. “Lemont, you didn’t take no pictures of that dead woman, did you?”

Lemont’s expression bordered on sickly. Dane stepped back, afraid he was going to throw up.

“Pictures? Why would I take pictures?”

“I told you,” the manager said with a wave of his gnarled hand. “Why you asking?”

“Just routine,” Dane said. The fewer people who knew Josie had been sent that text the better.

He thanked the men, then went to talk to the sheriff. “Kimball, did you take a picture of the crime scene and send it to anyone?”

Sheriff Kimball removed his hat and scraped a hand through his shaggy dark-blond hair. “No, of course not. Why?”

Dane debated whether to trust the man, but he needed help, and the sheriff was on the right side of the law, so he explained about the text.

“Shit.” Sheriff Kimball shook his head glumly. “You think the killer sent it to her?”

“Either that or someone here did.” Dane studied Kimball for a reaction, but Kimball showed none. “Someone who wanted to let her know that another killer struck in Graveyard Falls.”

“Well, hell,” the sheriff said. “That’s not good. Although if the killer sent it to Josie, we might be able to use that at some point to smoke him out.”

Dane’s insides knotted. “That is not an option,” Dane snapped. “Protecting the town and Miss DuKane are our top priorities. You got that?”

The sheriff’s frown deepened the lines around his eyes. For a minute, Dane thought he wasn’t going to answer, but then he made a clicking sound with his teeth and muttered, “Yeah, I got it.”

Dane silently chastised himself for overreacting. If he didn’t know Josie, he might have made the same suggestion.

Only he did know Josie. And he wasn’t about to let this sick son of a bitch get to her.

Had the killer sent the picture to spook Josie or as an invitation to play a game of cat and mouse with him?

Would that game turn into a hunt?

Anxiety riddled Josie as she drove back to her grandfather’s house. She rationalized that she was being paranoid, that she’d imagined those hands shoving her into the street, but what she’d felt was real.

Determined not to be caught off guard, she scanned the neighborhood and property for strangers.

She’d come to Graveyard Falls two years ago to visit her grandfather because he was ill. As a child, she’d never understood his animosity toward her or the terrible rift between her mother and him.

The moment she’d set foot in the old house, tension simmered in the air. Dark secrets and sadness permeated the walls as thick as the dust that had settled into the weathered wood and crevices.

Even now, sadness lingered as if it weighted the air and made it stale, hard to breathe. Wind whistled through the eaves so sharply that it sounded like a baby’s cry.

She flipped on the lights as she entered, the wood floor creaking as she crossed the room to the table where she’d left her notes on the Bride Killer and Thorn Ripper cases.

Staying here was both unnerving and cathartic. She’d wanted to make peace with the fact that her grandfather hadn’t wanted her, that he’d put Johnny in jail when Johnny was innocent, and wrecked her mother’s life. For years she’d wondered why he didn’t love her, if she wasn’t lovable.

If he hadn’t been so stubborn and sent her mother away, he would have known that she wasn’t Johnny’s child.

Even if she had been, she hadn’t done anything wrong. A decent man would have loved his grandchild no matter what.

She rolled her shoulders.

It didn’t matter. What was done was done. All she could do was accept it and move on.

Just like she’d had to accept the abuse in the Linder home and what they’d done to innocent victims.

Although acceptance and forgetting were two different things. The sight of the victims’ jewelry hanging on Charlene Linder’s skeletal bones was forever etched in her mind.

She studied the photograph she’d received today.

Was this a random murder?

Or would there be another?

Shaken, she went to her bedroom to change clothes, but she froze at the sight on her bed.

A Mitzi doll.

No, not just a Mitzi doll.

This one’s face was slashed, blood dotting its porcelain features.