Bond, Stephanie - Body Movers 05 (16 page)

the rarefied air in the country club, the oppressive

humidity felt like freedom.

“Is Coop coming?” Hannah asked as they jogged down a

set of steps.

“No, but I got the sense that Wesley had someone with

him, someone he didn’t ful y trust.”

The extended van was waiting for them. Wes jumped out

and gestured for them to hurry.

“I need you for backup,” he murmured as he helped

Carlotta climb in the rear seat. “I can’t get a fix on this

guy.”

When Kendall Abrams introduced himself, Carlotta

understood Wesley’s concern. The kid gave her the creeps.

He looked to be about Wesley’s age, with black eyebrows

as thick as bottle brushes, his eyes dark and darting. His

molasses-thick accent made him sound like a hick, but he

seemed observant, his eyes always moving. He also did not

seem pleased to have her and Hannah around.

“What’re they doing here?” he asked Wesley. “My uncle

said to just bring you.”

“On-the-job training,” Wes responded easily. “Coop needs

all the help he can get.”

“She’s not exactly dressed for it,” Kendall grumbled,

jerking his head toward Carlotta.

“There are scrubs in the back,” Wesley said. “Chil , okay?”

“Where’s Coop?” Carlotta asked to defuse the tension.

“Nobody can reach him,” Kendal supplied. “My uncle

thinks he’s on the sauce again.”

Carlotta exchanged worried glances with Hannah and

mentally vowed to check up on him. Since their return

from the Florida road trip where they’d picked up the body

of a celebutante, Coop had been withdrawn. At first she’d

attributed it to their flirtation with a fling that hadn’t

happened, but she was starting to think that something

deeper and darker was afoot.

They pul ed in to a neighborhood that was only a couple of

miles away, this one not quite so grand as Martinique

Estates, but nice nonetheless, with spacious homes and

neat landscaping on moderate-size lots. A two-story brick-

fronted home was ablaze with lights, the driveway and

curb lined with various civilian and official vehicles,

including two police cars, a car from the M.E.’s office, and

a GBI van.

Her heart was pumping as they drove up to the scene.

Because of the congestion, Wesley was forced to park

along a sparsely lit curb, where residents’ cars were

spaced at various intervals between mailboxes. They all

climbed out and Carlotta told them to go ahead while she

changed clothes.

“I’m right behind you,” she assured them, moving quickly.

She pul ed out scrub tops and bottoms, along with booties

to put over her Valentino silver-strap sandals, then

stepped into the shadows to change. She pul ed on the

scrub pants and lifted her cocktail dress over her head.

She smel ed the man a heartbeat before he clamped his

hand over her mouth. She screamed anyway, but the air

backed up in her throat, giving her an instant headache.

Terror seized her and she fought against his iron grip. No

way was she succumbing to The Charmed Kil er without a

fight.

“It’s me,” a familiar voice whispered.

Jack. She went limp for a few seconds before her anger

surged and she turned on him. “What are you doing?” she

whispered harshly, covering her red bra with crossed

arms, as if it mattered. “You nearly scared me to death!”

“Sorry,” he muttered. “No one can know I’m here.”

Realization dawned. “So this is another victim of The

Charmed Kil er?”

“So it seems.”

“I thought you were taken off the case.”

“That was a mistake.” His voice was thick with anger. As

her eyes acclimated to the darkness, she could see his tie

was undone, and his hair was sticking up, as if he’d been

raking his hand through it.

“So that explains the subterfuge. But how are you going to

investigate a crime if you’re not even supposed to be

here?”

“When I saw you get out of the van,” he said, his voice

suddenly cajoling, “I thought you might be wil ing to help.”

“You told me to stop body moving, and now you want my

help?”

“As if you’d listen to me. Nice bra, by the way.”

She frowned and pul ed on the top half of the scrubs

outfit. “Jack, are you crazy? What can I possibly do to

help?”

“Be my eyes and ears. Ask questions—be your nosy self.”

“Can’t your partner be your eyes and ears?”

“Not without jeopardizing her job. The state guys are

watching Marquez to make sure she doesn’t feed me

information.”

The thought of being in a position to give Jack something

Maria couldn’t gave her a little rush. “Okay, I’l see what I

can do.”

“Thanks,” he said, his shoulders relaxing a bit. “If I’m not

here when you come back out, I’l call you later.”

He disappeared into the darkness, presumably to his car

that was parked on another street. Carlotta took a

moment to marvel over how her relationship with Jack

had changed since they’d first met. Was it possible to bond

over murder and mayhem?

Feeling the weight of her mission, Carlotta hurried toward

the house, her head spinning with revelations.

When had she become the girl who would leave a black-tie

event at the country club for a chance to jump headlong

into investigating a serial kil er?

14

Carlotta flashed her morgue ID and a big, toothy smile to

get past the crime scene tape. Wesley, Hannah and

Kendall stood waiting for her on the porch.

“They won’t let us in,” Wesley said. “They’re not finished

yet.”

Carlotta wandered over to glance through a window and

saw Dr. Abrams conferring with GBI agents Wick and

Green over the body of a woman lying on the floor of what

looked like a den. Detective Marquez stood nearby,

listening intently.

From her clothing, Carlotta judged the victim to be in her

thirties. She was dressed modestly, and her clothing was

intact. She lay on her back, arms at her sides. The woman

didn’t appear to have any abrasions or other signs of

outward assault, but her face was cherry-red and swol en.

“Did you hear what happened?” Carlotta asked Wesley.

He shook his head. “No one wil tel us anything.”

Carlotta spotted one of the uniformed officers standing

near the crime scene tape looking her way. She elbowed

Wesley. “Give me a cigarette.”

“I don’t—”

“I don’t care if you’re smoking,” she cut in. “Give me one.”

He relented. Reaching into his pocket, he tapped one out

of a packet. “Need a light?”

“Not from you,” she said. Then, descending the porch

steps, she walked up to the cop who was keeping watch

behind the yel ow tape. “Hi,” she said, smiling.

Even in the semidarkness, she could tel he blushed. “Hi.”

“They’re not ready for us to move the body yet, so I

thought I’d grab a smoke. Do you have a light?” She knew

he did because she’d caught the whiff of cigarette smoke

on him when he’d let her through.

He pul ed out a lighter and she leaned close to light the

cigarette, then straightened and exhaled. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he mumbled.

“These always calm my nerves,” she offered. “This whole

thing with The Charmed Kil er has got me spooked.”

He nodded solemnly.

“I picked up his first victim, and two others,” she said with

a shudder. “And now here’s another one.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Pretty sick.”

She drew on the cigarette. “Who found her?”

“One of the neighborhood kids going door-to-door sel ing

gift wrap. He looked in the window and saw her lying

there. Fool thought she was asleep. Hours later he decided

to mention it to his parents and they called 911. I was the

first to respond.”

She made a noise to indicate she was impressed. “Were

there signs of forced entry?”

He hesitated.

“I’m only asking because I live by myself, and I need to

know how to protect myself.”

“No, no signs of forced entry,” he said, then pul ed at his

waistband and rocked back on his heels. “If you ask me, it

was either someone she knew, or someone she al owed to

talk his way inside.”

Their guy must not look very menacing if he was able to

easily gain entrance in to women’s houses.

“Did she live alone?” Carlotta asked.

“Looks that way.”

Carlotta tapped ash off the end of the cigarette. “She

wasn’t…assaulted, was she?”

“I went in when the coroner arrived and he said he

couldn’t be sure until he ran tests. But it didn’t look like

she was raped.”

She exhaled. “Wel , at least there’s that.”

“The GBI’s involved now,” he said. “This case is getting

serious attention.”

“It should be. It’s like this guy is taunting the police,

leaving those charms.” She lifted her arm to show him the

charm bracelet she was wearing. “It makes me afraid to

even wear mine. I don’t suppose you saw what kind of

charm he left this time.”

He looked over his shoulder nervously.

“I saw all the other ones,” she said. “There was a chicken,

a cigar, a car and a gun. Bizarre.”

“This was a tiny pair of handcuffs,” he whispered. “I saw

the M.E. take it out with tongs.”

“Ooh, creepy,” she said, tucking away the piece of

information. “Wel , maybe he was sloppy and left DNA

behind this time.”

“I doubt it. When I walked in, I smel ed bleach and I heard

the CSI guys say the place was wiped clean, as if the

person knew what he was doing.”

Michael Lane was a neat freak—in fact, he’d always wiped

down his locker at work with disinfectant and carried

around gel hand cleaner. She wondered if the other crime

scenes had been sanitized.

“The woman’s face is pretty red,” she offered. “Did you

hear the M.E. say what he thought had happened?”

“Said it looked like poison, but he’d have to run tests.”

Poison—a new M.O. for the kil er who had suffocated,

beaten, stabbed or shot his previous victims. She made a

mournful noise, imagining the woman’s last moments

alive. “How awful.”

“Yeah. Stil , as dead bodies go, I’ve seen much worse,” he

offered in a tone that said he’d been around the block,

yessiree.

“Right,” she said, then dropped her cigarette and stubbed

it out with her toe. “Thanks for the light.”

The officer cleared his throat. “Maybe we could get a drink

sometime.”

Her mind swam for a polite brush-off.

“Carlotta!” Wesley yel ed from the house.

“I’d like that, Officer…?”

“Childress, ma’am.”

“I’d like that, Officer Childress,” she said with a smile. “I

have to go.” She walked back to the porch where Wesley

and Hannah were descending the steps.

“They’re ready for us,” Wesley said. “Abrams wanted to

talk to Kendall, show him a few things. I thought we’d go

ahead and get the gurney.”

“Can you and Hannah handle it?” Carlotta asked.

“Sure.”

“Okay, I’l see you inside.” She jogged up the steps and

into the house. When she heard the voices of the GBI

agents coming her way, she darted into the hallway,

relieved when they walked on by and outside. They were

deep in conversation, fol owed by Detective Marquez.

Carlotta tiptoed past the front door and into the room

where Abrams was bent over the body, pointing out things

to his nephew, Kendall.

“Notice the extreme coloring of the facial skin.”

“Looks like a really bad sunburn,” Kendall offered.

Abrams’s mouth tightened. “It’s a sign of poisoning. Do

you notice that smel ?”

Kendall sniffed. “Yeah, she’s dead.”

“Not that,” the older man said, his voice shaded with

frustration. “The smel of burnt almonds.”

Kendall sniffed again. “No, I got nothing. So she, what,

choked on an almond?”

Carlotta almost felt sorry for Abrams—it was clear his

nephew wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.

“Uh, no. Remember I said she was poisoned? The scent of

almonds indicates cyanide poisoning.”

“Hmm,” Kendall offered with a scratch to his head. “That’s

bad, huh?”

Abrams sighed. “Very bad.”

“Dr. Abrams,” Carlotta ventured, walking closer. “What’s

the victim’s name?”

He looked up and frowned. “Oh, Carlotta, I didn’t realize

you were here, too. The victim’s name is Marna Col ins,

age thirty-eight. She was a middle-school teacher.”

“How long has she been dead?”

“Why do you want to know?” he asked suspiciously,

closing his black bag and pushing to his feet.

She shrugged careful y. “I just wondered if rigor had set in,

in preparation for moving the body.”

“Partial rigor,” he said in a clipped tone.

“What’s rigor?” Kendall asked.

Abrams frowned harder. “Rigor mortis occurs when the

deceased’s muscles begin to freeze.”

Kendall stil looked confused.

“The limbs begin to get stiff after three hours,” Carlotta

supplied. “Ful rigor sets in around the twelve-hour mark.”

Partial rigor indicated that Marna Col ins had been dead

maybe six to eight hours.

“I didn’t realize you were so knowledgeable,” Abrams said,