Dead Suite (19 page)

On one hand Sadie really did not want to summon the eerie ghost of Marlene, but on
the other, she knew that might be the only way to get the answers she needed.

She was almost in Bellevue now so she told Rosemary she had to go and agreed that
they could talk again later to discuss the idea of making contact with Marlene and
then putting a circle of protection on Sadie’s house and, perhaps, on her entire life.

She met her client promptly at one o’clock at the tidy town house on Bellefield Park
Lane. The woman was a no-nonsense lady with dark skin who carried an extra twenty
pounds effortlessly around her middle, but her shoulders hung heavy with the weight
of grief. She asked Sadie into the town house and made tea. Although Sadie cringed,
she sipped the black hot liquid politely. Almost as bad as the tea was the distinct
coppery smell of blood that permeated the small house.

Sadie let the woman tell her story in her own time. She talked about the weather and
appeared oblivious to the smell of blood. Halfway through her second cup of tea she
began softly speaking about the beautiful young woman who was her daughter. She explained
to Sadie that her daughter’s cancer had been in remission for years, but recently
they’d discovered it had returned and was inoperable. They’d taken a trip to Hawaii
and the night they got back the daughter had been exhausted. She thanked her mom for
the trip and told her she loved her. Once she’d left her daughter alone, the young
woman had gone into her bathroom and used a gun to remove cancer’s own deadline.

“She left a note saying she couldn’t stand the thought of me sitting by her bedside
in some hospital room for months,” she said.

“I’m so sorry for your loss. I went through a similar situation with my own brother.
He didn’t have cancer, but he was troubled and took his life in the same way,” Sadie
replied.

Their eyes met across the table and held in mutual grief. Sadie took out a pamphlet
from her purse and gave it to the woman.

“This is a great support group for families affected by suicide,” Sadie told her.
“They were a big help to me.”

The client thanked her and then slid a key across the Formica table to Sadie.

“I’ll leave you to do what you need to do. Call me when you’re finished up here.”

Sadie promised she would. Then Sadie waited until after her client was gone before
she went to her car, got her hazmat gear and camera, and returned to the house to
take pictures of the scene for her records. Before she even opened the door to the
en suite bathroom, Sadie knew the horrific scene that waited for her. She took a deep
breath, steeled herself, and opened the door.

The bathroom was an explosion of red that had dried in long streaks and drips down
the walls, cabinetry, and mirror. Sadie snapped pictures matter-of-factly. It was
exactly what she expected and she could finish the job in eight to ten hours.

She’d brought a number of bins and supplies with her from home, so she carried in
what she had. She then locked up the tidy townhome and headed to her storage unit,
where she kept additional supplies. Within half an hour, Sadie had loaded up her vehicle
and was on the road back to Bellevue.

She was only a couple blocks away when Petrovich passed by her in his unmarked car.
Sadie watched curiously as the detective turned onto 112th Avenue. This was the same
street on which she’d cleaned up the garage for Hugh Pacheo. Curious, Sadie followed
Petrovich down the road and was shocked to see him stop in front of the same house.
She was even more stunned that the garage she’d cleaned was covered in crime-scene
tape.

A feeling of dread filled her stomach as she pulled to the curb behind Petrovich and
hopped out to approach the detective.

“What’s up?” Sadie called to him.

Petrovich approached Sadie with his eyebrows raised in question. “What’s up with you?
What are you doing here?” he asked her.

“I’m working a suicide clean a block away and was returning with supplies when I saw
you pull up to Mr. Pacheo’s place.”

“Whose?” His eyes darkened as he closed the gap between them. “You know who lives
here?”

“Well, sure.” Sadie swallowed nervously. “I was hired to do a suicide cleanup just
a few days ago.” Sadie’s fingers went automatically to the necklace around her throat.

“Who hired you?” Petrovich reached out and clamped a hand on Sadie’s wrist.

“Hugh Pacheo,” Sadie said, yanking her arm out of his grip. “I thought it was clear,
Dean. There was no tape across the place. Fluids from a hanging in the garage. It
looked routine to me.”

Dean Petrovich’s eyes had dark circles under them and he wearily rubbed the stubble
on his chin. He looked pained.

“No wonder we’re getting no trace whatsoever from that garage,” he growled. “You sterilized
the place within an inch of its life.”

“Well, yeah,” Sadie said, nervously. “That’s what I do. It was a suicide and—”

“Not a suicide,” Petrovich hissed at her. Looking around, he nodded to his car. “Wait
here.”

She climbed into the passenger seat of his unmarked and waited.

Not a suicide?

Sadie thought about Hugh Pacheo and the fact that she hadn’t been able to reach him
since cleaning up. She was getting a bad feeling about the entire thing.

She watched as Petrovich approached a couple other officers standing in the driveway.
Simultaneously all three turned and stared at Sadie. She sunk lower in the seat under
their scrutinizing stares.

Petrovich returned to the car and regarded Sadie coolly. “Couple weeks ago a neighbor
got suspicious and called SPD. We came and found a young man hanging in the garage,”
Petrovich began.

“Hugh Pacheo’s son, right?” Sadie said.

“House belonged to a young man named Lester Pacheo,” Petrovich continued.

“Right.” Sadie nodded enthusiastically. “After you guys did your job, removed the
body and everything, I came in to clean up. His dad hired me,” Sadie repeated.

Petrovich sighed. “It looked standard to us. Homicidal hanging is not your everyday
cup of joe. He left no note, but there isn’t always one. Anyway, the medical examiner
had issues with the ligature marks and ran a toxicology test. Lester Pacheo was drugged
using the exact same cocktail as the prostitutes.” He pinned Sadie with his most cop-like
glare. “Do you understand what I’m saying? This case is connected to our finger-chopping
serial killer.”

“Oh my God,” Sadie whispered. Her eyes were wide with fear as the realization dawned.
“The dad, Hugh Pacheo, hired me to clean up!” The gears inside her head were turning.
“Is he the killer? Did I take a job to clean up after a serial killer?”

“Sadie,” Petrovich said, blowing out a long breath and shaking his head, “Hugh Pacheo
died over ten years ago.”

Chapter 14

Sadie felt suddenly sick. Not just slightly nauseated, but like she’d been swallowed
by a tsunami of swirling sewage.

���Are you going to throw up?” Petrovich asked. “You don’t look so good. “

She was sweating like a Satanist visiting the Pope.

“I just need some fresh air,” Sadie said.

She climbed out of his car and drew in deep, cleansing breaths before she went down
like a sack of wet cement in a dead faint.

When she came to, Detective Petrovich was crouched next to her and eyeing her like
she was a specimen under a microscope.

“Do I need to call an ambulance?”

“No!” Sadie sprung to her feet and stood with her legs apart to give her a little
extra balance. “I’ve been dizzy lately. I must be coming down with something. Maybe
the flu.”

“This isn’t like you.” He scrunched up his face and looked at her stomach. “You’re
not pregnant are you?”

“What! No, no, no.” Sadie laughed a little too loudly. “That would be entirely impossible.”

She thought about her hot and heavy night with Owen Sorkin and blushed to her roots.

“Huh.” Petrovich looked skeptical. “Then you need to see a doctor.”

“You’re absolutely right.” Sadie nodded and cringed at the thought of the cost of
visiting her doctor and then paying for all the tests he’d probably order.

“If you’re not going to pass out again, I need a description of this guy claiming
to be Hugh Pacheo.”

“Of course.” Sadie nodded enthusiastically. “Can we do this in my car? I’ve got a
bottle of water in there.”

They walked over to Sadie’s vehicle and Dean Petrovich folded his legs up to his chest
to fit. He couldn’t move the passenger seat farther back because she’d filled the
backseat with cleaning stuff.

“Sorry,” Sadie said. “I was on my way to a job a couple blocks from here and SPD still
has my van.”

“Right.” Petrovich angled his body so he was facing her. “We gotta figure out what
your connection is here. Fingers have been left on your windshield twice, so he knows
what you drive. A faked suicide just to get you out here to clean up? He’s playing
cat and mouse with you. I’m guessing this is someone you’ve met, or at least dealt
with in the past, and you must’ve pissed him off big-time.”

Sadie shook her head and felt tears well up. “I can’t think of anyone who hates me
this much.”

“Describe
exactly
how you got the call from this Hugh Pacheo and where you met him.”

“E-mail. He, um, e-mailed me first. Left me a cell number and we talked, but the phone’s
been disconnected since then.” She scrolled through her phone and forwarded the e-mail
she received from him to Petrovich’s e-mail account. “I’ve sent it,” Sadie told him.
“The cell phone number is included in that e-mail.”

“I’m betting we’ll find that the cell is stolen or it was a throwaway phone.”

Sadie described everything she could think of about her communication with Hugh Pacheo.

“You met him in the evening. Was it dark?”

“Starting to get dark,” Sadie agreed. “Streetlights had just come on.”

She nodded her chin toward the long driveway lined with a tall cedar hedge.

“We parked in the driveway and the nearest neighbor probably wouldn’t have been able
to see us in our cars because of the trees.” She described the late-model gray Chevy
he’d been driving.

“So he took you inside and showed you the place the body had been?”

She shook her head.

“We signed the contract outside of our cars and he only gave me a key for entrance
to the garage through the side door. He didn’t come in with me.” She saw Petrovich
scribbling notes. “But that’s not unusual. Most parents aren’t anxious to revisit
the place where there kid died.”

“But he wasn’t the parent,” he reminded her. “Describe him.”

“He looked like a nice old guy. Early sixties. Full head of thick, salt-and-pepper
hair. Blue eyes. Average build and height. He had nicely manicured nails, which I
thought was unusual for a man his age.” Sadie shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know what
else to tell you. He had the type of face that seemed vaguely familiar but I’m sure
we never met.”

“Then why would he seem familiar?”

“Just had that look . . . like he was every kind, sweet grandpa you’d ever meet . . .
your average guy on the street.” Sadie closed her eyes in thought. “Sorry I can’t
give you more.”

Petrovich took a photo out of a manila folder and handed it to her.

“This guy look familiar?”

Sadie examined the picture closely. The bald man in the photo had a rotund face sporting
numerous chins and a red bulbous nose.

“I’ve never seen him before.”

“That’s the
real
Hugh Pacheo.”

Sadie stared at the picture and shook her head. “Definitely not the guy who met me.”

The detective took the photo back. “Good. I’d hate to think the guy came back from
the dead to hang his own son but, when dealing with you, I know not to leave any stone
unturned.” He sounded less than happy about it. “I’m going to need you to come down
to the station and give me a full report on the record.”

“I gotta do this job first,” Sadie said. “I’m not getting enough work these days.
I can’t afford to throw one away. It’s two blocks away.”

“Fine. I can live with that.” He hooked a thumb in the direction of the house. “I
got work cut out for me here anyway. This job you’ve got, is there any chance it could
be connected to this one or the others?”

Sadie gave him the details of the suicide job and he nodded his head.

“I didn’t get the call on that one, so I’ll check with the officers involved. You
think it’s a straight-up suicide though?”

“Yes.” Sadie nodded. “Although, I thought the same about this one.”

“Right. You’ll call me when you finish up and we’ll get everything you know on paper,
okay? I’m going to want access to all your files too. This thing is connected to you
and we gotta figure out what that link is.”

Sadie kept meticulous records and told Petrovich he was welcome to come to her house
and go through them.

Before he hoisted himself out of Sadie’s car he asked her, “By the way, I don’t suppose
you had any visitors when you were cleaning here?” He put the word
visitors
in air quotes.

Sadie shook her head. “No, but I don’t get suicides talking to me, so—” She stopped
short. “But it wasn’t a suicide after all.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I remember
catching the glimpse of something in my peripheral vision when I worked in the garage.
I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me. Do you want me to try and contact someone
here?”

He looked pained as he shook his head. “How about we just go about figuring this out
the old-fashioned way?”

“Fine. No trying to talk to the dead. Was there any evidence found on my van?” Sadie
asked.

“Tons of prints. Yours and some of the workers at the hotel on the back door. Nothing
on or near the windshield.” He sputtered loudly. “I don’t get it. Somehow you’re connected
to this. It’s like the guy wants you to be the one to catch him.”

“I’m more than a little freaked out,” Sadie said seriously.

“I’ll arrange to have a uniform car drive by your place every hour or so, okay? But
it would be better for you to stay with someone. A friend? Your mom?”

“I’ll think about it.” She nodded and thanked him. Sadie knew a lot of killing could
get done in the fifty-nine minutes between the times an officer would drive by her
place, but there was no way she’d bunk with her family while some serial killer had
her in his crosshairs.

“Dean, there’s one more thing. . . .”

Sadie had left it to the end. She felt oddly reluctant to remove the necklace from
around her neck, but now she handed it over to the detective.

“Hugh Pacheo . . . or the guy claiming to be him, gave me this necklace. He also gave
me a song and dance about not being able to pay me until his pension check came and
would I please wear the necklace all the time to bring me good luck until we met again
with the payment for my services.”

“And you believed that load of crap?” Petrovich held the pendant up and stared at
it hard.

“Well, like I said . . . he seemed like an okay guy and—”

She was interrupted by Petrovich reading the back of the gold disc.

“Carnalem concupiscentiam est insatiabilis.”
He shook his head slowly as he looked at Sadie. “Do you know what that translates
to?”

“I never studied Latin, but Hugh, um, the guy pretending to be Hugh, said it was some
sort of good-luck message.”

“No,” Petrovich snapped. “It loosely translates to ‘Carnal desire is insatiable.’
Doesn’t sound like a good luck charm to me.”

Sadie’s throat grew tight and she chewed her lower lip.

“I didn’t know you studied Latin.”

“I dabbled in college.” Petrovich was still staring at the necklace.

“You’re right. It doesn’t sound like good luck,” Sadie sniffed.

“No, but it does sound like the motto of our killer. Wait here.”

He climbed out of the car and Sadie watched as he took the necklace over to his vehicle
and securely tucked it away in an evidence bag he retrieved from his trunk. Then he
approached the investigators in the garage and turned it over. When he came back to
Sadie’s car he was silent awhile and she knew he was weighing whether or not to tell
her something.

“The three girls killed at the hotels . . . ,” he began slowly. “They didn’t die from
knife wounds.”

“Was it the drug cocktail that killed them? The same thing used to drug Lester Pacheo
before he died?”

“No. The drug mixture was solely to incapacitate the victims so that he could kill
them without a struggle.”

“Then if it wasn’t the drugs, and it wasn’t multiple knife wounds . . .”

“They were strangled. Before they were stabbed, they were choked to death and the
killer didn’t use his hands.” He reached and placed a hand on Sadie’s arm in a rare
showing of emotion. “From the markings on the girls’ necks, the ME believes the killer
used a thick gold chain.”

Sadie shook her head violently, trying to erase the idea from her head.

“This was clearly a warning. He got off on the idea of you wearing it until he could
kill you with it.”

Sadie’s hand went to her throat.

“What do I do?”

Petrovich offered to stay with Sadie until a friend came to get her, but she declined.
She was still a professional and she still had a job to do, she told him. However,
he wouldn’t be put off and insisted that she call a friend to find a place to stay.
She thought about her sister, Dawn, or Maeva but they had babies, and that changed
everything. Petrovich wasn’t leaving until she called someone, so, reluctantly, she
dialed Rosemary. Sadie was careful not to tell her about the new evidence, particularly
not in front of the detective who’d have a cow if he knew of Rosemary’s habit of video
and blogging about events.

“She says it’s no problem if I stay with her,” Sadie told him.

“Good. Go do your job, but you keep in contact. I will bring you down and get your
statement probably tomorrow.” He pointed to a patrol car. “He’ll be following you
too.”

Sadie nodded and once she’d pulled away from the curb and left Petrovich to tend to
evidence collection, her hand went to her heart pounding inside her chest as if she
could stop her fear.

On her way to the self-inflicted gunshot job, Sadie called back Rosemary and thanked
her for allowing her to stay. She also said that once she’d finished the cleanup job,
she wanted to get together with her and Maeva.

“I’ll see if she’s available to come over,” Rosemary said. “You sound strange. Is
everything okay?”

“No,” Sadie replied, her voice shaking. “Everything is far from okay.”