Everywhere She Turns (23 page)

“Looking for anything in particular?” Braddock inquired. He had an idea.

“Looking for a signature.”

E. Noon. He’d figured as much.

She slid down the branch to the trunk of the tree, then jumped down. “Nothing there.”

“Did you check the pork shoulder?”

“Funny.” She hitched her head toward the house. “I’m gonna have a look for that signature.”

Braddock couldn’t argue her logic. “There is some fairly complicated staging to the scene.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Cooper said, excitement building, playing out on her face. “The way he was laid out. Like he was being crucified or something. And the way his weapon was on the floor just out of reach.”

“Braddock, Cooper, you might want to see this.”

Candice Dobbins was on her knees next to the body. The vic’s hands and feet had been freed and he’d been rolled onto his side. Dobbins was directing an evidence tech in the taking of additional photos.

“Take a look,” Dobbins pointed a gloved finger to the vic’s back, directly between his shoulder blades.

A silver cross had been secured there, the top of the cross pointing downward.

“Glued, I believe,” Dobbins offered.

“More staging,” Cooper muttered.

What the hell was Nash up to? Other than sending Braddock a big fat message.

“You estimated a time of death yet?” Braddock realized Dobbins had barely gotten to the scene, but knowing the time was crucial to diving into his investigation.

“Considering the body temp and progressive state of rig, the coagulation of the blood . . .” She shrugged. “I’d say he’s been dead a good five or six hours.”

Cooper moved around the kitchen, looking for the signature. Braddock joined her search. Tangible evidence right up front would be nice. Even the best killers made mistakes.

Braddock’s cell vibrated. He checked the screen. Dispatch. He opened it. “Braddock.” Dispatch passed along two urgent messages from Detective Jenkins. Braddock needed to call him as soon as possible.

Anticipation fired in his veins. Why the hell hadn’t Jenkins called him directly? He checked the incoming call log, missed call from Jenkins. Braddock stepped out the back door and made the call. One ring and Jenkins answered. He didn’t give Braddock a chance to speak. He should come to CJ’s house. Now. The detective’s final words kept replaying over and over even after the call ended.

Blood is all over the bed
.

3021 Appleton Street

Five minutes after Braddock arrived at CJ’s house, he called the Forensics techs to the scene.

He and Jenkins were at a standoff in the bedroom. CJ waited downstairs in the living room.

“I can’t believe someone got in without you noticing a thing,” Braddock repeated. Maybe if he kept going over that same detail, Jenkins would ’fess up. He’d either fallen asleep or had been AWOL. “What happened at the clinic yesterday was bad enough, but this is totally unacceptable.”

Jenkins shook his head, his gaze downcast. “I was right here all night. I didn’t hear or see anything. And that guy at the clinic was just like all the other people who came in and out.” He met Braddock’s gaze then. “Unless I’d followed him inside—and you told me to stay outside—I couldn’t have known.”

He could be telling the truth. The perp could have slipped through the back and left the front door unlocked just to make HPD look bad.

But Braddock wasn’t convinced.

“Here’s the deal.” Braddock stepped into the other detective’s personal space. “If I find out you’re lying to me, your career at HPD is over. Period.”

Jenkins nodded. “I understand.”

Braddock glared at him one last time. “Now get back to your post.”

He watched the humbled detective go. Jenkins had never given him any reason to doubt him. But this was one hell of a big reason. Giving him grace, they were all operating on adrenaline.
Not enough sleep. No time off. It would help if the chief would budge on the manpower cap. Wasn’t going to happen. Three detectives were all Braddock was allotted for this case.

Fury still charging through him, he went back downstairs to talk to CJ. She was pretty shaken.

She stopped her pacing and stared at Braddock as he descended the final steps.

“I don’t understand how someone got in without . . .” CJ shook her head in confusion, gestured vaguely. “They did this and I never even knew.” She hugged her arms around herself. “I slept right through it.”

She had told him about taking a sleeping aid. That was likely the reason she hadn’t awakened. But the problem, as he saw it, was that whoever came in and left this warning had no idea she’d taken something to help her sleep.

The intruder hadn’t cared.

Didn’t care about the official surveillance sitting right in front of the house.

That would be just like Nash.

She could have been injured or killed if she had awakened while the intruder was still in the house.

Fear trickled. She had Nash’s attention, all right.

“We need to talk.” Braddock ushered her to the sofa. The first thing that needed to be clarified by the lab was whether or not the blood on her bed belonged to Banks.

CJ looked painfully young and vulnerable this morning. The bandage on her throat reminded him of the crazed addict from the clinic. That she could have been killed for a handful of pain pills made him sick to his stomach. Reminded him of another victim who hadn’t been so lucky.

CJ’s hair was tucked into a ponytail, and the jeans and tee were seriously tighter-fitting than the clothes she generally wore. Not at all like the highly educated, conservative doctor.

Evidently she noticed his preoccupation with the way the tee hugged her breasts.

“I ran out of clothes.” She rubbed at her forehead. “When I was preparing to come here I just threw a couple of things in a bag.” She hugged herself tighter. “These are Shelley’s.”

He’d thought as much.

“There’s something you should know,” he said to preface the news. Though he was certain she had no warm, fuzzy feelings for Banks, she had known him for years. And he was her number one suspect in her sister’s murder.

Big blue eyes peered up at him. “Did you hear from the ME on Shelley’s case?”

Braddock shook his head. “There was another murder last night.”

Her face paled.

“Ricky Banks.”

She stared at him for a long moment before she reacted. Her expression blanked of emotion and she seemed to have trouble gathering her thoughts. “How?” She shook her head. “I mean . . . yes. How was he . . . murdered?”

“He was secured to the floor in his home and his dog tore out a couple of essential arteries.”

Her face pinched in horror. “Satan killed him?”

“We have reason to believe the animal was provoked into a frenzy.” Between his owner’s starvation tactics and the killer’s bait, that was a damned solid conclusion. “Then let loose on Banks.”

CJ dropped her head back on the sofa. “What does this do to Shelley’s case?” She lifted her gaze to Braddock’s once more. “I don’t mean to be unsympathetic, but does this mean he didn’t kill Shelley, or is this even relevant to her case?”

“I can’t answer that question yet. There are elements that are similar, indicating we could be dealing with the same perp. But it’s too early to say for sure.”

“It has to be Tyrone.” Fury compressed her lips into a thin line. “He’s crazy like this.” Her eyes widened with concern. “Do you think the blood was . . . ?”

“That the blood on your bed came from Banks?” He shrugged. “That’s a possibility.”

Her breath caught. “Oh, God.” Her hand went over her mouth.

“What?” He moved to the coffee table, directly in front of her.

“That girl.” She searched his eyes, hers filled with remorse.

“Celeste. She said more than any of the others. What if Tyrone—”

“Don’t even think about it.” He took her hands in his. “Listen to me, CJ. I know you grew up here, but you’ve never been a part of this life. Not really. You escaped—”

“That’s what Ricky said.” She looked away, bit down on her bottom lip.

The urge to reach out and soothe the flesh she tortured was nearly more than he could restrain. He tightened his grip on her hands. “These girls, like Celeste, Nash feeds off them. Uses them until he’s finished and there’s nothing left but a burned-out shell. Maybe your questions prompted his taking action against Celeste—”

Her face fell; pain glittered in her eyes.

“But the reality of it is, this kind of thing is inevitable when you’re a part of Nash’s world.” That wouldn’t make her feel better, any more than it did him.

“If he hurt her, it’s my fault.” She shook her head. “You didn’t see her. Beaten and bruised. Too thin. All Tyrone’s ‘foot soldiers’ are like that. It’s sick. Just sick.”

“That’s Nash’s standard operating procedure. Until he’s stopped, that and more will continue.”

“He has to be stopped.”

“He does.” He stared at their hands. Had forgotten he was holding hers. Evidently she’d only just noticed as well. She pulled her hands free of his. “But not by you. This”—he jerked his head toward her stairs—“was a second warning. You can’t keep digging around in Nash’s business.”

She folded her arms over her chest, tucking her hands beneath her arms as if she needed to protect them. “I told you, I’m not going to stop until I’m done.”

“No matter the cost?”

Fury lit in those blue eyes. “You’re a fine one to ask that question.”

He was the one looking away this time. She had him there. “Trust me.” He leveled his gaze on hers. “You don’t want to carry that burden.”

The silence dragged on a full minute.

Okay, he had a homicide scene to get back to. “Let’s have a look at your locks.” He pushed to his feet, stepped from between the sofa and coffee table.

She stood. A couple of inches of flat belly were revealed by the short tee. His throat tightened. Flashes from the other night, when he’d been so deep inside her, slammed into his gut. God, he wanted to touch her.

“It wasn’t locked when I got up,” she told him, “but I’m certain I locked it before I went to bed.”

Braddock shook off the forbidden thoughts. The techs had already dusted the door for prints. He squatted down to get a closer look. There were signs of forced entry but those marks appeared older. He twisted the knob.

“You need a new lock with a deadbolt today if you plan to continue staying here.” He pushed upright. “Anyone could unlock that door with nothing more than a credit card.”

“God. I should have thought of that. My apartment in Baltimore has three locks; two are deadbolts.”

“You can’t bully your way around in this neighborhood and then leave yourself open to attack.” He hated to harp on what she surely recognized at this point, but he needed to be certain the message got through. “You’re operating on emotion, and that can be hazardous to your health.”

“I can see that.” Her arms went around her torso again. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

“Consider yourself lucky that you’re getting another chance. Not all of Nash’s targets get that.”

A sedan pulled to the curb in front of her house. Braddock recognized the driver emerging.

Edward Abbott.

Abbott glanced at the official vehicles, then at the house. A uniform delayed him at the gate.

CJ was out the door and down the steps before Braddock could utter one of his usual negative comments about the guy.

Edward Abbott embraced CJ as if he hadn’t seen her in years. When he drew back he surveyed her from head to toe, then hugged her again.

Braddock moved across the porch and down the steps so he could hear the exchange.

“You’re sure you’re all right?”

She nodded. “Just a little shaken.”

Abbott’s head wagged. “I was afraid something like this would happen. You really shouldn’t be staying here. It’s not safe.”

CJ sensed his presence and turned to Braddock. “Edward, I believe you know Detective Braddock. He’s investigating Shelley’s murder.”

Abbott stepped forward, extended his hand. “We’ve met once before, I believe.”

Braddock shook the man’s hand. Firm, confident grip. “You would be correct.” Abbott had come over to check on Shelley when Braddock investigated the break-in nearly a year ago.

“Is there anything new on Shelley’s case?”

“We’re waiting on the autopsy results.” Sounded better than
no
.

“Ricky Banks is dead,” CJ told her friend. “Someone murdered him last night. In his aunt’s house.”

Edward frowned. “Isn’t he the man you suspected of . . . hurting Shelley?”

Hurting . . . yeah
. Braddock resisted the impulse to roll his eyes. This guy was such a suck-up.

“Yes. But now I don’t know.” She glanced at Braddock. When he didn’t stop her, she added, “He may have been murdered by the same person who killed Shelley.”