He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not (2 page)

He’d worked in the toughest precincts to be the best detective he could be, so he’d never make that kind of mistake again. No matter how much he wished he could wrap his hands around the throat of the animal who’d tortured Carolyn O’Donnell, he couldn’t let his anger cloud his judgment. Other women’s lives hung in the balance if he made any mistakes with this investigation.

“Did you hear about the rose?” Cassie asked, breaking into his thoughts.

“The responding officer said Carolyn was holding a long-stemmed, red rose.”

“That’s right. The rose bud was nestled between her breasts and the stem was stripped clean of all but one thorn, which he embedded in her right palm, postmortem. Creepy.”

Definitely creepy, but if Logan’s suspicions were correct, that rose might be part of the killer’s signature, his pattern. Everything about the scene told Logan this was the work of a killer who’d killed before—and would kill again.

Cassie motioned for her assistants to bring the gurney. “When I finish the autopsy, I’ll overnight the samples to the state lab.”

“Hold onto the samples. I want to give the Feds first crack at the evidence.”

Cassie nodded, her relieved expression telling him she was just as anxious as he was to get help with this case. Shadow Falls was a small town with limited resources. And although Logan had worked on several serial killer cases in New York, no one else in the Shadow Falls Police Department had that kind of experience. He couldn’t do this alone.

Cassie gave him a friendly wave and turned to help with the removal of the body.

Once the body was carried outside the taped-off area, Logan crouched down to examine the footprints he’d noticed earlier. He followed the trail to a group of palmetto bushes. Some of the palm fronds were bent and twisted as if someone had recently passed between them. When he parted the leaves, he saw a narrow trail hacked through the woods. Someone had spent hours, maybe days, cutting this path. The killer? Had he also selected his victim ahead of time? Or did Carolyn O’Donnell just have the bad luck of being in the park when the killer made his move?

Looking back, Logan located his lead detective, David Riley. At thirty, Riley was only five years younger than Logan, but a lot less experienced. When Logan had taken the job as chief and inherited Riley as the lead, he’d assumed Riley was in that role just because the department was so small and there weren’t a lot of candidates to choose from. But Riley had quickly proven his abilities.

He was smart and friendly, able to play good cop or bad cop, depending on the need. He could charm a confession out of a suspect before they’d even seen the trap he’d set.

Unfortunately, Riley was speaking to Randy Clayton, a well-seasoned officer with a mouth that never quit. Clayton, who’d already been a veteran back when Logan began his career, wasn’t a bit pleased that the rookie he’d once taunted was now his boss. Logan only tolerated his smart-ass attitude because Clayton was due to retire in a few months.

Sighing in resignation, Logan motioned for Riley to join him and wasn’t surprised when Clayton tagged along, his usual smirk firmly in place.

Logan ignored Clayton and addressed Riley. “Has anyone searched this area yet?” He parted the fronds, revealing the path between them.

Riley’s brows rose in surprise. “We stayed out of this section, waiting for the medical examiner.”

Logan drew his gun from the shoulder holster beneath his suit jacket. He stepped between the palmettos, careful to avoid their sharp tips, keeping to the edge of the path so he didn’t tread on any of the footprints. “Let’s see if we have company.”

Riley and Clayton glanced at each other with wide eyes and drew their weapons. The three men followed the path through the thick brush. A few minutes later they emerged at the edge of the mall parking lot, next to a row of dumpsters.

Logan motioned to the others and they fanned out, checking possible hiding places. When he was sure there was no danger, he holstered his weapon. “I’ll call for another team to tape off the area. Secure the scene until they arrive.”

Clayton tugged on his pants to pull them up over his protruding belly. “Riley, doesn’t this seem similar to that other murder when you were a street cop? About four years ago?”

A look of realization crossed Riley’s face. “You’re right. I should have thought of that.”

“What murder?” Logan glanced back and forth between them.

Clayton scratched at the gray stubble on his jaw. “There was another girl that went missing, and then turned up in a cabin all cut-up a few days later. There was a rose in her hands too. I can’t remember her name though, something like Diana, Deana—”

“Dana,” Riley said. “Dana Branson. I should have thought of her as soon as I saw the body this morning. I wasn’t a detective back then, but I heard the details, saw the pictures.” He shuddered, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “It seems like an obvious tie-in now, but I was at the convention when O’Donnell went missing, and didn’t think about it when you called me, Logan. Maybe if I’d been here a few days ago, I might have—”

Logan waved Riley into silence, impatient to hear the details about the other murder. “Clayton, tell me what you remember about the other case.”

“The vic was Caucasian, mid-twenties, long, brown hair, blue eyes. She, ah . . .” He cleared his throat, his face flushing red. “She was missing for three days before we found her. Just like O’Donnell.”

Logan’s throat ached with the urge to shout his frustration. He wished his men had told him about the earlier case when O’Donnell first went missing. Would it have changed how he’d directed the search? Maybe, maybe not. It all depended on the details of that first case and whether there were any clues to that perp’s identity. Without knowing for sure, he wasn’t about to lay that kind of guilt on someone else. He was the chief. Ultimately, he was responsible. “Who were the suspects in the original case?”

“There weren’t any suspects. All the leads went cold,” Clayton said. “But Branson wasn’t alone. There was another woman with her.”

Disbelief had Logan clamping his jaw shut to avoid saying something he knew he’d regret. How could his men have forgotten a brutal, double homicide in a town of fifty thousand people? Especially since the only murders around here were usually the result of a drunken bar fight or a crime of passion between two people who supposedly loved each other. He took a deep breath and prayed for patience. “Who was the second murder victim?”

Clayton shook his head, his smug look returning. “You got it all wrong,” he said. “The second girl, Amanda Stockton, she got away.”

A
manda eased her tired body down onto her leather couch to take a much-needed break from her computer. Making a living by writing computer programs at home rather than having to go into an office was a blessing, but it was also a curse. She’d become the hermit her sister had once accused her of being, working inside on a beautiful weekend rather than going out. The sky—visible from her back windows—was so blue it hurt to look at it. And she knew if she went outside she’d smell the salt in the air, might even be able to hear the waves crashing on the shore a few miles away.

She’d enjoyed the ocean once, a lifetime ago. She’d loved hearing the sand crunch beneath her feet, feeling its cooling touch between her toes, listening to the cries of sea gulls overhead. But those days were gone, a part of her past. She could never be that carefree again, that ignorant of the people around her, that exposed, vulnerable.

Wary of the all-too-familiar path her tired mind was taking, she forced those thoughts aside and curled her legs beneath her. With one click of her remote, her brand-new, sixty-one- inch, high-def TV snapped to life. A decadent luxury, it had put a huge dent in her savings. But she’d only turn thirty once, so she’d splurged.

Instead of spending her birthday last week visiting her parents’ graves like she usually did, she’d watched two action flicks on her new TV, and shoveled handfuls of fattening, buttery popcorn into her mouth.

She didn’t regret buying the TV.

She did regret the popcorn.

An extra hour on the treadmill had been enough to keep her from indulging again anytime soon.

After clicking through the movie guide, she selected a crime scene drama. With her past, she knew most people would think her odd to like those kinds of shows, but it made perfect sense to her. It was all about control, facing and overcoming fears.

Not letting
him
win.

But instead of the show she’d expected, the screen filled with a live shot of the outside of the building that housed Shadow Falls’ city hall and police station. A red banner underneath the picture declared “Breaking News.”

When anchorwoman Tiffany Adams stepped in front of the camera, Amanda knew this was something far more important than another fluff piece on the upcoming mayoral race. Adams rarely left the anchor desk to report in the field, probably because her heavy makeup and hairspray didn’t respond well to the Florida humidity.

In a tone far too upbeat for what she was saying, she informed viewers that a jogger had discovered a woman’s body in the city’s main park early this morning, and that the mayor and police chief were about to give a news conference.

Amanda’s stomach fluttered and she twisted the hem of her pink tank top between her fingers. Four solemn policemen filed up to stand shoulder to shoulder behind a podium at the top of the steps. She shook her head at the bitter irony. If she went to a store without a written shopping list, half the time she’d come home without the very items she most needed. And yet, even though she hadn’t spoken to those policemen in years, she could still remember their names. Some things she could never forget.

Even though she wanted to.

Mayor Edward Montgomery heaved his bulk up the steps and stood red-faced in front of the officers lined up behind the podium’s bank of microphones. His usual jovial personality and rotund appearance had given him the nickname of Santa. He wasn’t jovial today. After giving one of his briefest speeches since the start of election season, he introduced Police Chief Logan Richards and motioned toward someone off-camera.

A man with short, dark hair strode into view and stood next to the mayor, towering over him. Impeccably dressed in a navy blue suit—in spite of the stifling heat—Richards radiated confidence and authority.

The previous police chief had retired about six months ago and moved to California. Amanda knew Richards was his replacement and that he was from New York, but she hadn’t paid much attention to the news reports about him when he was hired. That part of her life was over and she wanted nothing to do with any more policemen.

He looked younger than she’d expected—maybe mid-thirties—although the tiny shots of silver in his blue-black hair might mean he was older. His skin was smooth and tanned, with a slightly darker shadow along his jaw. He was probably one of those men who always looked like he needed to shave. She bet it drove him crazy; it contrasted starkly with the rest of his crisp, polished appearance.

When he spoke, his rich, deep baritone cut across the chatter of the reporters and demanded everyone’s attention. His speech was short and concise, confirming what Tiffany Adams had reported earlier but adding little else.

He nodded at a reporter from the
Shadow Falls Journal
, the same reporter who’d badgered Amanda with relentless, personal questions when she was released from the hospital four years ago. After suffering through his crass, intimate questions about her abduction, she’d never agreed to another interview—not with the press, anyway. The detectives had interviewed her so many times she’d sarcastically threatened to move into the police station to save them time.

“Chief, can you confirm the body in the park is missing college student Carolyn O’Donnell?” the reporter asked.

“Until the next of kin are notified, I can’t speak to the identity of the—”

“Do you actually expect us to believe the dead woman isn’t O’Donnell?” the same reporter shouted.

Richards pointed to another reporter, effectively dismissing the
Journal
reporter, leaving him red-faced and sputtering.

Amanda couldn’t help but grin.

“Yes, the body was discovered just off the main jogging trail in a remote section of the park,” Richards said in response to a question.

“No, the jogger who found the victim isn’t a suspect in the slaying.”

“I can’t confirm or deny sexual assault until the autopsy is completed.”