Homecoming Homicides (3 page)

Luke’s cheeks paled, taking on the color of the New Dawn roses that wound around the trellis outside her office window. At least he had the decency to look embarrassed before he let loose with that lethal baby-face smile of his, which had a habit of appearing at the most inappropriate times. She still had dreams about those dangerous dimples.

“Don’t even bother to deny it, you slimy little serpent,” Flippy hissed. “When one of my friends filled in for your chief’s secretary, she listened on the other side of the door when you tried to torpedo me.”

“I was just blowing off steam.”

“What you almost blew was my chance to do something meaningful with my life. To prove myself to my new director.”

Luke’s lips curled. “Old Iron Balls?”

“You think undermining me for what could possibly be the biggest assignment of my career is funny? And is it really necessary to insult my director? Elizabeth Beckham is a law enforcement legend.”

“She’s also a royal pain in the ass. Maybe I should call her
Queen
Elizabeth. No, I don’t think it’s funny, and yes, I think it’s necessary to insult your director, because she’s the scary bitch who fired me from the campus police department. But do you really think you’re cut out for this kind of work?”

“I need this job and I can do this job, if you would just step out of my way.”

“What’s the worst crime you’ve ever dealt with?” Luke challenged. “Bicycle and backpack theft? That’s a long way from serial killers.”

“Try date rape and sexual assault,” Flippy countered. “I’m the Department’s Victim Services Advocate. It’s my job to ensure that all victims of crime on campus receive fair treatment in accordance with the provisions of Florida State Statute 960.”

“I know the statute, sweetheart, but you don’t know Jack-shit about dealing with a serial killer.”

Flippy fumed at what she knew was the intentional mention of her ex-fiancé’s name.

“Why don’t we leave Jack out of this?” She shot Luke a hostile glare.

“Gladly. But bottom line, you don’t belong on this task force. This isn’t some stupid beauty contest. You are not qualified to serve.”

“I’m the new crisis manager on the task force,” Flippy informed Luke. “You people have a major crisis on your hands. I’m
definitely
cut out for this kind of work, and I
do
belong here because my director wants me on the team. And what’s so great about you, anyway? You’re a part-time cop at a two-bit metro police department in a one-horse town. Don’t you have any loftier aspirations?”

“I’m going to law school at night,” Luke said, raising his chin defensively.

“Been there. Done that.”

“That’s right. Chief Bradley figured that since you and I went to law school together,
before
you flunked out after a whopping
six days
, we could team up on this case.”

“Dropped out,” she corrected. “Because we’re such good buds, is that what you told him?”

“Look, Flippy...”

“And don’t call me Flippy. My professional name is Philippa.”

“What kind of name is Flippy anyway?” Luke challenged, plopping his lanky frame down on her only guest chair, which made annoying creaking noises every time he moved. “Wasn’t that the name of a dolphin or something?”

“That was Flipper, and what business could that possibly be of yours?”

“Whoa, don’t flip out on me,” Luke protested, his eyes sparkling as he signaled time-out with his hands. “I’m just curious.”

Trying to exercise a modicum of restraint in the spirit of cooperation, Flippy graciously answered, “It’s a nickname. My baby sister couldn’t pronounce Philippa.”

Flippy
. How many times had she been teased about her nickname? A name that had stuck throughout high school and college.
Flippy Longstocking. My Friend Flippy.
Dippy Flippy.
She didn’t know any other Philippas, but how could her mother ever have thought that name was distinctive?

And how many times had Jack abused her name? His standard Valentine’s Day card read, “I’ve flipped over you.” And how could she ever forget his all-time favorite—“I’m hungry. Why don’t you flip me some pancakes?” When he knew perfectly well that she couldn’t even cook.

She had let Jack call her Flippy, but Jack was out of her life now, and no one was ever going to call her Flippy again.

“Bastard,” she mumbled under her breath.

“Jesus, Flippy.”

“Luke, you obviously can’t follow instructions, so get your tight ass out of my chair.”

Luke’s eyebrows rose in amusement, but he didn’t budge.

“I could return the compliment, but I’m a gentleman, so I won’t. Luke eased the chair back on two legs and folded his hands in a leisurely manner behind his head.

Flippy wanted to grind his balls, one at a time, under the heel of her shoe until she forced that smug look off his face. But he was just winding up.

“How do you rate an office anyway?” said Luke, who’d already moved on to the next insult. “You just got this job.”

“In the type of work I do, I need a separate space from the rest of the department. When I counsel victims, we sometimes discuss sensitive matters. They’re traumatized enough without having the whole department listening in on our private conversations.”

“And the way I see it,
you
need
me
. The city has jurisdiction in this case, and my chief backs me up on that.”

“Well, according to my director, we have jurisdiction here. The bodies of the five victims were found on landmark sites around the campus, so you’re on
our
turf. We were responsible for forensic examination of the crime scenes before the city started sticking its nose into our business. You’re overstepping, Slaughter.”

“
You’re
the one who’s overstepping,” Luke argued. “The girls weren’t necessarily murdered on campus, so it looks like jurisdiction is a muddy issue. Why don’t you stop acting like a girl and stop trying to turn this into a tug-of-war over jurisdiction. We’re supposed to be working together. That’s why it’s called a
joint
task force.”

“You people couldn’t solve a crime if the killer walked through this door and turned himself in.”

“You act like it’s your job to
solve
the crime. The way I understand it, your role is to manage the media and handle the families, help calm fears. Leave the investigation to the professionals.”

“And you consider yourself one of the professionals?”

“I’m a police officer. Which is a damn sight better than calling in some psychics from Atlanta. Why the hell they did that, I’ll never know. And isn’t that former Atlanta cop named Jack something or other? What is it about you and guys named Jack? You seem to attract them like flies.”

Flippy went after Luke with both barrels blazing. “Jack
Hale
and his
psychic
wife just solved the Sydney Strangler case. What case have you solved lately? In fact, where were you last year when the homecoming queen you were
supposed
to be protecting was found stabbed to death in her dressing room at the stadium?”

Luke blanched, then bounced back with his best defensive move.

“You mean when I found
you, the first runner-up
, standing over her body? Way to kill the competition, Flip.”

Flippy gnawed on her bottom lip. That was a scene she’d spent the last year and a half trying to forget. A scene that replayed over and over on a continuous feed in her head. A scene that apparently no one in this city would ever let her forget.

“They were calling for us to get in the car to circle the field,” Flippy explained. “Everyone was there but Melinda. I was the one who went back to get her when you pulled your disappearing act. And sh-she was just lying there, curled up in a ball, in a pool of blood. And she wasn’t moving. Sh-she was—”

“Is ‘dead’ the word you’re looking for?”

“Yes. You were there. And history seems to be repeating itself.”

“Maybe I ought to be asking
you
where
you
were the night Traci Farris went missing?” Luke said.

Flippy slumped against her seat, sucked in short breaths, and went silent. If anyone even suspected that she had been the last person to see Traci Farris before she disappeared, she would be pulled off the task force, maybe even arrested.

She had the unfortunate knack of always managing to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Timing never was one of her strong suits.
She
knew she was innocent, but it wouldn’t look that way to the FBI, who’d just been called in on the Homecoming Homicides case. She’d be the first person they would suspect. Again, she had motive. She’d walked in on Traci and her fiancé
in flagrante delicto
. And she had opportunity. But short of scalding them to death with a steaming pot of hot chicken soup, they wouldn’t find a murder weapon. Because there was none.

If the authorities knew what had happened, they might go after Jack. But even though Jack was a cheating bastard, he hadn’t killed Traci. He could hardly get out of bed. Which was the crux of the problem in the first place. But it wouldn’t look good for either of them. That was one little secret she intended to keep to herself.

“Are you accusing me of something?” she managed.

Luke gave her a satisfied look.

“Should I be?”

“What you
should
be doing is trying not to veer off topic. We’ve got a crisis on our hands.”

“I’ll agree that this sadistic son-of-a-bitch has Graysville by the balls.”

“Do you think the same guy who killed Melinda is killing the new crop of homecoming contestants?” That’s something Flippy had long suspected. The Melinda Crawford murder was now a cold case. A serious blight on the record of the University police force. And a serious blight on her own reputation and Luke’s.

“The FBI says no. Our guy is a serial killer. He wouldn’t have killed that one time and then waited another whole year to kill again.”

“But maybe he was locked up in prison, or maybe he has been killing in another state. Maybe he’s tied to other unrelated murders we’re not even investigating.”

“You think we haven’t thought of that? The FBI is looking into all those possibilities. They’ve considered all the angles. They don’t need any advice from a novice.”

“You’re nothing but a rookie city cop.”

“If I solve this case, I could make detective.”

“That’s disgusting, Luke. Climbing over dead bodies to get to the top.”

Luke blinked, flexed his fingers, and gave Flippy a menacing and meaningful look.

“That’s not what I’m doing,” he said. “And what about you? You’re interested in solving this case to restore your damaged reputation.”

Flippy wanted to slap him, partially because it was true.

“I am trying to take back control of this situation,” Flippy said, emphasizing each word, “which is what I do best.”

“Situation” was a misnomer. It had quickly mushroomed into a full-blown crisis.

“Maybe you’re right,” Luke admitted. “This case is spinning out of control. We can use all the help we can get, even from a psychic, although I don’t know what she’s going to do—hold a séance and connect with the spirits of the dead girls to find out who killed them?”

“That’s not even funny. We’ll find out soon, won’t we? They’re driving down this afternoon for the press conference. The city is crawling with media. I need to know everything you know now, so I can be prepared when the reporters start shooting questions at me. Unfortunately, they’ll want all the gory details. Director Beckham has been handling the press so far, but she wants me up to speed. So hit me with those files. I want to start with the crime scene photos, then the police reports and the ME reports and photos. I assume that’s what you’ve got in that box.”

“Didn’t know you were into blood and guts. You want photos? Fine.”

Luke bent over, lifted a stack of files from the box on the floor, and stood up, deliberately pounding the manila folders on her desk, removing some graphic shots and displaying the gruesome photos for maximum effect, practically rubbing Flippy’s nose in them.

Flippy felt the remains of the greasy doughnut she had downed for breakfast churning in her stomach and threatening to rise to the surface. She closed her eyes and fought to retain what was left of her dignity and the doughnut.

Dammit, Luke was expecting a reaction. It was just what she
didn’t
want to happen. She was
not
going to lose her cool, she promised herself, or her breakfast.

But the message never made it to her brain. Like it or not, the doughnut, and whatever else she had in her stomach, was coming up. Barely managing an “Excuse me,” she made a beeline for the bathroom in the outer office.

After that embarrassing episode, Flippy rinsed out her mouth with water. Then she splashed more water on her face until the room stopped spinning and she could catch her breath. Just as she had regained her composure, Misty walked into the bathroom.

“Hey, Flippy, are you okay? You don’t look so hot. Can I get you anything?”

“I’m fine, Misty. It must have been that greasy doughnut I ate this morning.”

“And talk about looking hot, can I just say Officer Luke Slaughter is one great-looking guy?”

“No, you may not.”

“And it’s not just that he’s packing heat,” Misty added. “But he does have quite a package, if you know what I mean.”

“For Pete’s sake, this is a place of business. Could you please get that phone? I’ll be fine.”

Misty sashayed out of the bathroom.

When Flippy returned to her office, Luke had strategically spread out the rest of the photos in glorious, gory detail across her desk.

“Flip, you look a little peaked. Why don’t you go and lie down on that bad excuse for a couch over there while I finish arranging these photos. I’m available if you need some company.”

Flippy tried a breathing exercise to calm herself down, but it was too late for that.

“All right, you immature rat bastard, listen up. I am going to pick up the phone and have you reassigned. It’s obvious we can’t work together if you can’t get over yourself. Okay, we had sex. Let’s just get that out on the table.”