Killer Heat (15 page)

“I don't have it anymore. I gave it back.” The satisfaction in his voice indicated he was very pleased with himself.

“That was nice of you.”

“I'm always nice.” Craning his neck, he tried to look into the house. “Where are your kids?”

Her heart began to beat faster. “They're not here.”

“Are they with your husband?” Dean didn't seem in any hurry to go.

“Yes, yes, they are. But they should all be home soon. Any minute, actually.”

He turned around, studied the yard. “What does Stan do for a living?”

Hoping to get him to leave, Adriana allowed her confusion to show. “I'm sorry, but…I'm not sure I understand why you're here, Dean. What can I do for you? And…how do you know my husband's name?”

“Oh.” He laughed as if he should've explained earlier. “Now I understand why you're nervous. There's no need to be. You see, it's right here.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a stack of pictures tucked in protective plastic sheaths that Adriana recognized as belonging to Francesca. “Stan Covington.” He flipped to the wallet-size of her family's Christmas picture. “Says so right there. That's you, isn't it?”

She couldn't deny it. “Yes.”

“And those are your boys, Levi and Tyler?”

Swallowing hard, she nodded.

“They're cute. I wish I could meet them.”

Forcing a smile, she narrowed the opening of the door by another inch. “Like I said, they're not here.”

“Too bad.”

Silence fell, but he didn't seem to care how strained and awkward it was. “I'm afraid I still don't understand what you want,” she said at length.

His eyes widened as though it should be obvious. “I've got these.” He pointed to the pictures. “They're Francesca's. I'm returning them. They must've fallen out of her purse.”

Were there other things that'd “fallen” out, as well? Would he bring them all back, one by one? “I see.
That's…very sweet of you.” She suddenly noticed that he was wearing two different tennis shoes. Was he not aware of it? Or was it something he'd done on purpose? “I'll tell you what. Why don't you leave the pictures with me? I'll give them back to her for you.”

That wasn't the answer he'd been hoping to hear. Visibly reluctant, he hesitated but ultimately handed the pictures through the door. “I wouldn't want her to think I'm trying to keep them,” he said.

“Right.”

“I'd never do that.”

“Of course you wouldn't. Thanks for bringing them by.”

“Tell her I stopped at her house, too, but no one was home. Fortunately, you two don't live very far apart.”

If he'd already been to Francesca's, why hadn't he left the pictures on her doorstep or in her mailbox? “I will. I've got to get back to what I was doing. Dinner's in the oven,” Adriana said.

“Oh, sure. No problem. But, before I go, would you mind giving me a drink of water? It's really hot this afternoon, and I've got a long bus ride back to Prescott.”

Adriana's pulse kicked up even more. She'd have to take the chain off the door in order to fit a glass of water through the opening. And she wasn't willing to do that. She had her boys at home. No way would she provide this odd man with the opportunity to break in on them. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I—I'm afraid I can't do that.”

He seemed stunned. “Why not?”

Before she could answer, Tyler's voice rose behind her. “Mommy, who's here?”

Dean's vanishing smile told her he knew she'd lied to him. She even thought she detected a hint of shrewd calculation behind that innocent face. But she couldn't
focus on trying to figure out what he might be thinking or feeling. Tyler was pushing to get between her and the door so he could see, and she was doing her best to block him. “I've got to go,” she said, and closed the door.

Grabbing her oldest son, Adriana whispered for him to be still and, probably because he could sense her anxiety, he listened. “Please leave…please leave,” she muttered above his head. Dean wouldn't go around the house and try to get in some other way, would he? There was no reason for him to bother. They'd had such a short exchange, one that shouldn't have meant
anything.

Then why was she so rattled?

Because he didn't seem to understand that her polite responses were merely civility and not friendship. When he'd realized she'd lied to him, he'd seemed so…betrayed, as if she somehow owed him access to her children. It gave her the creeps.

“What's wrong, Mommy?” Tyler whispered, his body now stiff with fear.

“Nothing, baby. It'll be okay. Just…just be quiet for a few minutes and come with me.” She planned to lead him to the kitchen window, where she could look out and, hopefully, confirm that Dean was leaving. But she didn't stop there. A scream drew her to Levi's bedroom instead.

H
er parents were trying to reach her. Francesca stared at her family name on caller ID and almost let the call transfer to voice mail. With everything else that was going on, she didn't have time to chat. Besides, she hadn't yet decided how much she wanted them to know about what was happening in her life these days. She saw no point in worrying them, not when they'd come straight back to Phoenix if they thought she was in any danger. But they offered emotional support and a good sounding board—and they'd worry about her safety just as much if they couldn't get hold of her.

Deciding to reassure them, and be judicious with the other details, she stepped out of the lobby of the fast-food restaurant, where Jonah was meeting a cop named Ernie, and answered.

“Hello?”

“Fran?”

“Hi, Dad.”

“What's going on? Your mother says she's been trying to reach you at the house for two days. It rings but your voice mail never comes on.”

Because the line had been cut. Francesca contemplated telling the truth, but resolved not to. “Something's wrong
with my service. They're working on it. Why didn't she just call my cell?”

“She did. More than once.”

There were all those voice mails she'd received yesterday, the ones she hadn't taken the time to go through. And this morning she'd turned off her cell so she wouldn't be interrupted. She hadn't turned it back on until a few minutes ago. “I'm sorry. I wasn't even aware that you guys were trying to get hold of me. I haven't had a chance to listen to my messages.”

“Why not? What's up?”

She smiled at the intrigue in his voice, knew his question revealed a professional interest as much as a personal one. “I've been working a new missing-persons case.”

“A woman? A child?”

“A woman.”

“Any luck finding her?”

Plugging one ear, she turned away from the street so she could hear. “The hunt is over. Her body was discovered yesterday.”

There was a brief silence. “I can see why you've been busy. How old was she?”

“Only a year older than me.”

“What a shame,” he said with a reverence she appreciated. “Do you know what happened?”

Because her father was the type who'd go stir-crazy if he didn't have something important to do, and he missed his job with the force, he hadn't entirely stopped working. He took on various cold cases, pro bono. His wheelchair didn't get in the way of that. “It looks as if she was beaten with a baseball bat.”

“A crime of anger.”

“Anger against her specifically or anger against women in general?” she asked.

“Could be either, I suppose. Do you have any suspects?”

“Only the man who saw her last.”

“He have an alibi?”

“He hasn't given the police a formal statement yet. They'll be moving on that soon. They sent me in with a wire first, hoping to get him to talk more freely. Now they want to put some time between the two conversations, give him an opportunity to think about it….”

“Did he tell you anything interesting?”

“Not really. But we've got the conversation on tape, so we'll see if he changes his story. As far as an alibi goes, his wife will most likely cover for him, which means…it'll be up to us to place him at the scene of the crime. If we can find where the murder was committed, that is. The body was transported and dumped.”

“Sounds precalculated.”

“There's a possibility this guy is tied to other murders, maybe seven of them.”

“Holy hell.”

A man honked and shouted at her, but she ignored it. “Exactly.”

“Who's
us?
” her father wanted to know.

“Us?”

“You said, ‘It'll be up to us.' You're working with the police?”

“I am. The Yavapai County Sheriff's Office and a consultant from California.” She didn't mention Jonah by name. She knew her parents wouldn't be thrilled to hear that the man who'd broken her heart was back in her life, even if only in a professional capacity.

“A consultant, huh?”

“Apparently, he has experience with this type of case.”

“Is anyone using the words
serial killer
yet?”

“Not publicly. But news is bound to get out soon.”

“This will be a tough one.”

“I know.” It was already tough. She remembered the terror she'd felt the night before last at her house. But she had to see this through. Although Jill had said she'd pay her when Francesca promised not to abandon the investigation, Francesca didn't have the heart to charge for her services, not after what Jill and Vince had lost. Maybe that wasn't the smartest business decision she'd ever made but, at this point, it wasn't about generating income. Francesca
wanted
to bring April's killer to justice. The way things were going, the life she saved might be her own.

“Just remember, serial killers like to take their victims somewhere they feel comfortable, safe. Find that place, and you'll likely find the crime scene.”

Butch would feel most comfortable at the salvage yard. But they didn't have enough evidence to get a search warrant, not after the search they'd already performed, as cursory as it'd been thanks to Hunsacker's sense of indebtedness to their primary suspect.

Still…there had to be a way to get a better look at Butch's home turf. Even with his family at the house, he'd have all the privacy he'd need in one of those sheds or among the gigantic rows of rubbish. Predators had hidden their victims in much smaller yards than his, hadn't they? Take Jaycee Dugard, for example. She'd been held hostage in a tent behind a fairly regular suburban house for twenty-four years. Or that Austrian woman who'd been kept in the basement dungeon of her own father's house for sixteen years.

Francesca wished they could somehow lure Butch
off the property and take a look around while he was gone….

“Francesca?”

“What?” She'd let her mind wander, missed something her father had said.

“I asked if you'd like me to do a background check on your suspect, see what I can learn from here.”

Walt was very talented on a computer and even better at tracking down pertinent information over the phone. “That'd be great, Dad.” Maybe he'd come across a detail they would've missed. “While you're at it, see if you can find a link between Butch Vaughn and another victim, a woman by the name of Bianca Andersen, okay?”

“Sure. Let me get a pen so I can take down her information.”

Jonah walked out of the Jack in the Box just as her father came back on the line. “What was that name again?”

“Hang on.” Francesca covered the phone. “Is that Bianca's dental file?” she asked, nodding at the cardboard folder he held.

“Yeah.”

Taking it from him, she opened it and recited the patient information, including Bianca's social security number. “Keep an eye out for the name Dean Wheeler, too,” she said.

“Who's Dean Wheeler?”

“Butch's brother-in-law. He's got some mental health problems. I'm trying to figure out what that means and what medication he's on.”

“I'll see what I can find. What's Butch's address?”

She gave him the address of the salvage yard, explained Butch's living arrangements and provided Walt with April Bonner's name and address, too.

“Who's helping out?” Jonah wanted to know.

“My father.”

A hint of wariness entered his eyes, but he managed a casual smile. “How's he doing these days?”

“Good. Fine.”

“Who's that?” her father asked.

“The consultant from California.”

“What, I don't have a name anymore?” Jonah said.

“Call me if you come up with anything,” she said into the phone, and disconnected before responding to Jonah. “Did you really want me to tell him your name?”

Jonah watched her drop her phone into her purse. “I thought we'd decided to let bygones be bygones.”

“
We
decided that. My father never agreed.”

“He's still holding a grudge?”

“What do you think?”

Frowning, he hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “You had to tell 'em, huh?”

His comment made her angry. “Wait a second,” she said. “Don't act as if
I
was disloyal to
you.
”

His eyes were troubled when they met hers. “God, Fran, haven't you ever screwed up? Done something you regret?”

She couldn't take the torture on his face. She wanted to forgive him, knew in that minute that she
could
forgive him. But if she let go of the past, she'd only fall for him again, and she couldn't allow that. Why set herself up for more hurt and disappointment?

Scrambling to shore up her crumbling resentment, she threw back her shoulders. “Nothing that resulted in a child.”

He stared at the ground for several seconds before meeting her gaze again. “Thanks for reminding me.”

Pressing her palm to her forehead, she searched for
the words to explain. “Look, I told them because…” Because she'd needed them. She'd lost her boyfriend and her best friend at the same time. And once she'd chosen to hang on to her friendship with Adriana, she'd had to tolerate a pregnancy that should never have happened, had to watch Adriana give birth to the child of the man
she
loved. Her parents were the ones who'd helped her make sense of it all, who'd helped her rebuild the part of her that'd been so damaged. “Because I never thought we'd see each other again. It's not as if I ever expected…this.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You were right to do what you did.”

She was pretty sure he was being sincere. And it was true; if he'd been faithful to her, she would've had nothing to tell. So why did it feel as if she was the one who'd wronged him?

Turning away, he hit the button that unlocked the doors of her car. “You driving or am I?”

Grateful for the change of subject, the return to business, she tried to tell herself that whatever residual emotions remained between them didn't matter. They couldn't ever be together. So what if she could forgive him? She'd never be able to trust him. The way he attracted women, who was to say the urge to cheat wouldn't prove too great someday, just like it had with Adriana? “Where are we going?”

“To talk to Bianca's family and friends, try to figure out how she ended up buried in Dead Mule Canyon and see if anyone remembers her associating with a guy named Butch Vaughn.”

“What if he used an alias?”

“We'll get as far as we can with a description.”

“Finch and Hunsacker won't have a problem with us following up on this lead?”

“I just cleared it with Finch. They're busy at the Rio Grande and they need the help.”

“How far is Bianca's last known address from here?”

“According to my GPS, about twenty minutes.” That wasn't really close to the salvage yard, but it wasn't terribly far, either.

“I'll drive,” she said. Then maybe she'd be less tempted to stare at him and remember what it'd been like to feel as if her next breath depended on his.

 

The man who came to the apartment door had a head of curly dark hair, a full beard and an earring in one ear. From the sweat dampening his T-shirt, the weight set in the living room and the clank of iron they'd heard when they first approached the door, it was obvious that they'd interrupted him while he was lifting.

Jonah took the lead. “Terrance Andersen?”

A leery expression slipped over his rather plain features. “Yes?”

“We're—”

“Detectives,” he broke in without even looking at the card Jonah held out. “I can tell. Is something wrong?”

Jonah didn't bother correcting him about their professions. For the moment, “detective” was close enough. “Yes. We're here about your wife.”

He gripped the door frame. “Where is she? Why'd she leave me? Why didn't she ever call or come back for the rest of her stuff?”

“She
couldn't
come back,” Francesca said. “She was murdered over a year ago.”

His jaw dropped. “She…what?”

“Her body was found in Dead Mule Canyon last month,” Jonah said. “It's taken us all that time to identify her remains.”

Terrance shoved a hand in his hair, holding the long, curly locks back from his face. “No wonder I never heard from her. I thought it was all because of that last big argument. She walked out with a suitcase she'd packed right then and there, and I never saw her again. But…I never dreamed that…that she
couldn't
call me.”

“When's the last time you saw her?” Jonah asked.

“It's been fourteen months. She never showed up for work after that, but…I thought it was because she'd left the area.”

“You mentioned an argument,” Francesca said. “What was it about?”

Drawing a deep breath, he allowed his hair to fall naturally. “She wanted us to quit our jobs and take off, see the world. We used to talk about it while we were dating, but…I thought it was a pipe dream, you know? I didn't see how we'd ever make enough money to travel like that. But she said we'd pick up odd jobs until we could save enough to move on to the next place. She said if we didn't leave now we'd become resigned to a life of drudgery like everyone else. She was scared to stay and I was scared to go. But I wish now that—” words failed him as tears gathered in his eyes “—that I'd had the guts to go for it the way she did. Maybe she'd still be alive.”

To give him a modicum of privacy in which to deal with his emotions, Francesca studied the floor.

“Here I've been kicking myself for what I said that night,” he went on. “Over and over, ever since. And praying she'd come back. I can't tell you how many times I've checked my answering machine, hoping to hear her voice. I thought she might contact me when she had her
fill of adventure, if only to tell me how great it was. But I finally decided a little while ago that I had to let go of the past and move on, that she must've found someone else.”