Killer Heat (31 page)

“But for what? What could these women have done?”

“You mean, what could Butch or Dean have
perceived
them as doing? Anything.”

Francesca frowned. Maybe that was true, but it wasn't very helpful. “Does Winona have anything else to say?”

“Just what I already know. That killers who pose their victims are almost always white and generally older.” He
paused. “Here's something you might like. She also feels the person we're looking for is small in stature.”

“
Small
in stature?” Francesca echoed.

“There's your differentiation between Butch and Dean, huh?”

Except that, even after her skirmish with Dean last night, in her heart she believed it was Butch and not his brother-in-law. “What makes her think so?”

“The killer used a weapon to bludgeon these women to death. She claims that a man who's already raped a woman and who's confident in his own strength would most likely resort to strangulation. It's quieter, it's not as messy and it takes about the same amount of time.”

“But the reason for the weapon could tie back to the rage she's mentioned. Bludgeoning is far more violent.”

“True.”

The ring of Jonah's cell phone interrupted them. “Finch,” he muttered. “Finally.” Setting the profile aside, he turned on the speaker phone and leaned against the desk, still keeping her close. “Hello?”

“We've got him,” Finch announced.

Suddenly all business, Jonah came to his feet. “What did you say?”

“We have him.”

“Who?”

“Dean. Who else? He's in custody.”

Francesca and Jonah exchanged an uncertain look. “They've been busy, all right,” she murmured.

“So it's over?” Jonah asked. “You're
sure
he's the one?”

“He's the one.”

Francesca joined the conversation. “What physical evidence do you have?”

“The rope he left at your house, for starters. You need more than that?”

“Pardon the pun, but we want to know exactly what ties him to the murders,” Jonah persisted.

“How about an old freezer with traces of blood? And just an hour ago, we came up with human remains.”

Jonah shoved a hand through his hair. “Can you identify them?”

“No, the victim died a year or more ago. What's left of her is on its way to the morgue. We should know more tomorrow, once the coroner's had a chance to take a look. But what do you want to bet it's Julia?”

“How'd you find Dean?” Francesca asked.

“He called home, and Butch got in touch with Hunsacker.”

Jonah massaged his left temple. “Butch is the one who turned him in?”

“After we found that blood, he realized what his brother-in-law was and became very cooperative.”

“I…see,” Jonah said.

“You don't sound too excited,” Finch complained.

“I'm not convinced he's the killer we're looking for.”

“What?”
Irritation suffused the investigator's voice.

“None of the evidence conclusively rules out Butch.”

“Because we're still processing it all. Give us time.”

“Does that mean you'll keep an eye on him in the interim?”

“Come on! We have a lot less on him than Dean!”

Hands in his pockets, Jonah began to pace. “A freezer showing traces of blood was found on his property.”

“Because of Dean.”

“You sure about that? If Dean's the one killing women, how's he getting their bodies to Dead Mule Canyon? And how did he dig up and move April Bonner's body without a vehicle? I doubt he took her corpse on the bus.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Finch replied. “For all we know, he stole Butch's truck.”

“Without Butch being aware of it?”

“He could find a way.”

“That might be true,” Francesca conceded, “but…Dean doesn't seem that resourceful.”

Finch heard her. “He doesn't? He can pick any lock in existence. If that's not resourceful, I don't know what is. Anyway, it's been a long day, I'm exhausted, and now I'm sorry I took the time to notify you. I thought we'd finally be on the same page, but… Never mind. I have to go. I've got a lot still to do.”

“Wait a second.” Jonah stopped him before he could hang up. “You said there was blood in the freezer.”

“That's right.”

“So where did you find the remains?”

“Same place we found Dean. At a cabin in the Juniper Mountains.”

Jonah's eyes met Francesca's.
“The Schultz cabin?”

A shocked silence followed, then Finch asked, “How do you know about the Schultz cabin?”

“I hired a security guard to watch the salvage yard last night. He saw Butch put a black garbage bag filled with something in the back of his truck. He drove it up to that cabin. When he came home, the bag was gone. I was there all day, looking for it.”

“Why is this the first time I'm hearing about it?” Finch demanded.

“Because you haven't been returning our calls, for one!”

Finch cursed. “I don't know why I'm getting upset. It doesn't matter. That business about Butch driving to the cabin doesn't necessarily mean anything.”

“Are you kidding?” Jonah said. “Why would Butch drive a black garbage bag into the Juniper Mountains in the middle of the night?”

“Because he was looking for Dean.”

“And the black bag?”

“Could've been garbage. That's what black bags are generally used for. Wait until you see some of the other stuff we uncovered on the property. Most of it can be attributed to Dean, like a notebook full of macabre drawings of skeletons and cadavers. Dean's fascinated with death.”

News of the drawings, which fit so closely with what her father had relayed, made Francesca question whether they were just being obstinate in thinking it had to be Butch.

“Tell me about the remains,” Jonah said. “What were they in? Where were they found?”

“They were in the cellar, in a black bag, but that doesn't mean it's the same bag your guy saw in Butch's truck,” he was quick to explain.

“You have to admit it's a major coincidence,” Jonah insisted.

“I'll give you that much. But black bags are so common that one coincidence isn't enough to override all the other evidence.”

“The drawings?”

“And the letters. And Butch's testimony about his brother-in-law spending a lot of time where we found the freezer. And Francesca's testimony about him breaking into her house. We also have his computer. Once we go through his files, who knows what we'll find?”

“I hope you're right.”

“You don't sound like you hope anything of the sort. You already have your mind made up about Butch. Even though we found the remains in the cellar.”

“So?”

“Did you check the cabin? Was it locked?”

“Yes.”

“If it was Butch who put that bag there, how could he have gotten in? Dean's the one who can pick any lock in existence. He even had a set of lock picks on him. That, if anything, should put your mind at ease. If Butch was the one who took those remains up there, he would've found the cabin locked up, just like you did.”

“Unless he's the one who locked it in the first place,” Francesca said.

“Oh, come on,” Finch snapped. “That cabin's a vacation rental. How would Butch have a key? Dean's got to be our man.”

“Possibly.” Jonah sounded unconvinced, and Francesca felt equally torn.

“Hang on a sec,” Finch said. “Hunsacker's trying to talk to me.”

They heard voices but couldn't make out any words until Finch came back on the line. “Dean just confessed.”

“To what,
exactly?
” Francesca asked.

“To killing Julia,” Finch replied. “He admits it was her remains in that freezer.”

“Did he also confess to the other murders?” Jonah wanted to know.

Finch checked with Hunsacker again. “Not yet. But we'll get him on those, too. We have plenty of time. I'll talk to you tomorrow,” he said, and hung up.

Francesca watched Jonah hit the end button and toss
his phone on the desk. “They have letters, a bloody freezer, human remains. They even have a confession.”

“Then it must be Dean.”

He nodded. “Has to be.”

So why couldn't she accept that? Why did she feel so apprehensive?

Because she was a skeptic. And she'd always had a hard time admitting she was wrong. “So we can relax, let Finch and Hunsacker finish up.”

Jonah framed her face with his hands. “Why not? Last I heard we were kicked off the case. And I have the only woman I've ever really loved right here.”

She smiled at his statement but, just in case they were doing Jill and Vince a disservice, she had to voice her concerns. “He could've figured out a way to move April's body. He might be mentally ill, but that doesn't mean he can't overcome obstacles.”

Tilting up her chin, he kissed her lightly on the lips. “I can't argue with you there.”

“It's interesting that Butch is the one who turned him in, though.”

Another kiss, this one deeper, told her he preferred to be distracted. “According to Finch, he didn't believe his brother-in-law was guilty until they found the blood.”

That made sense, but… She put her hands on his chest to stop him so she could think clearly. “What about that line, the one that was repeated so often in Dean's letters?”

Jonah hadn't read the letters, but she'd told him about them while they were on the phone. “‘I wish I could've protected you from Butch'?”

She could feel the beat of his heart through his shirt and relished the freedom to touch him again. Although she and Jonah hadn't discussed the future, she knew
he'd be part of hers, that what had happened here would change their lives. The details would be difficult to share with Adriana. But she didn't want to think about the moment when she'd have to come face-to-face with the reason they'd been apart. She had Jonah with her now. That was all that mattered. “You remember it word for word, which means you think it's significant, too.”

“We talked about this, remember?” Removing her hands, he bent forward to kiss her again. “You said yourself that he might blame Butch for inciting him.”

When Jonah cupped her breasts, she wanted to experience everything he could make her feel, but her doubts made her resist. Why did Butch drive to the Schultzes' cabin? Knowing what she did of him, Francesca couldn't believe he'd done it to help Dean, or even to assist the police in capturing him. What Jonah's security guard had seen was a loose thread….

She opened her mouth to say this, but Jonah held a finger to her lips. “They have a confession, Fran.”

Her arousal made her feel tipsy. “Maybe Dean's confused and Butch is taking advantage of that.”

“Stop,” he whispered, and his lips moved across her cheek to her ear and then her neck. “We have better things to do than poke holes in Finch's case. Let's go home.”

The way Jonah touched her was the perfect balance between familiarity and exploration, and she loved how he kissed. Why not let go, as he suggested, and simply enjoy the physical expression of what they felt? Perhaps the investigators would reveal more damning evidence in the morning, evidence that would support Dean's confession and eliminate their doubts.

With that hope in mind, she allowed Jonah to lead her out to their cars. But as she got behind the wheel and he
followed her home, she considered what Dean had said when he was standing in her bedroom last night. He'd talked about his mother. Elaine's connection to anything that had happened still wasn't clear. And he'd pointed a finger at his brother-in-law.
I'm not going to kill you. Whether you die is up to Butch.
He's
the murderer.

Had he been passing the buck—or telling the truth?

T
he second time they made love was far less reverent and far more passionate than the first. It was almost as if they were trying to make up for every fear, every hurt, every longing. The past faded, and so did the details of the case. Only Jonah existed in this new universe, yet Francesca felt that everything was finally as it should be.

“I missed you,” he murmured, pulling her close as they were about to fall asleep. “God, how I missed you.”

She touched his face, traced his lips with her finger. “Then I take it you're the one who put every picture I have of Roland Perenski facedown?”

He chuckled. “You saw that?”

“We weren't home ten minutes before those pictures disappeared.”

“I can't stand the guy.”

“You don't even know him,” she said, laughing.

“I hate that I let him take my place, that I wasn't the one to travel with you to Washington, D.C., and everywhere else you went.”

She played with his hair, letting the locks fall through her fingers. “I never loved him,” she admitted. “As hard as I tried, I
couldn't
love him. That's why we broke up.”

He rolled over and rested his head on her chest. “Why do you think you couldn't love him?”

She stopped touching him and simply stared at what she could see of his face in the dark. “Because I never stopped loving you.” That was a frightening confession, one she'd been loath to make, even to herself, but it was true.

Slumping onto the pillows, he grew silent and Francesca sensed that his mood had become slightly morose.

“That makes you unhappy?” she said.

“No.” He took her hand, kissed her fingers. “It makes me want to explain what life was like for me when we first met, but…I'm hesitant to bring it up.”

She noticed that the storm outside had quieted. “Tell me.”

“You asked, at the motel, about the secret I keep for my ex-wife.”

“Lori.”

“Yes.”

She sat up. “And now you're going to tell me?”

He leaned against the headboard. “I'm thinking about it.”

Francesca wanted him to trust her enough, to be able to say
anything,
but she also feared how she might react, considering the problems they'd had in the past. Had he been in love with Lori when he claimed to be in love with her? Was he still carrying a torch for his ex? He'd never even hinted at such a thing—the exact opposite, in fact—but her fears suggested the worst. And he was obviously uncomfortable about what he had to reveal. “She broke your heart?”

“It was more that she shattered my confidence.”

“By…”

“She left me for someone else, someone she'd been seeing all along.”

Francesca could understand why he might be reluctant to delve into this, given his own indiscretion with Adriana, and became even uneasier about hearing it. She'd just forgiven him. They were trying to start over. Why dredge up all the negative feelings?

On the other hand, maybe it was time for him to talk—and for her to listen, with her heart open instead of closed, as it had been for the past ten years. “So…you decided to pass along the hurt by doing the same thing?”

“No. I panicked.”

“You told me you loved me.”

“I did. That was the problem.”

“I don't understand.”

Judging by the pause that followed, he was collecting his thoughts.

“Lori left me for a woman, Fran,” he said at length. “She's a lesbian, was then, too, and somehow that made the end of our marriage so much more…complicated.”

Francesca blinked in surprise. This was the last thing she'd expected, probably because she was so attracted to Jonah she couldn't imagine a woman choosing another man over him, let alone another woman. But she kept her mouth shut.

“I told myself it shouldn't matter whether it was a man or a woman. Someone else was someone else,” he continued. “But…I was young and immature, and not only was I hurt, I was humiliated and embarrassed. I couldn't even tell my closest friends. She'd asked me not to for fear word would get back to her family. They still don't know the woman she's living with is anything more than a roommate from college.”

At this point, Francesca
had
to interrupt. “How could they miss it?”

“I'm sure denial plays a role. And they have her marriage to me to prove otherwise.”

“Why would you be duty-bound to keep her secret? After what she did to you, you certainly didn't owe her that.”

“I told myself to take the high road. Or maybe I was just protecting my ego. Who knows? It was hard enough that my marriage had failed, especially after such a short time. What guy wants to admit losing his wife to another woman?” The muscles in his arms and chest flexed as he adjusted his position. “Anyway, I preferred to forget her, my marriage, the whole thing, as quickly as possible. And I thought I'd done that. I'd moved from Mesa to Phoenix, had met you, was no longer remotely in love with her. But…I couldn't seem to get over the rejection I'd experienced. I think now that I sabotaged our relationship so I wouldn't have to face how much I cared.”

“I'm glad you explained.” Smiling, Francesca reached for him, but he held her off.

“There's more,” he said. “And this will probably be harder to hear.”

“Do we have to go into it now?” she asked. “Can't it wait until…until we're stronger?”

“No. It wouldn't be fair to put this off. You need to know because—” he shoved a hand through his hair “—because it'll be big, especially for you, and it won't change.”

Drawing her knees up to her chest, Francesca nibbled on her bottom lip. “Okay…then I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be.”

“The daughter I had with Adriana…”

Instinctively tightening her clasp on her knees, Francesca drew a nervous breath. “What about her?”

“I don't exactly have a relationship with her. Not yet. Her adoptive parents don't allow me much, just a few pictures here and there. But, financially, at least, she's part of my life. She'll always be part of my life. And when she turns eighteen and is able to choose for herself, I'm hoping she'll want to know me.”

Francesca wasn't sure how to respond. She felt proud of Jonah for caring about his child, for hanging on when it would've been so much easier to walk away. She also felt selfishly angry. She shouldn't have to deal with this. She hadn't caused the problem, and yet, if she stayed with Jonah, it would affect her life, too. His daughter was nine years old. Eighteen wasn't that far away.

He lowered his voice. “I can't turn my back on her, Fran,” he said. “Not even for you. Because it would be denying who I am.
I'm
the reason she's here in this world. I should take responsibility for her, give her all I can.”

Francesca waved for him to stop talking. “You don't have to explain. I get what you're saying, but…”

“You can't live with it?” He sounded afraid her answer might be yes.

“I don't know,” she admitted. “I honestly don't know.”

The old-fashioned alarm clock her father had given her as a child ticked loudly in the silence. She'd had that clock for so long. It reminded her of the steadiness of her family, the fear they'd feel for her if they learned she was getting involved with Jonah again.

“Right,” he said at length. “I won't push you. Just…tell me what you decide, okay?”

She rested her chin on her knees. “Do you think love
is enough?” she asked. “Do you think it can conquer even this?”

“That's what I'm waiting to find out. Come here.” He coaxed her to him but didn't attempt to kiss her or touch her intimately. Spooning her as they settled down to sleep, he whispered one more time that he was sorry, and she believed him. It wasn't his contrition she doubted. It was her ability to handle what the future might hold. Could she live with a constant reminder of Jonah's betrayal, one that came in the form of another completely innocent person she didn't even have the right to resent? Someone who deserved as much of his love and support as she did?

She told herself to let the dilemma go, for the moment, that she'd figure it out in the morning. But sleep wouldn't come. One minute slipped into the next and still she worried about how she'd deal with a situation that included not only Adriana but Adriana and Jonah's child. Would there be a day when she'd blame Jonah for the fact that she couldn't handle it? Or was her heart big enough to accept a daughter whose conception had caused her more pain than she'd ever experienced before?

 

“It's your father.”

Groggy from lack of sleep, Francesca struggled to reclaim her faculties. Jonah had gotten up earlier. When he left her bed, she'd almost stopped him. She'd wanted to continue to snuggle against his warmth, to sleep in his arms, but with so much undecided between them, she'd refrained. She didn't know where he'd gone—to make calls, read the paper, go on the computer—but he was back, freshly showered and handsome as ever, standing over her with her cell phone.

When she belatedly grasped what he'd said, she
scrambled into a sitting position and whipped out her hand. “You didn't answer it, did you?”

Jonah scowled. Obviously, he realized that she didn't want her father to know they were seeing each other. “I didn't need to. His name's on your screen.”

Francesca would've explained that they had to deal with her family carefully, that it might take time for the Morettis to forgive him as she had. But what was the point of explaining, or speaking to her parents about him, until she was sure they had a chance of making it? There was no time for explanations, anyway. She didn't want to miss her father's call. He'd given her a lot of valuable information before. She hoped he'd have more this time around, something that would convince her Finch had put the right man behind bars.

Pushing her sleep-tangled hair out of her face, she ignored Jonah's “thanks for treating me like your dirty little secret” reaction and hit the answer-call button. “Hello?”

“There you are,” her father said. “After that many rings, I expected voice mail.”

“No, I'm here. Sorry for the delay. I got in late last night and—and overslept this morning.”

“What's going on?”

“They arrested Dean Wheeler.” He didn't know Dean had come after her, that the police had searched the salvage yard, that they'd found blood. But he knew Dean's old girlfriend had gone missing.

“A few days ago, I would've applauded that move,” he said.

“And now?”

“Now that I've done more research, I feel it was unlikely Bianca Andersen ever knew Dean.”

Because of Jonah's gaze on her breasts, she became
conscious of her nudity and pulled up the blankets. She wanted him as much as ever, but…she was trying not to let that be the deciding factor in her future. “How do you explain that she worked at the mental hospital where he was committed on three different occasions?” she asked her father.

“She didn't start at that hospital until almost a month after he was released the second time. And she was on vacation when he was admitted the third.”

“The
entire
two weeks?”

“The entire two weeks. She always arranged her vacation schedule to be off in December.”

“There could be some other way their paths crossed.”

“I've been in touch with her husband. The Andersens never lived anywhere close to the salvage yard, haven't ever been over there. She didn't frequent that bar you told me about, the Pour House. Her husband wasn't even familiar with the name. If she and Dean met, it had to be a chance encounter. We might be able to prove that
if
we managed to run across someone who saw them together. But there's no foolproof method of establishing it otherwise, which is why I call it unlikely.”

He was always so precise. “‘Unlikely' is a step in the right direction, I guess,” she said. That wasn't as definitive as she'd hoped it would be, but it was worth mentioning to Finch, worth double-checking to see if they could find some other connection.

“Butch, on the other hand…” her father went on.

Unsure whether she'd heard correctly, Francesca gripped the blanket tighter. “Did you say Butch?”

“I did.”

Jonah sat on the bed beside her, and she leaned over to share the phone. “But you told me last time that you
weren't
able to establish a link between Butch and Bianca.”

“I told you I was still working on it. And what I came across is definitely curious.”

“What is it?”

“They lived at the same rent-by-the-week motel for almost three months.”

Francesca's pulse quickened. “Where was her husband?”

“She hadn't met him yet. She was dating Butch.”

Dating
Butch? That was more than a chance encounter. “I can't believe it. How did you find out?”

“I realized it was unlikely that Butch had learned about the job at the salvage yard while living in Phoenix, which meant he'd probably moved to Prescott before interviewing there. And if that was the case, he would've had to stay somewhere. It wasn't as if he had family or any history in the area. He was drifting. So I called all the hotels and motels in Prescott. Given his size, he's distinctive. The manager of the Desert Oasis remembered him. He also remembered Bianca, because she was such a free spirit, as he put it. He said he used to catch her skinny-dipping in the pool.”

Francesca adjusted the blankets to keep them from slipping. “Was Butch already in contact with the Wheelers? Is there any way he could've introduced Bianca to Dean?”

“No. I called and asked a librarian in Prescott to check the microfiche for me. He found the ad. Going by the date of the paper, it wasn't placed when Butch first came to town, so I'm guessing he was doing odd jobs for cash. According to the motel manager, he moved into the salvage yard after the Wheelers hired him, into a little apartment off the office.”