Nothing Sacred (FBI Agent Dan Hammer Series Book 1) (30 page)

“No similarities. I received the report yesterday. It’s there somewhere, with the rest of your papers, along with the release signature.”

“He’s clean, neat, almost to the extreme. He’s personable, mobile, able to work a good job and adaptable. He will have some abhorrent, hateful aversion toward the female body, particularly the genital area. Why else would he destroy the vagina the way he does? But, as I said, all this information could be very misleading. A setup intended to take police in the exact opposite direction. A direct ploy to lead us away. Clever. Cunning. And smart. We’re not just dealing with anybody here.”

Dan glanced at his watch. Already past five.

“I better get going. I’m babysitting tonight.”

“Oh?”

“Alexandra, my princess. I showed you her picture earlier.”

Wright scooped up the crime scene photos and papers and neatly arranged them back into the envelope. “I remember.”

“She’s pretty special. You have any photographs of your kids?”

“Used to. Tons of them. Now, we keep snapshots of
their
kids. We get our daily dose when they come to visit. That’s our reminder.”

Dan threw a twenty on the bar and grabbed his jacket. “Can’t be late. My ex-wife, you know?”

“Guess that story is for another time.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Harry.”

Before leaving, they toasted one another with empty mugs but full smiles.

5:36 PM

48

“Stay, Jake
. Stay.”

Janice issued the command, holding onto Jake’s collar firmly. He responded by sitting down, of course, in the driver’s seat.
Jake.
She complimented him on his obedient nature. “Good boy.”

Across the parking lot was Dr. Garrison’s apartment complex. Janice shielded her eyes from the late afternoon sun. In all the excitement, she’d forgotten her sunglasses. Damn.

Jake looked at her, his ears flopped back and forth, his tongue panted rhythmically. He too, was intrigued with the area, hoping for an opportunity to explore the neighborhood. Janice still felt a pang of guilt, leaving Jake alone in the apartment, all by himself, while she soaked up all sorts of intimate affection and attention from Lisette. So today, after her walk along the Battery, she didn’t feel quite up to dumping the poor baby back at the house. Instead, she proposed a little outing. A day trip. Frisbee tosses on the beach. One of Jake’s favorite sports.

The orange, Day-glo Frisbee rested on the passenger seat floor as a reminder of good things to come. First things first. Jake needed some water.

Janice rolled down the front window an inch or two. She wanted some air circulating in the car. As she crossed the parking lot, she looked back to check on him. She entered the pool’s changing room. At the sink, she let tepid water turn cool before filling up Jake’s plastic bowl. Back at the car, Jake was more than happy to slurp up some water, slopping it everywhere. Janice slammed the door and locked it.

Before, she sat in the car waiting for about twenty minutes. For what? She didn’t really know. Maybe she was nervous. Feeling slightly stupid. At one point, she left the complex and drove to the nearest 7-11. Her idea was to call the Hospital and have Dr. Garrison paged. She wanted to find out if she had returned. If she was there. Or if she had left again. Who knew what she intended to find out? The staff kept her on hold for a long time before Janice finally hung up, impatient and frustrated. Before returning to Dr. Garrison’s complex she bought a pear flavored Snapple and Big Red chewing gum.

Earlier, she tracked down the rental car Dr. Garrison was driving from an Alamo dealer in Goose Creek. It was a smallish dealership, located near the local municipal airport in a cramped parking garage. The manager, Will, was more than happy to go against company policy and show off his customer service skills to assist Janice. If only there’d been something to assist her with. The information Dr. Garrison gave was standard, usual. Nothing out of the ordinary. It was all legit. Right down to her chicken-scratch signature on the registration. She used her own name, supplied a driver’s license from Massachusetts and cinched the deal with a green American Express card, Sydia Garrison prominently displayed at the bottom of the card with the appropriate MD after her name.

Janice felt slightly perplexed, not to mention, disappointed. She was expecting the Doctor to have used some exotic alias, and it turned out to be, well, nothing. But being the intrepid reporter she was, she felt inclined to push her bad luck even further and make the trip back to Folly Beach. The worst that could happen was Jake would finally get the exercise he missed yesterday. At one point, she thought about calling Louis to let him know where she was. With each dismal disappointment she encountered, she began feeling silly at her own instincts, blaming it on one too many Movie of the Week murder mysteries or reading far too many crime novels.

She passed a metal trash container that read: KEEP THIS AREA CLEAN. Respectfully, she deposited her empty Snapple bottle in the receptacle and walked up the winding sidewalk, manicured with lovely green grass and tiny purple flowers. She stood at the bottom of the stairwell for a few seconds, contemplating her next move.

What am I doing here?

Turn around and go back, stupid. You have not done anything wrong or illegal. Yet.

What would be the point if she didn’t finish what she started? Follow her instincts. The work, the risk, everything would fly right out the window. Besides, she was too damn proud to accept defeat. Stubborn was a better descriptor. Always the sucker, Janice worked better on a dare. Thrived. Give her a deadline. A challenge. That crazy competitive thing, again. She enjoyed taking chances, even if they were risky. No, she had crossed that line now and there was no way in hell she was backing down. Not now. Or ever, for that matter. Even if she was wrong, who would know?

Jake?

She took the stairs to the second level. Apartment 427. Jake wouldn’t care if she fucked up. She could mess up big time and he would still love her. For always. At the top of the landing, she turned around and leaned down to check on her car. There he was, sitting there, in the driver’s seat, watching her as she disappeared out of sight. She waved to him. He barked a few times, pressed his snout up against the slight slit in the window, and licked at the wind.

“Shhhh! Keep it down.”

She pulled the pair of yellow Rubbermaid gloves from her coat pocket, the ones she purchased at the 7-11. No way did she want any fingerprints hanging around for identification. She positioned herself in front of Dr. Garrison’s door. She looked around, up and down the corridor. She tried acting inconspicuous, even though what she was about to perform was
very
conspicuous.

Yellow?

Why didn’t the company make flesh-toned gloves?

She pulled a pointy, thin pick from her windbreaker, sighed deeply and rapped a few times on the door. And waited. Nerve-wracking tension. Nothing. Another heavy exhale before she began prodding the bottom lock, swiveling the pick around in its chamber. Hopefully, it was the only one secured. Positioned at eye level was a deadbolt. If that was locked, she was calling it quits. Enough Nancy Drew for one day! Within seconds, Janice heard the familiar clink of latches disabling and turned the doorknob.

Yes!

The lock opened. A jolt of cool air assaulted her as she entered the apartment and shut the door. Quickly. The faint smell of perfume or something sweet and fragrant emanated from the apartment. A girly girl’s pad, she thought to herself.

Thank you, Jesus.

And dark. The shades were drawn. The lights were off. Not a lot of warmth was exuding from the room, either. Everything looked pretty much the same as it did the last time she’d visited. She tiptoed into the kitchen. Same. Neat, overly orderly and white. Sterile. Like an Operating Room, except without the benefit of bright florescence.

The door to the bedroom was ajar. Janice peeked in. The blinds were closed. Afternoon sunlight seeped through the cracks. The room was pristinely clean. The bed was made up with expensive, pressed, cotton sheets. Name brand, European. A white, fluffy comforter fell like a soft cloud over the top. Four plump pillows rested at the head. Made with dedicated, perfectionist care, the sheet ends were tucked firmly under the mattress; expert hospital corners with flawlessly squared folds. Her Mother used to make her use them. She hated it. Her feet could never breathe. Now, she made a habit of always pulling the sheets out at the bottom of her bed before getting in. She slept better.

To the right was a desk created from one large piece of white Formica. Medical reference books lined the wall.
Physician’s Desk Reference, Gray’s Anatomy, Surgical Procedure Manual
. Made sense.

She was a Surgeon, after all.

The walls were bare. No paintings. No tchotchkes. No personal touches here or there. Not even a posed, fake family photograph. Anywhere, for that matter. Janice had seen model apartments exhibiting more warmth and coziness. Even showrooms at Macy’s were more inviting.

Janice was getting antsy, frustrated. Here she was, infiltrating a possible suspect, expecting to find dead bodies in the closets, souvenirs in the drawers, all kinds of serial killer paraphernalia, and instead she found a compulsively clean apartment of a workaholic.

Boring.

What was she expecting? A fifth year Surgical Resident who spends most of her waking hours at a Hospital. In the Operating Room, whether she needed to or not. She opened a few drawers of the dresser, just for shits and giggles, while she was here, anyway. Neatly placed in perfect rows as if on display at Victoria’s Secret, were panties and bras. She closed the drawer. She opened the sliding mirrors of the closet. A long line of hangers hung on the rack, all of them pointing in the same direction, each article of clothing individually protected in thin plastic covering. Weird. Janice glanced up at the three shelves. Empty, except for a couple of shoeboxes packed one on top of the other. Good brands, too.

She practically hit her head on the doorway when the telephone rang. Janice looked at the bedside table where the phone sat. Beside it was an ancient answering machine.
They still made them
!  The message gave the standard information: “You have reached 721-5478. Dr. Garrison is unable to take your call at this time. If this is a medical emergency, you can call the Medical University of South Carolina’s Front Desk at 723-8689 and they will have her paged for you. Thank you.”

Her voice was cool, contained and void of emotion. Janice found it interesting the way she addressed herself in the third person. What was more amusing was the person who was leaving a message.

“This is Detective Hammer. Uh, Dan. I just got your message.” A chuckle. “Actually, I just found the matchbook. Very good. I liked that. That was a good trick. Anyway, I’m happy you called, and…I would really enjoy spending some more time together…” Pause. “But, unfortunately tonight isn’t a good night. I’m babysitting the little one. You can call me when you get in. I’m home. You have the number.” Another snicker.

Holy cow! Detective Hammer? Dan? Hammerhead?

This case was getting more convoluted by the second! Janice kept staring at the red dot blinking on the answering machine. Dan Hammer? How the hell did that happen? The last time she saw the two of them, they were at each other’s throats waiting for the elevator at the Hospital. It was all too confusing
trying
to figure it out.

What time was it anyway? After five. Janice guessed her stint at being a detective was turning out to be less than desirable. Oh well.

She still had some time for Frisbee tosses at the beach with Jake before heading back to Charleston. First, she needed to check in with Louis. He probably thought she’d abandoned him. Would it be crass using the Doctor’s phone?

Yes.

She collected her big city, investigative ways and went back into the living room. She took one final sweep of the layout. The black leather sectional, the metal and glass coffee table, the fake fern hanging in the corner…

Yikes…

If Janice had to grade the décor of the place, in the appropriate pass/fail way, she would definitely have to give Dr. Garrison a fail. It grated on her, the design of the place. She only hoped Dr. Garrison was a better Surgeon than an interior decorator!

A large rectangle of afternoon light reflected off the coffee table.

I don’t remember the blinds being open.

The room was different. The lighting. Something had changed. The shades had been drawn. Closed. Janice had made a mental note of it. It had been dark when she entered the apartment,
that
she definitely remembered. The first flinch of a warning. Her first alarm. An adrenalin surge began firing warning rockets inside her chest. A heightened sense of awareness flared throughout her body.

Janice Porter, it’s time to go!

She reached out for the door handle…