Ribbons (12 page)

“Not sure what it used to be,” she said. “Quent used it as storage.”

“Do we have much to store?” Matt asked.

“When people set down roots they always end up dumping a bunch of crap they thought they needed,” she said.

Matt flicked another stone. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Of course you don’t know,” said Christy. “You’ve been here less than a week.”

“What if I can’t? People shouldn’t have to rely on me.”

Christy bent down and stubbed out her cigarette in the dirt. “I asked myself that same question every day for a year after Adam was born. Sometimes I still ask myself. People get used to weird shit. This whole city proves that.”

Matt stood as she came over to the steps. “Adam wants to watch TV. He’s done with his homework. And he might be my accountant now.”

Christy led the way back inside and gave a soft laugh. “He probably deserves some milk and cookies, then.”

16

Laura Deans, aka Vicki, had been laid bare on the metal autopsy table. Her eyes still stared up in wonder. The medical examiner had made multiple attempts to close them but had only been successful for a minute or two before they slowly pried open on their own. Dani had worked with this ME—Garret—a number of times, but this was the first time she had seen him express any emotion about a case. He kept delaying his report to the sergeant, saying he needed to do more tests or wait for more results, but Dani guessed he was just in over his head with this one.

“You still with me there, Garret?” asked Dwayne.

“Yeah,” he replied. “It’s just really fucked up.”

Dwayne looked up from his notepad. “I know.”

“No, I mean,
really
fucked up,” Garret reiterated. “Who would do something like this?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” said Dani.

The autopsy had been completed, but it was hard to tell where Garret might have made his incisions. He must have spent hours getting the skin back in place, and with the blood washed off, the pattern of the cuts were made clear. Or the
cut
, according to the report that Dani had read.

Garret was sitting on a stool next to the table. He still wore his scrubs, but his paper mask was hanging around his neck. He just stared at the body. “The cut was so
intricate
. The blood was drained in seconds,” Garret said. “And it was drained
evenly
.”

“What does that mean?” asked Dwayne.

The ME reached up to touch his chin with a finger but then realized at the last second that he was still wearing his gloves. “The entire cut, following these patterns . . .” His finger traced a swirling line in the air. “It would need to be made in seconds.”

“That’s impossible,” said Dani.

Garret nodded. “That’s right.”

Dwayne was actually being pretty patient with Garret. People had been hounding the sergeant all day asking for quotes or updates on the case—the mayor’s office, the sheriff, the local news station, the Guardian Angels. They all wanted answers. He was good at fending them off, or if that failed, having Dani fend them off. Still, she could tell that Dwayne wanted answers just as much as the Guardian Angels. And so far, Garret had provided more questions than answers.

“What made the cut?” asked Dwayne.

“Some fucking psycho.” Garret said. He said it under his breath, but it was loud enough for them to hear.

Dwayne raised an eyebrow. “Got that part. But what did he
use
?”

Garret held up a box cutter. It looked like it had just been pulled out of the package. It was the standard kind that took disposable blades—simple, gray, utilitarian.

“One of these,” Garret said. “New. Or very well cleaned. There was no residue of anything in the wounds. Except . . .” Garret trailed off and looked a little queasy.

“Except what?” asked Dwayne.

“You can still smell the strawberries,” said Garret. “Even through the blood and . . . stuff. Strawberries or something. In the ink.”

“Fluffleberry,” said Dani. “We think it’s called Fluffleberry.”

Dani held up the evidence bag containing the pen from the crime scene and offered it to Garret. The pen still had blood on it, but it had been dusted for fingerprints. Garret didn’t take the pen all the way out of the bag, but he used two gloved fingers to pop the cap off. Then he held the purplish-pink marker up to his nose. He took a quick sniff and then a longer one. From the look on his face it was the same smell.

She thought he was going to vomit, but then he let out a shallow, wet burp. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m a professional.”

Dani was skeptical, but then again, at least he wasn’t wearing a toothpaste mustache.

“What about these patterns?” she asked.

“Well, they don’t have any medical significance. The killer wasn’t aiming for any particular vital organs or arteries. He still hit several, of course, though he didn’t take anything with him that I could find. No souvenirs.”

Dwayne jotted down some notes. “Then why do it? Anger?”

“Like I said, the cut was careful and precise,” said Garret. “I don’t think it could have been done in a rage.”

“Maybe he got off on it,” said Dwayne.

“He didn’t leave any . . . fluids behind,” said Garret. “I did find a hair that didn’t belong to the victim, though. It’s prepped for DNA profiling.”

“Great. Let me know when you have the results,” said Dwayne. “Hopefully we’ll have something to compare it with soon.”

“Do you have a suspect?” asked Garret.

Dwayne didn’t answer. He clicked his ballpoint pen closed with a thumb and flipped his notebook shut. “Rush order. I’ll sign off on it.”

They had more than a suspect. They had the killer dead to rights. And they were ready to move in on him.

An hour later, the sergeant introduced Dani to a conference room full of sheriff’s deputies and police officers. There were no rivalries here. Everybody played ball for the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department. The LVMPD or “Metro” was a joint police force that serviced both the city of Las Vegas and Clark County. The group in this conference room had been assigned to a special-investigation task force specifically created to catch Laura Deans’s murderer. Some were liaisons to other departments, to keep them informed and help chop through red tape; others were more directly involved. One of them was the sheriff of Clark County. All of them were staring at Dani.

Dwayne introduced her as the lead investigative specialist, so she guessed that made it official. She tapped a button on her laptop, and the projection screen behind her filled with a blurry image of a man looking furtively over his shoulder as he walked away from a motel parking lot. It was the best they could get from the ATM across the street.

“We’re looking for a guy named Stephen Foster,” she said. “Age thirty-five. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Five foot seven and about one hundred sixty pounds. In this picture, anyway.” She tapped again, and the image was replaced with a mug shot from about ten years ago. The man looked a lot younger, though. Prison must not have agreed with him. “This was him when he first went in for burglary and possession of narcotics.” She tapped again, and a second mug shot filled the screen. “Here he is again two years later for more of the same.” Another tap and another mug shot. “And again three years after that.”

Stephen Foster had aged with each shot. He didn’t look hardened or more dangerous, just more desperate. His clothes and hairstyle were basically the same in each picture. In the final one, his eyes looked hollow and lost, like he’d just woken up from a dream and didn’t know where he was.

“He’s currently out on parole . . . for good behavior.” She didn’t mean it as a joke, but it still got a few chuckles.

Her next series of pictures showed a number of crime-scene markers next to dark smudges or smeared blood on cheap motel furniture. “Several fingerprints from the crime scene match Foster’s record in the NCIC database.” She showed a picture of the Fluffleberry marker. “We don’t have a murder weapon, but we do have Foster’s fingerprints on the pen used to draw on the victim’s body. And we do know what kind of murder weapon to look for.” Her final image was of a simple gray box cutter, blade extended.

Dani looked over at Dwayne to see if he wanted to add anything. He just nodded for her to keep going.

“Foster’s landlord says he hasn’t seen him around for several days now,” said Dani. “His previous employer said he fired Foster the day before Laura Deans was murdered. He also said he caught Foster masturbating in the women’s bathroom.” Dani cringed as she said it, waiting for the inevitable lewd comment. It didn’t come, and she relaxed a bit. “This guy is obviously broken, and he’ll probably kill again if he can. So we won’t let him. We know who he is. We have numbers on our side. He’s alone, and he’s no criminal mastermind.”

* * *

The rest of the day was spent mobilizing Metro on a countywide manhunt, which to Dani, seemed more like being an air traffic controller than a cop. Scheduling was a nightmare, and it meant more work for everybody, especially her. Dwayne volunteered his squad to coordinate the effort, so as the lead investigative specialist, Dani was on the phone a lot. She went over her briefing half a dozen more times with different branches of Metro, and her inspirational speech at the end became more and more cranky as the day wore on.

Still, Foster was one man in a city of over two million people. Apparently, things weren’t going to happen over night. To prove the point, Dwayne sent Dani home just after midnight. She was reluctant to go. Reports of the manhunt—and about three cups of coffee—had her wired as she got in her car. She knew she should go home and at least veg out for a bit, even if she couldn’t sleep. Instead, she talked herself into another way to unwind.

Dani started her car but didn’t drive off. She tapped her phone to wake it up. Then she tapped into her messaging app and flipped the phone sideways to use the keyboard. Erica’s name autocorrected to
AbjectErica
as she typed out a text with her thumbs.

Dani5oh:
U up?

AbjectErica:
Duh! It’s not dawn o’clock yet.

Dani5oh:
Working?

AbjectErica:
Depends on you. Have you met Translantica? She could be your pre-flight entertainment.

Dani5oh:
It would be nice to just see Erica.

AbjectErica:
Sure. lol

AbjectErica:
You ok?

Dani5oh:
Rough week.

AbjectErica:
I have the cure for that. Coming over? It’s pretty slow tonight.

Dani5oh:
How about your place?

AbjectErica:
We could do that. The place is a mess, though.

Dani5oh:
Sounds perfect.

AbjectErica:
Give me 30 mins.

Dani5oh:
See u there.

AbjectErica:
:-) xxx

* * *

Erica lived in a condo close to the Strip. It was ridiculously expensive, but then Erica’s paycheck was probably three times what Dani’s was. Also, Erica wasn’t putting anything into retirement just yet. She was focused on the here and now, as long as here and now looked like the cover of a fashion magazine. Dani worried about her sometimes. What they had together was barely more than a series of one-night stands, but she still felt like they had a connection. Like maybe they shared some kind of inside joke about how relationships really worked.

Erica opened the door in her bathrobe. It was a chocolate-colored satin, so soft that the little belt holding it closed had a hard time staying in a knot, or Erica had left it loose on purpose, more likely. The condo wasn’t big, but it was very nice. The recessed lighting was dimmed, and the Strip glowed off in the distance through the living room window. Dani could hear the shower running in the background, and wisps of steam were escaping through the partially opened bathroom door into the hallway.

Erica’s fingers teased at the hem of her robe where it covered her breasts as Dani stepped inside. No dramatic poses, no one-liners, just a simple smile. This was the real Erica, not a persona she folded up and stored in her closet at night.

Dani smiled back. “Hi.”

“Hey,” said Erica.

Dani slid her arms underneath Erica’s. Instead of lust, she felt relief. Relief that she was finally with somebody who wasn’t relying on her. She could put herself entirely in Erica’s hands tonight if she wanted to, and Erica wouldn’t mind. She started by laying her head on Erica’s shoulder rather than turning toward her for a kiss. It felt like slipping into a warm bath.

Dani took a deep breath and surprised herself when it caught in her chest. She wasn’t crying. That would be silly. She didn’t need to do that. And those weren’t tears she was trying to blink away. She was just tired.

Erica’s arms tightened around Dani’s back and pressed her closer. Dani took another deep breath.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Erica asked.

“Yes,” said Dani, her voice a little hoarse.

“
Can
you talk about it?”

“No.”

Erica broke the embrace and started leading her toward the bathroom. “Maybe you can at least forget about it for a while.”

The steam felt wonderful, and the tiny bathroom was filled with the scent of Erica’s shampoo. Both the mirror and the glass shower door were fogged up, making everything look soft. She was kind of glad she couldn’t see her own face. She was sure it was splotchy, and she was suddenly aware of how she must smell after twelve hours in the office bull pen.

Erica closed the door after them and stepped up behind Dani. She reached a hand around and popped open one of the buttons about midway down Dani’s uniform. Her lips pressed against Dani’s neck as her hand pushed inside her shirt to find her breast. Then her fingers grazed over the cup of Dani’s bra and squeezed up from the bottom.