Six Killer Bodies (32 page)

“Absolutely. We don’t know who, but at least now we

have a place to start. In light of Garza’s confession and this

new evidence, the D.A. is reviewing the charges against

Coop.”

She squealed with delight.

“That doesn’t mean you should let your guard down,” he

warned. “Lane is stil out there. I have some leads, but

nothing definite. And now we have to find Coop, too, and

convince him to turn himself in so we can get this al

straightened out.” He smiled. “But since the state boys

created this mess, I’m going to let them handle it.”

She considered tel ing Jack about Coop’s call, but decided

that once Coop called Liz, it would all get sorted out.

Jack returned the chip to his pocket and grinned. “Aren’t

you going to say I told you so?”

She shook her head. “No. Thank you for believing me,

Jack.”

He reached forward and picked up a lock of her hair, his

pet gesture when he wanted to say something. He

fingered the strand, rubbing it between forefinger and

thumb. “You are something, you know that?”

She didn’t respond, just soaked up his words and basked in

the happiness of knowing that she’d helped Coop…and

Maria.

He dropped his hand and cleared his throat. “So…are you

all packed for Vegas?”

“Almost,” she said. “But I’m running low on underwear.”

“Wow, it’s a good thing you work in a department store,”

he said with a little smile. “If I don’t see you again…have a

safe trip.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Jack.”

He turned and walked away.

He was always walking away, she realized.

But she refused to be the least bit sad about anything. She

finished her shift, said goodbye to Herb, and stopped to

pick up the rest of the dry cleaning for her trip. Then she

drove home listening to the radio as news broke that split

The Charmed Kil er case wide open and sent reporters

scrambling.

When she got home, she pul ed the dry cleaning from her

car. One of the bags contained the bathing suit that

Hannah had worn in the hot tub. Carlotta decided to write

Hannah’s name on the garment bag so she’d always have a

suit when she came over.

And just like that, Carlotta realized that she was planning

on staying at Peter’s home for a while.

When she walked into the house, she grabbed the key to

the pool house and kept going, out onto the patio, past

the pool, sorting through her mail that had been

forwarded to Peter’s address. Bil s, bil s, bil s.

She sighed, juggled envelopes and the garment bag as she

unlocked the door to the pool house. She walked in and

went directly to the changing room, where she hung the

suit in the armoire. When she turned around, she stopped

and frowned. Something was out of place.

Her gaze landed on a picture propped up on the vanity. A

picture of her, taken by Michael at an employee party. It

was the same photo that he’d swiped from the bul etin

board in her bedroom when he’d hidden in the townhouse

under their noses.

And he’d been hiding right under her nose again, here in

the pool house. Terror seized her. She should’ve given in

to the urge to check the closet the other day for Angela’s

lingerie and props. Although, if she had, Hannah might

have gotten hurt.

She turned to run, but Michael Lane stood in the doorway,

newly blond, dressed in chinos and a dress shirt, as if he

were going to work. Strangely, though, his pants pockets

bulged—perhaps with coins? In his hand he held what

looked like a surgical knife, probably the same one he’d

escaped with from the mental ward of the hospital.

She screamed and backed up to the wal .

Michael looked confused. “Why would you scream? No

one can hear you.”

Carlotta found her voice. “You startled me, Michael, that’s

al .”

He laughed. “You should see the look on your face. You

look like al those other women.”

He was completely mad. His eyes were vacant, darting.

“Wh-what other women?”

“All those women whose pictures are on TV,” he said. “I’m

really sorry about that,” he said, then grimaced. “I’m really

sorry about a lot of things. I wasn’t a very good friend to

you, Carlotta.”

“It’s okay,” she soothed. “We can work this out. Why don’t

you let me call someone?” She reached into her purse.

“No!” he shouted, holding the knife blade toward her. “It’s

too late for that. They’re looking for me, did you know?”

“They want you to get help, Michael.”

“No, they want to kil me in a dozen different ways.”

Carlotta wet her lips. “Is that what you were doing,

Michael? Kil ing women in a dozen different ways?”

He looked up and squinted. “I was always smarter than

people gave me credit for, Carlotta. And charming. I was

so charming, wasn’t I?”

Her throat convulsed. “Yes, Michael…you’ve always been

charming. And helpful.” She shifted to shove her hand

deeper into her purse. “I didn’t get to thank you for all the

things you did around the townhouse to help out.”

He looked confused, then he nodded. “What did I do?”

“You know—laundry, running the dishwasher, that kind of

thing.”

“Oh…right. I thought it was the least I could do since you

al owed me to live there.”

“And you got rid of the fire ants in our yard,” she said,

curling her fingers around the baton.

He frowned. “No. I don’t like ants.” Then he pointed the

knife at her. “Hey, stop talking. You’re trying to mess with

me. You’re trying to get me sent to prison for the rest of

my life.”

“No, I’m not, Michael.”

“Yes, you are!” he shouted. “You were going to testify

against me, say that I tried to hurt you.”

“You did hurt me, Michael. Remember, you threw me over

the balcony of the Fox Theater?”

“That was self-defense. What else was I supposed to do?”

He stepped closer, holding the blade. “You can fix things.

You can tel the police I didn’t mean to kil those women,

but I had to.”

She nodded. “Okay, I’l tel them whatever you want,

Michael. Just put down the knife.”

He looked at the weapon, then up at her again. “You’re

trying to trick me.” He lunged toward her and she pul ed

out the baton. She groped for the button, and was able to

make contact with a zzzzt just as he stabbed at her. His

body stiffened and the knife fel . Then he dropped to the

floor.

As he lay there twitching, Carlotta dissolved in sobs. She

reached for the phone and fumbled with the buttons until

Jack’s number popped up. She pushed Send, and he

answered on the second ring.

“Did you decide to gloat after all?” he asked.

Her teeth chattered. “J-Jack…J-Jack…”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, instantly serious. “Where are

you?”

“P-Peter’s p-pool house. It’s Michael…it was Michael…”

“Stay on the phone. I’m coming.”

30

If they had any questions about Michael’s guilt, it was put

to rest by the contents of his pockets—handfuls of charms

of al kinds.

Carlotta stood inside the house, looking out the sliding

glass door, watching Michael being hauled away on a

gurney. He was handcuffed and shackled—the authorities

weren’t taking any chances this time. Rainie Stephens

stood nearby, directing a photographer to get the photos

needed for the exclusive Carlotta had promised her.

“Are you sure you’re up to giving a statement?” Jack

asked.

Carlotta turned and nodded. “I want to get this over with.”

She retraced her story and her steps for Jack as he took

notes. When she was finished, he put away the notebook.

“When you get back from your trip, we might have a few

more questions for you.”

“Of course. But you’ve got enough to hold him, don’t

you?”

“Yes. And I finally picked up a lead on one of the parts for

the explosive that was planted under your car. If it tracks

back to Lane, we’l have more federal charges to file. If the

man is sane, I’d say he’s looking at the needle for sure.”

“He didn’t seem sane to me. He was confused, as if he

couldn’t tel the difference between what was real, and

what was happening on television.”

Jack grunted. “Then he’l probably be institutionalized for

the rest of his life.”

“But why would Michael want to frame Coop? It doesn’t

make sense.”

“I don’t know. If Maria were here, I’m sure she could help

us understand.”

Carlotta stepped back to the sliding glass door and looked

out on the pool house. A CSI team was processing the

building. She couldn’t help feeling that something wasn’t

right, but she reasoned that everything would be

explained as Michael relayed details of the crimes. It

would stil be a long time before the city felt normal again.

Jack came to stand behind her. “What a day, huh?”

She hugged herself. “Yeah, what a day.”

He reached up and pul ed her hair over one shoulder.

“Carlotta, about your trip…”

She looked back at him. “What, Jack?”

He moved up behind her and wrapped one arm around

her. “Don’t go,” he whispered hoarsely.

She closed her eyes as emotions coursed through her. She

swallowed hard. “Don’t go…or stay here with you, Jack?

It’s two different things.”

He pul ed back and she could sense his emotional retreat.

It would always be that way with Jack, hot and cold. Down

the hall, the sound of the front door bursting open broke

the silence.

“Carly?” came Peter’s frantic voice.

She and Jack moved in opposite directions as Peter strode

into the room and pul ed her into his arms.

“Are you okay?” He leaned back and cupped her face. “I

can’t believe I almost lost you. I love you so much.” He

held her tight and rocked her back and forth, murmuring

little contented sounds.

This was the man she could count on, she realized, the

man who wanted her so much, he wasn’t afraid to let the

world know. “I love you, too,” she said.

When she opened her eyes, she caught a flash of

resignation of Jack’s face just before he turned to go.

31

Wes sighed and stared at the clock on the wall. Was the

damn thing even working? It had been five minutes til

noon for what seemed like over an hour now. Christ, with

Meg gone on vacation, his time at ASS did seem like a

sentence.

“When does Meg get back?” Jeff Spooner asked.

Ravi Chopra paused in his keyboarding. “Yeah. Do you

know, Wes?”

Wes looked at the guys who shared the workstation, equal

parts sorry for them and irritated with them. He wanted to

say, “She’s mine, losers, back off.” But he understood

where they were coming from. Meg had them al tied up in

knots.

“It’s only been two days, guys. She’l be back next

Monday.” He was reassuring himself as much as them.

Wes pushed to his feet and grabbed his backpack. “I’m

outta here.”

As he exited the building, his cel phone rang. He reached

for it, hoping it was Meg. Instead, Liz Fischer’s name came

up on the screen. He winced, but he had to answer it.

They’d been playing phone tag because she’d been so

busy taking care of Coop’s case since it had blown up in

the D.A.’s toady face.

“Hey, Liz.”

“Hi, Wes. Is this a good time to talk?”

“Sure,” he said, walking toward the bike rack. Mouse

would be there soon to pick him up. “How’s Coop?”

“Good,” she said. “The initial charges have been dropped,

and I’m pretty sure I can get the fugitive charges dropped,

too. It’s going to take a while to get everything sorted out,

but Coop seems to have a champion on the staff of the

AJC. We have interview requests from al the networks.

Everyone’s backpedaling, trying to repair the damage to

Coop’s reputation. I think he’s going to come out of this on

top.”

Wes grinned. “That’s great news.” Carlotta had been right

about Coop all along…and right about Wes getting clean.

“Uh, Liz…I need a favor.”

“Shoot.”

He told her about the blood test taken the previous week

at his probation meeting. “I’m not going to lie to you—I

know it tested positive for Oxy. But I went through detox

over the weekend, and I’m clean. I was hoping you could

talk to my probation officer and arrange for me to take

another blood test when I go in tomorrow.”

“Ah, so that’s why I have three messages from your

probation officer. Don’t worry. I’l take care of it.”

His shoulders fell. “Thanks, Liz, you’re the best.”

“Wes, there are a couple of other things I need to talk to

you about.”

“Okay.” The black Town Car pul ed up and Mouse threw

up his hand in a wave. Wes waved back and held up a

finger to indicate he’d be a minute. He was stil amazed at

what the big man had done for him.

“I got a call from Jack Terry this morning,” Liz said. “He

wants to know why your fingerprints are on an anonymous

note the APD received listing possible names identifying a

headless corpse in the county morgue.”