Slave to Love (35 page)

“This is nuts!” she practically yelled at him. “You can’t possibly be the Teddie Killer and everyone in this room knows it!” She got to her feet and scorched the others with a deadly scowl. “If Detective McGraw’s resigning, so am I,” she declared. Not that that was any big deal, but still.

Everyone stared, but the only objection was from Mick.

“No, Caro,” he said, again with that chilly demeanor. “That isn’t necessary.”

“Yes, it is!”

“You aren’t suspected of anything more than poor judgment. Bobby needs your help on the case.” The chill wavered for a split second. “Tell her, Bobby.”

“If you want to clear Mick,” Bobby said, watching her intently, “the best way is to work with me. And help me find the real killer.”

“We already
know
who the real killer is. It has to be Smythe. Why else would he have gone into hiding? But you can bet he’ll be at the Tether Club tonight.” She leaned over and placed her hands flat on the table. “Please, Lt. Fredrickson, let Mick go to the party with me tonight. We’ll get him. I promise.”

“
No
!” Mick said emphatically. “I told you I don’t want you at that party. It’s too dangerous.”

The lieutenant watched their byplay, swiped a hand over his mouth. “Detective Staunton and I will make that decision later, after questioning you both. Meanwhile, I’ll accept your resignation from the task force, Detective McGraw. You’re confined to desk duty until further notice. Don’t leave the station without telling me.”

Mick nodded stiffly, darted her a lethal warning look, and stalked from the room.

She sank back onto her chair. “This isn’t police work, this is a witch hunt,” she muttered. “Mick spent hours combing through that crime scene. Finding his prints there means squat.”

Up and down the table, people shifted in their seats.

“Evidence doesn’t lie,” Maria said quietly. “No cop likes accusing one of our own. Especially someone with Detective McGraw’s record. But there are legitimate questions. Not just about the fingerprints.”

“Such as?” Caro challenged.

“Such as fibers,” Johnson said.

“We were able to match the orange silk fibers found on the victims,” Maria explained. “They all came from a type of imported scarf sold at a shop on Fair Oaks called Rasheed’s.”

Caro’s heart sank. She’d had a feeling that coincidence would be a problem.

Johnson continued, “The owner remembered a man who bought a whole dozen of those scarves. A man named Michael.”

“Common enough name,” Caro said.

“The owner had a credit card receipt. The card belonged to Detective McGraw.”

“So what?” she said, exasperated. “Everyone at Brimstone saw him wearing an orange scarf tied around his arm last night. He was trying to attract the killer’s attention.”

Johnson looked at her with a trace of pity in his eyes. “The receipt was dated almost two months ago.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “If that’s true, the killer must have known he bought them, and deliberately used the same kind of scarf.”

“Why?” Lieutenant Fredrickson asked skeptically.

“To implicate Detective McGraw, of course!” Caro exclaimed. “That would explain the fingerprints, too,” she said. “The killer must have planted them as well, which is why he used something portable. We already know he must have taken a key because the deadbolt was locked from the outside, so planting evidence after the fact would have been easy.”

“The only way your scenario is plausible,” Agent Woodruff interjected, stepping forward, “is if the murders are somehow directed at McGraw personally.”

The L.T. frowned and said, “What possible motive would the killer have to do that?”

“To distract us! Lead us on a wild goose chase. We’re getting close and he knows it. Who better to implicate than the lead detective on the case?”

Tim nodded. “That would make sense, psychologically at least. Our killer is very smart and extremely organized. He definitely has the mental capacity to toy with his pursuers like this.”

“Thank you,” Caro said, grateful for the profiler’s support. It had to count for something with the doubters. She turned back to Maria. “Did you find any orange silk fibers at the crime scene yesterday?”

The forensics chief shook her head. “Not yet, but as you know, it will take weeks to sift through all the evidence. The lab is pretty backed up from the other scenes.”

“What about on the body?” Caro asked the assistant medical examiner, who’d been watching the debate with interest.

Benedict also shook his head. “We did examine the eyebrows first thing, since that’s where the fibers were found on the other victims. Nothing has shown up as yet. But again, it’s just preliminary at this point.”

“There! You see!” Caro said, satisfied despite his caveat. “There were none on the Atkins woman either! The pattern changed with his
third
set of victims—
after
the papers announced Mick was lead detective. Our guy is a control freak. He’d have done his research on the man assigned to stop him.”

“The research part is no doubt true,” Tim said. He glanced at her apologetically. “But then, by all accounts, Detective McGraw is also a smart, organized, control freak. He could easily have set all this up. And his background... well, to be honest, it fits the killer’s profile nearly as well as Smythe’s does. The only thing McGraw doesn’t have is priors, which admittedly one would expect.”

Traitor.

“What about
motive
?” Caro blurted out.

“As you know, serial killers don’t need a specific motive to kill. There only has to be predisposition, a long-standing fantasy and a sufficient trigger.”

“Trust me,” she said, “Detective McGraw’s fantasies are not about murder. His nightmares, maybe.”

“Which are sometimes the same thing.”

She glared at Tim. “You know it’s not him. Why are you doing this?”

“Do I? The simplest explanation is usually the right one. And frankly, your opinion might be a tad...biased.”

Once again she felt the heat of embarrassment. She squeezed her lips together before responding, “Maybe because I know him better than anyone else. He couldn’t do this. I’d stake my life on it.”

The room hushed, and Tim said quietly, “I think you already have.”

***

“Can I see you a moment?”

Caro turned from gathering her things after the meeting broke up to see Tim standing next to her.

“I’m not sure,” she said, still fuming. “If this is another lecture...”

“No. I promise. I just want to know how you’re doing. A lot has happened since our last private talk.”

“I’m fine,” she assured him. He believed Mick was a serial killer. No way she was confiding in him about another blessed thing.

“Caro, for what it’s worth, I’m not absolutely convinced Mick is guilty,” he said.

“Absolutely” being the operative word. But she had to give him credit for trying to keep at least a partially open mind. “Oh, really?”

“I’m willing to reserve judgment, although I don’t like the guy, and I hate what he’s doing to you.”

“He’s not doing anything to me. We’re doing it together.”

Tim leaned his hip on the conference table. “Tell me, what exactly
are
you doing together?”

She straightened her stack of files, weighing her answer. If she could just convince him of Mick’s innocence, maybe the L.T. would ease up on him. Let him go to the Tether Club tonight with her. Because one thing was for certain. She was going, even if she had to go alone. Catching Smythe was the only way to clear Mick.

“Look, Tim. I don’t pretend to know what’s going on with us. In fact, our relationship scares the hell out of me most of the time. I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ve never even
heard
of anything like this before.”

“Like what?”

“A person wanting to belong to someone else. Not just temporary bondage but being completely submissive to their will. I’m—”

A deep scowl shot across Tim’s face. “You mean voluntary slavery? Surely, you haven’t—”

“No. God, no. I haven’t become his slave. Not really.” She fingered the links of her collar.

“What do you mean by not really?”

“For the case, you know I agreed to act as his pleasure slave. But the roles seem to suit us in real life, too. So, we’re... exploring that whole scene.”

“Sexual
slavery
? What kind of scene?” Tim demanded, and Caro almost smiled. Most people would simply be horrified. Tim knew to ask about degree. “Please, tell me you haven’t done something really foolish.”

“No. I’ve only agreed to be his pleasure slave,” she said mildly. “Nothing more.”

The look of relief on the profiler’s face was evident. “Thank God. Swear to me you’ll never take it any further. That you won’t ever agree to a total power exchange, or even a partial one.”

She’d never heard the term before, but the meaning was obvious. Complete submission in all things. “No worries. I’m too stubborn and independent for that. Besides, I lived too many years under my father’s thumb for that lifestyle to hold any appeal whatsoever.”

“So it’s just about sex.”

She met his gaze. “Yes. It’s all about sexual fantasy, like you said. And letting go. And trust.”

He didn’t look away. “You like having a man own your body? Having him use you as his sexual vessel? Letting him take complete control of your flesh and your sex?” He said it quietly, but with a trace of huskiness in his voice.

“I like
Mick
controlling my body,” she corrected softly. “I like it a lot.”

Abruptly, Tim stood. “That’s all well and good. But be careful,” he admonished her. “There’s a thin line between pleasure and danger. Remember that.” He gave her a chilling look. “Especially tonight.”

***

Mick waited patiently at his desk in the glass office, ignoring the covert glances and the rampant speculation going on out in the squad room while the task force meeting concluded next door without him.

Afterward, Lieutenant Fredrickson came out and led him to Interrogation, playing chief inquisitor, though he was obviously uncomfortable with the chore of cross-examining one of his own detectives. A union rep sat in one corner, along with a stenographer, but Mick had waived his right to an attorney. Bobby was there, too, peeling bits of Styrofoam from an empty coffee cup as the video camera whirred and Mick failed to explain the unexplainable.

They didn’t keep him too long. Maybe an hour in all. No doubt he’d get a worse grilling when the rats at IAB got hold of him.

“So you admit it’s your condom wrapper?” the L.T. asked reluctantly.

“It’s the same brand I use,” he admitted without hesitation.

“And you have no idea how it could have gotten behind the bed at the crime scene?”

Several times Mick was tempted to tell the lieutenant what he wanted to hear. That he was guilty. Just to get it over with. This was one of those times.

Hell, there was a fifty-fifty chance he’d be found guilty anyway, regardless of whether or not he confessed, or was in fact innocent. Great odds for a lottery. Unless you didn’t want the prize.

But then he thought about his life, and how hard he’d worked to escape the sins of his father. He recalled the sick desperation of that day two months ago when he’d heard his mother’s murderer was out of jail prematurely. The blind rage and resulting two-day binge, the uncontrollable feelings of helplessness. Then pulling himself out of it by planning his own private vengeance. And finally, the irony of a few weeks later being assigned the one case he had no business touching, let alone leading.

Most of all though, he thought of Caro. Sweet, trusting Caro. Another thing he had no business touching.