The Green-Eyed Doll (23 page)

Soon Vince would learn he wasn’t such as badass after all. He’d cry like a girl at the thought of somebody else fuckin’ his old lady.

He’d finally found a doll who wouldn’t bitch and lie to him. Excitement buzzed through his system. He and Jessie would party hard. He’d be sure to stock the fridge because she did like her beer.

First, he’d attend the meeting out at Will’s place. Be the good citizen. Besides, he needed to know what Will and his little posse were doing. He might point them in the direction of a few poor unsuspecting bastards to keep them busy.

Blood raced through his veins when he drove across the parking lot. The air conditioner ran full blast. Still, sweat popped out and soaked his shirt under his arms. His cock throbbed against his zipper now that plans were firm and close to being executed. He pointed his pickup toward Will’s house.

He shoved his mama’s old pistol further under the seat. Pointing the .380 at his last doll had worked okay. She’d hopped right into his pickup without a fuss. He’d use it to take Jessie. And why not? She fuckin’ wanted him to.

****

Monday, August 28th, noon

Catherine hoisted the basket of laundry up on her hip and closed the door behind her. She’d had her usual nightmare. The dream hadn’t held its typical horror, allowing her to wake before the fingers tightened around her throat. A good sign she was putting the past behind her. She didn’t mind that the rest of her only day off would be at a dead run.

A dinner date with two handsome men required she finish her scullery-maid duties, as she called them, early enough to be dressed by six.

Ash Hunter certainly had made an impression at the Pizza Stop. The teenage girls behind the counter had been thoroughly charmed. Around Matt’s height, Ash’s blond hair and hazel eyes drew attention to his face. With sharply-honed features, squared jaw and a cleft in his chin, Ash was perfect except for an inch long scar high on his cheekbone. Handsome but not in the same dark, rugged, sexy way Matt was.

She stopped at the big house and ran up to Emma’s front door. Her Monday routine included checking to see if Emma needed anything from town. Catherine called out over the blaring TV after knocking the third time. The door popped open, and she found herself being pulled inside at a run.

“Hurry,” Emma insisted. “We’re missing the news.” She stopped in front of the TV and shushed Catherine, who hadn’t said a word.

“Just who is Sheriff Matt Ballard?” The pert blonde-haired woman on the screen leaned forward, her face a portrait of questioning. “And why is he withholding critical information? This reporter believes you, the public, has the right to know if a serial killer lives in our community. Is a mad man murdering the women of our once peaceful county? Your safety could depend on Sheriff Ballard’s actions and answers. Yet when I asked our sheriff of less than a year, he refused to give answers.” She turned in her chair to watch a film of Matt walking out of the park where Annie Travers was found. When she looked back into the camera, her eyebrows pulled together, giving her a grave expression. “My concerns were brushed aside as if the fear I have for my viewers was unimportant. Be sure to tune in tomorrow. We will learn as the week goes on why you don’t have the right to information which might save your life.” She lit up the TV with a radiant smile. “This is Sylvia Horning reporting for RBS News at noon.”

Emma hit the off button on the remote while Catherine stood with her jaw hanging open. Behind the smile of the newswoman was pure unadulterated hate. And she’d declared war on Matt. A tug on Catherine’s sleeve pulled her attention away from the TV and down into Emma’s curious eyes.

“You and the sheriff pretty close?”

“Yes, ma’am.” No reason to deny their relationship. Emma had watched the driveway like a sentinel on guard duty since the first sign of Catherine’s stalker. Matt’s pickup had sat outside overnight more than once.

“Well? Is she telling the truth? Do we have a serial killer in the area?” Her grip tightened on Catherine’s hand, and fear sparked in Emma’s eyes.

“Yes.” Catherine had to tell Emma the truth so she’d be careful. “I don’t understand why Sylvia Horning is on the attack. She’s sensationalizing the murders. Matt’s made more than one statement to the paper and TV station that every woman needs to exercise caution. He wants us to be safe not terrified.”

“She insinuated he had secrets about his past he didn’t want us to know about.”

“We all have secrets, things we want to forget.” The last thing Catherine wanted to discuss was the right or wrong of hiding your past. “Please don’t judge him by whatever story she cooks up.”

“I reckon you’re right. You know, if we’ve got a murderer on the loose, I’m doubly glad I had the lights strung.”

“Me, too.”

“No need. I did it for both our safety. We girls can’t be too careful. I keep a pistol on my nightstand, and you should do the same.”

“A gun? I’m surprised at you.” Catherine had visions of Grandma Mazur from the Janet Evanovich books. Except Emma might have fewer wrinkles.

“Let me show you.” Emma dashed out of the room. She was back in seconds waving a weapon nearly as big as she was in the air. “I went to one of those all day classes and got me a license to carry this baby.”

“Emma,” Catherine gasped. “You’ll hurt yourself with that thing.”

Emma huffed out a sound of disgust. “I learned to shoot long before you were born.”

Catherine checked her watch. “Do you need anything from town?”

“I expected you’d stop. I wrote everything down. Let me get it.”

Catherine tucked the list in her jeans pocket, hugged Emma goodbye, and hurried to the car. Matt probably didn’t watch the noon news, but he needed to know he’d picked up his own stalker. She grabbed her cell and punched in his number, but the call went straight to voicemail. The message she left was short and to the point. The laundry still needed to be done, and Catherine wasted no time getting on the road.

****

Monday, August 28th, 4:00 p.m.

“What a mess. This is the first autopsy where I’ve come close to arresting the victim’s father.” Matt leaned his head back against the wall in Dr. Reinhardt’s office and closed his eyes. Damn, Will Brooking’s behavior warranted getting hauled to jail.

“How dare he try to push his way into my office. I will not tolerate his kind of behavior in my morgue.” Dr. Kurt Reinhardt slapped his open hand on top of his desk, sending a small pencil holder skittering over the edge onto the floor. “If he repeats it, I will press charges.”

“He’s a man in pain, looking for answers.” Matt understood Will was grieving and tried to take his tantrum in stride. He’d certainly pushed the medical examiner’s hot button when he’d demanded to hear the gory details.

Dr. Reinhardt stood, picked up his pencils, and replaced them one by one. His office was a study in organization. The stoop in his back appeared to be more pronounced today. Balding, the top of his head turned red when he lost his temper.

Matt changed the conversation back to the subject at hand. “Talk me through your thoughts. Then I’ll let you get back to work.”

The ME stopped straightening his desk, leaned back, and remained quiet for a minute. “TOD was between midnight and two a.m. Friday morning. Keep in mind that’s an estimate. Due to exposure to the elements, I can’t pinpoint as accurately as I’d like.”

“Sonofabitch left her in the park before daylight. Explains why nobody noticed a vehicle going in or out Friday morning.”

“Judging from the contents of her stomach and the condition of her body, she hadn’t been eating a lot. Contusions around her ribs and right jaw indicate she was beaten. I found extensive tearing and bruising in the vaginal and anal area. ”

“A sex slave. Tethered where she couldn’t escape, yet not tended to.” Matt’s mind whirled with ideas and possibilities. Why starve her? Punishment? “She was strangled.”

“That’s correct. Only this time the killer was more zealous.”

“Zealous? What the hell does that mean?” Matt’s nerves snapped.

“Call it what you wish. The strangulation was more brutal with this victim.” Reinhardt removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “The bruising around her neck was more extensive. Her hyoid bone had been crushed.”

“Any idea what kind of tether was around her ankle?”

“Matt, I don’t like to guess, but if I had to—”

“Guess,” Matt interrupted and insisted.

“Handcuffs. Unlike raw abrasions on the skin left by rope burns, a cuff would leave grooves in the flesh. I’ll run some comparison pictures to see if I can find like wounds.”

“I can’t wait weeks for the autopsy results. You pushed me way out with the first one, but you have to help me out here. I’m sending what I have to the FBI for a profile and would like to follow with your reports.”

“You can have everything except the toxicology reports in a couple of days. It’s the best I can do.” Dr. Reinhardt’s mouth closed, his lips drawn to a thin line.

Apparently, that was his last word on the subject.

Matt shook the doc’s hand and headed for his cruiser. He turned his cell on to a barrage of beeps and buzzes. He was about to listen to one when a disturbing sight caught his attention. At least a dozen reporters and as many cameras waited at the bottom of the steps.
Shit.
No getting past them.
He inhaled deeply and walked to meet them.

“Sheriff. Pat Lawrence with the San Antonio Telegram. Do you have a comment about Sylvia Horning’s claim you’re deliberately keeping information from the public?”

He laughed at the ridiculousness of the statement. “I’m sorry. Deliberately? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Neither my office nor I keep secrets. I do refuse to share clues or information that might compromise a case with the media.”

“Then you’re not concerned about the investigation she’s launched into your past and your department.”

“That’s news to me. I’m sure there’s been a misunderstanding.” Matt shared what he could without divulging too much. The fact that the larger market news agencies had picked up the story of the murders disturbed him. Will Brooking and his crew would stir things up enough without the press making it worse. Matt used all his charm to debunk whatever rumors Sylvia Horning had started.

Matt chuckled when he checked his messages. He’d been inundated with people trying to forewarn him. The TV reporter was the least of his worries. He needed to get back to the office and enter his notes. As with investigations of this type, one central file became the Bible, holding all the information in one place. Hopefully, at some point everything would come together and the answer would be revealed.

On the trip home, Matt organized his thoughts. Pictures of Julia and Annie were as vivid as though they stood in front of him. White faces, hair slicked back, painted lips, and that hideous red ribbon. Being their bodies were too clean, and the bow had been tied over the bruised neck, indications were this was all done post-mortem. His stomach cramped when he thought about their eyes. They’d haunt him for the rest of his life.

Matt waited to radio the dispatcher until he was closer. He was shocked when Sue answered. She seldom worked this late unless asked. Right away, she ragged on him for not returning her calls, warning him the media had been calling all day. Then she reminded him he hadn’t touched base with his deputies since morning.

Irritation simmered right under the surface, but Matt pushed it down deep. Sue’s extra gruff mannerism merely indicated fear, the same fear spreading like wildfire across the county. The pounding in his temples set him on the edge. He’d left Houston to get away from death and pain. And failure. The old adage held true, your problems travelled with you. Bow up and handle the situation, his daddy told him one time when a bully had tried to push him around at school. Good advice then and now.

“After quitting time, isn’t it?”

“Did I ask for overtime pay?” she fired back.

He smiled to himself, another woman in his life who made him laugh. “You brought me a pie today. Didn’t you?”

“What makes you think I’d bring you anything?” The warmth in her voice answered his question.

“You did the last time I went to San Antonio.” His stomach rumbled. “You didn’t give any to Ash, did you?”

“Course I did, but I saved you some. What kind of name is Ash anyway? Was his mother on fire when he was born?”

“I’d tell you his full name is Ashton Hilton Hunter, but I value my life too much.” Sue laughed and Matt relaxed a little.

“I can understand how he’d be upset. Hilton, huh? Any relation to the hotel?”

“If so, he’s always denied it.”

“How’d the autopsy go?” Her voice softened. “Pretty rough?”

“Worse than rough.”

“How far out are you?”

“Pulling in the parking lot.”

“Want me to make fresh coffee? Jake and Ash are waiting for you.”

“Good idea. We’ll be working late. Ask them to meet me in the conference room.”

“You got it.”

Chapter Eighteen

Tuesday, August 29th, 11:30 a.m.

Matt ended the call with Special Agent Noble and turned to Ash. He’d sat stone-faced, arms folded across his chest, lips clamped together in a rigid line through the entire conference conversation. The FBI had agreed to have the BAU review the documents and film. Sue would overnight the package to their office in Quantico. “Maybe we’ll gain some insight from the profile they’ll develop.” Matt received an eye roll and a look of total disgust from Ash. “What?”

“I had my say before you called the Feds.” Ash’s gaze went back to the pictures taken by the photographer at the morgue and by Jake at the park.

“Like you’re not getting ready to tell me again.”

Ash was miffed because his profiling abilities were as good as anything the FBI could provide. The BAU might notice something, hell anything that would help. Matt wasn’t too proud to ask for help.

“The sucker is easy to profile,” Ash continued his protest. “We need to figure out what set him off. A traumatic experience, a trigger, something sent him off the deep end. He’s somebody these women recognized. Hell, man, Annie Travers looked nervous, but not afraid for her life. She got out of her car and went to him. Those two things, the trust and the tragedy, will lead us to him.”