All the pretty faces gra.., p.3
All the Pretty Faces (Graveyard Falls), page 3
“You can start there,” Dr. Wheeland said. “Meanwhile, I’ll run her prints and DNA.”
The CSI team arrived and introduced themselves, then began to comb the woods behind the motel for evidence. Dane surveyed the area surrounding the body as well.
“Any security cameras?” Dane asked the sheriff.
Sheriff Kimball shrugged. “Naw, owner said he’s been meaning to install some but hadn’t gotten around to it.”
Dane shook his head in disbelief. Hopefully CSI would find the woman’s purse and ID or a cell phone.
His phone buzzed, and he checked the number. Josie DuKane’s name popped up.
What did she want? Another interview? Hell, even though Cal had run the investigation, he’d talked to her about his surveillance on the Yonkers man.
Yonkers’s sister, Candy, was one of the three Thorn Ripper victims. The man not only owned a pet crematorium, but he was weird as shit.
He had fit the profile of the Bride Killer. He collected those damned dead animals Billy Linder preserved with his taxidermy skills. He’d also suffered a traumatic childhood and watched his family fall apart after her murder.
His mother became depressed, and Yonkers wound up taking care of her. Like Linder and his mother, Yonkers’s mother was ill at the time the Bride Killer struck. Yonkers’s mother also pressured him to find a wife.
Dane’s phone buzzed again. Josie was persistent.
Damn . . . she’d stirred something in him that he hadn’t felt in forever. Lust? Hunger?
Things he didn’t have time for.
She was too damn tempting. Despite the fact that she was held hostage and had nearly died at the hands of the Bride Killer, she was gutsy and faced the horror with a brave face.
He had to respect her for that. Which made her even more dangerous. Because he liked her.
She made him want things a man like him didn’t have a right to have.
If he got involved with her, he might lose focus.
There was no way in hell he’d do that and let his sister down again.
The awning of the diner provided a safe retreat while Josie studied the picture of the dead girl. Her hand trembled as she gripped the phone. She probably should have called the local sheriff, but she didn’t know Sheriff Kimball very well, and she’d dealt with Dane before. He was good at what he did.
He was also handsome and tough, all male sex appeal, but she didn’t want to think about that. Even if he had been interested, she certainly was in no shape for a relationship.
She would trust him to get to the bottom of this text.
He didn’t answer, so she left a message that it was urgent that he call her.
Horror flooded her as she studied the photograph again. The woman looked so young, so pale. Her lips were devoid of lipstick, her nails bare. She was naked, her eyes staring wide in death. Worse, those marks on her face had been carved by something sharp. A knife or scalpel?
Memories of Billy Linder holding that knife to her throat made her tremble. If she hadn’t noticed that photograph of Johnny on the mantel and used it to stall until Cal and Mona arrived, he would have choked her with that garter.
She’d been so terrified.
This woman must have been, too.
Fighting another panic attack, she relied on her criminology training to analyze the details.
In one hand, the poor woman held a broken compact mirror.
In the other, she held a Mitzi doll, also naked, the face mangled.
Her breath quickened. The Mitzi doll, a Barbie knockoff, had been popular when she was a kid, and it still was. She’d collected the fashion doll along with all her clothes and accessories, just like most of the little girls her age.
Her nerves prickling, she scanned the crowd and sidewalk, the sense that someone was watching her mounting. If the person who’d sent the photograph wanted a reaction, she didn’t intend to give him the satisfaction.
Of course it would be easy to hide among all the people. The town square was packed with locals, reporters, and tourists who’d come to catch a glimpse of the filming.
More voices shouted questions at the mayor, and a few protestors waved signs and yelled for the crew to go back to LA.
Growing more nervous about the text, she decided to go to the sheriff’s office. If this picture was real, a woman’s life had been taken. It was imperative the police know immediately.
She reached the corner to cross the street to the parking lot, but the sidewalk was clogged with people leaving the press conference.
The streetlight changed, and she blended in with the throng, hoping no one noticed her.
As she stepped into the road, someone shoved her from behind.
She stumbled forward and fell into the street, knees and hands hitting the pavement.
The sound of tires screeching reverberated in Josie’s ears. Then she looked up in horror.
A car careened toward her.
A prayer floated off her tongue as she tried to push herself up. Her life flashed in front of her.
She couldn’t have survived Billy Linder to die like this.
Tires screeched. People shouted. The car roared to stop an inch from her just as someone helped her up.
A pudgy man jumped from the vehicle and ran toward her. “My God, lady, are you all right?”
Her head spun, the world blurring as she struggled to focus. A woman from the sidewalk rushed toward her. She leaned on the man who’d helped her to stand.
“Are you okay, Miss DuKane?”
Doyle Yonkers.
Josie’s legs wobbled as she recognized the voice. How could she forget him? His voice was deep and gravelly. His beady dark eyes made chill bumps skate up her arms. She’d visited that pet crematorium to decide for herself if Dane had pegged the man correctly.
Yonkers might not have been the Bride Killer, but a creepiness emanated from him. He could be dangerous.
The driver of the car halted in front of her. “I’m so sorry, I almost hit you,” he said, sweat beading on his face.
“Do you need a doctor?” the woman asked.
Josie shook herself from the shock of the fall. Her hands and knees were scraped, but she hadn’t hit her head. “No, I’m okay.”
Yonkers and the woman ushered her to the sidewalk.
“Do you want me to call nine-one-one?” the woman asked.
Josie shook her head and stepped away from Yonkers. His touch made her skin crawl.
Other cars slowed, windows rolling down so the drivers could see what had happened. Horns began to honk, the traffic backing up.
She didn’t like being in the spotlight. She tucked her hair behind her ear, straightened her clothing, and lifted her chin.
An older couple rushed toward her, the man carrying her cell phone. “Is this yours, miss?”
“Yes, thank you.” Josie took the phone with a trembling hand.
The man who’d almost hit her coughed. “I’m sorry, I looked down for a second. You just came out of nowhere.”
Because someone had pushed her into the street.
Guilt and terror tinged the man’s voice. Josie squeezed his arm. “I’m sorry, sir. I slipped and fell, but I’m fine.”
Someone shouted that they recognized her. Another voice yelled for her to leave town. Josie looked up to see who it was—maybe the person who’d shoved her into the street?
The older couple hovered nearby. “Can we drive you somewhere?”
She shook her head. “No, my car is in the parking lot. I’ll be fine. I’m sorry for causing trouble.”
Anxious to escape before anyone else recognized her, she waved off everyone’s concern and darted in the direction of her car. Behind her, more horns blasted, and traffic resumed.
Just as she reached the parking lot, footsteps clattered on the pavement behind her. Fear gripped her. She twisted around to see who was following her—two teenagers heading toward Cocoa’s Café.
She sighed in relief, unlocked her car, and collapsed inside, her heart racing.
The wind howled off the mountain, and twigs and leaves pelted Dane, a reminder that another winter had barely passed in Graveyard Falls and that the turbulent March winds and storms were setting in.
Dane paced by the creek, one eye on the crime investigators, hoping they paid attention to details.
He reached for his cell to phone Josie, but Sheriff Kimball strode toward him, and Dane held back. Kimball had helped with the Bride Killer case, but something about the man bugged Dane. He was too quiet, distant, as if he had secrets of his own.
The midday sun slanted through the trees. Yet storm clouds rolled above, the sky an ominous gray. They needed to work the crime scene fast before the rain hit and destroyed evidence.
“Six guests in the motel last night,” Sheriff Kimball said matter-of-factly. “No one saw anything.”
He wasn’t surprised. This motel was run-down and off the beaten path. “Anyone seem suspicious?”
The sheriff consulted his notepad. “Not really. Apparently there’s a garden club at the local church. Five out of those six guests were middle-aged women here to attend.”
“What about the sixth?”
Kimball gave a perfunctory glance toward the van in the lot. “Couple with two kids traveling through. Said their baby was up all night the evening before and they were dead asleep by nine o’clock.”
Dane contemplated various scenarios. “Get the manager to open up the rooms that were vacant. The killer could have gotten inside one, stabbed the woman there, then waited until everything was quiet to dump her body.”
All business, Kimball nodded. “I’m on it.”
The sheriff hurried toward the motel entrance, and Dane went to confer with the lead crime investigator from the county, Lieutenant Ward.
They’d met when Dane was working with the task force Agent Coulter had spearheaded. Having worked together on previous cases, Cal had recruited Dane as soon as he got the assignment. Dane was glad to have the seasoned investigator on the team.
“Have you found anything?” Dane asked.
“No. No signs of a struggle back here. Weeds are not mashed, no clothing fabric or weapon.”
Had the killer disposed of the victim’s clothes or kept them? “Have your team search the trash Dumpsters and woods for the clothing. How about footprints?”
Lieutenant Ward’s mouth slanted into a frown. “A partial by the bushes, but it’s not enough to cast.”
Dane surveyed the woods, the parking lot, and the exterior of the motel. From his vantage point the manager wouldn’t have seen anyone drag the body around to the Dumpster in back.
Sheriff Kimball walked toward him with the manager, a gray-haired man wearing a hearing aid and walking with a cane.
Dane gestured toward two rooms with the lights off. “Let’s check those two on the end first.”
Together they walked past the rooms that had been rented. The manager pointed to room number four as they passed it. “That one has plumbing issues. I can’t put anyone in there.”
They reached the two end units, then waited while the older man unlocked the doors.
Dane waved the manager behind him. “Stay outside.”
Sheriff Kimball shined his flashlight inside the first room, and Dane gestured that he’d search the corner one.
The scent of cleaning supplies hit Dane as he peeked inside. He shined a light across the interior, but the room appeared to be empty. He paused to listen for sounds that someone was inside. The wind whistled, voices echoed from the crime scene techs, but the room was quiet.
Dane kept his gun at the ready in case someone was hiding in the closet or bathroom.
He flipped on the switch at the door, and bright light spilled through the room, illuminating the dingy walls. The carpet was an outdated rusty brown, the bedspread an orange and green floral that looked like something from the 1980s.
He checked the closet and bathroom, but both were empty. The strong scent of Pine-Sol and bleach that filled the air made him examine the floor and walls more closely. He sniffed to see if it was the same odor on the victim’s hands, but that soap smelled sweeter.
He stepped to the door and called one of the crime scene techs to come inside. “See if you can find blood splatters in here.”
The young man nodded and went to work. Dane leaned closer to examine the bedspread. Stains darkened the faded fabric, although they didn’t look like blood. Of course the bedcovers were supposedly the dirtiest part of a motel room, and no telling where the stains had come from.
He gestured toward the bedding and told the investigator to bag them and send them to the lab.
“So far, no blood,” the tech said. “Did you see something specific indicating that the woman was killed in this room?”
This guy must be green around the collar. “No. The cleaner could have been used to cover the crime, though. Process it thoroughly.”
Dane excused himself and stepped outside. Sheriff Kimball was exiting the other vacant room. “That one’s clear.”
Dane poked his head in, but the chemical scent wasn’t strong inside that room. His phone buzzed. Josie again. Dammit, he was busy.
“Agent Hamrick.”
“I need to see you.”
Dane froze. He didn’t like the fear in her voice. “What’s wrong, Josie?”
Josie’s stomach churned as she replayed the last few minutes in her head.
“Talk to me, dammit,” Dane snapped.
She leaned her head into her hand and did the deep breathing exercises the therapist had taught her after her abduction.
The terror of that night returned anyway. Billy had ordered her to cook for his mother, and she had. His mother hadn’t approved, and Billy had insisted he had to kill her.
Then that photo of Johnny Pike had caught her eye, and she’d used it to stall. Billy claimed Johnny was his father. At the time, she’d believed she was Johnny’s daughter, so she’d used that relationship to make a connection.
She’d assured Billy he wouldn’t be alone when his mother died because they were siblings.
Her plan had backfired. He’d turned on Mona and decided to make her his wife.
Tears threatened. If Cal hadn’t arrived in time, they might both be dead.
“Josie, talk to me. Are you hurt?”
Dane’s concerned voice dragged her from the memory and touched a tender chord inside her. She’d never had a man care about her, just her mother and Mona.
Well, now she had Johnny and Cal, but they were family.
“I’m a little shaken up. I had a close call a few minutes ago and fell in the street. I just scraped my hands and knees. I’m all right.”
“You don’t sound all right.”
She tightened her hand around the phone. In spite of her bravado, her voice had trembled. “I didn’t just fall, Dane. Someone pushed me.”
“What?” Dane’s voice rose a notch. “Did you see who did it?”
“No, a group of us left the press conference at the same time and gathered at the street to cross.” She hesitated, self-doubt kicking in. “Maybe someone just bumped me. It was crowded at the crosswalk.”
A tense heartbeat stretched between them. Then Dane’s voice, low and soothing. “But you don’t think it was an accident?”
She massaged her temple, glad she’d called Dane instead of the sheriff. At least Dane knew her well enough to accept that she wasn’t imagining things. “No, I don’t. But I didn’t see who did it. Anyway, I was on the way to the sheriff’s office. That’s actually the reason I called.” An image of the photograph flashed behind her eyes. “I received a strange text, Dane. A photograph. I don’t know if it’s real, but it certainly looks real.”
“What kind of photograph?”
“It’s a picture of a dead woman,” Josie said with a shudder. “She’s naked and was stabbed in the chest.”
Dane’s sharp intake of breath rattled over the line. “Do you recognize her?”
“No, and I hope it’s not real.” She closed her eyes on a prayer, then opened them a second later and continued. “Even if it isn’t real, I want to know who texted me. If that picture is someone’s idea of a sick joke or intended to scare me, I want to put a stop to it. I’m forwarding it to you.”
She pressed Send, her pulse hammering as she waited for the text to go through.
“Dammit, Josie.”
Dread balled in her stomach at his dark tone. “What?”
“It’s real,” he said grimly. “I’m at the crime scene with the victim right now.”
CHAPTER THREE
Josie lowered her head into her hand again and tried to control the panic bubbling in her chest.
This wasn’t some kind of twisted game or joke. Someone had texted her a picture of a dead woman. A murder victim.
Dane cleared his throat. “Do you have any idea who sent this?”
She wished she did. “No. The text is from an unknown number.”
“Where are you now?”
Josie rechecked the door lock. Good. She was safe. “In my car in the parking lot in town.”
A heartbeat passed. “What happened before you received the text?”
“I was at the press conference talking about the book and answering questions. Things got heated. Just as I stepped down from the podium, the text came through.”
His voice hardened. “What do you mean—things got heated?”
The memory made her check around her car again. “Some people don’t like the idea of the movie. They think it’s making them relive the horrible nightmare of the murders, and that I’m exploiting them.”
Dane muttered something beneath his breath. “Did you see anyone specific stand out?”
She closed her eyes and mentally pictured herself on the podium. She’d recognized some of the locals. Cocoa from the café. The checkout lady from the grocery store. Sara Levinson. “No, not really. I mean, Sara Levinson was upset, but she wouldn’t do something like this.”
Dane studied the picture. “There’s something strange in the photograph. The victim is holding a doll. But there’s no doll at the scene.”
Josie’s heart hammered. “He must have taken it with him. But why pose her with it?”
