Armed and Dangerous (5 page)

“No way,” she breathed. A chill slithered through her veins.

“Oh, yes. Three guesses how she was found.”

She thought for a moment, recalling what she could about the first body. “Naked, with a rosary around her neck?”

“Got it in one,” he said grimly. “And the killer is escalating—this one was tortured before she was murdered.”

“Now what? Are we going to the dam to take a look at the body?”

“Headed there now. Taylor's waiting for us.”

Daisy mulled over the recent development on the way, mind spinning with possibilities. On the surface, Taylor's murder case and their missing persons one had seemed totally separate.

And now, all of them were searching for a serial killer.

4

Shane pulled the truck into the parking lot by the dam and shut off the ignition.

Floodlights had been set up to search the area, which was typically pitch dark at night. Police and the forensics unit moved about in the glare, shadows that didn't belong in the otherwise peaceful landscape, giving the whole scene an eerie vibe.

As did the body Shane could see lying on the ground not far from the water.

Getting out of the truck, he walked over, Daisy at his side. She fit there, and he liked working with her. Liked pretty much everything about her, but he reminded himself not to get used to having her around. Shoving that depressing thought out of his head, he waved as Taylor glanced up.

“So, our cases meet right in the damned middle,” Shane said, gesturing to the dead woman.

Taylor followed his gaze, and sighed. “Ain't that a kick in the teeth? I had one murder, and suddenly we have the potential for several more.”

“Vanessa and her sister were the first ones from the club to disappear three weeks ago,” Daisy reminded them. “But the body is fresh. This means the killer is holding them somewhere, and I'm guessing it's someplace close by and convenient.”

“How do we know this is Vanessa?” Shane asked, studying the woman.

The naked victim was lying on her back, arms and legs sprawled. Dark hair was spread around her face, wet and tangled from the river. Her eyes were open, staring at a horror she could no longer suffer. Ligature marks were visible around her wrists and ankles, as were cuts made from a knife or other sharp object. Bruising on her torso may or may not have indicated internal bleeding. The signs of abuse were sickening.

“I gave Chris a call. He said Vanessa had a tattoo of a serpent on her ankle, which this victim does.” Taylor pointed to the spot where the tattoo could be seen, then dug out his phone. “Her picture matches the one Chris texted to me, too. The ME should be able to confirm her identity without much problem.”

Shane and Daisy took turns studying the photo on Taylor's phone. The vibrant, smiling young lady in the picture looked to be the same person as their corpse. Death, however, had robbed that lovely spark that made her human, leaving her a cold, waxy shell. It always angered Shane to see such a waste of a beautiful life. No matter how many cases he closed, the desire to see the monster responsible either dead or behind bars never waned.

Daisy's musing cut into his thoughts. “What's the significance of the rosary, I wonder?”

Taylor shrugged. “Maybe it's a sign that he cares about her. Could be about cleansing, or seeing her to heaven.”

“Or it could be he's just a nut bag,” Shane muttered.

“That, too.”

“Or the killer could be a she,” Daisy said slowly. Both men stared at her.

“What makes you say that?” Shane asked curiously.

“Look at her hands.” Crouching, she pointed without touching the victim's hand. “Her nails are perfect, and recently done.”

Taylor got a closer look. “How do you know it was recent?”

“See her cuticles? The nail polish goes all the way back, so it never had a chance to grow out. The polish isn't chipped, either. If Vanessa had been struggling, she would've messed up her nails.”

“Then it could be that after torturing and killing her, the murderer expressed some care and remorse by making her presentable. Pretty smart, sugar,” Shane praised her.

“Just because the killer made her pretty doesn't mean it's a woman. Many killers focus on their victim's appearance after the murder.”

“I was just speculating out loud, that's all.” Daisy shrugged.

“Or the killers could be a team,” Taylor suggested. “One did the torturing and killing, one the aftercare.”

Shane nodded. “Makes sense. But what's with the change in MO? Except for the wrists, the first victim had no marks anywhere else on her body, unlike this one.”

“The ME said Nikki Thompson was suffocated,” Taylor said grimly. “Probably with a pillow or something similar.”

“That obviously didn't satisfy our murderer. He's become more brutal in his treatment of his captives, which means he's losing control.” Shane paused. “Which doesn't fit with the careful presentation before dumping them in the water. I'm starting to think you're right, and we're dealing with two killers.”

“Once we rule out the usual suspects, you never know,” Daisy said, standing. She looked at Taylor. “Is Chris running through Vanessa's personal contacts?”

“As we speak. He's burning some midnight oil, so maybe he'll have something for us to pursue in the morning. Not much more we can do tonight.”

They said their goodbyes and Shane drove Daisy home, taking as much time as possible. When he pulled up into her driveway, he resisted the urge to yank her across the seat and take her mouth, just barely.

“Here you go.”

“It's been interesting.” She smiled wickedly. “Some parts more than others.”

He knew she was referring to the fun they had after the massage. “Agreed.”

“Good night, Shane.”

“ 'Night.”

He watched as she got out and made her way up the sidewalk to her door. Any second, he expected her to turn around and beckon him inside. Just like that, with a crook of her pretty finger, she'd have him in her bed for the night. But she didn't.

As he began the lonely drive home, he didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

•   •   •

Morning came all too soon.

Shane rolled over in bed and fumbled until he found his phone, shutting off the alarm he'd programmed to get his ass moving. He'd wanted to make it into the station by seven, and now that seemed too stupid for words. Once he'd gone to bed he hadn't been able to sleep for staring at the ceiling, thinking about Daisy. What it had been like to curl up next to someone all night. Wake next to her warm body in the morning.

To laugh, make love, eat breakfast.

“God, I'm such an idiot.”

Groaning, he pushed out of bed and stumbled for the shower. He had to stop thinking about her in terms of a lover. She was, at best, a friend. A friend he had slept with, scratching an itch.

You know what they say, old boy—scratch an itch and it'll just get worse.

After a shower and a mug of coffee, his attitude was improved but not by much. Pouring more of the dark brew into a travel mug, he hauled himself into his truck and headed into work.

When he arrived, he was surprised to find Chris working at the conference room table instead of his desk. Then again, the murders were no doubt top priority now that they knew the first body was no isolated case, so the captain must've given Chris use of the larger space.

“Hey, cuz,” he said, walking in and sliding into a seat across from the other man.

“Hey yourself.” His cousin rubbed at tired, bloodshot eyes and gave him a wan smile that definitely lacked his usual sparkle.

“Did you stay here and pore over the case all night?” He shook his head. “Good way to burn yourself out.”

“Says he who's pulled an all-nighter many times. Anyway, we've got three missing people who're gonna be in a world of hurt if we don't find them, fast. If they aren't already.”

Hard to argue that. “Any progress?”

“Maybe.” Chris tapped a sheet of paper and shoved it across the desk. “I've got printouts of Nikki Thompson's and Vanessa Hall's records from their cell phones. I've checked and double-checked every single call coming in and going out. The first thing is what you don't see—there were no calls made between Nikki and Vanessa.”

“The women didn't know each other, then.”

“It would appear so. The next thing is the number I've highlighted on both of the women's records.”

Shane studied the phone number, brows furrowed. “The number appears only once on Nikki's incoming calls, but it appears dozens of times on Vanessa's record, both incoming and outgoing.” He looked up at his cousin. “Who does it belong to?”

“Vanessa's boyfriend, Mark Weaver.”

“Okay, that's interesting,” he said. “What could that mean? One phone call hardly indicates Mark was cheating, or that he and Nikki even knew each other.”

“I don't know what to make of it, either.”

Shane mulled over the information for a minute. “What about employment? Does Mark work at the same place as any of our players?”

Chris shuffled his notes. “No. Mark is an IT consultant for a big firm in Nashville, and Vanessa and her sister are trust-fund girls. Dan Peterson is an attorney, Jason Richards a stockbroker. And get this—Nikki Thompson was a church secretary at Lamb of God here in town. Weird, right?”

Shane's brows rose. “Very, considering the after-hours activities of the rest of the group. What else do we know about Mark?”

“Not much, except he and Vanessa lived together. He was the one who reported her missing and he's dropped by constantly every week.” Chris winced. “Until early this morning, when Taylor went to their house to give him the bad news.”

“Wait a second. I thought Vanessa and her sister lived together?”

“I assumed the same thing at first. They were close, but Valerie has her own place. Mark usually went with Vanessa to their little country club play group, and Valerie would meet them to play with whatever unattached guy was there. Or she'd play with a couple.”

Shane sat back in his chair. “Wish I'd known this last night.”

“Would it have made a difference?”

“Probably not. I just don't like loose ends.”

“Me, either. I take it Mark didn't show at the club group?”

“I wasn't introduced to anyone named Mark, but I wouldn't expect him to be there under the circumstances,” Shane said. He fell silent for a few more moments, thinking. “So, Mark knew the other missing members of the group, but may or may not have known Nikki. What the hell?”

“That's what I've been asking myself all night,” Chris said tiredly, raking a hand through his dark blond hair. “In the spirit of loose ends, I say we give the bereaved boyfriend a call and invite him in for a chat.”

“I say that's a great idea.”

“What bereaved boyfriend? What did I miss?” Daisy stood in the doorway of the conference room, looking between them for an explanation. Taylor appeared over her shoulder and echoed her second question. Ten minutes later, they'd given their colleagues the rundown on what Chris had found.

“How did Mark take the news of Vanessa's murder?” Shane asked his partner. To an outsider, that might seem like a stupid question. To a cop, a person's body language could be very telling.

Taylor knew what Shane meant. “The poor guy seemed truly devastated. Fell completely apart. Hard to fake that kind of reaction.”

“I trust your gut instinct, but we've got a weird connection here,” Shane told him.

All of them agreed that a talk with the boyfriend was in order. Taylor and Chris would conduct the interview while Shane and Daisy watched and listened on the other side of the two-way mirror. Daisy made sympathetic noises about the grieving boyfriend, and asked that the guys not go too hard on him.

For his part, Shane couldn't wait to watch his partner and cousin shake the apple tree and see if a serpent fell out.

•   •   •

As Mark Weaver was ushered into the interview room, the door closing behind him to leave him alone for a few minutes, Daisy swallowed hard. She didn't see how any officer ever hardened enough not to let the grief of the victims' loved ones affect them. Mark was a total wreck.

He sat listlessly at the table and stared at the laminate surface, eyes red and swollen. Every now and then he'd sniffle, and another tear would trace down his cheek. He was holding himself together by the barest thread, and his suffering was painful to watch.

“Taylor's right,” she said to the others. “That man isn't faking.”

“That doesn't mean he doesn't know something,” Shane told her in a soothing tone. “Something that perhaps he doesn't even
realize
he knows.”

“I get that. It's just hard to watch someone suffer like this.”

“I don't see the point in dragging this out.” Taylor looked to Chris. “Ready?”

“You betcha.”

She and Shane watched as their friends left the room. In moments, they entered by another door and approached the table. Mark glanced up at them, hope flaring briefly in his big brown eyes. The conversation sounded clearly over the speaker.

“Do you know who did this to my Vanessa?” he choked. “Did you catch the motherfucker?”

Taylor sat down across from the man, his expression and voice warm and caring. Nothing like his usual sarcasm when verbally sparring with his partner. “Not yet, but we're working hard on doing just that.”

The light in the man's eyes was extinguished, and he slumped. “Oh. Then why am I here?”

“We just need to ask you a few questions.”

“Okay.” Mark might be grieving, but he wasn't unaware of what was going on. He sat up a little straighter. “Wait a minute. Am I a suspect? Do you think I killed Vanessa?”

“Did you?” This from Chris, who wasn't quite as warm in his delivery as he hovered near the table.

“No!” Mark practically screeched. “She was my life! I would never have thought of hurting her in any way! I love her!”

“Okay, calm down,” Taylor said, playing the nice cop. “No one here is accusing you of anything. We do need to find out what you know, though.”

He stared at them, baffled. “What could I possibly know?”

“Mark, does the name Nikki Thompson ring a bell?” Chris asked.

“Who?” He glanced between the two men. “No, I've never heard that name.”

“Then you don't have an explanation for why a call was made from your cell phone to hers on the night she was murdered?”