Cover Your Eyes (23 page)

“No. This is totally legal.” Her grip on the satchel tightened. “Tell me you haven’t done that.”

A smile twitched the edge of his lips. “I have not.”

Again, better not to press. “Just the tape.”

“Do you want it transferred to a CD?”

“That would be great.” She scanned the piles of dusty, haphazardly arranged electronics. “Could we watch the tape now?”

He opened the box of donuts. “They’re still warm.”

“Out of the oven fifteen minutes ago.”

He held a donut up to his nose and closed his eyes. “We’ll watch the tape now.”

“Thanks.” Dragging in a breath, she entered the house. The main room, originally designated as a living room, was now his office and crammed full of hundreds of electronic devices. There were old projectors, computers, copiers, and a bellows camera. The stack of electronics left little floor space to maneuver, so she followed him along a narrow path to a long desk sporting four computer screens. One played a movie, the other news, the other a series of numbers, and the last satellite images.

He bit into the donut and chewed slowly. “So what do you have for me?”

She pulled the cassette from her purse. “It’s a recording of a singer performing at Rudy Creed’s thirty years ago. The singer is supposed to be Annie Rivers.”

Nodding, he gobbled the donut in two bites and then turned to his pile of electronics. He studied the collection, as a surgeon would his tools. He set several aside so he could reach an older dusty model. Chunky and thick, the machine looked awkward and clumsy.

“State of the art in 1981. Should do the trick if your tape is intact.” He settled the player on a lonely bare spot on his desk and using a mismatch of cords attached it to a power source.

She handed it over. “Here’s hoping.”

He took the tape, inspected it, and then pushed it into the machine. The image on the right computer screen turned grainy. Sid grabbed another donut and sat on a swivel chair in front of the computer. “Not looking good.”

She pulled up a small stool and watched, tapping her foot. “Could it be your machine?”

A thick brow arched at the imagined insult. “My machines work. It’s your tape.”

“I was told the tape worked.”

He shot her a glance. “If these donuts weren’t awesome I’d toss you out for questioning me.”

She grinned. “I actually waited until the donuts came out of the oven. The clerk tried to sell me donuts made an hour ago but I refused.”

He plucked another from the box. As he bit into the soft dough the screen’s static cleared to a faded color image of Rudy’s stage. It hadn’t changed in three decades and could have been filmed today. Same scarred floor covered with a small red rug. Same stool. Same collection of images in the background. The telltale giveaways were the large and unwieldy microphone and the curly or winged hairstyles of the women in the audience.

The crowds to the side and front of the stage cheered as two guitar players and a fiddler assembled on stage. Young guys dressed in jeans, they all sported long hair and thick beards. The musicians were laughing, finishing off the last of their cigarettes, as they started to play a lively tune.

A guitar player, which she realized was a younger leaner Rudy, leaned forward and stroked his beard as he smiled. “I guess ya’ll heard that Annie is here tonight.”

The crowd whooped and hollered with enthusiasm. Several started to chant, “Annie.”

Rachel scooted to the front of her seat. Seeing stills of the woman didn’t compare to seeing and hearing her on tape. Though age had yellowed the image and diminished some of its original color, her anticipation didn’t wane.

Finally a woman emerged, her head turned toward the band, the thick blond curtain of her hair hiding her features. She wore a blue cowgirl outfit cinched at a narrow waist, a silver concho belt, and blue boots.

She spoke to the band, tapping her foot as the crowd shouted her name. With a showman’s panache, she slowly lowered her head and grabbed the microphone. The crowd cheered. She waited a beat, raised her hand in the air, and then looked directly into the camera. A wide grin accentuated full red lips, enhanced a high slash of cheekbones and brightened blue eyes. She possessed a charisma, a glow that drew Rachel into the screen.

“Damn,” Sid said. “Hot as hell.”

“Her photos don’t do her justice.”

Rachel drew in a breath. Sugar. Annie’s Sugar. The man Rudy didn’t recognize.

The camera picked up the sounds of the hollering crowd and Rachel hoped the cameraman might pan to the crowd for a second. But he kept his lens on Annie who turned to the band and after exchanging words they started playing. Annie nestled the microphone closer to her mouth, offered a sly secretive smile and led with a fast-paced song that immediately had the crowd cheering. Her smile widened and she sang louder.

Both Rachel and Sid sat in silence watching the thirty-minute tape. Both remained mesmerized.

Sid ate a third donut. “I’m a little hot for her.”

“She died thirty years ago.”

“You’re talking to the big head when the little one doesn’t care.”

She shot Sid a quick glance as she leaned closer to watch Annie who had a familiarity Rachel could not define. Was it her showman’s allure? Did Annie have a way of making everyone feel as if she was friend to all?

Annie began to sing and Rachel and Sid fell under her spell, sitting in silence listening and absorbing. The aging audio did not diminish the clarity of her voice nor stop the chills from prickling Rachel’s skin.

By the time Annie had finished the crowd cheered.
“God bless,” she said as she hurried off the stage.

Rachel now understood Jeb’s obsession with Annie, her roommate’s jealousy and the city’s demand for justice when she’d died.

Sid stopped the tape and rewound it. The machine hesitated and then whirred as the tape rewound. “And you are defending the guy that killed her?”

“Yes.”

Sid puffed his cheeks and blew out a breath. “It’s a wonder the town didn’t lynch him.”

It was a wonder. “He swears he didn’t do it.”

Sid folded his arms. “Don’t they all?”

She clung to her beliefs with an ever-tightening grip. “He deserves to have his DNA tested.”

Sid shook his head. “If you say so.”

As tempted as she was to argue, she didn’t. “How soon can you convert this to a CD?”

“I can have it ready for you in the morning.”

She scooted to the edge of her seat and laid her hand on his arm.

He stilled, looked at her as if he didn’t know how to handle the contact.

“Sid, there is someone out there that doesn’t like my poking around in Annie’s life. I left letters with a friend and she was killed.”

He laid his hand over hers. “I heard about that. Lexis, right?”

“Yeah.”

He gave her hand a quick squeeze, pulled it free and reached under his desk to remove a .45. “I’ll be fine.”

His confidence reminded her of Lexis the last time they’d spoken. “Sid, I don’t want anyone else hurt. Lexis was nobody’s fool.”

“There are less trusting souls than me. Fact, you are the first person I’ve let in here in six months.”

“But you go out.”

“Nope. An assistant brings me what I need and leaves the goods in a utility room off the back. When he’s gone, I retrieve my stuff.”

“I know you are careful, but—”

“No worries, Rachel. This is a fortress. I should be finished by morning.”

“I’ll come by and pick the CD up early.”

“My assistant will deliver it.”

“Thanks.”

She rose, absently replaying the tape in her head. It struck a chord in her subconscious, but this single viewing couldn’t solidify a peculiar feeling.

 

 

Rebecca Saunders arrived at the hotel room to find everything as she liked it. Wine chilling in a bucket, white coverlet on the bed, and rose soap waiting for her in the bath. She shimmied out of her slim skirt, slipped off her silk shirt, bra, and panties and left them in a trail that led from the bedroom to the bath.

A glass of wine in hand she drew a bath and slipped into the hot water. The warm water soothed her skin. It had been a long exhausting day at the office and though she’d not expected to see him tonight, his text, all but begging her to come to their hotel room, was welcome. She liked it when he begged.

When she heard the room door open she hesitated. He had gotten adept at entering the room without being heard. That’s what she’d told him to do and clearly he’d gotten sloppy. He must have been looking for reasons to be punished. Eyes narrowing, she sipped her wine.

She listed as he moved into the room. Sloppy. Terrible. She thought about all the ways she’d make him suffer for being foolish.

Knowing he’d be impatient, she lingered in the bath. That would make him anxious. He had precious little time to give her.

Finally, she rose from the tub, set her glass down and then slowly toweled off. She donned the fluffy white robe hanging on the back of the door and tied it at her waist. She checked her makeup in the mirror and then, wineglass in hand, sauntered into the room.

She found him facing the window, wearing a hoodie, hands clasped in front. This was different. Not their usual scenario. But she was adaptable and would play along because it suited her. “What’s this about? Who the hell are you?”

He didn’t turn, lunge, or grab her. Another break with their routine. She could be a little adaptable but she set the script for their encounters. Not him.

Annoyed, she advanced a step. “I asked you a question.”

Slowly, he shifted his weight and then he turned. When she looked up she blinked, her shock fast and acute. He was wearing a white hockey mask. The eyes that stared back at her though had a startling, intense quality she’d never seen before. “Is this some kind of game? I don’t get passed around.”

He shifted and she realized that this man gripped a tire iron. The first flicker of fear ignited inside her.

She took a step back. “I don’t like this game.”

Eyes sparkled with amusement. “I do.”

Before she could react, he closed the gap between them and swung the tire iron high. It cut through the air and struck her on the side of her head. The blow sent her wineglass spilling to the carpeted floor and her eyes rolling back in her head. She dropped to her knees and fell face first on the carpet. Warm blood rushed from the gash in her temple to pool on the carpet by her head.

Agony cut through Rebecca’s head as she struggled to gather her shattered thoughts. She clawed at the carpet, hoping to crawl to safety. The simplest movement stoked fire in her skull.

“You won’t get away.”

A strong arm grabbed Rebecca’s shoulder and shoved her on her back. Through blurred vision, she stared up at her attacker. Words scrambled in her head but they wouldn’t form into sentences.

As blood seeped down her cheeks, she whispered, “Why?”

Bright, dark eyes blazed from the mask. “You should have stayed away from him. He’s not yours.”

The voice held a menace that terrified her as much as the pain. “Who are you?”

Her attacker loomed and raised the tire iron. “Say good-bye, Rebecca.”

The blow struck with blinding speed and struck her on the side of the face. Like a light switch clicking off, her world went black.

 

The force of the strike rattled up Baby’s arm. Over and over Baby smashed the tire iron against bone until the woman’s body stilled.

One heartbeat stopped and another ratcheted up. This was thrilling. Exciting beyond words. A drug that could easily become addictive.

Baby raised the tire iron again. More strikes sent bolts of energy radiating up through the metal. Hot blood splashed against flushed skin and splattered the white coverlet as blow after blow obliterated Rebecca’s once lovely face.

Finally, the fever of the kill eased. Breathless, Baby stepped back and stripped off bloodied hoodie and coveralls and shoved them in a plastic bag. In the bathroom, blood rinsed away easily under the tap. Baby grabbed a white towel and dried hands and face.

A heavy, satisfied smile curled thin lips. This was a good day. A very good day.

 

 

 

With KC officially retired Deke, for the moment, was without a partner. The other members of the squad were consumed by their own cases so he arrived alone at the West Hotel to a flash of lights and uniformed cops surrounding the main entrance. Nodding to the uniforms, he made his way inside and up the elevator to the fifth floor. On the right, yellow tape and a half-dozen uniforms marked the entrance to the crime scene.

Pulling on rubber gloves he watched as Brad snapped pictures of the victim who lay on the other side of the bed. From the door he could see the spray of blood on the white comforter and on the walls. Pale white feet peeked out from behind the bed. “Brad, can I enter?”

His camera dangling from his neck, Brad reached for a logbook in his pocket and made a note. He was careful about documenting who entered and who left his crime scenes, a trait that had come in handy during trial.

When Deke received the thumbs-up, he slipped on paper booties and ducked under the tape. He moved into the room slowly, absorbing details. To his left he saw the drawn bath, rose petals floating on the surface. On the bath mat by the tub he spotted the impression of one set of small feet. The victim. Across from the tub, the blood splashed the sink, mirror, and the white countertop. A bloodied white towel lay discarded on the floor. Also by the sink the faint impression of a larger set of footprints. The killer.

In the room, he directed his attention to the bed where expensive lingerie draped over a black designer dress. Judging by the way the garments had been casually discarded, she had not been worried when she’d arrived and undressed. The attacker had come after she’d stepped out of the tub.

Brad’s camera flashed as he took more pictures of the body.

Another step and Deke saw the crumpled body of the woman, now curled on her side. The side of her head was an unrecognizable mess. The white hotel robe was soaked with blood.

Whereas Lexis’s blows had landed on her extremities, this victim, like Dixie, had been beaten primarily around the face.

“How long has she been dead?” Deke asked.

“I’m guessing twelve to eighteen hours. She was supposed to have checked out by eleven today. The maid found her when she came into the room. Blunt force trauma killed her.” He nodded toward the bed and an expensive handbag. “Her driver’s license identifies her as Rebecca Saunders, age thirty-one. She also came armed today with a box of condoms in her purse.”

“Expecting someone.”

An open wine bottle tilted in an ice bucket now filled with room temperature water. One glass sat untouched by the bucket and the other, stained with red lipstick, lay on the floor.

“No doubt.” Brad shoved out a breath and looked away from the body. Horrific scenes like this stayed with the responding team for a long, long time. “If the first blow didn’t kill her then surely the second did. The other blows were overkill.”

Deke studied the position of the body. “The first blow on the side of her head brought her to her knees.”

“That’s exactly what I think. The killing blow landed on top of her head. She’d never have felt the remaining blows.”

“Dixie and this victim had died almost instantly whereas Lexis Hanover suffered before she died.”

“This murder definitely matches the first. Lexis is the anomaly.”

“Maybe the killer wanted something from Lexis. That explains why her first blow didn’t kill her outright.” Rebecca and Dixie looked like Annie. Rachel and Lexis had been working on Annie’s murder case. All roads led back to Annie. “Have you had a chance to look at the Dawson letters?”

He craned his neck working tension from the tense muscles. “It’ll have to be tomorrow or the next day. I’m tied up here all day.”

“Sure. Are they real?”

He stretched the tightness from his lower back. “I think so.”

“Think?”

He lifted the camera back to his eyes. “I’ll explain later. I’m not sure it’s black-and-white.”

Deke brushed aside the urge to press for more questions knowing Brad needed to process the scene. “Sure. I’ll let you work, Brad. We’ll talk later.”

“I’ll be here the better part of the day. Make it later.”

“Done.”

He headed into the hallway and to the registration desk. He found the manager, a short pale man with thinning black hair sitting in his office. In shaking hands he held a cup of coffee.

Deke shoved on the door. “Are you the hotel manager?”

The man started, making coffee slosh on his hand and his burgundy shirt. He set the cup down and rose. “Yes. I’m Jimmy Winters.”

Deke held up his badge. “Detective Morgan. I’ve questions about the woman on the fifth floor.”

The reference was enough to send him back into his seat. His face paled another shade. “Worst I’ve ever seen in my life. I’ll never be right.”

The scene had been awful, but not the worst he’d seen. Fifteen years on the force had hardened him to the worst life had to offer.

“What can you tell me about the woman?” Deke asked. He settled in the seat across from the manager. “Has she ever been here before?”

The man pursed his lips and drew in a deep breath through his nostrils. “The officer told me you’d be asking questions like that so I searched our records.” He turned toward a computer screen and punched a few keys. “She’s been coming here every Sunday for the last eight weeks. She always pays cash and she doesn’t stay the night.”

“She’s a hooker?”

The manager frowned. “We don’t have hookers at our hotel. This is a good place.”

“So what do you think she was doing here once a week?”

He sat a little straighter and adjusted his tie. “She was dressed well, polite to the staff and we never had an issue with noise or payment. I didn’t ask too many questions.”

“She must have had clients?”

“If she did, I never saw them.”

“I assume you have security cameras on the entrances?”

“Yes.”

“Which require a key to get in.”

“Yes.” He frowned. “She always requested two keys.”

“So she was expecting someone?”

He closed his eyes and shook his head as if willing the carnage away. “I don’t know.”

Deke pressed. “And you do have cameras on the side doors?”

“Yes. But the one on the back entrance is not working.”

“Where does that entrance lead?”

“Parking lot.”

A good entrance for someone who didn’t want to be seen. It would be a simple matter for Rebecca to slip out the back door and leave a key for her intended. “What name did she use when she registered?”

“Rebecca Saunders.”

That matched the name in her wallet. “Did she ever say anything to you or your front desk person to make you think twice?”

“No. She was always polite and always nice.” He frowned. “She was pretty and the men liked it when she came. Looked forward to her weekly visits.”

“She always came on Sundays?”

“Yesterday was Monday.”

“She’s never stayed here on a Monday.”

Her pattern had changed. And she’d been murdered. Dixie’s routine had changed the night she died. She had been a last-minute show at Rudy’s. She’d received a text telling her she had a spot if she wanted it. Rudy had not been expecting her but he’d let her sing.

“Can you print out a list of all the days she was here?”

The manager picked up a printout. “I thought you might ask that question. I already did it.”

Deke took the page and scanned the dates. “Pull all of the security footage from the side doors the nights she was here. Might get lucky and see who was visiting her.”

“Sure. Sure.”

Three dead women and one who narrowly escaped an attack. Time to talk to Rachel Wainwright again.

 

 

Rachel had been on the phone with the medical examiner’s office again trying to get the release date of Lexis Hanover’s body. The medical examiner had spoken to her directly and explained patiently that she still needed to keep the body longer as the investigation was still open, but promised to call as soon as it was released. Rachel had wanted to argue, pester, generally be herself, but held her tongue.

Rachel rose, and stretched out her shoulder, still stiff and discolored. Days after the attack the bruise had deepened to a dark purple and stretched over the back of her shoulder across her arm.

The front bell rang. She rose and crossed to the front door, taking time to look through the peephole. The man on the other side of the door faced away but she recognized him instantly. The dark hair and the broad shoulders gave him away. Deke Morgan.

Tension melted. She opened the door. “Detective.”

He turned and when his gaze landed on her he studied her as if peeling back the layers. He frowned when he saw the dark purple bruise. “Counselor.”

“Don’t tell me the DNA has come in?” The question travelled as easily as her.

“You only know how to play one note, don’t you?”

“I never said that I was far thinking or original.” She cocked her head. “I take it that the answer is no.”

“It’s a not yet. May I come in?”

“Sure.” She stepped aside and allowed him to cross the threshold. As he passed, an unyielding, focused, and forceful energy radiated around him. When his sights zeroed in on a target he couldn’t be stopped. She closed the door. “What can I do for you?”

He glanced around her office, studying the disarray of papers and files on and around her desk. “You had any trouble in the last couple of days? Any other strange people?” His tone might be conversational but he wasn’t a man who stopped to chat.

“All is quiet.”

“And McMillian?”

“He’s keeping his distance.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “Did you come all this way to check up on me?” And then unable to resist a sarcastic twist, she added, “Because if you did, I’m really touched.”

Lips curled into a little used smile. “Don’t be.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “No DNA. Could it be about the letters?”

“I’ll know more on those tomorrow.”

All hints of teasing evaporated. “You’ve had them analyzed.”

“I have.”

“And?”

“As I said, I will know more tomorrow.”

“No information on DNA or the letters.” She raised her hands in surrender. “I give up. Give me a clue. Why are you here?”

For a beat a heavy silence stood between them. “We have another body.”

Darkness rose up from the earth and wrapped around her like a shroud. “Who?”

“A woman named Rebecca Saunders. She was beaten to death at the West Hotel.”

“Beaten like Lexis?”

“Not like Lexis. Like Dixie Simmons.”

“That singer.”

“Yes.”

“What does this have to do with me?”

“You survived an attack.”

“We aren’t certain it’s the same person. It could have been a mugger.”

“I don’t think so.”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know. The first and third victims were beaten strictly on the head and the face. Lexis, well she wasn’t killed right away.”

The shroud tightened. She was grateful to have received the tape and CDs this morning. “This all ties into the letters. I had them. Lexis had them. And now they are gone.”

“That’s what I’m thinking.”

“Why would anyone care about the letters? If they are real they are over thirty years old and from what I could tell they were written by a talented, if not volatile, woman who didn’t identify her lover.”

“You’ve pried open a can of worms and someone is not happy.”

“Dixie Simmons was killed before my press conference.”

“But whoever attacked her, came after you and killed Lexis. You all are connected to Annie, either in appearance or association.”

“Annie’s cause of death was never determined.”

“The skull was never found. The bones found did have unhealed fractures, but none of those injuries were deemed fatal. And a tire iron similar to the one found in Jeb’s truck was used in the recent killings.”

Frowning, she saw his logic. “So what do you want me to do?”

“It’s time we compared notes.”

She thought about the Annie tapes.
Don’t open your mouth, Rachel. He’s a cop. The enemy!
“Really?”

“You held back the letters. Anything else you’ve held back?”

“If you haven’t noticed, we are on the opposite side of the Jeb Jones case.”

“There is a killer out there now.” A steady tone did not dull the meaning’s razor sharpness. “I’d like to think we are on the same side in that case.”

“And if the two cases are connected?” She shook her head. “I owe it to Jeb not to play all my cards.”
Lexis understands.

A vein in his neck pulsed with frustration under the tight hold of his collar and tie. “If you get in my way or I find out you held back again, I’ll file obstruction charges against you.” The words rumbled in his chest like a growl.

She’d been in enough legal brawls over the years to know she could hold her own. “Take your best shot.”

“I will.”

 

 

Deke arrived at the public relations firm before five. The glass and chrome front doors opened into a lobby tiled with marble. The interior decorating incorporated sleek chrome and leather and told clients they’d found their ticket to success. A guard sat behind a shiny console.