Dead Don't Lie (6 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

S
HE
’
D
BEEN
RIGHT
. After digging through the lives and histories—and more importantly, the autopsy reports—of both families and coming up empty, they now, without any doubt, had ruled out the family annihilator label, though it didn’t make this case any simpler. If anything, it made it harder.

The whirling of the ceiling fan stirred the warm, calm air in the bull pen. Evelyn sipped her Starbucks latte and reached for the coroner’s reports. Ryan cradled his phone between his ear and shoulder and scowled at something said on the other end. His pen tapped the edge of his desk in rhythmic bursts. Evelyn tuned out her partner and riffled through the reports again, determined to find something—anything—that would give them a break in these cases.

Their killer had taken his time with the Garland family. She shuddered. There were no defensive wounds on the father, because he
couldn’t
defend himself. He’d been injected with a paralyzing agent. Evelyn’s stomach clenched. Even if he’d wanted to fight to protect his family, he’d been powerless to do so. Unable to move, he’d watched as the madman slashed his youngest daughter’s throat, then shot his oldest. Aside from the horrific, psychological last moments as her sister bled out in her arms, the oldest had died a quick death. But what he’d done to the mother, she couldn’t go over that again. Not without her rebellious mind flashing on colored photos of her own mother. Evelyn shook her head to clear the vivid images, scanned through the statement again until she landed on the detailed report of the father. He’d been tortured in ways that would make even the toughest SEAL’s skin crawl before having the back of his head off blown off.

She put the report down and rolled her shoulders in small circles. The mayor was breathing down their necks for any forward movement, and despite the detailed and graphic autopsy report, they had nothing to offer.

She sighed and closed her eyes. It had been a long day of canvassing the neighborhoods, researching, looking for connections between the two families and interviewing the next of kin, which had been beyond brutal. If Evelyn had to console one more grieving family member without being able to assure them of anything, she might scream.

Her eyes burned, the hours of reading taking their toll. She and Ryan both needed a reprieve, just a brief one, to recharge and regroup. But they wouldn’t get it. Not with the predator still at large and nothing to show for their hours and hours of tedious, eye-crossing work. She rubbed her eyes, then reached for her lukewarm coffee and took a sip. Silently whining wasn’t going to fix anything.

Her mind drifted toward the handsome Fed. He’d been called away to a closed-door meeting with the mayor down at city hall. Which was fine with her. Evelyn didn’t want to have to rub shoulders with any politician right now, nor did she want to be within five feet of the Fed. His absence was a much-needed relief—every time she was near him, her skin tingled and her heart kicked into overdrive.

She set the mug down, glancing at the report and waiting for the black letters to refocus in front of her.

Ryan slammed down the phone. “This is total bullshit.”

Evelyn looked over at her partner. He ran his hand over his chin stubble and pawed through the papers on his desk.

“We’ve got nothing. No one heard anything. No one saw anything. We’ve got no fingerprints, no fibers. Nothing.” He picked up his cup and threw it across the room. It shattered into a hundred tiny pieces and dark liquid stained the floor where it pooled. “It’s like this guy’s a ghost.”

“He isn’t a ghost. We’ll get him.”

“Yeah? When? When he takes out another family?”

“Ry...” The words caught in her throat. Kessler made his way toward them, fatigue and frustration pulling at the edge of his eyes.

“Captain, everything is under control,” she said.

“Actually, Davis, it’s not. Both of you, go home.” He held up his hand to stop their protests.

Their mouths snapped shut.

“It’s not a punishment. It will all be here tomorrow. I need you fresh. Well, as fresh as can be. You’ve been running hard without so much as a break. The chief and I have noticed. Now, go home.” He put his hand on Ryan’s shoulder and gave a quick squeeze. “Ryan, tuck your kids into bed and enjoy a night with your wife.”

Evelyn stared, dumbfounded at the rare show of emotion from the captain.

“Davis...” He looked at her for a moment, then shrugged. “Do whatever you do and be back in the morning.”

Ryan stifled a laugh at the awkward exchange. Evelyn threw him a quick glare, but bit her lip to keep her own laugh from escaping.

“I want you out of here in five minutes. Don’t make me tell you again. Get some sleep. I need you here before the sun gets up.” Kessler turned and headed back to his office.

Ryan sighed. “He’s right—”

“Of course I’m right,” Kessler called over his shoulder. “That’s why I have this office and you don’t, O’Neil.”

* * *

E
VELYN
ENTERED
THROUGH
the front door and went straight to the kitchen. She’d stripped the house to its studs and remodeled it entirely after moving in. Her home was her sanctuary, the kitchen one of her favorite spots.

She pulled out a large glass goblet, reached for the Malbec and glanced at her answering machine. No blinking lights. She sighed. No surprise there. Aside from Kate, Ryan and the kids, her circle of friends was quite small.

The job was her life. Her life, the job...and not many men understood that. She’d tried, had gone on a few dates, but finally gave up after the last man told her that being with a cop wasn’t such a turn-on after all.

After she poured the wine, she leaned against the cool granite counter and looked out the window over her kitchen sink. She had a clear view of sweet old Craig Meyer puttering in his kitchen next door. She smiled and took a sip of wine.
Maybe he was baking tonight
. Occasionally, he’d bring her some pumpkin muffins, which she adored. It was the only time she ever saw him. He mostly kept to himself, but hopefully he’d bring some baked goods over soon.

Glass in hand, she reached for the bag of lavender she’d bought before the murders and headed toward the stairs, desperate to relax. She couldn’t wait to slip into the hot water and let the strain of the past week seep from her cells. She hadn’t realized just how much this case had leached from her until now. Every muscle screamed at her. Her legs felt like lead as she slowly climbed the steps.
Lavender heaven, here I come.

But she didn’t make it to her watery bliss. Instead, the small office directly across from her master suite called to her. She stepped into the room, moved to the desk and sank into the black leather office chair.

Grisly case photos, case files, newspaper clippings and handwritten notes—some colored with age—peppered the wall. Large eight-by-ten, colored photos of her family adorned it as well, a constant reminder of her loss. Sadness rolled over her, its familiar chill lingering as she settled into the chair. She took a sip of wine and swallowed back tears. Stepping into this room always tore at the scabs around her heart, opening the wound deep within her soul. She knew it, yet couldn’t break the hold it had over her.

The same drive to bring closure to the families she encountered on an almost daily basis also drove her to this room time and time again to bring closure to her own loss.

Tremors had torn through her the night she’d brought Kate and Ryan up here for the first time. The thought of losing the people closest to her had made her stomach roll. She’d half expected them to drag her straight to the closest psych ward. Who obsessed about their family’s murder but a crazy person? Instead, Kate walked up to her, wrapped Evelyn in her arms and whispered,
I get it.
Ryan had solemnly paced in front of the wall and started reading. When he’d turned to look at Evelyn, his face was soft. She’d sagged against the table and nodded, a small quiver of a smile on her lips.

And that was that. They were family.

The three of them didn’t talk about it often. They didn’t need to. It was Evelyn’s battle, which they’d respected. She’d been forever grateful for their silent strength. Kate would occasionally ask her how it was going. The two women didn’t need to clarify what
it
was—they knew.

As Evelyn sipped her Malbec and studied all the information that hadn’t changed in fifteen years, her cell chirped. Setting the glass down on the desk, she grabbed her phone. A message from Kate illuminated the small screen.

I know what you’re doing, E. Go to bed. You can’t cover my hot husband’s back if you’re falling asleep. Love you. K

Evelyn laughed. Her friend knew her too well. She hugged herself as she turned back to the wall. The vise around her heart tightened. Would she ever crack this case? Ever bring closure to the always-present questions surrounding her family’s death? Would she ever be able to move on to the next season of life, and all the promise it held: A husband, a family? Or would she be like her adorable, but completely isolated neighbor—alone, tethered to this wall for the rest of eternity?

She pushed herself up from the desk and looked again at the wall as a wave of fatigue washed over her. Sighing, she put down the now-empty goblet. Kate was right. Evelyn needed sleep—desperately. She pulled her shirt over her head, crossed the hardwood floor to her room and wrestled out of her jeans. With zero regard for her nightly routine, she crawled under the extra-heavy down cover and closed her eyes.

Within two heartbeats, Evelyn was asleep.

It seemed like only minutes later that shrill sounds jostled her from a dreamless sleep. For a moment, she lay there in the dark, fully awake, staring at the ceiling fan swirling on its axis. Another scream from her phone jerked her upright. Reaching for the obnoxious device, she cast a peek at the red digits of the alarm clock sitting on her nightstand: 4:00 a.m.
Shit
. This couldn’t be good.

“Davis,” she said, already rolling out of bed and reaching for her jeans.

“We have another one,” Kessler’s voice barked through the phone. “I need you down here. Now.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

E
VELYN
’
S
STOMACH
CHURNED
. This marked the third case mimicking a family annihilator in as many weeks. One was uncommon, two completely unheard of. Now a third one.
Crap.
If the chief wasn’t thinking serial killer before, he certainly was now.

She drove through the black wrought-iron gates of their latest victims’ home. Her MINI Cooper’s tires crunched. She pulled up next to Ryan’s FJ Cruiser, threw her car into Park and took a deep breath. She got out of her vehicle and faced the house. Even darkness couldn’t hide its beauty. It wasn’t quite grandiose, but it was close. She sighed, then hunched her shoulders against the cold wind and marched toward the curving marble steps that lead to the ornate glass doors. Ryan met her on the top stair.

“You look like hell,” she said.

“Right back at’cha, babe.”

He handed her a steaming cup of coffee. “Compliments of Kate.”

“I love your wife.” She inhaled the strong aroma, grateful for her friend.

“Not more than I do.” He smirked and jerked his thumb toward the door. “Our babysitter is inside.”

“Oh, yeah?” Evelyn raised her eyebrows and looked toward the house. Her heart raced a little at the thought of seeing Agent Moretti.
Where did that come from?
“When did he arrive?”

“About ten minutes ago.”

“Great. Who’s heading up the CSI team?” She didn’t want to think about the handsome Fed any more than she had to.

“Jake Campbell.”

Perfect. He knew his stuff.
She raised her cup, sipped the molten liquid and stepped into the house.

They found Jake and Marcus in the oversize living room to the left of the grand foyer. A white marble mantel framed the walk-in fireplace that took up half the far wall. Two purple wingback chairs flanked it. A matching set mirrored them. Above the mantel sat a large portrait. The family’s faces smiled at them. Twin frames sat to the right, showcasing the children.

“Jake?”

As Ryan and Evelyn approached, the CSI officer rose from his place in front of one of the chairs. He barely looked old enough to drive, and still had the acne to prove it, but he was one hell of an investigator. If Evelyn had her choice, she’d handpick him to be her CSI lead every time.

“Hey, guys,” Jake said.

“Agent,” Evelyn said and nodded in Marcus’s direction.
How was it possible for him to look so good even just after 4:00 a.m.?

“Evelyn.” Marcus smiled, pulling heat from every cell within her.

“What have we got?” she asked, turning her attention to Jake.

Jake shook his head. “Whoever did this is certifiably nuts.”

“You won’t get any argument there,” Ryan agreed.

Jake motioned for them to circle the chair. Evelyn looked at the man’s head, or what was left of it, and her stomach heaved.
Should’ve grabbed a scone before chugging that coffee.
She swallowed hard. Just like the last male victim, his head had been blown off. And just like the last scene, the wife lay at her husband’s feet.

Jake knelt, and they followed suit. With the tip of his pen, he pointed to a crimson stain seeping through the woman’s green silk pajama top. “See here. She was shot in the heart, then stabbed repeatedly. Twenty-seven times.”

“Holy shit,” Ryan said. “You sure?”

“See the lack of blood spray?” Jake pivoted on his toes and pointed to the wall. “If her heart was still beating while the unsub inflicted these wounds, there’d be more blood splatter.”

Ryan turned away from the woman’s mutilated body. “That’s truly disgusting.”

Evelyn whistled. “That’s a whole lot of rage.”

“He’s escalating his pace.” Marcus looked up, concern in his face.

She rose. “And we’ve still got nothing.”

Evelyn scanned the room. Something was missing. Rather, not something, but someone.

“Where are the children?”

Jake shook his head, eyes downcast. “They’re upstairs. Both smothered in their beds.”

Evelyn glanced at Ryan, who’d lifted his eyes to meet hers. Their guy was accelerating his pace and switching modes of killing with each new crime scene. That didn’t fit the typical serial, unless he was taunting them with the switch-up. Was something pushing him? Was he ramping up to something? Or was he just enjoying the power and needed more to get off? If so, he was more sadistic than she’d originally thought—and that was saying a lot.

* * *

E
VELYN
HAD
PUT
a rush on the autopsy, but hadn’t expected the results so soon. It wasn’t the best scenario in the world to be called to after lunch, but death didn’t care about convenience. The doc had called. So here they were, headed to the icebox. She hoped Marcus could keep his lunch down. The man hadn’t left their side since this morning.

The autopsy room’s two glass doors vanished into the recesses of the wall. The cool air slammed into Evelyn as the morgue’s distinct smell rode on its chilly gust. Despite years of visiting this place, it still made her insides crawl. Every time she stepped over the threshold, her own loss pounded against the back of her throat. She couldn’t prevent her mind from rushing back to the first time she’d been in a morgue. The smell of the chemicals. The bone-chilling cold. The sound of the slab being pulled open, and her father’s lifeless body being displayed for her to identify. She shuddered. The sooner they could get this over with, the better.

With his back to them, Dr. Chapman placed a heart onto the scale and stepped away. Green numbers jumped around until landing on a final weight. He scribbled something onto a legal pad sitting on the metal table.

“Hey, Doc,” Ryan said.

Chapman turned and smiled grimly at them. He used the back of his hand to push his goggles up his wide nose. Wisps of unruly white hair stuck out from beneath his cap. He reminded Evelyn of Santa Claus—only creepy.

Marcus stepped forward and extended his hand toward Chapman. “Special Agent Marcus Moretti.”

Chapman looked at him and scowled, raising hands encased in bloodied gloves. Marcus dropped his hand and quickly stepped back.

“Yes, I’m well aware of who you are, Agent.”

Evelyn resisted the urge to laugh. There wasn’t enough money in the world to convince her to shake hands with Chapman when he was elbow-deep in an autopsy. Ryan pressed his lips together, no doubt swallowing his own laughter.

“Anything useful?” Evelyn walked along the line of covered bodies, scanned the toe tags and stopped in front of a foot marked “Jason Howard.”

Chapman sighed. “I wish I could help you bag this guy, Detective Davis. Truly, I do, but he was very thorough.”

“I don’t think
thorough
is quite how I’d put it. Psychotic, yes—thorough, no.”

“Easy, tiger,” Ryan whispered into her ear.

Marcus chuckled, a deep dimple appearing in his cheek. Evelyn flushed.

Apparently she’d pulled the feisty card this morning, yet Ryan was as calm as a Seattle summer day.

Chapman let out a long breath. “I agree with your assessment, Detective. The guy is a psychopath. Anyone who would do such atrocious things to innocent children is a monster in my book. But that doesn’t change my findings. He was meticulous. This guy left nothing—no traces, no hair follicles, no blood, no fingerprints—at the scenes, or on any of the victims, for that matter. My guess is this isn’t his first rodeo. But, as you always say, Detective Davis, the dead don’t lie.”

She nodded. Marcus tilted his head, a question flashing across his face. She ignored it and focused on the doctor’s report.

Chapman turned his attention back to the organ on the scale. “I’m confident you’ll find this guy—just let them tell you their story.”