Dead Ringer (2 page)

Jacob
swung his gaze to the huddle of surveyors. "I'm going to talk to the crew."

Zack
nodded.
"Right."

The
frozen ground crunched under his feet as he made his way up the embankment. He
stopped in front of the men who stood in front of the black Suburban.

A
tall man standing in the center of the group nodded. He weighed at least two
hundred pounds, sported a thick black beard, and had a tattoo of a fallen angel
on his neck. The other crewmen looked younger, maybe midtwenties, and their
bloodshot eyes suggested they'd done some heavy drinking last night.

"Which
one of you found the body?" Jacob asked.

The
tall one answered. "I did. I'm the party chief."

"Your name?"

"Frank
Burrows." A deep southern drawl drew out the last name and suggested he was a
transplant from the southwestern part of the state.

"Walk
me through what you saw," Jacob said.

Tension
deepened the furrows on the man's brow. His gaze darted toward the river before
settling on Jacob. "I was setting up the survey equipment along the river. Rob
here," he said, jabbing his thumb toward the man to his right, "was a few paces
behind."

Rob
shifted his stance. "I had to take a leak."

Burrows
rolled his eyes. "I'd just placed the tripod when I spotted the woman's coat. I
thought it was debris from the storm. We're always finding stuff in the water.
Tires, shoes, clothes, furniture.
I walked over to get a
closer look. When I realized it was a woman, I called nine-one-one."

"Did
you touch her?"

Burrows
folded his arms over his large chest.
"Hell no.
She
didn't look like she was breathing and I didn't want to get too close."

"You
didn't check for a pulse?"

He
sniffed,
his air now defensive. "No."

"Any
of your men touch her?

"No."

Jacob
glanced at the crew. "See anyone around here
who
didn't belong?"

They
all shook their heads no.

Burrows
spoke up. "This isn't the kind of place people come to for fun in the winter.
There's an old deer stand in one of the trees, so hunters have been through
here at one point. But that was before Alderson bought the place. We've got a
few illegal trash-dump sights but most of those are a few months old."

"No one lurking around?"

"The
road you drove in on is the only way in by car. It ends about a hundred yards
past the turnoff."

"How
about tire tracks on the road? See anything different, suspicious?"

"Hard
to tell what tracks are ours or someone
else's.
And
the snow last night would have covered up anything new."

"What about river access to the site?"

"A
flat-bottomed boat could navigate the area but we haven't seen one." Burrows
nervously tugged at a string dangling from the edge of his coat.

"Something wrong?"
Jacob asked.

A
half laugh, half curse burst out of Burrows. "What do you think? I found a dead
woman at my job site. All I want right now is to sit in a warm bar and drink a
cold beer."

"Warwick,"
Zack called up from the river's edge. "Tess has found something."

Jacob
turned from the surveyors. "Be right there."

Burrows
shoved out a breath. "Can I let my men go now? They didn't see
nothing
and we have another survey job that we can jump on
so this entire day isn't a waste."

Jacob
shook his head. "Hang around just a little longer."

The
party chief swore. "If I'd known this was going to tie us up so long I'd have
called the cops after we'd finished our work. A few hours don't matter to her
either way."

Jacob
glared at him until the man had the sense to drop eye contact. Irritated, Jacob
made his way back down to the riverbank and discovered Tess had turned the
victim on her back.

The
woman's cheek was turned to the side but he could see she had a wide face; high
cheekbones; and pale, white skin. Her eyes were closed. The bruising on Jane
Doe's neck was very visible now, as were the marks on her wrists. In the gray
morning light, her frozen features made her look more like a mannequin than a
human. Yet, there was something familiar about her.

Jacob
swallowed. Personalizing the body could rob him of objectivity. He'd do a
better job in the end if he thought of the body as just a piece of evidence and
nothing more.

"Look
at her necklace," Tess said.

Jacob
leaned closer. A gold charm hung from a chain around her neck. The scripted
engraving read
Ruth
. "Her name is Ruth?"

Zack
jotted a note in his spiral notebook. "The necklace looks nice."

Tess
nodded as she snapped pictures of the body and got close-ups of the neck and
charm. "It's very nice. I'd say it cost good money."

"She
doesn't look like one to wear expensive jewelry," Jacob noted. "She's all about
practicality."

"Maybe
it was a gift," Tess offered.

"Maybe."
Sometimes the odd detail in a case could
bother him for days or weeks. He'd had an apparent suicide last year. The man
appeared to have shot himself. The house was clean, everything in its place.
Only the man's tie and suit jacket were dumped in a sloppy heap on the floor.
No big deal. But the detail just hadn't fit the picture. Jacob had sat at that
crime scene a long time before he reasoned the man had dumped the clothes in a
final act of rebellion.

And
now he had an expensive charm around the neck of a woman who looked like she
shopped at discount stores. It could be nothing, like the discarded clothes.
But it still bothered him.

"I'll
check on the charm," Zack said.

Jacob
nodded as he stared at the woman. Despite the ravages of death and the
elements, he still felt as if he'd seen Jane Doe before. "She looks familiar to
me."

Tess
nodded. "I thought the same thing.
Been trying to place her
since I first got a look at her face."

How
did he know her?

Tess
gently placed her fingertips under the woman's chin and turned her face toward
them.

The
full-on view of her face startled him. Recognition dawned.

Jane
Doe...Ruth.

She
looked like the news anchorwoman on Channel 10 News. Kendall Shaw.

Tuesday, January 8, 10:10
A.M.

A woman's screams echoed in the child's ears as she huddled in a corner
of a closet, her legs curled so tightly under her skirt that they cramped. She
clutched her hands over her ears and panted. Sweat clung to her skin.

"Make the screaming stop," she whispered to herself. "Make it stop."

And then, in an instant, the terrified screams did stop. An eerie
silence descended. The child raised her head. Light seeped in under the door
frame, and in the silence she heard the steady sound of footsteps approach the
door. The door handle turned.

"Come out, come out wherever you are." The voice was soothing, soft, yet
terrifying.

The
dream had awoken Kendall Shaw last night at two o'clock and had left her so
shaken she'd not been able to get back to sleep. A dull headache now pounded
behind her eyes.

The
reoccurring dream had plagued her on and off for months now. She'd thought the
dream had been a by-product of last summer's shoulder surgery and the
heavy-duty pain meds her trauma surgeon had prescribed. But she'd nearly
completed physical therapy and had weaned herself off the drugs within weeks of
the surgery.

And
still the frequency and violence of the dreams had increased. Always they left
her panicked and wide awake. Each time she got up out of bed and went
downstairs and checked all the doors and windows. Always they were locked, but
she never felt reassured.

Even
now, the memory made her heart race and her hands sweat.

"Enough,"
Kendall muttered as she rubbed her shoulder. "Get hold of yourself." She
reached for the aspirin bottle in the cabinet by her kitchen sink, flipped open
the lid, and popped two into her mouth. She gulped down the water and set the
glass down on the counter.
"Stupid, absurd dream."

For
the last five months, she'd been the evening news anchor at Channel 10 News.
Ratings had soared since she'd started anchoring and there was talk about
giving her a local talk show.

Kendall
checked her slim wristwatch.
Ten-fifteen.
Most days
she didn't arrive at the television station until three. Once there she briefly
met with producers, the assignment editor, sometimes the news director, and any
available reporters to discuss the day's news. They discussed what stories each
reporter was covering and which would be included in the newscast. After that
she touched up hair and makeup and then taped promos for the news that night.

It
was still way too early to leave for work, but she was restless and in need of
work's distraction. "Nicole, I'm leaving!" she shouted.

Last
summer Kendall had been chasing the story of a serial killer. Nicole had been
running from an abusive husband. Both had nearly lost their lives at the hands
of these two evil men.

The
women had met in the hospital and had struck up a friendship. In November, when
Kendall had purchased a historic townhome on Grove Avenue, she'd invited Nicole
to move in with her. Neither figured the arrangement would be permanent, but in
the interim each liked the idea of living with someone else. The nights were
less creepy when you knew someone else was right down the hallway.

Footsteps
sounded. Nicole appeared in the doorway. Dark hair hovered above her small
shoulders and accentuated deep-blue eyes. She had pale skin and full lips that
spread into a wide grin when she laughed. A peasant top, jeans, dangling silver
hoop earrings, and worn boots hinted to her artistic nature. However, Nicole's
most notable feature now was her large pregnant belly, which strained the
fabric of her top. She was weeks away from giving birth to her late husband's
child.

The
pregnancy had been a frightening shock. But Nicole had been determined to bring
the baby into the world. She was pro-choice yet couldn't imagine terminating
this pregnancy. She rarely spoke about the baby and had met with an adoption
agency a few times, but so far she hadn't committed to an adoption plan.

Smiling,
Nicole lifted her gaze from the camera in her hands. Nicole had established
herself as a talented photographer out West but had had to abandon all that
when she'd fled her marriage. Now, she was rebuilding her business with
remarkable success. "Leaving early today?"

"I've
got a mountain of work to tackle." Kendall tossed a smile in with the words. No
sense worrying Nicole over a few disturbing dreams.

"You
drive yourself too hard. When are you ever gonna kick back and enjoy?"

"No
rest for the wicked. And frankly I'm not the only one who's been pushing it
hard. You've done your share of working lately."

Nicole's
hand slid to her belly. "I've got a deadline."

"You
need your rest."

"I'm
resting."

Kendall
rolled her eyes. "Please. I see the hours you keep. It's not good for you or
the baby."

Nicole
dropped her gaze to her camera and checked the battery. "I thought the
carpenter was arriving today."

Abrupt
subject changes were common when Kendall brought up the baby. "He called around
eight. He had a problem on another job that needed his attention. He'll be here
Friday."

"Kinda last minute to cancel."

Kendall
agreed. She'd have chewed the guy out if she'd felt more like herself this
morning.
"Contractors.
They flake out." She was trying
to see the humor. "I lost three days of work on the bathroom renovations last
November because it was Black Powder season, whatever the hell that is."

Nicole
laughed.
"Deer-hunting season."

"Save
me."

Kendall
had purchased the nineteenth-century home using the inheritance from her
mother. The house, located in the city's Fan district, had great bones,
including twelve-foot ceilings, hardwood floors,
a
staircase with a bull-nose railing, plaster walls, and working fireplaces.
However, old-world charm had also come with an outdated kitchen and bathrooms
from hell. She'd had the bathrooms revamped before she'd even moved in, but the
kitchen wasn't as simple. Not only was the renovation expensive but she also
didn't want to rush it. She planned to entertain in this house and to do that
right required a kitchen. Unlike her mother, who'd been a great cook, Kendall
was adept only at making coffee and hiring a caterer. But despite her lack of
culinary skills she understood the kitchen was the heart of the house.

She'd
spent most of November working with the designer. And then it had taken weeks
to find a carpenter. But according to her sources, she'd landed one of the best
craftsmen in the region. Supposedly, he was worth the trouble. So far, though,
he wasn't winning any points with her.

Nicole
moved into the kitchen. She kept her shoulders back but her gait lumbered under
the weight of the baby. "So what kitchen remodeling design did you settle on?
French country, Italian, or ultramodern?
I've lost track."

Kendall
reached for her black double-breasted overcoat, which hung in a small closet in
the hallway off the kitchen. She slid it on over her winter-white knit dress.
"French country."

Nicole
set her camera on the counter and pulled a tea bag from a plastic container.
She dunked the bag in a cup, filled it with water, and put it in the microwave.
She hit the two-minute button. "You have taste and style."

Kendall
grinned. "I know."

Nicole
laughed. "And you're humble, too."

She
lifted a neatly plucked brow. "I don't have a humble, down-to-earth bone in my
entire body and you know it." She wasn't ashamed to admit she liked nice
things.

"That's
one of the things I like about you, Kendall. You know what you want and aren't
afraid to go after it. When I grow up, I hope to be just like you."

Kendall
grabbed a large black Coach bag from the counter. The bag held everything from
makeup, snacks, and notebooks to a laptop, a digital tape recorder, and a spare
Fendi scarf. It was her survival bag. "Life's too short for indecision."

Nicole's
mood suddenly shifted to pensive as if her thoughts had turned back to the
baby.
"Right."

Kendall
felt as if she'd kicked a puppy. Her straightforward manner made her a great
reporter but a difficult friend. "So what are you doing today?" She injected as
much enthusiasm as she could.

"I'm
developing pictures." Nicole smiled, trying to shake off her mood. "I did a
huge photo shoot of a family who lives on River Road.
Five
grown kids and the parents.
They all have busy schedules.
Logistical nightmare.
But in the end I got some good stuff.
They'll be pleased."

"Are
you using those pictures in a show?"

"This
work is strictly for the money. I've had so many paying gigs I've had to put
the artistic stuff on the back burner."

"That's
a good thing?"

Nicole
shrugged. "Yes and no."

"So
what's your next assignment?"

She
looked pleased with herself. "A portrait for an office lobby and publicity
shots for Dana Miller next Thursday. She won the contract to sell Adam
Alderson's River Bend Estates."

Kendall
knew the woman by reputation. "Charge her top dollar. She's high profile and
she's got deep pockets."

"It's
going to be a generous paycheck." Nicole pressed her hand to her stomach.

Kendall
frowned.
"Everything all right?"

"Fine.
She's just moving a lot lately. Must be the
Mexican food I had a few days ago."

A
rush of panic
niggled
her. "You
will
tell me if
you go into labor? I don't want to be delivering a baby on my kitchen floor."

"That
would be bad especially if the Italian marble has been laid."

Kendall
frowned. "I'm not kidding. I want that baby born in a hospital, where you both
will be properly taken care of."

The
microwave dinged and Nicole pulled out her brewed cup of tea. "Don't
worry,
I'm not that close to delivery. The doctor said at
least three weeks, maybe even a month before she makes her appearance."

Kendall
had promised herself not to push Nicole one way or the other when it came to
the adoption. But try as she might, she could no longer dance around the
subject of the baby. "So have you followed up with the adoption agency again?"

Nicole
sipped her tea. "No."

That
worried Kendall. "Nicole, you can't keep putting this off. That baby is coming
no matter what. Three weeks isn't that far off."

"I
know."

Kendall
softened her voice. "You owe it to yourself and the kid to figure out what you
are going to do."

Nicole
dropped her gaze, her cheeks flushed with emotion. "I know."

Kendall
sighed. "Hey, I know I can be overly direct.
Even a bitch.
But I like you. And I just don't want to see you get hurt. And I think the more
you plan the easier it will be for you."

Nicole
lifted her eyes. Tears glistened. "God, I wish I had cut-and-dry answers. The
baby deserves to be happy and to have the best. I just don't know if I'm the
person to do it for her. And still I can't discuss making an adoption plan."

Kendall
thought about her own complicated relationship with her late mother, who had
adopted Kendall when she was three. There'd been lots of love in the house. But
Kendall had learned early on that her mother didn't like to discuss the
adoption. Even to this day, loyalty to her mother mingled with fear of the
unknown and kept her silent about her adoption. "Few things in life are. We just
do the best we can."

Nicole
tipped her head back so the tears wouldn't spill. "I know. You're right."

"So
you'll at least talk to the agency and make sure you've covered all your
options."

"Yes.
I'll follow up." This time tears spilled down her cheeks. "
I will
."

Kendall
laid a manicured hand on Nicole's shoulder. "Don't cry, Nicole. I don't want to
start my day knowing I made a pregnant woman cry. It's got to be really, really
bad Karma."

Shaky
laughter rumbled from Nicole as she swiped the tears from her cheeks. "No more
tears."

"Good.
Don't
worry,
we'll take this one step at a time."

"Thanks."
Nicole swallowed, sniffed. "So what were you doing up late last night?"

Kendall
tensed. She'd not spoken to anyone about the dreams and she didn't want to.
Verbalizing validated them somehow. "You heard me?"

"I
pee on the hour, remember?"

"Right."
She dug her fingers through her long dark
brown hair. "It was nothing. I just couldn't sleep."

Nicole
sipped her tea. "Normally you sleep like the dead."