Dead Ringer (4 page)

"You're
not being very helpful, Detective."

"No."

Alderson
narrowed his eyes. "Who's your boss?"

He
didn't hesitate to answer. "Sergeant David Ayden. Would you like his number?"
Ayden wasn't afraid to go to the mat for his detectives.

Alderson
nodded. "Yes, I would."

Jacob
pulled out a piece of paper from a notebook he carried in his back pocket and
scratched out Ayden's name and number. He held it out. As Alderson reached for
the paper, Jacob glanced at the man's hands.
Smooth,
pristine, long fingers; buffed nails; and, most importantly, no sign of trauma.
A woman being strangled might fight back and scratch her attacker's hands. But
there was nothing on Alderson's hands.

"I'm
going to have more questions for you," Jacob said as Alderson tucked the slip
of paper in a pocket.

"Frankly,
Detective, I don't like you. I'm only interested in dealing with your boss
now."

"Suit
yourself." He dropped his voice a notch. "But I can promise you, Sergeant Ayden
won't release this site until I give the all clear. And the more you slow me
down, the longer it's going to take."

Alderson
heard the underlying message behind Jacob's words:
I can be a badass too.
The developer was still annoyed but he nodded curtly. "All right, I'll play it
your way now."

"I
want to talk to Burrows one more time." He'd hoped the forced wait in the cold
might have jogged a few details loose from the party chief's mind.

Alderson
raised his hand and called out, "Burrows!"

The
surveyor lumbered over to them. "Yeah, boss?"

"This
is the lead detective on this case."

Burrows
nodded. "We already talked."

"Talk
to him again."

"But
you said..."

"Forget
what I said. Tell him what you know. And don't hold back. I want this job site
reopened as soon as possible."

Burrows
glanced at Jacob. "Sure."

Jacob
flipped open his notebook. "Tell me again what happened from the moment you
found the victim to the moment you called nine-one-one."

Burrows
sniffed, glanced toward the yellow tape. He recapped what he'd already told
Jacob.

"Have
you seen her around here before?" Jacob asked.

"What,
that woman? Hell no. No women on the survey crew. And no one in their right
mind would come out here in January unless it was for money." He glanced at his
boss after realizing what he'd said.

"Did
you see anyone else lurking around the property?"

"No one.
It was a typical morning."

"No
hunters? No cars? Tire tracks?"

Burrows
shifted his stance and hesitated. "Well, there was one guy. We caught him
trespassing about a week ago. He seemed harmless enough."

Most
likely he was, but the detail couldn't be ignored. "What happened?"

"It
was before the storm. He was out here last Monday or Tuesday. Buzz, one of the
surveyors, spotted him by the river. We told him it was private property. He
said he used to hunt here with his dad when he was a kid. The place had special
meaning to him. Anyway, we told him to hit the road and he did."

"That's
it?"

"Yep.
I forgot all about him until today."

"Can
you describe him?"

"Honestly,
I didn't give the guy much thought.
Medium height.
Wearing a thick parka, and a hat and gloves."

Jacob
shifted his gaze to Alderson. "Who owned the property before you?"

"The
entire tract is two hundred acres and was owned by about a dozen different
families. I can get you a list."

"Good.
The sooner the better."

"Sure."

Kendall
and her cameraman arrived at Alderson's River Bend site just as the body
removal team's hearse and the county's forensics van lumbered toward the main
road. The rugged, pockmarked side street forced the van and hearse to move at a
slow crawl. Seeing the hearse gave her pause. This was her first murder story
since last summer. If the police had been half hour later last July, she'd have
been removed from the scene in a hearse.

Mike,
her cameraman, stopped the van on the side of the road. He stood just
under
six feet and his weight hovered under two hundred. He
looked fierce but he was one of the most even-tempered people she'd ever met.
"I doubt I'll be able to get the van down the road."

"Yeah."

"You
okay?" When Mike had visited her in the hospital last summer, the sight of her
had brought tears to his eyes. She had been surprised he'd care so much. They'd
barely known each other, having worked together for only a year.

During
that visit and any other visit from friends, she'd been the upbeat one. She'd
cracked jokes about bedpans and male nurses until she'd eliminated the unease
and coaxed smiles. On some level she'd understood that if she made people feel
good around her, they'd not abandon her. So, she'd become adept at telling
everyone that she was fine.

Kendall
cleared her throat. "
Please.
And I want lots of footage of the hearse."

Mike
tossed her a glance. Relief flashed in his eyes.
"Will do."

She
realized he was worried about her doing her job, just as Brett was worried.
This story was going to be make-or-break for her. She had to prove she was
really back on the job.

Mike
shoved the van in park and rolled out the driver's door in one fluid movement.
He opened the side door to a neatly organized mobile studio. He hefted his
camera on his shoulder. The green light on the camera clicked on, signaling he
was taping.

Kendall
slipped off her heels and put on her hiking boots before grabbing her pad. She
glanced out her window, saw the mud, and scooted toward the driver's-side door.
Her coat snagged on a torn piece of vinyl on the seat, forcing her to pause and
tug it free. "Mike, when are you going to get this seat fixed?"

"Talk
to 'the king.'" Annoyance dripped from his words every time he referenced
Brett. "He's Mr. Budget Cut."

Brett
did whatever it took to get the story at the cheapest rate possible. He'd step
over anyone or knife anyone in the back to get the scoop for Channel 10 or save
a buck. Few liked Brett, but as long as ratings were high and the budget was in
the black he was tolerated.

Mike
stood in front of the van and raised the camera.

She
scooted out the door and moved behind Mike, who was now shooting. The cold air
whipped off the river and cut through her coat. "All go?"

"Like
clockwork."

"You're
sure? We're the only TV crew here and I don't want to mess this up."

He
waggled his eyebrows.
"Chill.
I always get the goods."

That
made her smile. "Mike, when have you ever known me to chill? I'm good because
I'm such a domineering diva."

He
kept his gaze straight ahead. "I ain't commenting."

Mike
rolled tape as the hearse reached the main road and pulled onto the
hard-surface road. It quickly picked up speed and soon rounded the bend a half
mile away and vanished from site. The forensics van followed. The driver, a
woman, shot Kendall a stinging glance.

Mike
clucked. "What's with the look?"

"Disdain
is part of the job." She glanced at the police car blocking the entrance to the
side road. "I'd love to get down to the river and see what the cops are up to."

"It
won't be by that road," Mike said. "The cops aren't going to let us in."

"You
think you could find another way down?" she asked.

"Maybe.
Might mean some hiking."

"No
problem."

"Hop
in."

They
drove past the officer positioned by the development's entrance. Mike signaled
to the officer that they were going to turn around.

"We're
going to have to hustle," Kendall said. "He's going to expect to see us
returning soon."

"Right."

He
drove down the rutted road another half mile. Kendall pressed her hand to the
dash and planted her feet on the floor to keep from falling forward. When they
reached the dead end, Mike turned the van around and shut off the engine.

"There's
a path," Kendall said.
"Looks like it leads to the river."

"Let's
go."

Kendall
peered ahead into the icy woods. She didn't relish the thought of hoofing it
through the woods, but stories rarely came to her.
"Right."

Mike
grimaced. "I figured you'd change your mind once you saw the terrain."

She
tossed him a grin and climbed out of the van. "Faint heart never won fair
maiden."

He
followed.
"Yeah, whatever."

Cold
wind cut through her coat and she dug her gloved hands into her pockets. "Shoot
as much as you can," she said as he came around the front of the van with his
camera. "No telling how fast they'll run us off."

It
took fifteen minutes of steady walking before they rounded a final bend. The
trees opened up into a snow-capped field that ran along the river. In the
center of the field were five marked and one unmarked police cars, a survey
truck, and a black SUV. Beyond the vehicles, yellow crime scene tape billowed
in the wind near the icy James River.

Kendall
scanned the crowd. She was good at summing up a setting quickly, picking shots
and getting to the root of a story. Her blood pumped with a mixture of fear and
excitement. She'd forgotten how much she really enjoyed covering hard news.
These last few months she'd done her reporting from the news studio, and when
she did get out, the stories were soft serve.

Now
as she struggled to keep from sinking into the mud, she realized she'd grown
lazy covering the soft stories. Not good. Comfort was the beginning of a slow
decline.

"The
other news stations aren't here yet." There was no hiding the excitement in her
voice. "With luck, we can snag an interview before they do. Follow me."

She
knew all the homicide detectives in the department as well as a dozen others
from other departments. It was safe to say none really liked her when she showed
up at their crime scene, but there was a mutual respect. She hoped.

Kendall's
gaze settled on the broad shoulders of a very tall man. His back was to her but
she recognized the scarred black leather jacket, faded jeans, and lean body.
Jacob Warwick.

He
stood next to the river's edge staring into the distance. He flexed the fingers
of his right hand as if they were stiff. She'd heard somewhere that he'd
competed in a charity boxing match last weekend. He'd taken a beating but in
the end had won the bout in points. He was a fierce fighter who never conceded.

Tenacity
was something she would never fault this man for. It had saved her life last
summer....

The
Guardian serial killer had taken her to his basement slaughterhouse. He had
shot her in the shoulder and she'd stumbled back and fallen to the hard cement
ground. The pain had robbed the breath from her.

The
Guardian had stood over her, his ax raised high as he'd readied himself to
sever her hand from her body. Tears had welled in her eyes and she'd only been
able to say, "Please, don't."

Without
warning, the killer had spared her hand and left her to bleed to death, alone,
locked in the tiny basement room.

Even
now, she remembered the cold cement floor pressing into her back. She'd tried
to stand but every move intensified the agony. She'd screamed until her throat
burned. But no one had come.

Blood
had seeped from her wound and she quickly didn't have the energy to stand. Her
limbs had grown cold as life seeped from her.

In
the darkness, there'd only been the drip, drip of a pipe and the scurry of
rats. Time had lost meaning and she passed out.

And
then the door had opened and light shone on her face. She'd thought for a
moment the Guardian had returned and she'd balled up her good hand, praying she
had the strength to fight.

Warwick's
face had loomed over her, his shock as palatable as her own. His large hands
had gently touched her face. "Jesus,
it's
Kendall
Shaw. Kier, call for paramedics."

"He
tried to kill me," she'd whispered.
"To cut off my hand."

Immediately,
Warwick had run his hands down the length of her arms and to her hands. "He
didn't take your hand."

What
little fight she'd mustered had vanished. She'd nodded and closed her eyes. The
iciness had called, beckoning her to let sleep take her.