Fated (14 page)

“The morgue is part of the hospital, right?” He handed her the coffee as she put her tablet away.

“Yes.”

“Then let’s go there first since it’s closest.” In his pocket, Hart’s phone chimed.

“Hmm.” Freddie batted her eyelashes at him. “That’s why, is it?”

“Don’t start, Freddie. I saw you making googly eyes at the captain. For your information, the man smokes like a house on fire and probably tastes like an ashtray.”

“I’ll tell him you said that.”

“Traitor.”

“Like you don’t deserve it.” She added more sugar and drank her coffee while Hart snuck a glance at his phone.

Too much?

He carefully kept his face in check as he typed out a reply to Toby.

Nosy investigators.

Ah. Say hi to Freddie. Can’t wait to see you.

Freddie shoved her empty mug in the dishwasher. “You can drive, I’m wearing new shoes, and I don’t want to ruin the back.”

Once outside Hart started in the direction of his borrowed cop car, but Freddie grabbed his arm and steered him toward the Camry. “I’m not getting in one of those. They stink of fast food and feet.”

“Feet?”

“Man-feet. The worst kind. Here.” She handed him her keys. A small keychain dangled off it, something that belonged more on a necklace, Hart thought.

“What’s this?” He studied it more closely as they got in. It looked like a knot but made out of metal.

“My mama gave it to me. She believed it would protect me, God knows from what. The Predator maybe. I can’t wear it around my neck, because… you know.” She made a face and waved her hand vaguely in the direction of her neck. Hart did know; he’d sat through the annual safety briefing more times than he cared to remember.

Reversing the car out of its spot, Hart turned it in the direction of the hospital. For a while Freddie was silent, tapping away on her tablet as she chewed her lip.

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“Nothing in this case makes sense,” Hart said, and Freddie rolled her eyes.

“It’s gotta make sense to someone, or they wouldn’t bother. Ritual murders, miracle healing, weird tattoos…. Maybe we should start looking into this Shadow Mountain Predator myth.”

“Don’t you start.”

“You’ve gotta admit it’s suspect. People heal miraculously, then suddenly die? Some seemingly for no reason while others are being brutally sacrificed? By who? A serial killer who is searching people out who’ve healed from their incurable diseases?”

Hart blinked at the road, a flutter of excitement raising the hairs on his arms. “Wait. Wait. What if that’s exactly what it is?”

“What?”

“It’s the only thing they all have in common. They were sick, then they weren’t, and now they’re dead. And then there’s the different MOs. Some died…. Hang on.” Hart squinted at the road. It felt like he was on to something, if he could just…. “The ones that had the faint tattoo-like mark I’ve seen died seemingly for no reason, after they’d supposedly healed from an incurable disease.”

Freddie stared at him with bright, big eyes. She knew they were on to something too. “Ben’s mark was clearly fake, and he was obviously almost murdered. It’s a pity we can’t find out if that crucifixion had a neck mark. If he had a fake one, that would tie in with this theory.”

“Or if he’d been sick at some point. We don’t know that either.”

“We could find out if we dug a little deeper.”

Hart hummed and tapped the steering wheel. “The clue lies in the tattoos, I’m sure of it.”

“But why are they being killed?”

“We find the killer and we’ll know.”

Freddie shook her head. “It still makes no sense. Why would he kill some so brutally and manage to kill the others without leaving a single trace of the cause of death?”

Questions Hart couldn’t answer any more than she could. He felt the sense of excitement trickle away. For a second there he’d thought they were on the brink of breaking this case.

“Did you know Ben?”

Freddie shrugged. “Vaguely. I knew who his mother was. Betty Drake. Eccentric lady, made a fortune when she was young on the stock market by sheer dumb luck. She packed up and left her abusive husband, somehow managed to keep all the money, and then crossed the country to come live here with Ben. That’s all I know. They kept to themselves.”

“Abusive husband?”

“I know what you’re thinking, but he died years ago, even before Mrs. Drake did. I checked after Ben was attacked.”

“Hm.”

“And then there’s the whole car bomb thing. Either the murderer freaked out and blew the fuse too soon, or he didn’t know you were a cop and tried to scare you away. But why?”

“It must have something to do with Drake. Maybe the killer is getting careless.”

“Or he’s so confident he knows he won’t get caught.”

“Which makes him dangerous.” Hart sighed and pulled into the parking lot. Toby’s BMW stood out like a red rose in a field of yellowed grass. Freddie was frowning at it. “What’s the matter?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing.” She shook her head.

“Go on, it’s obviously something.”

Gathering her purse, Freddie put the tablet away. With her hand already on the door, he resigned himself to not getting an answer, but then she faced him again.

“It’s out of character. That car I mean. Toby is lovely and kind and funny, but he’s also a bit anal about certain things. Like the environment for one thing.” She gave Hart a thoughtful look. “And it’s not like he’s closeted or anything; everyone who knows him knows he’s gay. But he doesn’t flaunt it. I’ve never seen him flirt with anyone like he flirts with you.”

Hart suddenly felt the weight of his phone in his jacket as if it had grown in size. Then he snorted and rolled his eyes. “Maybe I’m the best looking guy that’s ever passed through town.” Why did people feel drawn to him anyway? Stubborn and tenacious, not as smart as Dad, with Mom’s OCD and no time to look in the mirror in the morning, he hardly made for the world’s best catch.
All he did was work on his home in his free time.
And yet a bright-eyed, beautiful young thing like Isaac hung on his every word.

“You’re not the first pretty boy to cross Toby’s path, Hart. But then again,” Freddie went on, “he might just really like you.”

Hart chewed his lip to prevent himself from asking about these other
pretty boys
that had crossed Toby’s path. They were veering so far off course the shoreline was gone. “I don’t know if I should be offended or what, that you think it’s out of character to like me.”

“It’s out of character to like you so blatantly. And stop fishing for compliments.”

T
HERE
WASN
’
T
much Hart disliked about his job, but morgue visits he
loathed
. The smell of formaldehyde alone seemed to permeate the air from a corridor away. Freddie had been quiet the entire trek into the bowels of the hospital, but now she heaved a deep sigh.

“What’s up?”

“Just… there’s some weird shit going on.”

“What do you mean?” Hart yanked at a heavy double door, then felt like an idiot when Freddie hit a square button on the wall, and it crept open with a noisy groan.

“I don’t know, but I’ve got a feeling this is going to turn into something we’ve never seen before.”

“It’s already something I’ve never seen before.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it. This guy is careless, and a careless killer doesn’t get away with it for this long. Something isn’t adding up.”

“Like what?”

Freddie’s mouth pinched together, and she said no more. As they walked, automatic lights pinged on before them, lighting their path. There was no one around, and it creeped the hell out of him. He
really
hated morgues.

“Like supernatural stuff?” he pressed. He wanted to laugh, the security guard and his Predator coming to mind, but something stopped him. He knew what it was like to live in this town, where the myth never was quite the joke everyone tried to play it off as. “That’s what you mean, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Something like that anyway. And I know what you’re thinking. I don’t believe in our mountain yeti either, but—”

“A yeti? Is that what he is now?”

“Why, what did you hear?”

“Just the Predator. Dad used to say it was just a loner who went to live in the Mountain and never came down. People don’t understand that kind of behavior, so they make things up. This was decades ago anyway. No way that guy is still alive. Or if he is, he’s really old.”

“It’s all just an old wives’ tale, but that’s not what I mean either. All this, it reminds me of stuff my mama used to say.”

“Will you tell me what it was your mother could see?”

Hart stopped, his hand on the knob of a metal door with a narrow pane of glass in the middle. For some reason it reminded him of a prison.

“Later,” Freddie said.

“All right.” He opened the door and held it for Freddie, the smell of formaldehyde slapping them in the face. “Welcome to hell,” he said under his breath.

“Bit cold down here for hell, wouldn’t you think?” A woman with chin-length blond hair tucked behind her ears stepped from a small scrub room to the right of the door. She dried her hands on a white towel, threw it with perfect aim into a laundry basket across the way, and smiled at them. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Chief Inspector Lesley, Brightly police. This is Lieutenant Hart from Riverside. We were hoping to talk to someone about the body found on Shadow Mountain.”

“Is that what it’s called? People keep telling me it’s the Misty Mountain. I’m Doctor Lisa Holden, and I’m pretty much in charge of everyone that comes through those doors feetfirst.” She pointed toward a large elevator down the hall.

“You’re the ME?” Freddie asked.

“Yes. Maxfield died a year ago. Just like that! Keeled over from an aneurysm. Poof! Gone.” The ME smiled widely, and Hart felt a bit horrified. “This is my first solo murder case, so forgive me for being a bit excited. You’re eager to see the body, I assume?”

Hart couldn’t imagine anything he’d want to see less, but he followed Dr. Holden down the hall anyway. Freddie gave him a blatant
is she for real?
look he completely ignored. He doubted Holden stood much over five feet tall, even with her shoes on, and he opened his mouth to offer help in opening the drawer, but there was no need. She already had her hands on the handle, one foot braced against another drawer as she yanked it out of its lock. Freddie’s mouth hung open as she watched Holden unzip the body bag cheerfully, and he jabbed her with his elbow.

“What can you tell us about the body, Dr. Holden?” Freddie asked.

“Please, call me Lisa. This is really a very interesting case.” Lisa glanced up and seemed surprised to see the both of them standing halfway across the room. She dug in the pockets of her white coat and snapped on a pair of gloves. “You can come closer you know. He won’t bite. But the Predator might, if he’s behind it.” Lisa let out a startlingly honking laugh.

“Kill me now,” Freddie muttered as they both approached the table.

“You can clearly see here—” Lisa held up a waxy gray hand, and Hart shuffled back when it flopped in his direction. “—that the victim was buried alive. His nails are torn, and I found wood splinters from the coffin as well as matching gouges in the lid.” She dropped the hand and lifted the other arm. “Same here. There is the usual amount of bruising you’d expect from someone who has tried to kick and punch something heavy in a panicked state. Cause of death was oxygen deprivation, but what is really interesting is this.” Lisa lifted her head to make sure her audience was paying close attention. She turned the head of the body toward them, and its open eyes stared straight at them.

“Oh God.” Freddie twisted away and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Without thinking about it, Hart put a hand on her shoulder.

“Oops,” Lisa said happily. “Sorry about that.” It took a bit of effort to close the eyelids, because of rigor mortis or the temperature the body was kept at in its refrigerated compartment, Hart didn’t know. He did regret that cup of coffee back at the station, though. “But see this?” She pointed at a bruise on the side of the victim’s head, and Freddie turned around again. “At some point he was knocked out with something blunt. Vase, baseball bat, I’m not sure. But why not kill him right then? Your killer obviously had the instruments to do it.” Lisa mimed a blow, and Freddie made a distressed noise. “But this was carefully done so the victim
wouldn’t
die.” She faced them, beaming like a kid who’d found the most Easter eggs. “Someone wanted him to die slowly.”

“Were you called out to the scene of the crime?” Freddie asked.

“I was. It’s all in the report.”

Hart frowned at the bruise on the victim’s head. “Was there anything else at the scene apart from the fingerprint found? Shoe prints?”

“Or tire prints?” Freddie added. “Someone drove that coffin up there.”

“More than one someone, I think.” Lisa bounced on the balls of her feet, and Hart thought she was another gruesome discovery away from clapping her hands in glee. “Just imagine for a second. How heavy do you think a coffin is, with a body in it? Even if someone carried first one and then the other, this thing is solid wood. Not the most expensive one, but certainly no cardboard rip-off either. There’s a reason you always see six men carrying coffins at funerals, don’t you agree?” Hart had to avert his gaze from her blue-eyed enthusiasm. His grip on Freddie’s shoulder had become one of taking rather than giving support, but Freddie not so much as flinched. “And dragging a coffin like that would’ve noticeably damaged the undergrowth. As for tire tracks….” Lisa shrugged. “There’s a cross-country racetrack five miles from the trail where the hiker found the body, and the quads don’t stick to their terrain, so there’s tracks all over the place.”

“So, we’re looking at two suspects, not one.”

“Unless the killer made the victim carry his own coffin,” Hart said grimly, and even Lisa fell silent then. Not for long, though.