For Love or Vengeance (9 page)

Chapter Fifteen

After grilling the owners of the two stores where the cell phones had been purchased, Helene and Miguel left instructions on what to do if any more forms with bogus buyer information turned up. Of course, the likelihood of the sales staff actually following those directions was slim. So they arranged for video surveillance at the stores and for the owners to send them copies of all new forms immediately after each sale.

Now they knew where the unsub bought his phones. The Butcher stalked those streets. Probably lived or worked nearby. Helene was convinced they would find something in those two square miles that would lead them to him. It was just a matter of time.

But time was against them.

She and Miguel walked the block, looking for anything that might click, stopping in at the neighborhood stores, delis, and restaurants to show photos of the victims, in the hopes of nailing down the one piece of the puzzle that had eluded everyone so far—the selection process for the victims.

“He auditions them,” she said as they paused in front of the next storefront. It was a sheet music shop. “I’m sure of it.”

“It fits with his Broadway fixation,” Miguel agreed. “But we haven’t found anything in the trade papers or bulletin boards that ties all the victims together.”

He leaned against the bumper of a parked car. She tried not to notice how the fabric of his suit jacket stretched against his shoulders.

“We’ll find something,” she said. “We’ve got to.”

They had a list of possible hangouts in the area for would-be stars, and after visiting them, along with all the businesses on the block, she hoped they would have a connection to one or more of the victims.

He removed his sunglasses, the mirrored lenses glinting in the surprisingly strong autumn sun. His green eyes blazed with determination. “Yep. Today’s the day.”

He moved away from the car and tucked the sunglasses into his jacket pocket. As they entered the sheet music shop, she wished she could be as optimistic. She’d gotten no vibes from anything they had gathered so far, not even with the use of her goddess powers.

A bell tinkled as they crossed the threshold of the store.

“Do you want to handle this one?” he asked her, indicating the young man behind the counter.

Helene opened her goddess senses and one quick impression of the man was all she needed. “I think he might be more receptive to you,” she said with a smile. He winked at her and approached the young man, who immediately gave her partner his full attention.

Miguel smiled and pulled out his credential wallet. He flashed it at the clerk and the young man’s smile dimmed a little. He asked warily, “How can I help you?”

Helene leaned against a spot at the counter as Miguel laid photos of the victims out on the surface of the counter. The clerk paled a little more and he fidgeted with his tie. “Are these…” His voice trailed off. He gulped. “I think I saw this guy in the paper.”

“Have you seen any of them here in the shop?” Miguel asked.

“Can I get a closer look?” the young man asked, and pointed at the photos.

At Miguel’s nod, the clerk, whose nameplate read “Jeff,” picked up each photo and examined it carefully before placing it back on the counter. He tapped the photo of one of the victims.

“This is the person I saw in the paper, but this one—” He pointed to victim number two. “He’s familiar. I think he came in a few times to pick up sheet music.”

Helene felt a twinge of excitement. This was the first time anyone outside the victims’ immediate circles had made an ID. Most times, that made the identifier suspect number one. But Helene wasn’t getting any weird vibes from the young man.

“People buy their music after they land a job in a show?” Miguel asked, although they both knew otherwise. He was testing the clerk.

Jeff shook his head. “Actually, most people get sheet music to prepare for an audition. If a show’s in production, someone’s already come down to arrange for licensing the rights to the show.”

Her partner smiled at the honest reply. “You seem quite knowledgeable, Jeff,” Miguel said, clearly in buttering-up mode.

Jeff virtually preened, straightening his shoulders and lifting his chin a confident notch. “Thanks. I’ve been here a while and picked up a few things.”

“So tell me. If I want to land a Broadway gig, what do I do? Check the trades, look for casting calls online—”

“You have to network, Agent…sorry, what was your name?”

Miguel replied, “Special Agent Sanchez. Here’s my card.” He took one out and passed it to the clerk.

“And where would you network, Jeff?” Helene asked, growing impatient and—to her surprise—a little jealous that the young man was looking at Miguel as though he were dessert. Not that Miguel was her property or anything, but such blatant interest made her uncomfortable.

The clerk glared daggers at her, clearly unaware that his chances with her partner were zip. Zilch. Nada.

Miguel snapped his fingers and drew Jeff’s attention back to him. “Where would you network? Any idea?”

The young man rattled off the names of several of the places already on their list, and added a couple of new ones.

“Do you think you could give us the addresses for those last two?” Miguel asked.

“With pleasure, Special Agent,” the clerk said, grabbed a piece of paper from beside the cash register, and scribbled down the information.

Miguel thanked him, and they walked out of the store. When they were on the street, he handed her the paper. As promised, there were the two new names and addresses—along with a phone number at the bottom. She smirked.

“Jealous?” he teased.

She chuckled and shook her head. “Seriously, Miguel. Do you think you’re that irresistible?”

“I don’t know. Am I?” he asked with a grin, clearly determined to push her on the subject.

“Just business, partner,” she reminded him, and held out the paper for him to take back.

He slipped it from her hand, and their fingers accidentally brushed together. That simple touch was enough to send a shiver through her.

The only consolation was that he wasn’t unaffected, either. She didn’t need her second sight to pick up how his muscles tensed and his eyes widened.

He jammed his sunglasses back on and looked at the paper, then pointed to one of the addresses and nodded in the direction of Broadway. “This place is the closest. Let’s check it out first.”

“Whatever you say, partner,” she said, shoring up her defenses, too, and fell into step beside him.

She reminded herself for the hundredth time that her mission came first.
No distractions
.

No matter how tempting.

Chapter Sixteen

The call they were dreading came the next morning, routed from the NYPD dispatchers.

Miguel answered, and listened intently as a young woman named Brewster Williams explained that one of her roommates had left for an audition the night before, but had not returned home.

“Do you know where she went?” he asked, waving a hand to capture Helene’s attention and get her over to his desk.

“No. All I know is that she didn’t come home, and that isn’t like Lanie.”

“I’m putting you on speakerphone so my partner can listen in,” he said, and pressed a button as Helene sat on the edge of his desk. Her skirt inched up high on her thigh, presenting an enticing length of leg that he judiciously avoided looking at.

“When did she leave for the audition?” he asked after Helene quickly introduced herself.

“I’m not sure. There was a note on the kitchen table not to wait for her for dinner. We were supposed to go out.”

“What time did you find the note?” Helene asked, and met his gaze, worry dulling her warm brown eyes.

“At seven, when I got home,” Brewster said.

“Do you know what the audition was?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. But she was watching
West Side Story
on DVD last night. Maybe to get ready?”

“Anything else you can tell us?” Helene asked.

“She didn’t make it to work this morning. That’s part of the reason I called you. Lanie was up for a promotion and there’s no way she’d miss work if she could help it.”

“Did someone from her job contact you?” he asked, and jotted down some notes.

“Yes. I’m off from work today. I thought it was Lanie calling,” Brewster said.

“Since you’re off, can we come by? Check your apartment for anything that might help?” Helene asked.

“You think this is serious, don’t you?”

“We would prefer not to take any chances,” Miguel said as he heard the rising tones of panic in the young woman’s voice.

“Ok—okay,” she stuttered, and gave them her address.

“We’ll be there soon,” he said, and hung up. He met Helene’s gaze. “What do you think?”

With a troubled expression, she said, “I think we may have run out of time.”

Lanie Santini’s apartment was much like those of the others, with one exception—her roommates. If not for them, it would have taken longer to know she was missing. Maybe with that extra time they would be able to find her before she became victim number six.

Brewster Williams was distraught, pacing back and forth in the living room. The room was so small that only a few steps took her from one side to the other, making her look like a caged animal as she paced.

Inside Lanie’s room, everything was compulsively tidy. Her bed was militarily neat, other than two shams and a stuffed toy cat.

“Lanie likes cats, but we’re not allowed to have pets,” Brewster said as Helene’s gaze rested on the toy.

A cheap formica desk was wedged into one corner. On it were three neat little piles. The first was a collection of trade newspapers and Internet printouts. The second was a pile of letters from home, and the last, a collection of
Playbill
s from various Broadway shows.

Helene pointed to the piles. “Do you mind if we borrow these?”

“You think he took her?” Brewster asked, wringing her hands.

Miguel said in a reassuring tone, “We’re not sure of anything right now. But just in case, we need to explore every lead.”

“Will you let me know?”

“We’ll do our best to keep you informed, but you have to understand that we’re up against a clock right now,” Helene said, trying for polite and professional rather than her usual precise, to-the-point manner, but both the young woman and Miguel winced.

“We’ll let you know when we can,” Miguel said in his same caring tone.

She wanted to grit her teeth. She just couldn’t do caring.

Pulling out gloves and evidence bags from her purse, she collected the piles into three separate bags, handing each to Miguel to tag. Brewster watched, bouncing back and forth off the doorframe of Lanie’s room, her actions even more agitated than before.

After they finished searching, they walked to the door of the apartment to leave. Brewster followed so close that she clipped the back of Helene’s heel.

“Sorry,” the young woman murmured. “You’ll let me know, right?”

“We’ll let you know,” Helene said, and nearly closed the door in her face.

“You were a little cold in there,” Miguel said as they walked to the elevator. Once again he’d been struck by the difference in how hot Helene was in bed, and how icy she was on the job. Or maybe she was just clueless.

“You should know me by now, partner. I don’t do warm and fuzzy.” She tapped her foot in irritation as they waited for the elevator.

Yeah, he definitely knew. “Wouldn’t kill you—” he began, but she whirled on him.

“Guess again. It might kill me, or you or Lanie, if I let warm and fuzzy get in the way of logic and reason.”

He’d really thought they’d reached an understanding of sorts, even before their hookup the other night. But her words were like a slap in the face. No, a physical slap would have been less painful. Because it struck way too close to home.

Maybe he’d been wrong to think she had any real concept of emotion. Obviously, he had been deluding himself. “I get it, ice princess. I won’t let emotion get in the way of what I have to do. But I also have a heart. Something you seem to lack.”

She didn’t blink, or even bat an eyelash. Didn’t react in any way. Sadly, it only confirmed his comment.

Helene cared nothing for the people around her, or the cases they investigated.

She only cared about results, about closing the case and seeing justice served. He wasn’t sure how long he could partner with someone so blind to the human side of their work.

But for now he’d keep his mouth shut. Because there
was
one thing he was sure of—he and Helene were going to find the Broadway Butcher.

He just hoped it would be in time for Lanie Santini.

A quick trip back to the music store revealed that two days before, Lanie had purchased sheet music for a song from
West Side Story
.

“I remember now. That didn’t make sense to me,” Jeff said, shaking his shaggy head.

“Why not?” Miguel asked, folding his arms.

“We try to keep up with what shows are coming up in the area. That way we’ll have whatever sheet music the wanna-bes will need to prepare for an audition. And the scores they’ll need to put on the show.” Once again Jeff shook his head. “This show is already on Broadway.”

“Which means?” Helene prodded.

“You can’t put on another production of the same show within a certain number of miles, so if she was auditioning, it was for something totally far away. Like beyond off-off-Broadway.”

Miguel picked up the photo of Lanie that the roommate had provided. “Would she have known that?”

The clerk shrugged carelessly. “Probably. Who knows?”

The killer knew
. Miguel met Helene’s sharp gaze. She was already processing all the information, determined to find Lanie before she became the next victim.

He returned his attention to the clerk. “You’ve still got my card?”

With a sexy smile, Jeff leaned onto the counter toward him. “Of course I do, Special Agent Sanchez,” he said with almost a purr.

Miguel nodded, ignoring Helene’s subtle eye-roll. “The next time anything out of the ordinary like this happens, call us immediately. Anything, get it?”

“Got it,” the young man said with a wink.

Miguel and Helene walked out of the store. She glanced at her watch. “If Lanie went missing last night—”

“We have one day at best to locate her,” he finished grimly.

With an abrupt nod, she said, “Let’s get back to the office and start going through the papers we found at her apartment. There’s got to be something in there we can use.”

There was no denying the determination in Helene’s voice. Unfortunately, Lanie’s piles of newspapers, as tidy as they were, still might not give them a lead.

But at least they had a head start on who the victim was this time.

They called NYPD to put out a BOLO for Lanie. Maybe a local LEO would see something off and investigate. Maybe some alert citizen would call it in.

There was also the possibility the unsub himself would decide to contact them. Serial killers loved to challenge their pursuers, thinking they were smarter than everyone else.

Maybe.