Her Dying Breath (30 page)

He didn’t give her time to reply. He hit the connect button.

“Sorry to wake you,” Jake said.

“You didn’t—I was on the phone with Brenda.”

“She heard from the unsub?”

“Yes, how did you know?”

“The director of the sanitarium just called. A body was dumped outside the building at the Welcome sign.”

“Jesus.”

“It’s bad, Nick. We have an ID this time.”

Cold dread curdled in Nick’s belly. “Who is it?”

“The senator’s son. Ron Stowe.”

Nick released a string of expletives. “Brenda knows him.”

“She does?”

“Yeah.” Nick sighed. “Have the senator and his wife been notified?”

“I called them before I phoned you. I was afraid someone at the mental hospital would spread the word before he and his wife heard.”

“All right. I’ll meet you at the crime scene.” They disconnected, and he clicked back to Brenda.

“Jake found the body?”

“Yes, Brenda…I hate to tell you this, but the victim was Ron Stowe.”

Brenda gasped. “Oh, my God, Nick. Are you sure?”

“Yes. Jake’s already informed the parents.”

Nick yanked on a shirt, his jeans, socks, and boots.

“Ron was supposed to be at his father’s campaign fund-raiser last night,” Brenda said in a strained whisper.

“Looks like he didn’t make it,” Nick mumbled.

“Come and pick me up. I’m going with you.”

“Brenda—”

“If you don’t, I’ll drive myself.”

He pulled at his chin. She shouldn’t be driving after her accident. “Fine. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Nick grabbed his weapon and jacket and rushed outside. The chill of the morning air hit him, but it invigorated his sleep-deprived brain. During the short drive to Brenda’s, he debated on how to extract her from the investigation, but the moment he arrived and saw her dressed and ready to go, bruised face and all, he realized that any attempt would be futile.

Brenda deserved this story. Seven had
chosen
her to cover the murders.

The predawn lights streaked her face in shadows, her complexion pale, making the bruises look even more stark.

“Brenda, you should stay home and rest,” he said as she opened the car door.

She shot him a look of disbelief. “Your unsub wants to see me covering this story, and I’m going to do it.”

“Look,” he said, the urge to stroke her cheek hitting him. Dammit, he didn’t like the fact that someone had hurt her.

He liked even less that he cared that someone had hurt her.

“I admire you for standing up for yourself, for chasing the story and wanting to help, but it’s dangerous. Someone’s already tried to kill you.”

“We don’t know that,” she said. “Seriously, the driver of that car could have been drunk. Or a bunch of out-of-control joyriding teenagers.”

“You don’t believe that, and neither do I.”

Brenda rubbed at her forehead, reminding him that she’d had a slight concussion the day before. “Brenda, please go back inside and go to bed.”

“I can’t, Nick.” Her voice cracked. “I have to see this story through.”

Nick’s gaze met hers. “How well did you know Stowe?”

A fine sheen of tears glittered in her eyes, making him wonder if they’d been closer than he realized.

He didn’t like that idea either.

“We met at my parents’ dinner party the other night.” She wiped at her eyes. “I don’t understand why Seven chose him. He never worked at that security company.”

“Good point,” Nick said. He dragged his gaze from her battered face before he could pull her into his arms and comfort her.

But as he drove, her question plagued him. He’d seen photographs of the senator and his son. Ron Stowe was a ladies’ man, a politician’s son. And she was right. He’d never worked for the security company where Logger and Darren James had been employed.

Which meant they might be wrong about the victimology.

Either that, or Seven was all over the place with her MO. And she was choosing victims at random.

Which would make it more difficult to find her.

Brenda battled her emotions as they drove toward the sanitarium.

If she’d attended the fund-raiser with Ron, would he still be alive?

Her phone buzzed, making her jump, but it was her boss, so she answered it. “I’m on my way to the crime scene now. I already called Louis. He’s meeting me there.”

“Be careful, Brenda. You need to talk to the senator, but be respectful.”

What the hell? “Don’t worry, I’m sensitive to the family’s situation.”

She ended the call, irritated that he’d felt the need to forewarn her.

“Do you know if Stowe served in the military?” Nick asked.

“I don’t think so. I’ve researched the family, and there’s no record that he did. Although his father served in the marines years ago.”

Nick rolled his shoulders. “I wonder if he knew the Commander.”

Had the senator worked with his father?

“Did you find anything shady on the senator?” Nick asked.

Brenda shook her head. “Nope, squeaky clean.”

“Too clean?”

“Maybe.”

Nick pulled down the drive and turned into the parking lot, both of them falling silent for a moment as they parked. Jake’s squad car was in the lot, along with the MEs, and Louis rolled in with the newsman.

Brenda glanced around for the senator’s town car, but he hadn’t arrived yet. Her father’s Cadillac caught her eye.

“My dad is here,” Brenda said.

Nick reached for the door to get out. “I suppose he’s playing politics.”

Brenda frowned at his comment. Unfortunately a politician’s son’s murder would draw more media coverage and put more pressure on the police to solve the case than an average civilian’s death would.

And William and the senator were friends.

Sucking in a breath to calm her nerves, she and Nick headed toward the cluster gathered around the body. Deputy Waterstone had roped off an area to keep onlookers from getting too close, and was ordering the staff at the hospital to stay behind the line.

The crime unit had arrived and erected a privacy screen to protect the body from being photographed by curious spectators while they conducted their preliminary investigation.

Nick radiated a take-charge demeanor as the two of them shouldered their way through the people gathered outside.

Two crime techs were snapping pictures while two others canvassed the crowd for witnesses. Jake stood in a conversation with Brenda’s father.

Her father spotted her as she approached, the muscle in his neck jumping as his gaze fell on her face.

She didn’t understand his anger. But she wouldn’t give in to his demands for her to give up the case.

The tech closest to Ron finally moved, giving her a view of the body. Brenda staggered slightly. Nick caught her arm, steadying her, his voice low in her ear. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. But no, she wasn’t all right.

The last victim had borne whip marks, but they were minor compared to the bruises on Ron’s body. Scrapes and contusions covered his arms, legs, and chest. The crime tech eased his body forward, revealing deep, bloody slashes across his back. It also appeared that the killer had used a knife or sharp instrument—maybe a scalpel—to carve cuts on his upper body and thighs.

But the piano wire around his neck was identical to that on the other victims.

The only part of Ron Stowe’s body that hadn’t been beaten was his face. It was almost as if the killer had preserved his handsome image for some twisted reason.

“She made him suffer before she killed him,” Brenda whispered.

“She’s escalating even more,” Nick commented.

Suddenly they heard a car screeching to a stop. Loud voices rose above the hubbub of spectators and crime techs as the car door opened. Bodyguards for the senator and his beautiful wife spilled out and shoved their way through the crowd, creating a path for the couple.

When Ron’s mother saw her son’s body, she collapsed against one of the bodyguards. A nurse from the hospital hurried to tend to her.

The senator’s face blazed with pain and rage as he glanced at her father, then at Jake, then at Nick, and finally at her.

“This is your fault,” he bellowed. “You’ve been covering this madness and making the Strangler famous.”

“Mr. Stowe—” Nick said.

“It is her fault,” he shouted. “If she hadn’t glorified the killer, maybe you could have caught the sick bitch by now. In fact, she may have killed Ron because he knew you, Brenda.”

Guilt suffused Brenda. What if he was right?

Amelia used the hospital soap to scrub her skin as the hot shower water pummeled her.

You’re a whore.

You have blood on your hands.

You need to repent for your sins.

Tears fell as the images of her tawdry sexual acts replayed through her mind. She scrubbed harder and harder, desperate to obliterate the man’s scent and the memory of his hands on her.

But even as she did, her body felt titillated, as if he was touching her again. Licking his way across her naked body. Thrusting inside her.

Taking her to oblivion.

Only she’d lost herself there for a while.

Sadie mustn’t know. She would be worried. Afraid Amelia wasn’t really improving.

And she was. Wasn’t she?

Then who is that other voice in your head? Who likes the nasty stuff you do? Who gets off on pain and chains and suffering?

N
ick wanted to wring the senator’s neck. He knew good and well that the man was in shock, but blaming Brenda was inexcusable.

“Senator Stowe, I realize you’re distraught, but throwing accusations at the police or Miss Banks is not helpful. Why don’t you take your wife home and call some family or friends to stay with her? She doesn’t need to witness this, and neither do you.”

“But I have to be here,” Senator Stowe said.

Nick took him by the arm and spoke in a low, authoritative voice. “No, you don’t. Think about your wife, for God’s sake, not your political agenda.”

Outrage flared in the man’s steely gray eyes. “How dare you—”

“I am extremely sorry for your loss,” Nick said, grateful to see that Brenda was recovering from the man’s vicious onslaught. “Trust me, we will find out who did this to your son, but you can be more helpful by allowing us to do our jobs.”

Mrs. Stowe made a strangled sound in her throat, then seemed to pull herself together.

“Just tell us how we can help,” she said.

“Can you tell us where your son was last night?” Nick asked.

The Stowes exchanged a furtive glance. “I don’t know,” Mrs. Stowe said.

“He was supposed to attend my fund-raiser,” the senator replied. “But he never showed.”

“Did he call and tell you why he wasn’t coming?”

“No,” Mrs. Stowe said. “He just left a message saying that he couldn’t make it.”

“Was it unusual for him to miss a function like that?” Nick asked.

Another exchanged look between the couple. “No,” the senator finally said. “He liked politics, but he liked his personal life more.”

Mrs. Stowe wiped at her eyes. “And we didn’t pry.”

Brenda’s father approached, his brows furrowed. “I’m so sorry, Stan.”