Her Last Whisper (34 page)

Charlie didn’t know what she looked like, but Michael said, “Babe,” and reached for her. Uselessly, of course. His hands passed right through. She never even felt the tingle, or heard anything else he said, even though she could see his lips moving and knew, in some abstract way, that he was cursing a blue streak. As unobtrusively as possible, Charlie took a couple of steps away from the gurney and pressed her back against the freezing cold wall.

Then the same terrified voice she had heard before whispered through her head.

“Oh, please. I’ll do anything! Anything you want.” There was a pause, not even long enough for Charlie to sneak in a breath. The high-pitched, frightened voice continued, “Please don’t kill me! Please don’t kill me!”

A hair-raising shriek followed, then that hideous gurgle Charlie remembered from before: the death gurgle.

Cold sweat broke over her in a wave. The voice was the same one that she’d heard the last time she’d been here. Then she’d wondered where it was coming from. Now she knew: it was attached to Destiny’s body. What that meant, exactly, she was too sick and dizzy and disoriented to even try to figure out.

“Charlie.” As the horrible gurgling sound faded away, Michael swam into focus. He was leaning over her, his eyes boring down into hers, his face hard with concern. “You’re hearing those damned voices again, aren’t you?”

Charlie managed a truncated nod, and this time when he cursed she heard it.

She glanced around. If Destiny’s spirit had been going to show, it would have done so already. If it had been nearby, Charlie would have been far more nauseated than she was. The spirit was gone, she concluded, claimed by the Great Beyond. Glancing past Michael’s shoulder, Charlie saw Lena still taking pictures of the corpse, and felt another wave of dizziness gathering strength.

She really didn’t want to hear the voice again.

“I’m going to wait for you upstairs,” she told Lena. Without waiting for the other woman’s reply, she propelled herself out the door and to the elevator by sheer force of will. She rode up leaning against the wall with her eyes closed. By the time she reached the ground floor the worst of the symptoms had receded, and she was able to find a chair in the reception area and sink down on it and breathe. Michael stood over her, his body tense, his face harsh.

She knew how much he hated the fact that there was nothing he could do to help her.

A moment later Tony and Buzz strode through the door. They checked on seeing her.

“Lena’s downstairs. Last door on the left.” Charlie was proud of herself: she sounded perfectly normal.

Buzz nodded and strode off without a word.

Tony hesitated, frowning at her. “You okay?” he asked.

“She’s just peachy-keen, Dud,” Michael answered for her. “Can’t you tell?”

“I’m fine. I just needed some air,” Charlie replied, and waved a hand toward where Buzz was holding the elevator. “You go on.”

Tony hesitated a split second longer, nodded, and left.

By the time he, Lena, and Buzz returned Charlie had largely recovered. Having delivered himself of his opinion on her continually putting herself in the way of both serial killers and bad psychic experiences, Michael stood with his back to her. He was staring out the window at the fuzzily lit parking lot, and, beyond that, the inky blackness of the night.

“It could have been Giselle who scratched her,” Buzz said thoughtfully as they all piled into the rental car. They took their usual places by default: Tony driving, Charlie in the front passenger seat, Lena and Buzz in the back, with Michael between them. Michael was sprawled expansively, with his legs stretched out and his arms spread across the back of the seat behind Lena and Buzz. They had no idea he was there, of course, but Charlie noticed that they tended to hug their respective doors, and that occasionally Buzz would flinch a little if the back of his neck got too close to the electric energy of Michael’s arm extended behind it.

“It could have been anybody who scratched her.” Tony sounded tired as he drove out of the lot and turned left toward the Strip. “Anybody could have gotten hold of Giselle’s bracelet.”

“But first they had to get it from Giselle.” Lena leaned forward in her seat, her hands clasped together in her lap. The white skirt and short-sleeved jacket she’d changed into after their midday shower made her seem to glow faintly in the dark. In contrast, Charlie wore a silky black sleeveless blouse with her standard black pants and felt like she probably blended into the shadows almost too
well. With her hair smoothed back into a low ponytail and her only jewelry her silver earrings and Michael’s watch, she felt way too low-key for the flash that was Las Vegas.

“The killer didn’t take Giselle’s bracelet and scratch Destiny Sherman with it,” Charlie said. Since she still wasn’t able to make any sense of what the voice that was attached to Destiny’s body meant, she tucked that problem away to be worried over later. “It doesn’t fit with anything we know about him. In fact, I’m confident in saying that a woman made those scratches.”

“But who?” Lena’s eyes shone with intensity, making them as easy to see in the dark as her white outfit. “And
why
?”

“Maybe the women were forced into having some kind of cage match,” Buzz speculated aloud. “You know, like that last guy we caught pitted victims against each other.” He stared thoughtfully out the window with his fingers templed beneath his chin. “Maybe the match was with Giselle, and the loser—say, Destiny Sherman—got dumped.”

“If so, she got dumped
alive
,” Tony said. “And she had the bracelet. Doesn’t fit.”

“Unless she
took
the bracelet, and this guy thought she was dead when he dumped her,” Michael put in.

Charlie repeated that.

“We need to go over every moment of Destiny Sherman’s day on the day she disappeared,” Lena said.

“Crane and I talked to her mother.” Tony braked as they hit an intersection, looked both ways, and made another left. City lights were all around them now. The huge Technicolor glow that was the Strip lit up the near horizon like a rainbow among candles. “She said she hadn’t seen her daughter for a month. There’s a half-sister in town. We’ll talk to her tomorrow. Crane, did we get Destiny Sherman’s credit card records and bank statements in yet? They ought to help us track her movements that day.”

“Yeah, we—Uh, wait.” Buzz straightened in his seat, staring out the window. “Stop. Turn in here. Do you see what the name of that place is?”

They all looked where he was pointing.

A neon sign riding the roof of a long, low, warehouselike building said
Red, White, and Blue Club
. Under the peaked eave that rose above the entrance, a soaring eagle was picked out in deep yellow lights.

“Oh, my God,” Lena breathed.

“Tam,” Charlie said.

“Hellfire,” Michael muttered. A glance back showed Charlie that his arms had left the back of the seat. He was sitting up and frowning out the window just like the rest of them.

“Worth a look.” Tony yanked the wheel, and a moment later they were cruising the packed lot for a parking space.

“What is this place?” Lena asked as they got out. Seen up close, the one-story building looked as large as a strip mall.

“Busy,” Michael said at the same time as Buzz answered, “No clue.”

Two burly bouncers stationed outside the door had a better answer: it was a nightclub for military veterans, or serving military on leave. Tony flashed his credentials and they were allowed in. Raucous music and the smell of barbecue and beer were the first things to hit Charlie’s senses. The next thing she registered was that the place was dimly lit and the air-conditioning was cold. In one encompassing glance, she saw couples grinding together on a dance floor in the center of the room, waitresses in red, white, and blue sequined bikinis weaving in among the many dozens of small, candlelit tables set around the dance floor, a buffet, and a bar. Various displays on the walls were highlighted by spotlights, but Charlie was too far away to see what they featured. On top of the bar, g-string-clad women in cowboy hats and boots danced to the music.

Tony stopped a waitress and asked where to find the manager. The waitress pointed, and they all followed Tony to the bar.

It was a classic wooden bar with a mirrored wall behind it, long enough so that it required a dozen bartenders and accommodated half a dozen girls dancing on top of it. Patrons sat on bar stools or leaned up against it, and with Tony taking point they had to wedge their way through the crowd to reach the burly, gray-haired man behind the cash register. He was tall, with ruddy skin, uneven features,
and a slight paunch that his tucked-in white shirt and the green apron tied around his waist did nothing to conceal.

Once they reached him, Tony identified himself and showed his credentials.

“You’re the manager?” Tony half yelled to be heard over the music.

“
And
owner. Ed McGowan. What can I do for you?”

“I’d like to show you some pictures, ask if you’ve ever seen any of these women.”

McGowan nodded assent, and Tony turned to Lena. “Show him the pictures.”

Lena pulled out her cell phone and started showing him the victims’ pictures. She clicked through them one at a time, giving him ample time to look. Each time he shook his head.

“You’re that serial killer team that’s been all over TV today, aren’t you?” McGowan asked, his eyes sweeping over them when they were done. “Those the girls who were killed?”

“Yes, to both,” Tony answered. “Is there anything you can tell us about them?”

McGowan shook his head. “If they’ve ever been in here, I’ve never seen ’em. ’Course, it’s a big place, and we get a lot of people coming in and out. A new crowd every night.”

“Yeah.” Tony pulled out his card and handed it to McGowan. “If you think of something, would you give me a call?”

“Sure will.” McGowan tucked the card into his shirt pocket, then waved a hand at the buffet. “We got the best food in town, no joke. You folks are welcome to help yourselves. On the house.” He beckoned to a waitress. “Susan. Get them a table. Anything they want, it’s free.”

“Appreciate it,” Tony said. McGowan nodded and turned away to ring up a tab while the waitress, Susan, a pretty blonde with super-sized assets above a tiny waist, beckoned them to follow her and took off, weaving with practiced dexterity among the tables. The sparkle of her sequins made her easy to keep track of despite the gloom. “I was thinking fast food, but this would give us a chance to look around, see if there’s anything here we’re missing.”

“I could eat,” Buzz admitted.

Charlie’s stomach growled in agreement, and she realized that it was after ten p.m. and her last meal had been a drive-through hamburger hours before.

“We don’t have time to eat.” Lena’s voice was sharp. “We have to keep going.”

“We’ve talked about this, remember? We have to eat, and we have to sleep, or we’re not going to be able to do our jobs to the best of our ability,” Tony told her patiently. “Keep in mind that we’re not the only people working on this. The local agents and the local PD are on it, too. Everything that can be done is being done.”

Lena looked at him, then growled, “Fine,” and turned to follow the waitress. The rest of them fell in behind her. Susan showed them to a round six-top tucked into a corner, took their drink order, told them to help themselves to the buffet, and left.

The buffet featured down-home Southern food, with chicken wings, pulled pork barbecue, corn on the cob, green beans, and much more. Wishing vainly for a sweater as the brisk air-conditioning slid over her bare arms, Charlie filled a plate, then headed back toward the table. Staying close to her side, Michael was uncharacteristically silent. His face was absolutely unreadable as she sat down and he dropped into the chair next to her. She frowned at him, but before she could say anything Tony joined her. He was still standing, still putting his plate on the table as another arctic blast of air-conditioning hit her and she shivered.

“Cold?” He’d clearly seen her shiver, and she said, “A little.”

“Here.” Sliding out of his jacket, he walked around behind her and draped it over her shoulders. Glad of its warmth, she tugged the edges of the jacket closer and smiled up at him.

“Thank you.”

Feeling the steady regard of a pair of sky blue eyes, she glanced at Michael. His mouth had a sardonic twist to it, but he still didn’t say anything.

She frowned.

“Something wrong?” Tony sat down on her other side and looked at her with raised brows. She realized that he was referring to her frown.

“I’ve got the beginnings of a headache, is all.”

“You see something back there in the morgue?”

She shook her head. “I heard something. A woman’s voice. It seems to be attached to Destiny Sherman. I think it might belong to one of the victims. She basically says, Please don’t kill me, and then she screams.”

Tony looked at her for a moment longer as she sipped the iced tea the waitress had brought while they were at the buffet. Then he reached over and took her hand in his, careful to avoid the Band-Aid that protected her injured finger. His felt strong and warm. Hers, she knew, felt icy.
She
felt icy. Icy enough to shiver inside Tony’s too big and very warm jacket.

“When we get through with this investigation, I’m going to take you out to dinner to the fanciest place around and we’re not going to talk about serial killers or murder victims or anything but how beautiful you are and how much I’m enjoying getting to know you.” Tony’s voice was low and intimate. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it, then looked at her steadily over it. His lean jaw was dark with five o’clock shadow and his eyes were intent on her face and his shoulders did a nice job of filling out his white shirt and all in all he was looking seriously handsome. Unfortunately, her heart didn’t speed up. Her pulse didn’t race. The brush of Tony’s lips against her skin had been pleasant, but nothing more. The reason, of course, was sprawled in the chair beside her. She felt Michael’s eyes on her, but he still wasn’t talking and she refused to look at him. If she did, her eyes would probably blaze something like
You are ruining my life
at him. If it weren’t for the twist of cosmic fate that had foisted him on her, she absolutely already would have embarked on a romance with Tony, who was just exactly the kind of man she was looking for. “We’re going to talk about the weather. About the TV shows you like to watch. About our hobbies.” Tony kissed her hand again, sighed, and let it go. “But for now, tell me what the damned voice said. Before Crane and Kaminsky join us.”