His Garden of Bones (Skye Cree Book 4) (7 page)

Skimming the yard, Skye’s eyes darted back and forth. She quickly located the little card sticking up out of the bouquet. Snatching it up, she slipped it out of its miniature envelope, read the message.
Hope these flowers grown from my own garden brighten your
dreary day.

Okay, so no threat exactly, more like an implied ‘shove it in your face’ act. So they weren’t from Josh, or from any florist in town, but from the same sick bastard who’d cut up three young women.

She called to Kiya and Atka and dashed back into the kitchen, leaving the floral arrangement where it sat and flipping the lock on the door behind her.

She went to the wall phone to place a call to Harry then decided to text him instead.

Got flowers from our killer.

She had to wait ten minutes for a response.

How the hell did he know where you lived? Don’t touch them or go near them until I get there.

She didn’t have the heart to tell him that ship had already sailed so she simply texted the word “okay” and left it at that. Better to tell him in person she’d already handled the card.

If her head ached for a caffeine fix before, it morphed into migraine status now. Trying her best to keep her emotions intact, she strolled to the coffee machine, got busy with the ordinary task of brewing a cup.

While she waited for the machine to do its work, she fed the animals, then
cracked eggs for an omelet. She dragged out veggies—scallions and spinach—and used the cutting board and the sharp knife to dice and slice. She whipped up the mixture before dumping it into a skillet. Letting it simmer until it was ready to fold over, she slid the eggs onto a plate.

While she devoured her way through the entire dish, she booted up her laptop to research “black” flowers. She discovered they weren’t black at all, but rather vibrant purple in color and only appeared black depending on the variety of flower. When gardeners got the urge to experiment with the color black, they did it with plenty of dogged determination. Sometimes it took years to roll out a black rose, a lily, a tulip, or a hollyhock. During her search she found a picture of an orchid so dark in color it looked like a bat with whiskers. It seemed throughout the gardening world black flowers were considered “the
death flower.”

Skye would have to agree. Coupled with the fact the killer sent a dahlia, a black one at that, it meant the guy had gotten his macabre missive across in spades.

At the sound of a car pulling into the driveway, Kiya and Atka raced toward the living room. She bounded up out of the chair to follow them into the front room. Thinking she’d be there to greet Harry, she was shocked to see Josh’s car rolling up the driveway. She heard the garage door open and went on alert. How had the killer managed to commandeer Josh’s Fusion out of airport parking?

Whoa. She took a deep, calming breath, knowing full well she needed to get a better handle on things, namely her imagination. It was working double time. She scrubbed a hand over her face. Of course it had to be Josh sitting behind the wheel and driving his own vehicle. As the car made its way into the garage, she sent a text to Josh’s phone.
Where are you exactly?

A few seconds later, the door to the laundry room opened and she heard a familiar voice say, “Hey, honey, I’m home.”

The canines went wild. Skye sprinted through the kitchen and saw Josh’s grin first, then his arms full of luggage and shopping bags. Without waiting for him to free up his hands, she jumped into his body, causing him to lose his hold on the stuff he carried. The force knocked him back a step. She wrapped him up and began to plant kisses on his face.

Kiya and Atka were almost as exuberant with their wet snouts and tongues.

“Are you trying to scare me? Why didn’t you call and let me know you were coming home early?” Skye ranted in between kisses.

“I should definitely go out of town more often. I wanted to surprise you. Looks like I did. Plus, I knew what you’d say. You’d tell me not to bother. But it looks like you’re happier to see me than I thought you’d be.”

Looking into his calm, silver-gray eyes she took hold of his chin. “Of course I’m happy to see you. Why wouldn’t I be? I’m so glad you’re home. What’s all this stuff?”

“I picked up a few souvenirs.” He dug in one of the sacks and brought out a twelve-inch replica of the Statue of Liberty made out of pewter.

The cheap knockoff made her laugh. “I’d say the street vendor outside the Marriott saw you coming.”

“That’s what Leo said.”

She held up the statue, tested the weight. “At least it isn’t plastic. We’ll give it a treasured spot on the mantle.”

The doorbell rang. “That’ll be Harry, I hope,” she said as she darted off to answer it. “Come on, you’ll want to hear this.”

“What’s Harry doing here? This is about that crime scene, isn’t it?” Josh shouted to Skye’s back. To get his answer, he followed her into the other room.

As soon as Harry walked through the door Atka pounced. Surprised to see Josh at home, Harry tried to ward off the energetic puppy while at the same time holding out his hand in greeting to Josh.

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be in New York?”

“Came home to surprise my wife. What are you doing here?” Josh asked, taking hold of Atka’s collar and pulling the dog away from the detective.

“How’d you get the news so fast that we have another serial killer on the loose? What do you think about the guy sending Skye flowers while she took a nap?”

Josh sent his wife a hard look. “You might’ve mentioned the serial killer this morning when we talked.”

“Oh, come on, you had a hunch there was something going on that’s why you came back early.” She lifted a shoulder and took his hand in hers. “There’s no need to be mad at me. I didn’t level with you because—”

“She didn’t want you to worry,” Harry finished.

“I admit the flowers did freak me out a little.”

Josh angled his head to plant a kiss on Skye’s forehead. “We’ll discuss your willingness to level with me later. Where are they, the flowers?”

“Here’s the note that came with them,” Skye acknowledged, handing it to Josh. That’s when it occurred to her. “How come Atka didn’t have a fit when the guy brought these into the backyard? That dog normally kicks up a fuss when she spots the mailman. Look how she attacked Harry. Why didn’t she bark and wake me up?”

“I was about to point that out. Maybe she did but you were so exhausted you didn’t hear a thing.” Josh read the brief one-line message and shook his head. “It isn’t exactly a declaration of war, is it?”

While they debated the tone of the note, Harry watched them pass it back and forth, and grumbled, “How many times do I have to tell you not to touch that damn thing? You both should know better. It’s evidence.”

“Sorry. Too late,” she admitted, leading the way into the kitchen. “It’s probably okay because a guy like this isn’t going to make stupid mistakes by leaving his DNA or prints on anything.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he’s a genius, a serial killer just thought you needed cheering up and decided to do something about it. He took a lot of risks by coming here to our home,” Josh remarked, his comments laced with irritation. “Let’s see this flower arrangement.”

“There. On the patio table outside.”

Josh opened the door and got his first look at the black dahlias. He turned back to Skye. “I hate to point this out to you but the Black Dahlia got chopped up into pieces and someone left the body parts in a field. You ask me, I think this guy’s meaning is crystal clear. How did he know you were helping Harry this soon into the case anyway?”

She went into the details about what she’d found at the shopping center and the condition of Lisa’s remains. She reminded him about the Montague and Dinsmore cases and the particulars of those two victims. “That means you’re pretty much up to speed now, except that I did get this vibe from the crime scene this morning that maybe the killer watched us the entire time we were there in the parking lot.”

Harry’s eyebrows popped up. “You didn’t mention that.”

“Now you know how I feel,” Josh quipped. But the humor faded when he let the facts of each case sink in. Even the hard edge he’d developed over the past two years slipped slightly at knowing how the young women must’ve suffered. “Just when you think you’ve seen sick and twisted, someone else comes along and tops the list. Cutting out their breast implants is a cruel, sadistic bent. Add to that, he not only sees you at the crime scene but now he knows where you live.”

Josh started to pace, the wolf instincts inside beginning to kick in. He wandered the room to help him sort out his thoughts. “Let’s see how fast we can catch this perverted bastard.”

“Agreed, even though the holidays are approaching fast. Our killer could go out of town or go cold. Either way, we have our work cut out for us.” Skye squinted at Harry. “You know we’ll have to go through the database at the foundation to see if there are other victims out there that fit the pattern, maybe girls who’ve fallen through the cracks.”

“I believe I’d remember any reports where a victim had her breast implants removed,” Harry pointed out. “And so would Roger Bayliss. The coroner might be difficult to deal with, but he’s as thorough as they come. Bayliss keeps up with what’s happening in other jurisdictions, always has. Besides, there were no serial numbers on that implant we found to trace back to a surgeon.”

Skye’s brow creased. “Really? That’s odd. Why not? That has to be significant.”

Harry stopped short. “Maybe because it was three in the morning that fact didn’t resonate with me like it should have. If I’d been thinking clearer, I’d have asked Bayliss about it then. Buy hey, that’s one more reason I’m getting too old for this job.”

She patted Harry’s back in a sympathetic gesture. “No need to beat yourself up. I was pretty wiped myself. We know it now and that’s what matters.”

“Isn’t that against medical regulations? Using implants without serial numbers?” Josh asked.

“You bet. Those numbers are there to keep track of them in the event of problems, leaks, that sort of thing, so doctors have a way of making patients aware of the issues.”

Picking up the issue, Josh tossed out a few facts. “Implants are treated just like other medical devices—cardiac defibrillators, pacemakers, shunts, rods and screws used in spinal surgeries. They all have serial numbers.”

“Maybe Lisa’s were from a foreign manufacturer. No serial numbers means they’re running under the radar.”

Josh frowned and shook his head. “Even foreign manufacturers maintain reputable standards, or should. Maybe we should focus on the ones that don’t.” He looked long and hard at Harry. “Let’s go back to something you mentioned earlier. You found no other notifications from other law enforcement agencies or jurisdictions about this type victim anywhere else nearby, correct?”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“Then why these three? What’s unique about them? That’s the question,” Josh reasoned as he continued to roam the room. “What was special about Montague, Dinsmore, and Williams? Did they have the same hair coloring? Same color eyes? Do each of these women fit a type?”

Skye shook her head. “They were dissimilar in looks. Montague was more like a dishwater blonde, Dinsmore a variation of a redhead, and Williams had black hair with purple streaks in it. You know, the way some women dye their hair in bright shades to set themselves apart from the norm. The day Lisa went missing, however, she exhibited what could only be considered a much more conservative style than what I saw this morning.”

Josh jingled the loose change in his pockets and pondered what that meant. “Okay, so he doesn’t look for a ‘type’ per se. He concentrates on opportunity and availability. After hiding these three victims for years, he brings them out in the open, casts them off where he’s sure they’ll be found. Why? What do we know about each victim? Harry?”

“I emailed Skye the files with the particulars two weeks ago. She should have them in her inbox.”

“I can do better than that. I emailed them to myself and printed them out.” Skye crossed over to a desk in the corner of the kitchen, a workstation she used for such things when she was at home, and retrieved several manila folders from the drawer. She flipped through the folders gathering data. “According to their autopsies, all three were Caucasian. Carrie Montague was five-six, weighed one-twenty. Taylor Dinsmore five-three, weighed ninety pounds. Lisa Williams, five-five, weighed one-fourteen. No traits in common except for race and gender—different hair colors, different heights. So I’d say you’re right, Josh. No pattern as to type.”

About that time Harry’s cell phone rang. The detective listened to what was obviously the medical examiner calling. Harry repeated the conversation word for word for the benefit of Skye and Josh. “Bayliss says there were no traces of semen on Lisa Williams. But she did show signs she went through childbirth, and not recently. Maybe eighteen months ago. That’s a guess. Wherever Lisa was held during the four years she was gone, she gave birth there.”

“That’s a sad and disturbing thought.”

As soon as Harry hung up, the discussion between Josh and Skye took off in that direction.

“Could that have been his purpose? He wanted offspring and that’s why the other girls were discarded because they didn’t comply?”