Insatiable Desire (13 page)
Had her vision been of another girl dying instead of Sadie Sue?
“What’s wrong, Clarissa? Aren’t you glad that Sadie Sue is safe?”
She bit her lip. “Yes, of course.”
“What do you know about this guy Hadley Crane?”
Clarissa shrugged. “He’s a little odd, keeps to himself. I think he might have suffered a head injury when he was young. As a teenager his mother sent him away for a few months. Rumors were that he had a breakdown.” She paused. “Of course, I don’t always listen to rumors.”
His gaze caught hers. “Meaning there were rumors about me?”
“Yeah, but there were ones about me, too.”
He nodded. “Kids can be cruel.”
Again she felt that connection with him as she had as a child.
Then the moment passed, and he was back to business. “You sense any bad vibes from Crane?”
“You mean, do I think he’s dangerous?”
“Yes.”
She contemplated her answer. “Not really. I’ve heard he takes medication to control his mood swings, but I don’t think he’s bright enough to orchestrate these murders without leaving evidence behind.”
He nodded and lapsed into silence.
But she was curious about where Vincent had been during the years after he’d left Eerie. “What made you decide to join the FBI?”
His fingers tightened around the steering wheel. “I like to track killers.”
“You were in the military before?”
“Yeah, after juvy.”
She laid her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I heard the foster homes didn’t work out.”
He shrugged off her hand and concern. “Couldn’t blame them for not wanting a kid like me.”
“You deserved better,” Clarissa said.
His jaw tightened as he maneuvered a winding curve and veered onto the road that led to Eloise’s house.
“Let’s drop it and concentrate on finding out what happened to these girls. That is what you want, isn’t it?”
Confusion muddled her brain, yet the whisper of the dead girls’ pleas for help reverberated in her head, and she nodded. “Yes.”
The remainder of the ride passed in strained silence. He’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in her personally.
She had to accept it and forget that she was attracted to him.
All that mattered was that he stop this killer.
Her grandmother had said that the demon could possess a body.
But whose had he taken?
M
rs. Canton, can you think of anyone who would want to hurt Tracy?” Vincent asked.
Although the temperature in the small unair-conditioned house had climbed to at least a hundred, she cradled a cup of hot tea in her hands as if they needed warming. “No, everyone loved Tracy. She was a sweetheart.”
Clarissa hovered close to Eloise as if she thought the woman might need protection from Vincent. The realization irked him, although he didn’t understand the reason. “Was Tracy dating anyone?”
“Not that I know of.” She blew on the steam rising from the mug. “Although a while back, she went out with that boy Lamont Franklin. He’s a bartender over at Six Feet Under.” She pursed her lips in disapproval. “I never did like him much. He and his mama were pure heathens, didn’t believe in going to church.”
“Did Tracy have a journal or diary?”
She shook her head. “No, not since she was a little girl.”
They talked for a few more minutes, but the woman had nothing more to offer. She loved her daughter, thought she was perfect, and repeatedly expressed disbelief that anyone would hurt her. Finally he thanked her, and he and Clarissa left.
“Where is this place, Six Feet Under?”
“Beside the graveyard on the edge of town.”
Why was he not surprised? The diner was named Hell’s Kitchen; they had a bar overlooking a cemetery.
“Let’s stop by and see if that real estate developer is back in town. He owned Tracy’s apartment complex. Then we’ll head to the bar.”
She nodded and gave him directions, and a few minutes later they stopped at the man’s office in the square.
“Simon Thorone,” the man said as he shook Vincent’s hand. “What can I do for you?”
Thorone was in his thirties, five-eleven, medium built, neat hair, wore a sport coat and tie, and his briefcase overflowed with paperwork, files, and blueprints. Seemed legitimate. Nothing stood out as suspicious.
Vincent explained about the investigation and listed the dates of the victims’ deaths. “Where were you on each of these dates?”
Thorone consulted his PDA and showed it to Vincent. “I’ve been out of town for two weeks. Here’s my schedule.”
“You have others who can verify you were with them?”
“A boardroom full,” Thorone said. He whirled around to his computer, printed out the list, and handed it to Vincent. “You can contact the names on this list and they’ll confirm what I just said.”
Vincent nodded and took the list. The man’s confidence either was a show or he was telling the truth.
“What did you think?” Clarissa asked as they climbed in the car and headed to the bar.
Vincent shrugged. “I’ll verify his story.”
“I don’t think he did it,” Clarissa said. “I didn’t sense anything evil about him. Except that he might be making a mint off some of his property.”
Vincent didn’t bother to comment as he made the turn to the bar and parked. The wooden building was a renovated garage, and inside the furnishings were rustic, mostly wooden chairs and picnic-style tables. A few patrons were scattered throughout. Hushed whispers and stares followed them as he made his way to the counter. A short Native American woman with a single braid that hung to her hips greeted him.
He flashed his ID. “I’m looking for Lamont Franklin.”
She gestured toward the steps. “He’s working the rooftop bar.”
Vincent strode upstairs, a hand at Clarissa’s back as she preceded him. The sun had faded, and amazingly, a light breeze ruffled the treetops. Two truckers sat at a table sipping beer and eating burgers, while a young couple shared French fries and tapped their feet to the country tune wailing through the sound system.
Lamont Franklin was midtwenties, around five-eight, and thin, with a tattoo of a snake on his upper arm. His shaggy brown hair brushed his collar, and his beady eyes raked over Clarissa as she approached, as if she was a tall drink of water that he wanted to sip badly.
“What can I get you?”
Vincent propped his hip against the counter. “Some information.”
Lamont scowled. “Gotta order if you want answers.”
Vincent narrowed his eyes. “Scotch, straight up.”
Clarissa smiled. “I’ll have a glass of merlot.”
Lamont grinned at Clarissa. “How about food? We make a mean venison burger.”
Vincent ordered one, while Clarissa chose a chicken sandwich and fries. Then they claimed a table facing the cemetery beneath a giant oak. Several patrons had carved initials into it, announcing they were couples. Vincent almost laughed at the ridiculousness. Love and happily-ever-after did not exist, not in his world.
They sipped their drinks silently, and when Lamont brought their food, Clarissa introduced him. “Lamont, this is Special Agent Vincent Valtrez. He’s investigating the deaths in the area.”
Lamont shifted on the balls of his feet. “Yeah?”
Vincent sipped the scotch. “Tell me about you and Tracy Canton.”
His face contorted. “Tracy? God, I heard about her murder. That was awful.”
“Where were you the night she died?” Vincent asked.
“Working till two. Ask Nina downstairs. We closed together.”
“What happened between you and Tracy?”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “We went out a couple of times, but her old lady trashed me so much Tracy dumped me.”
“So you were serious about her?” Clarissa asked.
He hung the cloth over his shoulder. “Could have been. But hey, she ain’t the only chick around.”
“Bet you were pissed when she broke it off,” Vincent said.
Lamont frowned at him as if recognizing the underlying accusation. “Not enough to kill her, man. No chick is worth that.”
“So you’re not a violent kind of guy?”
He twisted his mouth sideways. “Well, I wouldn’t run from a fight, but I don’t go around starting them, either.”
“Do you know anyone who’d want to hurt her?” Vincent asked.
“No.”
“Did she date anyone after you?”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Actually, I saw her with that deputy a couple of times.”
Clarissa’s eyes widened in surprise. Suspicion roused its ugly head inside Vincent. Bluster hadn’t mentioned he’d been involved with one of the victims. Maybe the reason he didn’t want Vincent asking questions.
“What was Tracy most afraid of?” Clarissa cut in.
Vincent shot her a warning look, willing her to let him conduct the interrogation, but she ignored him.
“I don’t know, but she passed out at the sight of blood. I cut my hand one time on a glass, and she dropped like a rock.” One of the truckers waved that he wanted a refill, and Lamont motioned that he had to get back to work.
Vincent drained his scotch. “Let us know if you think of anything else.”
Lamont nodded, then hurried away, and Vincent dug in to his food.
“Lamont knew her greatest fear, but I don’t think he hurt her,” she said as she plucked a French fry from her plate.
“One of your
feelings
?”
“Sort of,” Clarissa said quietly. “He just didn’t seem that broken up about her. And I’ve heard he dates a lot.” She paused. “But I still think the killer struck again.”
He clenched his jaw. “Look, Clarissa, I know you’re trying to help here.”
“But you don’t believe me.”
“I’m not sure what to believe at this point.”
She sighed. “I know this sounds crazy. My grandmother told me that a new leader is rising to take over the underworld. And that other demons have surfaced to steal souls to please him. I think that’s what’s happening now.”
His gaze met hers, dark and filled with doubts.
But she forged ahead. “She also said that he might have possessed a human’s body. So he could be here among us.”
He grunted, and she quieted. The killer was some kind of human monster, someone who was cruel and violent like his father had been, someone in town, someone they trusted. But who?
A demon?
Even though he’d seen his father throw fire with his hands, he couldn’t quite believe it. Because believing his father was a demon, not just a human monster, meant that he was one, too.
He contemplated the possibility while they finished eating, then paid the bill. Clarissa caught his arm as they settled in his SUV, and heat scalded him, sending his senses tingling with arousal. “What are you thinking, Vincent?”
That she shouldn’t touch him. That his resistance toward her was waning.
“I’m going to confirm Bo Bennett’s alibi, then stop at the Bare-It-All to question the bartender and waitresses.”
She pursed her lips. “You’re going to Sadie Sue, aren’t you?”
So what if he was? Maybe he’d sate himself with her tonight so he could finally get some sleep without being plagued with fantasies about fucking Clarissa. “What better way for a sicko to hunt for women than a place like that?”
“Tracy, Jamie, and Billie Jo didn’t go to that bar. He wouldn’t have met them there.”
“But some of the girls might know something. Maybe they’ve had experience with a stranger or someone who’s violent toward women. Someone they saw as a threat. Even a man who bragged about killing.”
Clarissa’s vision blurred with images of the ones who’d passed as she glanced across the cemetery by the bar before they pulled away. While they ate, she’d struggled to drown out the tortured cries, but the skeletal bodies had floated across the parched grass with outstretched brittle fingers and sightless eyes.
Billie Jo’s, Jamie’s, and now Tracy’s spirits were wavering, clinging to the realm between the dark and light, yet not ready to cross into the light. Yet she’d also noticed a black aura floating around them—Satan had sent his soldiers to steal them over to his side.
She couldn’t let him win this war.
Lost in thought, she spent the drive back to the police station with her nerves on edge. She contemplated telling Vincent about the aura, but she’d also noticed it around him on that rooftop, and she’d held her tongue. He wasn’t ready to believe in demons. And maybe she wouldn’t accept the possibility so easily if she hadn’t seen ghosts all her life.
He parked beside her car just as the deputy pulled up and climbed out.
“Thanks for the ride,” Clarissa said. “Let me know if you get any leads.”
Vincent nodded and stepped from the car, then turned to confront Tim.
“Why didn’t you mention that you’d dated Tracy Canton?” Vincent asked.
Bluster’s eyes turned to glaciers. “I only went out with her twice, four months ago. Didn’t think it was relevant.”
“Or maybe you withheld information because you didn’t want to be treated as a suspect.” Vincent inched closer to him. “The girls around here would certainly trust you if you showed up at their door. Wouldn’t hesitate to accept a ride from you or to invite you inside their homes.”
“You’re barking up the wrong tree, Valtrez.” Bluster reared back as if he might hit Vincent, but Clarissa caught his arm.
“Don’t, Tim.” She turned to Vincent. “Maybe you’d better go, Vincent.”
“If you’re hiding anything else, Bluster, I’ll find out.”
“You’d better watch your back, Valtrez,” Bluster shouted as Vincent climbed in his car. Clarissa held Tim back, trying to calm him as Vincent drove away.
But she wondered why Tim hadn’t mentioned he’d dated Tracy. If that was the reason he didn’t want Vincent around. And if he’d hidden his relationship with her, what else could he be hiding?
Vincent ignored Bluster’s warning as he drove away. He wasn’t afraid of the shithead deputy.
And if he found out he was killing these girls, he’d take care of him personally.
But he hated leaving the man with Clarissa. Like the other girls in town, she obviously trusted the guy.
Which would make it easy for him to catch her off guard and attack.
Curious and on edge, he phoned McLaughlin.
