Lisa Jackson's Bentz & Montoya Bundle: Hot Blooded, Cold Blooded, Shiver, Absolute Fear, Lost Souls, Malice, & an Exclusive Extended Excerpt From Devious (166 page)

“This isn’t the way it was,” Eve said in surprise, explaining how she’d used the ladder to gain access to the building through a partially opened window.

“The ladder was down. I used it too,” Cole continued as he stared upward to the window. “Now the window’s closed too. We didn’t shut it.”

“You’re certain?”

“Absolutely.” Eve shaded her eyes as she looked upward at the red bricks and mortar. “Yesterday, when I was looking down from the attic through a hole in the floor, I saw a shadow in Faith’s room, one I couldn’t explain.”

Montoya rubbed the back of his neck. “What hole? What shadow? I don’t get it.”

“You will,” Cole said. “Let’s go inside.”

They circled the building but found no other open windows. They stopped at the marble steps at the front of the building while Bentz found a key that unlocked the dead bolts on the main doors.

He switched on his flashlight and Montoya and Eve followed suit with their own flashlights. Trepidation was Eve’s companion as she once again stepped into the decay and gloom that was the abandoned asylum. Immediately her skin crinkled, raising goose bumps though the temperature inside had to be nearly eighty. The policemen, too, became more somber as they shined their beams over the reception area and hallways.

“Your father worked here,” Bentz stated. “Did he have an office?”

She pointed in the general direction. “But there’s nothing in it. I looked yesterday.”

“Show us.”

Eve led them to the small area her father had used for his counseling sessions and paperwork. Bentz searched the room while Montoya swept the beam of his flashlight around the small maze of rooms. “He was in office number one?”

“I think it was reserved for the chief psychiatrist.”

She pointed out the other rooms: one for examinations, another for accounting, still another for the clergy, and then larger areas for the nursing and housekeeping staffs.

“What about the basement?”

“It was used for alternative treatments.”

“Such as?”

“There were operating rooms and padded cells and rooms where electroshock therapy was administered.” She met the questions in Bentz’s eyes. “Some treatments seem barbaric and demeaning now, but they were widely accepted when the hospital was open.” Eve heard a defensive note creep into her voice, but she didn’t like even the least little intimation that her father, as head of the hospital psychiatric staff for years, had done anything the least bit inappropriate.

“You intimated there was something else,” Bentz said. “A reason we had to come here?”

“In the attic,” Eve confirmed, leading the way. She couldn’t help glancing away as they passed the stained-glass window of the Madonna at the landing, an intricate piece of craftsmanship that for some reason had sustained no damage over the years.

They trooped silently upward, the steps creaking under their weight. On the third floor they paused briefly at the open door to room 307, illuminating the hideous discoloration on the floor with the beams of their flashlights.

Montoya took one look at the large bloodstain and said something harsh under his breath before turning to Eve. “So the attic? How do you get there?”

“This way.” She showed them to the linen closet with its door hidden behind the chimney, unlocked the latch, explaining how she and Roy had played up in the attic as children, that they had a “fort” complete with books and toys.

They climbed the attic stairs single file. At the top she paused, took a deep breath, then told them about the doll.

Bentz couldn’t believe his ears. “You pulled me off a murder investigation to look at a mutilated doll?” he said in disbelief.

“And Faith Chastain’s file. There are also other patient files in the cabinet up here. I thought they might have information useful in your investigation.”

“Legally they’re off-limits,” he reminded her. He was irritated. None of this was good. Why had he let himself believe this trip had some merit?

“Where’s this doll?” Montoya asked.

“Over in the corner by the window.” Ducking under the overhanging rafters, Eve steeled herself as she turned her flashlight toward the spot where yesterday she’d discovered the sleeping bag and doll.

The beam crawled over the ancient floorboards, past an old bookshelf, to the sleeping bag.

But the doll was gone.

And in its place was the half-dressed, bloodied body of a nun.

“My God,” Montoya breathed.

Eve stared then let out a keening scream. “No. Oh please God, no!” she wailed, her voice hoarse with desperation as it rose to the rafters of the dusty attic.

Cole was at her side in an instant, his arm around her, his gaze locked on the grisly, brutal scene before him. Clinging to him, Eve couldn’t quit staring at the horror of this dark attic. Where once there had been a hideously mutilated doll, there was now a real woman lying in the same position she’d found the Charlotte doll. Facedown, knife wounds on her body, her habit bunched up around her waist, her panties pulled down.

Bentz and Montoya rushed to the woman then paused. Neither of them touched her, as she was clearly dead.

“That bastard knew we were here,” Eve said shakily. “He was in Faith’s room, I know it…. And…and he called me, right before you showed up,” she said, pressing her cheek to Cole’s chest.

“You got a call from him?” Montoya’s head snapped her way.

“Yesterday, on my cell…yes.” She was trembling now, partly out of fury, partly out of sheer terror. “He was taunting me, letting me know that he was watching.” Her skin crawled to think he’d been so near.

Her knees threatened to turn to mush, but Cole supported her, holding her tight.

“That’s the way the doll was positioned yesterday,” Cole told Bentz. “Except that there were red slash marks in felt pen, just like the stab wounds on this woman’s body. And the number…four hundred and forty-four was marked across the doll’s belly. Eve’s name was scratched in capital letters a little bit lower, across the doll’s lower abdomen.”

“Charlotte…my doll’s hat had been taken off, and her hair had been cut too,” Eve added, staring at the nun’s nicked and tufted head. Nearby, stained red, lay her wimple, coif, and veil.

Bentz leaned closer to the corpse, his eyes examining the body before he shot a look back at Montoya. “Call this in and tell the guy at the front gate to let no one inside except the police. Shit.” He rocked back on his heels, and his Adam’s apple worked as he swallowed hard. “Looks like we just found the missing nun.”

CHAPTER 24

B
entz stood outside the hospital, his stomach roiling, his thoughts black as night while the sweat rolled beneath the neck of his T-shirt. The sun was high in the sky, its heavy heat merciless, the humidity inching toward a hundred percent. A crime-scene crew had already started processing the scene, and yellow tape was strung around the hospital grounds.

Again.

Two nuns killed, their bodies tattooed and arranged in a posed position.

A signature killer?

Maybe, but some things didn’t make sense.

Didn’t follow the rules.

Serial killers usually stayed within the bounds of race. They usually chose a gender. There was usually time between the killings.

Usually, usually, usually.

“Our boy’s upping his game,” Montoya said as he lit the cigarette he’d bummed from one of the uniforms on the scene. “Escalating.” He inhaled deeply then breathed out, twin jets of smoke curling from his nostrils.

“It’s more than the usual thing, not just some creep getting his rocks off by killing a random woman,” Bentz said. “This guy has specific victims.”

“And he marks them with specific numbers. Tattoos them, for Christ’s sake.”

“We need to check all the local dealers of tattooing supplies.”

“Already done. Zaroster’s on it,” Montoya said, hazarding a glance to the roped-off area in front of the gates where Eve Renner in her arm sling and Cole Dennis stood next to her Camry.

Bentz shielded his eyes. The press hadn’t been ten minutes behind Montoya’s call to the station, and all of the people who’d been fascinated with what had happened at the convent before were now parked outside the hospital. Sickos, every one of them.

Then there were the Feds. Taking charge. Which was fine with Bentz. Let the FBI use its resources and work with local crime enforcement. The Feds added a new perspective, and though a few of the agents rankled him, so what. There were cops in his own department that aggravated the crap out of him as well. “The videographer’s taping the crowd, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” Bentz wanted to make certain that anyone found hanging around every crime scene was identified and investigated. His eyes searched the crowd, looking for someone who just couldn’t stay away, who felt compelled to be there. His gaze landed on Kristi. Oh hell! She was talking into a handheld tape player and had obviously blown off work for the day. Hadn’t she told him this was the case she was going to use to write her ridiculous true-crime book?

As if she sensed him staring at her, she looked his way. This time she made eye contact and waved.

He tapped his watch, indicating that she should get her butt to work. She shrugged, ignoring his attempt at fatherly advice.

Crap.

Muttering under his breath, Bentz reached into his pocket, found one last antacid, tossed it into his mouth.

“So, what do you think about the missing doll? You buy it?” Montoya asked.

“Why lie?” Bentz countered. “Why take us up to the attic? I don’t think they were bullshitting us.”

“So where’s the doll—Charlotte, isn’t that what she called her?”

“Beats me.”

“Could be a story, though.”

Bentz gave him a look.

“The numbers didn’t jibe,” Montoya pointed out. “According to Dennis and Renner the doll was supposed to be scribbled on in red ink. 444. But our nun, Sister Viv, she’s got 323 tattooed onto her forehead, same as the number written in blood on the wall with her finger. No 444 in sight.” He sucked hard on his cigarette again, the tip glowing in the reflection of his sunglasses.

“The doll was supposed to have ‘Eve’ written on her as well.”

“
If
the damned thing existed.”

“The missing doll doesn’t bother me as much as the missing files.”

“Humph.” Montoya took a final drag and tossed the cigarette butt onto the concrete then crushed it with the toe of his boot. They’d discovered no other files in the attic. “Maybe they didn’t exist either.”

“We’ve got Faith Chastain’s folder. It exists.”

“That could have come from anywhere. Maybe Dennis stole it from Terrence Renner’s house the night he was killed and just didn’t bother to return it with the laptop. Or maybe it was at Eve’s place all along. That house was owned by her grandparents, her father’s family. Terrence Renner had lived and visited there, maybe not for a while, but the file’s twenty years old. Who knows where Eve dug it up. We only know where she
says
she found it.”

“Her key fit into the lock of the cabinet.”

“The
empty
cabinet. Big deal.” Montoya wasn’t impressed.

“Dennis and Renner insist it was full the day before.”

“So our guy, the doer, besides killing two people and hauling one from Baton Rouge to here, took the time to clean up. Not only did he swipe the doll, he took all the files from the file cabinet. Why? Cuz his name is in the cabinet?”

“Or something connecting the crimes to him.”

“Maybe he was hoping to take Faith’s file.”

“Then why take the others?” Bentz asked.

“You tell me,” Montoya said tensely.

“Maybe he couldn’t find Faith’s,” Bentz allowed. “Panicked, figured it might be misfiled and didn’t have time to search.”

“So he takes everything inside? In what? Boxes? Bags? Who is this guy? Supermover? Where did he park? Close enough to haul those files to his vehicle? Then, after everything else, he takes the time to cover his tracks, close windows, and make sure the ladder’s back up on the fire escape? I don’t buy it.” Montoya ran a hand through his glossy black hair and glared at Cole and Eve. “Besides, I still don’t trust Cole Dennis. He may not be the doer this time, but he’s holding back. I just know it.”

“
She
seems to trust him now.” Bentz was watching Cole and Eve. They were deep in a confab, talking, glancing up at the hospital then over at him, waiting for their cue to leave. “I called South General. They were there last night. Together.”

“So what’s that all about? After being a prime witness in Roy Kajak’s death, now she sleeps with Dennis? After being convinced that the son of a bitch nearly killed her?”

Bentz shook his head, swatting at a horsefly that was buzzing near his head. “Don’t know, but I think we should find out.”

“No shit.”

Eve slept for hours.

Cole had brought her back to her house and, over her protests, given her some of the pain medication the ER doctor at South General had prescribed then insisted that she rest. She’d been certain sleep would prove elusive, as her headache had returned and her shoulder had throbbed mercilessly. She was shaken to her core, her mind filled with spinning, disjointed, and terrifying images of a dark red bloodstain, the missing and mutilated doll, and Sister Vivian’s posed, bloodied corpse with its hideous tattoo.

She and Cole had talked to the police, including an agent from the FBI, given statements at the station, and tried to come up with every bit of information they possessed. Eve had been asked about her father over and over again, the police intimating that he’d not only had a drinking problem but might have used self-prescribed drugs. They’d asked about her childhood, about Roy and her relationship with him. They’d wanted to know what names she’d seen on the missing files and if she remembered anyone from the list she’d pulled together. Then they’d zeroed in on her sex life, bringing up, once again, the man she couldn’t name, the man whose sperm was found swimming in her vagina, a man she’d been with only a few hours after sleeping with Cole.

The interview had been exhausting. She’d been separated from Cole, and he too had been questioned relentlessly, to the point he’d even asked if he needed to call his lawyer.

She’d seen Van and Kyle at the station as well, though she hadn’t spoken to them. They too had been questioned.

In the end, when the police had been convinced Eve and Cole had nothing more to tell, they’d been allowed to leave. Eve had taken Cole to pick up his Jeep. Then they’d reconvened at the house, where Eve’s energy had dissipated to zero.

By the time she’d lain down, it was midafternoon; now it was after eight in the evening, and her stomach growled from lack of food, which was a good sign.

She headed downstairs, where the lamps were lit and Cole was seated at the kitchen table, head bent over scads of yellow sheets from a legal pad he’d found somewhere. He glanced up at the sound of her footsteps, and a smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. “Ah, look, Sleeping Beauty has awakened,” he said to Samson, the traitor, who was curled happily in his lap.

She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror and shuddered. “Maybe Sleeping Ugly is a better description.”

He laughed and pushed back his chair, the cat scrambling to the floor. “Never.”

“Close enough,” she said ruefully, self-consciously touching her short hair. It was clumped and sticking up at odd angles, and what little mascara she’d once worn on her lashes was smudged beneath her eyes. Her lipstick had long faded, her clothes were wrinkled, and she was still wearing a sling. All in all, she was a mess.

He waved her over and patted his lap. “Sit and take a look. I’ve been busy while you’ve been catching up on your…
beauty
sleep.”

She groaned as she settled onto his lap. One of his arms slipped around her waist.

“This could be dangerous,” she said.

“That’s the general idea.” He pressed a kiss to the back of her neck then pointed to the papers strewn before him. “Just not now. So, here’s what I did….”

He explained that he’d made a sheet of information on all of the victims who’d been recently killed, trying to find a common link. Anytime he’d found something he could attribute to another of the victims, he starred the information then listed it on a separate piece of paper including all the victims’ names to whom it pertained. “For example, both Sister Rebecca and Sister Vivian were nuns, so they’re linked that way, but no one else—that I know of, anyway—is part of the order, so they’re the only ones with this in common.” He’d made a note on the information paper. “And these people worked at the mental hospital: your father and the two nuns. But not Roy. I know his father worked there, so I did put a question mark by his name, but the link to the hospital is broader, not about employment, or Roy wouldn’t be included.”

“But everyone’s linked in one way or another to the hospital?” Eve asked.

“Yes, but not to Faith Chastain.” He drummed his fingers on the edge of the table. “I thought everyone who’d been killed would have some major connection to her, but I can’t find it. Roy didn’t know her.”

“Sure he did…. Well, at least peripherally. He wasn’t just the son of the caretaker. Later, he spent time there as a patient.”

“At the same time Faith was there?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“For right now, the only total connection is the hospital,” he said, tapping his pen on the page. “That’s the key…. So, what do these numbers mean? 212, where Roy died, 101 at your dad’s, 323 on the nun, and 444 on the doll.”

“What about the Mother Superior, Sister Rebecca?”

“We don’t know yet. We can assume there must have been something written in blood and tattooed on her, but the police have that information.” He set his chin on her shoulder and stared at the pages scattered on the table. “Do you have any idea what the numbers mean? Are they part of a social security number? Or some other kind of ID? Or an address? Or maybe a date? February twelfth for 212? January first at your dad’s house?”

“Well, that won’t work. Look at 444. It’s not a two-digit date. There is no forty-fourth month or day…. It would have to be years, April 4, 2004, but that won’t work because of the 101. No month or day is zero….” She stared at the notes, her head aching again, Cole’s breath warm against the back of her neck.

“Maybe the 444 is the one that’s off, because it was on a doll, not a real person? That whole thing: Charlotte posed and then the nun in the exact same manner, what’s that all about?”

“I don’t know.” She was glad for the strength of his arm around her waist. “And why did he steal the files?”

“Because of something inside that cabinet? Patient records, right? Nothing else?”

“Nothing that I saw, but I didn’t have time to go through every drawer or flip through all the files.”

“So, what did you see?”

“Let me think….” She remembered some of the names that had jumped out at her. “Enid…um, Enid Waller, I mean Walcott. And John Stokes, Ronnie Le Mars and Merlin…Oh God, what was his last name? Not Merlin, Mer
win
Anderson and Neva St. James…. There were others, but I can’t remember.”

He wrote down the names. “Do any of these connect with any of the victims?” he asked.

“Aside from being patients at the hospital and all treated by my father?”

“Were any of them close to Faith Chastain?”

She shook her head slowly. “I wouldn’t know. I was just a kid for most of it. I wasn’t paying much attention. It seems that they were all at the hospital at the same time, but then again, I can’t be sure.” She exhaled slowly. “I’m sorry. I just don’t know.”

He kissed her nape. “It’s okay, but since we’re getting nowhere, how about I take you to dinner?”

“Dinner?” she repeated. It sounded so normal. So welcome. “Yes, please.” She glanced out the window and noticed that dusk was starting to creep across the backyard.

Cole pulled her to her feet. “Come on. I know this great little place that serves a mean bowl of dirty rice and mudbugs.”

Eve smiled. “How romantic.”

“Best I can do,” he said, taking her hand. “Let’s go.”

“I’m just tellin’ ya, it’s not a smart move to quit your job and start poking around a homicide scene,” Bentz said with forced patience, his cell phone plastered to his ear as Kristi tried to come up with every excuse under the sun why she should have “exclusive” access to the ongoing case. “Forget it.”

“Dad, listen, please! I won’t do anything to hinder the investigation. You have to trust me.”

“The answer is ‘no,’ you got that? I’ll call you later.” He hung up, fuming. Why was she pushing him on this? Why mess up her job, a good job? Why complicate her life?