Property Of (2 page)

“The body of a young woman was discovered overnight in a shallow grave. Police are withholding the name of the victim until family members are notified. This is the third body of a woman found in a shallow grave in the past sixteen months. The first two victims, twenty-five-year-old Lisa Kerns Flanagan of Bixby and twenty-nine-year-old Rosemarie McKenzie of Broken Arrow were both found in shallow graves three months apart in 2014. Police are cautioning women to be aware of their surroundings when entering their cars and homes. The News on Six contacted the Tulsa Police Department, asking them to comment, but they have yet to respond. We’ll keep you up-to-date on any further developments concerning the discovery of what appears to be the third victim of whom police have dubbed “The Shallow Grave Killer,” here, on News Channel Six.”

“Those poor women.”

Intrigued on a creative level, since the story included an honest-to-goodness romance hero, I dashed to grab my notebook from my cluttered desk in order to write down the specifics of the case. I began this habit many years ago when I first started writing. There were pages of news reports, internet folly, and interactions with strangers to help spark my creativity. As I flipped through it, looking for a blank page, I sighed when I saw how full it was. I had a never-ending supply of other people’s lives to fuel my stories. Sadly, my own life, or lack thereof, gave me no inspiration. A writer writes what he or she knows, but since I had no real life experiences other than my books and friends, I had to steal snippets from other people’s lives to fuel my imagination.

“Meow,” Snape said from the comfort of my office chair as I stood there, writing down my impressions of the cop and the terrifying murders of three women.

“Don’t mind me, Snape, I’ll just stand here and write. I wouldn’t want to disturb you while you lick your butt."

When I reached down to tickle his ears before I continued writing, a thought occurred to me and I paused. Maybe the reason I didn’t have a life, other than my books, was because the only conversations I'd had in months were with my cats and brothers. Not that you could qualify grunting and chewing as conversation per se (my brothers, not my cats).

I’d been so tied up writing, plotting stories, going to book signings, and researching Scottish history, that I couldn’t remember the last time I went out with my friends or on a date.

“How did this happen?” I asked in amazement. “I’ve turned into a spinster cat lady with no friends. Haven’t I, Simi?”

“Meow,” Simi agreed from her spot on my windowsill.

“Yeesh, you didn’t have to agree so quickly,” I argued on a sigh. “That’s it. After I finish this book, I’m taking some time off to have a life. I’m gonna get drunk, let my hair down, maybe even get laid by an honest to goodness man. That’s if I can find one that—”

“Bo!” Finn shouted from behind me, interrupting my private talk with Simi and Snape, “Nicola’s talking to her cats again.”

“What’s she saying this time?” Bo hollered back.

“Apparently, she thinks she’s gonna get drunk and then get laid.”

“Excellent, I could use a good workout. I haven’t beaten the shit out of a guy in years,” he answered.

“Would you guys grow up already? I’m not sixteen anymore,” I explained, exasperated as I pushed past Finn.

Finn followed on my heels, laughing, as I went into the kitchen in search of my phone to call Kasey.

“Sixteen or sixty, Nic, it’s our job to scare the shit out of your dates.”

“Considering every man I’ve met is as ridiculous as you and Bo, I don’t think you need to clean your brass knuckles just yet.”

“We polish them nightly, Nicola. As Dad always says, it’s better to be prepared than caught off guard.”

“Boys in men’s clothing, that’s what the two of you are,” I laughed as I picked up my cell phone and looked up Kasey’s number. “I have a book to finish today, so you two children have to leave. I can’t concentrate while you’re here.”

Once I’d found Kasey’s number, I hit call and put the phone to my ear as Finn roughed up the top of my head. Shoving his hand away, I grinned, and then turned my back on him while I listened to the call connect.

“Hello?”

“Kasey?”

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“You know damn well who this is. My number's programmed under the name Amelia Earhart.”

“And just like you, she has gone missing.”

“Well, that’s about to change, starting today. I realized just now that I talk to my cats more than I talk to humans. As of today, after typing the words “The End” on “Highlander’s Pride,” I’m taking six months off to do nothing but reconnect with my family and friends.”

"Well, I’ll notify People Magazine that the hermit Grace Martin is coming out of hiding,” she chuckled.

“Fuck you,” I laughed.

“Fuck you, too,” Kasey giggled. “If you’re serious about taking a break, meet me for coffee at Gypsy’s, Tuesday at five thirty. Be there or be square.”

“Coffee it is. I’ll call the rest of the girls.”

“No need, we have a standing date for coffee every Tuesday and Thursday. We do Yoga on Thursdays at Om-klahoma before coffee, if you want to come.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been MIA, Kasey. It seems I got lost in fiction. But I swear I’m turning over a new leaf as of today. From now on, I’m going to experience life as much as I write about it.”

“Baby steps, Nicola. You’ve been living in a cave for a while, you might need to adjust to the light first,” she laughed. “Just show on Tuesday and all will be forgotten.”

“I’ll be there, you can count on it. Why, a rugged Highlander couldn’t keep me from coming,” I vowed.

“Right, we both know that’s a lie,” she laughed.

Ha, she knew me too well.

“Ok, short of a kilt-wearing Highlander coming forward in time to throw me over his shoulder, I’ll be there.

***

“Vaughn! Get your ass in here.”

Detective Dallas Vaughn looked up from his desk and smirked at his partner, Bill Reed.

“Guess he heard,” Reed chuckled.

“Guess so,” Vaughn answered.

Vaughn rose from his chair, grabbed his gun, and shoved it into his holster as he made his way toward his lieutenant’s office. The lieutenant’s door was closed, further indicating how pissed off he was, seeing as they had been able to hear him bellowing from behind closed doors. Vaughn knocked and then entered before Lt. Dan Cross had a chance to answer.

“You wanted to see me?”

Lt. Cross was a huge black man with a big bald head that sat on top of a squatty neck. A former linebacker for the University of Tulsa, he kept his bulk while moving up the ranks. He had a degree in criminology and a sharp mind, but he also had a temper.

“Didn’t I tell you to keep your fuckin’ distance from Hernandez?”

Vaughn leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his wide chest. At six foot three, Vaughn wasn’t a small man, but he was leaner than Cross. Lean, like the former wide receiver he had been for the University of Oklahoma. Vaughn also had a degree in criminology. However, unlike his boss, he had no desire to work his way up the ranks. He preferred hunting down the bad guys to administrative duties.

“It was just a coincidence that I happened to be invited to a party at his next-door neighbor’s house.”

“You don’t have any friends, Vaughn. How in the hell did you get invited to the Assistant District Attorney’s house?”

“Tickets to next year’s Oklahoma—Texas game.”

Cross narrowed his eyes at Vaughn, and just when Dallas thought his boss would blow his top, a slow grin pulled across his mouth.

“Are you telling me you bribed the ADA so you could sit in his backyard and watch his scumbag, wife-murdering neighbor?”

Vaughn’s lips twitched, but he held his smile. “No, I offered to give him my Oklahoma—Texas tickets because I heard he was serving hamburgers. As for Hernandez,” he growled the name, “he’s an innocent until proven guilty scumbag, wife-murdering neighbor.”

Hernandez, the owner of Hernandez Plastics, was under indictment for the murder of his wife. According to Hernandez, she slipped while holding a knife and it somehow managed to bury itself into her heart. Originally, from Honduras, he was a flight risk and they all knew it. Vaughn had been keeping closer tabs on Hernandez than the law allowed, according to the restraining order Hernandez had filed against Vaughn.

Technically, he stayed far enough away from the man. However, when Hernandez willingly came into Vaughn’s space in the ADA’s front yard, the restraining order was null and void. That’s how Hernandez ended up with a black eye and a busted lip. Vaughn was just defending himself, per the witness statements.

“Were the hamburgers good?” Cross asked.

“Rare, just like I like them,” Vaughn replied.

Both men grinned at each other for a moment, but Cross lost his jovial attitude quickly.

“All right, enough about that scumbag. Get your ass out of my office and go find me that goddamned Shallow Grave sonofabitch.”

Vaughn’s eyes went blank at the mention of the killer. Dallas had had to notify the family of Stacy Lynn White-Cline when the dental records came back as a match this afternoon. He was itching to find that bastard. Dallas could still hear her mother’s wailing in his head.

“I’ll find him,” Dallas vowed, “then I’ll send him straight to hell.”

“What you’ll
do
is find him and hand him over to the DA, am I clear?” Cross bit out, leaning across his desk.

Dallas’ jaw tightened, and he nodded once. Turning on his heels, he gritted his teeth, trying not to think about the single mother and the way they’d found her two nights earlier. He knew from experience, after six years in homicide, if you didn’t leave that shit at the office you’d burn out quickly. Unfortunately, for him, he never listened and burned a candle at both ends.

Vaughn was a bit of a maverick and did what he had to do to solve a case. If it meant long hours, so be it. All he'd ever wanted to be was a cop. To catch the bad guys and make it safe for law-abiding citizens, no matter the means. He was thirty-four and had a failed marriage under his belt because of his dedication to the job, that, and because Brynne couldn’t keep her legs closed to other men. Most days he was tired, frustrated, and needed a vacation. However, he had no reason to go home and the world was getting sicker by the day, so he kept working.

With another body in the morgue, and the only evidence they had being the fact that the first two women frequented dating sites, according to their families, and traces of crude oil were found on their bodies, the trail was stone cold on the Shallow Grave Killer.

Making his way back to his desk, he searched for Sian Davies, a rookie detective, needing her help. Dallas’ mood was as gray as the walls in their office. Every officer in his division was in a bad mood with the discovery of a third victim and wanted in on the case so they could nail that sonofabitch to the wall. Dallas and his partner, Bill Reed, were the lead investigators on the case, but half his division were out running down all possible leads.

Catching Sian at the coffee pot, Dallas called out to her. “Sian, I need you to call over to Missing Persons and ask them for a list of women between the ages of twenty and forty. I don’t trust this new computer software, since it has more bugs in it than the Kremlin. Ask them for a hard copy and make several copies when you get it.”

Nodding her reply, he watched as she moved to her desk and pick up the phone before he sat down in his chair.

“Let me in on what you’re thinking?’’ Reed asked Vaughn as he sat down.

“All three victims were blonde. Two could be a coincidence, but three feels like an MO. I want to compare any missing women that match the descriptions of our three victims and see if they were visiting online dating sites.”

Nodding in agreement, Bill Reed, a twenty-year veteran of the Tulsa Police Department and father of four, powered up his computer and stood with his coffee cup.

“Better refuel. Sounds like it’s gonna be a long night,” Reed mumbled, motioning to Dallas’ empty cup.

“I’m not drinking that shit and you know it. You pull up the files on the Shallow Grave Killer and I’ll run over to Gypsy’s.”

Reed turned back to Vaughn with a smile on his face. He knew that if he mentioned coffee his partner would cringe at the crap they served at the station.

“I want extra cream in my coffee, none of that skimmed crap either. June’s got me on a low-fat diet and I’m wasting away as it is.”

Dallas’ brows shot up at the wasting away comment. Reed was six-foot-one and pushing two hundred and seventy-five pounds. There wasn’t anything “wasting away” about the man.

“You’ll get your cream, big guy, but if you tell June it’s your head, partner. Your wife scares the hell out of me,” Dallas chuckled.

“June scares the living shit out of me too, Dallas. She makes the Shallow Grave Killer look like a kitten.”

That she did, Dallas thought as he headed for the door. He’d be tempted to put her in a room with the bastard as part of his punishment if he didn’t love the woman so much. Then again . . . she might enjoy it.