Six Killer Bodies (26 page)

Hannah scoffed. “In love with my pussy, maybe.”

“And you don’t have feelings for him?” Carlotta fished.

“No, but the fat man can give head for hours, so I’m in as

long as his tongue holds out.”

Carlotta looked off in the distance.

“Whose tongue are you thinking about?” Hannah asked

dryly.

A flush burned her neck. “Nobody’s.” Damn Jack.

“If Peter can’t keep it up long enough to have sex, the least

he can do is go spelunking.”

“Enough, okay? We’re…waiting.”

“For what, a Beatles reunion?”

“We’re going to Vegas next week.”

Hannah’s eyebrows went up. “Really. For how long?”

“Five days.”

Hannah gave a dry laugh. “Maybe that’l give Richie Rich

time to get to third base.”

“This is serious, Hannah. I can’t keep stringing Peter along.

He’s talking about us having kids, for heaven’s sake.”

“Is he planning to hire someone to impregnate you?”

From the table Carlotta’s phone rang. She gave Hannah a

chastising look, then climbed out of the hot tub and

padded over, wrapping a towel around her. The number

was local, but she didn’t recognize it. Frowning, she

connected the cal . “Hel o?”

“Is this Carlotta?”

Her mind raced to identify the man’s thick country accent.

“Yes.”

“This is Kendall Abrams.”

The Chief M.E.’s hick nephew. “Yes, Kendall, what can I do

for you?”

“I’m trying to reach Wes, but he’s not answering his

phone.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know where he is.”

The young man emitted a groan and she pictured him

hitting himself on the head. “We’re really shorthanded at

the morgue. I’m on a commercial pickup now, but I have a

residential job after this one, and those are the ones my

uncle says I suck at. Can you try to find Wes for me?”

Carlotta pursed her mouth and glanced across the patio to

Hannah, who looked bored to death. “My friend Hannah

and I could give you a hand.”

From the silence on the other end, she could tel that

wasn’t Kendall’s first—or second—choice.

“Or not,” she sang. “You probably have other experienced

body movers who are available at a moment’s notice.”

Kendall sighed. “Okay. I’l meet you there.” He gave her an

address in west Atlanta. “It’s a blue house. Iffen you get

there first, tel my uncle I’m on my way.”

Hannah needed no coaxing. They were out of their suits

and into dry clothes in a matter of minutes. Carlotta left a

note for Peter in case he came home before they

returned, then they clambered into Hannah’s van and

sped off. It took them thirty minutes to pick their way

across town through traffic, but once they got into the

newly developed neighborhood, they found the house

easily, due to the number of flashing lights and official

vehicles.

“Oh, shit,” Carlotta muttered. “This looks serious. There’s

a GBI van…and Jack’s car.”

“Did the goober nephew tel you what had happened?”

“No, and I didn’t think to ask.”

Hannah glanced at her side mirror. “There’s a TV news van

behind us.”

Carlotta’s heart sped up. “Maybe The Charmed Kil er has

struck again. God, I hope not. But if so, it’s good for Coop

since he’s home under surveil ance.”

Hannah pul ed up to the police-car perimeter, and they

presented their morgue IDs. Carlotta recognized the

uniformed officer as the same cop who’d spil ed his guts

while she’d borrowed a light from him on a former murder

scene. He recognized her, too, and waved them in. The

news van behind them wasn’t afforded the same

treatment.

The tidy blue house was lit up like a torch. As soon as

Hannah brought the van to a halt, Carlotta slid out and

approached the residence, looking for a familiar face.

Suddenly a man appeared in the open front door—Jack.

From the haggard look on his face, she knew The Charmed

Kil er had taken another victim. He moved woodenly down

the steps of the home. She hurried toward him. “Jack?”

He looked up and when he saw her, pain descended on his

face.

“Jack, what happened?”

His jaw hardened and he seemed to be struggling to

maintain control. “It’s Maria. She’s dead.”

Horror knifed through Carlotta’s heart as she realized this

was Detective Marquez’s home. She covered her mouth.

“Oh, no. Jack…how?”

His face contorted. “That sick bastard. He drowned her in

the bathtub. Held her down by her neck.”

“The Charmed Kil er?”

He nodded, his expression bleak.

She put her hand on his arm. “Jack, I’m so sorry.”

His phone rang and he strode away a few steps to answer

it.

Carlotta felt nauseous. Her mind raced, trying to make

sense of a senseless act. Had The Charmed Kil er targeted

Maria because she had profiled him? Other than the

Assistant District Attorney, no one else had been

associated with the case, and the A.D.A.’s only distant

connection had been that she was an officer of the court.

All the other victims had seemed random. Was The

Charmed Kil er changing his pattern?

Chief Medical Examiner Bruce Abrams and M.E. Pennyman

stood at the top of the steps conversing. Pennyman held

up a small clear plastic bag under a light. From her vantage

point, it looked like an evidence bag. Suddenly a gust of

summer wind tore it out of his hand. Both men lunged for

the bag, but it tumbled down the steps and landed

practically at Carlotta’s feet. As she picked it up, she

identified the contents—a silver charm, probably the one

taken from Maria Marquez’s mouth. Through the plastic

she saw it was a tiny lipstick.

The bag was plucked out of her hands and when she

looked up, Dr. Abrams was standing there, a frown on his

pinched face. “Why are you here? Where’s my nephew?”

Carlotta drew back at the man’s sharp tone, but reasoned

everyone was under a tremendous amount of stress, and

having key evidence blowing around the crime scene

would make anyone testy.

“Kendall called me, saying he needed a hand,” she

explained. “He was on another call and asked me to tel

you he’d be here shortly.”

Dr. Abrams made an exasperated noise, then gave her a

curt nod and rejoined Pennyman at the top of the steps.

At the sound of Jack’s raised voice, she glanced in his

direction. He jammed his hand into his hair, obviously

distraught, then he snapped the phone closed and stood

stock stil .

“Jack?” She approached him slowly. “What now?”

The raw emotion on his face tore through her. “Coop is

missing.”

Denial exploded in her brain. “How’s that possible? He’s

wearing a GPS ankle bracelet.”

“There’s a crowd demonstrating outside his place. A

uniform stopped by to check in and found the GPS

bracelet attached to a damned robotic vacuum. It was

programmed to move around, so no one realized he was

gone.” Jack fisted his big hands. “He kil ed Maria, and now

he’s gone again.”

Carlotta shook her head, but she couldn’t summon the

words to defend Coop because she knew Jack didn’t want

to hear them. And deep in her heart, she wondered if

Coop had learned about the death of Sarah Edlow, and if

the news had sent him over the edge.

23

Wes lay in the filthy green bathtub, wracked with pain. The

scent of his own sweat and vomit permeated his nostrils.

He wanted to scream, but didn’t have the energy. Merely

blinking his eyes sent avalanches of agony through his

head. His body needed Oxy…demanded it. And in the back

of his mind, he knew the real torture hadn’t even begun.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when the

bathroom door opened, was barely conscious of being

picked up and dragged. He was limp, unable to resist. He

thought he was drooling because his mouth felt wet…but

maybe he was crying.

When he stopped moving, he became distantly aware of

lying prone on a hard surface—the floor, maybe. And then,

someone was pulling at him, tearing off his clothes. He

was naked…freezing…his body shook violently. He had the

sense of hours passing, or it could’ve been minutes.

At some point he was picked up and set in a chair, then

strapped down. He remembered the chair. It was where

Mouse had held him while The Carver sliced his initials in

Wesley’s arm. The pain was worse this time. He was

stabbed again and again. Inside he screamed, but he

wasn’t sure if he made a sound. Merciful y, he finally

passed out.

When he woke, he was being held under water. He clawed

at the hands holding him and finally got his face above the

surface. He choked, dragging air into his lungs, then was

stabbed in the arm again. As he slid into unconsciousness,

he came to the realization that he was probably being

gutted in the bathtub. When the plug was pul ed, his blood

would go down the drain with the water. Then he’d be

easier to cut up and dispose of.

Carlotta would never know what happened to him. She’d

think he simply abandoned her, like their father.

And Meg…Oh, Meg…

24

The memorial service for Maria was held Friday afternoon.

Carlotta went through the motions like an automaton. She

was numb, afraid to let herself absorb too much of what

was going on around her.

The manhunt for Coop had gone nationwide. Rainie

Stephens had come forth with the information she’d

uncovered about Sarah Edlow’s terminal brain tumor and

subsequent death, as wel as the woman’s connection to

Coop. With a possible trigger for his kil ing spree revealed,

Coop had already been tried and convicted in the public’s

eye. And since he wasn’t around to defend himself, it was

getting harder for Carlotta to hang on to her faith in him.

Just like with Randolph.

Meanwhile, the fake article designed to smoke out

Michael Lane had been cut, confirming to Carlotta that

even Rainie was now convinced that Coop was their man

and suggesting that Michael’s crimes weren’t shocking

enough in the scheme of things to warrant attention.

Granted, though, nearly every column inch of the Atlanta

Journal-Constitution was devoted to covering the horrific

new developments in The Charmed Kil er case.

The memorial service was solemn and inspirational. The

minister spoke lovely words about Maria being a beautiful

person inside and out. But Carlotta kept replaying in her

mind the spiteful things she’d said to the woman to her

face and behind her back. Maria hadn’t done anything

except save Carlotta’s ungrateful butt a time or two,

encourage her to get to know her friends better, and warn

her about putting her trust in the wrong man. In fact,

Maria’s only offense was looking better than any woman

with a gun should, and turning Jack’s thick head.

The casket was pearlized ivory with silver hardware—

stunning. But when Carlotta looked at it, all she saw was

Maria lying in her bathtub, dressed in a modest white

cotton nightshirt, stil wearing one fuzzy house shoe. The

other shoe had been dislodged during the struggle, along

with the shower curtain. The woman had been brushing

her teeth when she was attacked. She had put up a fight,

even broken two fingers defending herself. But with the

element of surprise, and what appeared to be a

considerable amount of strength, the kil er had

overpowered her.

Carlotta sat in the balcony of the cathedral. The floor level

was a sea of blue uniforms—hundreds of fel ow police

officers from all over the country had come to pay

respects for their slain comrade. The visibility of the case

coupled with the fact that now Coop had been labeled a

cop kil er pretty much guaranteed he would be shot on

sight.

Jack was sitting in the front row in his dress uniform, his

back straight. His head never moved. She suspected he’d

chosen a spot on the opposite wall to stare at during the

ceremony, holding his gaze with laser focus. He hadn’t

called when she’d returned home that awful night, nor last

night. And she didn’t expect him to call tonight, either. He

needed time alone to grieve and to beat himself up

properly. Because regardless of what Maria had meant to

him personally, Carlotta knew enough about Jack to know

he was broken inside that he hadn’t protected his partner.

The fact that he blamed Coop, someone he had once held

in esteem, for Maria’s death undoubtedly only cut deeper.

Near the end of the service, a tall dark-haired man dressed

in a decorated police uniform walked to the casket and

placed a single red rose on top. He looked grief-stricken,

his shoulders bowed. He leaned over to kiss the casket and

his sobbing could be heard throughout the cathedral.

Carlotta assumed he was Maria’s ex-husband, Rueben

Garza. She glanced at the In Memoriam card she’d taken

from the stack at the entrance.

In Memoriam, Maria Elena Marquez,

a brave public servant, a loving companion