Sugar & Spice (11 page)

“I know,” she said.

“Is it possible that we have two different killers? Two killers, killing the exact same way. Yet, not exactly the same? Raping, whipping, and mutilating? It doesn't make any sense.”

“None at all,” Kelly said.

I walked around the room, taking in everything, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Other than the mutilated body of Taylor Hoffman, nothing seemed to be missing or out of place that I could tell. I walked over to the mirrored dresser. There was a wedding picture of Taylor and her husband, I presumed.

“Where's the husband?” I called out to the officer guarding the door.

“We don't know,” he answered.

“Kelly, let's get Senator Hoffman on the phone. Maybe he knows where the husband is.”

“The senator just arrived,” the officer told us.

“Officer, radio downstairs and have him wait in the living room or something,” I said.

“I'll find out what he knows, Phoenix,” Kelly said.

I nodded and continued looking around the room as I put on a pair of surgical gloves. How did he get in? There was no sign of forced entry. Did she let him in? I reasoned. If she did, it had to be someone she knew. Why else would she open the door in her pajamas?

There was a phone on the nightstand. Maybe that could tell me something. I could see whom she talked to last. Maybe the alarm did go off and he forced her to call the security company. I hit the redial button. The liquid crystal screen read local weather. That didn't mean she didn't call the security company. She could have used another phone in the house to call them. I hit the directory button on the phone and found the number to the security company. I dialed them on my cell.

“Alexandria Security. Mary Ann speaking. May I help you?”

“This is Special Agent in Charge, Phoenix Perry,” I said, trying to sound official. The person who answered the phone could very easily blow me off and not answer any of my questions. So, I wanted to sound important. I could easily subpoena the record, but I wanted an answer immediately. “I'm calling from the home of one of your clients, and I need to know if Taylor Hoffman, who lives at 1169 Cobblestone Drive, called in an inadvertent alarm last night?”

“Just a moment, Special Agent Perry.” I could hear the woman hitting keys in the background.

“No. No one from that address called in last night,” Mary Ann said. “As a matter of fact, there hasn't been an inadvertent alarm at that residence since June, Ma'am.”

“Thank you,” I said and hung up. “Officer, call downstairs and find out if the alarm is off.”

Taylor Hoffman may not have turned the alarm system on. For all I knew, they may not have even used the system.

“It's off, Agent Perry,” the officer said.

“Thanks,” I said and continued scouring the room for clues. I opened the drawer on the nightstand. A tablet and pencil were in there.

One of our people from the crime lab put on a pair of ultraviolet goggles and looked at the bed. “Semen,” he said excitedly and collected a sample.

I opened the other nightstand drawer and found an autographed copy of Bebe Moore Campbell's
Brothers and Sisters,
I went back to the mirrored dresser and began opening drawers one at a time. Nothing unusual. Underwear. Folded clothing. I didn't know what I was looking for, so I lifted up the clothing, which yielded nothing until I opened the bottom drawer on the right.

That drawer contained all sorts of sex toys ranging from a video from the Sinclair Institute that read
32 Ways to Love Your Lover
to a Kegelcisor to assorted dildos, lubricants, edible panties, cock rings, and flavored condoms. Taylor was a freak, I thought. I didn't mean to. It just came to mind without effort.

“The husband's in Los Angeles working on a science fiction film, Phoenix,” Kelly said. “He had to be there today and had planned to leave earlier yesterday. But Taylor Hoffman had just gotten hired at a prestigious law firm here in Alexandria and they celebrated. That's why the husband left so late last night.”

“Hence the semen on the bed,” I said.

“Huh?”

“Crime lab found semen on the sheets. I'm betting it's the husband's and not the killer's. What time did the husband leave last night?”

“Twelve-thirty this morning.”

I called headquarters to confirm that the husband was actually on the flight. “This is Agent Perry. Check the flight manifests on all flights leaving Washington last night for Los Angeles. Tell me if you find Jack Hoffman on any of them.”

“Do you spell that with two F's or one?” the tech asked.

“Two, I think.

“Yes,” the tech said. “Departed Dulles at twelve-thirty. Arrived LAX at two-thirty Pacific.”

“Thanks,” I said, “That clears the husband.”

“Nice crib,” Kelly said. “Rich folks got it made. Would you believe this house is a wedding present from Senator Hoffman, Phoenix? That's right. A 2.2 million-dollar house. For a friggin' wedding present. If I could only be so lucky. I might have to marry Sterling and live good for a change. He's got bucks and makin' more all the time.”

I shook my head and laughed. “You're crazy, girl.”

I briefed Kortney Malone on the evidence found at the Hoffman house. When she asked me where Kelly was, I told her that Kelly was running down a lead, but actually, she had made plans to meet Sterling at his hotel. We didn't have much on the killer and we had put in a full day. Why not let Kelly have a little fun, I thought.

Kortney didn't question my veracity so I went on to explain that Salaam Khan had told us that he thought Terry Callahan had killed the warden and his wife, but he had no idea who Sarah Lawford was. That didn't mean that he didn't do both crimes. I went on to tell her that whoever killed the Perkins and Sarah may not have killed Taylor Hoffman. That one may have been a copycat. If Terry Callahan was involved, he could have had one of his officers do the murder.

After I finished my report to Kortney, I went to the crime lab. The criminalist assigned to the case was Karl McGregor. He collected the evidence at the Perkins and Sarah Lawford murder scenes.

“What do you have for me, McGregor?” I asked.

“The Perkins and Lawford murders were committed by the same man, Phoenix,” he said.

“You absolutely sure about that?”

“No doubt at all,” McGregor said, looking over his spectacles. He handed me a specimen in a glass vial.

“What's this?”

“It's kangaroo hide. It took me a while to trace it, Phoenix. Originally, I assumed it was cowhide. That's why the first rule in forensics is don't assume anything. It's also the easiest rule to break. Some things look obvious, but they're far from it.”

“Okay, I'll bite. What's the difference?” I asked.

“Kangaroo hide is ten times stronger, Phoenix,” McGregor said. “Whoever this guy is, he wanted to inflict some serious pain. I traced this particular kangaroo hide to Australia, believe it or not.”

“So what are you saying? Crocodile Dundee is running around D.C. whipping and hacking up women?”

“No, I'm saying that the man that used the whip is very particular about his tools. He'll more than likely be that way about everything. His lifestyle, his dress, his manner, his victims, everything.”

“How'd you find the whip?”

“Found it on the Internet. The whip is called a Tornado. It's hand-made by a man named Si Davey. Called him a little while ago. He told me he sent three to the post office on Pennsylvania Avenue, PO Box 12666. He didn't have a name. The customer paid with an international money order.”

“Great work, McGregor,” I almost screamed. It was six-thirty. The post office was closed. We'd get over there first thing in the morning.

“Mommy! Savannah shouted when she saw me.

I picked her up and held her tight. “What's for dinner?” I asked. “It smells wonderful.”

“Grandma cooked some greens, sweet potatoes and roast beef before she left.” Savannah smiled. “The sweet cornbread is almost done, too. I'm starvin'. You?”

“Yeah. Let's go eat.”

“I'll race you, Mommy.”

“Ready, set, go!” I shouted and let the flesh of my flesh beat me to the dinner table. “Keyth?”

“Hold on for a second, baby,” he shouted from the family room. “I'm watching ESPN.”

“Okay!” I yelled back. “We're setting the table.”

“I'll be right in,” Keyth said.

Savannah opened the silverware drawer and pulled out the eating utensils. I opened the cabinet above the sink and pulled out plates and drinking glasses.

“What are we drinking with dinner, Mommy?”

“Hawaiian Punch. Or iced tea. You choose,” I said.

“Uhhh, let me see,” Savannah said, then opened the refrigerator. “I gotta taste for iced tea!”

My daughter sounded just like my father. That's exactly how he used to
say he wanted tea. For a moment, my heart ached. It had been a little over a month since he was killed. Sometimes I wondered if I'd ever get over it. For years, it had been just me and my father. My mother had died giving birth to me. My father and I were more than close, more than father and daughter. My father was my friend, my confidant, and my trusted advisor.

I remember when I told him that I liked a Chinese boy who I studied Kung Fu with. His name was Ze Quan Lo, my master's son, I called him Quan. We were both fifteen years old. It's funny now, but in the beginning of our training, when we were eight, we didn't like each other. We competed to gain the favor of his father, Master Ying Ming Lo. My father had told me that when you hate someone that much, deep down, you really like them. Otherwise, you wouldn't be so consumed by your emotions. I honestly don't know when it happened, but sometime during the summer, not too long after my birthday, we both realized how much we liked each other.

“Mommy! Snap out of it!” Savannah laughed.

“Huh?” I said.

“You were daydreaming, Mommy.”

“I was just thinking of your grandfather and my first boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” Keyth chimed in after walking into the kitchen. “You told me I made you forget every man you had ever dated.”

I laughed. “You did. But from time to time, something reminds me of Daddy. We spent twelve years in China. It's difficult not to think of my Chinese family when I think of my daddy.”

“I know, baby,” Keyth said.

My eyes welled with water. Eventually my heart won't ache; the tears won't leave their tracks when I think of him. Keyth put his arms around me. Savannah put her arms around both of us. I wept. I love my family so much. I'm just so grateful.

“It's all right, Mommy, When you die, I'll cry when I think about how much I miss you, too, okay?”

We laughed.

“Y'all ready to eat?” Keyth asked.

My husband and Savannah finished setting the table while I put the sweet potatoes in the microwave.

“Guess who got into a fight today?” Keyth asked.

By the tone in his voice, I knew it was Savannah. She had earned her green sash, which is a far cry from being a black sash. Nevertheless, green is two levels up from white, it's high enough to seriously hurt someone. I stared at my daughter, waiting for her to explain.

“Don't worry, Mommy.” She smiled. “I didn't kill ‘em.”

“Savannah, you know better than to be fighting,” I said.

“I know, but they were picking on Luther,” she said. “They push him around all the time. And you told me that I could use the art to defend myself and other people, too.”

I had told her that. And I meant it. “Luther Pleasant?”

“Yep.”

“So what happened?” I asked, and started my dinner.

“I told them to leave Luther alone, or else.”

“And?”

“They chose else.”

“How many boys were there?” I asked.

“Two. But they weren't boys; they were girls.”

“Girls? Bullying Luther?” I heard myself ask. “He's forever asking me to teach him. I guess I better start training him.”

Three bullwhips! I was taking a shower when it hit me that McGregor had said that three bullwhips had come from Australia. Was the killer a collector? Or was he afraid they might somehow break, or lose their effectiveness? I couldn't shake the feeling that the bullwhips were a big piece of the puzzle. A few other things puzzled me, too. Were all of the victims tied into Norrell Prison and the drug connection? Why were some of the victims' extremities thrown against the wall while others were not?

The post office had to keep some sort of records on whom they rented boxes to. They probably had an address. Maybe even a phone number. We were close to solving this thing. I was sure of it. That's how it is with cases. Nothing makes sense until you find a clue that turns out to be the linchpin on which all other parts hang.

“Phoenix,” I heard Keyth yell over the splashing water. “There's a Detective Thompson on the phone from Malibu.”

I stepped out of the shower. My husband looked at my nude body and smiled in such a way that I knew we were going to do it. I wrapped myself in a red beach towel and teasingly squeezed my husband's erection as I sauntered past him.

“You know when you get off the phone, we gon' have to take care of a little business.” Keyth beamed. “Brotha feelin' like Marvin Gaye. Need a little sexual healing.”

We kissed. “You gon' be able to handle it?” I asked him.

“Are you?” Keyth asked.

“We'll see, won't we?” I said, then went into the bedroom. I sat on the bed, put the phone to my ear, and rested it on my shoulder while I put lotion on my body. “Agent Perry.”

“Agent Perry, Steven Thompson here. I'm a detective with the Malibu Police Department. Your people patched me through to your home. I apologize for calling you at this hour, but I have some pertinent information for you.”