Sympathy For The Devil (8 page)

“This way,” he said at last, turning and walking calmly through the parking lot again. Her steps hesitated only a moment and then she started after him, rushing to walk at his side.

His dark red, four-door truck sat across the street from Eight’s. The vehicle had survived several days in town already, but he doubted it would for long. Soon it would be defaced like his house. That had happened last time, often enough that he left the truck with all the curses and threats carved into the paint job. Fuck it, he figured—if the town wanted to advertise his guilt so badly, he’d leave it. He was lucky they hadn’t carved it right into his flesh.

He pulled his keys from his pocket and rounded the truck to open the passenger door for Natasha first. If she was fighting her hesitation at getting in the truck with him, she hid it well—she smiled when he held open the door, giving a polite nod of thanks, and didn’t flinch when he closed her in there.

Devin ground his teeth, twisting the keys in his hand. A glance to his left revealed half a dozen men from the bar standing in front of Eight’s, watching him walk around to the front of the truck. At this rate, he’d probably be woken to cops banging on his door in the middle of the night. Still, he didn’t tell her to get out, but simply ignored them, climbed in the truck, and started the engine.

Natasha said nothing save for giving him directions to her place, and he offered no conversation in return. His anger grew dark, hanging across him like a weight he couldn’t shake loose, and his grip tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles went white. Even making a vague threat to Harry Ingram or the staff of that paper which was little more than a gossip rag would be a mistake, would land him in jail without a doubt, but at this point did it matter? They’d find a reason to anyway, and at least this way he’d have some satisfaction over it.

Under her direction, he swung the truck up in front of Natasha’s apartment. Her place sat above an empty storefront at the end of Caruthers Dr. It had been a convenience store once, if memory served him right, but there were enough of those downtown that were larger and providing a better selection, that this one hadn’t lasted long.

He’d barely cut the engine before he was out of the truck, on his way to her side to open the door. Her purse was clutched to her chest and her eyes didn’t leave him as she climbed out of the vehicle.

“Thanks,” she said softly. “I’ve got a spare set in the apartment, but I’ll wait and pick it up come daylight.”

When she stepped to the side, he closed the door but didn’t back off, instead pressing closer. She was backed against the truck, her head tilting up. He watched the streetlight above carve out the whites of her eyes, trace her high cheekbones and the curves of her face—watched the nervous hesitation in her eyes rise to fear as he leaned closer. Just a few scant inches separated them and his hands came out to press against the truck on either side of her.

How far would she let it go, if he pretended too? Let him press his lips to hers, stick his tongue in her mouth? Precisely how far would she go?

He wasn’t enough of a monster to test it, though, even if the idea of punishing her was extremely appealing. Bitter anger rose as he stared at her in grim silence. She hugged her purse tighter, the leather of the bag creaking uneasily. Her lower lip trembled and even as he wanted to taste it—to delve his tongue past it to tangle with hers, drive her wild with the rough pleasure of teeth gently dragging across skin—he felt sickened at the terror his proximity brought to her.

“You don’t want to invite me up?” he asked in a dark, threatening voice, not backing off. He might not be willing to touch her, but he wasn’t leaving without a confrontation.

“I—”

“Ask me questions? Take some pictures? Make up more shit for Harry Ingram to spread around town?”

“What? No—”

Fury boiled in his veins, tension working up his arms as he leaned closer still, dwarfing her. “Congratulations, you almost had me thinking you were actually interested and not a soulless scavenger looking for another out of context sound bite to fuck me over with.”

She snapped her lips closed, swallowing nervously, and despite it all, it
hurt
. Even though he was deliberately scaring her, even though he thought she fucking
deserved
it, the look of fear she gave him made his stomach roll sickly.

“But you’re scared now, aren’t you?” he growled. “Did Harry not warn you? Did he tell you I’m gonna strip you, tie you up, beat you, stab you to death, and toss your naked corpse in the creek? Like Chelsea? Like that other girl last night? Or did you just realize now that you’re alone on a deserted road with a killer?”

Natasha held her breath and her silence, more than anything, struck him violently. His shoulders deflated, looking at her anew like he was watching as an observer. She was all but shaking. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Devin stepped back abruptly, looking away and stalking around the truck again. He jerked the driver’s door open. “Put
that
in your fucking paper.”

He didn’t glance at her as he climbed in, gave the keys a violent wrench, and spun the wheel away from her building, but he allowed himself a single look in the rearview mirror as he sped down the road.

Natasha remained on the curb where he’d left her, staring at his retreat with her purse clutched to her chest.

Chapter Eight

The voice on the other end of the line yawned loudly before answering. “H-hello?”

Natasha paced across her cramped living room, rounding the coffee table again and again. “I need to borrow your car.”

Silence, then Malone seemed awake, his voice sharper. “What?”

“I need to borrow your car. I’m on a job and I got made—the guy I’m following knows my vehicle.” She was still mortified at the thought. Such a newbie mistake, but it wasn’t until she went back to get her car in the morning that she noticed the stack of stuff from Harry’s office she’d neglected to hide. In her defense, she’d been in such a rush to get in Eight’s that she hadn’t thought to put them away, then when they went back to her vehicle, she’d honestly been staring at the stack of crap on the seat for so long all day, it hadn’t registered as a big deal.

Whether it was a good thing or not he merely thought her a reporter, she couldn’t say. Yet.

Malone sighed. “Tash—”

“You took the truck on vacation. Your car’s still there.” She’d checked on her way back after picking up her own vehicle, of course. It wasn’t like she’d call him early in the morning on a whim.

“It’s not even seven in the morning,” he grumbled.

She glanced at her watch. “Your clock’s slow—it’s 7:03.”

Malone groaned. “Fine. Whatever. The keys—”

“Just inside the front door and yep, still have an emergency key to your house, don’t worry. Thank you!” Tash hung up before he could complain and raced for the door, shoving her phone in her back pocket. Before she could take three steps, she remembered the travel mug on the coffee table, doubled back for the drink, and then ran again. It was her third coffee of the morning; after not sleeping all night stressing over her run in with Archer, she’d had three hours of sleep and now she was ready to tackle the day head on. Check on things at Archer’s house for a bit, come back around noon if it didn’t look like he was going anywhere and hit the morgue to beg some favors. It would be worth seeing, too, whether or not anyone at the police station could tell her more. Keisha wouldn’t go so far as to break any laws to give her information, but she’d offer
something
.

She was outside and in her car, heading for Malone’s within minutes and gulping down coffee at each stoplight. Breakfast hadn’t even occurred to her, but she’d maybe grab something from the donut shop drive-thru on her way out of town. Her cup of coffee was gone by the time she had obtained Malone’s gray, compact two-door from his driveway.

Her fingers drummed on the steering wheel as she drove toward Archer’s house for a morning stakeout, completely missing the beat of the country music twang sounding on the speakers. Despite having all night to shake the feeling, Tash couldn’t get rid of it.

She felt bad.

Archer had looked so damn hurt. The sudden shift with him from hot to cold made total sense once he started lobbing accusations at her, so that wasn’t what stuck with her. No, it was the sadness to his eyes, the angry resolve to his expression when he told her she’d almost fooled him. She’d knowingly deceived him, after all—was aware of it every step of the way—but she didn’t expect to feel...
guilty
about it.

Yep, Adam was gonna kill her.

****

“I could get in a lot of trouble for this.” The Stirling Falls Memorial Hospital morgue assistant was a petite, twenty-something redheaded woman with oversized glasses and scrubs that looked two sizes too big. Even as she gave Natasha the warning, she led the way toward the morgue. Probably because the smell of fresh pastries and slice of cherry pie made by Liliah Jean that very morning wafted around them, covering the antiseptic smell. People in this town would do damn near anything for baked goods from The Coffee Hut, especially on a quiet Sunday.

“I
really
appreciate it,” Tash said as she followed. And she did appreciate it, was even willing to follow the rules for this opportunity. No taking pictures, no taking files, no breathing a word of anything to anyone. Things may be fairly informal in Stirling Falls but she knew full well if anyone found out about this, she’d probably be hauled off to jail for interfering with an active investigation.

The hall leading to the morgue was cold and seemed dark even though it was well lit. The cinderblock walls were a dark slate gray, and fluorescent bulbs above still left shadows in the corners.

“It’s not a pretty sight,” the morgue assistant continued and Tash wished she could remember the girl’s name but it still hadn’t come to her.

“I know, I was at the crime scene.” A small fib, really. One that thankfully went unquestioned.

The assistant pushed open the door to the morgue, flipped on the light inside, and grabbed a clipboard hanging on the wall. “Okay...let’s see. Well, we finally have a name.”

Tash wished she could grab her notebook or at least record everything on her phone, but she’d promised this would all be off the record, so all information would need to be stored in her memory. “Is she from around here?”

“Nope. Hastings County.”

That was about a thirty minute drive outside of town, east along Hastings Creek. Small township, about half the size of Stirling Falls. “Her name?”

“Deborah Ann Walker. Her boyfriend and sister have been in to identify her. Autopsy’s done. The funeral home is picking her up later today.”

As the morgue assistant crossed the room to haul open one of the doors to the wall of refrigerated units, Tash had to admit the visit here was a very sobering thought. She tended to get caught up in her work, seeing everything as a challenge, a puzzle, and briefly forgot the pieces involved tended to be made of real people with families and loved ones. She slowly approached as the metal tray was tugged out to reveal a body covered in a sheet.

The redheaded woman looked up, her eyes wide and owl-like behind her oversized glasses. “You okay?”

Tash nodded as she stepped up to the body, watching as the sheet was drawn back.

Deborah Ann Walker didn’t look familiar. Her hair was paler now that it was dry, more strawberry blonde, and hung in tangled curls around her head. Her pale skin was freckled beneath the heavy bruising. Cuts ran across her cheekbone, a wound by her temple, her shoulders, and there was the start of a stitched-up Y-incision just above where the sheet stopped over her breasts. And ugly bruise cut around her throat.

“She’d been tied,” the morgue assistant began. “There were definitely rope burns but something else as well, possibly a cuff of some sort that was less damaging. Some traces of leather under her fingernails, so that’s what the police are leaning toward.”

Tash cleared her throat, her gaze locked on the woman’s closed eyelids. “Sexual assault?”

“Yes. No trace of semen. She was possibly penetrated with a foreign object in addition.”

Though her stomach flopped around and bile rose, Tash took deep breaths and held it together. “And she was beaten.”

“Repeatedly. And choked, possibly to the point of unconsciousness. No prints, possibly gloves, but the killer has large hands. Definitely male. Cause of death wasn’t the water, but blunt force trauma. Lacerations and puncture wounds on her abdomen were post-mortem. Overkill, rage-like. He might not have realized she was dead before he started stabbing her.”

It didn’t take a TV profiler to put this one together. Crime committed by a man, probably a sadist. Extreme hatred for both this woman and possibly women in general. And from what she gleaned from Harry’s notes on the Cooper-Archer murder years ago, this one was a match.

“Any idea where the body was dumped from?” she asked, pleased that her voice didn’t shake as badly as she expected it to.

“Not that I’ve heard, but unless they bring in samples of things to be tested, I wouldn’t know what the police are thinking.” The morgue assistant reached for the white sheet again, pausing.

Tash nodded her agreement and glanced away as the body was covered again. She’d definitely seen enough. Ice ran through her veins, sobering her completely from anything else she’d been thinking. Guilt over upsetting Devin Archer? Screw that.

She was going to nail this bastard with the murders once and for all.

Chapter Nine

Natasha sat in her office Monday afternoon with just the
womp womp
of the ceiling fan punctuating the silence. She’d had another call from a potential client that morning but put it off, scheduling him for later in the week. Malone’s old files still sat on the floor untouched—she had a million things to do but no desire to work on any of them.