The Profiler's Daughter (Sky Stone Thriller Series) (17 page)

Jake retreated behind an expressionless mask and addressed Kyle. “So what did Templeton have to say?”

“Kyle wasn’t there,” Sky said. The memory of Jake’s body intruded and she sent up a silent prayer of thanks to the artificial calm of the little blue pills. “I spoke with Ellery alone.”

Jake rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. “That didn’t strike you as a bad idea?”

“Ellery trusts me,” Sky insisted. “Kyle and Axelrod would have made him nervous.”

“Damn straight,” Kyle agreed. “Templeton should be nervous. Nervous as hell.”

“Ellery didn’t murder Nicolette.” Sky felt like a broken record.

Jake’s eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t you tell me you dated Templeton?”

When Sky didn’t respond, Jake pushed. “We were engaged.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about Theresa?” Sky shot back. Anger bubbled up and she added, “I met her last night. Lovely person. Congratulations.” The words just slipped out. Sky was appalled by her own behavior.

Axelrod shifted in his chair and Kyle cleared his throat.

Jake’s expression didn’t change but Sky watched his left hand clench. The index finger of his right hand tapped a rhythm on the handle of the baby Glock.

“Autopsy?” Kyle changed the subject. “Anything remotely interesting from Vanessa Hatcher?” He spoke the medical examiner’s name with exaggerated precision.

“Asphyxiation by strangulation,” Jake said. “Soft tissue damage in the neck indicated obstruction of arterial flow in the carotids.”

“Any sign of sexual activity?” Kyle asked.

“Affirmative. Traces of semen. Vaginal penetration two to five hours before the body was found.” Jake shrugged. “No evidence of force.”

“Consensual sex before she was murdered,” Sky said.

“She was pregnant. Approximately eight weeks.” Jake’s voice had a guttural quality and he avoided Sky’s eyes.

So the subject of pregnancy caused him pain, too. Sky noted the strangeness of working with Jake, sleeping with Jake. But the thing they hadn’t done was talk to each other. Why was talking so difficult? Like maneuvering though land mines.

“I got this from Nicolette’s tattoo artist.” Sky placed the computer print-out of the caimen tattoo on the table next to the log pages. “One body, two counts of murder,” she said. “Pregnancy suggests motive.”

Jake studied the tattoo. “A crocodile? Unusual choice.” He made no mention of tramp stamps, as he’d done at the crime scene. Sky suspected that Nicolette had finally become flesh and blood for Jake.

“Nicolette’s last forty-eight hours.” Jake handed a time line to each member of the team.

Sky scanned the page. “I’ll talk to Francois Duquette at the Newton Centre Salon. According to the roommate, he gave Nicolette a trim on Saturday.”

“A hair dresser?” Kyle arched a skeptical eyebrow.

“A woman’s relationship with her hairdresser can be very close,” Sky insisted. “A friend of mine drives to New York City because that’s where her hairdresser relocated and she doesn’t trust anyone else. Ten hour drive, all in all.”

Kyle’s mouth dropped open and the toothpick fell out.

“Trudy’s blonde,” Sky added. “Pays three hundred dollars for a hair foil. Not including tip. And she makes her appointments three months in advance.”

“Holy crap. Who knew?” Kyle gave his close-cropped gray hair a thoughtful rub. “Three hundred dollars? I pay my Lake barber fifteen bucks. Yet another reason to celebrate being male.”

Magnus crashed through the briefing room door and made directly for the bulletin board where the eight by ten glossies of Nicolette’s body were pinned. He stared at a close-up of Nicolette’s swollen, mottled face. “The mayor is freaking out on me,” Magnus said. “He’s afraid this murder will affect real estate values. Not that I particularly care what the mayor thinks.” He pivoted and addressed the team. “Why, you might be asking yourselves, am I angry?” He gestured toward the glossies. “Because every goddam news cycle is leading with this girl. Makes us look like amateurs. I expect action.” His expression suggested a man ready to pounce. “Farrell, if you can’t handle this investigation I’m considering a joint task force. Bring in the bureau.”

“That’s great, Chief.” Kyle’s tone dripped sarcasm. “We’ll do the grunt work, we’ll give those FBI dicks everything we’ve got. They’ll give us nothing and take credit for solving the case.” He turned to Sky. “I wouldn’t care so much if they weren’t so fucking sanctimonious about their
process
.” He gestured with air quotes.

“So give me something,” Magnus said.

“Our current suspects.” Sky placed the photographs on the conference table. “This first shot is Professor Horace Fisk, Nicolette’s boss and mentor. The second is Zach Rosario, resentful yet horny research fellow. Runs the lab with Nicolette.” It wasn’t a flattering shot. Zach was all jowls and corkscrew curls.

Jake gave Sky a loaded look and pointed to the third face. “Ellery Templeton. Boyfriend.”

“Ellery Templeton, boyfriend and
player
,” Kyle added. “We met one of Templeton’s paramours at his place in Charlestown. The fair Fiona.” Kyle offered Jake an abbreviated version of the conversation with willowy, foul-mouthed Fiona. “She’s British.”

Jake appeared to take some pleasure at this mention of Fiona Thatcher. Sky watched him stifle a smug smile. She did not think of herself as a violent person, but she felt the sudden urge to punch him. He really was unbearable.

She set the final picture down. “Porter Manville, CEO of Wellbiogen, the pharmaceutical company that funds Fisk’s research.” Sky didn’t mention that she’d just seen Manville at the lab, or that she’d hidden in the closet. Which sounded like something a child might do.

Magnus pointed to Manville’s picture. “I know this guy. Met him last summer at the mayor’s annual barbecue. He let me drive his Lamborghini. I took it for a spin on Route 128. That car can go from zero to sixty in five seconds.”

“We are aware, yes,” Kyle said. “Think you might be able to get him in here for an interview, Chief?”

Magnus issued a rare smile. “I have every confidence in Doctor Stone’s methods. No need for me to interfere at this point.” He picked up a log page. “What’s this?”

“Nicolette cut these out of the lab record,” Sky said. “I found them hidden in her apartment. They might be important. I don’t know yet.”

Magnus inclined his head toward her and his voice softened. “Are these detectives giving you plenty of space? They’re not tying you down with busy work?”

Sky shook her head.

“Do you have everything you need?”

The kindness in the Chief’s voice made Sky feel weepy. Did she have everything she needed? If she gave Magnus an honest answer, she might say No, I have nothing. My baby is dead. The man I love is seeing another woman. My life is an empty shell and I’m just going through the motions.

But Sky couldn’t say those things. That she was even thinking them in the conference room of the police station struck her as a bad sign. “I’m fine,” she lied.

“Good.” Magnus grew gruff. “Now make something happen,” he swung his finger to include the detectives in his threat. “Or think ‘FBI’.” He marched out of the conference room.

“Think he’ll really bring in some agents?” Axelrod’s face brightened.

Kyle gave the rookie a pained look. “This groupie mentality toward the bureau really must stop, Axelrod. Please don’t make me hurt you.” He glanced at Sky. “Darling, let’s review this timeline.”

“Nicolette broke up with Ellery after the bar closed, around two o’clock Sunday morning,” she said. “We haven’t talked to anybody who saw her after that.”

“Just my point.” Kyle leaned over the pictures and covered Ellery’s face with his hand. “Templeton was the last person to report seeing Nicolette alive.”

“Nicolette’s roommate says she was cheerful about the breakup.” Sky pushed Kyle’s hand away. “Why was she cheerful?”

“Because she wanted the break up?” Axelrod suggested.

“Maybe Nicolette was already sleeping with someone else,” Kyle said. “That’s the only time you’re happy to end it with your current partner.” He gave a rueful smile. “Sadly, I speak from experience. Three marriages’ worth. And counting.”

“Fine,” Sky said. “Let’s assume Nicolette was seeing another man.”

“Mr. Viper?” Jake mentioned the name from the slip of paper.

“We can’t find anybody who knows him.” Sky made a mental note to bring the name up with Francois Duquette.

“Nicolette broke it off with Templeton,” Jake said. “That gives Templeton motive.”

“But Ellery was glad to end it. He said Nicolette was too clingy.” Sky studied the timeline. “Let’s say Nicolette hooks up with the killer, they spend Sunday night together, have sex, go for a post-coital run.”

“Running after sex?” Kyle sighed. “That’s not what I’m thinking about after making love.”

“A night run gives him the perfect opportunity. And the fog was an added bonus.” Sky thought about the logistics. “They run on Comm Ave, Nicolette’s favorite loop. Just before they reach the Johnny Kelley statue, or maybe just after, if they’re coming from the west, they take a detour and jog along the east side of Bullough’s Pond.”

“Past the kids,” Axelrod added.

“Noah’s fishing behind the boat house. Doesn’t see or hear anything,” Sky said. “Molly is baiting her hook. She hears Nicolette laughing. She looks up, both faces are in shadow, both wearing hoods. Molly watches him pull Nicolette away from the water, they run north on Dexter. The killer must have strangled Nicolette just moments later. Not fifty yards from where those kids were fishing.”

Sky found this nearly as unsettling as the murder itself. What kind of person would carry out such an act with children so near? “It takes enormous pressure to obstruct arterial flow in the carotids,” she reasoned. “We have someone very strong. Very aggressive. Very angry.”

“Angry?” Jake seemed skeptical. “Convince me.”

“Remember,” Sky pointed to the crocodile tattoo. “The killer was carrying a knife.”

“A sharp knife,” Kyle added.

“Yes,” Sky agreed. “Sharp enough to slice off a patch of skin.” She looked at Jake when she spoke. “But he killed her with his hands. He looked into Nicolette’s eyes and strangled the life out of her. He was angry.”

“About the pregnancy,” Jake suggested.

“Maybe. Or maybe she didn’t know she was pregnant.” Sky wondered what Nicolette was laughing about as she ran past Molly. Was it an innocent laugh? A girlish laugh? An ugly laugh? So many possibilities.

“A killer who didn’t leave much behind,” Kyle said.

“Because he planned the murder.” Sky followed the contours of the inked crocodile as she spoke. “The killer has some familiarity with police procedure. It was so clean. And he’s proud of his work. Arrogant.”

“What are you getting at?” Jake said.

Sky looked past him, toward the grainy image of Nicolette’s battered face. “This guy’s no virgin. He’s killed before.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“Skylar Winthrop Stone.” Francois Duquette spoke Sky’s name and flashed a demure smile from behind the counter of Duquette’s Newton Centre hair salon. “Only grandchild of Isabel Crowninshield Winthrop. You probably don’t remember me,
mon petit
. But I certainly remember you.”

“Sorry.” Sky gave the older man a polite smile and wondered if he’d always worn eyeliner and blush.

“Not to worry. It was such a long time ago.” Francois fingered the ribbed collar of his beige Burberry polo shirt and sat a bit straighter. “Sometimes, when your grandmother was feeling too unwell to come to the shop on Newbury, I would go to her lovely Back Bay home.” He gave a patrician sniff. “She simply would not allow anyone else to touch her hair in those days. I could do anything. An up-do for evening, a simple blunt cut, it didn’t matter. Her hair was so thick, so malleable …” His watery eyes focused on Sky. “I see you’ve inherited that mane. Lucky girl.” His manner changed abruptly. “But you are here about Nicolette, of course. The poor darling was so jubilant, so alive. Just a trim and a few highlights, I remember it quite vividly.” His voice lowered. “I don’t like to toot my own horn, but redheads do require that special touch.”

“Did Nicolette confide in you, Francois?”

“That girl held her cards close, but she did sometimes tell me things …” Francois fluttered his eyelashes, shook and checked two understated gold bracelets, and worried a gold set ruby necklace until it just peeked out from the plaid placket of the Burberry shirt. It was a practiced gesture, calculated, Sky guessed, to catch his audience’s eye and invite a compliment.

“What a beautiful necklace,” Sky said, slipping a salon business card into her pocket.

“Oh,” Francois swooned, “I can’t tell you what it means to hear those words from a Winthrop.” He inclined his head toward her and whispered, “Your grandmother’s jewelry. Well, words fail me.” A slow wave of his hand revealed a delicate diamond pinky ring set in gold. “I sometimes dream of that sapphire and diamond necklace.”

Sky took little interest in jewelry and couldn’t remember the piece. She shrugged.

“Perhaps she’ll leave it to you,
ma chère
.” The hairdresser gave his head a small shake. “Sky – you don’t mind if I call you Sky? Your eyes are a perfect match for those sky-blue sapphires.” Smiling at his own remark, Francois patted his jet-black hair, lightly hand-checking his toupee to make sure all was well up there. His silent eye contact with an employee sporting an asymmetrical hair cut prompted the smartly turned-out young man to scuttle behind a gold curtain and return with a tray of hot tea and lemon wedges on a porcelain plate.

“Come with me, Doctor Stone.” Francois pronounced her name for the apparent benefit of the entire room and led Sky past a line of hairdressers tending to women in various stages of wash, cut, and blow-dry. “I’m stealing you away. I want you all to myself.” Francois leaned into her and pressed his mouth to her ear. “N-O-K-D,” he whispered, gesturing to the room at large.

Sky shook her head, she didn’t understand the acronym.

“Not our kind, darling,” Francois whispered, mincing his way ahead of her. He held the door and Sky walked into a room covered with flocked wallpaper that undulated in black and white heart-shaped waves. It reminded Sky of sixties op art.