Vulnerable (Morgans of Nashville) (10 page)

She moved to the plastic-lined curtains. The cheap feel of the curtain fabric had her counting the minutes until she bolted out of this dump.

A peek outside revealed a dark night sky and a full moon. She loved the nights but hated it when the sun rose. Even as a kid, she kicked and cried when her mother woke her up and made her dress for school. She never felt like herself until about three in the afternoon when her internal body clock kicked into high gear. As an adult, the only time she saw the sunrise was after a long night out.

After peeing, she set up the coffeemaker in the room and switched it on. Soon, water gurgled and hissed. Her conversation yesterday with the detectives was disappointing to say the least. She had expected to learn more behind Georgia’s motivation for reopening the case. Was new interest in the case based on new evidence or had Dalton Marlowe finally paid off the right person to reopen it? She guessed the latter.

Remembering yesterday’s breakfast, she considered Detective Jake Bishop. He had a relaxed manner and yet his eyes were cold and unrelenting. The guy wasn’t dumb like so many of the cops she dealt with five years ago. If he had been in charge of the search then, she wondered if the outcome would have been the same.

Georgia Morgan was just as dedicated as Bishop. She was wound tighter, but was clearly one of those obsessively dedicated professionals. The two together were an impressive combination.

A knock at her motel room sent a ripple of tension through her body. “Who is it?”

“It’s the manager. Your three days are up. If you want to stay longer, you’re gonna have to pay.”

Combing her fingers through her long blond hair, she considered her options. She could spend one more night here, but that meant dipping into the last of this week’s paycheck. Another would hit her account in a few days, but until then, she had to make do.

“I’m leaving.” She slipped her feet into her shoes and stood. “I’ll be out in five minutes.”

“Five minutes is all you get. I have to get the maid inside and have her flip the room.”

“Does she have a flamethrower?” She glanced at the industrial gray carpet covered with stains, the brown veneer dresser and nightstand dinged with scratches and dents from years of use. The television looked like it dated back to the Stone Age.

“What?”

The place deserved to be burned to the ground. “Never mind. I’ll be gone in ten minutes.” She stretched and then moved quickly to the bathroom to wash up. A glance in the mirror, and she spent several minutes touching up her eye makeup and lipstick.

“Time to deal with Nashville.” She tossed one last look at herself before she grabbed her purse and bag and headed out of the room with her coffee. Even in the shitty light of this dump, she looked good. The morning air smelled fresh and sweet, a nice change from the musty motel room. As she loaded her small roller suitcase in the car, she glanced toward the motel office and saw the manager staring at her as he leaned against the brick wall and smoked a cigarette. Smoke trailed past squinting eyes.

“Ass,” she muttered as she dumped her bag in the backseat. “Someone should burn this place to the ground.”

The drive to her mother’s small house in East Nashville took less than ten minutes and when she pulled into the driveway an invisible fist clenched her heart. When she left for college she swore she’d never return to this dump. She had such big dreams when she grabbed her scholarship to the University of Texas, expecting by now to be married to a rich boy.

Shit. Rich boy. For a time she had plenty of them so hot to fuck her they would do anything she asked. Anything.

Amber made her way slowly up to the front door. Through the door she heard the voices from the television. That didn’t mean her mother was awake or home. That damn television was always blaring because her mother so hated the silence. She knocked on the door with the flat of her hand. At first, her only response was the sound of a commercial about dog food, but then she heard the scrape of a chair and she imagined her mother pushing herself up. Footsteps padded. A chain scraped against the door and it opened. Staring at her through the screen door was her mother, a petite woman with gray-blond hair, faded blue eyes that had once been as vivid as sapphires. The lines around her mouth and eyes had deepened, but her face still possessed hints of the beauty that Amber had once envied.

“Hey, Mom,” she said.

An unspoken smugness narrowed her eyes and she nodded. “So, you’re back.”

“Yes.”

“Never thought I’d see you again.”

Amber tightened her hand on her purse strap. The taste of crow was far more bitter than she imagined. “I said some pretty harsh things when I left.”

Her mother folded her arms over her chest, accentuating the wrinkled cleavage in the V-neck of her sweater. “You had a lot of mouth on you. But then, the world dumped a lot of trouble on your shoulders and mine. They were tough times.”

“I was hoping I could stay here for a few days.”

“Sure. You can stay. But why are you back, Amber? You being here is only going to stir up trouble.”

“I’m not the one that stirred the trouble. Dalton reopened the past, not me.”

“I been watching the television. I saw that the cops found the bodies up at the park.”

Amber cocked her head. There’d been no mention when she shut off the television at one a.m. “What bodies?”

“Bodies found in Percy Warner Park. One they think is that missing girl, but no cop is talking about the other two. Reporter thinks it’s Bethany and Mike.”

“Bethany and Mike?” The frown lines in her smooth face deepened. “After all this time, they’ve been found?”

“Well, that’s what the reporters are saying. No one really knows. Reporters stir all kinds of shit up for headlines.”

“Damn.”

Tracy raised a bony finger and swiped away a brittle strand of bleached blond hair. “Ain’t that some shit?”

“Yeah.” She ticked through the trouble that would soon swirl around her now. “Where did they find them?”

“In a cave in the park. You’d think with all the people looking so many years ago that someone would have found them.”

“You’d think.”

Tracy took Amber’s bag. “Come on inside. You look like you could sit.”

“Thanks.” Her mother smelled of cigarette smoke and cheap perfume. She recalled the image of Detective Bishop on the phone outside the diner and the way he stared at Georgia as he spoke. He’d found out then about the bodies. “Mom, I’m almost out of money.”

She sighed and set the bag beside a tall stack of magazines. “We’ve had our differences, but you’re my baby girl. You can stay here as long as you want.”

Amber glanced around her mother’s house that was as it had been when she was a kid. Beer. More cigarettes. Stale Chinese food. Air freshener. Her life had done a one-eighty and she was back where she started five years ago. And she hated it.

Her mother opened her arms. “Give Mama a hug, baby girl.”

Amber lowered her purse to the floor and stepped into her mother’s arms. As her mother’s thin arms tightened around her, she carefully raised her hands to pat her mother on the back as her mind drifted to the bodies found in the park. “Thank you, Mama.”

 

G
eorgia made it back to her apartment just after two in the morning. So damn exhausted, she stripped her clothes and shoved them in a green trash bag, which she set on her balcony. Straight to the shower, she turned on the hot tap, and stepped under it, letting the hot water wash away the chill, dirt, and the smells of the crime scene. She scrubbed until her skin was pink as the grime swirled down the drain. Falling into bed minutes later, she slept like the dead until ten in the morning.

Now as she walked through the door of the forensic lab, a cup of coffee in hand and her mind sharp, she was ready to work. The sleep had always left her energized better than any amount of coffee. At times like this, she promised herself that the next time she would sleep like a normal person.

Right. Who was she kidding? With her crazy life, sleep was a low priority.

Brad had showered and shaved, and judging by the number of paper coffee cups on his desk, he had arrived hours ago. He stood in front of a large examination table. On top of it was a red sweater spread arms wide. The garment had the old musty smell of the evidence room.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to sleep so late.”

He glanced up, noted her relaxed demeanor and smiled. “It’s nice to see the color back in your face.”

“Nice not to feel as if I have five pounds of sand in each eye.” She sipped her coffee. “So what case is that sweater from?”

“It’s from a rape in the East End. I collected it last week but haven’t had the chance yet to test it.”

She remembered the case. Seventeen-year-old girl walking home from work was dragged into an alley, beaten and raped. So far, her attacker remained on the loose.

“The media has gotten hold of the Percy Warner Park case. They are calling every half hour trying to find out if the old and new cases are linked.”

She didn’t listen to the news much. Half the time it upset her, and the other half made her angry when reporters spouted misleading junk science. “Don’t bother to take the calls. None of them wants to hear it can take months to assemble all the physical evidence. They all think we can process the scenes in an hour and have DNA in twenty minutes just like the TV show.”

He laughed. “The word from the top is no one talks to the media. Deke has summoned Jake and Rick, and they’re headed this way now for a meeting.”

“That should be fun.”

“I hear the retests you did on Amber Ryder’s old clothes have been bumped to the top of the priority list.”

“Good.” The discovery of the bodies, along with a push from Deke, accomplished that miracle. She fished her phone out of her purse and glanced at the display. Six missed calls. Scrolling through, she identified four as local media. “Looks like the reporters have me on their radar.”

“Isn’t this what you wanted? Shining a light on cold cases?”

“Be careful what you wish for, right?”

“You know you love it.”

“Maybe a little,” she said with a hint of satisfaction. She set her cup and purse down on her desk and moved toward a box of latex gloves.

“Our pal Detective Bishop called at five in the morning to tell me the medical examiner’s office would be delivering Elisa Spence’s clothes before noon and they needed them to be processed ASAP. The articles arrived about five minutes ago.”

“I understand Jake and Rick talked to the parents, and they made the formal ID at the medical examiner’s office.”

When she imagined Rick and Jake making the death notice, she pictured Rick doing the talking. He possessed that soft Boy Scout vibe that put people at ease, whereas Jake was more like a charming jackhammer.

“Did you get any sleep at all last night?” she asked as Brad arched his back and tried to stretch out the stiffness.

“A few hours. I’m surprised Bishop didn’t call you.”

She set her coffee cup down, moving toward the table where he worked. “He did. My phone’s been off until a few seconds ago.”

Georgia donned plastic gloves before unpacking the paper bags of Elisa Spence’s clothes sent over by the medical examiner’s office. Paper bags allowed air to flow in and out whereas plastic bags created an airtight seal that allowed for the buildup of heat and mold. Both could destroy any kind of biological evidence within hours.

She laid out the garments on a light table. There was a white bloodstained shirt, a khaki skirt, a shoe, and lacy undergarments.

“Leave no stone unturned,” he said copying Jake’s Boston accent.

She laughed. “You sound like him.”

“Seriously, that guy can be pushy as hell.”

“He can’t help it,” she said, grinning. “I think he was born with a stick up his ass.”

Brad laughed, glancing toward the door as if he were afraid Jake would appear. “I never said that.”

“That’s because you’re afraid of him.”

He straightened his shoulders. “Not afraid, exactly. Just damn leery. Never know when he’ll throw the switch.”

“Take his best shot.” When it came to Jake, she was always snapping back and pushing away.

Pushing him from her thoughts, she focused on the white striped button-down shirt, taking extra care to tug any wrinkles on the arms or front panel. She clicked on a light suspended from a retractable arm and shone it on the material. She would go over the shirt, combing the fibers and threads for any loose materials that could be tested for DNA.

Killers always thought they were clever, but like she had said before, they all left something behind for her to find. It might be barely noticeable, but it was there.

She moved up and down the shirt, plucking several dark hairs with tweezers and then bagging and tagging them. She collected blood samples from the torn right sleeve and from the collar of the shirt. Once she reviewed every inch of the shirt a second time, she turned off the white light and grabbed a black light. Clicking it on, she scanned the shirt, searching for stains, including blood, semen, or urine. As she raised the bottom hem of the shirt, she spotted a faint stain glowing under the black light.

“Hey, now,” she muttered. “Where did you come from?” She carefully clipped away part of the fabric and dropped it in a test tube. “Thought you were so clever, didn’t you.”

“Did you say something?” Brad asked.

“Found a stain.”

He raised his head. “Good.”

Georgia scraped dirt from the bottom of Elisa’s shoe, plucked hair fibers from her skirt and documented two more stains.

She studied the shoe Elisa had worn into the woods. It was simple but expensive. Checking the label on her skirt and shirt, Georgia noted the moderately priced labels.

“The bodies in the back chamber look like a murder /suicide,” Brad said.

“I’d have bought it, if not for the newest victim. No way a second killer would have found that cave. No way.”

Likely little forensic data remained on the bones, but it only took a little to connect killer to victim.

* * *

Jake and Rick arrived at the medical examiner’s office in late afternoon. Jake showed his badge to the receptionist behind the thick glass panel and, leaning into the microphone, said, “Dr. Heller is expecting us.”

“I’ll buzz her,” the tall, thin woman said.

Rick reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and removed a folded piece of white paper. “Jenna swung by the coffee shop and talked to Cleo and spent a couple of hours with her drawing a composite. She thinks the likeness she drew is a fair representation given Cleo’s memory isn’t as sharp as she hoped.”

Jake studied the precise sketch of a bearded man. “He looks like a country-western star. But they all look alike to me.”

“That’s what I said. Cleo does have a thing for the country singers, according to Jenna. She talked about them a lot over the few hours Jenna spent with Cleo.”

Jake tapped the edge of the paper with his finger. “I appreciate her doing the work. Every bit helps.”

“Killers are creatures of habit,” Rick said. “Maybe his habit is Blue Note Java.”

“Very possible.” His phone buzzed and he checked the display. Dalton Marlowe’s name flashed. He sent the call to voice mail. He’d call him back as soon as he had more concrete answers.

The side door buzzed open and Dr. Miriam Heller appeared. She wore loose fitting green scrubs that moved easily with her as her long legs ate up the distance. Originally from the Northeast, she settled in Nashville four years ago and had established herself as a top-notch pathologist. Armed with a dry humor, Dr. Heller not only interacted well with the cops but also was known for her compassion when dealing with the families of the dead.

Jake smoothed his hand over his tie. “Dr. H. So we meet again.”

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this, gentlemen.” She nodded to Rick and smiled. “How are Jenna and Tracker?”

“Doing great. Thanks.”

“Maybe sometime we can all meet for a beer,” she said. “We can figure out if we can have a conversation that doesn’t involve death.”

Jake shrugged. “So what do you want to talk about while we’re having this beer, Dr. H.? You don’t strike me as a football or country music fan.”

“You might be surprised.” She turned and punched numbers into the keypad that unlocked the side door. They followed, allowing the door to close behind them.

Jake lowered his voice a notch. “Thanks for coming in last night and meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Spence.”

“I’ve seen their kind of pain so many times in this office, but it never gets easier. Seeing their daughter was a shock but they handled it the best they could.”

She moved down the hallway and then pushed open the doors to the large exam room. “Go ahead and gown up and I’ll meet you in the autopsy room.”

As Dr. Heller vanished through swinging doors, Jake and Rick reached for gowns.

“Have you spoken to the Spences this morning?” Rick asked.

“I talked to Mr. Spence a half hour ago,” Jake said. “They’re anxious to reclaim their daughter’s body and have her cremated.”

“I don’t blame them. Got to be hell for them.”

“Yeah.”

Within minutes, both had stripped off their suit jackets and slipped on green gowns and donned latex gloves. When they entered exam room one, Dr. Heller stood at the head of the exam table that held the sheet-clad body of Elisa Spence.

Dr. Heller slid on glasses and tied her dark hair back in a tight ponytail. She pulled on latex gloves and then adjusted the powerful light that was suspended above the exam table. As she stood over the body, her face showed a grim determination.

Her assistant, Debbie, a brunette with freckles and a round unsmiling face, stood next to her. Debbie’s body was rounder, softer, and made Dr. Heller, who’d traded smoking for obsessive running, all the more stark. Debbie uncovered the tray containing the instruments.

Dr. Heller moved to the body’s feet and uncovered them. Decomposition had discolored the soles and shrunk the skin around the toes’ cuticles, giving the impression that the nails had grown. The doctor turned the ankle so that the heel was in plain view. “She has fresh blisters and abrasions. I took a look at her remaining shoe before I sent it to the lab and noted it was older, well worn. I wouldn’t think the shoes would have worn blisters unless she’d been on her feet a long time. There are also scratches on her upper arm that suggest she ran into something abrasive like a tree.”

Jake rested his hands on his belt. “Like someone was chasing her through heavy brush?”

“That would be my guess. Her shoes created the blisters and the branches scratched her face.” Dr. Heller arched a brow. “One could assume she lost her other shoe while she running.”

“Scent dogs are combing the brush, but so far have not found it,” Rick said.

She moved to the head of the table and uncovered the girl’s face, also darkened and drawn from death. Her lips were pale, bloodless, and more scratches raked across the left side of her face. A purple ligature mark ringed the skin around her neck like a Victorian choker. “The scratches on her cheekbones are also consistent with running through the woods.” She lifted the head and turned it to the right, exposing the flesh under the left ear. “What does that look like to you?”

Jake leaned in to study the blue-purple marks. “Looks like bruises.”

“She’s got matching sets on the other side. The shape is consistent with fingers. Because they’re in slightly different positions, it appears whoever strangled her put hands on her neck several times.”

“Strangled her but didn’t kill her,” Jake said.

“That’s right. I’ve seen bodies marked like this before. They often indicate a choking game.”

Rick pointed to the narrow ribbon of bruises around her neck. “That’s a ligature mark if I’m not mistaken?”

“It is. She died from asphyxiation. The other marks might have been enough to make her pass out but not sufficient to cause death.”

Jake flexed his fingers. “So this started as a game?”

Absently, Dr. Heller laid a hand on the victim’s shoulder. “Smart girls can make stupid choices sometimes. And she might have gone into the woods thinking it was going to be fun when the killer had a different plan all along.”

“Shit,” Jake muttered, thinking about the cave and the candle that had burned through. The killer had not simply dragged her to the cave and killed her, he kept her there for hours and toyed with her. “Any older bruises that might suggest she tried this kind of thing before?”

“No, also no signs of drug abuse. This could have been her first foray into this kind of sexual play.”

“According to her roommate she was smart,” Rick said. “But she did like to party.”

Dr. Heller raised the victim’s right hand and fanned the pale fingers painted in purple chipped at the fingertips. “Debbie found dirt under her nails as if she’d been digging. Maybe she got away and tried to hide. Also embedded in the dirt under her nails, I found skin, so I did scrapings. We’ve processed and sent it off for DNA testing. Looks like she was able to scratch him perhaps a couple of times.”