Читать книгу The Stranger You Know - Andrea Kane - Страница 12

Chapter Seven

The body was located just after 1:00 a.m. at a warehouse on Jay Street.

Identification was no problem, since Kendra’s purse hadn’t been touched, so neither had her driver’s license or student ID.

The medical examiner did his job and filed his report. The parents were notified. They lived locally, so they rushed over to identify the body. It was a heartbreaking scene.

Tom hated this part of his job.

Once he’d dotted his i’s and crossed his t’s, he dropped wearily back in his chair and rubbed his temples. His tired gaze fell on the phone and he stared at it for a long time. The case was now a wide-open homicide. No aspect of it should be discussed. But Claire had been instrumental in their discovering it. She had a right to know.

Tom picked up the phone and punched in her cell number.

Claire answered on the first ring. She was with the entire FI team, gathered around the second-floor conference table, downing cup after cup of coffee.

“This is an unofficial call, Claire,” Tom stated flatly. “I shouldn’t even be making it. But given our prior professional relationship and the fact that you initiated this entire search, I’ll tell you what I can.”

“Thanks, Tom.” Claire put down her coffee cup. “You found the girl. I don’t need to ask you if she was dead.”

“No, you don’t.”

Claire nodded sadly. “I’m with my team,” she informed him. “May I put you on speakerphone?”

“We’re really pushing the envelope here. But fine.”

Claire pressed the speaker button and set her phone in the center of the table. “Go ahead.”

“It was pretty much as you described. The body was in a warehouse on Jay Street.”

“Shit. That’s my neck of the woods,” Ryan muttered.

“She was nude,” Tom continued. “Her clothing was torn to shreds. Her wrists were bound together. There was physical evidence of rape. The hyoid bone in her neck was fractured, indicating strangulation. The body was wrapped in a canvas tarp. Pieces of her hair had been snipped off. There was a red ribbon tied around her throat in a bow. And he’d applied lipstick to her lips. It was almost like he was leaving us a carefully wrapped gift, as sick as that is.”

“Sounds like a signature mark of some kind.” Marc spoke up. “Detective Werner, this is Marc Devereaux, one of Claire’s colleagues. I realize this entire conversation is off the record. So can you give me a description of the girl?”

“Caucasian. Petite—about five foot three, a hundred and five pounds. Brown eyes, shoulder-length red hair.”

There was a long moment of silence at the conference table before Casey spoke up.

“This is Casey Woods, Detective. What else can you tell us about the victim?”

“Her name was Kendra Mallery. She was a freshman at Columbia. Her family’s been notified and they’ve ID’d the body, but they’re in shock and not able to tell us much. I haven’t spoken to any of her friends yet. So I don’t know too many details about her habits or where she was headed when she was abducted.” Tom paused. “I realize Claire is invested in this because she visualized the crime. But I get the feeling there’s more at stake here. Why is your team asking so many questions?”

“Because it’s possible the killer was in touch with me at the time of the murder.” Casey tried to keep the emotion out of her voice.

“What?”

She went on to explain the call she’d gotten, reporting it as accurately as possible. She also told Tom about the cold case they were investigating and her caller’s allusion to it.

“Shit,” Tom muttered. “That’s no coincidence. The killer is targeting you. And keeping tabs on you in the process. Do you have any idea who he is?”

“None.” Casey fiddled with her pen as she spoke. “But the description you gave of the victim? It could as easily be a description of me. And not just the physical elements. I got my undergraduate degree at Columbia.”

At this point, the tension in the conference room was suffocating.

“Look,” Casey said at last. “We can speculate all we want. But the truth is, we have nothing but an untraceable, voice-scrambled phone call and a series of coincidences. That’s not enough to take action.”

“It’s enough to assign you police protection,” Ryan said.

“Minimal protection,” Marc corrected. “Our team can provide a whole lot more.” He cleared his throat. “Tom, based on Claire’s tip, which led to your finding the body, along with the threats that were made against Casey—could you speak to your captain about Forensic Instincts working together with your precinct on solving this one? Our skills and resources can complement each other’s.”

“While working within the boundaries of the law?” Tom asked pointedly.

“That’s always our intention,” Marc responded. “We’re not interested in being at odds with law enforcement. Just understand that we’re protecting one of our own. Anything we do that falls into the gray area will be our responsibility and will in no way implicate the police.”

“Fair enough,” Tom agreed. “Let me finish the paperwork, including all the information you just gave me. We’re in the process of checking for latent fingerprints on the tarp. We could get lucky. This bastard might be in the system. But first thing tomorrow morning, I’ll take your request to my captain.”

“Thanks, Tom,” Claire said.

She disconnected the call. She didn’t need to look around the table to see what was reflected on her teammates’ faces.

With or without police assistance, they’d already taken on the case.

* * *

Claire remained in the conference room long after the rest of the team had taken off and even Casey had gone upstairs to make the attempt to catch some sleep.

No matter how hard she tried, Claire couldn’t get the crime images out of her mind. They flashed through her head, one image after the other, like some old horror movie.

The visualizations had begun in sequence as Tom elaborated on what he’d found at the crime scene. Claire could see it all—Kendra’s wrapped body, her hair, even the red satin ribbon tied around her throat. Worse, Claire could feel what Kendra had been feeling—everything from the panic to the blinding pain to the sense of futility, and then the moment when she’d given up.

The whole horrifying event had grabbed hold of Claire and wouldn’t let go.

She dropped her face in her hands and rubbed her eyes, as if by doing that she could make it all go away.

It didn’t work.

Shoving back her chair, Claire left the conference room, heading down the stairs, looking for escape. She had no desire to go home or to be alone in her apartment. She was totally freaked out and trembling, consumed by a sense of death.

She didn’t remember passing the ground floor and continuing downstairs to the basement. But once she’d done so... She had no idea how she knew Ryan would be there. She just did.

The door to his lair was half-closed. Claire stepped inside, glancing at his usual spot behind the computer. He wasn’t there. Instead, he was across the room, sitting on his bench and lifting weights. He was definitely a man with a mission, pumping iron with a vengeance, perspiration glistening on his bare chest.

He spotted Claire the minute she came in. Slowly, he lowered his weights to the floor and stood up.

“Are you okay?”

“No.” She shook her head.

He crossed over to her, studying her drawn expression and wide, frightened eyes.

Neither of them said a word.

Claire reached behind her and shoved the door closed, turning the lock with a loud click. Then she took the few steps that separated her from Ryan and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Make it go away,” she whispered. “Just for a little while. Make the pictures stop.”

He tilted back her head, kissed her once, hard, and then lifted her off the floor and flush against him. Claire wrapped her legs around his waist and they stumbled across the room, dropping onto the futon they’d used more than a few times for this.

Claire let her body take over, let the feel, taste and smell of Ryan permeate her senses. Making love with him was an all-encompassing experience, leaving no room for anything else. Which was exactly what she needed right now.

They drew it out as long as they could—blocking out the world, losing themselves in sensation. Claire’s climax was explosive, and she cried out, feeling Ryan’s body jolt with his own release.

Afterward, they were quiet, both of them loath to let go of the moment and allow reality to creep back in.

When Ryan spoke, it was in a rough, gravelly tone. “Don’t cry.”

Claire blinked. She hadn’t realized she’d been crying. But her cheeks and lashes were wet, as was Ryan’s shoulder where her face had been.

“I’m sorry.” She ran her palm across his shoulder, then wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “It’s the emotional energy.”

Ryan nodded, his chin pressed against the crown of her head.

Another moment passed, and Claire could feel the ugly ghosts threatening to crowd their way into her mind. Unconsciously, her nails dug into Ryan’s back.

Ryan picked up on her panic.

“It’s after three in the morning,” he said. “We have to be upstairs in a couple of hours. For you to go home now would be ridiculous. Stay here.”

Now that was unprecedented.

What Claire and Ryan had was very complicated. They were polar opposites in so many ways. They debated hard, they bickered constantly and they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Ryan was gorgeous and charismatic, with those smoldering Black Irish looks and the charm to match—all of which meant he attracted women like a magnet.

None of that impressed Claire. She was very much her own person, gentle and ethereal, yet strong and honest, unwilling to back down when she thought Ryan was wrong. They were, without a doubt, each other’s weak spot, and despite their best intentions to the contrary and the fact that the two of them were like day and night, they continued to wind up in bed together.

They’d fast become a habit each of them was finding impossible to break.

After months of being involved, they’d relegated their sexual relationship to its own inexplicable but inescapable niche.

That niche didn’t include spending the night together.

Still, what Ryan was saying now made complete pragmatic sense. It was hardly a romantic step forward. Just a time-saver and a few extra hours of comfort—hours Claire badly needed. She didn’t want to think. She didn’t have the energy to move. And she didn’t have the mental strength to battle her demons.

Ryan didn’t wait for Claire’s reply. He rolled onto his side and reached for the fleece throw he kept at the foot of the futon. He settled Claire against him and covered them both.

“Go to sleep, Claire-voyant,” he murmured. “Shut down that out-of-control mind of yours. You can pick up where you left off tomorrow.”

Claire would never admit how relieved Ryan’s words made her feel, or how grateful she was not to be alone. She commanded her mind and her body to release the negative energy, and they complied. “I’m so drained,” she heard herself whisper aloud.

“I know.” Ryan lay down beside her, wrapping one arm around her waist, pausing only long enough to set the alarm on his watch.

By the time he put down his head, Claire was fast asleep.

* * *

Upstairs in her apartment, Casey was having no such luck.

She’d taken a hot shower to relax the tension from her body, plumped her pillows about twelve times and now lay on her back, one arm folded beneath her head.

She wished that damned voice on the phone hadn’t been disguised. But the fact that it was—did that mean she knew the person at the other end? He wasn’t threatening Forensic Instincts. Even if this was a personal vendetta against Casey’s entire company, he was zeroing in on her as his target. That in itself was unnerving. But what unnerved her most was how detailed the offender’s planning had been. He’d plugged into her current investigation and where she stood on it. That took time, patience and connections. He obviously had all three. And with regard to tonight’s rape and murder? He’d carefully chosen a victim whose description matched Casey’s.

All those things together added up to a systematic mind and strategic planning—a lethal combination.

Last, but far from least, he’d made sure to call Casey either right before or, even more macabre, sometime during his horrific crime.

That added a perverse twist....

What was his motive? Was it personal? Professional? And if Casey was designated as the final target, what killing rampage did he have planned in the interim?

The questions bombarded Casey, growing more and more numerous as she lay there.

She had an impressive team in Forensic Instincts. They’d drop everything to work this crime and keep her safe. But there was only one person who had the expertise—and, yes, the personal investment—to get a handle on this case and solve it quickly.

She picked up her phone and punched in a number on speed dial.

Two rings, and then a sleepy voice answered. “Hutchinson.”

“It’s me. I need you.”