Читать книгу Something Wicked - Angela Campbell - Страница 8

How the hell was he going to pull this off?

Dylan rifled through the drawer, pulled out an old manila file, and then shoved it back in again. His idea had seemed like a good one on the ride back to the station, foolproof, even, but now that he was trying to figure out the specifics of it, doubts began flooding his mind.

His plan had been to give Alexandra some crumbs on an old case, one that had already been solved, and watch her flounder on the details, thus proving there was nothing extraordinary about her. When his plan worked, she’d hightail it out of here with her tail between her legs, and he could get down to business catching this killer.

But what if he chose a case that had gotten extensive media coverage, and Alexandra had caught some of the details on one of those forensics shows on cable? The case he’d originally intended to use went back in the drawer. It hadn’t been high profile, but he knew reporters had picked up on it. Damn. It didn’t help that his own knowledge of the solved cases here was limited. He’d only been here for a little over a year.

Maybe something older?

Detective Reedus walked past, and Dylan called out to him. As the bureau’s senior detective, Reedus had been the first person to welcome Dylan on board and had worked in Charleston forever. The man seemed to know everything. “I need a case that’s been solved without a lot of public knowledge.”

Reedus tilted his head and frowned, so Dylan waved him closer and kept his voice low as he explained why he needed the file.

“Psychic?” Reedus perked up. “Ah, geez, Collins, don’t tell me the Cap laid one of those on you.” He reached into the drawer, glanced through some files and retrieved one. He cocked a smile. “Pretty clever idea you had to call her out. Mind if I watch?”

Dylan opened his mouth to say no but thought better of it after glancing through the file. “Did you work on this case?” He gestured with the folder. It was thicker than he would have liked.

“Damn straight. Did half the paperwork in there.”

He didn’t want to waste any more time than necessary. “Then come on.”

Reedus walked into the conference room first, and Dylan almost plowed into the back of him when the older man suddenly planted himself on the carpet.

Reedus turned and backhanded Dylan’s bicep. “My colleague didn’t tell me he was working with a gorgeous woman. Collins, what the hell is wrong with you?” Reedus held out his hand and introduced himself to Alexandra.

Alexandra was leaning back in a chair and tapping a rhythm on the table in front of her with her fingertips as if she was bored out of her mind. Considering he’d shared his plan with her before leaving the room, he’d half expected her to be jumpy and anxious, knowing there was no way she could get herself out of this one.

The woman continued to surprise him.

She reached up and accepted Reedus’s hand. “Nice to meet you, detective.”

Dylan shut the door behind them. “Detective Reedus worked on this case and can help me determine whether or not you’re just pulling things out of thin air.”

She sighed, and the sound translated as annoyed. She reached her hand across the table and wiggled her fingers in a gimme gesture. “Let’s not waste too much time on this, okay? I’d rather be working on a case I can help on.”

Surprised again, Dylan tried not to show it as he sank into the seat across from her. He pulled a plastic bag containing a necklace out of the folder. “It helps you to touch something that belonged to the victim, right?”

“It’s called psychometry, and I can only do that if a spirit connected to the object is still here and willing to talk.”

Yeah, whatever.

“I’m not gonna to share anything about this case with you first.”

“Good.” She snatched the necklace from his hand and looked down at the table. “Just give me a second to see what they show me.”

“They?” Reedus asked from where he leaned against the wall watching.

Alexandra ignored him, staring at the oak tabletop as her fingers toyed with the chain of the necklace. Her eyes glazed over, and silence filled the room while she fondled the charm and chain alternately. Oh, man. She was good at this. Dylan wondered if she had a background in the theater and decided to ask her before she left.

Her voice was firm and confident when she finally spoke. “The victim was a man. He was tall. Mustache. Maybe 190 pounds.”

Dylan glanced at Reedus and saw the older man’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Dylan had been certain the necklace would throw her off on the gender. A small religious medal on a chain, it had struck him as being a bit feminine in appearance. Maybe he’d been wrong.

She took a deep breath. “I’m feeling something at my throat. Like I can’t breathe.” She looked up at Reedus. “Was he hung? From a tree? Like, a tree in his own yard?”

Reedus nodded and moved to take the seat beside Dylan. He leaned forward on his elbows and waited quietly for more.

Dylan shifted in his chair. How the devil was she doing this?

“He’s dressed funny.” She scrunched her nose. “Might be the seventies?” She shook her head. “It took you a while to solve this one. Hmmm. There was some speculation it had been a suicide, but it wasn’t. That’s why. Right?” She fingered the necklace and tilted her head, staring straight at the wall over Dylan’s shoulder. “Your killers worked together. It was a lynching-type murder. Like a hate crime. Oh, I know.” She blinked and looked at Reedus as if she’d just had a great epiphany. “He was gay. They killed him because he was gay. And they tried to make it look like a suicide.”

Reedus glanced back at Dylan and gave him one of his I’m-impressed expressions.

Alexandra held the necklace out to Dylan. “The ringleader died about ten years ago, and his wife gave up the other two people involved. He’d bragged about it to her once when he’d been drunk. She had a guilty conscience.”

Reedus chuckled and took the necklace before Dylan could. “Actually it was his sister and there were three arrests made, but you got everything else right. Good enough for me.”

Alexandra shrugged. “No psychic is one hundred percent accurate. We’re human. We make mistakes.” She tapped the table with a finger. “But I’m glad you caught those guys. I see a history of domestic violence with them. Nasty stuff.”

Surprise lit up Reedus’s face again. “Yeah, one of the guy’s wives led us to some evidence from the crime scene he’d kept. She was glad to get rid of him. Open and shut case.”

“And you’re telling me this didn’t get any media?” Dylan asked.

Reedus shook his head. “Not much. The victim’s family had disowned him because of his sexual orientation, and quite frankly, I think his father—a real religious asshole—was a bit relieved to be rid of him. They were ashamed, but fine believing it was suicide. No one on the force really took an interest in proving otherwise either. Times were different back then. If the killer’s sister hadn’t come forward, it would have remained a suicide.”

“What about when it was solved?” Dylan couldn’t believe this. There had to be some explanation for Alexandra’s guesses.

“Sure, they ran a piece on the local news. I think it lasted about thirty seconds. End of story.”

Dylan shook his head and addressed the woman across from them. “Tell me this. If you were getting your information from a spirit connected to that necklace, why weren’t you one hundred percent accurate?”

She released a sigh. “I don’t know, Dylan. My best guess is that it’s like a radio signal. Every now and then there’s some interference. I hear the information wrong or it comes across distorted because of something screwy in the transmission.”

Alexandra held up a hand before he could voice his next thought. “Look, you gave me nothing, and I gave you a lot. I think you’re just determined to find excuses, which is your prerogative. Stupid, but your prerogative. I’d really like to get back to the case I volunteered to help you with. Okay?”

Reedus chuckled and gestured toward her. “I like this woman, Collins. We should work with her more often.”

Yeah, and Dylan knew why. All it took was a pretty face and a hot body to win Reedus’s favor. He muttered a curse and put the bagged necklace back in the folder. Doubts nibbled at his conviction that she was a fraud.

Zach had been pretty convincing on TV, too. Don’t forget that.

Zach. He didn’t like the way he kept thinking about his brother today after working years to forget the bastard ever existed. He’d been twelve when his older brother had taken off, abandoned him and their mother as if they’d meant nothing, and Dylan had been a senior in high school when his girlfriend had pulled him over to her TV to watch a new show she’d become fixated on.

The Psychic Detective, starring Zachary Collins. “Gee, you kinda look like him, too,” his girlfriend had commented before asking if there was any relation.

Dylan had been horrified to realize his brother was actually passing himself off as a psychic. Zach had never shown any ounce of having those abilities growing up. He’d known it was a scam, had been pissed as hell that the brother he’d once worshipped had been unworthy of his praise.

The word “psychic” had been a hot button for him ever since.

But maybe he was being too narrow-minded. Just because his brother was a fraud didn’t mean they all were.

“Look,” he told Alexandra. “I’m willing to listen to whatever it is you have to tell me.” He leaned across the table. “But the second it becomes obvious to me that you’re conning me, that’s it. I’m done.”

A beautiful smile lit up her face. “Sounds fair to me. Can we get started now? I mean, seriously.”

“Wait here. I’ll go get the file so we can go over what we already know.”

If Alexandra King could help him solve this case, great. If not, he hadn’t lost anything but a little time.

***

Alexandra’s behind hurt from sitting too long, so she stood to pace the room while she once again studied the crime scene photos Dylan had shared with her.

She stared at the close-up photograph of Candice Christopher’s face. She was the young woman who’d been standing outside the café, the spirit who’d been feeding Alexandra information about the case.

She flipped between pictures showing Candice’s body positioned on her back, one hand covering her face, the other outstretched, and her jean-clad legs crossed at the ankle, and a second, more close-up picture of a tarot card. Dylan had explained that the card had been found next to the body, propped against a tombstone. There was nothing unusual about the card except what it represented. A grim reaper carried a scythe over the word DEATH.

“You okay looking at that?” Dylan asked, and she glanced at him, a little puzzled until she realized he was probably thinking of her penchant for fainting at such things.

“Yeah. Photos don’t bother me.” She flicked a dismissive hand and turned away. She focused on the first photo again. “He’s obviously trying to send a message with the positioning of the body and this card. But what?”

Alexandra had tried closing herself off again earlier, and thought it had held this time. She hadn’t yet opened herself up to information from the other side on this case. She’d wanted a moment to refresh her mind from the test he’d given her and look over the current files. But something was scratching at her consciousness, already trying to make itself known. She imagined a wall, the way her grandmother had taught her, and blocked it. Blocked everything. She liked to familiarize herself with the basic facts before she invited anyone else to weigh in on a criminal case. It helped her decipher the information she was given when she understood a little about it first.

“The other body was also positioned,” Dylan said, sliding a different folder across the table. “Killers don’t usually pose bodies, so yeah, I assume he’s trying to tell us something. Since the positioning is so different on all three of these, I have no idea what it could be.”

“When was the first victim found again?”

“Three months ago.”

Hmm. That was when his mother had started making a menace of herself, insisting Dylan was in danger. Oh, but Alexandra would love to talk to her right now.

He spread open a file and tapped a report. “Second victim was end of August. Third victim was yesterday.”

“So one every month? Any significance to the days?”

“What do you mean?”

“Were they found exactly one month apart or what?”

He shrugged. “Give or take a few days.” His eyes narrowed. “You think he’s on some kind of schedule?”

“I don’t know, Dylan. It might not be a bad idea to see what days the full moons were on.”

“Whoa.”

She glanced up at him. “What?”

“I know two of them were killed on the night of a full moon. I didn’t make that connection until now.” He rubbed at the back of his neck and began pacing. “I remember the first one. Reedus made a comment about the full moon bringing out the lunatics. Last night, I noticed the moon looked full.”

Alexandra reached for her phone and did an Internet search to verify the dates of the last three full moons. “Interesting. They were all killed on full moons.”

“Let me see that.” He stepped close and reached for her phone. Alexandra immediately grew aware of his warmth, his scent, his—

Stop it! He is your boss’s brother! No more touching!

Dylan glanced up, a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. His eyes danced with excitement. Excitement that quickly took on a new focus when he seemed to realize how close they were standing. He stepped away.

He cleared his throat. “This is good. This means he probably won’t try to kill again until next month, end of October. Gives us time.”

“Halloween.” Alexandra reached for the newest file and skimmed the crime scene photos in it. A man’s body was propped from the waist up against the wall in an alley, his legs sprawled out in front of him on the cobblestone walkway. Spray-painted in black next to his head was one word. Reaper.

“So that’s his moniker,” she decided. “He wants to be known as the Grim Reaper.”

“Seems like it.”

“Okay.” She wiggled her shoulders to shake out the tension creeping in at that disturbing thought. “I’m going to concentrate now and see if I can find anyone who knows something that will help. I’m going to let them in now.”

Dylan straightened from his position leaning against the table. “Let them in?” His voice was skeptical again.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Not literally. I don’t ever allow them to take over my body. Now shut up so I can think for a minute.”

He crossed his arms, but said nothing else. Man, he was sexy when he did that. All brooding and hot.

Focus on the case, not on Mr. Delicious.

Alexandra closed her eyes and thought of the wall she’d erected in her head. She cracked it open and felt an electric jolt course through her veins like liquid fire. The word COPYCAT flashed in her mind along with DEATH over and over again. Several scenes from various, violent slasher films played in her head, and she felt pleasure at seeing them.

This guy must really love horror movies.

She could feel warm breath tease her ear as a woman’s voice whispered, “He’s always been fascinated by death. He’s fascinated by this city. It called to him, and he came. There was another…another he killed, just to see if he could actually do it.”

Her eyes opened, but she saw no one standing at her side. Clearing her throat, she repeated everything for Dylan’s sake.

“Copycat?” He sat down on the edge of the table. “What the hell does that mean?”

“I’m just telling you what I’m getting. I don’t understand it either.”

“Go on.”

She took a deep breath and paced along the length of the conference table. Nothing else was coming to her. The voice was gone, and so were the images. Slowly she completely lifted the wall.

Candice, you can trust me. I want to talk to you about your death. Will you help me catch your killer?

She spun at the end of the table and turned to pace the other way. The feeling of almost colliding with someone standing in front of her caused her to correct herself and step back. She lifted her gaze as her hands instinctively reached out to grab hold of the person she’d bumped into.

Candice Christopher was even more beautiful in death than she’d been in the college honors portrait attached to her file. Her long, red hair was pulled back from her face, and Alexandra recognized the clothes the younger woman wore as the same from the crime scene photos. The same clothes she’d been wearing at the café.

Okay. Here we go.

“What happened to me?” Candice’s voice trembled.

Alexandra wished Dylan weren’t in the room, because she never liked to converse with the dead with skeptics present. But this time, she made an exception.

“I’m so sorry. You’re dead.”

Candice’s eyes lowered to the floor, and she nodded. “Yes. That’s what I thought.”

“Excuse me? I’m what? ” Dylan said, and Alexandra shot him an impatient look along with a forceful “Shhhhh.” Didn’t he realize she wasn’t talking to him? Geez.

“I’m trying to help find the person who did this to you,” Alexandra said more gently to the ghost. “Can you tell me what you remember? Can you show me?”

Candice’s unblinking eyes fixated on Alexandra’s, and she nodded.

A flash of bright light temporarily blinded Alexandra, and she blinked her vision back into focus. The daylight was fading, the glow of orange glistening on the gray-blue ocean water just beyond the railing. Candice laughed over the backdrop of old beach music. A singer whined out the melody of “Good Vibrations” by the Beach Boys, and Alexandra turned to see a live band of young people playing on a makeshift stage while dancers whirled around her. She spun in a full circle and recognized that she was on a pier.

“I’ve really got to get home,” Candice told someone, drawing Alexandra’s attention back to her. “I’ll call you later.”

With a wave toward a group of three women, Candice began walking down the long dock, her flip flops making a distinct whack-whack sound against the wood. Alexandra followed, even though she knew her feet weren’t moving. On and on the young woman walked, as if the pier kept on for miles instead of the thousand or so feet it probably was, the music growing more and more distant.

Candice reached the end of the pier, which felt deserted and bereft. Her flip flops quieted when she stepped on sand. She turned suddenly at the sound of an animal’s whining. She bent and moved closer to the underbelly of the pier. The daylight had faded so much by now that only shadows could be seen.

Candice clicked her tongue several times. “Puppy?”

The whining continued, luring Candice deeper into the darkness as she cooed and pleaded for the unseen animal not to be afraid. The hair on the back of Alexandra’s neck suddenly lifted as goosebumps chased each other down her arms. She wanted to yell at Candice not to move any closer, but it was too late.

Candice disappeared into the shadows, and Alexandra followed. A pair of gloved hands snaked out of the shadows and snatched the young woman by her shoulders, dragging her further under the dock. Candice’s screams mingled with the howling horn and throbbing percussions in the distance as she fought against her attacker. She tore away from him and ran, sloshing through the surf beneath the pier, but the killer was fast and tackled her at the water’s edge. Alexandra watched in horror as the dark-clad shape of a man plunged a hypodermic needle into her arm from behind and injected something into her system. Candice continued to claw her way toward the water, her movements slowing until eventually her head lowered into the ebb and flow of the ocean’s edge. A bubble broke the surface, and then she went completely still.

“Alexandra!”

Alexandra felt a cough tear through her chest, and she realized she was clutching her throat with one hand and her chest with the other. Why couldn’t she breathe? Dylan had both hands on her shoulder and was shaking her, hard.

“Alexandra! Are you okay?”

She struggled to pull air into of her lungs and whispered “Yes,” feeling more than a little disoriented to see the plain beige walls of the conference room instead of the ocean and sand.

“What the hell was that about?” Dylan’s fingers gripped into her upper arms. He tried to push her into a chair, but she resisted.

“I know how she was killed, and where.”

He narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. Leaving no detail unmentioned, she explained everything she’d just witnessed. Dylan finally let his hands fall away from her.

He swore and turned on his heels.

“What?” she demanded. “You don’t believe me?”

He placed his hands on his hips and spun back toward her. “That matches information I haven’t had time to put in her file yet. She was last seen at Folly Beach Pier, but her car was found a block away from the cemetery, about half an hour away from the pier. A witness told us they saw her driving away, but maybe…” His voice trailed off.

“Maybe they saw her car, but not her.” Alexandra stepped closer. “She was killed at that pier, Dylan. I know it.”

He nodded. “It would explain the ocean water in her lungs.”

“So you believe me?”

He stared at her for several seconds. “I’m keeping an open mind.”

Happiness rushed through Alexandra at his hard-earned admission, although she didn’t know why. It was always a high when someone came to appreciate her abilities, but she’d never felt so excited about it. Why did she care so much what this man thought of her? She barely knew him. Except in the Biblical sense.

There was a knock on the door, distracting Alexandra from her inappropriate thoughts. A uniformed officer opened the door and gestured at Dylan. “There’s a call for you, Collins. Person insists you’ll want to talk to him about the Christopher case. He refuses to leave a message. You want to take it, or—?”

“I’ll take it. Transfer it to my desk.” He told Alexandra, “Excuse me for a minute.” And then he left her alone.

***

Dylan made it to his desk before the first ring. Snatching up the receiver, he barked, “Detective Collins. I understand you have some information about a case I’m working on?”

Heavy breathing was the only response.

“Hello?” Sinking into his chair, Dylan lifted his hand and rubbed at his forehead. He was tired. Damn tired. He was grateful it was almost six o’clock, and that Alexandra would be leaving soon for the day. He hoped. The woman was a major distraction on multiple levels, and he could use some distance right about now. Distance to regroup and think. And sleep. Man, he hoped he could sneak in a nap after a quick bite to eat. “Hello? Anyone there?”

“I’m here,” a raspy voice responded softly. A man’s voice. Distorted.

Dylan waited for more, but the heavy breathing was all he got. “Look, I’m pretty busy at the moment. Do you have information to share, or can I transfer you back to our front desk so you can be redirected to the right person?”

“I’m calling you about the Grim Reaper.”

Every cell in Dylan’s body snapped to alert. The Grim Reaper info hadn’t been released to the public. “I’m listening.”

“Are you, Detective Collins? Or are you too busy playing with your new girlfriend to appreciate my offerings?”

“Who is this?”

A sinister laugh trickled down the line. “None other than the Reaper himself, of course. I wanted to let you know how pleased I am that you brought in Alexandra King so soon. It pleases me very much.”

Dylan looked around and spotted Reedus. He lifted his arm and snapped his fingers, then gestured to the phone. When Reedus got close enough, Dylan wrote on a piece of paper, This might be our killer. Get me a trace. He leaned closer to the phone and said, “Who?”

“I recognized her last night, when you met in the bar. Tell me, detective, is that how you pay your consultants? By sleeping with them?”

Dylan stifled a curse. Whoever this guy was, he knew a lot of information.

“Who says she’s a consultant?”

“I don’t have time for games. I have one demand to make, and then I have to hang up.”

“Okay. I’ll bite. What?”

“Release my name to the media. I want to see my name on the news by tomorrow. If I don’t, you won’t be pleased with the results.”

A click preceded a dial tone, and Dylan swore. “Did we get a trace?” He directed the comment at no one in particular, but Reedus lowered the phone receiver in his hand and shook his head from across the room. He slammed his phone down.

“He was using an unregistered mobile, one of those prepaid ones.” Reedus coughed as he hurried over. “We didn’t have him on long enough to triangulate the call.”

This guy was smart. Too smart.

How the devil had the caller known so much about Alexandra? Was she an accomplice to this whole thing? How else had the caller known who she was?

He swore again.

His gut told him she wasn’t involved, but he’d have to run a more thorough background check after this. Where had she been at the time of the first murder? And if she wasn’t an accomplice, then she was a potential target.