Читать книгу In the Flesh - Rita Herron - Страница 11

Jenny tried to tamp down her anger at Detective Raul Cortez. Even though he was easy on the eyes, he was rude, insolent, and the perfect example of why some people called policemen pigs.

She was accustomed to some adversity, but no one had ever taken such an instant dislike to her before. If she didn’t have a job to do here, her feelings might be hurt.

Or she might spit in his face and walk away.

But Jenny had never backed down from a fight or let anyone bully her, and plenty of male patients had tried. She sure as heck didn’t intend to play scaredy-cat now.

Irritation at the detective morphed into horror and anger at the person who’d killed this girl as she picked her way through the weeds and spotted the body. The detective and Captain Black eased up beside her. Cortez was probably waiting for her to fall apart so he could laugh in her face.

She refused to give him the pleasure.

Forcing a calm to her expression that belied the trembling inside her, she knelt by the woman and mentally made notes of the scene. She was young, mid-twenties probably, blond, and she’d been strangled to death with a pair of silk panties just as the paper had reported that the first two victims had. However, they had omitted details. The way her body was posed, the bruises on her torso and neck, the bugs nibbling at her flesh.

“What is her name?” she asked softly.

“Judy Benson,” Detective Cortez said. “We found her purse over there behind those oaks. She’s twenty-two, lives in an apartment in town.”

A commotion sounded behind her, and Captain Black cleared his throat. “It’s the press. I’ll take care of it. Stay here, Cortez.”

The air stirred with humidity, made hotter by the tension humming between her and Cortez. A fly buzzed around her face, and she swallowed back bile at the acrid smell of the decomposing corpse.

Determined to hold herself together until she was alone, she honed in on the visual details of the crime scene. His MO, his choice of the underwear as a killing tool, the way he’d left the body exposed, all were signs that would help her get inside the killer’s mind and create a profile.

The perpetrator had spread the girl’s legs as if to suggest a sexual crime, but he’d folded her hands together as if she was saying a prayer and laid them across her bare breasts. Maybe he was conflicted?

A prayer or was she supposed to be asking for forgiveness? Maybe she was supposed to be worshipping him? “Was she raped?”

“We won’t know for sure until the ME gets her on the table. With the other two, there were indications of sexual intercourse, but not clear signs of rape. Sex could have been consensual but something snapped with the guy and he killed her.”

“Or he may have killed her during sex—some men can only achieve sexual satisfaction through violence,” Jenny said. “Were the other two girls posed like this? Legs spread, hands folded?”

“Identically.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. “How long was she missing before you found her?”

“Her roommate said she disappeared Thursday night after happy hour from a bar on River Street.”

“And the other girls?”

“The first victim, Dodie Tinsley, a waitress, disappeared after work one night. She was found two days later. The second girl, Penny Ann Wayling, was last seen at the Java Monkey where she was supposed to meet a date. A coed discovered her body the next day while jogging.”

Jenny angled her head. “Any leads so far?”

He shook his head, his jaw tight. “We’ve interviewed old boyfriends, roommates, neighbors, friends. And we’re checking their computers for e-mails, chat rooms, to see if the girls might have tried one of the online dating services. But so far we don’t have any viable suspects.”

“How about the underwear? Did it belong to the victims or did he bring it?”

“He brought it. We think he took the victims’ as a trophy.”

“I see. Did he always use black?”

Raul nodded. “We’re trying to trace where he purchased them.”

Jenny pushed to her feet, needing to escape. The girl’s sightless eyes screamed for help and were tormenting her. The cops would have pictures of all the crime scenes. She’d review them, compare them, see if she noticed anything else.

The detective cleared his throat. “Now what can you tell us, Dr. Madden?”

Again he said the word doctor as if it was a four-letter word.

“Listen, Detective Cortez,” she said, facing him. “I don’t know if you’re always this rude, or if you’ve just decided to grace me with your bad attitude, but I didn’t ask to be here today. So if you don’t want my help, that’s fine. I can leave now.”

She started up the path, trembling as she tried to escape the awful smell and the image of that poor girl lying so hopelessly dead. Because no matter what she or he did, they couldn’t bring her back.

And she didn’t intend to show her grief for the victim to this cold-hearted bastard.

R AUL WANTED to let her go. But Black was approaching with a scowl on his face, and he knew he’d better shape up.

“Captain Black requested you come, so he’ll want to hear what you have to say.”

Her eyes blazed, and she hesitated. “And you, Detective?”

He couldn’t lie. “You like sexual deviants. I have trouble with that.”

“Like?” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “If that’s how your thought processes work, then you like criminals.”

His eyes glittered with disdain. “I hunt them down and put them behind bars to get justice.”

“And I treat sexual deviants to alter their negative behavior.”

“They don’t deserve to be coddled or to be released on some stupid insanity plea.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But they’re human, and if I can help one of them, keep one from committing a crime, from killing an innocent person or themselves, then I’ve saved a life, and that makes my job worthwhile.”

Captain Black strode toward them, his jaw set in granite. “Dr. Madden, is there a problem here?”

She turned her gaze toward him, and Raul scowled. Let her run to his boss, whining that he’d insulted her pride.

“No,” she said instead. “I was just coming to relay my initial assessment.”

Black shot Raul a dark look. “Good. We need all the help we can get on this case.”

She nodded, a sheen of perspiration glistening on her face. “All right. Given the way the body has been posed, it suggests a sexual predator.”

“Even though the girls weren’t obviously raped?” Black asked.

She nodded. “Yes, perhaps he sees them as sexual beings, but he thinks they’re dirty girls and wants to expose them for what he perceives they are. He also may be conflicted. He likes them, is tempted by them but blames them for his fall from grace so he shames them. Ultimately, he has to kill them so they won’t entice him or any more men.”

“That makes sense,” Black said. “Go on.”

“Your killer is probably in his early twenties. He may have suffered a psychotic break meaning his reality is altered. Skewed. He’s attractive, appeals to young girls, or else he wouldn’t be able to approach them and convince them to go with him. He looks trustworthy, like a nice guy.” She exhaled shakily and Raul realized she wasn’t as cool as she’d acted. The girl’s death had disturbed her.

“Although he appears confident,” she continued, “he’s an underachiever. He might have been abused or neglected when he was young or picked on by other kids. Maybe he’s been overlooked at work, passed up for promotions or works at a job that’s below his intelligence, a menial job he feels is beneath him. He craves power and control.”

Raul studied her earnest expression, knew she believed the hogwash she was saying. “What good does all this do us? It doesn’t tell us who our killer is.”

Her gaze was steady, unfaltering. “If you understand how the perpetrator thinks, get into his head and understand his motivation, you can use it to weed out suspects.”

“I am in his head,” Raul shot back. “He’s a sick sadistic monster who takes young women’s lives. Now I need evidence, clues that will show me where to find him or where he’ll strike next.”

Jenny sighed. “If you learn more or want to share details with me, let me know. The more information I have about the victims and the crimes, the more I can fine-tune the profile.”

“Right,” Raul said, although he didn’t hide his contempt.

Black cleared his throat and sent Raul a sharp look, but she actually offered him a smile. A condescending smile that knifed through him as sharply as her comment about family had.

“You have my number,” she said, then headed up the path to her car.

Raul tried not to admire her body or the fact that she’d stood her ground when he’d cut her down.

“You’re a piece of work, you know that, Cortez,” Black growled.

He shrugged. “I tell it like I see it.”

“I asked Dr. Madden here on a consult,” he continued, pissed, “and I don’t expect you to undermine my authority by implying that she’s incompetent.”

“You know how I feel about shrinks,” he said between clenched teeth. “We don’t need her.”

“Maybe you do need her,” Black said. “You’re letting your past and your emotions cloud your judgment.”

“That’s bull.”

“Is it?” Black arched his dark brows. “You’re too wrapped up in your bitterness, and blaming every shrink in the world for your wife’s death, that it blinds you to the fact that Jenny Madden might be of value to our case.” He paused, but barged on before Raul could argue, “You haven’t dealt with your wife’s death yet, Cortez. You need help.”

“The only thing I need is to be left alone so I can do my job.”

Black pinched his fingers together, then parted them a fraction of an inch. “You’re this far from being suspended pending a psychiatric evaluation, Cortez. Either straighten up your attitude yourself or you’re off the case.”

Anger heated Raul’s blood. “You wouldn’t do that.”

“Try me.” Black narrowed his eyes. “Maybe Jenny Madden is just the person you should see. And on a professional basis. I could make that happen.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Then prove you don’t need counseling by working with her.” Black folded his arms. “Show her the respect she deserves. She might teach you a thing or two. She knows the mind of the sexual predator better than anyone around.”

He bit back a caustic remark, and fisted his hands by his side.

“After you finish here, and interview the family, then take copies of the files on the other vics to Dr. Madden. Let her study them and see what she says.”

Raul silently cursed but nodded. He couldn’t disobey a direct order.

Not when it meant his job.

Besides, he could handle one little Jenny Madden. He could always pretend he was accepting her help. But he didn’t have to like it. And he sure as hell wouldn’t let her get inside his head or pour out his heart to her.

After all, that heart had died the day he’d lost his wife and child. And it was dead forever.

J ENNY ROLLED her shoulders to alleviate the tension knotting the muscles as she climbed into her car and started the engine. It was only midafternoon, and she’d already had a hell of a day. The visits with her mother always drained her, but she normally took a long run afterward to relieve the stress.

Not today. No, she’d had to endure Raul Cortez, a man with a mountain of an attitude and dark eyes that were sinfully sexy, but haunted by some demons that only he knew. Because he obviously wasn’t a sharing kind of guy.

But dealing with the detective was nothing compared to the anguish she’d felt at the sight of Judy Benson’s dead body. An innocent girl who’d died before her time.

Nothing she or Raul Cortez could do would bring her back.

Tears burned her eyelids, but she waited until she was driving away before she let them fall. She’d cry now, and then she’d focus on work.

Finding the girl’s killer and giving her justice would ease the pain of the family. She’d dealt with enough victims to know that. So she would help, regardless of how much it hurt her to see the family and friends suffering.

She’d even tolerate the surly detective for Judy Benson’s sake.

The wind tossed her ponytail around her face, and she pushed it back. Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but the scent of the girl’s corpse lingered on her skin, and her appetite vanished.

With a sigh, she made the turn to her place, knowing she had to shower before she could stomach food. When her cell phone rang, she checked the number, half expecting it to be the hospital. Sometimes her mother became agitated after she left and she had to return, or the nurses had to give her extra medication. Instead it was Captain Black.

“Dr. Madden speaking.”

“Dr. Madden, this is Adam Black.”

“Yes?”

“I want to apologize for my detective today. He can come across as being rude, but he’s a good cop. One of the best I have and totally dedicated to the job.”

“No problem.”

“Good. Because I—we at the department—value your expertise and I’d hate for his behavior to dissuade you from assisting us.”

“Trust me, Captain, my skin is thicker than that. Working with him won’t be a problem.”

His sigh reverberated with relief. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“So it’s my job, not me personally?”

A long hesitation. “I really can’t say any more. If Raul wants to tell you, well, he should explain himself.”

Curiosity nibbled at her, but she refrained from asking more. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the reason for the man’s brusqueness. It was probably best that they agreed to dislike each other and leave it at that.

“He’s going to drop by later with the victims’ files. Maybe you can pick up something we missed.”

Great. She’d get to see the man twice in one day. She couldn’t wait. “That’s fine. I’ll be home all afternoon. Tell him to stop by anytime.”

He thanked her and hung up, and Jenny spun down the road to her new home, an old Victorian she was in the process of renovating. She loved the unique architecture, but it needed a face-lift, and paint. A work in progress, it would be something she could see visible progress more quickly than her patients.

Pushing aside her frustration, she parked and dragged her weary body inside. A shower, a salad and glass of wine later, she felt more relaxed.

But knowing Detective Cortez would stop by kept her on edge. Curiosity nagged at her. If she was forced to work with Raul Cortez, she needed to know all she could about the man.

Fortified by that thought, she decided to research him online. A quick search revealed his father was Cuban, his mother American; they’d met after his father had escaped into the country, married and had five children. They lived in Miami where Raul had resided until two years ago. He had served with the Miami Dade Police Department until his wife had been murdered.

His wife and unborn child.

A lump lodged in her throat, but she forced herself to read on: Louie Mulstein had been arrested for butchering his family in cold blood. The therapist who’d evaluated the perpetrator stated that he was schizophrenic and off his medication, but that she had stabilized him and that he was no longer a threat. House arrest and an ankle bracelet would suffice until the trial in which the defense attorney would be pleading an insanity charge. Raul Cortez had argued, insisting the man was dangerous and shouldn’t receive bail.

But the judge had rendered his decision and released the man according to the guidelines recommended by the court-appointed therapist.

That night Mulstein had escaped and butchered Raul’s wife, who was pregnant with his child.

Raul had found the man still in his house, bloody knife in his hand, and the man had attacked him. Raul had shot him, killing him instantly.

But it had been too late for his family.

Her throat closed as she studied the photo of the detective at the graveyard. It was a cold, windy, rainy day, and his massive shoulders were hunched in grief. His expression appeared tortured as he lay a bouquet of roses on the freshly turned grave.

Her comment today, her dig that he wasn’t a family man, echoed in her mind, and she dropped her face into her hands with a pained moan. No wonder he had reacted to her with such fervor.

She’d made a beginner’s mistake. Had allowed the man’s insulting attitude to push her buttons on a personal level, and she’d struck back.

Why? Because she’d just come from her mother’s and felt like a failure because she helped others but couldn’t help the one person in her life who mattered most.

Her reasons, excuses, didn’t matter. She was a professional and she would act like one. Raul Cortez deserved her sympathy and understanding, not her disdain.

Maybe he did blame the therapist, even her, but his grief was eating him alive. And Jenny understood grief. Although technically her mother was still alive, she’d mourned her loss for years.

Unbidden came the image of Judy Benson’s pale, stiff body and those haunting eyes. The detective would have to relay the news to the parents. Then the nightmare of their sorrow would begin.

And the questions. Who would have done such a horrible thing to their daughter?

Maybe she should look at her files to see if any of her prior or current patients fit the profile.

Immediately two names sprang to mind—could one of them be the strangler?

D AMN J ENNY .

Dr. Rupert Zovall closed his eyes, envisioning Marilyn Madden’s pale face as she lay propped against the hospital pillows when he’d last seen her in Charleston. He’d treated Jenny’s mother for years, had been her psychiatrist since her breakdown.

Why the hell had Jenny moved her mother to that Coastal Island Research Park in Georgia? Hours away from him in Charleston?

Because she thought Marilyn needed another doctor? Thought the psychiatrists at CIRP could do something for her that Rupert hadn’t been able to do? Thought he was incompetent?

Hell, he’d been her lifeline back to reality in the few lucid moments she’d experienced.

Another image rolled through his head; this one from years ago before…before he’d lost her that day. She had been so young and beautiful, a vision of loveliness that had robbed his breath at times. He’d known it was taboo to fall for a patient, but he had fallen hard.

Then her husband had interfered.

But at least when she was in Charleston, he could monitor her daily.

Bolstered by the fear creeping through his veins, he carefully packed his toiletry bag, then placed it by the door beside his computer bag and suitcase. His palms were clammy as he wrote a check and left it for the maid service, then he flung his computer bag over one shoulder, stacked the toiletry bag on top of his rolling suitcase, and headed outside to his Mercedes.

He had to get to Savannah. Had to see Marilyn Madden before she started ranting crazy things and aroused curiosity. Before the doctors messed with her medication.

Before anyone discovered their secret and started asking questions.