As Good as Dead (31 page)

"I take it that you don't like Brian MacKinnon," Reve said.

"He's a pompous jackass who throws his daddy's money around and thinks that because he's a MacKinnon he can do whatever the hell he pleases." Jacob shot a disapproving look in Brian's direction. "Be forewarned, Ms. Sorrell, that despite his prestigious pedig-ree, Brian MacKinnon is not a very nice man."

"Keep your voice down." Genny whispered the warning. "And despite what you think of him, Brian did try to help Jazzy tonight and we mustn't forget that fact."

"Yeah, yeah. We're all very grateful," Jacob said, his voice a low growl. "I just wanted to make sure Reve understood that just because MacKinnon is on a social level with her kind, he's no gentleman."

Reve stood there staring at Jacob, uncertain how to reply or if she should bother to comment at all on what he'd said. But before she could decide, Caleb came hurtling through the door leading to the private cubicles inside the heart of the emergency room. He rushed straight to Reve and Genny.

"They're taking her up to surgery. She sustained some internal injuries from the fall and they're certain she has some internal bleeding," Caleb said. "But-" He swallowed. "It's more than just her body. The son of a bitch who hit her cracked her skull. Dr. Meadows ordered an emergency CT scan. He said that there's evidence of bleeding from torn ve-ins." Caleb's voice trembled. Tears glistened in his eyes. "He said something about a growing subdural hematoma." Caleb sucked in a deep breath. "That's a blood clot. Bottom li-ne-if they don't do surgery immediately, she'll die. He's called in a neurological surgeon."

Dallas curled his arm around Genny's waist and pulled her close. She rested her head on his chest and wrapped her arms around him. Jacob clamped his big hand down on Re-ve's shoulder. She looked up at him and saw her own fears reflected in his eyes.

Reve walked over and put her arms around Caleb. When he hugged her for dear life, she stroked his back as tears streamed down her face.

"She's going to make it," Caleb said.

"Yes, of course she is," Reve replied, swallowing her tears.

"And we're going to find the bastard who tried to kill her." Caleb spoke through clenched teeth, anger evident in his voice. When he pulled away from Reve, there was an expression of pure rage on his face. "And when we do-"

"You let us take care of finding the person who did this to Jazzy," Dallas said.

Caleb looked at Reve. "You probably aren't safe either. He might come after you next."

Startled by Caleb's dire warning, Reve gasped. Undoubtedly Caleb believed Jazzy had been the serial killer's latest victim.

Jacob draped his arm around Reve's shoulders. "I'll take care of Reve."

Instinctively, desperately needing comfort and longing for strong arms to hold her, Re-ve laid her head on Jacob's shoulder.

Still resting against Dallas, Genny turned and stared at Jacob. The two exchanged rather odd looks that made Reve curious about what they had silently said to each other.

"Yeah, I know I need to let the law handle this," Caleb said to Dallas. "But you've got to understand how I feel."

"We all understand," Dallas replied. Then, after a slight hesitation, he said point-blank, "I hate to ask this, but we need to know-did Dr. Meadows say if there was any evidence of sexual assault?"

A collective hush settled over Jazzy's friends and family.

"No." Caleb sighed heavily. "I asked. He said no, there was no sign of sexual assault."

Dallas nodded.

"Surgery could take hours," Caleb told the others. "They said we can wait upstairs and the surgeon, a Dr. Behel, will come out and talk to us… afterward."

"Do you think you can look out for the ladies while we're gone?" Dallas glanced from Reve to Genny and then over to Sally and Ludie. "I need Jacob and his department to work with us on this case. I want him to go with me out to the; crime scene so we can ta-ke a look at things ourselves."

Reve realized that by putting Caleb in charge of their care, Dallas was giving Caleb something to think about other than the very real possibility that the woman he loved was going to die. Just the thought that she could lose her sister before J they had a chance to really become sisters hurt Reve in a way nothing else ever had. It was at that moment she realized she loved Jasmine. And more than anything on earth, she wanted her to live.

I did what I had to do. Jazzy had to die. It was easier than I thought it would be to kill
her. Two hard blows to the back I of her head was all it took. She dropped instantly after
the second blow. Although she was slender, it wasn't easy lifting her up and over the railing. And I hadn’t realized there would be so much blood. All over the hammer I used to
kill her. All over my gloves. And it even splattered across my coat and on my shoes.

I burned everything as soon as I returned home. Even my underwear. But the metal
hammer wouldn’t burn, so I hid it. I removed it from the fireplace and once it cooled, I
wrapped it in an old pillowcase and took it up to the attic. It's there now, hidden away at
the bottom of an old trunk, safely tucked away where no one will ever find it.

I wonder how long it will be before her body is discovered? Days? Weeks? Of course
there will be a search for her once it's discovered that she's missing, so they could find
her by morning, especially if they bring out Sally Talbot's bloodhounds.

Oh, God! What if-No, no, I didn’t leave anything behind with my smell on it. But what
if they 're able to pick up a scent simply out of the air? I hadn't thought of that. Just how
long did a human's scent remain in the air? Surely not very long.

I can't worry about it now. Besides, no one would ever believe me capable of such a
horrendous crime.

Should I act again quickly? Or should I wait? With Jazzy dead, that leaves only her
twin. But what if they suspect that Reve will be the killer's next victim? They '11 be watching her, guarding her day and night.

I'll have to wait. The perfect opportunity will present itself. And soon. I have to wait
for the right moment. But I dare not wait too long. I have to put a stop to the investigation into the past before they discover the truth. I can't let that happen. If Slim had done
his job thirty years ago, I wouldn't be in this situation now. If he'd just killed those damn
babies as I'd told him to do… Her babies. Those beautiful little redheaded twins.

When they arrived at the crime scene, Jacob and Dallas found what appeared at first glance to be an unruly crowd and mass confusion. Jacob parked his truck on the side of the road behind three black-and-white cruisers. After Dallas and he emerged from the truck, they hurried up the road, only to be bombarded by a small horde of TV and newspaper reporters. They kept walking, forcing the ones spouting questions at them to follow along.

"Is this the work of a serial killer?"

"Was Jazzy Talbot attacked because she's a redheaded whore?"

"What's Jazzy's condition? Is she going to live?"

"If y'all expected her to be the next victim, why wasn't

she better protected?"

The news camera zoomed in, getting a close-up of their

aces when the cameraman jumped around in front of them.

Within seconds the reporters formed a circle, effectively surrounding them. Jacob wanted to smash the camera and knock the cameraman's teeth down his throat. But he was already notorious for his bad temper, so he did his level best to keep; it under control tonight.

"No comment," Dallas said.

"Can't you tell us whether Jazzy is going to make it or not?" a female reporter for the Herald asked.

"Contact the hospital for an update on Ms. Talbot's condition," Dallas told her, then gently shoved her out of the way, making an escape route for Jacob and him.

Jacob saw Jazzy's red Jeep up ahead, just off the road, parked in the grass. A tight knot formed in his stomach. If only Jazzy had waited for Caleb before coming out here to meet some mysterious caller. Yeah, hindsight was twenty-twenty, and the world was filled with people asking themselves "What if?" But it wasn't in Jazzy's nature to be cautious. Even as a kid she'd been bold and fearless. And that meant she'd often leaped before looking and gotten herself into all kinds of trouble.

Noticing one of his deputies, Moody Ryan, standing guard over the Jeep, he threw up his hand and waved. Moody waved back.

When they reached the corded-off area, they found two-thirds of the police force and half of Jacob's deputies keeping the crime scene protected from reporters and curiosity seekers. He sure as hell hoped this many officers didn't mean that by their numbers alone they had compromised the scene. All it took was one wrong move to screw up the evidence. And with this many people milling around on the bridge, putting out dozens of different scents, there was no point in bringing in Sally's bloodhounds.

Bobby Joe Harte met them when they approached the bridge "How's Jazzy?" he asked.

"In surgery," Jacob replied.

"Lieutenant Glenn put me in charge of crowd control," Bobby Joe said. "I called in as many deputies as I could on short notice, and we're manning the parameter. Luckily, we got in place before that bunch showed up." He nodded toward the clamoring reporters kept at bay only by the presence of the deputies. "The crowd's been getting bigger by the minute. More and more folks are hearing about what happened and showing up. But I think we can handle things."

"Where's Glenn?" Dallas asked.

"He's on the other side of the bridge, overseeing the investigation. He's got Burt and Dwayne and Earl collecting evidence."

"Who were the first officers on the scene?" Dallas gazed out across the bridge and surrounding area, apparently taking note of his personnel working the site.

"Hendrix and Kirk," Bobby Joe replied.

"Hm-mm. Kirk's a rookie, but Hendrix has been around long enough to know the proper procedure."

Jacob followed Dallas as he headed across the bridge. He'd learned that the first two rules you follow at a crime scene are don't touch anything and write everything down.

Anything taken away or added to a scene could mean the difference between solving a crime and a perpetrator getting away scot free.

Tommy Glenn, a heavyset, bearded guy in his early thirties, had been with the Cherokee Pointe police department since he was nineteen. He was a seasoned professional, a small-town-cop pro. When Glenn saw Dallas and Jacob heading his way, he came toward them, a grim look on his face.

"Chief." Glenn nodded to Dallas. "Sheriff." He looked at Jacob. "How's Jazzy?"

"In surgery," Jacob said. "Fighting for her life."

"Have we got anything here?" Dallas motioned with a subtle move of his right hand.

"Nothing was touched before Earl got here. Of course, he called in Burt and Dwayne.

They're collecting evidence now. Blood from the bridge railing and the rocks below appear at first glance to be about it. But we've got some bloody shoe prints, too. And tire tracks, although it'll be just about impossible to prove the tracks belong to our perpetrator since there's traffic along this road all the time, but we photographed them and I think we should make casts."

"I want every scrap of possible evidence documented and no stone left unturned," Dallas told Glenn. "And be sure to keep accurate records and see to it that every tidbit of evidence is clearly marked."

"Yes, sir." Glenn nearly saluted before he turned and motioned to one of the uniformed officers assisting the men in charge of collecting evidence. "Bring the gun over here."

"Gun?" Dallas and Jacob said simultaneously. "We found a Beretta Tomcat pistol on the bridge not far from where the railing is smeared with blood," Glenn said.

The officer brought the gun, sealed in a plastic bag and appropriately tagged, and handed it to the lieutenant. Glenn held up the bag.

"Polished blue finish," Jacob said. "That's Jazzy's gun or one just like it. I was with her when she bought it." "Was it fired tonight?" Dallas asked. "Nope. It still has a full seven-shot magazine in it." "That tells us that whoever hit her probably came up behind her quickly and got in at least the first blow before Jazzy knew what was happening," Jacob sur-mised.

"Any sign of the weapon her attacker used?" Dallas asked. "Not so far," Glenn said.

"But we're going to scour every inch of the bridge, as well as the creek and ground within sight, then we'll span out and search the woods."

"I'll let you get back to work." Dallas cordially dismissed Glenn, who immediately returned to his duties.

By the differential way Glenn acted toward Dallas, it was obvious he admired and respected the chief of police. It said a lot about the kind of man Tommy Glenn was because everybody knew he'd badly wanted the job Dallas had been given.

"What are the odds we'll find anything that will help us?" Jacob asked.

"You never know. Criminals make mistakes all the time, especially amateurs."

"You believe whoever tried to kill Jazzy is an amateur?"

"Either that or he's somebody who wants us to think he is. I suspect this isn't the work of the guy who killed Becky Olmstead, Kat Baker and all those other redheads over the past few years. The MO isn't identical."

"Do you think we have a copycat killer on our hands?"

"Possibly. The public knows that a couple of prostitutes were murdered and their corp-ses dumped in a body of water. The Tennessee River and Douglas Lake. And word leaked out that both women were redheads."

"Those are the only two things about Jazzy's attack that are the same as the two murders."

"She was hit over the head, not strangled," Dallas said. "And she wasn't raped."

"What if it wasn't the serial killer or a copycat killer?"

Dallas cocked his head to one side and gave Jacob an inquisitive look. "Do you have another theory?"

"I know we can't completely rule out the serial killer, and I'm not saying it isn't a copycat, but what if the person who attacked Jazzy had a personal reason for wanting her de-ad?"