Nowhere to Run (Stephanie Carovella) (12 page)

Gena silenced her with a glare. “No, not here, Stephanie. I won’t discuss it here. Let’s go outside where we can talk more privately,” she said curtly, moving stiffly past Stephanie to walk outside and sit at an empty table.

Stephanie followed, noticing for the first time how tense her friend was. She took a seat opposite Gena, watching her drum her fingers restlessly against the table. She grinned, realizing Gena wasn’t just tense, but also nervous. It was the first time she’d seen Gena act so fidgety.

“Here, read this,” Gena said, sliding the folded newspaper across the table.

Stephanie took it, unfolded it and spread it out onto the table. She scanned the newspaper in confusion. “What exactly do you want me to read?”

“The third article down, on the left,” Gena said quietly, taking a sip of her coffee.

Stephanie looked back down at the newspaper, finding the article immediately. Reading it silently, she pushed it aside, and said quietly, “This is your case?”

Gena watched the bafflement on Stephanie’s face turn to one of disgruntlement. She smiled coolly, knowing Stephanie was already assuming she’d brought her here to get her thoughts on the case. Her smile defrosted slightly, acknowledging she had but not quite in the way Stephanie was expecting.

“Here’s what the article isn’t going to tell you,” she said slowly, taking another sip of her coffee. Stephanie did the same. Giving her a knowing look, she said, “You know this is off the record, right?”

Stephanie hissed out an impatient breath. “Unless you’ve forgotten, I’m no longer a reporter for
the Times.
In fact, I’m no longer a Journalist, in L.A. Period.”

Gena nodded in affirmation. “Of course I do, I’m just making sure you know this is strictly off the record. Let’s face it once you’re a Journalist, you’re always one. So tell anyone I spoke to you-”

“And you’ll deny it,” Stephanie cut in, irritation creeping into her voice. Forcing herself to remain calm, she said evenly, “Let me guess, you’re going to throw some ideas of what you think happened to this poor girl, and you want me to get into the killer’s head, right? Just like old times?”

Gena nodded slowly, quietly turning her head to study the congested traffic flowing down Sunset Boulevard. Frowning, she tried to think up ways she could approach Stephanie with what she really wanted to ask her. She peeled her eyes off the traffic, watching Stephanie fold the paper meticulously and push it to one side of the small round table.

“We think the victim is a Hollywood actress. We’re still waiting on her dentals to confirm this, but she was found with a bloodied scrapbook. It had hundreds of articles in it about her. Not just articles, but photos. Some of the photos were over ten years old, including personal photos from when she was at university. Other photos in the scrapbook were taken by the killer while he was torturing her.”

Stephanie tucked her hand underneath her chin. Leaning forward, she listened to Gena talk. This wasn’t the first time Gena and she had discussed cases. When she’d worked at the
L.A Times
it had been a weekly occurrence to catch up for dinner and discuss – off the record – unsolved cases. During university, they’d done the same thing. Over Chinese food from Hoy’s Wok, they would pour over Gena’s case studies.

“Our victim was raped, tortured and her throat slit,” Gena said quietly, watching Stephanie’s head jerk up at this information.

“Like Angel?” Stephanie whispered. “Are you thinking a possible serial killer?”

“Maybe,” Gena said noncommittally. “This is the first murder I’ve seen that’s similar to Angel’s, so it might mean nothing.”

Stephanie looked at her sharply. “Cut the bullshit, Gena. I saw Angel’s crime scene photos. I read the damn report. Now you throw a paper at me, ask me to read an article and then tell me your victim was raped, tortured and her throat slit, just like Angel. Are you telling me you don’t think we have a serial killer loose in L.A? Just what the hell are you playing at?”

“I think we have something else altogether,” Gena said slowly, watching Stephanie lean even closer, her body tensing with raw excitement.

“Do you know who she is, your victim? Assuming Angel was even killed by the same killer, what’s the connection? Do you think they knew each other? There’s a connection somewhere, whether it’s the way they both looked, or maybe something as random as a scent.” Stephanie paused, lost in her own thoughts. “If we are talking about a potential serial killer, then there was a quality about both Angel and your victim – one, which drew them to him. Whatever it was triggered the animal within.” Glancing at Gena with a frown, she asked, “You think it’s the same killer, don’t you?”

Gena nodded. “Yes, yes Stephanie I do.”

“Why, and more importantly how?” Stephanie asked suddenly, leaning back in her chair.

Gena was unable to suppress a grin. “I’m not a novice, Stephanie. I have solved more than my fair share of murders.”

Stephanie’s eyes narrowed. “You’re keeping something from me. You’ve found something to link your Jane Doe to Angel, haven’t you?”

Gena lifted her coffee cup to her lips, draining the contents slowly. She placed the paper cup on the table, pushing it away from her. She jerked her head towards Stephanie’s coffee. “Your coffee’s getting cold.”

“You’re avoiding the topic. Tell me, damn it,” Stephanie insisted, chewing her bottom lip in frustration.

Gena smiled coolly. Ignoring Stephanie’s impatient growl, she pulled her Marlboros out from the inside of her black, leather jacket and tapped out another cigarette. Lighting it, she took a long drag, enjoying the smooth texture of it lingering in the back of her throat.

“I found a connection,” she confirmed, studying Stephanie’s animated expression. “I don’t think it’s one you’re going to like though,” she confessed. “In fact it’s one I don’t like myself. No, Stephanie, I don’t like this connection at all.”

“Did you find trace evidence to link both murders?” Stephanie asked, unsure where Gena was heading with their conversation. Her insides churned at the idea of finding something to help them catch Angel’s killer.

“No, the crime scene was clean. In fact, I think it was staged. Like Angel’s.”

“You think Angel’s was staged?” Stephanie asked slowly, not ready to confess she’d already come to that conclusion herself.

Gena raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Oh, and you didn’t?” Smiling at the woman opposite her, Gena grinned. “You saw it, didn’t you? I know you did. A Dominatrix, dominated. You can’t tell me you didn’t think it was staged. Hell, Stephanie you said it yourself, you
read
the report. There was no trace evidence, not one damn print to give us a clue to who killed her or why. The crime scene was clean. The son of a bitch cleaned up after he raped, tortured and left our best friend to bleed to death. He removed any trace of himself.”

Gena spat the words out in disgust, taking another drag of her cigarette, before she continued. “He did the same with this victim. An actress dumped in plain view of the Hollywood sign. Hell, that’s a connection in itself. It’s his signature.”

Dropping her eyes to her hands, she missed the way Stephanie froze at this news, before she forced herself to relax.

“But that’s not the connection you found, is it? What’s the connection?” Stephanie urged, more to herself than to Gena.

Gena leaned back in her chair again, waiting for Stephanie to make the connection herself. She half-smiled, knowing Stephanie well enough she was already going back over what she’d told her, analyzing everything and inputting her own mental notes.

Gena was constantly amazed at how skillful Stephanie was at putting together profiles on serial killers. It came so easily to her. It was a skill she envied. While Gena had spent years training and learning from experience, Stephanie did it without thinking.

“Was it the scrapbook?” Stephanie burst out suddenly, breaking into Gena’s thoughts. She reached for her cup, taking a sip of her now tepid coffee.

Gena grimaced, watching her drink the coffee. “How the hell can you drink that?” she asked, shuddering in disgust.

“Gena, “Stephanie hissed, drawing out her name in annoyance.

“Yes, it was the scrapbook.”

“What was in it?” Stephanie asked, unable to hide her excitement. She knew any connection to Gena’s victim and Angel meant the L.A.P.D could put together a clearer dossier on their killer.

“I told you, mainly newspaper articles and photos. Our killer stalked his victim, like I think he did with Angel.”

“I still can’t see the connection, Gena. What was in the damn scrapbook? Why did it catch your attention? What makes you so sure we’re dealing with a serial killer?” Stephanie repeated, her voice hardening with anger.

“First, let me tell you who I think the victim is and then maybe you’ll understand the connection,” Gena said gently.

Stephanie opened her mouth to argue, closing it at Gena’s determined expression.

“We believe the victim is Hollywood actress Carolyn Mathers. You know, from the hit show
The Real Thing
,” Gena said, not taking her eyes off Stephanie’s face. She waited to see if Stephanie recognized the name.

“Carolyn Mathers?” Stephanie repeatedly hoarsely, the air in her lungs dissipating. She struggled to breathe, silently counting to ten and taking deep breaths.

Gena grimly watched her face drain of color. “You know don’t you?”

Stephanie nodded blindly, unsure if she could put together a constructive sentence. Her vision blurred, and her heart felt like it was beating a million miles a second. It felt like it could, at any moment, explode out of her chest.

She gasped out loud, her lungs burning for air. She fought the inner urge to scream. Taking another deep breath, she struggled for control.

“You’ve made the connection. You know who Carolyn Mathers is,” Gena pushed. Her face darkening with turmoil, she swallowed hard, unable to tear her eyes off Stephanie’s stricken face.

Stephanie nodded, closing her eyes. She could feel tears sliding down her cheeks and wiped them away quickly. Keeping her eyes closed, her voice barely a whisper, she said, “Gena, Carolyn Mathers is Lyn Jeffreys.”

Opening her eyes, her pain-induced gaze met Gena’s. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

Chapter Twelve

Gena tilted her head back, lifting her already empty cup to her trembling lips. Realizing her coffee was finished, she crushed the coffee cup in her hand, wrapping her fist tightly around it. A ripple of pain shot through her and a sudden image of a laughing, carefree Lyn Jeffreys flashed through her mind followed by one of Carolyn Mathers’ tortured and mutilated corpse.

Unable to speak, she focused on the stream of traffic congesting along the strip. She’d dealt with more murders than she could possibly ever keep count of, but to deal with two of her friends murdered within a week of each other was almost too much to comprehend.

She took another drag of her cigarette, noticing the way her hand was slightly trembling. Stubbing out her cigarette, she tossed the butt into her crushed coffee cup and tossed the coffee cup onto the table, her eyes meeting Stephanie’s.

Stephanie silently stared back, the pain in Gena’s Onyx eyes mirrored in her own amber ones. Gena’s voice was barely a whisper when she spoke.

“It hasn’t been officially confirmed yet, but deep down I knew. I think I knew as soon as I heard her throat had been slit that we were dealing with a multiple killer. I won’t call him a serial killer because we don’t know if he is. I just didn’t know it would be like this. But as soon as I saw the photo, I knew it was her.”

“What photo?” Stephanie asked sharply, her body tense. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer, but was unable to stop herself from asking anyway.

She played her fingers around the rim of her coffee cup, recalling the last time she’d spoken to Carolyn. It was only a month ago. Carolyn had called her – excited about a project she was working on. She’d been so secretive about it all, not ready to share her news with Stephanie, yet unable to contain her excitement.

“You know, I spoke to her recently. She was working on a pet project; one she said was going to catapult her back into the spotlight again,” she said dully, staring at Gena without really seeing her.

“She was negotiating a seven-movie deal with
Callendor
Studios. I’ve been trying to reach them to discuss Carolyn, but they keep stonewalling me. I need to find out who knew about the deal and who might have wanted her dead,” Gena mused.

“Call Blaze, and ask him to get you in with
Callendor’s
President. He’s so hot at the moment they’ll bend over backwards to kiss his ass,” Stephanie said, referring to their mutual friend and Gena’s some-time lover.

Gena nodded in agreement, reaching out to link Stephanie’s pinkie finger with her own. “You kept in touch with Lyn after university, didn’t you? I didn’t know. I just assumed -”

She watched Stephanie detach her hand from her grasp. Shaking her head, she repeated, “I didn’t know. I didn’t think you two were close at university.”

“Gena, there’s a lot about me you don’t know and my friendship with Lyn was one of them,” Stephanie snapped. Closing her eyes, she wrapped her arms around herself, not wanting to get into a fight with Gena. Not when she was so close to finding out what Gena knew. Not when she needed to get inside
his
head.

She slowly opened her eyes to see Gena pull out her cigarette pack again. Smirking, she knew Gena was never going to quit smoking the way she was going. Hazily, she wondered how Ben was dealing with his own self-imposed smoking ban. She wondered if he had broken it yet.

Realizing Gena was waiting for her to answer her question, she chanted silently to herself, trying to remain calm. When she was sure, she could speak without her voice breaking, she said quietly, “Lyn and I weren’t especially close in the beginning. We grew closer after…” She shrugged, ignoring Gena’s speculative stare. “We just grew closer. I guess we both realized we were kindred spirits, more alike than we thought. After university we stayed in touch.”