Seconds to Live (Scarlet Falls) (17 page)

“The medical examiner hasn’t issued a cause of death in either case,” Stella said, working hard to keep her voice level.

Horner brushed her aside. “As Detective Dane said, we can’t discuss the details of the investigation. Once again, the hotline number is at the bottom of the screen. I believe photos of both victims are being shown on the screen right now. If you know anything about the deaths of either of these women, please call the hotline. An officer will be standing by to receive your calls.”

Horner herded Stella away from the press. “You need to work on politics, Detective. Next time tell them less in more words, and try not to look angry.”

“Yes, sir.”

Horner scrutinized her face. “You look tired. Make sure you’re taking care of yourself and not letting the case exhaust you.”

“Yes, sir.” Stella followed Cecily’s example and schooled her face until she was out of Horner’s view. Did the chief ever tell Brody to make sure he got enough rest? No. But what could Stella complain about? Being promoted? Having a concerned boss? Her boss was superficial, but he’d made her a detective. And that was all Stella had ever wanted.

Wasn’t it?

Back at her desk, Stella checked her messages. Finally, Gianna had returned her call. Stella dialed her number. “Can I stop by and show you something?”

Gianna chuckled. “If it’s that hottie you brought the other day, sure thing.”

“Sorry. That’s not it.” Stella grabbed her briefcase and headed for the door.

“I guess you can still come.” Gianna sighed.

“I’ll bring ice cream.” Stella ended the call. A quick stop at the convenience store yielded a container of vanilla fudge swirl, Gianna’s favorite.

If the girl picked Spivak out of the photo lineup, Stella’s life would get much easier. He was a scumbag. He had a record that included assault. But she had her doubts about his ability to have dumped the body. If the ME was right, and Dena had been dead for no more than eighteen hours before she was found, then Spivak would have had to dump her body before sunset last night. Stella had arrested him at nine-thirty the previous night. Dena couldn’t have been dumped before six p.m.

If he’d also been outside the church the night Missy disappeared, Stella would feel better about building a case with him as her killer.

The sun was setting as Stella parked outside Gianna’s apartment. The girl must have been watching for her because she opened the door before Stella knocked. As usual, the apartment was hot as a sauna. Stella stripped off her jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair.

Gianna walked into the kitchen and took a bowl from the microwave. The aroma of warm fettuccine Alfredo drifted into the room. Stella’s appetite stirred to life, but Gianna needed every calorie.

“Do you want some? I’m not really hungry, but I have to eat.” Gianna put the bowl on the tiny table. Even though she’d clearly been crying, the girl’s color was pinker, her eyes brighter, and her step quicker. The TV was set to a local newscast. She picked up the remote control and muted the volume.

“Go ahead. Please.” Stella dropped into a folding chair. “You look better today.”

A bony shoulder poked out from the neck of Gianna’s oversize T-shirt. “Not a dialysis day.”

Ironically, the treatments that kept her alive also drained her energy.

Stella reached into her pocket and removed the photo of Dena Miller. “Do you recognize this woman?”

Gianna leaned forward. “Yes. That’s Dena.”

“Was she friendly with Missy?”

“Yeah. Sometimes they’d talk during the refreshment hour after the meeting or go out for a late dinner.”

“Did you ever go with them?” Stella’s mind whirled. Not only were the victims members of the same group, they were friends.

“You know I can’t afford dinners out. I can’t even afford dinners in.” Gianna snorted. “Wait. Why are you asking me about Dena?”

Stella put a hand on her forearm. “I’m sorry. She’s dead.”

“No!” Gianna covered her mouth with her hand. “Not her, too.”

Stella gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry. How well did you know her?”

“We talked a little. It’s the part of the whole NA deal.” Her mouth set in an angry scowl. “If I were you, I’d be looking at the son-of-a-bitch she was married to.”

“Why do you say that?” Stella asked.

“He creeped me out.” Gianna pushed her food away. “It was normal for him to call her during the meetings. She wouldn’t turn off the phone. It was almost as if she was afraid not to answer. Anyway, at the last meeting, I was sitting next to Dena. The prick called her wanting to know where she was, who she was with, and what time she’d be home. I could hear him. His tone was all nasty. She was shaking by the time she grabbed her bag and took the phone out in the hall to talk to him in private. I was gonna ask her to be my sponsor, but I figured she had enough problems of her own.”

“You’re sure he wasn’t just concerned?”

Gianna’s eyes were weary. “I know all about nasty-tempered men.”

Stella sat back, linking her fingers and digesting the information. What good was knowing Adam Miller was mean to his wife? The chief had ordered her to leave him alone and build her case against Spivak.

As much as Stella hated to admit it, the chief had a point. Spivak was an excellent suspect.

Stella took out six photos. She dealt them out onto the table like a hand of solitaire. “Is the man you saw outside the NA meetings one of these men?”

Gianna scanned the pictures. She studied each one carefully, then shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

Stella pushed the picture of Spivak in front of Gianna. “Have you ever seen this man before?”

“No. That’s not the creepy guy,” Gianna said. “Well, he’s
a
creepy guy, but he’s not
the
creepy guy I saw outside the NA meeting Thursday night.”

Disappointment slumped Stella’s shoulders.

“Wait.” Gianna rose from her chair and walked into the living area. She pointed the remote at the TV. The volume increased. Outside Adam Miller’s house, a news crew followed him to his car. Bright lights illuminated his driveway as the reporters shouted his name and asked if he knew anything about his wife’s death. The caption on the bottom of the screen read: Local Accountant Suspected in Wife’s Murder.

Adam shoved the microphones away from his face, picked up his pace, and got into his car. A photo of Dena appeared in the upper left corner of the screen as a newscaster’s voice read, “Dena Miller’s body was found at a local park this afternoon. A source in the Scarlet Falls Police Department says Adam Miller is a suspect in the murder of his wife.”

Gianna lowered the volume again. “That’s the man I saw.”

“You saw Adam Miller outside the church Thursday night?”

“Yep.” Gianna gave up on the pasta and returned it to the fridge. She took the ice cream from the freezer. “Are you having some?”

“No thanks. I’m not hungry,” Stella said. Gianna’s recognition of Adam had wiped out Stella’s appetite. If the man outside the NA meeting was Adam, then Stella had nothing on Spivak.

Brody had to break Adam’s alibi or she had no case against anyone.

“You have dialysis in the morning, right?”

Gianna scooped ice cream into a bowl. “I do.”

“If I pick you up afterward, would you come to the station and make a formal statement?”

Gianna lowered her spoon. “There isn’t enough ice cream in the world to get me to the police station.”

“Missy’s car was found in the church parking lot. I think she was abducted there. Do you have any idea why Adam Miller would have killed Missy?”

Gianna shrugged. “No, but he’s creepy, and he didn’t like anyone hanging around Dena. Maybe he was jealous of their friendship.”

That
was
creepy. Stella crossed her fingers that Brody could break Adam’s alibi. “If Dena’s husband killed her, I want to put him away.”

“And if you don’t, he’ll come after me.” Gianna set the bowl on the coffee table. “I make it a rule not to get involved in other people’s shit. It never works out for me. No offense or anything, but cops usually treat me like dirt.”

“No one will hassle you. I promise.”

“I’m tired after dialysis.”

“I’ll bring you right back here. It’ll take fifteen minutes, tops.”

“I don’t need any reminders of the life I left behind.” Gianna’s body slouched, defeated and depressed in a way Stella hadn’t seen in months.

“I know.” Guilt simmered in Stella’s belly. Had she set Gianna back? Would formally dragging Gianna into the case put her in danger? Stella believed the same person had killed Missy and Dena. If Adam was willing to kill Missy just for getting too close to his wife, Gianna testifying against him would definitely make her a target.

“I’ll do it for you.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Stella gave her a one-armed hug. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll bring you something special for lunch.”

“You don’t have to do that. You already do too much for me. You saved my life. That doesn’t make you responsible for the rest of it.”

Stella rubbed her shoulder. “I like you, so you’ll have to deal with the attention.”

Gianna smiled, but her eyes were troubled. She refused to meet Stella’s gaze. No doubt being taken to the police station tomorrow would stir old memories she’d rather not relive.

“Lock the door behind me.” Stella stood.

“Yes, Mom.” Gianna mocked as she let Stella out.

Stella stood on the cement for a few minutes, the wind outside was hot and thick, but at least it was fresher than the stuffy air inside Gianna’s apartment.

What now?

It was nine o’clock on a Friday night. Stella hadn’t eaten since breakfast. She was so tired that her eyelids felt like sandpaper. As much as she wanted to work the case until it broke, she needed to eat and sleep. Silly as it was, it annoyed her that Horner was right.

But as she drove home, impulse turned her wheel. She called dispatch and asked for backup from patrol. A few minutes later, she was parked in front of Missy’s apartment.

She still had the key the landlady had given her. As soon as the patrol car pulled into the driveway, she let herself into the apartment, tugged on gloves, and began another, thorough search. Maybe there was something she’d missed the first time around.

She started in the living room, where the sparse furnishings afforded a quick search. She moved into the kitchen. Not bothering with the obvious places she’d already checked, she lifted drawers from their runners and checked the spaces between appliances and cabinets. She turned toward the bedroom and rolled her head on her shoulders. Most people hid highly personal items in their most intimate space.

In the closet, she slid hangers to check the wallboard behind Missy’s clothes. Then Stella knelt and ran her fingers around the edges of the carpet. The corner lifted. She pulled it back. A square had been cut into the floorboard. She pried it up with her fingertips to find a shoebox in the small hole. Inside the box, Stella found a fat envelope. Cash. Lots of cash. She thumbed through the bills. Mostly tens and twenties, the sum totaled at least two thousand dollars.

Where had Missy gotten that much cash?

Chapter Twenty-Three

What an arrogant prick.

He got up from his chair and paced in front of the television, where his recording of the press conference played.

So Police Chief Horner thought he’d solve these murders quickly, and they already had a person of interest that they were investigating.

How were the police possibly going to catch him when they were too incompetent to decipher his simple message? Rage seethed in his chest. Its warmth spread through him like rocket fuel.

Pivoting, he crossed the room again. His basement was empty, and he needed to fill it. He was anxious to get back to work.

But the police needed to be taught a lesson.

He turned and stared at the TV screen. On the steps of the police station, Chief Horner puffed out his chest and postured for the cameras. What a blowhard. With his perfect hair and whitened teeth, the Scarlet Falls police chief didn’t look like he’d ever gotten his hands dirty. Had he really walked a beat or driven a patrol shift? Didn’t seem likely.

The man was a well-groomed windbag who needed the air taken from his sails. But how?

Pictures of Dena Miller and Missy Green popped onto the left side of the screen. Across the chief’s uniformed chest, a phone number was displayed.

“We’re setting up a tip hotline,” Chief Horner said. “If anyone has any information regarding the murders of Missy Green or Dena Miller, they can call the number on the bottom of the screen.”

A hotline? How perfect. The hotline was going to get a tip they’d have to follow. He booted up his computer and began looking for the perfect location. He called up Google Maps and considered rural locations on the outskirts of town. There were plenty of abandoned buildings. But the police would be wary, and he wanted them more comfortable.

It had to be somewhere innocuous. Somewhere they’d never see him coming. Right in the middle of town should work. But how to find an empty house? Houses for sale or rent? Many would be empty.

He searched a real estate website for properties in the area and found several possibilities. He printed off a short list. Several might work for his
fuck-off
gesture to Chief Horner.

Tomorrow, he’d make time for a quick reconnoiter of the locations. Then he could set his trap. He didn’t have time to make an elaborate plan. Simplicity often was the best option.

Now it was time to get back to business. He’d already chosen Number Three, and he didn’t want to keep her waiting.

The empty cell called. He was bored. He needed her tonight.

A short time later, he cruised down the street, following her slender figure as she disappeared into the apartment. Now that was a strong woman. Not physically. Her body was slim. But there was nothing weak about her spirit. She didn’t let stumbling blocks hold her back. She would continue to push forward until she’d reached her objective.

Beauty only got a woman so far in life. He admired her determination. He designed each test to suit the individual. This one would take some extra consideration.

Dena had been a disappointment. She’d snapped even faster than Missy. Instead of proving her resilience, she’d caved immediately. After all she’d been through, he’d expected so much more from her.

How could he have judged her so poorly? She’d rallied from a physical challenge in the past, and it hadn’t been the torture that had broken her. With Dena, the game had been mental.

She’d had plans. She’d had hope. Once he’d taken that away, she’d wilted like a thirsty daisy.

Dena had proven that mental and emotional strength were as important as physical resilience. He needed someone who had faced life-long challenges and had overcome them.

A light in the apartment turned on. Through the window, he watched her rummage through a kitchen drawer.

Someone like her. Yes. She would be next.

Turning off the dome light, he got out of the car. The street was empty and dark in both directions. His shoes scraped on the concrete steps. He peered through the kitchen window but couldn’t see her.

Where was she?

His fingers closed on the hypodermic needle in his pocket. He’d slipped roofies into Missy’s coffee when she’d set it on a table to use the ladies’ room. Then he’d followed her at a discrete distance through the church parking lot. She’d collapsed, and he’d been right there. He’d put her in the passenger seat of his car as if she were sleeping. The drugs had worked well. She’d remained unconscious through the drive back to his place. But he didn’t have that opportunity this time.

His initial success had made him cocky. He’d surprised Dena in her shower. He’d punched her in the head and tossed her into his trunk. Considering that she’d escaped, and he’d had to track her through the woods in the rain for hours, that hadn’t been the best method. As much fun as it had been to see her terror, he didn’t intend to repeat himself.

What would have happened if she’d escaped? She would have been able to identify him. That couldn’t happen again.

But this one would be easier. He would keep it simple. A paralytic would keep her immobile long enough for him to transport her to his facility. He moved to the door and inserted his lock-picking tools. The mechanism gave after less than a minute. His practice was paying off.

He opened the door and slipped inside, then tugged the mask over his face. The small kitchen and living room were empty. He could hear someone in the bedroom, opening and closing drawers. He pulled the syringe from his pocket.

His blood hummed as he approached the bedroom door. Her footsteps sounded on the carpet. With two fingers, he eased the door open a few more inches and peered through the crack at the hinges.

She was searching through a dresser drawer, totally focused on her task. Rather than rush her, he waited.

Patience was important when hunting. A crocodile would lay submerged in the reeds for hours waiting for a gazelle to lower its head to the water for a drink.

She closed the drawer and turned away from the door. He held his breath, his thumb on the plunger. Pushing the door open, he pounced, sliding a hand around her face to cover her mouth and jabbing the needle into her thigh. Flailing, she reached for the lamp on the dresser. He depressed the plunger, then wrapped his other arm around her body to control her limbs. She froze, her body slowly going limp and collapsing to the floor. The lamp shattered on the thin carpet. A framed picture slid from the wall to the floor. Her fingers curled in the cord.

Success sent adrenaline coursing hot through his veins. He bound her hands and ankles with zip ties in case the drug wore off while she was in the trunk.

That had been almost too easy. The lack of challenge was almost disappointing. But he had to keep his eye on the prize. This was all just a means to an end.

He smoothed a piece of duct tape across her mouth. Rushing back to his car, he hefted the steamer trunk and hand truck from his trunk. The street was still empty. Returning to the apartment, he shoved her into the box, tucking her arms and legs in fetal-style. He turned off the lights and locked the door behind him. Everything must appear normal. Then he used the hand truck to cart her out to the car and hoisted the heavy chest into the trunk.

His baggy hoodie hid his face, and he’d obscured his license plate with mud in case anyone saw him. But no one would pay attention to a man loading a box into his car. The apartment buildings were surrounded by commercial properties, which were closed at this late hour, and the people who lived in her complex were the sort who minded their own business.

He slammed the trunk. Getting behind the wheel, he started the engine and drove toward home. Excitement buzzed though his whole body, almost like a mild version of the shock he’d given her.

She was going to be The One. He could feel the anticipation humming through his bones.

He could hardly wait to get started.