THE BRIDGE (4 page)

She plucked the pad from his hand and pressed her finger against the smooth ink. “I’m a teacher. My fingerprints are already on file.”

“That helps. And teachers are the best. My mom was a teacher.” Smiling, he put the card on the vanity, and she rolled her finger from right to left.

Jacoby tucked the pad and card in a side pocket of his bag and then patted it. “All set. I’m just going to take a quick look at the front door.”

They watched his work for several more minutes and then Detective Brody hovered over the locksmith, asking a million questions.

Elise smirked. The guy probably couldn’t wait to finish up this job.

Jacoby came in from the patio and hoisted his bag over his broad shoulder. “Nothing much of anything.”

“Thanks, Dan. Send me your findings, and I’ll include them in my report.”

When he reached the door, Jacoby turned. “I’m glad you’re okay. This could be the work of a serial killer. Your attack could be linked to that woman’s body we found dumped near the Presidio.”

Elise whipped her head around toward Detective Brody. “I thought you said there’d been nothing matching this M.O.?”

He shot a dark look at Jacoby, who shrugged. “We know very little about that murder. It could be related to the transient killings.”

“That woman had a bump on the back of her head, too. He could’ve hit her and stuffed her in a trunk before he did...other things.”

A frisson of fear tickled her spine, but Elise preferred to concentrate on the anger boiling her blood. “It sure sounds like it could be related. Why is the SFPD hiding these murders? Women have a right to know if they’re being hunted down in the streets.”

“Stop.” Detective Brody crossed his two index fingers, one over the other. “You’ve both made a lot of leaps here. We’re not hiding anything. That murder had a couple of columns in the paper. Maybe you skipped the front page that day.”

Elise sucked in her bottom lip. She didn’t even get the newspaper. She got most of her news from the internet, and she had to admit she didn’t search for murder stories.

“Miss?” The locksmith poked his head around the corner of the hallway. “The garage door’s done. I’m going to start on the front door.”

“Perfect.” Elise opened the door for Jacoby. “I suppose you’re not going to find anything from the evidence you collected. He wouldn’t go to all the trouble of letting himself into my house to scrawl messages and then leave a nice set of his fingerprints.”

“You’re probably right, but I’ll let Sean here know if I find anything out of the ordinary. He’s the man.”

He swung his bag from one shoulder to the other and saluted as he walked to the sidewalk.

Elise stepped away from the door, leaving it open for the locksmith. “What now?”

“I’ll wait for him to finish with your locks, and then I have to go back to the station to write up my report.”

“Do you want to tell me about that other woman? The one dumped by the Presidio?”

“Not really. You don’t want to hear the gory details.”

“How do you know?” Tugging at the hem of her dress, she sat on the arm of the couch. “I’m tougher than I look, you know.”

“I have no doubt about that. Anyone who can escape a killer by wading into the San Francisco Bay is hard as nails.”

“I would’ve done anything to escape him.” She folded her arms across her chest. “So why do you think I can’t handle the details of a murder?”

He rubbed his eye with his knuckle. “Because it’s ugly and sordid. Why invite that into your world when it doesn’t have to be there? There are some images that you can never erase from you mind.”

She gripped her upper arms, digging her nails into her flesh. He should know. Maybe she
didn’t
want to hear the particulars.

Voices at the door had Elise raising her eyebrows at Brody. He headed across the room first, blocking her view.

The locksmith rose. “This guy’s looking for Ms. Duran. Says he found her stuff.”

Elise’s steps quickened. “Really? My purse?”

A man dressed in running shorts and a sweaty T-shirt held up her small black bag from last night. “I found this on the street, a few blocks up. I looked inside, found your license and knew the address was back this way.”

She moved forward, hands extended. “Thank you.”

“Wait.” Brody handed her a white handkerchief. “In case he left prints.”

As she poked around in the purse, Brody asked, “What time did you find it?”

“Just now. Maybe five minutes ago.” The runner was already backing down the porch.

“Can I get your name and address?”

“Hey, man, I didn’t steal the purse.”

Brody held up a hand with his badge cupped in the palm. “I’m not accusing you of anything, just in case we have further questions.”

Hopping from one foot to the other, the man gave Brody his name and address and then took off at a sprint.

The locksmith pointed his drill at the runner’s retreating form. “Nervous, huh?”

Brody took her arm and steered her back to the kitchen. “Anything missing?”

“Let’s see.” She held up her hand and counted off from the first finger. “My money, my keys, my lipstick.”

“Your lipstick?” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the bathroom.

“Different shade, but now that makes two of my lipsticks he’s stolen.”

“Even if he hadn’t kept your keys, you would’ve still had to change your locks since he got a look at your license.”

“I know.” She slipped her cell phone from the bag. “At least he left me my phone.”

She glanced at the display and noticed two text messages blinking. “Do you want something to eat or drink while we’re waiting for the locks?”

“Just some water, please.”

She placed the phone and handkerchief on the kitchen counter and went to the refrigerator to fill a glass with water from the dispenser. She clinked the glass in front of him and swept her phone from the tile.

She opened the first message, which Courtney had sent earlier this morning. One word—
breakfast?
If Courtney thought she had a lot to tell Elise about last night, Elise definitely had her beat.

She clicked on the next message from an unknown number. Someone had sent her a picture. A wisp of apprehension brushed the back of her neck as she touched the picture to expand it.

The eyes of the girl in the picture mesmerized her, and she felt darkness closing in around her.

Chapter Four

Elise dropped the phone. The corner hit the counter and bounced once before landing facedown. Her body convulsed, and then she began to sway.

“Elise?” He caught her with one arm, supporting her against his chest. He barely felt the pressure from her tiny frame. Was she having some kind of delayed shock or reaction to the hypothermia?

He started to lead her out of the kitchen, but she dug her heels in the floor.

“The phone.” The rasp in her voice made it sound as if she were choking.

“Sit first. I’ll get the phone in a second.” He swept her up in his arms and carried her to the couch. Her dress had hiked up nearly around her waist, exposing an expanse of smooth thigh and a pair of wrinkled black panties.

He settled her on the couch and dragged a colorful afghan across her lap. “What’s on the phone?”

He charged back into the kitchen. Had her abductor sent her a message, too? Good. The better to track him down.

Her teeth chattered. “I-it’s a p-picture.”

Sean snapped on a rubber glove and touched the screen, bringing it to life. He swore at the image—a young woman, bound, her eyes wide and terrified above her gag.

“Do you know her?”

“Wh-what?”

Sean sat beside Elise and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pressing her close against his body. Gradually, her trembling subsided.

He rubbed her arm. “Do you know the woman in the picture?”

She shook her head, and her hair, still stiff from the salt water, scratched his cheek.

“The number. Do you recognize the telephone number?”

“No.” She took a deep breath that caused a shudder to run through her body. “It came up as unknown. He sent that to me, that vile, horrible...” Her words broke off in a sob.

“Shh.” He wrapped his other arm around her so that he enfolded her in a hug, and still the ripples coursed through her.

She tilted her head back and stared into his face. “She’s in the trunk of a car, isn’t she? Just like me.”

“It looks like it. He’s an idiot. He’s allowed his hubris to get the better of him. We’re going to blow up this picture, trace the phone number. He’s just given us a bunch of evidence we didn’t have before.”

“And the girl? Do you think she’s dead?”

Of course she was dead.
“I don’t know, Elise. It doesn’t look good.”

“That could’ve been me. That
was
me, only he didn’t tie me up. Maybe he perfected his technique after I got away.”

“We have no idea when this picture was taken. I don’t think he went out after you escaped this morning and found another woman.”

This morning.
Did all this just happen today? She chewed on her bottom lip. “I want it off my phone.”

“I know you do.” He stuffed the phone in his pocket. “But right now the picture is evidence, and so is your phone. We need to find that girl.”

“Have there been any missing girls reported?”

“Always.” He didn’t plan to tell Elise about all the sad stories that crossed their desks, all the calls from desperate family members. He traced the edges of her phone with the pads of his fingers. Which family members would claim this one?

“Why did he send that to me?” Elise buried her face in her hands. “I’ll never be able to get that image out of my head.”

“He’s a sadist.” And somehow he’d dialed into him. Maybe the killer knew about his past, maybe he didn’t, but now they were tied together. That message on the mirror tied them together.

“Ms. Duran, I’m all done with the locks on the front door.” The locksmith poked his head around the front door. If he’d heard any of their conversation, he gave no sign.

Elise tried the locks and then settled the bill with him, but it was obvious her mind remained on that picture on her phone.

“He’s a serial killer, isn’t he? He’s a serial killer you don’t know about yet. He’s just getting started and he wants to play some sick game with you...and now me.”

It was a game he knew too well. He gestured around the small house. “Are you going to be okay here? I have to get to the station, turn in your phone and purse.”

She glanced over her shoulder toward the hallway. “I have to take a shower.”

“Do you want me to wait here? When you’re done, I can take you to the station with me and you can look through some mug shots.”

“Would you do that?” She was already moving toward the back rooms. “I won’t be long.”

He waved a hand. “Take your time. I’m going to call in and report this picture. Maybe they can get a trace started when I give them your phone number.”

She ducked into her bedroom and then darted across the hall to the bathroom, clutching a bundle of clothes to her chest.

Sean let out a long breath and collapsed onto Elise’s colorful couch. What the hell was going on? Why did the guy who abducted Elise share a similar tattoo with him? Why did he write a message to him on Elise’s mirror? This had to be a coincidence.

Serial killers had toyed with homicide detectives way before his father’s time, and they’d continue to do so long after Sean’s career. When he saw the message, Dan Jacoby hadn’t jumped to any conclusions and Dan definitely knew the story of his past.

He was probably overreacting. That’s what his brothers would tell him, but as the eldest the burden had weighed most heavily on him. Hell, Judd could barely even remember the old man, couldn’t remember the life they’d had before...before everything had been sucked into the bay by a strong, merciless current.

He plowed his fingers through his hair and shifted to the end of the couch. The soft cushions made it tough to sit up straight, so he gave up and slouched against the back of the couch while he made his call.

When he heard the water in the shower shut off, he struggled off the couch and began to pace the small room.

Elise emerged from the bathroom on a cloud of fragrant steam. She’d pulled her blond hair into a ponytail and had replaced her ridiculously small dress with a pair of tight jeans and a beige cable sweater, giving her a blond-on-blond look that made her jaw-droppingly beautiful. He kept his jaw in place.

“Do you still think it’s a good idea to stay here on your own?”

“Probably not. I’m going to have to change my cell phone number when I get that new phone.” She slid a knotted scarf from the back of a chair. “I don’t want any more surprises from this guy.”

She headed to the door leading to the garage, and Sean stopped. “You’re not coming with me?”

“I think it’s easier for me to take my car, so I don’t have to bother you for a ride back here.”

“It’s no bother.” Bother? He didn’t want to let Elise out of his sight.

She slid her new key in and out of the dead bolt. “I decided I’m going to call my friend Courtney to see if I can crash at her place for a few days. If it’s okay with her, I’m going to head over there this afternoon.”

“Good idea. Follow me to the station, and you can park in the lot there.”

He sat in his idling car until Elise’s garage door opened and her little hybrid rolled down the driveway. He kept an eye on his rearview mirror, stopping at every yellow light.

He sure as hell hoped the killer’s fascination with Elise came to an end soon. He could bring it to an end sooner rather than later if he caught this guy. Then he could find out why he was sending him personal messages.

He cruised into the station’s parking garage with Elise close on his tail. The morning shift had already gone out, depleting the ranks of patrol cars waiting in their slots.

Sean swung into an empty space at the end of the row, and Elise parked next to him.

“We’re really in the bowels of the police station here, aren’t we?”

“Shh, don’t tell anyone we have all this parking down here.” He led her to the elevator, and after a short ride, the doors opened onto a corridor bustling with both cops in and out of uniform and civilians.

He nodded at a few people on his way to homicide, trying not to read suspicion in their eyes. He’d have to lose this paranoia if he hoped to catch this guy and help Elise. Because he did want to help Elise.

He pulled out a chair on the other side of his cluttered desk. “Have a seat. I’m taking your phone to the lab, and I’ll try to round up a sketch artist. We might have to call one in. Coffee? Water?”

“I’m fine.” She folded her hands in her lap, her wide eyes taking in the activity of the room.

Yanking a binder from his drawer, he said, “You can pass the time looking at mug shots.”

He left Elise running her finger across the plastic inserts in the binder. He dropped off the phone with instructions to print, blow up and distribute the picture the killer had sent. He put the word out for a sketch artist, and then he stopped by the coffee machine.

By the time he returned to his desk, Elise was halfway through the six-packs of mug shots in the binder he’d left with her.

Flipping a page, she looked up at his approach.

“Any luck?” He dropped into his chair and loosened his tie.

“No.” She tapped the book. “Who are these guys, again?”

“Killers, rapists, batterers.”

She flinched and jerked her hand back from the page. “Why are they out on the streets?”

“They did the crime and then did their time.” His hand tightened around his coffee cup. “I rounded up a sketch artist for you. Do you want to give it a try after you finish looking at those mug shots?”

“Sure, although I don’t know how much help I’m going to be. It was dark, and he wore a disguise—I’m positive about that. I should’ve realized that much facial hair was concealing something.”

Elise seemed determined to blame herself and her naïveté for the attack. He couldn’t sit back and allow her to browbeat herself.

He pushed away his coffee, and it sloshed over the edge. “The majority of men who have beards and moustaches are not criminals or trying to hide anything. That’s not a clue that anyone would’ve picked up on.”

Her face awash in pink, Elise smacked the book of six-packs closed. “None of these guys looks even vaguely familiar to me except one who’s the spitting image of my geometry teacher, and I’m probably just projecting because I hated geometry.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I doubt your geometry teacher is moonlighting as a criminal in San Francisco from...wherever it is you’re from.”

“Montana. Is it so obvious I’m not from the city?”

It was to him. She lacked that brittle edge so many urbanites had. But far be it from him to stoke the image she had of herself as the country bumpkin in the big, bad city.

He shrugged. “Not at all. I think you mentioned living here for just a year.”

Nodding, she relaxed her shoulders and slumped against the back of the chair.

Sean picked up the receiver of his phone and punched the button for one of the interrogation rooms. Tony Davros, the sketch artist, picked up. “You’re already there. You must be ready for the witness.”

Sean pushed back his chair as he stood up, dropping the receiver back in the cradle. “Let’s see what you can give us on this guy.”

Elise followed him to the interrogation room, her head cranking from side to side as they waded through ringing phones, shouts across the room and people crisscrossing the space with papers or files clutched in their hands.

She wrinkled her nose. “It’s noisier than a kindergarten classroom in here.”

“Probably about the same level of maturity, too.” He pushed open the door to the interrogation room and ushered her inside.

Davros stood up and extended his hand. “I’m Tony Davros, Ms. Duran. Wish we were meeting under happier circumstances.”

Sean raised one eyebrow in Davros’s direction. That’s the most words he’d heard from the artist’s mouth in almost two years. Davros had even pulled out a chair for Elise.

First Jacoby and now the sketch artist. He got it. Elise’s fresh-faced, angelic appearance spurred men on to chivalrous deeds, prompting them to pull out chairs and hand over jackets. Even the typically surly Davros wasn’t immune.

“Me, too.” She shook Davros’s hand and dropped onto the wooden chair. “I’m afraid the man was wearing a disguise—beard, wig, glasses, even a phony accent.”

“That’s not uncommon.” Davros swept his palm across a piece of sketch paper and caressed his pencil. “We’ll start with the shape of his face—what you could see of it.”

The two of them went back and forth for several minutes, the artist coaxing and praising as his pencil moved swiftly across the page in front of him.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Sean sauntered to where Davros sat hunched over his sketch pad, the tip of his tongue lodged in the corner of his mouth as he further defined the nose of the suspect.

Sean squinted at the face. Would someone be able to recognize him without the beard and moustache? Davros’s job entailed drawing another picture without the facial hair and glasses, perhaps with shorter hair.

“That’s close to what I remember.” Elise tossed her ponytail over her shoulder as she leaned over the drawing.

A sharp rap at the door interrupted them, and before Sean could even offer an invitation, it swung open and banged against the wall.

Sergeant Curtis from homicide, his eyes bugging out, thrust his head into the room. “We just got a call from patrol about a dead body, and I think you’re going to want to head out there, Brody.”

Sean’s heart slammed against his rib cage. “And why is that?”

“It’s the girl in the picture.”