Too Close to Home (2 page)

Serena shoved herself back from the edge of the bin with a grunt. “Sure, Connor, I think I’ve got everything I need. Harley got the pictures so I’m sure he’ll be emailing them to you.” She looked down into the dumpster, a sad look crossing her face before she could clear it. “I guess she’s yours for now. After we get her to the morgue, I’ll be able to tell you a lot more.”

Serena made her way down the strategically placed step-ladder and allowed Connor to replace her. He climbed up and peered over the edge. The smell assaulted him and he turned his head away for a moment. She’d been here for at least a day, although, in the steamy, southern, September heat, it was hard for him to tell exactly how long. And she could have been dead somewhere else for a period of time before landing here. He’d leave that speculation to Serena.

Leslie had disappeared a little over a year ago. Now this.

Dear God, why?

It was the only thought he’d allow to pass through his mind before professionalism took over. “Blonde, eighteen years old. A hundred pounds or so.” Ignoring the stench, Connor spoke into his voice-activated recorder to register the details. Later, he would write out the transcript to study.

Jake grunted.

Connor continued his assessment. “Face up, arms above her head, gunshot wound to the chest. Fully dressed, jewelry on both hands, bracelets, earrings. Miniskirt and sandals. Cuts and bruises on both knees.”

He turned and looked down at Jake. “Who found her?”

“Guy over there in the car.”

Connor’s gaze followed Jake’s pointing finger. “Homeless and looking for something to eat?”

“Yep. Guy’s crazy as a loon. Kept saying something about the black monster who was going to eat him.”

“Black monster?”

Jake shrugged. “Like I said, he’s nuts.”

“Let’s see if there are any cameras around here that might have caught something,” he said, and motioned to the guy who worked with Serena. Johnny St. James, late fifties, gray hair, and a potbelly. One of the nicest guys Connor knew. After all this guy had seen on his job, he still managed to enjoy living.

Johnny arrived, gurney in tow, and Connor shook hands with him. “Good to see you again, Johnny. Sorry it has to be this way.”

Johnny nodded and stepped over to the dumpster. “Yeah, me too. Crying shame. Where are the parents of these kids anyway?”

“Wish I knew, John.”

Guilt stabbed him again as he thought about Jenna. Parents, himself included, had to work and couldn’t keep an eye on a teenager 24/7. Still . . .

Connor walked over to greet the detective standing beside the police car. “Hey there, partner. Heck of a way to start a Monday. You get any sleep?”

Andrew heaved a long-suffering sigh. “About two hours.”

“Yeah, me too. How’s Angie?”

“Mad.”

“Whew. That’s not good.”

“Tell me about it.” Andrew slapped a manila folder on the hood of the car. “Here are the photos from the other two crime scenes. Wanna take a look?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Pulling the photos from the folder, Andrew spread them out. Connor separated the pictures, his gut twisting at the sight of the ugly deaths these girls had suffered.

Again he thought about Jenna. Just the thought of her ending up like those girls.

He shuddered. Somehow he had to figure out a way to be there for her more.

“All right, let’s talk through it.” Andrew pointed to Amanda Sheridan. “Sixteen years old, strangled, had a baby.”

Connor tag teamed with Andrew, bouncing facts and ideas off of each other helped keep everything straight in his mind—and helped solve more than one case. “She was found in a ditch off the side of I-85 approximately two days after she was killed. Scared that poor trucker to death.”

“Bet he’ll use rest areas from now on.”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Connor ignored the sweat running down his back and looked over at the dumpster. “The second girl, Bethany Whitehouse, she was drowned.”

“Yeah, the marks around her neck show the guy held her with her back facing him. Thumbs pressed against the back of her neck.”

“No prints, though. He wore gloves.”

“Uh huh. Couldn’t make it easy for us.”

Connor stepped away, then walked back and looked at the pictures once more. “I don’t get it. What’s the connection? There’s got to be something to link these girls and we’re not seeing it—I mean besides the baby angle. This dumpster is in a really busy area, fully visible to passing traffic. The side of the road, also in plain sight. But the girl who drowned washed up on a man-made beach at Lake Bowen twenty miles out of town.”

Andrew rubbed his eyes. “If there’s a link, it’s subtle.”

“Or something we just haven’t even come across yet.” Connor gathered the photos back and stuffed them in the folder. They called out to him, demanding justice. “Go make nice with Angie and I’ll see you in the morning.”

“It
is
morning, but I got you. She’s just gotten over being mad at me from the last time I had to get up and leave. Now, I get to start all over again.” He slapped Connor on the back. “No, Angie can wait. You go handle the parents, I’ll hang around here and see what else I can come up with.”

Angie and Andrew had been married less than three months. They were both still adjusting to life as a couple—and all the job entailed. Thirty-two-year-old Andrew had been a detective for six months. Angie might act mad, but Connor knew how much she loved the guy. Connor wasn’t worried about his friend’s marriage.

Right now, he dreaded telling Leslie Sanders’s parents that their daughter would never come home again. He practiced his speech all the way to the morgue.

From behind the yellow tape, The Agent watched them work. He watched the man snap pictures of the crowd as he’d known he would. They would study those pictures later, comparing them to the other two scenes with the crowds. But they wouldn’t notice him. He didn’t stand out. And he never looked the same. So he didn’t try to turn from the photographer, but he never looked directly at the camera either.

They’d found Leslie faster than he’d thought they would, but that was all right. She’d served her purpose and The Agent had done his job.

He’d disposed of the body.

The man, obviously a cop, climbed up to look over the bin. He looked sad . . . then angry.

The Agent shook his head, wanted to explain that there was no need for sorrow or anger. Leslie would live on. She’d done something not many people did in their lives. Leslie had provided extreme joy and pleasure to those who deserved it—and he’d assisted in that.

And been well compensated for it too, he thought smugly.

Yes, it would all be fine. Leslie would be buried and he could move on to the next girl. His fingers itched and he wondered how he should kill the next one. Experimenting with different ways to kill them was interesting—and disgusting too.
Drowning
was the way to go. Simple, no mess. Yeah. Drowning.
The cops would try to figure out why the girls died by different methods, but there really wasn’t anything to figure out.

It had been hard killing the first one. Strangling her, watching the life seep from her eyes. He’d thrown up afterward. The second one he’d drowned so he couldn’t see her soul drain, or the fixed empty stare. That had been better. The crazy thing was, he hadn’t killed Leslie. Boss had done that. Shot her in the chest. Very messy. It turned The Agent’s stomach and he knew he could never shoot one of the girls. A cop? Yeah, he could shoot a cop. But the girls, yes, he’d probably just drown them from now on.

He scanned the scene again. For a moment he chilled at the expression on the tall cop’s face. This man might cause him some trouble.

The Agent shrugged it off. No, he was too careful, too skilled, too smart. He had his purpose. To fulfill Boss’s orders. To carry out the plan.

And live well because of it.

Oh yes, the money was definitely important. Lots and lots of delicious money.

Soon he’d have enough and be one of the deserving ones. Equal to those who’d benefited from Leslie and the other girls’ great sacrifice. A sacrifice that brought infinite joy and smiles. Yes, soon he would smile like that too.

It was as simple as that.

2

Jenna Wolfe stared at her geometry teacher, Mr. Alexander, and tried to paste a look on her face that said, “This is fascinating stuff.”

In truth, she was bored silly—and sleepy. Finding her dad gone last night had creeped her out. Sure, she was sixteen, almost seventeen, and often stayed by herself, but she didn’t like waking up to an empty house. Regret cramped her. She shouldn’t have called her dad and acted like a whiny baby. Now she was stuck staying at her grandparents’. She wanted her dad home—with her, all night long.

Jenna sighed, shifted in her seat, and tried to focus on the math, but really, who cared about the Pythagorean theorem?

Jenna had more serious things to deal with right now. Like how to get Bradley Fox to notice her. Frankly, Jenna thought the two of them would make the perfect couple.

“The Fox and the Wolfe.” It was just too cool—and would make the most romantic love story in the history of Stanton High School.

Jenna knew she was pretty; everyone told her so. She also saw it every morning when she looked in the mirror. A flawless complexion, curly dark hair, and wide blue eyes.

Unfortunately, she was also shy when it came to boys she liked. Shy and socially inept. The fact caused her immense frustration, because she could have incredibly intelligent conversations in her daydreams or on the computer, but when it came to actually doing it in real life, she totally froze up.

“Psst. Jenna.”

Jenna cut her eyes to her best friend, Patty Thomas, who sat in the desk directly next to hers. Jenna raised a brow and silently mouthed, “What?”

Patty held up a folded piece of paper in front of her geometry book so the teacher wouldn’t be able to see what she was doing if he happened to turn from the board. She subtly waved it.

Jenna stuck her hand out and palmed it with a practiced move. Hiding it under her desk, she opened it and read “Party this Friday at Janet’s. BYOB!”

Jenna sighed. BYOB as in “bring your own bottle” . . . of beer, wine, a cooler, whatever. Where would she get her hands on some this time? She’d worked so hard to become one of the “in” crowd, but lately, the partying and drinking were beginning to wear thin. So were the lies she constantly had to tell—and remember.

She simply looked up and nodded.

Patty tossed her chestnut-colored hair and grinned, green eyes snapping. She mouthed, “Cool.”

Jenna watched Patty turn her attention back to Mr. Alexander. The irony didn’t escape Jenna. She shook her head and blinked her eyes, forcing them open. Patty could sleep through class and still ace every test she took. Unfortunately, Jenna couldn’t do that.

She had to study for every A she got. Lately, though, she couldn’t stay motivated, no matter how hard she tried. It was September and five weeks into the school year. Her four-and-a-half week interims had not been great. Not terrible, but definitely not great either. Her dad didn’t even know about those grades. He would, however, ask to see her report card. That gave her roughly four weeks to get her grades back up.

Right now, though, the only thing that really interested her was Bradley Fox and the new friend she’d met on the internet, 2COOL2BLV—Too cool to believe.

Now there was someone she could trust. Oh, she knew that she should be careful, that there were some real psychos out there just looking for some gullible young thing to take advantage of, but 2COOL wasn’t like that. He was incredibly sweet and always knew the right thing to say. And besides, Jenna was smarter than the average teen.

After all, her dad was “supercop.”

Jenna smirked. When her dad had finally decided to let her get online by herself, she had been fully “in-serviced” on the hazards of the internet—and the creeps who prowl it. He was so paranoid it was ridiculous.

She knew how to take care of herself. 2COOL had proven himself; lived up to his name. After all, she’d been talking to him online for two months now. If he was some perv, he’d have made his move by now, right? A thrill shot through her. She couldn’t wait to get home to talk to him. At least he was around when she needed him.

Connor knew that if he didn’t get some real sleep soon, his body was going to override his brain and simply shut itself down.

But this case haunted him and he knew that even if he went home this minute, he wouldn’t sleep. Fortunately, he kept a change of clothing, a toothbrush, and a razor in his locker at the office. He’d shave in the bathroom, change clothes, grab a strong cup of coffee, and keep working. And check on Jenna. He’d missed breakfast with her this morning. Again. But at least he’d managed to arrange for her to stay with his parents for the next little while.

“Hey, partner, how’d it go?” Andrew entered the locker room and slapped him on the back.

Connor didn’t have to ask Andrew what he was asking about. Andrew hadn’t gone with him to break the news to Leslie’s family; he’d stayed at the crime scene with the investigators, questioning witnesses and coming up empty.

“Her parents took it hard, of course. Apparently she was a straight A student, member of the cheerleading squad, debate team, and wanted to go to medical school. She scored a perfect 1600 on her SATs at the end of her junior year. She would have been a freshman in college this year.”

“Wow, ouch. You tell them she’d had a baby?”

“Nope, and they didn’t mention anything about the possibility of her being pregnant. Didn’t even have a boyfriend when she disappeared a little over a year ago. And according to Serena, the baby was born pretty recently, so she would have gotten pregnant after her disappearance. Anyway, that’s one fact we’re keeping to ourselves.”

“Good idea. Maybe someone will trip up and say something about it.”

“Yeah.” Connor rubbed the stubble on his chin. “You know, Andrew, I just don’t get it. These kids that are disappearing, they’re not the kids with parents who don’t care. They’re not throwaway kids or street kids or even runaways. All six who have disappeared are from middle- to upper-class families. Families with money. What do you make of that?”