Blood Dahlia - A Thriller (Sarah King Mysteries) (2 page)

3

Lancaster General Hospital was the largest hospital in the county. Sheriff Bullock
drove his patrol car into the lot and parked up front. This would be considered crazy, what he was doing. But it didn’t seem so crazy to him.

He stepped out of the car and
strolled into the hospital. If there was any place in the county that had a lot of sick people, this was it.

There were at least forty doctors here at any given time
, and he’d have to meet all of them. That wasn’t even counting the nurses and front desk staff. And there was the fact that some people would have today off.

Hell with it
.
I don’t have anything else to go on.

The hospital was circular and modern. The sheriff remembered his grandfather talking about when it was founded and how it had started in just a small home.
His grandfather wouldn’t have believed what it had become in such a short time.

The sheriff walk
ed around the front entrance to a little cart selling drinks and pastries and ordered a coffee with skim milk. He had detectives for this. An entire homicide unit… that couldn’t give him anything on the first two girls. He could’ve had this place swarming with deputies and detectives if he wanted to. The sheriff’s office, once a small operation of two people, had also grown into a modern organization. They weren’t a Las Vegas Metro or an LAPD, they didn’t even have their own crime scene forensics unit, but they were capable and growing. But something like this… this wasn’t like anything he had ever seen before. And the last thing he needed was everyone saying the sheriff had lost it because he was talking to little girls he brought to crime scenes.

He sipped his coffee and
paced around the entrance and the small gift shop that sold snacks and little toys. He didn’t even really know what he was looking for. The emergency room was just off to the side, and he walked in. He nodded to the front desk receptionist who didn’t say anything.

The sheriff mulled around for a bit and then came over to her. “How
ya doin’?” he said.

“Good.”

“Um, I’m Sheriff Bullock. I was wondering if you’d mind letting me back into the rooms there.”

“Are you a visitor?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Who are you visiting?”

“Well, no one. I just want to have a look around.”

She thought a moment, her face crinkled up. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Listen, darlin’. I’m the sheriff of this county. I ain’t goin’ back there to steal nothin’. I just want to look around and meet your staff is all. Look me up online. Go ahead, do it now. Just type in ‘Lancaster County Sheriff’.”

Hesitantly, the girl did it. His photo came up
, along with a breakdown of the different divisions of the Sheriff’s Office and various phone numbers and addresses.

“Oh,” she said.

“Yeah, so how ’bout you just open up that door there and let me just walk around a minute? I won’t touch nothin’, I promise.”

“Well, I guess it would be okay. But can I have our security guard go with you? I just don’t want to get in trouble.”

The sheriff exhaled. He was the top law enforcement officer in the county. The hell did she think he was gonna do, steal Q-tips?

“Fine, bring out the security guard
, and I’ll walk around with him.”

Relieved, the girl picked up the phone, spoke into it a moment, and then said, “He’ll be right down.”

“Thanks.”

A few magazines were spread out on a side table
, and the sheriff sat down and flipped through a few of them. A two-month-old
Sports Illustrated
had an article about steroids in college football, and he’d started reading that when the security guard walked in.

“Hi, you the officer that needed me to take you around?”

The sheriff looked up, about to respond, and froze. The man was young, maybe thirty or thirty-five, and had hair that came down over his ears. He had some scruff on his face and bright blue eyes, but what stopped the sheriff cold was his neck. On the right side, just underneath the jawline, he had three scratches. They ran down to the base of his neck and were bright and red, recent.

“Yeah,” the sheriff said, slowly getting up. “Yeah, just wanted to take a look-see around if that’s okay.”

“Anything to help the police,” he said with a wide smile.

The security guard walked in front of him. He swiped an ID badge
at a scanner near the double doors, and they clicked open. He led the sheriff through.

“So what are you looking for exactly?” the security guard said.

“Oh, nothin’ too important. Just wanted to have a look at the ER. Need to know my way around ’cause we sometimes have to drag people outta here. Had a few extra minutes, and I was in the neighborhood.”

“Well,
not much to look at really. Just a normal emergency room like anywhere else.”

“Yeah, still wanted to have
a look.” The sheriff hesitated. “Those are some pretty nasty scratches you got there.”

The guard glanced back
at him. “Yeah, it’s my cat. But what can I do? My dad left me the cat, and it reminds me of him.”

“Your
father passed, has he?”

“Yep. About two years ago.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Well, like I said, what can you do?”

They circled around the emergency room. Not many of the rooms were filled, but the sheriff didn’t really look inside them anyway. He had his eyes fixed on the security guard.

“So what’d you say your name was?” the sheriff asked.

“Nate. And you’re Sheriff Bullock, right?”

“Right.
You’ve seen me, huh?”

“Just on the news a few times.”

The sheriff was quiet a beat as they walked. “So how long you work here, Nate?”

“Oh, five years or so. I tried to become a police officer, actually.”

“Really? What happened?”

“Just didn’t work out
, I guess. My brother was an officer for a little while, though.”

They’d circled the entire emergency room and were back to the double doors that led in. Nate stopped and looked at the sheriff. “You know, it’d go a lot quicker if you just told me what you were
actually looking for,” Nate said with a toothy grin.

The sheriff thought about taking him down to the precinct to talk, but he seemed smart and articulate. He probably prepared
himself for interrogation. What he wouldn’t be prepared for was honesty.

“Sure, I guess it would. I’m looking for a young man, Caucasian, that works here. He’d be
handsome, quite the ladies man, and he’d have fresh scratches on his face from a young woman of about eighteen that worked here. He probably helped her out to her car at some point and got her license plate. Then found out where she lives from that. Or he mighta just followed her home one night.”

Nate was st
ill as glass. He didn’t blink, move, or say anything. He swallowed, and the sheriff got the impression that he wanted to speak but couldn’t.

“Nate, why don’t you and I go down to the precinct and talk? Just talk, me and you. What’dya say?”

Before the sheriff could speak another word, the blade was exposed. Nate held it in his right hand and swung wildly, as though he were swinging a tennis racquet. The blade cut across the sheriff’s cheek, blood spattering over the wall near him. The pain was instant and burning. The sheriff shrieked, and his hand went up to the gaping hole in his cheek.

Nate came at him again, but the sheriff ripped his pistol out of the holster. Just as the blade came down, he fired.
Nate was thrown off-balance, and the blade cut down the sheriff’s arm rather than his neck or chest.

The round had entered Nate’s head, just under
his jaw. The young man fell and was bleeding to death on the floor as some nurses ran out to try to help. But the sheriff had seen wounds like that before. The boy wasn’t going to make it.

Present Day

4

Kyle Vidal had been with the FBI for eleven years now
, and the one thing he’d learned above all else was that you covered your ass. Any move you made had to be documented and approved by a higher-up. If it wasn’t and something went wrong, then everything fell onto the lowest man on the totem pole who hadn’t covered his ass.

His dir
ect boss, the unit chief of Behavioral Science, Gillian Hanks, left him alone to do his job. Any higher than that, and everybody was looking to blame him for something.

And with this case, he
definitely had to make sure he was protected. There’d been a lot of media coverage and six victims. Everything told him there were going to be a lot more before this guy screwed up enough to get caught—if he ever did.

Kyle’s official position
was special agent in charge of the DC office. As the SAC, it was his responsibility to oversee the entire office. That included special agents in every field, from forensic accounting to terrorism. But Behavioral Science had always been his baby.

Violent crime had been his area of focus in the sociology program
at Harvard. It fascinated him with an allure that no other field had, so he personally oversaw both Behavioral Science—the theoretical, research, and training arm—and the Violent Criminal Apprehension Unit, the practical fieldwork arm.

T
his case fell in both areas: it was as interesting as they came.

He heard a knock at his door and looked up to see
Agent Giovanni Adami. The special agent was dressed in a black suit, white shirt, and dark tie, the look J. Edgar Hoover had established over seventy years ago. It would have made more sense for agents to wear street clothes, but tradition was a tough thing to change in the Bureau.

“Special Agent Adami.”

“Sir. You wanted to see me, sir?”

“You’re not in the military anymore, Gio. You don’t have to do that. Just call me Kyle. Have a seat
, please.”

Giovanni sat across from him. “Sorry. It’s ingrained.”

“You were in the army, right?”

“Yes, si—Yes, Kyle. I was in the Rangers.”

“Did you see some action?”

He shifted in his seat. “Two tours in Iraq.”

“Well, thank you for your service.” When Giovanni didn’t say anything, he continued. “You haven’t actually been assigned to a unit yet, have you?”

“No. I’ve been helping out in screening and with a little fieldwork on some bank robberies.”

He nodded. “How would you like an assignment to Behavioral Science?”

He w
as quiet a moment. “I would like that, sir. Sorry. I would like that.”

“You said like, not love. Most people I offer this to say they would love the position.
”

“I was hoping
for the paramilitary unit, sir.”

“
I’m glad you’re being honest. That’s what I need. We need some real cops on the front line. Despite everything you hear and the image that’s portrayed in the news, that’s all we are at the end of the day—cops.”

“I know, sir.
I was a police officer for five years before joining the Bureau. After the army, it seemed like the right choice.”

“They’re similar in a lot of respects. The sense of brotherhood and belonging. Don’t lose that. It’s not as prominent in the Bureau, but it’s here if you look for it.
But we can talk about what being assigned to BSU means later. I have something for you right now.”

“Of course.
I’ll get right on it.”

“It’s in your in
-box. There’s a request there, too. A place to start. You ever heard of the Black Dahlia murder?”

“Yes. Instructor Parsons had it as required reading at the academy.”

“Yeah, that sounds like something Mickey would do. Pick it apart to the microscopic level. This is a copycat the media dubbed the Blood Dahlia. Agent Rosen is going to be the lead on this. I’ve informed him that you’ve been assigned to assist him.”

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate this opportunity. I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t. Go ahead and get prepared. I think Agent Rosen has a drive up to Pennsylvania planned for you two.”

5

Sarah Helena King woke up and didn’t know where she was for a moment. She sat up and saw her clothes crumpled on the floor. A man was next to her, snoring, handsome, and young. She deduced that she was in his apartment, and certain images from last night came to her. Drunken sex, some pot, and massive amounts of tequila.

She slipped her clothes on and then had to crawl around until she found her shoes. The man, whose name she couldn’t remember, stirred and looked up at her.

“Hey,” he said. “You leaving already? I was hoping we could grab some breakfast.”

“Maybe later,” she said as she slipped her shoes on. “See ya around.”

A bottle of tequila and two shot glasses were on the windowsill. Sarah filled a shot glass to the brim and drank it down in two gulps.

She walked to the door and shut it behind her. Catching a glimpse of the man as the door closed, she’d seen that look of surprise many times. Somehow, it was okay for a man to not want an emotional attachment to someone after sex, but
it was frowned on in a woman. She had never been one for convention.

She adjusted her shoe
s as she walked down the hall and took the four flights of stairs to the bottom level. As she was walking to the front door, she saw a boy staring out onto the street. The door was made of glass. He had his nose pressed up to it and was leaving a perfect little imprint of a child’s face. A teddy bear was tucked under one arm, and he was still wearing his pajamas.

“Hey, what’re you doing up?” she said.

“I’m waiting for my mommy. She said she was going to bring me a treat.”

“You live in these apartments with your mommy?”

He nodded. “My daddy’s in the navy, and he’s protecting us right now.”

Sarah’s head suddenly pounded
with an acute pain that hit her between the eyes. She could feel it in her bones. The pain had caught her completely off guard.

She saw a broken image. A man inside a cell, writing a letter. The man
bore a strong resemblance to the boy. His father. The letter was given to a guard who walked the halls of a random prison.

“Well,” she said, pushing the pain away and closing off her mind, “you must be so proud of your daddy helping to protect us all.”

“I am.”

She watched him a moment, t
ousled his hair, and then left. Up the street on the corner was a convenience store. She purchased ibuprofen, a diet soda, and a chocolate candy bar. She walked back to the apartments. The boy was still there, waiting for his mother to come home. Sarah motioned for him to open the apartment complex door, which was key-code locked, and he did.

“I got this for you,” she said, handing him the candy bar.

“Wow! Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Who’s watching you right now?”

“My sister.”

“You should go back to her. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Sarah waited until she saw him
mosey back to his apartment and shut the door. Then she turned and tried to find her car.

Another image was breaking itself into her mind, but she pushed
it back. The sensation was similar to trying to close a door when someone was attempting to push their way through from the other side.

Sarah had to close her eyes. “Stop,” she mumbled, “stop, stop, stop.”

The sensation of pressure in her head eased and then went away. She breathed the warm summer air deeply and exhaled through her nose. Her car, a black ’77 Mustang, was parked with one wheel up on the curb. She checked the clock on her phone. As a bartender, she only worked nights, and so she realized she had ten hours to kill before her next shift.

She decided she would go home, drink some water, and hit the gym. And she began making plans for what she would do for the rest of the day. She had to keep her mind occupied… or else she would be fighting herself all day.

The car was warm as she climbed in and turned the ignition. As she pulled away, she looked in the rearview and saw the boy standing behind the glass again, his face pressed against it.