Dead Ringer
Authors: Mary Burton
Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #General, #Romance, #Suspense, #Crime
DEAD
RINGER
Jacob
met Kendall's gaze head-on. "What I'm about to say has to stay off the record
for now."
"There's
no such thing as off the record." Kendall could see Jacob had something important
to tell her. And if she didn't give him her word, he would walk out of her
office right now. There was no way around it. "You have my word," she promised.
"Did
Phil White ever mention that you look like his wife?"
That
took her aback. "I do not look like Jackie White."
"He
did, didn't he?" He boldly studied her high cheekbones and vivid green eyes.
"She wasn't as pretty as you are, but the similarities are there. I saw it even
when she was lying by the river, pale and lifeless. You had to have noticed."
"Is
that supposed to spook me?"
Jacob's
eyes narrowed. "The second victim looks like you as well."
"Brown
hair and green eyes are common traits. Whatever similarities you see are
strictly coincidence. Now if you don't have anything else to add, it's late and
I want to work."
Jacob
pulled two Polaroid pictures out of his coat pocket and laid them on her desk.
They
were of the two murdered women.
Kendall
swallowed. "The women look similar, but nothing
like
me."
"You
don't believe that, do you?"
Books
by Mary Burton
I'm Watching You
Dead Ringer
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
DEAD
RINGER
MARY
BURTON
ZEBRA BOOKS
Kensington Publishing Corporation
www.kensingtonbooks.com
Sunday, January 6, sunset
"It's
time, Ruth."
A
cheerless finality hardened the man's softly spoken words. His heart truly felt
heavy as he stared out the frost-streaked window. Outside, pine trees bowed
under the ice's extra weight as arctic gusts rushed over the fields, swirling
around, creating minitwisters in the snow.
"I
don't want you to go," he said, turning toward Ruth.
The
woman sat in a wooden chair, her head bent forward. Dark hair cascaded over her
tear-streaked face. "Please," she said.
The
room was decorated with rose wallpaper, white iolite curtains, and a large
braided rug with interwoven strands of yellow, pink, and blue. A white
four-poster canopy bed covered with a cherry comforter and dozens of stuffed
animals dominated the space. He'd built this room for her and the others.
"Shh.
I have to let you go. We both knew this time would come." Sadness tightened his
throat.
Ruth
raised her head a fraction. She glanced down at her wrists, lashed tightly to chair
arms. "No. No. I don't want to go. I want to stay with you."
The
hoarse whisper was a lie. Instinctively, she understood what leaving truly
meant.
Dying.
He
crossed the room, hoping to reassure her. "You don't need to be afraid." He
knelt beside her and laid his hand on the ropes lashed to her pale wrists, now
raw and bleeding after days of struggling. "
It's
okay,
Ruth. It's all for the best. You'll see," he said tenderly.
Tears
rolled down her face. "No. Let me stay." Desperation sparked in her eyes. "We
can still be a family."
"You
have to trust me, Ruth. I know what's best." He touched her cheek.
She
flinched and then offered a faltering smile as she raised her pale green eyes
to meet his. "Allen, please."
He
liked it when she said his name. "I can't. You know that."
Lovingly
he touched her chin and tipped her face back so he could look into her eyes.
Fresh tears fell and dampened his calloused hand. For a moment, his resolve
wavered. He really didn't want to send her away. He wanted to keep her here
forever.
But
he couldn't.
Wouldn't.
He
rose and moved behind her. Gently he stroked her hair, which no longer smelled
of coconuts and summer, but of fear and sweat. "I've really enjoyed our time as
well. I've been alone for so long. But you must join the Family now."
She
shook her head but was unable to lift it. She whimpered, "Please. Don't."
Allen
pushed her hair away from her slender neck. "You will be grateful in the end."
He'd
been searching for her for years, knowing that one day he'd find her and they'd
be together again. And then he'd found her and he'd nearly cried out in joy.
For weeks, he watched her attend church, drive to her secretarial job at the
engineering firm, and go to the grocery store. He stood in the shadows as she'd
wept at her parents' graveside. He'd scrutinized.
Admired.
Waited for the perfect opportunity to bring her to this
special place that he'd created.
He
slipped his hands under Ruth's thick mane of hair and brushed the soft skin of
her neck. It felt cold. Her faint heartbeat drummed under his fingers. The
drugs that had made her sleepy, almost nonresponsive, were wearing off. Soon
she'd be struggling again, screaming until her voice grew hoarse.
He'd
not wanted to use the drugs, but she'd been so defiant and unwilling to talk to
him. She'd fought, called him names, and rejected him. The drugs had calmed
her, made her see the good in him.
"I
wish we had more time," he said.
She
craned her head to the side and looked up at him. Desperation made her eyes
spark. "We can still be a family."
A
smile twitched at the edge of his lips. "Not in the way that it matters. There
is too much that can come between us."
"It
could be different this time. You'll see. I promise I will love you."
Love
.
For a moment he closed his eyes and let the word
roll through his mind. No one had loved him in so long. "You can't really love
me until you join the Family."
"I
can."
He
didn't blame her for the lie. He knew she was afraid of the transition.
Crossing over always triggered fear in his girls. She'd say anything at this
point. He understood and wasn't mad.
"Shh.
It's going to be okay, Ruth."
A
sob rose in her throat. "I'm not Ruth. I'm not Ruth."
He
drew circles on her neck with his thumbs and then slid long fingers around her
neck. Her pulse throbbed faster now. "Don't fight it. It's so much easier when
you don't fight what is best for you."
"No."
She jerked against her bindings and started to thrash her head. "I don't want
to go!"
He
tightened his hold and began to squeeze.
Initially,
she thrashed harder. A muffled cry escaped her lips. But the pressure on her
neck quickly robbed her of air, sound, and energy. Soon, she choked and gasped
for air. She pulled against the bindings and balled her slender fingers into
fists.
"Ruth,
you were always the strong, brave one."
He
tightened his hold, savoring the rush of power and excitement rushing through
his body. His body warmed, despite the chill in the room. In this moment he
felt connected,
alive
.
For
so long he'd been alone, lost and wondering. Now, Ruth was about to join his
Family. She would be with him forever.
"Family.
It is everything. Without family life isn't
worth much. People today don't get that. They are so busy rushing around they
don't take the time to spend with each other."
She
strained her neck and twisted her head, gagging, trying to break free.
His
arms and hands ached but his grip remained tight. Her pulse drummed
frantically, proof her lungs struggled for air. And then the
thump, thump
,
thump
skipped several beats. His heart raced faster. A few more erratic
pulses followed and then stillness.
Life
ebbed from Ruth's body, like water down a drain. She slumped forward.
A tranquility
only death could create washed over her.
Lovingly,
he rested his palm on the top of her head. "It's better now, isn't it? You are
finally at peace. You are free of all your worries and pain."
She
didn't move. There were no more uneven protests. No pleas for freedom.
"Praise
be
," he whispered.
From
his pocket he pulled a gold chain with an oval charm. Inscribed on the charm
was the name
Ruth
. He slipped the chain around her neck. The clasp was
small, delicate, and his large hands fumbled with the fastener until finally he
hooked it.
He
moved around the chair and knelt in front of her. The charm lay in the hollow
of her neck just above her breasts. The pendant was a fine piece of jewelry
that had taken him weeks to make. But it was worth it. He touched the shiny
gold.
Ruth
deserved the best.
He
untied her wrists and took her hands in his. He kissed her cold fingers and
then pressed them to his cheek. "I love you so much."
He
put his hand under her chin and tipped her face back. Under partially open
lids, green eyes stared sightlessly at him. He imagined he saw laughter in
their glassy depths.
"You
won't be alone much longer, Ruth." He laid her hands in her lap, crossing them
demurely over each other. "Soon, I will find the
Others
and I will send them to you."
Allen
smiled at the thought of the
Others
. Joy burned inside
him. "Soon, we all will be together as the Family was meant to be."
One
Tuesday, January 8, 8:10
A.M.
Homicide
detective Jacob Warwick flexed his right hand, working the stiffness from his
joints as he strode over the frozen land toward the flashing police car lights.
The five patrol cars were parked on the rural patch of land near the James
River's banks. Friday's snowstorm had whitewashed the landscape, robbing it of
color and life. A morning haze obscured the southern bank of the river and most
of the river's smooth waters.
The
temperature hovered around thirty degrees, but the breeze made it feel like
twenty below zero and cut through his jacket as if it were thin cotton.
The
cold irritated his bruised knuckles and he regretted leaving his gloves at his
apartment. He turned up the collar of his worn leather jacket and shoved his
fists into the pockets. A skullcap covered his military short hair and a black
scarf warmed his neck.
An
hour ago, Jacob had been at the gym, enjoying his day off by giving what he had
to a punching bag. Breaking a sweat sent endorphins rushing through his brain
and for a little while eased the tension that stalked him.
His
cell had rung midswing. He'd steadied the swaying punching bag, muttered a foul
oath before wiping the sweat from his eyes, and dug his cell out of his gym
bag.
His
partner, Detective Zack Kier, had recited the bare facts. Female murdered.
Midthirties.
Caucasian.
The body
had been dumped on the banks of the James River at the Alderson construction
site, located in the east end of the county a dozen miles past the airport.
Jacob had showered, burying his face under the hot spray and regretting that he
couldn't linger.
Another
gusty breeze off the river sent Jacob deeper into his coat. This parcel of land
was all raw fields and spindly cedar trees, but if the sales sign he'd passed
on the way in was correct, Alderson Development Company would transform all
this into a lush golf course surrounded by brick houses with perfectly placed
trees and flower beds. The proposed clubhouse would offer tennis courts and a
heated swimming pool.
Starting in the $
900,000s
.
The
slick marketing signs implied that the riverfront houses, with their
top-of-the-line amenities, also supplied the right brand of status and a
Father
Knows Best
kind of happiness. Life had taught him there were no guarantees.
And thirteen years on the force had shown him misery could be found in
high-dollar homes as well as low-income ones.
Jacob
spotted a group of ragged-looking men standing by a muddy black Suburban. They
wore jumpsuits and camouflage jackets. They were the Alderson Development's
survey crew. This was their job site. They'd arrived just after sunrise to
survey the north bank of the James River. They'd been the ones who'd found the
body.
"Hey,
when are you gonna let us get back to work or let us go home?" The shouted
complaint came from one of the surveyors. Steam rose from the coffee cup in his
hand.
"Can't
say," Jacob said. "But stay put."
Jacob
moved toward an older officer with a buzz cut and a perpetual frown. The other
officer stamped his feet and rubbed his gloved hands together.
"Cold enough for you?
My bones can't take too much more of
this frosty shit."
Jacob's
body still ached from a boxing match last week. "I hear ya."
"What
are you complaining about? I've been here for an hour already."
Jacob
smiled. "You're tougher than I am."
"My ass."
Watson's gaze narrowed as he glanced at
Jacob's face. "That the remnants of a shiner?"
"Yeah.
The other guy had a mean right hook." But that
hadn't stopped Jacob from winning the charity boxing match.
Watson's
gaze narrowed. "How old are you now?
Thirty-four,
thirty-five?"
"Give
or take."
Watson
shook his head. "You're getting too old for those
kind
of antics. You're not eighteen. You should stop now while you still have all
your parts."
Thirty-six
wasn't old in the big scheme but for a boxer it was ancient. In the army he'd
been Golden Gloves. Since he'd left, he'd remained a strictly amateur boxer.
Boxing gave him a thrill, reminded him he still had it. Whatever the hell
it
was.
But
the sport was taking a toll. He didn't rebound like he used to. He'd taken on
so many bouts these last few months there was rarely a day when his body didn't
ache. Watson was right. He didn't recover as he had in his twenties. "I'll keep
that in mind."
Watson
eyed him. "Bullshit. You ain't gonna stop."
That
coaxed a guilty grin.
Most
outsiders--noncops--didn't understand how they could chat about everyday things or
be so casual in the face of death. But this kind of banter, even humor, was a
way of blowing off steam and cutting the tension so they didn't go insane.
Jacob
pulled rubber gloves from his jacket pocket. "Forensics isn't here yet?"
"Tied up at another scene.
Will be here any
minute."
"Good."
He ducked under the yellow tape and strode toward his partner, Detective Zack
Kier.
Zack
Kier faced the icy river. Tall, broad shouldered, he possessed a lean build
suited so well for the triathlons he enjoyed. His unseasonably tanned skin was
a souvenir from a Caribbean second honeymoon with his wife, Lindsay. A black
overcoat brushed his knees and plastic gloves covered his dark winter gloves.
"So
what do we have?" Jacob asked. He yanked on his gloves.
Zack
turned at the sound of his voice and nodded toward the river's edge. "See for
yourself."
Jacob
followed Zack down the embankment toward the frozen riverbank. Where water met
land, lay a woman on her stomach. She wore a camel overcoat, gloves, scarf,
navy pants, and flat shoes, all soaked with water. Her gloved hands were
outstretched in a T fashion. One hand lay in the water and the other on land.
Her face was turned toward the river and her long dark brown hair streamed over
her cheek in a gloomy curtain. Small waves lapped against her body.
Jacob
moved toward the body but stopped ten feet short. He didn't want to contaminate
the scene any more than he had to before forensics got there. His heavy sigh
froze on contact with the air. "Do we know who she is?"
Zack
shook his head. "Not yet. There was no ID in any of her pockets.
And no purse to be found."
Jacob
squatted. He stared at her face, mostly hidden by her thick brown hair. How did
a neatly dressed middle-income woman end up here? "There are a few bridges
downstream and dozens of docks.
Suicide?"
Zack's
expression was grim. "That's what the responding uniform thought at first."
Jacob
frowned.
"And?"
"He
felt for a pulse on her neck when he arrived. He had to push back her hair to make
contact with her skin." Zack tightened and released his jaw. "He found
black-and-blue finger marks around her neck.
"Strangled."
"He
also spotted marks on her wrists. Looked like rope burns."
Jacob
shifted his gaze to the edge of her coat sleeve. He wanted to push up the wet
fabric and see the marks for himself but he would wait for forensics. "Did the
responding officer touch the body anywhere else?"
"No.
Only on the neck and wrist to check for a pulse."
Forensics
needed a complete record of everyone who touched the body. "Good."
Jacob's
gaze settled on the victim's wrist. "Whoever did this held her captive before
he killed her."
"That's
what I'm thinking."
The
victim was fully dressed, down to scarf and gloves. But that didn't mean she
hadn't been stripped and sexually assaulted. Some killers, especially novices,
often suffered remorse for their victims. In the killer's mind, redressing her
would have been a way of safeguarding her dignity. "We need to make sure the
coroner checks for signs of rape."
"Already noted."
Jacob
flexed his right hand, trying to work the stiffness from it. He studied the
partially exposed side of the victim's face. Determining time of death would be
tricky. The freezing temps would have slowed down the decomposition process. "Any
missing
persons
reports?"
A
cold gust of air made Zack drop his head. "I put a call in about fifteen
minutes ago. No one fitting her description has been reported missing, but that
could change."
There
could be a hundred reasons no one had called in a report. The victim had been
traveling. She'd had a fight with her spouse. She lived alone and had few
friends. Sooner or later, though, most people were missed by someone.
A
glance upriver revealed no signs of a dock, boat, or landing where she might
have been dumped. "She's soaked but her skin isn't discolored like it would be
if she'd been in the water. And there'd be weeds or grass over her if she'd
been in the river."
"The
freezing rain yesterday would have drenched anyone to the skin."
Jacob
could think of a dozen reasons how a middle-income woman could end up like
this.
Secret life of drug addiction.
Domestic abuse.
At this point all would be guesses.
Jacob
stared at her body. "Why leave her here?"
Zack
scribbled in his notebook. "Whoever did this might have thought she wouldn't be
found for a
while.
"
"Or
he figured she'd be found quickly. Construction crews have been all over this
place for weeks."
"That
brings up a whole new set of problems."
Most
killers didn't want anyone to know they'd murdered. If this killer dumped the
woman intentionally, Zack was right. It opened the door to a darker scenario.
The
rumble of a vehicle engine had them both glancing back up the hill. The
forensics van had arrived. White with blue lettering, the side read
Henrico
County Forensics
.
A
young dark-haired woman slid out from behind the driver's seat of the van. Tess
Kier, Zack's sister. Tess had been with forensics three years. She was
meticulous and one of the best in the country.
Tall
for a woman, she had sharp features and a lean body. Jacob had thought more
than once about hooking up with her, but he had never made a move. Not only was
she his partner's baby sister, but they interfaced on crime scenes often.
Keep
your dick out of the company payroll.
It had been a favorite phrase of his
army sergeant's. Sage words he was careful to live by.
Zack's
grim features softened a fraction and he headed up the hill toward Tess.
Jacob
remained by the river's edge, close to the victim. He turned and stared out
over the river, not sure what he was looking for. This was a sad, desolate
place. "No one deserves this."
Tess
came down the hill in her jumpsuit, booties, and gloves. A digital camera hung
from a strap around her neck and she held a clipboard in her hand. A pencil
stuck out from the ponytail holding up her ebony hair. As Tess approached she
glanced down at Jacob's hands.
Jacob
read her mind as if it were a book. He wiggled his fingers. "I've got my gloves
on like a good boy."
"Good."
Tess's pale, smooth skin accentuated sharp, blue eyes. "I don't need anyone
contaminating my crime scene." She cast a pointed gaze at her brother. "I know
I don't have to tell you about the right gear."
Zack
looked bored, as if he'd heard this speech a thousand times. "Anybody ever tell
you that you're mean in the morning?"
"My ex-boyfriend."
Tess tucked the clipboard under her
arm and started to snap pictures with the digital camera.
In
the dim morning light the camera's flash illuminated the victim with a brutal
clarity. All chatter ceased and a grave silence settled on the scene.
Tess
documented the body from every conceivable angle. She stood on the bank and
then moved into the shallow, frigid waters and snapped more pictures. She drew
sketches and took notes.
Jacob
studied the victim as the camera flash exploded. He tried to put himself in her
head.
To think as she had.
Her
shoes and clothes were sensible.
Almost prudish.
Her
hair was loose now, but he guessed that she normally wore it tied back in a
tight ponytail. That practical style would have matched her short, neat,
unpolished nails. The scarf around her neck was tied in a square knot.
She
looked like a librarian.
A churchgoer.
Someone who walked on the correct side of the road.
She was
the type of person who would be noticed if she went missing.
The
cold seeped into Jacob's bones and he grew restless. He shifted his weight from
one foot to the other, trying to get the circulation moving. Blazing heat and
humidity didn't bother him, but the cold pissed him off.
