Dead Ringer (19 page)

Jacob
didn't hear the response, but judging by Zack's expression she accepted the
change in plans with grace.

"Please
do me a favor and don't overdo it. Put your feet up." Zack frowned, an indication
that he was already worried if his wife would ease up. "I love you." After a
moment's hesitation, he hung up.

Jacob
tightened his hands on the wheel as they came to a stoplight and did his best
to convince himself that a solitary life was the only kind for him.

Zack
closed his phone. "She's at the women's center unpacking boxes."

"Is
she doing all right?"

"Yeah, great.
I just wish she'd ease up."

"You
need to ease up."

Zack
tapped the phone against his leg as if he was debating whether or not to call
her again. "You're right."

The
light turned green and Jacob moved through the intersection. Zack punched the
victim's address into the computer. Seconds later a map appeared. "It's about
five miles from here. It's not an apartment but a motel."

By
the time they arrived at the address, Zack had also contacted the motel's
manager and told her to expect them. The building was all brick, one story,
modular squares, and no character. The place looked as if it had been built in
the early fifties. A collection of cars was parked in front of the motel doors.

Jacob
parked in a spot in the lot and the two walked to the manager's apartment.
Jacob knocked. From inside they could hear the blare of a television.

Seconds
passed and the door snapped open. The woman standing in the doorway was in her
sixties. A rubber band bound thinning salt-and-pepper hair into a low ponytail.
She had shrugged on a parka over what looked like pajama pants and a T-shirt.

"Mrs. Mullin?"
Jacob asked.

Her
eyes narrowed. "You the cops, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am.
We've come to see Vicky Draper's room."

She
nodded, fished keys out of her pocket, and closed the door behind her. "Be glad
to show you her place. But technically it ain't her place no more. It's mine."

The
wind blew across a courtyard illuminated by security lights and the random
light from the motel rooms.
"How's that?"
Jacob asked.

"She
ain't paid her rent in two weeks. Yesterday was her drop-dead day to pay or get
out. I changed the locks on her place this morning."

Jacob
swallowed an oath. "Did you remove any of her belongings?"

"Was planning to do it first thing tomorrow.
You lucked out, coming when you
did. Another day and I'd have cleaned the place out."

"So
you don't mind if we search the place?"

"Naw."

Jacob
and Zack ducked their heads against the wind and followed the manager up a
flight of stairs to the corner room, Number 4. The keys rattled as she searched
for the right one. She tried the key once, cursed when it didn't work, and then
after a second try turned the lock. She pushed open the door and flipped on the
lights. "Here is Ms. Draper's apartment."

Jacob
and Zack moved past her into the tiny space. An unmade bed on the left side of
the room was covered with candy bar wrappers and empty take-out food cartons.
The bureau across from the bed was cluttered with makeup, hairbrushes, more
candy wrappers, pill bottles, and empty paper coffee cups. Ashtrays overflowed
with butts and ashes. Clothes littered a filthy brown shag carpet.

The
room smelled of trash, stale cigarettes, and booze.

Mrs.
Mullin shook her head. "The girl is a pig. No doubt about it. White trash is
what she is. I'm gonna have to have the place sprayed for roaches, and the
carpet is so stained in places I just may have to replace it."

Jacob
started to move around the room, careful not to disturb anything. Vicky's place
had all the signs of a junkie's pad--the candy wrappers, the coffee cups, the
pill bottles. "Did she have many visitors?"

"All the time.
Men mostly.
I didn't
like the looks of most of them, but as long as she paid her rent and kept the
noise down I didn't question too much."

He
moved to the nightstand by the bed. A black rotary phone sat beside stacks of
receipts, another full ashtray, and old magazines.

Zack
moved to the bureau and studied the contents. He was careful not to touch
anything.

"What
about family?" Jacob asked.

"None that I knew of.
I asked her once where her people
came from but she just mumbled out an answer about a couple of losers.

"So
what has Vicky done this time?
Bad checks?
Drugs?"
She reached into her coat pocket, fished out a
cigarette, and lit it up. Smoke curled around her head.

Jacob
frowned. "Ms. Draper is dead."

Mrs.
Mullin choked on the smoke in her lungs. It took her a moment to get it out.
"Hey, when I said her drop-dead deadline, I didn't mean that literal like."

Jacob
nodded. "I understand."

"I
mean, the girl and I had words often enough. She had a mouth like a trucker."
She puffed on her cigarette. "We had some knock-down, drag-out fights, but it
was always over rent." Mrs. Mullin shifted her feet nervously, as if she gauged
each word.
"Nothing personal."

People
tended to get nervous around cops. Everyone gauged his or her words when cops
started asking questions.

Zack
leaned over the bureau studying a mound of pills that looked prescription.
"Prozac.
Was she seeing a psychiatrist?"

Mrs.
Mullin's laugh sounded like a snort. "She could have used one, if you ask me.
But she didn't have the money to pay her rent, let alone a shrink. She had
friends who worked in doctors' offices. I'm sure they hooked her up with the
pills."

Two victims.
Both strangled.
A prude.
And a drug addict. Their only link was their physical appearance.
And the charms.

Dark hair.
Tall.
High cheekbones.

Like
Kendall.

"Warwick,
have a look at this." Zack stared at an ashtray at the end of the bureau.

Mrs.
Mullin leaned forward to see what he was talking about. She started to follow
Jacob, but he shot her a warning glance that halted her in her tracks.

In
the center of the ashtray laid remnants of a piece of yellow paper that had
been burned. Most of the paper was blackened ash, but there was a tiny section
in the center that hadn't burned.

Jacob
frowned as he stared at the script. Damn. "Do you see it?"

"Yeah,"
Zack said.

"What
is it?" Mrs. Mullin asked. She'd inched forward and wrinkled her nose as she
tried to peer toward the nightstand.

"Don't
worry about it," Jacob said. He reached in his pocket and pulled out rubber
gloves.

Mrs.
Mullin sniffed. "This is my property. I got a right to know."

Jacob
flipped open his cell. "Ma'am, you need to consider this room sealed for the
duration. It's a crime scene now." He dialed the station and requested a
forensics van.

The
writer's heavy hand had practically sliced through the paper with the tip of
the pen. Though most of the note had been destroyed, the remaining four words
were very clear.

Judith, when I find you.

Monday, January 14, 9:00
A.M.

The
Channel 10 news station was Jacob's first stop of the day. Deliberately, he'd
arrived early, knowing Kendall generally arrived around two. He wanted to talk
to her boss, Brett Newington, uninterrupted.

It
had continued to plague him that the two victims looked alike and both
resembled Kendall.

The
lobby had undergone a massive renovation. The art deco style and faded gray
carpet were gone. Now there was a sleek modern look that featured lots of
glass, a polished receptionist desk, and new carpeting.

On
the walls were the pictures of the station's different anchors. Kendall's image
was the centerpiece. Her gaze was direct, her smile bright. Behind her green
eyes was an intelligence that sparked and set her apart from just about
everybody. The arch in her left eyebrow suggested she knew a secret or a
private joke that the rest of the world didn't know.

Jacob
slipped his hand into his pocket. Since he'd first seen her on TV last year,
he'd dreamed about her. There'd been other women in his life, but his thoughts
kept returning to her. She'd gotten into his blood. And it annoyed the hell out
of him.
Nothing like wanting what you could never have.

He
turned to the receptionist, pulled out his badge, and introduced himself. "I'd
like to see Brett Newington."

The
receptionist's eyes rounded in surprise. She picked up her phone and dialed a
number. She dropped her voice an octave. "There's a Detective Warwick here to
see you." She listened,
then
replaced the receiver. "He'll
be right out."

Jacob
didn't have long to wait. Brett Newington appeared within seconds. The guy wore
gray creased pants, a white shirt with his initials monogrammed on the cuffs.
His shoes were polished, expensive. No tie.
One thousand-watt
smile that didn't touch his eyes.

So
Kendall and this guy had been an item? Jacob never would have put the two
together. Her personality was too strong, too vibrant. She'd have eaten this
guy for lunch. He could see a guy like this--the kind who thought he was hot shit--getting
pissed that a woman like Kendall had dumped him.

"Detective
Warwick," Brett said, extending his hand. "Is there a problem?"

The
receptionist had bowed her head but Warwick knew she wasn't missing a bit of
the conversation.

"I
have a few questions for you. Is there somewhere we could speak in private?"

"Sure."
He glanced at the receptionist, who had become very interested in a memo.
"Sally, would you hold my calls?"

"Sure, Mr. Newington."

Brett
nodded and without a word turned and headed down a hallway. Jacob followed. The
renovation had extended down the hallway, leaving behind the faint smell of new
paint and carpet.

They
passed by one office and Jacob noted the name Kendall Shaw on the door. An
intern stopped Brett with a question right in front of her open door. Jacob
glanced into her office and, like yesterday, was surprised the space was so
small. Like everything else about Kendall, it was tasteful, discreet.

"She
wouldn't take a bigger office," Brett said. He answered the intern's question and
it was just the two of them again.
"She likes being close to
the action."

Jacob
would have figured she'd have wanted all the bells and whistles that went with
fame. He nodded and followed Brett into his corner office. This space was three
times the size of Kendall's. In the corner there was a small round conference
table with three chairs around it and across the room Brett's wide desk. It was
glass, sleek, and covered with files and tapes. Certificates documenting
Brett's accolades covered white walls. The guy had had an impressive career.

Brett
closed the door. He chose to sit behind his own massive desk instead of at the
conference table. "Have a seat."

Jacob
sat across from Brett's desk. If the guy thought a piece of furniture could
intimidate him, he was wrong.

A
collection of pictures on the credenza behind Brett stared back at him. One of
the larger ones was of Kendall and Brett. Kendall stared directly at the
camera, her smile brilliant. Brett was grinning but he wasn't staring at the
camera, but at Kendall. There was no missing the fact that the guy had a thing
for her.

"Nice
picture," Jacob said. "When was it taken?"

Brett
followed his gaze. "It was taken about five months ago, the night Kendall did
her first broadcast as the evening anchor." Everyone around them in the photo
held up champagne glasses.

Jacob
remembered the broadcast.
"Looks like it was a big party."

"It
was. Convincing Kendall to join our anchor team was a huge coup. She cost me a
small fortune, but she's been worth it."

Newington
made Kendall sound like a prized mare.

"How
are your ratings?"

"Never better.
The public can't get enough of Kendall. She's
a beautiful woman, if you hadn't noticed."

"Hard not to."

"Between
you and me, she's high maintenance."

The
woman Jacob had seen yesterday seemed anything but high maintenance. She was
smart and hardworking.
"Really?"

Brett
frowned. "It's no secret that we dated once. I broke it off because she was
calling me at all times of the night. It got very tiring after a while."

The
guy's candor surprised Jacob. "That would have been last winter."

"Yes."

"Her
mother was dying about that time."

"Yes."

"Seems
natural a woman would call her boyfriend for support."

He
straightened. "Look, I tried to be sympathetic. I really did. But it got to be
a terrible drain. I couldn't work during the day because she'd had me up all
night." He dropped his gaze and removed an imaginary piece of lint from his
pants. "It might have been different if Mrs. Shaw liked me. But she made it
clear she wasn't happy about me or the fact that Kendall was on television."

"Why's
that?"

"Mrs.
Shaw was an intensely private woman. There were times when I thought she wanted
to keep Kendall all to herself. I tried to mention this to Kendall but she
wouldn't hear of it. She was very loyal to her mother."

"No
other relatives?"

"None.
Frankly, it was her lack of family that
appealed to me. My ex-wife had a shitload of relatives who were always getting
between us." Brett sat back in his high-backed chair. "So what's this about?"

"Has
Ms. Shaw gotten any odd fan mail lately?
E-mails or letters
that didn't sit right?"

His
eyes narrowed. "She's had a couple of e-mails. But that can be par for the
course. The world is full of losers who think they know a TV personality. Why
are you asking this?"

Jacob
let the question slide. "Would you mind getting me copies? I'd like to look
them over."

Brett's
chair squeaked as he leaned forward. "Has Kendall reported some kind of threat?
She should have come to me with a problem like that first."

"No
threats."

Brett
checked his watch. "What's the point of this conversation?"

"Just following a train of thought.
If you'll get me
those e-mails that should be it."

He
picked up his phone. "Can you make a CD of Kendall's fan e-mail?
Great.
When?
Right now."
He winked
at Jacob as if to say no problem.

Brett
hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair. "You ever consider granting an
interview to Kendall on the Guardian killings from last summer?"

Jacob
stiffened. He'd had the question often enough and had always refused. "Does
Kendall want an interview?"

Brett
dodged the question. "It's still big news. We'd do a first-class job." The
bastard's eyes gleamed with anticipation. Jacob's life had been gutted and
Newington wanted to turn it into a show.

"What
does Kendall say?" His voice was low, more like a growl.

"So
far she's said no. She refuses to do the piece. She's being hardheaded about
it. But if you said yes, maybe she would say yes."

Jacob's
body radiated menace. "No interview.
Ever."

Brett
cleared his throat, surprised by the ferocity in Jacob's voice.
"Right."

The
secretary appeared in the doorway with a disk in her hand. "Mr. Newington, I
have those e-mails for you."

Brett
appeared relieved by her appearance. "Great." He took the disk, dismissed her,
and handed it to Jacob.

Jacob
pocketed the disk but didn't trust his voice to speak.

Brett
swallowed. "Well, you know your way out."

"Yeah, sure."

Jacob
made his way to the lobby. He paused at the receptionist's desk. It was amazing
what a receptionist knew about people in the office.

What
was her name? Sally. "I bet Ms. Shaw gets a lot of e-mail, Sally."

The
woman's eyes perked up at the sound of her name. "She gets at least two
marriage proposals a month from some fan."

"She
must get a kick out of that."

"She
tries to answer as many as she can."

"Any regulars sending her e-mail?"

"I
hear she's got a few who e-mail her regularly."

"Is
Ms. Shaw dating anyone?"

The
woman's eyes took on a knowing look. "No."

"What
about Newington?"

That
question made her frown. She didn't like the guy. "No."

Jacob
thought about the photo behind Brett's desk of Brett and Kendall. The son of a
bitch still had a thing for Kendall. "Thank you for your time."

"Sure, no problem."

Jacob
strode out of the building and climbed into his car. He thought about Brett's
request for a Guardian interview.

She's being hardheaded about it.

Clearly
Brett had put the pressure on Kendall to conduct one. But she'd refused.

Ironic.
He'd felt so much damn guilt over her shooting,
she would have been the one person who would have gotten a
yes
had she
ever asked him for an interview.

He
fired up the car engine.

His
sense of obligation to Kendall deepened. If there were a nut out there
threatening her, he'd do whatever it'd take to protect her.

Kendall
was running late. After she'd found the letter last night, she'd been wired and
figured she'd not sleep anymore. But just before dawn, she'd dozed off and
hadn't awakened until nine-thirty.

She
clamped on a gold shackle bracelet as she hurried down the center staircase.
She'd chosen a winter-white dress that accentuated her slim figure and set off
her olive skin and dark hair. Along with the bracelet she wore matching gold
earrings that dangled just a little.

She'd
planned to leave the house by nine so she could swing by Serenity Family
Services before work. It hadn't been a part of her adoption but she wanted to
talk to Carnie Winchester about performing a search. When Carnie had spoken to
Nicole, she'd seemed to understand the ins and outs of the adoption maze, and
Kendall realized this was an area where she'd need help.

But
she had to hurry. She would have loved to devote the day to Carnie but it was
just a matter of time before the cops would announce the name of the latest
murder victim to the press and she wanted to be on hand to cover the
announcement. She had sent another e-mail to the tipster who'd helped her with
the White murder but there'd been no response.

The
front doorbell rang. Her high heels clicked across the floor as she hurried to
answer it. Through the oval window by the door, she saw her carpenter, Todd. A
part of her was grateful he was there, so he could get closer to finishing up
the job. Another part was already weary of having a stranger in her house. The
sooner the job was completed, the better.

She
snapped open the door. "Good morning."

The
man touched the bill of his ball cap. In his other hand he held a dented
toolbox. "Morning, Ms. Shaw."

She
braced against a cold gust of air and stepped to the side. "Come on in. You
know the way to the kitchen."

He
grinned, wiped his feet, and came inside.
"Yes, ma'am."

She
closed the door and rubbed her hands together. "So how is it going?"

"Real well.
I got the plumbing and wiring done for the new
appliances and the cabinets will be here later today."

"So
you're on schedule?"

"Yes, ma'am."