Dead Ringer (3 page)

When
she was a kid, her mother said she could run nonstop all day. But at night when
her head hit the pillow, she collapsed and slept like the dead. That pattern
hadn't changed until last summer. "I know."

"What
kept you up?"

"Problems at work.
The negotiations for the new talk
show have me a little stressed. It's just a fluke, I'm sure. I just need to cut
back on the caffeine."

"Everything
else is going really well at the station?"

"Great.
I love the job." That was the truth, pretty much. But it did lack the excitement
of live reporting.

"No
more dangerous stories?"

Kendall
had taken terrible chances last summer chasing the Guardian serial killer
story. Then she'd craved the attention of the big networks, wanted to land a
new job and leave Richmond. However, after the Guardian shot her, the urge to
flee the past vanished. In fact, the opposite became true. She started thinking
about her past more and more, and when the anchor slot became available she
jumped at it.

"I
did do a remote from the women's show last week," she teased.
"Got a little hairy in the waxing booth."

Nicole
wasn't thrown off by the humor this time. "You're sure?"

"Yes.
No hard news reporting these days." She checked her watch, refusing to fret
anymore. The
dream
was just a dream. "I need to get to the station and
start prepping for the evening broadcast."

Nicole
seemed to sense she'd hit a touchy subject but let it go. "Sure. Have a great
day."

"Call
me if you need me."

"Absolutely."

Kendall
tossed a wave at Nicole and headed out the back door. Her high heels crunched
against the road salt that she'd spread on the back porch after the snowstorm.
She tiptoed down the steps, over the slick walkway to the garage door, and slid
behind the wheel of her black BMW, parked next to Nicole's beat-up Toyota. She
fired up the engine, noting the thermostat barely had tipped twenty.

She
pressed
OPEN
and the garage door swung open and
she shoved the car's gearshift into reverse. She backed into the gravel
one-lane alley that separated the row houses on her street from the ones on the
street parallel to hers.

Absently,
she glanced at the vacant house that stood directly behind hers and the
FOR SALE
sign that hung on the fence. She
shifted to first gear,
then
accelerated down the
narrow alley and toward the side street.

Within
ten minutes she was at the station and pushing through the front doors of the
Channel 10 station. She waved to the receptionist. "Hey, Sally. How goes it on
the front lines?"

The
young blond girl, a recent journalism grad, grinned.
"Never
better."

"Good."
She moved down the hallway past the huge head shots of her and the other
anchors at the station to her office.

Kendall
dropped her purse onto her neatly organized desk. She'd hired a painter after
she'd gotten the job and had had them paint the walls a soft mauve. She'd
brought in artwork, a few plants, and an Oriental rug. Instead of using the
fluorescent light above, she relied on the two floor lamps and a desk lamp. The
office had gone from sterile to cozy.

Her
news director, Brett Newington, appeared in her doorway. "What brings you in so
early?"

Chiseled
features, thick blond hair, and a toned body gave him a boyish charm, which had
been what had caught her eye a couple of years ago. They'd started dating and
they'd been incredible at first. They seemed to fit so well together. Then her
mother had gotten sick with cancer. Kendall had given up her apartment and
moved into her mother's house to care for her. Brett had resented the time
she'd devoted to her mother and Kendall had suddenly discovered chiseled
features and nicely tailored shirts weren't enough.

She'd
broken it off with him. At first, he'd seemed relieved and had even gone on to
date other women. Lately, however, he'd been making noises about getting back
together. She'd been doing her best to ignore them.

"Tying up loose ends."

He
looked suspicious. "Then you didn't hear."

"About?"
She took off her coat.

"There's
a report of a murder in the east end. Body found at Alderson Development's
River Bend Estates' site."

"Who
was killed?"

"So
you really haven't heard?"

Brett
thought she'd gotten wind of the story and had arrived early so she could cover
it.
Smart man.
If she had heard, she'd have done just
that. "Who was murdered?"

"I
don't know.
Some woman."

Some
woman
.
Some woman who had a name and a
life that was now over.

Nearly
dying last summer had changed the way she approached stories. They were more
personal now. She felt for the people involved more. "She must have a name."

Brett
shuffled through the papers in his hands as if searching for an answer. "Not
yet.
Unidentified at this hour."

She
could have been
some woman
last summer. "I want to cover this," she
said.

"No.
I need you here behind the desk. I'm going to send Ted."

Hearing
no
made her want this story more. "I've not been in the field for weeks
and even you said research shows viewers like it when I go on location.
Besides, I can do a better job on this than Ted."

Brett
scratched his head. "Viewers like seeing you at powder puff events like the
tree-lighting downtown. They don't want to see you slogging it out at a murder
scene."

"Let's
face it, they'll all tune in when they know I'm covering the story." She hated
to admit what she said next. "I've not covered anything hard since last summer
and they'll all want to know how I'll react. Think of the ratings."

Ratings.
It was the magic word.
"Why
this story?"

She
couldn't explain what she didn't understand herself. "I'm really good at this,
Brett. You and I both know this."

He
studied her. "It's hard to say no to you."

"Oh,
please. We both know you would if you thought it wasn't a good idea. And it's a
great idea."

He
grinned. "Okay. Take the story."

Kendall
ignored the flutter of nerves in her stomach. She moved to a small closet and
removed a pair of worn hiking boots she kept on hand for rough terrain. The
land around River Bend was raw and covered with snow. "Call Mike and have him
warm up the van. I'll be out front in five minutes."

Allen
watched her move through the cold, her head tucked low against the wind. She
shoved slim hands in the pockets of her large dark overcoat. Her snow boots
were damp and muddy and the scarf wrapped around her neck was soiled at its
edges.

It
saddened him to think she had to work so hard to get through life. She
struggled so much.

So bravely.

He
also knew she was lonely and afraid. He'd seen her crying by her bedroom window
the other night. His heart ached for her. She was adrift in the world. She
needed her family.

She
deserved
more
, just as Ruth had deserved more. And he intended to give
her all that was owed to her.

Soon
she would not be alone. She would be a part of his
Family
. Soon she
would be with those who loved her so very much.

His
fingers tingled with excitement. He was anxious for her to join Ruth. So
anxious in fact that it was a struggle to keep his distance.

The
house was so quiet since he'd sent Ruth away.
So lonely.
He found himself wandering from room to room, hating the silence and the way
the wind made the shutters creak.

The
house just wasn't the same without Ruth. She'd brought life to the house.

God
but he hated the loneliness.

He
swallowed a lump in his throat.

The
loneliness would end soon.

Tuesday, January 8, 12:10
P.M.

The
overcast sky added an extra bite to the ice-cold wind that cut through Jacob's
leather jacket. He stamped his feet, hoping the extra blood circulation would
warm his body and restore some feeling to his toes.

The
survey crew seemed to accept the cold as a matter of course. They'd remained
idle all morning, standing on the sidelines watching the police work as if it
were a location set for a television crime drama. Fifteen minutes ago they'd
broken out their lunches. It was a regular party.

As
much as he wanted to leave, neither he nor Zack considered it. They wanted to
wait until Tess had finished taking her photographs, sketching out the scene,
and had released the body to the state medical examiner's office.

Tess
had searched the victim's pockets, finding wadded tissue and a grocery store
receipt, but nothing that would identify her. She also searched the entire area
around the body for evidence but so far had found nothing out of the ordinary.
The wind wasn't helping matters either and could easily have blown evidence
farther afield. Jacob had expanded the search perimeter. He had ordered the
uniformed officers to fan out and search the area.

Tess
hoped to preserve as much evidence that still might remain on the body. She had
ordered the woman's body moved away from the water and wrapped in a clean white
sheet. Once it was transported to the medical examiner's office, she would go
over it again and search for hair and fiber samples on the body.

Tess
trudged up the hill, her expression grim. Her cheeks were pink and her lips
chapped. Wisps of dark hair peeked out from the skullcap on her head.

Jacob
raised the yellow tape for her.

Tess
ducked under the tape and arched her back, trying to work the knots formed
after hours of stooping. "Thanks."

"Sure."

Zack
moved away from the uniforms toward her. "You need a strong cup of coffee."

"I
intend to have one as soon as I arrive at the medical examiner's office. When
I've warmed up, I'll go over the body again."

Zack
looked like he wanted to argue with his kid sister, but he knew she didn't like
babying. "Sure."

"I've
called the body removal team," she added. "They'll be here in a few minutes."

"Did
you find anything?" Jacob asked.

She
shook her head. "Not yet. And it's so damn cold our killer likely didn't break
a sweat when he dumped our victim."

Sweat
mixed with the body's oils to create fingerprints. Without sweat, fingerprints
weren't always produced. "Do the best you can."

"Will do."

Zack
braced against the wind. "What can you tell us, Tess?"

She
shoved out a breath. "The medical examiner will have to confirm all this but I
think whoever held her also injected her with something."

"What
makes you think the killer did it?" Jacob asked. "People from all walks of life
have hidden addictions."

Tess
sniffed. "The needle marks on her arms are fresh. And there are no signs of
older marks that would suggest she was a habitual user."

"They
could be behind her knee," Jacob said. That had been a favorite spot of his
mother's.

Tess
shrugged. "We'll see. But I don't think she's an addict.
Doesn't
have the look."

Many
didn't have the look if it was a new habit. "Why do you think the killer
injected her? Maybe she did it herself.
Went on a binge."

Tess's
face tightened with annoyance. "Like I said, I don't think so. Her teeth are healthy
and her fingernails don't appear splintered--both would be signs of chronic drug
use. I think whoever took her, tied her up, likely to a chair, kept her for
several days and shot her full of drugs.
And then strangled
her."

The
image of the woman's face flashed in his mind and again he thought about
Kendall Shaw. He savagely pushed the thought away, refusing to think of the
body as anything more than evidence.
"Any signs of sexual
assault?"

"Couldn't hazard a guess at that one.
Her clothes are perfectly intact,
but you know that doesn't mean anything."

The
hearse arrived and made its way down the rough construction road. It stopped a
hundred yards from them. The driver kept the motor running as he and another
man emerged. Both men were tall with broad, muscled shoulders.

They
removed the gurney from the back of the hearse casually and headed toward Tess.
She led them to the body, which she had bagged in a black body bag. The bag had
been sealed with a lock that wouldn't be removed until it reached the medical
examiner's office. The attendants hoisted the body on the gurney, carried it up
the embankment, and loaded it in the hearse without conversation.

Zack
and Jacob followed Tess to the forensics van. They waited as she fired up the engine
and turned the heat on full blast. She closed the door but cracked the window.

Tess
held out her hands toward the heater. "I'm never going to be warm again."

"When
does your shift end?" Zack ducked his head so he could make eye contact.

"Four.
Hopefully, I'll be done with our Jane Doe. I promised Mom I'd help pack up the
Christmas decorations."

Zack
nodded. "Thanks for doing that."

"Next
year it's your turn."

Zack
grinned. "No, it's Malcolm's. He owes me." Malcolm, their brother, worked SWAT.

"What
did you do for him?" she asked, smiling.

Zack
grinned. "Let's just say we had a bet and he lost."

Tess's
laughter rumbled in her chest. "Should I ask?"

"No,"
Zack said.

Jacob
envied the easy camaraderie the brother and sister shared. He'd never known
anything like that. His father had split before he was born and he had no
siblings. His mother had been a drunk and an addict who had found child rearing
a drag. When he was twelve he'd been taken in by a good guy, Pete Myers, who
had given him a stable home. Last summer, Pete had turned out to be deeply
troubled.

Shit.
Jacob couldn't have had a more fucked-up personal life if he'd set out to plan
one.

Zack
and Tess exchanged a few more words before she rolled up her window. The hearse
drove off, and Tess followed in her van.

Zack
rubbed his hands together, trying to stimulate circulation. "I'm headed back to
the office."

"Right behind you.
I just want to walk the scene one
more time." Jacob was anxious to get back in his car and turn the heater on,
but he just couldn't let go of this place. Not yet.

Zack
had driven off and Jacob had started back toward the river when he heard,
"Who's in charge here?"

The
voice was deep, angry, and full of attitude.

Jacob
turned, pulling fisted hands from the warmth of his pockets. Standing at the
perimeter was a guy dressed in a dark business suit and a crisp overcoat. It
didn't take a Harvard education to know the suit and coat cost more than Jacob
earned in a month. The guy wasn't tall, maybe five seven or eight, and he had a
full head of brown hair slicked back off his face. A gold ring winked on his
left pinky.

The
guy had "slick" written all over him.

Jacob
moved toward Slick, his strides long and deliberate. He was itching for a
fight, anything to burn off the unease that plagued him. "Can I help you?"

Slick
raised an eyebrow. "Are you in charge?"

Again,
attitude seasoned the words. The hair on the back of Jacob's neck rose. He
didn't mind questions but attitude pissed him off. "I'm Detective Jacob
Warwick. I'm running this murder investigation."

Slick's
features softened a fraction and he thrust out his hand. "My name is Adam
Alderson." His breath puffed, freezing when it hit the cold air. "I own this
land development project."

Jacob
had already guessed the answer to his question: Alderson's survey crew chief
had called him to complain about the delay. "What can I do for you?"

Alderson's
smile was impatient. "I saw the hearse leave. That means the body is gone."

"Correct."

"Great.
When are the rest of you going to clear off my property? Right now I'm paying
my crews to stand around and drink coffee."

"I
was just about to talk to them one last time and then send them home. Forensics
won't release the scene today, so your men can't work the area."

Alderson
twisted his pinky ring. "But the body is gone."

"There
could be evidence in the area, so it needs to be contained until we can
thoroughly search it." He kept emotion out of his voice.

Alderson's
eyes reflected his frustration. He didn't like hearing no.
"Tomorrow
then?"

"I
can't say. I've ordered the patrolmen to thoroughly comb the area. And then the
autopsy might reveal something that would send us back. It could be days, or
weeks, depending on what they find."

Alderson
shook his head.
"Weeks!
That is not acceptable,
Detective. The surveying has to be complete by the end of January so the site
plans can be finished. I need to break ground this summer if occupancy is going
to happen next spring."

Jacob
didn't flinch. "We'll be done when we're done. At this time I won't commit to a
date."

A
muscle in Alderson's jaw tensed. "Do you have any idea how much revenue this
development is going to bring into the county?"

Ah,
money, it made the world go round. "A great deal, I'll bet."

"A
great deal doesn't begin to cover it. I can assure you my development is worth
a hell of a lot more than solving the murder of some woman."

The
casual dismissal pissed off Jacob. If he had his way, Alderson's people would
never set foot on this land until spring.

Alderson
checked his watch and had the stones to look bored. "I need a release date,
Detective."

A
woman was dead. She'd been held captive, could have been tortured, and this guy
looked bored.

Jacob
had the urge to toss this guy off the property. "Where were you last night?"

The
question caught Alderson off guard. "Me? Why the hell should that matter?"

Jacob
mentally dug in his heels. No one dictated policy to him at his crime scene.
"It's a simple question."

Alderson
rolled his eyes. "Oh, please."

He'd
stand there all day if that's what it took. "She was found on your property."

"I
had nothing to do with the woman's death."

Jacob
stood a good six inches taller than the guy and he wasn't above using his
height to intimidate. "Then answer the question."

Alderson's
lips flattened. "I was having dinner last night with my attorney, as a matter
of fact." He looked smug. "We were going over contracts for another property
I'm looking to buy." Alderson dug into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a
business card. "Here's his name and number. Feel free to call him."

Jacob
studied the name but didn't recognize it. "I will. Your men report any strange
people on the land in the last couple of days?"

He
shoved out a breath. "You spoke to them. What did they tell you?"

"Just
tell me what they told
you
." People lied to the cops all the time. He
was hoping Alderson's men might have given him a different story.

"No
one has been on-site for days. The snow and ice storm has kept the job site
closed since Friday. Today was our first day back on the job.
Which is why we can't afford any more delays.
"

"I
passed a gate when I came in. Is it always locked?"

"Yes.
But you can see for
yourself
the fence doesn't extend
around the entire property. Anyone could have driven down the road and cut
through the woods and walked around."

A
gust of wind blew off the river, slicing through Jacob's leather jacket. He
wondered if Alderson's high-end coat was any match for the cold.

"What
about water access?" Jacob ventured. "How navigable is the river in this area?"

"Good,
if you've got a flat-bottomed boat. The water is five or six feet deep."

Jacob
kept his gaze leveled on Alderson's face. "Who's Ruth?"

The
guy didn't flinch. "Ruth? I don't know a Ruth. Is she the woman who was
killed?"

"Just a question."

"Then
why ask?"

"I'm
going to be asking a lot of questions."

"What
do you know at this point?"

Again with the attitude.
What was it about rich guys who
thought they could take charge of any situation?
"Can't say."