Dead Ringer (30 page)

She
cared about her home. In fact, from what he'd learned, she'd taken extra care
to make this house very special. A showpiece for sure, but it was also very
livable and welcoming.

So
unlike his place, which was furnished with a couple of lawn chairs, a TV set on
crates, and a sleeping bag on a blow-up floor mattress. The furnishings were as
transient as he was.

Cole
couldn't remember the last time he'd felt at home. For the last couple of
years, he'd either been living in cheap motels or out of his car. He'd
forgotten what it felt like to have family--to know a welcoming gaze, hear
laughter, or enjoy the company of those he trusted.

He
ignored the tightness in his chest and moved into Kendall's office.

He
didn't turn on the lights, knowing the light could draw unwanted attention even
during the day. He moved behind her desk,
then
sat
down. The papers on the desktop were neatly stacked. Pencils, pens, and paper clips
were all in their proper places. The in-box had a few papers but nothing dating
back for more than a week. Kendall Shaw lived a very orderly, controlled life.

He
opened the front desk drawer. He wasn't sure what he was searching for. But
he'd know when he saw it. Then he opened the side drawers. All the drawers,
like the desktop, were neat and orderly. Nothing jumped out at him.

Cole
shoved out a breath. "There has to be something here."

He
sat in silence. A clock ticked. A cloud passed, robbing the room of some of its
light. He tapped his fingers on the desk. Pushing back from the desk, he
glanced to his right. That's when he saw her handwritten notes about Carnie
Winchester, an adoption search consultant.

His
heart pounded faster as he leaned under and retrieved the letter and read it.
Kendall was searching for her birth family.

Just
then he heard the back door open and close. Footsteps sounded in the kitchen.

"Shit."
He replaced the paper and rose slowly, careful not to make a sound, and moved
across the room. He stood behind the door and listened.

Footsteps
sounded on the stairs. Whoever was home was coming upstairs. He curled his
hands into fists. He couldn't be found. Not now.

He
wedged his body back against the wall. Holding his breath, he listened as the
steps paused in front of the office doorway.

"Kendall?"

It
was Nicole.
The roommate.

She
peeked
her head into the office. "Kendall, are you
home?"

Cole
didn't want to hurt a pregnant woman. But he couldn't be found here.
If she came into the room...

Go away. I don't want to hurt you.

Nicole
hesitated in the doorway and then withdrew. She moved into her room and closed
the door. He waited until he heard the sound of water running before he moved
out of the room and quickly down the stairs. Quietly, he opened and closed the
back door and then replaced the key behind the brick. He sprinted across the
backyard, through the garage, and across the alley until he was safely back in
his house.

He
closed the door. His heart pounded in his chest. He sensed he was so close to
the answers he needed. Carnie Winchester. She was searching for Kendall's
family.
Time to pay her a visit and see what she knew.

Jacob,
Zack, and a forensics team arrived at Amanda Sorenson's town house an hour
after the detectives had talked to her parents. They had obtained a search
warrant even though the Sorensons had given their consent to search.

The
apartment was very ordinary. Not much furniture in the living or dining rooms.
Instead, there were a couple of easels with canvases on them. The paintings
were just what Amanda's mother had described: little girls playing. There were
five girls in one painting, three in the other. Each painting had a happy
theme, and yet the images possessed darkness under the light.

They
left Jacob feeling sad, disconnected.

The
detectives searched the house but found nothing out of the ordinary. They spent
the next six hours talking to neighbors trying to find out everything they
could about Amanda Sorenson. They learned little. She kept to herself.
Very artsy.
Played her music too loud
sometimes.
Nice. No special visitors. No known boyfriend.

Jacob
stood in the living room staring at the painting of the three girls. Amanda had
blurred their features. Had she done it for effect? Or was there another reason
why the girls didn't have clear features?

Jacob
glanced at the second painting, which depicted five faceless young girls. They
sat under a tree. The sun shone brightly over their heads.

Three dead.
Did the killer have two victims to go?

"What
is the key to this case?" Jacob muttered as he stared at the painting. He
turned to Zack, who was going through a pile of bills. "I want to know who
bought her paintings a few months ago. Let's turn this place upside down if we
have to."

Monday, January 21, 9:02
A.M.

Dana
Miller was very pleased with herself. She'd just closed a five million-dollar
real estate deal and the 6 percent commission equated to a three hundred
thousand-dollar fee. "Not bad for a morning's work."

She
turned from her desk and stared out the large picture window. Her office was at
the top of a skyscraper in the city of Richmond and overlooked the James River.
Everyone in the company envied her. They wanted her office.
Her
salary.
Her life.

And
yet she felt bored. Empty.
Sad.
This last year, large
deals had become nothing more than a game. And lately, she didn't even care
much who won or lost.

She
wanted more than what she had. She needed more.

Dana
turned back to her desk and from a sleek chrome drawer she pulled out a gun. It
was a thirty-eight. Small, compact, easily hidden, left no cartridges behind,
and very deadly if push came to shove.

She'd
not gotten as far as she had in life by playing by the rules and this latest
quest of hers was no different.

She'd
tried to play by the rules with Nicole. But the woman had refused the offer
she'd made for the baby. In fact, Nicole had stopped taking her calls. And time
was running out.

Dana
opened the gun's chamber and inspected the six bullets. She had one last offer
for Nicole. It was an offer that wouldn't be rejected.

Nicole's
belly weighed heavily as she scooted off the OB's exam table. The paper gown
gaped open in the back, leaving her skin chilled. She'd peed not fifteen
minutes ago but already her bladder felt full. "This baby can't be born fast
enough."

She
quietly dressed in her stretch pants and oversized shirt. She glanced in the
mirror and adjusted the stray strands of her hair and moistened her lips. Her
face looked bloated and round. And somewhere along the line she'd lost her
cheekbones.

A
soft knock at the door had her turning from the mirror. "I'm dressed."

Her
doctor entered. Dr. Young was in her midforties but had an athletic body honed
by a strict workout regimen. She had brown hair, pulled back at the nape of her
neck, and she wore no makeup. "Well, you and the baby are doing very, very
well. Your blood pressure is a bit high, though."

"I
guess I'm a little stressed."

The
doctor nodded. They'd talked about Nicole's adoption plan. "Are you talking to
the baby? Holding your stomach?"

"Not so much, why?"

"It's
good for you both. You will calm and the baby will relax. You might give her to
another family to
raise
, but if you can make her feel
loved now she'll be better off down the road."

"Really?"

Dr.
Young slipped her hands into the pockets of her white jacket. "Believe
me,
pregnancy affects the baby as much as the mother."

"I've
been so stressed during this pregnancy. So are you now telling me I've scared
the kid?"

The
doctor smiled.
"Hardly.
Just take more deep breaths
and try to relax. It's time to cut back on work and put your feet up."

Both
sounded like wonderful luxuries. "Okay."

"Also,
your cervix is shortening and preparing for the baby's birth. It won't be much
longer now. A week tops."

That
news triggered a surge of panic. "There are days when this baby can't come soon
enough and other days when I don't want it ever to be born." Nicole smiled.
"Very normal, I suppose." She needed affirmation.

"It
is." Dr. Young laid her hand on Nicole's shoulder. "You're doing a good job."

She
didn't feel like she was. "Thanks, Dr. Young."

Nicole
shook hands with the doctor, promised to return in a week, and shrugged on her
coat. Outside the cold felt good on her skin. She shoved her hands into her
pockets and cut across the parking lot toward her car.

She
never noticed the car parked in the corner of the lot. Or realized she was
being watched.

Ruth
.
Judith.
And Rachel.
Soon the family would be complete. Allen wanted to bring Eve into the family
now. His hands trembled at just the thought of touching the soft skin of her
neck and feeling her pulse thrum wildly. His body quivered with excitement.

He
drew in a deep breath, knowing now more than ever that he had to be patient.
Before Eve he had to welcome Sarah.

When
he'd been alone with Rachel the devil had sorely tempted him. He'd touched her
in places he shouldn't have. Done things he knew were wrong. But in the end
he'd managed to keep himself for Eve.

He
stood in the shadows and watched Eve cross the parking lot. She moved briskly.
His body tingled with
an anticipation
so acute he
could barely restrain himself.

Patience.

He
chanted the word over and over like a mantra. It was so hard to be patient when
he was so lonely. All he wanted was his Family gathered around him.

"Soon, Eve, soon."

Kendall
had managed a few hours of sleep last night and was feeling sharper. She'd
spent most of yesterday working on the triple murder story and was anxious to
get to work to review the tape.

She'd
made a cup of coffee and was about to step in the shower when her phone rang.
"Kendall Shaw."

"Kendall,
this is Brett."

"I'll
be at the station in an hour. I'll have tape for you to look at by noon."

"Don't
rush. I've decided to change the way we're covering this story."

She
gripped the phone. "What do you mean?"

"I
want you at the station. I want to do live broadcasts from each murder scene. I
need you behind the anchor desk talking to the reporters."

Outrage
burned inside her. "This is
my
story."

"It's
the station's story now. It's too big for just you. And polling suggests that
viewers don't like you in the field. They like you behind the desk."

He
liked her
behind the desk. "I don't want to give this story up."

"The
decision's been made. See you at two at the station. We're having a meeting
with the reporters covering the story now." He hung up.

She
stared at the phone and then hurled it onto her bed. "Damn him!"

"She
was a quiet and moody kid from the moment she hit my doorstep," said Janice
Waters. The woman wore jeans and an oversized shirt that covered her large
frame. She lived in a Victorian house on the south side of the metro area. The
house was filled with the scent of macaroni and cheese and the sound of kids
running around upstairs.

Around
Jacob, a sea of toys and dozens of shoes cluttered the foyer's floor. The walls
were plastered with dozens of school pictures, representing twelve or thirteen
kids. They were Janice's foster kids, as she'd proudly said when he'd arrived.

He'd
finally been able to track down someone in social services who would give him
the names of Vicky Draper's foster families. Jacob chose to talk to the first
family who had fostered her.

"How
old was Vicky Draper when she came to you?" Jacob asked.

"Well,
she wasn't Draper then. I think her name was Turner."

Jacob
wanted to know why Vicky had come to foster care. It was a long shot, but
something told him that there might be a connection between her and Amanda, the
victim who had been adopted at an older age. Vicky's foster care file had scant
information in it. "Did she ever talk about her life before she came to you?"

"No.
Never said a word.
But I remember she had terrible
dreams.
Nightmares that would wake her up in the middle of
the night.
Lord, those blood-curdling screams used to scare the bejesus
out of me."

"Did
she mention any brothers or sisters?"

"No.
I remember I used to find her hiding in the closet sometimes. When I asked her
why she was in the closet, she said it made her feel safe. She said no one
could find her there."

Jacob
tightened his jaw. "What about the scars on her hand?"

"The
wounds were still fresh when she came to me. Fact, I had to take her to the
doctor to get the stitches removed. Doctor said it looked like a knife wound to
him 'cause it was so clean and straight. I asked her social worker about
Vicky's past but she wouldn't say a word." Janice's lips flattened. "I didn't
like that woman at all. She thought she was better than me--that she knew what
was best for everyone."

Jacob's
mind zeroed in on her initial comment about the wound. "She'd been cut with a
knife before she came to you?"

The
woman nodded as other memories started to return. "Yes. And Vicky hated knives,
as I remember.
Wouldn't come near me while I was cooking dinner."

What
the hell had happened to that kid? "Why'd she leave your care?"

"She
started setting fires. I couldn't have that. I had the other kids to think
about."

"You
have any pictures of her?"

She
frowned and rested her hand on her full hip. "I think I do. Follow me."

He
followed her into the kitchen to a desk tucked in the corner. It was piled high
with papers, kids' artwork, and a few open cookbooks. She jerked open a door
and started to rummage through old pictures and papers. Three quarters of the way
down she pulled out a year-book for Robinson Middle School. The front cover had
been blackened with slashes of Magic Marker. "This one was hers. I remember
being so darn sad when she ruined it." She shook her head. "I don't know why I
save this stuff." She flipped to the seventh grade and found Vicky's picture.
"Here you go."

Jacob
studied the picture of the little girl who stared boldly into the camera. Her
skin was young and fresh and her hair a dark brown. Without the tats and
piercing she looked even more like Jackie White. "Can I keep this?"

"Sure.
I was so sorry to hear about Vicky. But I always figured she'd come to a bad
end. Whatever happened to her before she came to me damaged her good."

"Thanks
for your help."

"Sure."

He
hesitated. "Why didn't you like Vicky's social worker?"

Janice
snorted. "She had this notion that once a child came into her care, the past no
longer mattered. She'd go out of her way to erase a kid's past. She'd change
their names, birth dates, even data about their birth families. I didn't like
her approach. These kids need to know their past. Good or bad, they got to
know."

Jacob
frowned. "You ever talk to the social worker about that?"

"We
had words one time. She told me she knew best and to keep my mouth shut or
there'd be no more foster kids for me."

Brett
had skillfully avoided Kendall, robbing her of the fight she was itching to
have. When she'd finally caught up to him, there'd been no changing his mind.
He'd reminded her of her contract, her duties and dropped hints of a lawsuit.
In the end, she'd had no choice but to accept his changes.

Now,
with less than a minute to air, Kendall stared at her copy for the six o'clock
broadcast. They were leading with the third killing. The studio was tense. He
had stationed three reporters around town and they were going to give live
reports. Kendall was set up to question the reporters directly.

"Where's
Brett?" Kendall asked. She had a quick question about the timing of the third
report.

Her
producer, a tall blond woman with broad shoulders, shrugged. "He's stepped out.
Said he'd be back soon."

Kendall
stared at her producer as if the woman had lost her mind. "You're kidding? He's
left the studio?"

The
producer looked equally frustrated. "He bit my head off when I asked him where
he was going." She held up ten fingers. "Thirty seconds to air. Can I help?"

"No, thanks.
I'll figure it out." Automatically she
moistened her lips and straightened her shoulders. "Did he say when he'd be
back or where he was going?"

"Nope."

Her
anger seethed. "Great."

The
producer held up her hand. "Ten seconds!" she shouted.

As
the producer clicked off the time on her fingers, Kendall thought about Brett.
What the hell was he up to now?

The
red light on the camera clicked on and Kendall stared directly into the camera.
She pushed aside her personal feelings. Her expression and voice somber, she
said, "Good evening..."

It
was dark when Nicole left her studio. She'd spent most of the day working as
fast as she could to wrap up her projects because she wanted to heed the
doctor's advice. She'd finished printing the last portrait and had boxed it for
delivery.