Forgotten (Shattered Sisters Book 2) (18 page)

"Any blood on them?"

"No. And there would be if the killer smoked while killing or if he smoked beforehand, say, while waiting for the victim, and tossed the butt aside. The butts would’ve had blood spatter.”

Dr. Kramer rubbed his naked chin as if he had a goatee. "A man who slashes, then steps out of the way and calmly smokes while the victim lies bleeding to death." He shook his head. "He's a predator. A hunter. But then, they all are."

Ash shook his head.
"She,
Doctor."

"Ben, please," the doctor admonished with a wave of his hand. "Do go on. What makes you think the killer is a woman?"

"The butts were ringed with lipstick."

Kramer smiled slowly and shook his head. "Well, now I see why the police are stumped. They're taking too much for granted."

Joey blinked. "Are you saying it
isn't
a woman, Dr. Kramer?"

He tilted his head to one side. "No, no I can’t say that for certain. There are female serial killers, of course, but the latest studies indicate only about fifteen percent of serial killers are women.”

"But they aren’t nonexistent?" Ash stood, obviously agitated.

"They exist. Although, those few I've studied have been far less violent in their methods. Poisoning is the most common. And usually their victims are helpless individuals, children, the weak, the infirm, the elderly. The Slasher’s victims have all been men, correct?" The doctor's gaze slid toward Joey. "I'm sorry. It disturbs you to hear all of this. You're pale."

"I'm fine."

Ash sent her a worried glance. She nodded to assure him she could handle whatever was said, and he returned his attention to Dr. Kramer.

"Have they
all
been males, Mr. Coye?"

Ash had been pacing, but he stopped. "No. I don't think so." Joey frowned at him. He watched her face as he went on. "I think this killer may be the same one who committed a series of murders in Las Vegas six years ago. One of those victims was a woman."

"Ah, yes. I'm familiar with the case."

"OhmyGod," Joey whispered. Her eyes widened as she searched Ash's steady gaze.

Dr. Kramer rose from his chair and went to the window, pushing aside the curtains to look outside. "We're dealing with a rare one, Mr. Coye. One who doesn't wish to be caught. Sometimes they do, you know. And this one kills not in passion, but calmly...coldly. It’s not the act of killing that is the payoff. It’s watching them die. The victims might well be people that the killer firmly believes deserve to die, which is a secondary reason for him to stay around and make sure the deed is done. That, and of course, the pleasure he gets from watching the life force leave his victims. He or she, but far more likely he, might be acting in vengeance against a real man in his past, perhaps a man who is no longer around for him to kill. And I don't believe he'll stop until he feels that man has died by his hand, which will never happen. The ghosts that haunt these tormented souls rise up again and again no matter how often they try to exorcise them through murder." He turned away from the window and let the curtain fall back into place. "Your killer will not stop until he’s caught. I'm not sure of the significance of the single female victim. There are hundreds of possibilities there. I wouldn't presume to hazard a guess."

"You really believe the killer is a man?" Ash asked, his voice incredulous.

"The odds are that it is a man, though it is not impossible that it's a woman. Perhaps the lipstick on the cigarettes is a deliberate attempt to mislead police. Perhaps he dresses as a woman only when he kills as a precaution in case he’s seen. Both of those things are far more likely than it being an actual female killer."

Ash pushed a hand through his hair. "You're not giving me much to go on."

Ben Kramer said, "I'm not a psychic, Mr. Coye. I can give you a bit more, though. I believe you're looking for someone who was horribly hurt by an adult male, or witnessed someone they loved being hurt by him, probably in early childhood."

"Physically hurt?"

"Not necessarily, but that's likely. The killer believes this man deserves to die for whatever he did."

Ash looked at Joey, and she cringed, knowing he must be thinking about her feelings for her father. God, did he suspect
she
was the Slasher?

He didn't give her a clue as they left the office, and he remained silent when he slid behind the wheel of her car.

She got in, fastened her seatbelt and turned to face him. "You think it was me, don't you?"

He looked at her. Just looked at her, his eyes probing so deeply she felt their touch. "No, Joey. I don't think it's you." He started the car and pulled into traffic.

"I despise my stepfather. I blame him for my mother's death. You know that."

He nodded. "I know that."

She closed her eyes, wishing she could tell him everything, wishing she could believe he trusted her, even knowing about her lies. "Ash, I was
in
Vegas when those killings happened. I was there with Caro and Ted. I was—"

"I know that, too."

She felt her eyes widen. "And you told me not to tell the police I smoke. Which I don’t, really. I mean I quit, years ago, and even then I didn’t—but then all this started and now...the cigarette butts they found—"

"Same brand you have tucked away in your kitchen. And before you ask, so was the lipstick. Same brand. Same shade. Coral frost."

She pressed her fingertips to her temples. "Oh my God." She felt her stomach heave. "OhmyGod."

Ash pulled the car onto the shoulder, gripped her shoulders and turned her toward him: "How long have you been smoking that brand, Joey?" She didn't answer and he gave her a little shake. "How long? Tell me."

She bit her lip and tears filled her eyes. "A month, I guess. I never liked menthols before. Then I quit for a while, and when I got the craving again I bought those. I...God, I don't know why." She was crying silently, big fat tears rolling slow and hot down her cheeks. He thought she was a killer and she felt sicker by the minute. "I didn't kill those people, Ash. I swear—"

"I know you didn’t."

She blinked and looked up at him.

"I believe you, Joey."

She shook her head, confused, bewildered. "Why?"

He pulled her across the space that separated them and kissed her hard and long and deep. And when he finally lifted his mouth from hers she saw the passion and the caring in his eyes.

"That's why."

He let her go, pulled back onto the highway and drove a short distance in silence. "The lipstick is new too, isn't it?"

She nodded.

"I thought so. Never bought that color before, did you, Joey?"

She frowned. "How did you know?" He said nothing, so she went on. "No. I haven't even used it more than once or twice. The shade's all wrong for me. And I never liked frosts, anyway. I bought it on impulse."

“When?”

Searching her memory, she said, “About a month ago.”

"You bought it because the killer bought it."

She frowned hard. "What do you mean?"

"I have a theory. And I want you to hear me out before you shoot it down. I think you're more connected to this person than you realize. You're picking things up from him...or her, and you're not even aware of it."

She thought about that "Ash, do you hear yourself? You don't even believe in psychics." She shook her head, looking at her hands folded in her lap. "I'm not even sure I do. At least, I didn't. Before all this."

Ash frowned at her, then shifted his gaze quickly back to the highway. It was smooth, and the blacktop smelled new. The yellow lines were still glow-in-the-dark brilliant.

"How could
you
not believe in it? You've made a business out of it.”

"But I never saw myself as being...
psychic.
Just intuitive. Maybe more sensitive than other people. I never...never had visions or dreams or anything like that. Not until...these murders started."

Ash tipped his head to one side and took a gentle curve too slowly, deep in thought she presumed. "Maybe there's a reason for that," he said at last. "Maybe...maybe there's a connection between you and the killer that you just aren't aware of. Maybe it's someone you know."

She sighed hard, shaking her head at the ridiculous idea. "Like who?"

"Like Ted." He sent her a quick, curious glance. "You said it yourself, Joey—he was in Vegas with you when those murders went down. And he's been acting odd lately. Oddly enough that your sister thinks he’s having an affair."

Joey closed her eyes and tried to picture Ted as a killer. Ted dressing as a woman to hide his identity, or putting on coral-frost lipstick and.... Her eyes flew wide. "Caro has the same lipstick, Ash. We were together when I bought mine, and she decided to try it too."

"So we know Ted has access to it. Does he smoke, Joey?"

She shook her head, almost going limp with relief. "Not in years. He quit right after Brit was born. Said he had to be a good example for his girls."

"You remember his brand?"

Joey shook her head. "I don't think I ever knew it." She concentrated hard, trying to find the answers in her mind, but they simply weren't there. And she knew too well there were other reasons for her to feel connected to this killer, to feel like the bastard had invaded her mind. Compelling reasons. Her own sister was on the hit list. And so was Ash. Those two things alone might have some bearing on her uncanny abilities in this. It didn't have to mean the killer was someone she knew.

But she couldn't tell Ash about her sister, because he was going to get his memory back soon. And if he knew the truth—that she'd only come to him in order to save her sister, that she'd played cruel, wicked games with his already-fragile mind—he would hate her. And she couldn't bear that.

"What kind of background does Ted have? What kind of childhood? Is he close to his family?"

She jerked herself out of her misery and tried to focus on Ash's questions. "His parents still live in Nevada. He doesn't see them much anymore, but it's not because of any discord. Just the distance. They all seemed to get along fine whenever I saw them together." Images danced at the fringes of her consciousness. Images she'd seen before, in the nightmare. Her sister, Caroline, lying facedown on the floor, her regulation sweats and baggy shirt stained with blood, her long blond hair tipped in red. And the hands, those leather-gloved hands, reaching for her.

Joey pressed her fingers to her temples and sucked air through her teeth. God, she just wanted it to stop!

"Joey?"

She glanced at Ash and bit her lip. "You're right. There's some kind of connection, but I don't think it's Ted. Whatever it is, it's getting stronger. I can hardly close my eyes anymore without feeling...that blackness...closing in."

Ash reached out, stroked her hair. "We won't talk about it anymore today, okay? We'll just..."

She looked at him, smiled softly. He really seemed concerned. "Just what?"

"Whatever you want. Dinner in the most elegant restaurant in town. Syracuse Stage for the latest play. Ballroom dancing. You name it, lady. You need a night off from all this, and to tell you the truth, so do I."

She didn’t think she’d be able to forget, even for a minute, the sense of danger all around her. Around all of them. But she was more than willing to try.

Ash couldn't get over it. And he couldn't quit looking at her, lying back with her head pillowed on a backpack. She wore faded jeans that were a little too big with their legs rolled up, and a pair of black army boots. The flannel shirt she'd pulled on over her tank top was worn-blanket soft, and its plaid pattern was fading. Her hair was long and loose, falling over her shoulders from under the most ridiculous-looking hat he'd ever seen in his life. Her fishing hat, she called it, and it dangled with hooks and lures of every imaginable description. The white light from a Coleman lantern bathed her face, shimmered in her hair, and her green eyes darted every few seconds to the fishing pole propped in the crotch of a forked branch she'd stuck into the ground.

Still, baggy clothes, ridiculous hat and all, she was the most irresistible woman he'd ever seen. It made no sense, but she looked better to him than any swimsuit model ever could.

And she was relaxing. The tightness had eased from her jaw, and the worry that had clouded her eyes earlier was all but gone. He would sit outside with the mosquitos all night if it would ease her mind.

She tensed up all of a sudden, eyes on the water. "Ash!"

"Hm?"

"You have a bite."

He dragged his eyes from her to the fishing pole and saw its end twitching sporadically. He'd much rather continue watching Joey, but he leaned forward, carefully picked up his pole and waited. When it jerked in his hands, he yanked it once, felt his success in the frenzied tugging on the other end, and began to reel it in.

Joey stood, weight mostly on her good leg, and reached for the line when it was in the shallows. "Oooh, it's a nice one, too." She grabbed the slick black bullhead and worked the hook free. Ash shook his head slowly. Squeamish, she wasn't. She dropped the fish into the waiting pail, grinning from ear to ear.