Senseless (16 page)

“I don’t know, but I’d bet a year’s salary none of this is random.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He’s just too damn careful. Forensics hasn’t found much at this scene either. This guy is smart. And he’s picking his victims for a reason.”

“Hard to catch.” Malcolm drove strong fingers through his thick black hair.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“I did some checking on branding irons. They can be electric or can be heated up the old-fashioned way in a fire, just like Dr. Henson said. You can order the damn things off the Internet. I’ve got Sinclair searching the top twenty Web sites and sending enquiries.”

“Good. I’m headed to King’s. I want to talk to Eva Rayburn and ask her about the night Cross raped and burned that star into her skin. This all fits together but I just can’t see it yet.”

“She hates cops.” Disdain seasoned the words.

Garrison didn’t care about her likes and dislikes. “She’s just going to have to get over it.”

Garrison’s mood had soured from bad to foul by the time he pulled up in front of King’s pub. It had been a long day at the crime scene. The forensics team had collected a lot of samples. He and Malcolm had spoken to everyone in the crowd and the medical examiner had promised to get right on the autopsy. But so far they weren’t any closer to catching a very careful and methodical killer. And unless he had a missing person’s report that matched the victim or her prints were in AFIS, the automated fingerprinting system, it could be much longer for identification.

He pushed through the front door of the pub. Laughter, music and the clink of dishes grated his raw nerves as he studied the packed crowd. This wasn’t the average tourist destination. There were a couple of folks with maps and cameras, but most of the patrons looked as if they’d just gotten off work. Some looked like the legal eagles and the non-profiteers. But most looked like working-class folks … construction workers, tour guides and shop owners. This was a working-class crowd.

He spotted Eva Rayburn behind the bar. A thick rubber band bound her long hair in a loose ponytail. She wore no make-up but it didn’t seem to matter. Her fresh, pale skin and bright eyes trimmed with thick lashes could easily look garish if painted too heavily. Her form-fitting red T-shirt drew his attention to a slim neck, small firm breasts and a trim waist. She seemed to do her best to downplay her sexuality, but somehow in the simplicity she’d managed to accentuate a feminine earthiness that he found far more attractive.

He watched as she talked to a short redheaded waitress as she filled five beer steins. With efficiency, she served the beers, took a dinner order and refilled two wines. Her movements were fluid and she seemed to handle the noise and chaos as if she’d been born to it. When he’d first seen her, she’d looked more like a kid than a woman. But watching her now, he could see she possessed a bearing and confidence that would make it impossible for him ever to think of her as a kid again.

He moved to the edge of the bar and took a seat on the corner stool. He grabbed a handful of nuts and waited for her to catch his eye. When she did, her smile faltered and the confidence that had just burned so bright dimmed.

Shoulders straightening, she moved toward him, her hips moving more like a swagger than a sway. “Detective Garrison, isn’t it?”

He liked the way her husky voice roughed up his name. “Very good memory for names, Ms. Rayburn.” He glanced at her name tag, which read
DORIS.
“What’s with the name tag?”

“I never bothered to order one. It belonged to the last girl who tended bar.”

She didn’t bother with a menu, cocktail napkin or greeting. “You came all this way to ask me about my name tag?”

“I’ve got a couple of other questions for you.”

“As you can see, I’m slammed right now. Can we do it another time?” A subtle tightening of her fingers around the bar rag signaled a tension that didn’t show in her eyes.

“No.” Interviews always worked better if he could get the other guy off balance.

A frown flickered on her brow and vanished. Whatever emotions rose up in her had been expertly tamed. A trick, he’d bet, she’d learned in prison. “I really can’t talk right now, Detective. I’m working.”

“Great. I’m starving. I’ll have a soda. And a menu.”

Her brow furrowed. “You said you had questions.”

He grinned. “I can talk and eat. You can work and talk. It’s a compromise.”

She leaned forward and he caught the barest hint of fresh soap and lemons. “Why can’t we just do this later?”

He leaned in, noting the silver flecks in her eyes. “I’d like to see a menu. And I drink real cola. No diets for me. Can’t stand anything that’s fake.”

Stiffening, she shrugged. “You’re playing me.”

He knitted his fingers together and relaxed his shoulders. “I’m thirsty. And hungry.”

As she studied him, he could almost imagine her weighing her options. Fight or flight? Tell this guy to go fuck himself or play along? Smart inmates knew when to do both.

“You said cola?” The softness in her tone didn’t hide the Fuck Off burning in her gaze.

“That’s right.” His grin widened naturally. He enjoyed being close to her.

“Sure.”

Garrison worked on a handful of nuts as he watched her fill an iced mug with cola and then set it back in front of him. He might have a fight on his hands with her soon, but for now she didn’t run.

She pulled a menu from under the bar and handed it to him. “I’ll give you a minute to look over the menu.”

“Hang on just a second, I have a question about the soup of the day. ”

She hesitated. “You’re kidding?”

“I never kid about food.”

“Okay. The question?”

He pretended to think, knowing each passing second ticked her off. “Tomato or cream based?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Tomato.”

“Great. I’ll have a bowl. With crackers.”

“Will do.” She returned in minutes with a bowl of steaming chowder with soda crackers on the side.

He had to admit the soup did smell good. “Thanks. I’m surprised I’ve never been in this place before.”

“We don’t advertise. Most of our business is regulars.”

He tasted the soup, which was delicious. “I know I’ll be back.”

“Great.” The word fell flat like a pancake.

“Make my sandwich roast beef on rye. Toasted. Spicy mustard. Two pickles. Tomato on the side.”

“Will do.”

“Aren’t you going to write that down?”

“Don’t need to.” She filled a glass with soda and lime and set it front of another customer.

Garrison glanced around the bar, guessing it would slow or clear out in the next half hour. Places like this bustled well into the night when it catered to tourists, but people who worked had to leave sooner than later. He’d kill time eating until the pace eased and then he’d ask his question. For the first time in a couple of days, he’d felt like he had landed in the calm waters that swirled in the hurricane’s eye.

Garrison quickly realized that Eva really didn’t have to write anything down. She remembered everything she heard and from what he could see she never made mistakes. When she served his order it was correct down to each detail.

But as he continued to stare at her, he could see she didn’t move with the same fluid ease she’d had before she’d first spotted him. His presence put her nerves on edge. He liked the fact that she was so aware of him. When he’d been with Macy, she’d liked his attention and she’d wanted more of it. Eva didn’t want more of him. He could have vanished into thin air right now and she’d have been happy.

When he’d finished his meal and sipped a coffee, he waited patiently until she moved toward him to collect the plate.

“Can I get you anything else? “ Eva said.

“Just the check and one question.” He reached in his coat pocket and pulled out the photo of Lisa Black taken by the DMV. “Do you know her?”

She glanced at the photo on the bar. Tension crept into her face, adding surprising age to her teenlike features. “You already showed me her picture. Besides, the newscaster reported her name.” She glanced around, seeming to hope that some patron needed her but none did.

Her nerves had gone from tense to high alert. “So what aren’t you telling me?”

She pushed the photo toward him. For a moment she hesitated, as if weighing her options. “I went to college with her.”

He hadn’t expected truth. “At Price?”

“That’s right.” Her brow furrowed. “How did you know I went to Price?”

“I’ve been to Taylorsville’s sheriff’s office. I read his case file on you.”

The color drained from her face as she glanced from side to side. She clearly didn’t want anyone to overhear this. “I’ve been careful to keep that part of my life hidden since I moved back.”

“I can appreciate that.” Knowledge of her past could prove to be an effective leverage that he wasn’t afraid to use.

“How’d you know to look at Price?”

The confidence in her voice thinned, revealing the fear lurking behind. He elbowed aside the pity nudging him. “Why’d you lie about knowing the shelter victim?”

“I didn’t lie. I truly didn’t recognize her. She’s changed a lot since college. I only connected the dots when I heard her name on the news.”

He glanced around and noticed several folks at the bar were staring at them. “Do you have somewhere more private where we could talk?”

She studied him as if weighing her options. Finally, she nodded over her shoulder. “In the back. Let me just get someone to cover me for a minute.”

It took several minutes for her to find the redheaded waitress to cover the bar. When she did, she ducked under the bar and came around to his stool. He rose, leaving enough to cover the meal with a generous tip.

“We’ve a small banquet room off to the side. No one’s using it right now.”

“Sure.”

Digging the key out of her apron pocket, she unlocked a set of French doors. She opened the door and waited for him to pass through before she closed it behind them. The doors muted the bar sounds but he could still feel the bass beat in his chest.

She smoothed long fingers down over her apron. “What do you want to know?”

“First, I want to show you another picture.”

Eva tucked a stray strand behind her ear and tensed. Pale skin accentuated the red in her lips and the darkness of her hair and eyelashes. For a long tense moment she didn’t breathe. “Okay.”

He held out the Polaroid. “Do you know this woman?”

She braced as she glanced at the picture. Her brows knotted as she moistened her lips. “Her eyes are closed.”

“That’s right. Do you know her?”

“What’s she done?”

“You’re good at asking questions, Ms. Rayburn, but that’s what the city pays me to do. How do you know her?”

Her gaze lingered on the photo. “She went to Price too.”

A bolt of adrenaline shot through his limbs. A connection. “What’s her name?”

“Is she dead?”

“Yes. What’s her name?”

She closed her eyes for a moment. Was it sorrow or relief that washed over her features? “Her name was Sara Miller in college. I don’t know if she got married and changed her name.”

“Do you know anything about her?”

She folded her arms over her chest. The gesture wasn’t aggressive but defensive. “Nothing since college. I’ve not seen her since my … trial.”

The word sounded wrenched from her throat. “No one here knows about your conviction for manslaughter.”

Her eyes narrowed a fraction. “King knows. He offered me the job while I was still at the halfway house. How did you piece my past together?”

“My old man served as a cop in Alexandria for thirty years. He remembered your case, specifically the star.”

She nodded. “I’ve only been out six months but I learned quickly that people don’t like ex-cons. Please keep my past private. I like it here.”

“Then why come back here? Someone is bound to recognize you.”

“Darius Cross died.” Her eyes narrowed. “Maybe I wanted to dance on his grave.”

“You confessed to killing his son.”

Her jaw tightened. “That’s right.”

There was more but she’d locked that part of her past behind an iron door. “It doesn’t take six months to dance on a grave. Why stick around?”

She swallowed and he sensed a door slamming closed. “Am I a suspect?”

“Should you be?”

She planted her hands on her hips. The fear had ebbed from her gaze and fire replaced it. “I just know how it works. The cops get an idea in their head and then they look for facts to prove it. Doesn’t matter if they’re right or wrong. It only matters that the case gets headlines.”

“I’m here to catch a murderer. The rest doesn’t mean anything to me.”

A bitter smile tipped the edge of her mouth. “Everybody wants to get ahead and headlines and closed cases mean promotions. Do you know the sheriff in Taylorsville won his reelection based on my conviction?”

“He’s been voted out since.”

“Great.”

He studied her face closely. From what he’d read of her file, she had a right to be angry. Any half-decent defense attorney would have seen to it she’d not gone to jail.

But showing her pity over a past injustice wasn’t going to catch this killer. “Did you know Ms. Black, Ms. Miller and you share an interesting trait?”

She folded her arms over her chest. “Yeah, we went to school together?”

“It’s more than that.” He studied her face closely. “Both women were burned with four-pointed stars.”

Eva flinched as if he’d slapped her hard. “I don’t understand.”

“Whoever killed those women burned each woman four times with a star-shaped brand.”

She closed her eyes. A tear spilled down her cheek.

He studied her closely, wondering if she was an expert liar. “Your attacker also burned you, didn’t he?”

“You read the file.” She sniffed and swiped the tear away. “And as you know, my attacker is dead.”

“Did you kill him, Eva? ”

“What?”

He wanted to lay his hand on her shoulder as a gesture of comfort but he guessed she’d jump a mile in the air if he did. “Did you kill the man that raped you?”

A painful sigh shuddered through her. “The file says three girls saw me do it. Sara. Lisa. And Kristen. And I did eventually confess.”