The Butcher (22 page)

Matt exhaled. It all made sense. Obviously the Chief had known about the gang, which is why he'd disposed of the body the way he had. “You think that's who killed him?”

“It's a definite possibility.” Sanchez stood up, stretching briefly. “Just wanted to let you know. This actually isn't my case anymore, as it's been funneled over to the guys who work organized crime. I told them I'd come
back to talk to you, since I know you personally and had already spoken to you before.”

Matt nodded slowly and he stood up, too, his legs feeling like jelly. He knew it was because of the relief that was flooding through him. “I appreciate that, Bobby.”

“Of course. How's Sam?”

“She's good,” Matt said. “We, uh, haven't really seen a lot of each other lately. The restaurant's been kicking my ass and she's got some stuff going on.”

“She's pretty obsessed about her current book.”

“Yeah.”

“Tell her I said hello. I was expecting her to pester me more lately, and she hasn't been.” Sanchez smiled. “Not that I'm complaining, but when she heard about the body that turned up in Marysville the other day, she was all over me like white on rice for information, even though that's not my jurisdiction.”

“Body? Marysville?”

Sanchez grimaced and opened the door to Matt's office. The noise from the restaurant flooded in. “Yeah, teenage girl. Raped and murdered. Sam, bless her heart, wanted to know if it was somehow related to the Butcher.”

“What?” Matt almost fell over and he grabbed the edge of his desk for support. “The Butcher, as in
the
Butcher? Why would she think that? The Butcher's dead.”

“She's got a theory that he might not be, and I will admit, it's sounding more and more intriguing.” The detective looked at him closely. “She doesn't talk to you about her work?”

“We don't really talk about our jobs.”

“Ah. Probably a good idea. Not just for you two, but for any couple.”
Sanchez shook his head. “The Butcher's always been personal to her. Because she thinks he killed her mom.”

“What?” Matt's mouth hung open in genuine surprise. “I didn't know that.”

Sanchez looked surprised. “Yikes, then I probably shouldn't have said anything. I just . . . shit, I just assumed she'd told you about her theories.”

“Sam's always had her secrets.” Uneasy, Matt wondered what else he didn't know about his girlfriend of three years. “That's her theory? That a dead serial killer murdered her mother?”

Misreading Matt's reaction, Sanchez said, “I know. I think it's absolutely crazy, too, and that's probably why she never mentioned it to you. But we can't underestimate grief, my friend. She's always craved answers, and when they don't come . . . well, it's human nature to start inventing our own.”

Matt's mind raced. He needed to find out what Sanchez knew. “But didn't the Butcher die before her mother was murdered?”

Sanchez nodded. “Yeah, but she thinks the real Butcher was never caught. But you didn't hear that from me, okay? Let her tell you.”

The two men shook hands again, and Sanchez left. Closing the office door behind him, Matt slumped into a chair, unable to process what the detective had just let slip.

Sam thought the Butcher killed her mother?

But the Butcher was the Chief.

Matt felt the blood drain out of his face as the realization sank in. His grandfather murdered his girlfriend's mother.

This was no longer a clusterfuck. This was a living nightmare.

Sam didn't know exactly when everything had begun to fall apart, but things with Matt were a mess, and she didn't have the slightest clue how to start fixing it. She wasn't even sure if she wanted to fix it.

It almost didn't matter whether or not he had cheated on her with that producer. Sneaking into her boyfriend's house to try to catch him in the act had been stupid, because she didn't need to see him having sex with someone else to know that their relationship was in trouble. If he really had cheated, it was only a symptom of everything else that was wrong. Things hadn't been great between them for a long time now.

Had they ever been great?
her mind whispered, and she winced at the thought. She knew she was forcing it, and had been for months. Maybe longer, if she was being totally honest with herself. In comparison to Jason, her boyfriend knew so little about her. Half the time she forgot to tell him things, and the other half of the time she didn't tell him because she was pretty sure he wouldn't care.

She was parked in the visitors' lot in front of Jason's building, needing
a minute to compose herself before seeing her oldest friend. She didn't want to get into a discussion with Jason about Matt—after all, Jason was his friend, too. He'd introduced them to each other three years ago, and she hated putting her childhood friend in the middle. Smoothing her hair, she took a few deep breaths and forced herself to calm down before getting out of the car.

The doorman recognized her and let her in. His face was almost as dark as his uniform, and he smiled at her, his glimmering white teeth sparkling under the bright halogen lights of the lobby.

“He already said he was expecting you,” the doorman said, accompanying her to the elevator. Holding the door open for her, he used his key card to swipe for access to the penthouse. “Go right on up.”

“Thanks, Ronnie.”

“Nice to see you again, Sam.”

“You, too.”

Sam smiled at the doorman as the elevators doors closed. Though Jason had never said specifically what his condo was worth, Sam knew it had to be a lot. He'd been living here for a long time, back from his Seahawks days, and even though the market had dropped, it still had to be worth at least a couple of million.

The elevator opened and she stepped into the private lobby. The top floor was divided in half. Jason was in penthouse A. Some former professional basketball player (Sam couldn't remember who, but the guy had apparently played for the Lakers for years before retiring with the Sonics in 2006) was Jason's neighbor in penthouse B.

She pressed the penthouse
A
buzzer and waited.

A moment later, a blonde—not Jason, but almost his height—answered the door. She was leggy with big boobs, clad in nothing but a pair of Lululemon yoga shorts that barely covered her ass, and a neon
sports bra that did a nice job of showing off her ample cleavage. She instantly made Sam feel short and frumpy.

“Uh, hi.” Sam leaned back, checking the letter above the buzzer again. Yes, she had the right penthouse. “Is Jason home?”

“You must be Sam.” The blonde smiled and stepped forward. Before Sam could move away or even protest, she was wrapped inside toned arms, her face pressed against a tanned chest. The girl had to have about seven inches of height on Sam, yet they probably weighed close to the same. “I'm Lilac.”

“Ah,” Sam said, politely disengaging. She wasn't really a fan of physical contact with strange women. “I've heard a lot about you. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. Come on in. We were just making tea. Would you like some? We have chamomile, we have oolong, and we picked up this lovely roasted organic dandelion tea from Pike Place the other day. That's what I'm having. I really recommend it.”

We?
Since when was Jason part of a
we
? And since when did he drink herbal tea?

“I'm good, thanks,” Sam said, trying to look past her. “Sorry, where did you say Jason was?”

“Are you sure? The dandelion's really good.” Lilac's eyes flicked over Sam's body and then she patted her own flat stomach. “I'm bloated today, and it's great for water retention.”

“I'll keep that in mind for when I'm bloated,” Sam said, but she found herself sucking her stomach in anyway.

“Jay!” Lilac called in a singsong voice, padding barefoot back toward the bedroom, where Sam heard her say, “Your
friend
is here.”

Sam did not like the way she said the word
friend
. And since when was Jason a
Jay
? He'd always been a
Jase
. Always.

Jason stepped out of the bedroom, wearing blue jeans and a white V-neck T-shirt, hair still wet from a recent shower. His lopsided grin broadened when he saw how irritated Sam looked. He gave her a rough hug and a quick peck on the cheek. “Be nice,” he said in her ear. “She's not that bad.”

Dammit, he smelled good, and Sam was dismayed she even noticed.

“Was I interrupting something?” she asked him. “I'm a little early, I know.”

“Of course not,” Jason said, heading to the kitchen. He grabbed a beer from the massive stainless steel refrigerator and popped it open. “We had just finished up.” He saw the look on Sam's face. “
Yoga
. We just finished yoga. Lilac gives me private instruction.”

“Bet she does,” Sam said under her breath.

“I'm heading out.” Lilac came out of the bedroom dressed in jeans so tight Sam wondered how she didn't have cameltoe. She'd thrown a sheer knit top over her sports bra, but her cleavage was still clearly visible through the semitransparent fabric. “Call me to say good night, baby.”

“Of course.”

She snuggled up to him and gave him a long, lingering kiss on the lips. Sam thought she might hurl. “It was nice meeting you,” she said, presumably to Sam, then flounced out, leaving nothing but the faint trace of her floral perfume behind.

When the door was closed, Sam turned to Jason. “Seriously?”

“Beer?”

“Yes. And . . . seriously?”

“Come on,” Jason said with a laugh, opening Sam's beer. He poured it into a glass before handing it to her. “She's a sweet girl.”

“Is
sweet
the new word for hot and dumb?”

Jason rolled his eyes. “I will never get girls. You're so instantly competitive, always assuming the worst about each other.”

“First of all,” Sam said, settling into Jason's leather sofa, “you've never had a problem getting girls.”

“You know what I meant.”

“Second of all, I didn't assume the worst. She's just . . . a bit of a bubblehead.”

“She is not.” Jason plopped down beside her and took another swig of his beer. “She has a master's degree.”

“In what?”

“Finance.”

“You're fucking with me. You can't be serious.”

Jason grinned. “As cancer. She used to be a trader, worked for Bindle Brothers.”

“And then decided to become a yoga instructor?” Sam still couldn't tell if he was joking.

“She owns her own studio. Sorry, studios. Plural.”

“Which one?”

“Yogalicious. There's eight locations now, I think.”

“Oh.” Sam felt even smaller than she did before. “Well, that's good for her. Maybe I should take a class. God knows I could lose five pounds.” She looked down at herself, feeling dumpy and soft.

“Nah,” Jason said, and he reached over and tweaked her nose between his fore- and middle finger. “You're good the way you are. Curvy girls are better.”

“I think Lily would disagree.”

“It's Lilac.”

“You know what I meant.”

They smiled at each other and sipped their beers for a few minutes, feeling no particular need to talk.

Finally Jason said, “So I don't know if Matt told you yet, but PJ's dead.”

“What?” Sam almost spit out her beer. “What happened?”

“They found his body in a dump.” Her friend grimaced. “Funeral is this Saturday. His folks are flying in tomorrow to make the identification, and they're bringing the body back to San Francisco for the service.”

Sam sat still, her head spinning. “This is so crazy. It feels like I just saw him. I knew he was missing, but I can't believe he's dead. Do they know how he died? Was he killed?”

Jason shrugged. “I don't know the details, but I think it had something to do with his gambling and getting involved with the wrong people. Ask your friend Sanchez, he's the one who worked the case. I'm surprised he didn't tell you already.” He looked at her closely. “Actually, scratch that. I'm surprised
Matt
didn't tell you.”

“He's . . . he's had a lot on his mind,” Sam said, her voice faint. She still couldn't believe PJ was dead. “Are you going to the funeral?”

Jason shook his head. “No, I can't, I have a meeting in Portland I can't postpone. But I'll send flowers.”

“I guess you weren't really that close to him anyway,” Sam said. “But Matt was. Do you know if he's going to the funeral?”

“In San Francisco? You're asking me? I doubt it. And hey, if it makes you feel better, I didn't hear it from Matt, either. I saw it on fucking Facebook from one of his other friends.”

Sam slumped into the sofa. “Oh.”

They sat in silence another moment, each processing their own thoughts, and then finally Jason patted her leg. “Anything new with Butcher two-point-oh?”

Butcher 2.0. That's what she'd dubbed him. Sam had called Jason right after she'd read the news report about the murder in Marysville and spoke to Robert Sanchez.

“Nothing. Bobby said he'd call if he heard anything new but I haven't heard from him.”

“Still no mention of the missing hand in the papers?”

“Nada.”

“Hmmm.” Jason finished off his beer and placed the empty bottle on the side table. “You know, even if this new guy isn't the old guy but instead is someone entirely different who's copying the Butcher, that would make a nice ending to your book.”

“What do you mean?”

“It's like . . . how can I put it . . .” Jason paused, searching for the right words. “It's like the full circle. You could start with the Butcher's murders, and then finish with these new ones.”