The Seventh Victim (13 page)

She held the image up. At first she stared at it with an artist’s critical eye, but as the seconds ticked, she found herself searching beyond the physical elements to the dark mind of the killer.
Why did you kill her?

Lincoln barked louder, dragging her from her unanswered questions. “I’m sorry, Lincoln. I didn’t mean to lose track of the time.”

She opened the shed door and found herself face-to-face with Sergeant James Beck. Lincoln barked from the kitchen window, clearly frustrated that he wasn’t free.

As the dog barked, she took a step back. “What are you doing here?”

He glared at her and then back at the dog. “Your dog needs to be let out.”

Torn between arguing and Lincoln’s needs, she brushed past him as she dug the key from her pocket. Seconds after she opened the door, the dog bounded up to Beck, who stared at the animal until it lowered its gaze.

“What are you doing here?” she repeated.

His gaze held the darkness of an angry man. “What were you doing at my crime scene this morning?”

She teetered between flustered and annoyed. “How did you know where I was this morning?”

“The DPS trooper who took your identification called my office and mentioned your name.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “Big state, small world.”

He raised his brow. “I put the word out that if your name came up I wanted to hear about it.”

Annoyance snapped. “You’ve had people spying on me?”

“Not spying, just on the lookout.” He towered over her by nearly a foot. “Why were you there?”

His commanding tone had her muscles bristling. “I wasn’t aware that it belonged to you.”

His jaw tightened. “What were you doing there?”

She danced with the devil. “I didn’t see any ‘No Trespassing’ signs.”

He leaned so close she smelled hints of his soap. “Do you really want to get into a pissing match with me, Ms. Church?
Do you?
”

Anger pushed aside the fear pounding in her throat. “Sure, why not? I haven’t had a good workout this morning.”

His gaze narrowed. “You can tell me what you were doing this morning now or downtown in my office. I’ve got time to kill and it would give me great pleasure to drag you into headquarters and waste your day.”

Beck didn’t make idle threats, of that she was certain. She could dig in her heels and win a trip into Austin. Or she could talk, and get on with her day. “Detective Raines was like you. He didn’t think twice about screwing with my day if he didn’t like the answers I gave him.”

Beck’s brows knotted. “What were you doing at my crime scene?”

She folded her arms over her chest, wondering why he drove her to be so childish. “I was taking pictures. I am a photographer.”

“What’s out there worth photographing? It’s the side of the interstate.”

“It’s a crime scene. That’s what I photograph.”

He shook his head, his disapproval evident. “Does the world need to see more violence?”

She brushed her bangs out of her face with the back of her hand. “Good art makes people think.”

Beck glanced at her fingertips darkened by chemicals. “What were you doing in the shed?”

“It’s my darkroom. I was developing the prints I took this morning.”

“You must have been pretty absorbed. You didn’t hear me call. Hell, the damn dog was about to bark its head off.”

“I get lost when I’m working. I never heard you, but I did hear Lincoln barking.”

Absently, he rested a hand on his hip. The butt of a gun peeked out from under his jacket. “Mind showing me those pictures?”

At this stage the work remained too raw to show. The idea that anyone, especially Beck, would scrutinize her work left her feeling vulnerable. “Come to my show on Friday. It will give you a good idea of what my work is about.”

His smile held no hint of humor or warmth. “I’m interested in the pictures you took at my crime scene. Today.”

My crime scene. He was a dog with a bone. “The work isn’t finished.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Show me.”

An order. Not a request. “Will you arrest me if I don’t?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

A promise. Not a threat. Demanding a search warrant would likely translate into a lot of lost time for her. “Sure. Follow me.”

She opened the shed’s screened door. Lincoln scrambled past Beck to be by her side. Beck fell in step behind them. His purposeful steps sounded annoyed and angry against the cobblestone path.

She pushed open the door to her darkroom.

The heavy smell of chemicals hung in the air. Above the developing table hung a clothesline where a half dozen prints hung.

“You painted the walls black,” he said.

“Better for the negatives.”

She clicked on the overhead light and moved toward the worktable where the prints dangled. The chemical scents grew more cloying the deeper she moved into the room. If she didn’t keep the A/C window unit running, the smell could leave her light-headed.

She gestured toward the pictures. “See? Just photographs.”

He pulled off his hat, leaned in, and with a narrowed gaze studied the prints. “They look old.”

This close, the restrained power in his body made her skin tingle. “I use a bellows camera. It’s well over a hundred years old.”

He kept his gaze on the photographs. “Why do murder scenes interest you so much?”

“Probably because I almost had my own personal murder scene.”

“Seven years ago.”

She shifted her stance. “You’re not the first person to tell me to get over it. I know I should be back to normal after all this time, but, well, I don’t think that I am.”

His intense gaze soaked up the images’ details. “Why’d you shoot at sunrise?”

“I don’t know. Normally I shoot at sunset.”

“The end of a day. The end of a life.”

“Yeah.”

“But you chose sunrise.”

The beginning of a day. The beginning of life. “Yeah.”

“Someone like you—a survivor—should go out of your way to avoid murder and violence. Someone like you should take color pictures of flowers and clouds. Kittens and puppies.”

A laugh startled from her. “You think? Those subjects don’t feel exactly real to me.”

As he straightened, his gaze settled on her. “It’s because you can’t remember your attacker.”

She cocked her head. “You think you’ve got me all figured out.”

“You’re not so complicated. You were attacked, nearly died, and you are using your camera to jog your memory.”

Annoyed, she brushed a stray hair out of her eyes. “Fill in the memory, and I’ll be all better?”

“You cannot cure a problem that you do not acknowledge, Ms. Church.”

She cocked a slim brow. “Is that my five-cent shrink evaluation?”

“Common sense, Ms. Church. Until you can put all the pieces together you aren’t going to feel whole.”

Silence, as heavy as death itself, settled before she broke it. “I don’t want your advice, Sergeant.”

“Stay away from my crime scenes, and I’ll keep my thoughts to myself.”

She wasn’t sure if she could stay away.

When she didn’t answer, he said, “Like it or not, you are involved in this case.”

“I’m not involved in this case. I am not.” The words rang hollow.

“When it comes to my case your opinion doesn’t mean much.” He flicked the edge of a dangling print with his finger. “I don’t want you close to any evidence.”

She shoved her hands in her pockets. “I never go near an active scene. I wait until the police are finished with the area.”

“Don’t care, ma’am. While you’re in my district you stay away from all murder scenes.”

“You can’t tell me where I can or cannot go.”

“I can when it comes to crime scenes.”

“So what are you gonna do, arrest me?”

“That’s about right, Ms. Church. That is about right.” He swapped the smile for a sneer. “And if you’d care to test me, and see if I am a man of my word, go right ahead.”

Resolve radiated from him, raw and intense, triggering a sudden shakiness that permeated her muscles. She attributed the unsteadiness to her early-morning wakeup call, an empty belly, and too much time in the darkroom. “Fine, I’ve been warned. If that’s all, you can leave now.”

He took another step toward her. Close enough to bump, but not violate, her personal space. “Ms. Church, we have not seen the last of each other.”

“I bet you we have.”

Grinning, he replaced his hat. “I’ll take that bet.”

Chapter 9

Wednesday, May 22, 1
PM

Lara drove into Austin shortly after Beck left. She told herself she was not skittish or restless because of Beck. Her sudden lack of concentration and frayed, restless nerves were rooted in hunger. Not Beck. She just needed to eat and then she’d be fine.

She had no groceries in the house, and she hadn’t eaten a real meal in twenty-four hours. Lab wasn’t until four so she had time to treat herself to a hot meal at the River Diner near campus.

When she sat at the café’s corner table her stomach grumbled, and she was suddenly anxious to eat. As she glanced at the menu she noticed her nails remained chipped and stained from work. Cassidy had called her this morning and told her she’d scheduled an appointment for Friday morning.

Lara studied her chewed and chemically darkened fingernails. She used to care about makeup, manicured nails, and pretty clothes when she’d lived in Seattle. She’d been in fashion, and appearance mattered. Clothing stores, shoes, and accessories had driven her days. It had been her eye for structure and assembling quirky combinations that had won her the job with the Seattle-based fashion company Forward. She’d gone for an interview with the company’s marketing department, not sincerely believing she had a shot at the job. But the director had liked her mix of vintage and modern and suggested a second interview. A week before the holiday break she’d been offered a job to start after graduation. It was entry level and paid little, but it had been a first huge step toward the rest of her life.

Her life had all been blue skies in those days. Danger and death were reserved for movies and novels. She’d been such a different person then.

“What can I get you, Ms. Church?” Danni said.

Lara glanced up at her student. “Danni, I didn’t know you worked here.”

“Almost four months now.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in school this morning?”

“I get out at eleven on Wednesdays. That gives me time to work the lunch rush here.”

“When do you graduate?”

“A couple of weeks.”

“And what’s after that?”

She shrugged. “I’ll know when I get there.”

Patrons at other tables were already vying for Danni’s attention, and the diner’s owner was watching them.

As Lara stared at Danni she saw her younger self and couldn’t help but remember her high school days. Transient. Uncertain. Lonely. She’d make a point to talk to the kid more in the coming days and see if she could find out more. “What’s the vegetarian special today?”

Danni shook her head. “If you weren’t in Austin you’d get laughed out of any self-respecting Texas eatery.”

Lara grinned. “You might be right. Does that mean there’s no special today?”

“Nope, Mack has done a black beans and rice. He’s also stuffed zucchini with white beans. And it’s decent.”

“I’ll have the beans and rice, a side of bread, and a tossed salad.”

“That’s a lot of food.”

“I’ve been working in the darkroom and haven’t had time to stop and eat. I didn’t realize I was starving until about an hour ago.”

“Well, I’ll get that bread and salad right up.”

“Thanks.”

Danni returned minutes later with a side of hot bread and a garden salad with dressing on the side. “Anything else I can get you?”

She picked up a chunk of bread and tore it. “I’ve been meaning to tell you how much I’ve enjoyed your work this semester. You’ve got a great eye for light and composition.”

Danni’s gaze brightened. “Thanks.”

“You said on your student survey form that you’d never taken photography before.”

“Nope.”

“You must have dabbled in it.”

“No. Didn’t pick up a camera until I bought the one I have in class.”

“Amazing.”

“What can I say?” Her attention drifted as a man at another table flagged her. “Got to go. See you soon.”

Lara had eaten her bread and salad when Danni returned with the plate of black beans and rice. To her amazement, she was still hungry. “Thanks.”

“Hey, Ms. Church, if you ever go out into the field with that crazy camera you showed the class I’d love to tag along.”

She’d never taken anyone along before. But she liked Danni and wanted to encourage her. “How old are you?”

Without blinking Danni said, “Eighteen.”

Lara smiled. “I’ve got access to my student’s birthdates.”

Danni shrugged. “So I’m weeks away from eighteen.”

“Can you get written permission from your mother to work with me in the field?”

“Sure,” Danni said easily. “Mom loves that I’m taking the class.”

Lara searched her gaze wondering if she should take the kid with her. “I’m working on a series of photographs.” An image of Beck’s grim face flashed in her mind. He’d be pissed if he knew she planned to return to the site. “The set I took this morning were good, but I wanted to shoot it at sunset.”

Danni shrugged, but there was a spark of interest in her eyes. “Where?”

“It’s a site off the interstate. If we leave after lab today and make a quick stop at my house for the equipment, we could get the shot.” If caught, Beck would hang her out to dry, but she was certain he’d leave Danni alone.

“Sure. See you then.”

“Great. But you’ve got to get a note from your mother.”

“No worries. I’ll see her right after my shift today.”

The pictures Lara had taken this morning had turned out better than she’d expected. There was no need to return to the site. So why return? Maybe she wanted to encourage a bright student. Maybe it was because Beck had told her to stay clear. Or maybe, just maybe there was a key that could unlock her memory.

The drive to San Antonio took Beck just over an hour. He arrived at the small rancher-style house that Lou Ellen Fisk had rented the last six months of her life. The front yard was mostly dried weeds, and last summer’s heat had cracked the cement sidewalk in a couple of places. Yellow crime scene tape still sealed the front door.