You Belong to Me (32 page)

‘We’ll worry about it tomorrow,’ Stevie said. ‘I’m going home.’ She stopped at the elevator as he headed to the crib. ‘By the way, you do know what you said, right?’

JD looked back with a puzzled frown. ‘What?’

‘When you were on the phone with her. You said something and she got mad, right? Then you said, “What did I say?” You
do
know what you said, don’t you?’

JD shook his head. ‘I have no idea. Do you?’

‘Oh yeah. You said that Morton and Skinner knew she’d been “found not guilty”.’

JD closed his eyes. ‘Instead of saying she was innocent.’

‘I imagine if you’ve sat through an entire trial, having been unjustly accused, that would be an important distinction,’ Stevie said quietly. ‘Think about it.’

The stupidity of his words hit him full force. ‘As if I’ll be able to do anything but.’

Tuesday, May 4, 6.30 A.M.

Clay crept into Nicki’s apartment building unseen, his step heavy with dread. It was still early and the neighbors had not yet ventured outside. Not that they’d be coming out any time soon anyway. Most were creatures of the night, loners, like Nic.

It was a hovel of a building that probably should have been condemned. But Nicki liked it, or said she did. Clay thought it gave her an excuse to be solitary.

He forced himself up the stairs, his heart heavier than his feet.
Please
.
Please
. With every mile he’d driven, he’d worried, his fear growing. Now that he was here, he could barely put one foot in front of the other.
Move it, Maynard
, he barked in his mind.

He stood outside her door and closed his eyes.
No
. But he knew the smell.
Please. Please, let it be anything but this
. Maybe she hadn’t taken out the trash. Maybe . . . But he knew.

His hands shaking, he pulled on gloves, then let himself in with the key he’d taken from the emergency ring at the office.
Please, please
. He flinched as he entered and closed the door behind him.
She’s dead
. Years of being a soldier and a cop had taught him to view death stoically.
She’s dead
. But Nic was his friend. His partner.

Move
. He tied a handkerchief over his mouth and, gritting his teeth, forced his feet to walk the fifty feet to her bedroom. Her door was open. She was on the bed. She . . . Her insides . . . on the sheets.
Can’t breathe
. He stared, horror making his limbs inoperable.
God. No
.

Nicki
. Tears rolled down his face and he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
Oh God, Nic. What did he do to you?
Gutted. The SOB had gutted her.

Goddamn it
. It was a whimper in his mind.

Move
. Again he forced his feet to move until he stood next to her bed, his breath now coming in labored pants. Her bed had once been white. No more. It was red.
Red
.

His teeth clenched, he looked down, blocking out all the red. Ignoring the flies, Clay focused on her right ear, where the sonofabitch’s blade had curved up and around. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, staring at her ear, his own heartbeat the only thing he could hear.

Then something within him snapped and he backed out of her room, on autopilot now. Nic kept no client files out in the open ̵̵̵̵̵̶ __̵̵̵̵̵̵̶̶̶ her neighborhood was too bad. Mechanically Clay went to her ̶̶ kitchen and moved aside all the cans of soup in the pantry, revealing the safe he’d installed for her himself. His hand steady, he dialed the ̵ combination and popped it open.

Her laptop was inside, along with six file folders. He took them and closed the safe, replacing the soup cans. He locked her front door behind him and placed her things in his trunk. He rapidly cleaned out Nicki’s car of all receipts and loose papers.

Then he got in his own car, drove a mile, then stopped.

He got out, walked to the grass shoulder, sank to his knees and threw up.

Chapter Fourteen

Tuesday, May 4, 6.45 A.M.

H
e stood at the mirror, frowning at his reflection. He tilted his head to better see his neck where two red scratches stood out like beacons. The valet had got him but good. Luckily they were low enough that his collar covered them. He buttoned his shirt, knotted his tie, and nodded at the result. Nobody would see. Nobody would know. Soon it wouldn’t matter anyway.

Soon he’d be sailing the seas in the
Satisfaction
because soon all the names on his list would be in Lucy Trask’s morgue.

He had to hand it to the woman. She’d maintained her double life like a CIA pro. That she’d cut up dead people all day had been a revelation to all those freaks at the club. Nobody knew the other secrets she held, but they would soon.

Soon everyone would know what kind of person Lucy Trask really was. Soon everyone would know what she was willing to do to get her way. What lies she was willing to tell. In due time he’d expose every part of her life for everyone to see.
And then she’ll be mine
. Soon.

But today he had a different fish to fillet. He put on his jacket, tugged his shirt cuffs into place. Janet Gordon’s son should be here soon. His flight was due in an hour.

From his pocket he withdrew one of the business cards he’d made on the printer in James Cannon’s condo.
Biddle and Light, Attorneys at Law
. After seeing his mother’s remains, there would be few people Ryan would trust. His mother’s attorney would be one of them.

Because Ryan didn’t really have a choice. If he wanted Mommy’s money, he’d have to talk to Mommy’s lawyer.
We’ll have a nice little chat. And then he’ll die
.

Killing Ryan wouldn’t take quite as long as the others, he didn’t think. Ryan hadn’t profited from his sin like the others. Not like Edwards or Bennett or Janet Gordon.

Certainly not like Lucy Trask.

If he played his cards right, he could be finished with Ryan by dinnertime and onto the next name.
I might just make it to Anderson Ferry by nightfall
. Lucy had taken the detective there last night, which displeased him. They’d gone straight to the Bennetts’ house, presumably to notify the parents of their son’s unfortunate demise.

His device was accurate to fifteen feet, so he was sure they’d gone nowhere else, which was good. He wanted to control the Trask family reunion. She was getting very chummy with that cop, though. He wondered what trouble she was stirring up. Or trying to silence.

Tuesday, May 4, 7.50 A.M.

JD pulled up behind Stevie’s car, already parked on the curb in front of Janet Gordon’s apartment building. Stevie waited on the front stoop.

He’d slept poorly, tossing and turning and wondering if Lucy would speak to him again. And, of course, reliving the alley. The little sleep he had gotten had been filled with dreams of dark rooms and swirling music and a naked Lucy in his bed.

The last might never become a reality if he couldn’t convince her to talk to him again. Which would never happen if he didn’t catch whoever was taunting her with mutilated bodies.

‘Daphne got the warrant?’ JD asked Stevie when he got to the stoop.

‘In my pocket,’ she said. ‘Covers the apartment, phone and financials. The super is upstairs with a key. The officer we put at her door says nobody approached all night.’

‘What about the warrant for Thorne’s client list?’ JD asked.

‘The judge said he’d take that one under advisement.’ Stevie shrugged and opened the apartment building’s door. ‘Try to sweet-talk Lucy, okay, JD?’

‘I don’t think anything I have to say has a lot of currency with her just now.’

‘She’s a logical woman. Just apologize for saying she wasn’t found guilty versus she was innocent. Blame fatigue, male stupidity, or anything you want. Flash your dimple. That would sure as hell sway me.’

Except it was more than that.
She said I’m not good for her
. ‘I’ll try,’ he said.

The super was waiting by Janet Gordon’s door, his hand out for the warrant. The exchange made, JD and Stevie pulled on gloves while the super unlocked the door.

‘Nice,’ JD murmured. There were expensive paintings on every wall and a baby grand piano in one corner. ‘When was the last time you saw Mrs Gordon?’

‘A few days ago,’ the super said.

‘Did she have a husband or boyfriend?’

‘She’s a widow. She has “gentlemen callers”, but no regular boyfriend. Not unless you count that doctor fella, which I don’t, no matter what the gossipers say.’

‘What doctor?’ JD asked, even though he was sure he knew.

‘Young fella. Hey, don’t touch that!’ he exclaimed when Stevie began going through the desk drawers. ‘Mrs Gordon will have my head.’

Stevie looked up, annoyed. ‘Sir, were you listening when I introduced myself?’

‘Yeah. Of course.’ The super frowned. ‘Not really. It was early.’

JD wanted to roll his eyes. ‘Fitzpatrick and Mazzetti. We’re Homicide.’

The super’s mouth fell open. ‘Homicide? Then she’s dead?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Stevie said. ‘Now, tell us about the doctor she hung around with.’

‘I don’t remember his name, but he was young enough to be her son. I never thought there was anything between them, but my wife, she said more power to Mrs Gordon if she can snag a younger man and hold him.’

‘What did the young doctor look like?’ JD asked impatiently.

‘Five eleven, dark hair. I don’t think they were a couple. I don’t think he liked her.’

The description matched Russ Bennett. ‘Then why was he with her?’ JD asked.

‘I assumed it was for her money. She was loaded. Her last husband was in oil.’

‘Why didn’t you think he liked her?’ Stevie asked.

‘I don’t know. It was just his attitude. Like he’d kill her if he could.’

‘Who was her next of kin?’ JD asked.

‘It’s on her lease. I’d have to go get a copy.’

JD smiled mildly. ‘Please do that. Now.’

Grumbling, the super went to do as he was told.

‘He’s probably telling every tenant in the building that she’s dead,’ Stevie said.

‘I know. This kitchen is immaculate.’ JD opened the refrigerator. ‘No food.’ He opened a drawer. ‘Menus for all the expensive places. She must’ve spent a fortune on restaurants.’

‘She was loaded.’ Stevie walked back to the bedroom. ‘JD.
Come see
.’

It was a bedroom decorated for a teenage boy. Trophies lined the shelves and banners hung on the walls. All bore the initials AFHS.

‘Anderson Ferry High School,’ JD murmured, unsurprised. He picked up a trophy. ‘Ryan Agar, Most Yards Rushed.’

‘Football player,’ Stevie said.

‘Not just any football player.’ JD picked up a framed photo from the top of a highboy. ‘His team picture, senior year. This team won the regional championship that year. Look at the names.’ He held the photo so she could see. ‘There’s Ryan Agar and Malcolm Edwards, aka Butch, and Linus Trask, aka Buck.’

‘Brother of Lucy, aka Lucinda.’

JD held the photo closer, studying the jersey numbers. ‘Malcolm was a defensive tackle and Linus was the quarterback. MVP.’

‘How do you know he was MVP from the picture?’

‘I don’t. Lucy told me on the drive back from Anderson Ferry last night.’

‘So the boy was golden, died in a motorcycle accident a few weeks after graduation and twenty-one years later Lucy isn’t speaking to her parents. About right?’

‘Yes.’ He bagged the photo. ‘You take the closet, I’ll take the drawers.’

They searched in silence until Stevie called, ‘Box of yearbooks. I’ll grab ’em.’

JD was sorting through pictures and letters shoved into the highboy’s top drawer. ‘Ryan was accepted to college on a football scholarship, but he flunked out. Here are letters warning him of academic probation. And one dismissing him from the university.’

‘Seems odd for a boy to keep letters like that,’ Stevie said.

‘He’s never lived here.’ The super was back. ‘Her son, I mean. He’s her contact.’

‘Ryan Agar?’ Stevie asked.

‘Yeah. He visits, but only at Christmas. I got the impression there was no love lost there. Here’s her lease application. The son lives on a ranch in the middle of nowhere in Colorado.’

‘It’ll take him at least a day to get here,’ Stevie said. ‘Let’s get CSU here to fingerprint.’

‘I can go down to the morgue and ID her,’ the super said, sounding a little too excited.

‘That won’t be necessary,’ JD said. He walked the super out the door. ‘Can you wait downstairs for the crime-scene unit? They’ll need to be shown which apartment.’

The super did not look fooled. ‘If you want me to leave, just say so.’

‘Not at all,’ JD lied. ‘But every moment we talk is a moment we’re not investigating Mrs Gordon’s death. We would like a list of Mrs Gordon’s “gentlemen callers” if you know their names, plus anyone in the building she was friendly with.’

The super snorted as he walked away. ‘Janet Gordon wasn’t friendly with nobody. Not unless you could do something for her. But I’ll make you a list.’

‘Why would she make this room up for her son if he never lived here?’ Stevie asked. ‘It’s not like he grew up here and moved away. This is kind of creepy.’

‘I don’t know. We should ask that shrink you invited to morning meeting.’

‘Lennie Berman,’ Stevie said. ‘Let’s do that. I’m going to check out her bedroom and bath. Why don’t you finish checking the desk and see if there’s anything on the computer in the living room?’

A search of Gordon’s desk turned up various invitations to charity functions, bills, and bank statements. The bank statements were a month old. On a hunch, JD touched the computer mouse and the screen lit up. He brought up an internet browser and scrolled through Gordon’s favorites until he came to her bank’s website.

Her user name and password fields were filled, the password a series of asterisks. ‘Stevie, can you come here?’ he called, waiting until she was watching before clicking the log-on button.