Illusions of Death Page 9

  “Ahead of schedule. The studio won’t expect that.”

  “It’s a relief to finish. I feel we did Matt justice. Now if I could help cast him? Icing on the cake.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “When will you head home? I’m not trying to get rid of you. Mother and Resa will die when Warren leaves.”

  Chris shook his head. “I can’t believe he’s stayed so long. He’s had a blast hanging with Resa at the salon and going to all the social events with her and your mom. But we need to get back to Atlanta. I’ll give him the news and start packing.”

  Her cell phone buzzed in her pocket. She answered it as Chris slipped out.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, my beautiful.”

  Freaking Mario was calling her?

  “I’m definitely changing my cell number.”

  “Karlyn. Always so dramatic.”

  “No, that was your specialty. Tantrums. Mood swings. Excuses for sleeping around. I’m hanging up. Goodbye.”

  “Wait!”

  Karlyn knew she should cut the connection, but the writer in her thought she might get something good from whatever her ex-husband wanted. He was a recipe for disaster. Might as well see what he asked for. Maybe he’d provide fodder for a creepy character down the road.

  “My Karlyn, I have missed you.”

  “Cut to the chase, Mario. You want something. What?”

  He began cursing in Spanish, his mother’s tongue. Then Italian, which he’d picked up in art school in Florence. She rode out the torrent of words, waiting for him to wind down.

  “You are so petty, my darling.”

  “You treated me like shit, Mario. Stomped on my heart. Spit it out. How else would you expect me to be toward you?”

  “Well, I do have a small request. I want to see you. I heard your father passed. I should comfort you and your mother. And possibly borrow a bit of money. Maybe as a commission.”

  She expelled a loud breath, furious at his nerve. “You have got to be kidding.” She almost went on her own cursing rant but decided a cool head would prevail. She’d take a firm tone with him, like a parent with a naughty child. “We are divorced. I gave you the condo. The furnishings. It’s over between us. I’d give a homeless person my last dime before I’d see it in your greedy hands.”

  Her ex let out a long string of profanity in multiple languages. Karlyn hung up and turned her phone off rather than listen to his tirade. She knew it would infuriate him—which gave her pleasure. He didn’t have the unlisted number of the Walton Springs’ house landline. He’d always left details like that up to her. She made a note to change her cell phone number tomorrow.

  Yet she was curious. How could he go through that kind of cash so fast, assuming he’d listed and sold the condo. Gambling? A mistress?

  She didn’t care enough to Google it. Mario was the past. She looked forward to her future.

  Karlyn thought about it. Georgia was growing on her. Technology made it easy to stay in touch. She could write anywhere. Look at Chris. He pulled seven figures easily and lived over two thousand miles away from the major studios.

  Maybe she could buy a Victorian in Atlanta. She loved the architecture and pace of the city from book tours she’d done. The outstanding food and terrific museums made it an attractive place to live.

  Yet she had to admit she felt the tug to stay close to her mother. Maybe the time had come for a fresh start in their relationship. Walton Springs was an idyllic town with big city conveniences a short drive away. It might be the place to put down roots.

  And Logan Warner’s face kept popping up in the equation. True, she was nowhere near wanting to become involved with a man, but if she were? Logan would be a good place to start. And end. What was not to like? Intelligent. Sexy as hell. Dedicated to his job.

  Maybe she would stay in the Springs.

  “The witness is dismissed. Court is adjourned for the lunch break and will reconvene in two hours.”

  Logan left the stand and exited the courtroom. He saw Brad on a bench talking on his cell.

  Brad caught sight of him and waved. “Okay, babe. Looks like it’s my turn to testify. My partner finished. See you tomorrow at eight.” He pocketed his phone. “It go okay?”

  Logan nodded. “You know me. With my detailed notes, I’m the last person that some public defender would trip up.”

  “A true blue Boy Scout to the end. Maybe that could be your campaign slogan. Has a ring to it. Of course, nothing will ever beat I Like Ike or Tippecanoe and Tyler, Too.”

  Logan ignored the comment. “The judge sounded the lunch horn as I was leaving. I guess you’ll be stuck here till mid-afternoon. Want to grab a bite during the recess?”

  Brad shook his head. “I got a call a few minutes ago to pick up my car. I dropped it off this morning and had new tires put on. I’ll grab a sandwich and the car. Then return here and testify. I’ll see you back at the house.”

  Logan stepped out into a sweet spring day. Not a cloud in the sky and only a slight breeze. He decided to see if Rick Mabry was available. They’d graduated from the same patrol class in Atlanta. Both gravitated back to their hometowns. Rick made lieutenant a few months ago and ran a squad room not two blocks from the county courthouse.

  He dialed the number. “Hey, Rick, it’s Logan. I wrapped up testifying and wanted to see if you were free for lunch.”

  “Perfect timing. Ensenada okay? Order me the daily. I’m leaving now.”

  “Will do. See you in five.”

  Logan cut around the corner and entered the restaurant. He grabbed a booth and ordered two iced teas and two daily specials. By the time the chips and salsa arrived, Rick slid in across from him.

  “How’s Fountain Valley these days?”

  Rick shoveled a few chips in. “Busy morning. Had to deal with an EEOC discrimination charge, so I spent a couple hours in HR. I think it’s all settled. How about you?”

  Logan grinned. “Got the number of signatures I needed and paid my filing fee. I’m officially a candidate in the May election. You might be sitting with the next chief of police in the Springs.”

  Rick let out a low whistle. “That’s awesome. You have what it takes to lead a department, Logan. You start campaigning yet?”

  “No.” He laughed. “I know I’ll need signs. I moved enough of them around twenty years ago. Might as well give other enterprising teens the same opportunity.”

  Rick thought about it. “Set up some informational meetings. You know, your ideas on what you’d change. And a website is a must. Maybe some flyers. And tweet. A lot.”

  “I met an author recently. I know she has a website. Maybe I can pick her brain about how to engage voters through social media.”

  His friend’s eyes gleamed. “A she? Who’s this author? And why would she take up with a sorry SOB like you?”

  “It’s Karlyn Campbell, the—”

  “—mystery writer. No way! She’s amazing. Even keeps me guessing till the end.” He eyed Logan. “And those back cover photos? Scalding hot, bro. Those brilliant green eyes scream fuck me, baby.” Rick studied him. “So you know her well enough to pick her brain? You’ve been holding out on me, Warner.”

  Logan shrugged. “We’ve had dinner a couple of times.”

  Rick leaned across the table and punched him on the shoulder. “Dinners. Yeah.”

  The server arrived with their platters, preventing Logan from answering. His friend doused the entire meal with salsa while Logan busied himself buttering a corn tortilla and rolling it up.

  The men ate in silence a few moments, savoring the best Mexican food in the area.

  “I think it’s good you’re having dinner with a lady.”

  Logan raised his eyebrows.

  “Seriously. It’s been a long time
between dates. You need to get out more. Hell, I can’t wait to tell Hildy you’ve been seeing Karlyn Campbell.”

  Before Logan could reply, Rick’s phone buzzed. He busied himself with the last bites of his meal while Rick took the call.

  “God, no. Not here. Who did? Okay. Be there in ten. Don’t let him talk to anyone but Brady and Malone. I’ll check the crime scene first and then come back to see how the interview went.” Rick ended the call and sat there, an odd look on his face.

  “Bad news?”

  His friend grimaced. “Looks like Roy G. Biv has hit Fountain Valley. An art teacher didn’t report for work this morning. Didn’t call in for a sub. Wasn’t answering her phone. Her principal went to her house to check on her. Saw the body through the window, in all its painted glory.”

  Rick tossed his napkin on the table. He pulled out a twenty and dropped it there. “I got it. You up for heading over there with me?”

  “Sure.”

  It was the first—and last—thing Logan wanted to do.

  Chapter 17

  Silence permeated the car. Logan took slow, even breaths. Murders rarely occurred in these little havens outside Atlanta. Detectives handled burglaries. Drugs. A few sexual assaults. If he’d been a patrolman in the Springs, he might’ve cleared wrecks or dealt with teenage drinking.

  But murder, here in his neck of the woods, brought a deep unease. And not the drugstore variety of murder. A savvy serial killer who had murdered over and over again.

  This would be his tenth victim.

  Rick pulled into a cul-de-sac, waving at a patrolman moving sawhorses to block vehicles from approaching. Of course, that didn’t stop the foot traffic. Logan saw a crowd of stay-at-home moms and retired citizens already gathered.

  A paunchy officer with a receding hairline met them on the front sidewalk. Mabry made a quick introduction and motioned for a report.

  “Twenty-eight, white, divorced. Taught at Wilson Elementary the last three years. Neighbors said the ex is out of the country working for an oil company—”

  “—in Qatar,” Logan finished. “It’s Jeanine Tyler.”

  The officer nodded. “Cell phone’s ICE had a Walton Springs number. You know her, Detective?”

  “A long time ago. I played high school ball with her brother Gregg. Jeanine was probably ten the last time I saw her. Gregg died in a car accident after we graduated. This’ll be rough for the Tylers. She was the only child left.”

  “Canvas turn up anything?” Rick asked.

  “Not yet. Lady next door said she was a runner. Up about five-thirty most mornings. Said she pounded the pavement like it was her ex’s face. The neighbor said he’d cheated on the vic. She even took back her maiden name after the divorce. Neighbor’s retired, didn’t hear a peep, and she seems the nosy type that would know.”

  “What about Brady and Malone?”

  “Took the principal downtown. He barfed in the bushes after catching sight of the body. Can’t blame him, Loo.”

  The patrolman’s pained face said it all. Logan mentally prepared himself as they moved toward the front door.

  Dread seeped through his veins. In Atlanta he finally realized that he could never get used to it, only hardened. Answer enough calls and even the grisliest scene becomes old hat. He’d throw a switch and automatically be in homicide mode. Couldn’t look at the dead as a person, at least not then. A cold dispassion took over. Study the scene. Think like the killer.

  Only later did he allow himself to think of the vic as a person. Someone who loved and was loved. Someone robbed of time.

  Still, he was glad he was out of practice. He wouldn’t trade going back to that work life in Atlanta in a million years.

  The hum of activity never changed. He let Rick take the lead as they entered. Logan knew the details about Roy’s victims. A macabre interest drove him to read the police reports circulated along with the FBI profiles to local law enforcement. He knew Jeanine would be hand-painted a garish yellow as Roy cycled around the rainbow to his latest innocent.

  An average living room held the requisite sofa, coffee table, and entertainment center. Everything clean and orderly. No newspapers scattered about or clipped coupons or magazines in sight. He remembered Jeanine being neat, her hair always braided, a matching ribbon to her outfit woven into it. She hadn’t been a grubby child with skinned knees or untucked shirts. Obviously, she hadn’t changed as an adult.

  Logan soldiered on behind Rick, down a hallway. A small bedroom converted into a study came first, followed by the master bedroom at the end of the passage. As they stepped inside, both men automatically reached into their pockets to slip on gloves.

  The amount of blood surprised him. Roy had strangled some of the previous vics with piano wire, a rather neat way to leave a crime scene. Some had been tortured with a knife, but Roy was careful. No arterial spray. Yet this scene had a huge amount of blood spatter. Blood soaked the mussed bed covers, as well. Jeanine lay atop them, her nude body coated in bright yellow paint. He watched the ME check the body and had to look away, saddened at the end the neat little girl came to.

  He forced himself to look at the wall next to the bed. High above the headboard glared the killer’s trademark signature. A tongue fastened to the wall with what would undoubtedly be a knife from the kitchen. This detail had been held from the press, kept in reserve so only law enforcement knew about it. At least until the last murder. The leak hadn’t been discovered yet, but a reporter had made it public.

  One difference leaped at Logan. He looked back at the body on the bed. Jeanine’s eyes were missing.

  Mabry nudged him. “The knife matches a steak set from the kitchen. What do you make about the eyes? He hasn’t taken trophies before. You think he’s escalating?”

  Logan voiced a thought. “What if it’s not Roy this time, Rick? What if we have a copycat on our hands?”

  Rick’s mouth tightened. “Hard to say. They still can’t find any link between the vics. Usually, the pattern becomes evident with this many killed, but not with Roy. He’s killed male and female, every race. All ages.”

  The ME snapped off his gloves. “I’d place TOD between midnight and two this morning, based on lividity and her body temp. Throat was slashed, probably with her own knife. Roy hit a major artery, hence our Jackson Pollack display.” The examiner’s mouth hardened. “He’s changing things up, gentlemen. And that’s not good.”

  They stayed a few more minutes before Rick said he wanted to get back and talk to the principal. They drove in silence, each man lost in his thoughts.

  Logan knew serial killers hit a point where they began to unravel. It looked as if Roy had reached that place in his lengthy crime spree.

  Someone had to stop him. Soon.

  Karlyn laced up her running shoes and stretched. She pocketed her cell and keys and started out. The morning smelled fresh, crisp after a shower last evening. She wove her way through residential streets before moving toward town.

  A coal black Lab fell into step with her. He startled her the first time he did so, but they’d become regular running buddies since she’d been in Walton Springs. Karlyn checked his tags and took him home the first time it happened, but his owner Jonas Watkins explained that Hugo loved to run.

  “Belongs to my son, actually. He got transferred overseas for a year. I try to walk him, but Hugo moves too fast for me.” Jonas patted the Lab’s head. “He’s a good boy. Roams a bit, but he always comes home.”

  After that, Karlyn didn’t mind the friendly dog’s company. She always made sure to loop by Jonas’s house to return the dog. Hugo would fall out and rush up to the door. More often than not, Jonas sat on the porch, sipping an iced tea, and shouted his thanks.

  She rounded a stretch that headed up to Main Street. She spied Logan and wondered why he was out before six
in the morning. He looked her way, a deep frown crossing his brow.

  “What side of the bed did you crawl out of?” she tossed out jokingly as she approached.

  Karlyn would’ve kept going, but Logan stepped out and blocked her way. She came to an abrupt halt, Hugo running ahead and then circling back, his tail wagging impatiently. She jogged in place, not wanting to interrupt her rhythm.

  “Don’t tell me you’re out here at this time every morning,” he ground out.

  “No. Sometimes, earlier. Sometimes, I write first and then run mid-afternoon. I don’t have a set time. Why?”

  “Stop!” Logan put his hands on her shoulders. Karlyn quit moving.

  “What’s wrong?”

  His fingers dug into her shoulders. “That hurts,” she told him. She took a step back. Hugo froze at her tone and stared quizzically at Logan, his head cocked at an angle.

  “Don’t you ever listen to the news? Didn’t you hear what happened yesterday?”

  Karlyn drew a blank. “No. Chris and I kicked around some ideas last night since he’s leaving around noon today. I didn’t catch the news.”

  Logan expelled an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his coal black hair. “A Rainbow Murder happened in the next town. Fountain Valley. A teacher whose little kids aren’t going to understand why she’s not in her classroom anymore. I saw her body, Karlyn. It wasn’t pretty.”

  “But why are you mad at me? Maybe I’m slow in the mornings, Logan. What’s the connection?”

  “She was a runner. Ran each morning.”

  “So?”

  “So? Maybe Roy watched her. Saw she always ran alone. You shouldn’t do that. The Springs gives people a sense of false security. But if the Rainbow Killer struck a few miles from here, he could hit here, too. Hell, he could live here for all we know.”