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  Dr. Krieger lowered the rest of the sheet, as the familiar “Y” incision was more noticeable. “Yes, Detective. Most people jump feet first off a building…this girl, as you can see, landed face-first.”

  “Ouch.” Patrick wrinkled his face.

  “Ouch is right.” She touched several deep lacerations on the woman’s scalp and lower right side. “Detective Morgan, these were caused by a very sharp object in excess of four inches.” The medical examiner peeled back the flesh, exposing the protruding organs. “Come closer…you see the wound and where the organ was struck—”

  “Her lung.” Patrick exhaled.

  She nodded. “This wound would slow her down…considerably.”

  Dr. Krieger rolled Azure Sutaki onto her side. “You see this? An exact duplicate wound…this time piercing the kidney.”

  “Which of them happened first?”

  She pointed to a gash on Azure’s head. “This one did…the girl tried to run but was already bleeding significantly, then the killer struck her again, this time in the lung…ending any further resistance.”

  Patrick stared at his supervisor. “She never had a chance.”

  Dr. Krieger looked up. “But we do have one thing the killer left behind.”

  Cromartie smiled. “The bastard left some blood at the scene?”

  The medical examiner held up the right hand of Azure Sutaki. “Take a look here…underneath her fingernails.”

  Both investigators leaned closer.

  “Is that what I think it is?”

  “I’m running some DNA tests on a small sample I took earlier, Detective Morgan. She was out there a while, and in really damp conditions. I’m hopeful, after we get the results back, we’ll enough to get a match.” Dr. Krieger looked down into the abyss that once was the face of a woman filled with life.

  The three finished discussion on how Azure Sutaki spent her final moments, as Patrick Morgan kept thinking, Why was she on the roof that time of night, and more importantly, who was with her?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Donovan Petrie adjusted the red and blue tie. He looked up from his monitor and scanned the room, eyeing several of the other employees. They appeared to be drawn to their workstations, like worker honeybees gathering nectar for their Queen. This hive, however, was governed by a King. A soon to be dead king.

  Brandon Thornley had given him a leadership position and authority over this motley collection of security consultants. He had praised Donovan’s talents to the company board. It had been a unanimous decision to place Donovan in charge of assessing viable threats Langston Security Solutions would encounter, both here and abroad. This would be the perfect cover for him, especially when the local authorities found Brandon tied up in ritualistic fashion, like all of his other conquests. Almost too perfect of a plan.

  Donovan had the distinct feeling he was being watched, and this disturbed him. He turned ever so slightly, locating his new admirer. The majority of most men would consider her to be a rather homely woman. The tousled red hair, thick brown-rimmed glasses, and her poor fashion sense would, without a doubt, put her first in line for a makeover with all of the women’s leading magazines. But for Donovan, he saw something unique and alluring. He made eye contact with her, but she quickly looked away. The only other female who he remembered staring at him like this was Tamara, the petite bookseller. That was a true waste.

  He turned back to his computer screen and brought up the administrative option menu. Donovan typed in his password. A list of administration privileges appeared, then he clicked on a folder labeled Employee Profiles. His eyes lit up as he scrolled through the various pictures of his new employees. Donovan stopped when he found the photo matching the girl across the room. He scoured the onscreen information. The woman was not only physically intriguing; she had quite an academic background, which would intimidate even the most senior leadership in the organization. Brandon seems to hire all the best. Alexis Loggins was someone Donovan wanted to get to know very well. A few quick clicks of the mouse, and he had a color picture of her, along with her biographical detail. Donovan stuffed the paperwork into a brown folder and shoved it his laptop bag. Research for later.

  He finished a few more tasks Brandon had requested and was about to leave for the day when his cell phone vibrated. He glanced down at the screen. Shit, I almost forgot about that. Donovan logged off and collected his things. He typed a quick message in return and hurried towards the door. Donovan took one more glance at the red-haired woman as she instinctively looked up. A thin smile escaped from her. A very intriguing woman indeed.

  * * *

  Embassy Bistro was where the men and women of Langston Security Solutions would congregate for their after work gossip and take part in a libation or two. The company had added the establishment to their private food court, in hopes of promoting “the people who work hard together should play hard together” motto. Donovan spotted Brandon sitting at a table towards the rear of the eatery. He fought through several people crowding the bar until making it to his supervisor’s table.

  Brandon laughed. “You never want to get between our employees and alcohol. A combination good does not make.”

  Alcohol is a weakness of mine. Donovan slipped off his jacket. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll have to bring my stun gun with me next time.” Why’s he got makeup on his face? Definitely egotistical.

  Brandon flashed a devilish grin. “Ah, my favorite toy, as well.”

  That was a weird statement. “Thanks for inviting me.” Donovan raised his hand to get the waitress’s attention. He ordered a Blue Hawaiian for himself and a Long Island Ice Tea for Brandon.

  Brandon chuckled. “Nice choice. You want me to call her back and make sure she doesn’t forget the umbrella?”

  “Ouch, boss.”

  Brandon tapped him on the arm. “Just screwing with you…and another thing, while we are here, call me Brandon. I consider this place informal.”

  I’d rather call you “dead man.” Donovan nodded. “I’m all for informal.”

  The dark-haired waitress returned with the drinks. Brandon slipped her a few bills.

  He raised his glass. “Well, let’s make a toast…to new beginnings.”

  More like tragic endings. Donovan raised his glass in return. “New beginnings, it is.”

  The two indulged in several conversations, ranging from family to retirement. Two hours and three Blue Hawaiians later, Donovan was actually enjoying the man’s company. He started to rise up from his chair when a picture of the deceased Marty Brocklin flashed on the LCD screen above the bar. Donovan leaned closer and heard the following.

  New Haven Police uncovered a grisly scene earlier this evening when they were summoned to the residence at 617 Evergreen. Police say at 5:30 p.m., the woman living at this address identified as Lacey Steen came home and discovered the body of her boyfriend, one Marty Brocklin. He was thirty-nine years old and a long-time resident of New Haven. EyeSpot 5 News has heard from an unidentified source the crime scene appeared to look like something out of a modern-day horror film. New Haven Police Detectives continue to investigate at this hour, still searching for leads in this frightening discovery. I asked around the neighborhood, and a majority of the residents described Marty Brocklin as a quiet man who kept to himself. Again, to repeat the breaking news, Marty Brocklin, age thirty-nine, found dead tonight on the city’s lower East side. Stay tuned for further developments. This is Rich Wolf for EyeSpot 5 News.

  Donovan watched as the screen went back to scheduled programming. Doesn’t appear anyone saw me. He slipped on his jacket.

  Brandon stood up. “Wow. You know, I spent several years in law enforcement, and the world just gets crazier every day. Seems like we just become more animalistic as time passes.”

  “Some people are probably born that way.” Donovan felt a little woozy. Way too much rum.

  Brandon eyed his new friend with interest. “Born evil…you mean?”

  I know one person who w
as. “Probably not. I’m a little drunk, so don’t pay any attention to my ramblings.”

  Brandon smiled. “No, I think you’re correct. Some people are destined to do good…while others are on the opposite of the spectrum.”

  No lecture, please. “Comic book good versus evil?”

  “Donovan, don’t you ever get the urge just to do bad things?”

  You’ll soon know. “Like running a stop light?”

  Brandon put a hand around his shoulder as they walked to the front of the establishment. “Worse. I was thinking more like…hurting somebody on purpose.”

  Deep fucking thoughts from a closet sociopath. “Maybe once or twice.” Donovan’s face was serious.

  “It’s like a hunger, Donovan…a hunger that can’t be satiated.” Brandon Thornley’s eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store.

  Donovan stepped into the fresh air. “Don’t let people hear you say that too loud…they might think you’re some deranged killer.” He laughed.

  Brandon returned the gesture. “I would have a perfect cover though.”

  I know I’m nuts, but this guy has actually thought this out. Donovan lit a cigar. “It’s time for us both to get the hell out of here. We both are just a little intoxicated.”

  “Until tomorrow then?”

  Offer him a ride home and kill him. Donovan raised his cigar. Too soon, no alibi. “Tomorrow it is.”

  “Hey, you need a lift?” Brandon jingled his keys.

  “Thanks, but…I don’t have far to go. I should be asking if you need a ride.”

  Brandon placed his hands in front of him and pretended he was handcuffed. “Don’t arrest me, Mr. Officer.”

  Not exactly what I was thinking. “Get out of here.” Donovan waved as he started walking away from his supervisor.

  It was thought provoking how Brandon had been almost full of excitement when he mentioned hurting people and having a hunger that couldn’t be met. Brandon Thornley sounded like he had a dark secret hiding underneath, and Donovan was curious to find it out what it was.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Even though the local weather channel had issued a winter storm warning, and the snow was falling with reckless abandon, Ravine’s Goldmine had a line extending from its front entrance, through the parking lot, and finally ending on the adjacent street. The patrons were in attendance for the casino’s annual Winter Giveaway Extravaganza. The marketing and advertising experts had given it this name in hopes that more novice gamblers would pay more attention to the “giveaway” part and try their luck to win millions. In past years, the casino would draw people from all over the Midwest to attend, but due to the slow economy, this year’s staple was mostly in-state clientele.

  I’d just throw my money at the place as I drove by. Patrick Morgan was here because an unidentified caller contacted the office. They reported the late Azure Sutaki was seen playing the slots in the accompaniment of a local attorney on the night of her death. A New Haven Patrol Officer had originally responded to check on the lead, but the management of the casino had been persistent in speaking with a detective about a possible suspect. Here I am. Drugs and prostitutes usually lead to bigger things.

  Patrick glared at the anxious mob as he pushed towards the security booth. Several people gave him looks of disdain. One even offered to engage him in a physical altercation. Patrick pointed to his badge. The man suddenly vanished within the sea of people. The detective stopped at the security booth and fished out his credentials. A pock-marked security officer leaned forward to get a better visual. He mumbled something into his hand-held microphone. A few seconds later, another security team member arrived and escorted him off to the side. Patrick smiled. He tried to make conversation, but the man just stood there in silence. A few minutes later, the casino owner herself was walking towards him.

  What did I do to deserve this honor? Constance Ravine had the looks and body most women in their mid-forties would die for. Her silky, dark hair and slender figure suited her well. She was dressed for the holidays: her red gown highlighted her physique with perfection. A slit down each side exposed her tanned flesh. Style was one aspect of Constance Ravine’s life that needed little improvement. Patrick’s wife had shown him an article in the New Haven Minute, which spotlighted Constance and her rise to success. The woman was the heir to one of the largest clothing designers in the United States.

  Tiomaotta, Incorporated, was known for supplying attire for famous actors and actresses. The various lines and fashions were becoming all the rage, and soon, the company would become global. Constance had been groomed from birth to take over, but after she completed her fashion degree and spent a few years in the business, she lost her desire for it. Her late-night binge drinking and vicious gambling habit at various casinos catapulted her interest in the industry. It was enough to move her away from the East and create another path for her life.

  Constance used a portion of her earnings to open Ravine’s, and since it’s inception, the business had flourished at an alarming rate. The addition of V.I.P. suites for select guests was something Constance wanted, but her many high-dollar clients also had a strong taste for beautiful women. This put prostitution and illegal drugs into play, and of course, Constance had a take in all the proceeds.

  Constance had a devastating smile; it almost made Patrick Morgan lose sight why he was there.

  She offered a firm handshake. “Follow me, Detective.” She looked past him and through the windows as they walked. “Look at those wonderful people tonight. Should be a gala of a time. All this money…just ready to be given away.”

  Don’t you mean collected? Patrick followed her to the elevator, noticing the dress clinging tightly as she moved. “Well, you can’t win if you don’t play.” Patrick chuckled.

  She flipped her hair back, exposing her neckline. “How true, dear Mr. Policeman.”

  Constance stopped the elevator on the top floor and escorted him to a large conference room. It was set up much like most executives would have done, but the flavor was unique with the multiple video displays and a fully stocked bar. She pulled out a chair for him as she grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses.

  He raised a hand. “None for me. I stopped drinking a few years ago.”

  She cracked a devilish grin. “Tsk, tsk. I surely don’t want to be responsible for you falling off the wagon.” She tipped the bottle filling both glasses. “Just more for me, then.” Constance winked.

  Patrick pulled out the black and white photo of Azure Sutaki. He set it down on the table so Constance had no choice but to stare into the dead girl’s eyes. “Ms. Ravine, what can you tell me about her?”

  Constance ran her finger along the edges of the goblet. “Azure was going to school and needed a job, so I hired her as a slot attendant.”

  A play on words if there ever was one. “Most of your slot machine employees don’t end up dead, do they?”

  Constance took a long sip of the wine. “No. The girl also did some dancing for some of our prestigious clients.”

  Slot attendant and dancing don’t really go together. “So, you hired her as a stripper?”

  “No, we don’t employ strippers here, Detective.” She stood up and walked behind the bar, bending to search through a cabinet drawer.

  The slit in her dress made it near impossible for Patrick to look away. Intimacy between him and Coral had been non-existent since Kelsey had gotten worse. It would be so easy to take what Constance was offering, but a picture of his girls at home flashed through his head, sending him back to reality.

  Constance was trying hard, though. She bent down even further to give him a better view. “I also own the Night of Pleasure party service…if you didn’t know.” She removed a pink folder. She stood up and sauntered over. Constance slapped the file on the table. “If consenting adults want to play…I certainly don’t intend to stop them.” She adjusted her dress in a playful way. “Detective Morgan, I’m a sucker for anything resembling romance.” She took another dri
nk.

  Very convenient to have another business. Patrick shook his head. “So between Ms. Sutaki’s duties here and with her other job, which you also employ her…she ends up dead?”

  Constance finished off the first glass. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you, Detective. I got a telephone call a few nights ago. The man wanted two Asian ladies for a party he was hosting downtown. At the last minute, he decides to rent one of our suites here to conduct the festivities.”

  Patrick scratched his brow. “Isn’t that a conflict of interest for you?”

  Constance smiled. “Depends how you look at it. The man was willing to pay for both of my services, so I have no regrets on making money. However, in retrospect, if I had the option to go back in time, I wouldn’t have let her do the party.” She shifted in her seat.

  Too late. She’s dead. “Why do you say that?” Patrick poised his pen above the notebook. “Is that because your actions got her killed?”

  “I’m not responsible for her death. I have…many girls who work for me. I’ve never had a problem—”

  “Until now.”

  “Yes, until now. She didn’t jump off that roof.”

  She seems to know something. “What do you think happened?”

  Constance brought the other goblet to her lips, pausing before she drank. “The man who had the party was also a regular customer at the casino. I saw them talking several times when Azure should have been working.”

  Patrick flipped a page of the pad. “Did you witness any altercations or anything odd?”

  Constance took a deep drink from the glass, then shook her head. “Nothing direct, but the guy gave me goose bumps every time I saw him.”

  “You got a name for me?” Let’s see how important money is to her.

  “Collin Glover. I know he works in the legal field.”

  Patrick had seen billboards of the man scattered throughout New Haven, so he wasn’t surprised when he heard his name mentioned. “So, Mr. Glover and Azure were dating?”