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  “Sir, the apartment belongs to a Wheeler Hodges. Commander Cromartie has an All Points Bulletin out for him. Doesn’t look like he’s been here in a while.”

  “Probably not, but you never know.” Patrick patted him on the shoulder. He barely was inside the apartment when the combination of spilled blood and stale vomit made his nostrils flare.

  “Detective Morgan, glad you could join us tonight.” Commander Cromartie’s towering figure came out from another adjoining room. The former defensive lineman from Iowa State stared down at Patrick.

  “Yes, sir. I wouldn’t want to miss the chance to get in on this,” Patrick lied, knowing the Commander could sense bullshit sincerity a mile away.

  “Come over here. I hope you got your big boy panties on. This is one fucked-up crime scene. Dumb ass even left the murder weapon on the table—”

  “What?” Patrick looked puzzled.

  “Yes, you heard right…not too bright a guy that did this.” Cromartie threw a small bundle at him. “Put these on, and follow me. Be careful…damn lights are burnt out.”

  Patrick slipped into the white plastic shoe covers. The investigators stopped in front of a partially broken kitchen door.

  ”You ready for this?” Cromartie removed the mini-light from his belt.

  Patrick nodded.

  “Here we go, then.” The senior investigator pushed open the door, aiming the flashlight towards the center of the room.

  Patrick saw the outline of the square table, and the knife Cromartie had mentioned was close to falling off the edge. “Holy shit,” he whispered.

  The new source of light was a welcomed comfort since the only other illumination came from four dark candles placed on the floor surrounding the victim. Showcasing his prey, Patrick thought. The naked body of a once-beautiful woman was sitting chained to a wooden chair. Patrick inched closer, trying to step over the pools of blood. He stopped a few feet away from the young woman, almost overpowered by the stench of the dead.

  Leaning down, he shook his head in disbelief. No fucking way. This crime was heinous enough, but with the addition of his next discovery, the bar was raised for what was truly sinister. There were matching circular wounds on the top of each foot with streaks of red marking the path of each puncture on her skin. Patrick could barely see the steel tip of the nail heads. She never had a chance.

  “Did you see this shit?”

  Cromartie wiped a hand over his wrinkled brow. “Bastard used a nail gun. That’s just plain fucking evil.”

  Patrick reached into his jacket, pulling out a plastic evidence bag. “Hey, take a look at this.”

  “What is that?” Cromartie raised his eyebrows.

  “Looks like a piece of meat, maybe the remains of our killer’s dinner.” Patrick made sure he had the latex gloves on before he scooped it up and slid it inside the plastic. The CSI geeks would be more than a little pissed if he ruined their chances of collecting the killer’s DNA.

  “Geesh, are you kidding? He stopped to have a goddamn lunch break before he killed her—“

  “Unless he fed it to her, for some reason,” Patrick said, staring at the chains imprisoning the woman.

  “Yeah, right. I’m betting Hodges hasn’t cleaned this shit hole since he moved in.” Cromartie pointed in the direction of the bag. “That has probably been there for months.”

  “Maybe.” Something caught his eye, and he bent closer. “Whoa, boss, look at these chains.” Patrick motioned for Commander Cromartie to join him. “Take a look right there. Some other metal appears to be intertwined with the chain…do you see that?”

  Cromartie leaned in. “What in the hell is it?”

  “From the looks of it, I would say it’s barbwire.”

  “Barbwire?”

  “Yes, it looks like something the killer put together himself.” Patrick pointed to several lacerations on the victim’s wrists. He stared at the fingernails of the dead girl. Manicured and very well taken care of, he thought.

  Cromartie ripped off his tie and stuffed it inside his front suit pocket. “A fucking creative killer who did well in shop class with nail guns and barbwire? What the hell…”

  “Commander, this place is a mess. Odds are when he slashed her throat that blood got on him as well.” Patrick reached over with a gloved hand and inspected the knife. ”Okay…why leave this at the scene?”

  “Because, Morgan…the freak is insane and could give a rat’s ass about getting caught.”

  “Then, sir, there should be some nice juicy fingerprints just waiting to be discovered on this,” Patrick said, lowering the evidence into a brown paper bag.

  “Morgan, I’ll get the night shift patrol officers checking the local bars, and we might as well check the twenty-four-hour superstores. Mr. Hodges, if he is responsible, may be recognized by the clerks.”

  Patrick shrugged. “By the looks of the place, boss, Hodges isn’t coming back.”

  “You’re probably right, but he’s still the only lead we have.”

  “Something else. The dead girl isn’t from around this part of town, either. She has a recent manicure, and the polish looks to be the expensive type.”

  “Prostitute?” Cromartie cocked his head.

  Not surprised he would say that, Patrick thought. “No. Besides being in this place, she doesn’t fit the kind of girl someone around here could afford.”

  “Morgan, she’s from somewhere.”

  “And when we found out where, maybe that will tell us how she ended up here.”

  Chapter Four

  Brandon Thornley pushed his way through the glass double doors of Langston Security Solutions. It was recently rated one of the largest threat assessment trouble shooters in the Midwest and was becoming the dominant force in the security industry. The majority of people living in New Haven believed it was only a matter of time before the organization outgrew the mid-sized city and decided to relocate.

  It was this background working as a federal law enforcement investigator that made him Langston’s best choice for their open position of security director. That was over ten years ago, and since then, he had made quite a name for himself. The countless magazine articles, radio interviews, and online blogs had propelled him to the top of the industry.

  Brandon made his way to the oversized security desk. The red and green garland was strung from one side to the other. Former New Haven Police Officers Monty York and Trisha Gregory alternated between checking identification badges and providing visitors with much-needed information. Monty was a twenty-year veteran of the department, and his stocky build made Brandon think of his instructor at the law enforcement academy. Trisha Gregory was a petite woman in her late twenties and a recent victim of sexual harassment from her former department. Brandon honestly liked the two.

  “What’s the good word, troops? I see we decorated.” Brandon smiled.

  “Sir, did you see the newspaper this morning?” Trisha ignored his comment on the holiday décor.

  “No, I was busy with the office in Sacramento. What did I miss?”

  Trisha’s small frame stepped out from behind the desk. “Mr. Thornley, there was a murder last night. It’s been the morning buzz around here.”

  The city always has murders, Brandon thought. “Ah, morning gossip for all.”

  Monty York reached behind the desk and retrieved a folded copy of the New Haven Minute. He snapped it open, pointing to the headline. “Right there, boss.”

  Brandon skimmed the news story with interest. That’s why I bury the bodies. “That’s not too far away,” he said.

  “About eight minutes south. We used to have drug calls all the time.” Monty shook his head. “First murder there in a while, though.”

  Monty will have some information for me. Brandon glanced over at Trisha. “I want to talk to Monty upstairs…it won’t be long.”

  Trisha knew when she was being left out but was well aware her supervisor did have a stronger bond with Monty.

  “Okay, sir.”r />
  Brandon flashed a smile. “Not long, I promise.”

  The two men turned down the hall and entered a private elevator. A few minutes later, they were sitting in Brandon’s office on the fiftieth floor.

  “Monty, so there’s more to this murder than the paper is reporting?”

  Monty leaned forward in his chair. “You know there always is, but you’re not gonna believe this.”

  If you only knew, Brandon thought. “Well, share with the class…please.”

  Monty gripped the sides of the chair. “My friend who runs the Crime Scene Identification Unit was even freaked out.”

  “That bad?”

  “He said the crime scene looked like some sort of ritual. Candles all around the dead girl.” Monty cringed. “That’s not all…her feet were nailed to the floor.”

  Interesting technique, Brandon thought. “It does sound gruesome.”

  Monty grew red in the face, shot up from his chair. “The bastard didn’t stop there, sir. He slashed the poor girl’s throat…like she was some filthy pig going to slaughter.”

  Brandon appreciated the man’s emotion. I could never feel like that. “Anything else your friend told you?”

  “Yes, apparently the killer left the murder weapon at the scene—”

  “What?” This guy really wanted to get caught, Brandon thought.

  “Damn straight. He left it there. I just don’t get that.” Monty tapped at his head.

  “Well, tell your friend if their investigators need the video from our exterior cameras, I would be happy to help.”

  Monty nodded. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. He won’t be too happy I told you, though.”

  “I can keep a secret if you can.” Brandon put a finger to his lips.

  “I didn’t do well with the one I just told you.” Monty forced a smile.

  “True, but sooner or later, everything you just said will show up in the media anyway…don’t you think?” Brandon cocked his head.

  “Yes, sir. You have a point there.”

  Brandon peeked at his watch. Time to get rid of my guest. ”Monty, I have a meeting in a few minutes. Head back down to your partner and give her a hand.” Brandon waved as Monty exited the office.

  When he was alone, Brandon eased the desk open and pulled out the black piece of headwear. It was worn, but he didn’t care. The mask was part of him, and he needed it.

  Brandon laid it on the table as he booted up his desktop and logged in. Great to have such resources. With just a few clicks of the mouse, a list of his favorite web sites appeared. He double-clicked one in particular, and his home page was replaced with a green screen requesting his password. After his access was approved, Brandon typed in the name of person he was looking for. Thirty seconds later, a picture of a middle-aged woman, along with her current address, was staring back at him.

  Brandon ran his fingers along the outline of the woman’s picture, and a chill went through his body. Hello, Cindy. I can’t wait to finally meet you…

  Chapter Five

  Detective Patrick Morgan took a sip of the hot chocolate, scrutinizing the statement of Thomas Quinn. The senior citizen was the first person to discover the girl’s body, and so far, his written account of the event was less than helpful. Patrick tossed the useless paper into his inbox. Maybe later this mumbo-jumbo will make more sense. He stepped out from his cubicle in time to see Commander Cromartie heading his way.

  Oh, great…what does he want?

  Cromartie handed him a folded piece of yellow paper. “Morgan, just got a call from Missing Persons. They received a report of a girl fitting our victim. Get over there, and get a statement.”

  “You coming?”

  “I have to meet with the Chief. Give me a call if it’s anything,” Cromartie said.

  Patrick flipped open the paper. Hmm, very expensive neighborhood. “I told you she didn’t belong in that part of town.” Patrick smiled.

  “Yeah, yeah, do you want me to bow to your fucking brilliance?” Cromartie turned and walked off.

  * * *

  Patrick parked the unmarked car on the adjacent street in front of 5830 Alpine Avenue. A second unmarked Ford pulled up behind. The driver approached him.

  “Detective Morgan, I’m Detective Steve Wilson…from Missing Persons.”

  He exited the car, extending his hand. “Call me Patrick. Can you give me a little intel before we go in there?”

  “Sure, we got a call from a Serena Owens. She reported her live-in girlfriend, Jamie Brooks, hasn’t been home in two days. Serena says she left here wearing a white trench coat with a red sweater and blue jeans.”

  “The girl was found nude. CSI team didn’t find any clothes in the apartment.” Patrick rubbed his day-old beard.

  “Serena also said Jamie’s parents have been leaving messages on the machine, wondering why she hasn’t returned calls.” Steve Wilson shrugged. “A coincidence?”

  “Maybe it’s not? Let’s see if we can get anymore from her.”

  Patrick followed the other investigator to the front steps. Patrick knocked, and the dark-haired athletic figure of Serena Owens was soon in the doorway.

  “Ms. Owens, I’m Detective Morgan, and this is Detective Wilson. We need to ask you a few questions about your roommate.”

  Serena’s eyes appeared bloodshot. “Yes, please come in. Sorry I look like a mess.”

  Patrick smiled. “No problem. I’m sure it’s been a difficult time.”

  “Yes. She hasn’t called, and I can’t sleep knowing she may be hurt.” Serena led the detectives through a massive hallway and into an untidy, windowless dining area. Motioning for them to take a seat, she took an active role to clean the area.

  Patrick decided it was best to let her keep herself busy while they conducted the interview. The girl is on the edge of a breakdown.

  “Serena, this won’t take long…just a few questions to follow up on what you told the officer over the phone.” Patrick flipped over to a clean page on his legal pad. “Has Jamie lived here long?”

  “We moved in over three months ago. I bought the place for us,” Serena said, straightening the newspapers on the table.

  Rich girl buys her lover a house, Patrick thought. “Did she have any ex-boyfriends or girlfriends who might be jealous of your relationship?”

  “We both dated several men and women before we finally got together.”

  Patrick jotted down a few lines. “Okay, anything out of the ordinary happen lately? Maybe an ex-boyfriend or girlfriend contacting either of you out of the blue, for no particular reason?”

  Serena, finished with her cleaning façade, finally sat down. “Well, I can only remember one thing, but it didn’t seem like anything…”

  “Go ahead; tell me what you can.” Patrick touched her arm.

  “Last Friday, I came home from running errands and noticed a strange tan car in our driveway—”

  “You remember what kind?” Patrick’s pen was poised.

  “It was older…reminded me of the ones the state troopers used to drive.”

  Chevy Caprice, Patrick thought. “Okay, anything else?”

  Serena wrung her hands. “Yes, the driver said he was lost and just pulled in to turn around. I got a bad feeling from him… you know what I mean?”

  Yes, I do. A person’s first instinct should be taken seriously, and Patrick wanted to dig deeper. “Can you remember what he looked like?” Patrick glanced at Steve Wilson.

  “I’m sorry…things are just a little fuzzy.” Serena shook her head.

  “I know…but try if you can.”

  Serena sighed and clutched at her hair. “One thing that stuck out was the color of his skin.”

  Wilson leaned in. “You mean his race?”

  She shook her head. “No, I mean the color of his face…it was like really pale. Looked like he was sick or something.”

  Patrick scrawled a few notes on the pad. “Let’s stop for now, Serena. Just one more thing before we take off, okay?
”

  “Yes, Detective?”

  “We want to take a quick look at Jamie’s and your room. Is that okay?” Patrick smiled. “There might be something there to help us understand why she’s gone.”

  “If it’ll help find her, I’ll do anything you ask.” Serena wiped at a tear. She almost stumbled as she led the two investigators up the ivory staircase. Serena opened a set of cherry wood doors.

  Patrick stared at the interior with envy. The two women had spared no expense on their pleasure, and the life-sized sculptures of mythical goddesses were example of this. The romantic setting did possess an oddity or two. All the walls were black and white checkered and covered with framed prints of another mythical being.

  The girls must like pink, Patrick thought. He made quick eye contact with the other investigator, as Serena smiled at the curious gesture.

  “Yes, Jamie loves pink unicorns so much, she went out and got a tattoo of this one.” She pointed to one of the pictures.

  “Excuse me, Serena…a tattoo?” Patrick stared at the cartoon-like design.

  She turned around and tapped the back of her neck. “Yes, right here. It’s just a small one, though. Pretty hard to see if you’re not looking for it.”

  Shit! Patrick had inspected the victim, and there weren’t any signs of tattoos or any other body art on her. “Serena, is that her only tattoo?”

  Serena blushed. “Yes, but there is something else…both of Jamie’s nipples…are pierced.”

  Jamie Brooks wasn’t the girl at the apartment, Patrick thought.

  “Serena, can you step out a minute? I want to talk to Detective Wilson.”

  “Sure, I have to call her mom again anyway. If you need me, I’ll be downstairs.”

  Patrick closed the door, in case Serena was still in earshot. “Steve, the girl doesn’t have the piercings or the tattoo. This isn’t her.”

  “Shit. Maybe the killer ripped out the piercings?” Steve grimaced.

  “I was there. Lots of blood, but nothing like that. Let’s talk about the tattoo on her neck.” Patrick reviewed his notes from the murder.