Love you to Death Page 13
Ashley still didn’t understand. “What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s afraid.” Gary stroked Constance’s cheek, his touch a mockery of gentleness.
Constance’s eyes closed in defeat. Ashley didn’t know what to do, so she covered the woman’s chilled fingers with her own, hoping to offer some kind of comfort.
“That’s good. You two are going to get along perfectly. I can tell.” Gary snapped on a pair of rubber gloves and pulled the cloth off the table, revealing a tray filled with gleaming metal surgical instruments.
Next to them lay an equally sinister handgun.
Gary looked across Constance’s body to where Ashley sat. “If you move from that chair, I’ll kill her first, then you. Do you understand?”
No. She didn’t understand any of this, but his threat was clear, as was the fact that he was deadly serious.
Ashley gave a numb nod and squeezed the woman’s hand.
When Gary made the first cut along Constance’s wrist, Ashley screamed right along with her.
Elise was dressed to kill in a short blue dress with way too many tiny buttons holding it closed. It had taken her ten minutes to get the thing on, but it went with the shoes she’d picked out for tonight. They were a bit more sensible—still heels, but they laced up her ankles, so if she had to run in them, at least they wouldn’t fly off her feet.
And the chances she’d need to run were going up by the day.
Elise knew what they were doing was dangerous; she simply didn’t care, not if that’s what it took to find Ashley.
Sally’s was nearly as crowded as it had been the night before. The music seemed louder tonight, the lights brighter. Maybe it was just her fatigue and constant worry that made everything harsher.
Elise shielded her eyes as she made her way across the dance floor toward the bar.
“Let me ask the questions,” said Trent, right by her ear. The feel of his warm breath sweeping over her skin made a shiver run through her limbs.
She was sleeping at his place tonight. She wasn’t sure if it had been smart to agree to that, but she hadn’t been able to tell him no. She hadn’t wanted to even try.
Truth was, she liked the idea a bit too much.
Elise nodded and handed him the photo. She didn’t mind letting him take the lead at all, especially since he hadn’t tried to make her sit at home while he came and did the dirty work himself.
As if she would have let him. He probably guessed as much and saved himself the breath.
Trent slid the photo across the bar toward the bartender they’d spoken to last night. A twenty-dollar bill peeked out from beneath the edge. “Have you seen this man?”
The bartender ignored Trent and smiled at Elise. “Hello, Miss Threesome. What can I get you?”
Elise couldn’t bring herself to flirt with him. “Look at the photo,” she ordered in a cold, no-nonsense tone.
The bartender picked up the photo with the bill, pocketed the money and brought the picture to his face to make it out better in the dim light. A frown pulled his brows together. “Nope. Sorry.”
“Thanks anyway,” said Trent.
The bartender walked away, moving to the end of the bar to wait on another customer.
“Now what?” she asked him, trying to keep the disappointment from her voice.
“Now we go see if the guys you talked to last night are here. I’d like to know if this is the guy Ashley left with.”
“And if it’s not?”
“Then we start looking for the guy who walked her out of here Friday, and hope he can give us something more to go on. He’s likely the last person to have seen her.”
Elise hoped that the man who’d watched Ashley leave had been paying enough attention to tell if the man in the photo had been with her Friday. At least then they’d have another piece of the puzzle.
Trent put his hand at the small of her back and they made their way across the crowded dance floor.
Steve slipped into the back room to make a phone call.
“Yes,” answered Lawrence on the first ring.
“They’re here again, asking questions.”
“I already paid you for that information. I’m not paying again.”
“This time, they have a photo of Gary.”
Steve could practically hear Lawrence giving him his full attention in the stunned silence that followed. “A photo? How?”
“It wasn’t from any of my cameras. I swear. I took care of all that just like you asked.”
“You’d better have been thorough. For your sake.”
“I was. The photo wasn’t very good. I could only see part of his face, but I know it was him. He was standing behind a tree, so most of it was hidden. They don’t know who he is—that’s why they’re asking around.”
“You mean they’re showing that photo to other people?”
“Yeah. Right now. Do you want me to stop them?”
“No, it will only draw unwanted attention. I’ll deal with it.”
“What about my money?” asked Steve.
“You’ll get it.”
The line went dead and Steve hurried back out to the floor. He wanted to keep an eye on that couple, just in case. So far, they’d been worth a small fortune. If he played his cards right, he might be able to cash in even more.
Gary finished the surgeon’s knot, stripped off his gloves and answered his brother’s call. “It’s a little late for a social call, isn’t it?”
“I knew you’d be up. I assume you’ve still got company.”
“In a manner of speaking.” Gary looked down at his creation and smiled. He’d taken the best parts of dozens of women and sewn them together into a beautiful body for Wendy to replace the one crushed in the accident.
The head and the left hand were Wendy’s, dug up after her burial, but the rest had been taken from the women he’d met over the years. Each little stitched slice of flesh was a thrilling reminder of time he’d spent with them. A sweet memory of their fear, their perfection. The pieces fit together in a beautiful patchwork—his wife’s hand stitched to Jackie’s right forearm, stitched to Melinda’s elbow, and so on.
He kept her frozen, taking her out only long enough to use a hair dryer to thaw out whatever part of her was necessary to sew the next bit on. Right now, he was sewing Susan’s left shin into the puzzle.
She fit perfectly, as he knew she would. Only the very best was good enough for Wendy.
“The woman you met at Sally’s. You need to get rid of her.”
“When I’m finished with her.”
“No. Now. Bring her here and I’ll see to her cremation.”
“I thought you said you wouldn’t help me anymore,” said Gary.
“That was when I thought it would make you stop. I understand now that you’ll never stop, will you?”
How could he? How could he abandon his quest to give his wife back what he’d taken from her? The accident had been his fault. Her body had been crushed, ruined. They wouldn’t have even been in the car that night if he’d been more careful with her. Her death was his fault.
Wendy had been the only woman who could make him feel whole and alive. She was meek, submissive, obedient. She never questioned his needs or diluted his pleasure with demands of limits or “safe words.” She put herself in his hands wholly, without reservation or condition. No other woman would ever be as perfect for him as Wendy was. When she’d died, a part of him had died with her, leaving a gaping, hollow spot inside. Some days, the screams of his guests filled up that void, but only some days.
Nothing had filled it today, and he was left aching and desperate for solace.
That’s why he’d come here, to this walk-in freezer where he kept his beloved. She wasn’t finished yet, but adding Susan’s piece would make her more whole. Make him more whole.
“I’m busy tonight,” he told Lawrence. “I can’t come.”
“You’re going to get caught. You’re not being careful enough.”
And there was still Gloria and the hope that she might be the one.
“I’ve got to go now,” said Gary.
“No, wait. Listen to me. You’ve got to be more careful. I know you won’t stop, but you’ve at least got to choose runaways and prostitutes. No one will look for them.”
Gary had started there, but they’d been unclean, soiled. Imperfect. He needed something more—that spark of creativity that Wendy’d had. It wasn’t easy to find, especially among the dregs of society.
“You’re not worried about the women at all, are you?” Gary found that interesting and turned it over in his head, studying it. Maybe he and Lawrence were more alike than he thought.
“I’m worried about our family name. My business, my reputation. No one is going to put their loved one in my care if they find out my brother is a psychopath.”
“So turn me in. You’ll be a hero.”
“It’s too late for that. It was too late for that the first time I cremated one of your victims.”
Lawrence had done it to cover up the murder. Even then, he’d been more worried about his reputation than the law. Lawrence had put her body in with another and no one had ever known.
It was the first time Lawrence had helped him, but she hadn’t been Gary’s first. Sarah Ann was number seven, and she’d been so sweet—so unlike the foul, used-up hookers he’d found up to that point.
Gary slid his finger over Sarah Ann’s frozen neck, remembering how soft her skin had been when she was alive and warm. She’d tried so hard to make him happy, but in the end, the only thing of value she had to offer was her pain and the slender length of her perfect neck.
“I need to go.” He needed to finish his work before the skin froze up again and became too stiff to stitch.
“Promise me you’ll bring the girl out. I’m cremating another body tonight. Hers can go in at the same time.”
“No. I’m not done with Ashley yet. You’ll have to wait.”
“What do you mean you’re not done with her?”
“I need her.”
“For what?”
Lawrence would never understand Gary’s needs, so he didn’t waste his breath trying to explain it. “Good night.”
“Wait,” said Lawrence, but Gary hung up on him. It was getting late and he needed to finish this and get to bed. He had an early meeting at the bank tomorrow and didn’t want to be late.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Trent drove them home. Elise was too shaken to drive.
The man in the photo was the same guy Ashley had left Sally’s with Friday night. And yet there was no footage of him coming or going from the bar. Mr. Dyed Chest Hair had definitely tampered with the tapes.
But why?
Trent turned the question over in his mind. Had it been as simple as the bartender claimed and he was only trying to protect his clientele? The only tapes the police found were of the day they got the warrant. Bob had told him that much. Everything else was blank.
It was likely the bartender knew more than he was letting on, but if so, he had a good poker face. Maybe one of the businesses across the street had a security camera that had caught something that would prove the bartender a liar. He’d mention it to Bob in the morning and make sure they were working that angle.
In the meantime, he was taking Elise home. His home. And that was it. He was going to tuck her into his bed, then sleep on the couch.
“I don’t know what to do next,” she said, though it somehow sounded like an admission of guilt.
“You get some rest. Maybe some food. When’s the last time you ate?”
“Do potato chips count?”
“Hardly.”
He pulled out his phone and ordered them a pizza.
“If this was your case, what would you do next?” she asked.
“We’re not going to talk about this tonight. Tomorrow, maybe, but you’ve got to relax.”
“My baby sister has been taken by some guy who was watching her from her backyard. There’s no way to spin that so I can relax.”
Trent let out a long sigh of frustration. “We should go see Bob tomorrow morning and see if he’s learned anything new.”
“What about tonight? What do I do right now?”
“How are you at researching things online?”
“Decent, why?”
“You could look up other recent disappearances, I guess. I’m not sure you’d find anything helpful, but it would keep you busy at the very least, keep your mind occupied. You might stumble onto something useful.”
She gave him a distracted nod and kept staring out the window. “I hope she’s okay.”
“Me, too.”
“I think I’d know if she was dead—that I’d feel it somehow, like a light had gone off inside me. Is that stupid?”
“No. Not at all. I’ve seen it happen before with mothers and children. Why not sisters? You should hold on to that.” It would keep her strong, maybe even keep her out of trouble.
Trent pulled into his garage just as the pizza delivery car pulled in behind him. Elise went inside while he paid the bill. When he went inside, he found she’d made herself at home, going through his cabinets until she found his plates and glasses.
His house was a lot emptier than Ashley’s, making it look bigger, even though it wasn’t. He hadn’t bothered to paint or change the wallpaper since he’d moved in, and the small dining space off the kitchen was still a hideous riot of faded pink and yellow roses with blue ribbons weaving throughout.
He’d never really cared what was on the walls, or what someone might think of the worn carpet. It had never even occurred to him to care until now, when Elise was standing there, surrounded by all that shabbiness.
“My interior decorator quit on me,” he joked as he set the pizza down on the dusty table. At least the chairs matched—a housewarming present from his parents.
She eyed the wallpaper. “Saved you the trouble of having to fire them.”
They dished out pizza and Trent dove in, starved after a day of hard labor.
Elise stared at her food as if she wasn’t sure what to do with it.
Distracting her with conversation had worked before, so he tried it again. “Where do you live?”
“I have a room at a friend’s house in Atlanta. Well, more of a closet, really. I store my stuff there—the things I can’t part with, clothes that are out of season or won’t fit in my suitcases, that kind of thing.”
“What about Hong Kong? Do you have a place there?”
“I had a room I rented by the week, but I gave it up when I came here. I wasn’t sure if my assignment would still be there when I got back, and if it is, I figure I can always find another place.”
“So no permanent home?”
She shook her head as she took a bite. “No. I prefer to go where the jobs are. Being mobile has helped me cover some really neat stories. Besides, there are too many places left for me to see.”
“Where will you go next?”
“Russia, I think. Or maybe Africa. There are a lot of stories to be told there. All I have to do is find them. Then find someone who wants to buy them.”
“Sounds rough. Do you like it?”
A real smile curved her mouth, making Trent’s heart kick hard. She had such a nice mouth. He really wanted to know what it felt like against his. Now that she was staying here, maybe he’d…
Whoa. Down, boy. Not gonna happen. She needed his support and protection, not one more thing to defend herself against.
“I was born for this job,” she said. “I don’t care that the pay is lousy and the hours suck and I never know where I’ll be going next. Most people would hate that, but not me
. I get to see the world and nothing else even comes close to that.” Her eyes were shining as she spoke. Her whole face lit up with a contagious kind of excitement.
“I know what you mean. I felt the same way about being a cop. Not everyone gets it, but for some people, it’s in the blood.”
“So, why aren’t you doing it anymore? What made you stop?”
He never should have brought it up. He’d been too swept away by the smile on her face to see the trap before he landed in it. “There was an accident. I… shot my partner.” And a kid.
He couldn’t bring himself to admit that part. Intellectually, he knew he’d had no choice. The kid was armed. High. Deadly. Trent had done what he had to, but it had killed something inside him, too.
“Oh, God, Trent.” She laid her hand on his. “I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged, using it as an excuse to pull away from her touch. He didn’t want her pity. He didn’t deserve it. “It’s ancient history.” For everyone but John and that boy’s family.
“Not if they won’t let you be a cop anymore. Certainly, they know you didn’t do it on purpose. How could they fire you for an accident?”
“I wasn’t fired. I quit.”
“Quit? I thought you said it was in your blood.”
“It is.”
“Then why did you quit?”
“I couldn’t take the chance I’d fuck up again. I couldn’t ask another partner to take that chance either.”
She was quiet for a long time, watching him. Trent felt her gaze but kept his eyes firmly on his plate. No way was he going to look at her and see whatever was going through her head. “I bet you were good,” she said finally.
He shrugged. “Not good enough. Ask John.”
“Your partner? He’s still alive?”
“Yeah, if you want to call it living. I hit his spine. Paralyzed him.” Why was he telling her this? Why couldn’t he keep his damn mouth shut?
“How long ago was this?”
“Two years.” One month and three days.
“How’s he doing now?”
Shame made his face go hot. “We don’t talk much anymore.”
“He’s still angry at you,” she guessed.