Текст книги "If Looks Could Kill"

Автор книги: Heather Graham

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

7

His phone rang at five.

Kyle reached over and answered it, staring at the clock as he did so. His alarm had been set for six.

It was Jimmy on the phone. “We’ve got a torso.”

Kyle rubbed his chin. “Where are you?”

“Out on the Trail. Right off Krome.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“We might have something. A clue.”

“Yeah?”

“A tattoo just below the navel. A rose, with thorns. The medical examiner on the job out here says it looks new.”

“A rose…with thorns?”

“There were fresh roses in Maria Garcia’s house, the still-missing second victim. And our Jane Doe in the morgue—”

“Rose tattoo, upper left buttock,” Kyle said, quoting from the forensics report he had read while still in Washington. “I’ll be with you as soon as possible.”

He hung up and jumped out of bed.

Their killer had revealed something of himself, leaving his calling cards.

Roses…

With thorns.

Kaila Adair Aubrey wound her fingers into the sheets at her sides and gritted on her teeth, staring up at the ceiling.

“Talk to me, baby, talk to me.”

Talk.

Men wanted women to talk.

She just didn’t have a damned thing left to say right now. It wasn’t that Dan wasn’t a decent lover; he was. Or he could be. But sex seemed like everything else in their lives to her right then—all him. And this just wasn’t doing a damned thing for her. She wasn’t in the mood for a big fight or a showdown; she didn’t know how to articulate all that she had to say as yet. And if she couldn’t get her thoughts out right, he would dismiss her completely—as males were so wont to do—by assuring himself that she was just being a bitch with PMS and he was the poor, misunderstood, hardworking provider. “Kaila…” He groaned her name.

At least he still had that right.

She’d been growing afraid over the past few months, with his everlasting work hours, his constant business dinners, that he was sleeping with someone else. She still thought he might be, and the thought hurt, but it was the same as everything else. When she even hinted at such a fear, he got hurt and furious and impatient. Of course, she was in a better position than lots of young wives with small children who were worried about their husbands; she could run home to a rich daddy. No, it wasn’t the money that kept her quietly in her home and with her husband. It was the insecurity, the confusion, the not knowing. Was there something—someone?—else out there for her? Or did she love her husband? Was he really what she wanted? Was she just tired, feeling old, feeling used up, feeling that she’d never be decently thin again after so many children so quickly? God forgive her, she was grateful that the kids were fine and healthy, but…

But she was a mess.

And would she go crazy if she let Dan go and he did fall in love with someone else, forgetting all about her? She did love him, she did, she was just so…

Wound up.

And not in the mood.

But she’d been obliging rather than argumentative, though right now she simply wasn’t involved at all, despite the fact that he was all slick and sweaty and grinding into her.

At last he climaxed. Fell on her. Heavy. Rolled to the side.

He tousled her hair.

They lay in silence.

A few minutes later he started touching her. She gritted her teeth again, but then, to her surprise, she began to feel aroused. She pressed into him. They kissed. His hands ran up and down her. She eased against him, rubbing her body against his. Nuzzled the thick mat of hair around his navel.

“Come on, do me, baby, do me,” he groaned.

It was as if she had been doused with cold water.

Kaila held still for a minute, her head lowered against his belly, her lower lip caught between her teeth. She knew what he wanted, of course. And she could have slid on down the length of his body and taken him in her mouth, just like he wanted. Except, she just didn’t feel like it.

She didn’t feel like talking him into an erection, or working hard at arousing him, either. She wanted to be seduced, swept off her feet.

She stood up suddenly. Her husband opened his eyes, staring at her in surprise.

“I can’t do anything but oatmeal,” she said irritably, walking toward the bathroom. “The kids will be waking up.”

She heard him brushing his teeth while she was in the shower. When she stepped out, he stepped in. He didn’t look at her.

He showered. She brushed her teeth and moisturized her face.

He came out, toweled himself. She looked at him in the mirror. Dan had dark-blond hair, neatly cut—good legal hair. He kept himself in shape. He had light blue-green eyes and managed to keep a good tan, as well. Having kids didn’t do things to men at all. He was tall and well built and good-looking. She wanted him; she didn’t want him. She loved him; she hated him.

She wondered if she was suffering from some strange disease.

He wrapped his towel around himself. “If you don’t want to do something, Kaila, just tell me.”

“I did—”

“No. The first time. It was like making love to a dead tree.”

That one hurt.

“I’m sorry.”

“All you had to do was say something.”

“I was trying to be a good wife.”

“Yeah. Sure. There’s nothing like making a man feel totally inadequate to make him feel he’s got the best damned wife in the world.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Kaila told him softly.

“I’d definitely have more fun,” he assured her.

Stung, she stood perfectly still.

She had known that she was unhappy.

It hadn’t occurred to her that he was miserable, too. And now she wondered more than ever if he was having an affair.

He walked out to the bedroom and started dressing. Shaking, she slipped into a robe and hurried out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

She went mechanically through the functions of the morning, waking Justin and Shelley, starting breakfast.

Shelley was quickly howling and in tears because she couldn’t find one of her sneakers, and she had to wear her sneakers, because they were getting new playground equipment that day.

Anthony—who was mostly weaned, but not completely—threw his kiddie cup on the floor and screamed for her.

Justin decided to help, with his own cornflakes, and spilled the milk all over the table and on the floor. Naturally, that was when Dan walked in.

“Jesus, Kaila,” he said. “Looks like I’ll be a little late,” he muttered.

“You might have thought of that earlier,” she bit out cattily.

“I should have thought of that earlier.”

He started mopping up Justin and the table and the milk. Kaila knew she was about to burst into tears. “I’ve got it, just go. Just get out. You can be late for everything else in the world, but don’t be late for that precious job of yours.”

“Well, you know what, Kaila? At least, at work, people like me. Amazing how that can make you feel happy to be somewhere!”

He threw down the towel with which he’d been soaking up the milk and stormed out of the house.

The rest of the morning seemed to take forever. She got Justin and Shelley off to their various schools and finally had Anthony happy and in a good mood. Her housekeeper, Anna, arrived. Anna was a wonderful Latin woman with a flair for handling children. She whisked through the kitchen in a matter of minutes, got the laundry going and came into Shelley’s room, where Kaila was looking through piles of toys to find the still-missing sneaker. “You have tennis this morning, no?”

“I was going to take a lesson, but…”

“You go. You get out of the house. Have a good time.”

“Things are kind of in a shambles this morning.”

“Kaila, I work for you, yes? I’ll pick up the shambles. That’s my job. I’m good at it. You pay me well, and you have cute, good little children. Go, go, shoo!”

Kaila went to her lesson. The weather was already hotter than Hades. She saw a few friends on the courts, and they asked her to lunch.

She called Anna, who had no problem picking Shelley up at one and Justin at two.

She went to lunch at the country club. She had two piña coladas. Her head was spinning.

She said goodbye to her friends, then headed back to the locker room to change. Her sneakers seemed to slap against the cement as she entered the changing building, walking down the hallway between the men’s and ladies’ lockers, rest rooms and showers.

It was oddly quiet.

She was startled and nearly screamed when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Kaila!”

She spun around.

He was there. Looking so handsome. He’d been playing tennis. He was in white. His skin was so bronze. He flashed his teeth in a perfect, tender smile.

“You look scrumptious!” he told her.

She smiled. She felt somewhat silly; two drinks laced strongly with rum in the middle of the day were a bit much.

“Thanks.”

“You ready to have an affair with me yet?” he asked. His tone was light, but his eyes were serious. He backed her gently against the wall, his fingers moving over her face.

“I…can’t.”

“You know you will.”

She smiled, looking at him, shaking her head. “We just really couldn’t…I mean…it wouldn’t be right. I mean, not at all.”

She giggled. Damn the piña coladas.

He pressed against her. His lips were suddenly on hers. Molding, passionate. She felt a stirring. The piña coladas, she told herself. She was kissing him back. Just a kiss. More than a kiss. Tongues meshing. Wet. Stifling. She needed more air. Strange. She was both excited…

And repelled.

A slight sense of panic pervaded her. His hands were on her, molding her breast, sliding up her thigh. She felt his touch against naked flesh, dangerously close to intimate.

“Sleep with me, love me…” he whispered fervently against her lips.

She suddenly wanted to push him away. But he broke away from her. “I love you. I can wait until you’re ready. The time is coming. I can taste it when we kiss…” he whispered. “There’s so much more I want to taste, to lick. To kiss. I want to make it so good. Lick you here…here…”

He moved his fingers to show her. She inhaled sharply, shocked. She’d only been toying with this idea so far. This was more than play. More than fantasy.

It was too real.

“But I can wait. I will wait. Because it will be so much better when I wait…. You’ll want me. When I finish with you, I promise, you’ll want me.”

“I…”

She couldn’t speak.

He brushed her cheek tenderly, deep understanding in his eyes.

He walked away from her whistling.

An acquaintance passed him by on the way to the men’s lockers. They spoke, jovial, laughing.

Kaila leaned against the wall, her knees buckling. She was shaking.

Once again, she didn’t know what she wanted.

Fantasy had been so much fun. Imagining a lover. Handsome, charming, devoted entirely to making her feel wonderful. Adoring her, a lover who knew just where and when and how she wanted to be touched…

But she suddenly felt…dirty.

She was getting exactly what she had wanted, except that she didn’t really want it.

She wanted to cry again.

She finally managed to push herself away from the wall and head into the locker room. She had to get her relationship with him back on a friendly keel. Unless, of course, Dan was having an affair. Then she would be so mad that she’d sleep with the first person available.

Him.

She paused before her locker, smiling. The feeling of repulsion for her almost-out-of-the-question would-be lover faded. He was a sweetie. A charming man who knew how to make her feel better. Like an attractive, desirable woman again—even if she did occasionally wear oatmeal and spit-up.

He’d left her roses. Beautiful red roses. A dozen of them. They were lying on the bench directly in front of her locker.

She picked them up, smiling, then muttered, “Ouch!” and sucked on her finger where she had acquired a tiny drop of blood.

These roses had thorns.

Still, the very idea of roses was so romantic and sexy and sweet….

Kaila took a long shower at the club, trying to clear her head before going home.

The world looked a little better when she returned. Anna had the house in wonderful shape. Anthony was napping; Shelley was playing with her Barbie dolls and Justin with his trucks while they watched a Disney video.

She walked into the kitchen to find Anna cutting up vegetables for the stew she planned that night.

Yet, looking through the kitchen to the dining room, Kaila started suddenly.

There was a huge vase of roses on the dining room table.

“Anna?” she said.

“They arrived an hour ago.”

“From?”

“I don’t know. The card is addressed to you.”

Kaila walked into the dining room. There were at least two dozen roses beautifully arranged in a pink glass vase. She found the card and opened it.

It was very simple.

“Kaila, I love you. Dan.”

They sometimes went for days, weeks, even months, without a significant break in a case.

And, of course, there were those horrible instances when a killer was never discovered. The good thing about most serial killers was that deep in their psyches, they wanted to be caught. They knew their behavior was abhorrent, and they wanted to be stopped. And so they left their calling cards; they taunted the police, leaving clues each time. And every year, with more and more scientific techniques available, it became possible to irrefutably link more murderers to their victims. Fingerprinting, fibers, teeth marks, DNA, all contributed heavily to locking away—or executing—numerous criminals.

Once they were caught.

That was where profiling came in.

Kyle spent the morning with Jimmy at the site out on Krome, where the torso had been found buried in the embankment. He watched back at the coroner’s office as the pathologists did the initial investigating and determined that the head, arm and torso all belonged to the same woman. He asked for numerous shots of the tattoos on Jane Doe’s buttocks and their newest victim’s torso. By the afternoon, he had scanned the shots into the computer and checks were being made across the country for any similar “signatures” on the bodies of victims in other states.

From Broward south through Dade and Monroe Counties, the police began investigating tattoo parlors.

Kyle worked late in his Coconut Grove hotel room, playing with random information and the computer. At seven he was deeply involved, and ordered up room service. By nine he was frustrated and restless. He turned off the computer, turned on the television.

His telephone rang.

“Kyle.”

“Hey, Dad,” he told his father. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. It’s just a luxury to have you in the city again. Thought I’d check in.”

“Things are going well. We have a few interesting breaks in the case.”

“Yeah?”

“Something that may be significant. Two of the victims seem to have had tattoos done recently.”

“The papers have mentioned body parts,” Roger said dryly.

“So much gets released to the public, there’s not much we can do. And unfortunately, the papers seem to thrive on anything gruesome.”

“That’s true. Well, you think you’ll get some free time this weekend?”

“I’m sure I can manage some.”

“Good. Remember the opening I was telling you about the other day?”

Kyle went blank, then felt guilty as hell. Yes, his father and a friend and fellow artist were opening a gallery to highlight local artists. Their own work, along with that of a number of other area artists, would be on display. It was to be a black-tie affair Sunday evening.

“Hey, Dad, if there’s a way, I’ll be there.”

“Good. Rafe will appreciate your presence.”

“Oh, yeah?” Kyle inquired, amused.

“Your brother says that maybe the press will leave him alone if you’re there. They’re always after him, wanting to know why he never went into art. Says telling them he has no talent never works. Maybe they’ll be after you on Sunday instead of him.”

Kyle laughed. “Leave it to Rafe to tell them straight-faced that he can’t draw a stick figure. Fine. If you see him before I do, you can tell him I feel guilty for living out of state and leaving him to take all the whatever-happened-to-your-artistic-genes heat.”

“He’ll be glad to hear it. See you there, son, if not before.”

“Yeah, Dad. Hey, wait, Dad, is the rest of the family coming?”

“The rest of the family?”

Kyle winced slightly. “Yeah. You know. Jordan and his brood. And Trent.”

“Yeah, sure, of course. I imagine they’ll be there. They’re all invited, anyway. We’ve never failed to be supportive of one another, and they know this place means a lot to me. Is there a problem?”

“No, of course not.”

They said goodbye and hung up. Kyle rose and stretched, tired but restless.

The phone rang again. Kaila, just calling to say hi. His second line rang, and it was Trent. A third call came from Jassy, who involved him in a lengthy conversation regarding forensic findings before telling him it was really just a social call and it was nice to have him home.

The phone rang again. He told himself he wasn’t hoping it was Madison.

It wasn’t. It was Rafe. He’d just taken a date to the movies at Cocowalk. She lived in the Grove and he’d just dropped her off, so maybe he and Kyle could meet for a drink.

It sounded good to Kyle.

Coconut Grove, even just after ten o’clock on a weeknight, was alive and bustling with tourists from all over, along with the local crowd.

Kyle wandered through the bookstore—open until eleven on weeknights—and picked up a few newspapers, then wandered back over to Cocowalk, where he was meeting Rafe at Fat Tuesday’s. Rafe was already sitting at the bar with a beer, watching the hockey play-offs.

Kyle sat down beside him and ordered the same. “Didn’t stay with the date, huh?” he inquired.

Rafe smiled slowly and shrugged. He wasn’t quite two years older than Kyle—Roger had gone through wives quickly when he was young—but though they were close in age and size and shared a love for the sun, they weren’t alike in much else. Rafe had been a great student, he was serious and dedicated and, though not artistic in the least, he was a financial genius. He’d spent several years working as a stock trader, then started investing his savings. He’d been able to quit his job and now made a good living off his investments. His time in the sun had turned his blond hair platinum, and despite his serious nature, his eyes were a silver that could quickly come alight with rueful amusement, as they did now. “Staying with the date was on my mind, but I wasn’t invited. Well, I’m working on it for next time. She’s an R.N.—has to be at the hospital at six. Nice girl. We’ll see how it goes.”

“It’s about time you got serious about a woman.”

“I’m serious about all women,” Rafe assured him. “Now, how about you? How’s it going here in the wild, wicked city?”

“Not too badly. I’ve only been here a few days, and we’ve had a couple of breaks.” He told his brother about the torso and the tattoos, and the roses delivered to Maria Garcia’s house, warning him that they weren’t letting that information out to the public. Then he shrugged unhappily. “Jimmy had Madison in, as well.”

“So?” Rafe said. “She’s worked with him before. It makes sense that he’d want her help on something like this.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Why? What is Madison seeing? How close is she getting?”

Kyle shook his head in disgust. “All she’s seen so far is the victim.”

“She mostly sees the victims. She never saw her mother’s killer, remember?”

“She’s seen more on occasion. Sometimes she sees what the victim sees. But you’re right. She seems to have a blind spot for the killer on this. All that’s happened so far is that she feels pain for the woman who was killed. I just don’t like her being involved.”

“What can you do?” Rafe asked him with a sympathetic shrug. “Jimmy is going to use her, and Madison is over twenty-one.”

“I just don’t have a good feeling about it.”

Rafe toyed with the label on his beer bottle, hesitating. “I think you just came home and got nervous because Madison looks so much like Lainie did…when Lainie was killed.”

Kyle shook his head, wondering why his brother’s words were suddenly making him feel as if he had missed something. “It’s not that. Besides, Harry Nore was certifiably insane, and he was caught.”

Rafe shrugged. “I don’t think Madison ever believed that Harry Nore killed her mother.”

“She accepted it. The cops had him, along with the murder weapon—with traces of Lainie’s blood still on it.”

“She accepted it because she was a kid and she was told that was what happened. She had no choice.”

“The evidence against Nore was damning, and that’s my point. Madison has gone through enough.”

“Oh, she’s stronger than you think. Besides, little bro, you can’t just come waltzing back into town when you’ve been gone for years and think you’re going to boss the family around.”

“I don’t think that,” Kyle said with a scowl. “I just don’t like…I don’t like her being involved. It makes me nervous as all hell.”

“Then get her uninvolved.”

“How?”

Rafe laughed. “How the hell do I know? You’re the damned FBI agent!” He sobered suddenly. “Okay, so this is a nerve-racking case. More and more about what’s going on is making its way into the newspapers, and lots of people are getting nervous. Maybe this is a bad one. Maybe you’re right and Madison shouldn’t be involved. Find a way to keep her busy elsewhere. Have her kidnapped to a desert island for the time being.”

“Right. Then the FBI will be after me.”

Rafe laughed easily. “I’m sure you can think of something. Do your best to keep her out of it.”

Kyle stood suddenly.

“Where are you going?” Rafe asked.

“I’m going to call her. I’ve heard from everyone else—hell, Trent even gave me a call. I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

“She’s a big girl now,” Rafe reminded him.

Kyle nodded and headed toward the phones. He had a cellular, but he hated the damned thing, and he’d left it in the hotel room.

He dialed Madison’s number. Her machine picked up. “Madison, it’s Kyle. Pick up. Madison, I’m going to wait. I’m going to keep talking. It’s Kyle. Pick up.”

She didn’t do so. He tried ringing her number once again. Once again he got the machine.

He hung up and walked back to Rafe, glancing at his watch. “Eleven o’clock on a weeknight. Where the hell is she?”

“Out on a date?” Rafe suggested.

“She has a kid.”

“Yeah, well, women with kids go out on dates.”

He cast his brother a glare. “Then the baby-sitter would pick up.”

“Right. But you’re forgetting that Darryl is in town. Maybe Carrie Anne’s with him. Maybe she is, too.”

“Madison and Darryl are divorced—”

“Yeah, well, they’re still close. Real close. Friends. Who knows, maybe once they’ve both sown a few wild oats they’ll get back together again. Kyle, she’s all right. Wake up and smell the coffee. She’s probably sleeping at Darryl’s house. You can’t come home and start chasing her around.”

“I’m not trying to chase her around. I’m worried about her.”

“Kyle, she’s all grown up. You’re not even really related to her, plus you left her life years ago. I’m telling you, you can’t be her guardian angel now.”

“Maybe not.”

They talked about stocks, Rafe telling Kyle where he should invest.

“You’re going to have to make good investments, there just aren’t that many really rich FBI agents,” Rafe reminded him.

It was late when Kyle finally left his brother.

Late when he went to bed after two beers.

He should have slept quickly, and well.

He didn’t.

At first he lay awake wondering what it was that he should be seeing and just wasn’t realizing. Something in the pictures of the victims, in the forensic reports.

He crawled out of bed and started going through the reports once again. What was it?

Then it hit him, and he realized it had taken him so long because the picture he had of Julie Sabor was in black and white.

Redheads.

They were all redheads.

Maria Garcia had been very dark, but still, there were traces of red in her hair. And the corpse today…

He felt ill. More worried than ever about Madison. He tried her house again.

She didn’t answer.

He hung up. Rafe had all but told him that she still slept with her ex. He could check with Darryl, except that he didn’t have any idea where Darryl was staying.

It was really late, but he called Jassy. She came on the line sounding really sleepy. “Madison could be at Darryl’s, but she’s probably home. She turns the ringer down on her phone after ten all the time because Carrie Anne is such a light sleeper. Call her in the morning, Kyle. I’m sure she’s fine.”

He thought about driving out to her house then and there, and banging on the door until she acknowledged him. She would be really ready to kill him, though, and more prone than ever to ignore his warnings. He had to be calm, had to tell himself that it was a good thing she was probably sleeping safely with her ex-husband, that he should get a grip and wait until morning.

He lay awake.

Finally he dozed.

And he dreamed.

He dreamed once again that he and Madison were in the same house. And he was moving down a darkened hallway, trying to get to her. He was wearing a towel. He’d showered, and he was intent on one thing—Madison. It was simply time. It didn’t matter that they always argued when they talked. It was time. She knew it just as well as he did. It didn’t have anything to do with the kind of emotion that had tied him to Fallon. It had nothing to do with the past or the future, and she knew that, too.

So he walked down the hall. And in his dream the hallway was dark and misty. Long.

Like the hallway in the house Lainie Adair had shared with Roger Montgomery, all those years ago.

Madison was at the end of the hallway, in her room. There was a soft yellow light emanating from her room, sweeping around her. She was wearing a towel, as well. Her hair was dry, burning red in the strange light, creating a cape around her naked shoulders as he walked down the hallway. Her chin was up, her eyes were bright, her lips were poised to speak. She was going to tell him what he should be doing with himself, except it didn’t matter. What she said didn’t matter. She was waiting, because they both knew that there had to be an outlet for what they were feeling.

His groin tightened.

He met her eyes. Felt the electric fury that burned within her because she wanted him and he knew it. She didn’t want to want him, and she definitely didn’t want him to know that she wanted him….

He just smiled. And walked closer.

That was when it happened….

When the darkness suddenly deepened. When she suddenly seemed so far away from him. When the air itself changed. When he felt…

A presence.

Someone between them.

Someone lurking in the shadows that were suddenly becoming deeper and deeper. Someone waiting. Someone evil, threatening Madison…

Out of the pitch-darkness he suddenly saw the silver glitter of a knife. Big, long, a butcher’s knife, wickedly sharp. It hung in the air, as if suspended in the darkness of a haunted castle in an amusement park, the strings hidden by the eerie lack of light.

The silver streaked through the air.

The shadows shifted and moved.

Madison screamed….

Kyle awoke, drenched in sweat.

For several long seconds he sat there, realizing he’d been dreaming, that he was in his bed in his hotel room, that morning’s light was just beginning to filter into his room.

Six-thirty.

The alarm went off.

He nearly jumped off the bed.

Get a grip! he warned himself in silent self-disgust. He crawled out of bed and into the shower, jumping when the water hit him, cold as ice at first.

The water warmed, and he lifted his head, letting it stream over him. Maybe he shouldn’t have accepted this assignment. There were criminals all across the country. He should never have come home.

The phone was already ringing when he left the shower. He picked up the receiver. His assistant, Ricky Haines, was calling from Virginia. They hadn’t found any matchups with the rose tattoos so far, but he would keep looking.

Kyle thanked him, hung up and glanced at the clock. Nearly eight. He called Jimmy, who was usually in by seven-thirty, if not earlier.

Jimmy was in, and he had information.

There had finally been an identification on their Jane Doe. She was in fact Julie Sabor; dental records brought in from Cincinnati had clinched the ID.

“We think we’ve got a name on our weekend victim, as well,” Jimmy told him. “Holly Tyler, twenty-eight, worked as a receptionist at a med-tech lab. Only child, parents deceased, friendly, well liked at work. She was incredibly excited and secretive Friday afternoon. She was getting off early for a ‘wild weekend’—and she told the girls at work that she wouldn’t whisper a word until she saw them again come Monday.”

“She never showed up on Monday?”

“Her friends in the office even hesitated about calling in this morning—they thought she might be planning to call in sick or something. But then one of them noticed an article in the paper this morning about the torso we found yesterday and decided to call in. I’m expecting Larraine Harrison and Betty Kilbride, two of the girls she worked with, to come down and identify the body—well, the head—in about an hour.”

“I’ll be there,” Kyle said, and hung up.

He dressed quickly, then tried Madison’s number. He still got the answering machine.

He swore, then decided to drive by her house.

Her beige Cherokee was in the drive, but she didn’t answer the bell. He knocked on the door, then walked around the house, pounding on the windows.

“Damn you, Madison!” he muttered out loud.

Finally he used his cellular phone and called Jimmy. “Have you got Madison with you down at the morgue again?” he demanded angrily.

“No, I don’t have Madison at the morgue,” Jimmy informed him irritably. “What the hell’s eating you?”

“She didn’t answer her phone last night, and she’s not here now.”

“Well, you know, Kyle, she is over twenty-one.”

“I’m going in, Jimmy.”

“Kyle, I’m sure that—”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m going in.”

“Fine. I’ll be there in five minutes. Five—”

Kyle had already hung up.