Chapter 2
My phone blares, waking me out of a deep sleep. I fumble around, trying to grab it off my nightstand, and squint to see the time, as well as who’s calling.
Shit!
“Jones, this better be good. It’s three in the morning and after our sixteen-hour shift, I’ve had two hours of sleep,” I groggily tell my partner.
“We got another one,” he deadpans.
“Great. You better have coffee for me. I’ll call you back for the location when I get in my car.” Right before I hit end call, I hear him laugh. We have been partners long enough that he knows I like my beauty sleep, but it’s looking like another long day at the office. I rush around looking for my clothes; getting dressed in the dark is no easy task. I can only hope everything is on right, my shoes are matching, and my hair doesn’t look too horrible as I pull it into a ponytail.
The closer I get to the location, the better I can see the red and blue flashing lights and nosy neighbors on their lawns trying to catch a glimpse of the action. I park my car behind another officer’s.
I walk up to the suburban brick home, go underneath the yellow crime scene tape, and through the front door. Jones stands in the foyer holding his arm out for me to take the Styrofoam coffee cup and a pair of gloves.
“You do love me,” I tell him jokingly with a smile. “What do we have?”
“Come see for yourself.” Jones walks ahead of me, directing where to go. “Victim’s name is Tom Landry. Wife’s name is Pam; she’s the one who called it in. They lived a happy suburban life with two kids away at college. No enemies and she has no idea who would do something like this to her husband.”
I knit my brows in automatic suspicion. “Where was she when the murder took place?” I slip on my gloves.
“She works overnight at the hospital. Went to work at six pm the night before and was supposed to get off at six am, but a no-call was going to leave her working another six hours. She kept trying to call Tom, but he wasn’t answering, so her boss allowed her to come home to check on him and that’s when she found her husband dead. Her alibi checks out.”
“Could it be a setup? Unhappy wife wants out, feels she has no choice but to have husband killed?” I suggest as we walk through the house. It’s clean, not disheveled, and the scene doesn’t appear to be a burglary gone wrong. As we walk through the front room and dining area, family pictures still hang on the white painted walls and everything else is as it should be; I’m seeing no signs of a struggle.
“No, I don’t think so. She was distraught when we showed up.”
We enter the kitchen with several officers, a few more detectives, and the coroner. The kitchen is in the same state as the other two except for the splatters of blood around the room and the pool of blood coming out from underneath the tarp that’s covering our victim.
Watching where I step, I bend down and lift the tarp up to examine the body. I turn away for a moment; taking a deep breath, I turn back to the victim. “Male, multiple stab wounds covering his face and body.” It’s a gruesome scene. “He has defensive wounds on his hands, so he did put up some kind of fight.”
His eyes have been stabbed, mouth slit open ear-to-ear, and a deep slash formed a vile crimson gash across his throat. My eyes travel over his abdomen and torso; multiple stab wounds deep into his meaty flesh, some exposing the bone. I drop the tarp back down and stand.
“And…his penis was cut off.” Jones grimaces.
My eyes snap to his. “Just like the other?” I take the last gulp of my lukewarm coffee.
“Exactly—and no evidence left behind.”
“This killer knows what they’re doing. We need to figure out what the connection is between these two men; if it’s a scorned ex, if we have a serial killer on our hands. The multiple stab wounds and the dismembering both make this seem personal.” I look down one more time at the tarp and around the room. “Have the officers asked for any witnesses?”
“Yes, but no one saw anything. Everyone was sleeping until they heard the sirens.” Jones runs his hand down his tired face. I know he hasn’t had much sleep, either, since he’s been working just as hard on the other case.
Releasing a deep sigh, I tell him, “Let’s head to the office.”
“I’ll meet you there.” I throw away my gloves and coffee cup.
Pulling up to the police department, I park my car and head inside. The strong aroma of coffee brewing invades my nostrils as soon as I open the door. Just what we’re going to need. Walking over to the coffee pot, I pour two cups, then meet Jones in interrogation room three. He’s sitting at the wooden table with pictures spread out in front of him. Sitting on the edge, I hold out the cup and he takes it with a frustrated expression.
His tired eyes meet mine. “Thanks, we have a long day ahead of us.”
“I know.” My eyes scan over the crime scenes and victims’ mutilated bodies. “What is the connection?” I mumble, more to myself than asking Jones.
“Let’s go over what we have so far.” Jones runs his hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. Some people might think Jones is older than he really is because of his greying hair, but he’s actually only twenty-nine and very attractive. His blue eyes sparkle when he smiles, but can penetrate right through a suspect and know when they are lying. His beard and mustache match his hair color and cover his defined jaw. His suits fit tight over his body, letting women know he takes very good care of himself.
I sit down in the empty seat next to him and look closely at all the pictures. “Our first victim is Alberto Sanchez. A 45-year-old Hispanic male. His criminal background check shows nothing more than petty theft and vandalism dating back to the eighties. He has a few tattoos, but they aren’t recognizable with the stab wounds. He lived alone in a small two-bedroom house five miles from our other victim.” I drop the last photo of crime scene number one.
Jones begins with crime scene number two from today. “Our second victim is Tom Landry; Caucasian male and 42 years old. He appeared to have some tattoos also, but just like with Mr. Sanchez, they’re unrecognizable. We are running the criminal background check as we speak.”
“We need to talk to the neighbors again,” I suggest. “Someone must have heard or seen something. Maybe they’re scared and not talking.”
The interrogation room door opens. “I have a new case for you.” Our heads shoot up to look at our lieutenant. He drops a file on the table in front of us, covering our photos. “I’m passing the case you’re working on over to Jeffers and Smith.”
I open the folder and spread the photos out. “Who are the victims?” I question as I stare at the women strangled to death, their eyes wide open as they lie on hotel room beds.
“Miss Magdalene’s girls,” he simply states.
“The escort service?” I ask stupidly, because I already know the answer.
“Yes. I need you, Detective Sanders, to go undercover. Here’s your ticket into the charity masquerade ball event in two weeks. Anyone with money will be there and, until then, get in good with the girls at Miss Magdalene’s to see if you can find out names of Johns.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hershaw has everything you need to go undercover. Now, both of you go home and get some sleep.” With that, he walks out of the room.
“Guess I’ll go home now.” Jones stands and stretches his arms above his head. “We can get some sleep and start fresh tomorrow.”
“Sounds good to me.” I smile up at him and watch him walk out of the room. My phone pings with a text. Pulling it out of my back pocket, I unlock my phone and see a text message from my best friend, Jessie.
J: Meet you at eight for drinks.
Oh, shit! I forgot we were meeting up tonight. That was before I had no sleep. I look at the time on my phone; it’s still morning, so I can get a nap in before I have to meet her. Thank God.
Me: I’ll be there.