Chapter 19
Saturday, October 8, 8 A.M.
Angie had dreamed of Kier. She was not sure where last night’s dreams had come from. They’d been dark and erotic, and they’d stirred her from slumber well before dawn. It had been a long time since she’d felt desire, and she’d missed it. Craved it.
She had always had a healthy sexual appetite. There’d only been a few men in her life, but she’d enjoyed them all. That had all changed with Donovan. His sweet, soft words had set her up so perfectly for the cutting betrayal that had left her so wounded and fearful.
Now as she stared down at the morning paper and Donovan’s byline on the front page, she wondered why she’d given that creep so much power. Why was she denying herself because he’d been such a shit? She’d never been afraid of risk before, and yet he’d turned her into a risk-phobic ninny.
Donovan’s article was an artful blend of fantasy and fact. He’d turned Sierra into a saint. He’d taken jabs at Angie and the cops, namely Kier and Garrison, questioning why there’d been no leads since the body had been found five days ago.
Five days. Kier and Garrison had worked almost around the clock in that time. She knew cops well enough to know that they barely had time to shower during an investigation. And to top it off, Kier’s girlfriend had broken up with him.
Her mind skipped to Kier’s face last night. Dark circles had hung under his eyes, and fatigue had softened his rough edges. He would hardly want or expect her pity. In fact he’d likely resent it. But she found a tender spot for the man.
Maybe that moment of tenderness is what had stirred the dreams.
Angie’s cell phone rang. The shrill tone yanked her attention from the morning paper. She glanced at the caller identification. Eva.
She flipped it open. “It’s good to see you know where your phone is.”
“Yeah. Sorry. I saw the missed calls.”
She picked up a steaming mug of coffee, raised it to her lips, and paused. “You drive me crazy when you don’t answer.”
“I can only hope my winning charm makes up for it.”
Angie laughed. “You sound like you’re in a good mood today.”
“I am.”
“So, I assume you worked out your issues with the good detective.”
“I did.”
“Any salacious details you can share with the lonely lawyer?”
Eva laughed. “Sorry, no.”
“Too bad. So what prompts this call?”
“Remember when you said not to tell Garrison about our family connection to the Cross family?”
Angie set down her cup. “You did.”
“I did.”
She pressed fingertips to her temple. “And?”
“He wants to talk to you. So does Kier.”
Heat rushed in her face. “When?”
“One hour. At headquarters.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“Garrison says it’s a friendly chat.”
“What about Kier?”
She dropped her voice a notch. “Kinda pissed.”
Angie’s laugh had a nervous edge. “Great.”
“But you’ll come?”
“See you in an hour.”
Malcolm stood at the dry-erase board in the conference room, staring at Sierra Day’s name. He’d drawn a circle around it and from it lines that extended to the names of those who’d wanted to kill her. Her husband. Her lover. Dixon?
And then there was Fay. Dead twenty-eight years. An employee of the Talbot. Darius Cross’s mistress.
And then there was Lulu. Missing. From her name he had only one line, and it extended to Dixon’s name. He knew Sierra, and he sure as hell had a reason to kill Lulu.
Malcolm wrote another name. Angie. He circled it three times, and then drew lines to Sierra, Fay, Lulu, and Dixon.
Right now the only common denominator was Angie.
Malcolm’s cell phone buzzed. “Yeah.”
“It’s Garrison. Eva and I are here.”
In a few minutes, Garrison and Eva appeared in the doorway. Both looked tired but in a good way. Eva had a glow, and Garrison had lost the angry edge that had left him so sharp and brittle last night. They were holding hands.
He didn’t resent their happiness, but it sure as hell didn’t improve his mood. “You two look chipper. Work out the kinks?”
Garrison nodded. “We did.”
“Good for you.” He looked at Eva and managed to soften the gruffness in his voice. “So where is that sister of yours?”
Her cheeks held a glow. “She’s on her way.”
“I’m very curious to hear what she’s found out about your family.”
“She gave me some of the highlights last night, but I was a little distracted. She can give you the full report.”
“Can’t wait.” Angie had sat with him last night, and for just a few moments he’d felt a strong tangible connection to her. His attraction to The Barracuda hadn’t shocked him as much as it had the first time. In fact, he was getting used to it. Maybe that was what bothered him now. He felt a connection. And she didn’t.
And to top it off, he’d dreamed about the counselor last night. They’d been in his bedroom. There’d been a candle flickering and casting a soft glow on her pale skin. He’d reached for her shirt and slowly unfastened pearl buttons that trailed between her breasts. When he’d peeled back the silk he’d discovered a red push-up bra that made her breasts so sinfully beautiful he’d been unable to resist suckling them through the lace.
He shoved out a breath. The counselor had secrets, but it wasn’t naughty underwear. It was a big-ass skeleton in her closet that involved the Cross family.
The elevator in the hallway dinged, and he tensed, just knowing it was Carlson. Seconds later she appeared in the doorway. She carried her worn briefcase, but her hair was free around her shoulders, and she wore a soft blue turtleneck. Jeans hugged her hips, and black boots gave her an inch of height that brought them eye-to-eye.
“Looks like a party,” Angie said.
“And it seems you’re the guest of honor,” Malcolm said.
“Really?” She moved into the room and set down the briefcase on the conference table. She tossed a quick glance toward Eva, then lobbed it right back at him.
“Seems you’ve done a little digging, discovered a few gems, but chosen not to share.”
She leveled her gaze. “I’ve never been good at sharing, Detective. I guess I just don’t play well with others.”
“Maybe you’d better learn.”
Her eyes narrowed, and he suspected she was calculating all the pros and cons of working with the police. “You worked with us last year and helped us in a murder investigation.”
A former client of hers had asked her to broker a deal with the cops. He would trade info on a murder if he could walk on breaking-and-entering charges. She’d agreed to the deal but had been clear she’d do nothing to impede the murder investigation.
“I thought I was investigating a family matter,” she said. “I didn’t realize it had anything to do with the police.”
He folded his arms. “You dug up a juicy gem. I want to know what it is.”
“Why? I don’t see what the connection could possibly be between my family history and your current investigations.”
Garrison cleared his throat. “We had a ViCAP hit on Sierra Day’s case. A similar crime occurred almost thirty years ago. The woman who was murdered, Fay Willow, worked for your father, and we suspect was also having an affair with Darius Cross.”
The look of shock on her face gave Malcolm a moment of satisfaction. Nice to know she could be thrown off balance. But she was too practiced and careful to reveal too much emotion. He’d have bet she was one hell of a poker player. “Okay.”
He felt a muscle tighten in the back of his neck. “I can appreciate that you did not know this when you discovered your family connection to the Cross family. But now that Garrison has told it to you, it would be nice if you shared.”
“I haven’t made sense of what I have found, so I really don’t want to discuss it.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the conference table. “What connection did you discover between your father and the Cross family?”
“Like I said, I’ve not fully analyzed it. And, to make my position clear, Wellington and James now represents Micah Cross. So for me to discuss anything related to him with the police would not be appropriate.”
“You’ve taken Micah Cross on as a client?” Disgust bled through each word.
She raised her chin. “Not me personally but the firm. We’re representing his charitable foundation.”
Garrison glanced at Eva. “Did you know about this?”
“Yes. She told me before she accepted him as a client.” Eva cleared her throat. “I have no ethical bounds in this matter.”
Angie shrugged but didn’t look upset or ready to silence her sister. “No, you do not.”
“So I can tell them what you told me?”
Angie shrugged.
“My father, Blue, worked for the Talbot Museum as the security director. Angie’s dad was the museum director. Shortly after my father arrived at the museum, he began an affair with my mother. As you know, that affair ruined the Carlsons’ marriage.”
“Counselor, can you tell us what your father did during his time at the museum? I mean, I doubt that would raise any conflicts of interests,” Malcolm said.
Angie absently traced the FCT initials on her briefcase. “He was the director. Administrative, membership, ticket sales, exhibits. He was the museum.”
“What kind of exhibits?”
“The Talbot Museum wasn’t large, or widely known beyond academic circles. It was dedicated to the Talbot family. My grandfather served with the senior Mr. Talbot in World War II. I’m not sure of the details, but after the war my grandfather went to work for the family. The Talbot family was wealthy and had ties that went back in this country a couple hundred years. Long story short, the family decided to set up its own museum. My grandfather was put in charge. And when he died my father took over.”
“What did the museum display?”
“Memorabilia and souvenirs from the family’s extensive trips to Africa and Russia. As I said, the family has a long history so the collection was quite extensive.”
“What kind of memorabilia?”
“Portraits. Clothes. Furniture. Muskets. You name it. Whatever was collected was processed and displayed by my father and grandfather.”
Eva cleared her throat. “Darius Cross made a large donation to the Talbot. I argued that Darius never did anything without good reason.”
Malcolm frowned. “If this old family was so rich, why did Cross make a donation?”
Angie folded her arms. “Every pot has its bottom. The younger Talbot generation wasn’t so wise when it came to money. A lot was lost in the stock market. They cut way back on museum funding. My father, out of loyalty to the family, tried to keep the museum alive and healthy.”
Garrison grunted. “It would have appealed to Darius to ‘save’ a rich old family. It would have made him feel superior.”
Eva nodded. “Darius would have expected a favor in return for the donation.”
Angie frowned. “Dad wouldn’t have done anything illegal.”
Eva shook her head. “Darius made good people do awful things. I’ve seen pictures of the Talbot’s collection. Your father displayed animal skeletons.”
Angie’s lips flattened. “Look, if you’re saying that Dad had something to do with this Fay Willow’s death, you are way off base.”
“Maybe not her death,” Malcolm said. “But maybe Darius needed help disposing of her body. Your father must have understood how bones were stripped if he managed animal bone collections.”
“That’s one hell of a leap,” Angie said.
“Not when you consider the way the bodies were handled after death. The manner is almost identical.”
“And you think the guy that killed Fay killed Sierra?”
“I don’t know,” Malcolm said. “But I’ve got a correlation, and I can’t ignore it.” She didn’t speak, her mind clearly trying to regroup. An attack on her father was the last thing she’d expected today.
He eased up his tone, knowing he’d get more from her if she wasn’t so defensive. “According to Fay’s roommate, Fay had been having an affair with Darius Cross. I’m willing to bet that old Darius never intended to marry her, and that when she got a little out of hand, he killed her.”
Garrison nodded. “Reasonable to assume that he turned to Frank Carlson, called in a favor, and asked him to help dispose of the body.”
“No,” Angie said. “No.”
“Darius was a bit like the mob, Angie. You know that,” Eva said quietly. “Darius would think nothing of calling in a favor from your father.”
Angie’s fingers furled and unfurled as if grasping for a lifeline. “I can’t believe my father would be involved in a murder cover-up. He was a gentle man. Flawed, sure. But he’d never hurt anybody.”
Eva looked at her. “You remember how Darius was. He forced me to plead guilty. I lost ten years of my life because of him.”
Angie seemed to be the type that turned to logic when emotions got out of hand. “Eva, Darius has been dead two years. He wasn’t around to kill Sierra.”
“His son was,” Malcolm said.
Angie raised her hands. “Stop right there. I am not having this kind of discussion with you regarding my client.”
“Apple might not fall far from that very rotten tree,” Malcolm said.
Angie leveled her gaze on Malcolm. “If your apple theory holds true, Detective, then Eva and I are just as guilty as our fathers. Are you saying we are guilty?”
He leaned toward her, lowering his voice a notch. “Don’t play word games with me, Counselor.”
Color warmed her cheeks. “I will not let you crucify my father when he’s not here to defend himself.”
“Right now your father’s reputation means nothing to me. Nothing. I have a killer to catch. And if you find out something that can help me with this case, and you keep it from me, I promise I will make your life a living hell.”
She snatched up her briefcase. “Legally, you can’t compel me to say anything, Detective. And I don’t scare easy. Take your best shot.”
Some of the fire left his belly. “I’m not trying to win a debate, Counselor. I’m trying to solve a murder, maybe two or three. If you can help, you should.”
“I won’t let you ruin my father’s memory.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes to catch this killer.”
“And I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my father.”
He leaned forward. “What happened to the museum? I’ve never seen it.”
“It burned to the ground seven years ago,” she said.
“Where was it?”
“In Alexandria.”
“Everything was destroyed?”
She hesitated. “The museum was completely destroyed.”
“Museums have outbuildings and storage facilities for collections they can’t show. Any place like that remain?”
Again she didn’t answer.
“You can delay. We can play games. But, Counselor, I will find it.”
Still she didn’t speak.
“One way or another we have to find out what happened between your father and Darius. Better me looking into this. Someone else finds out about it first …someone like Donovan … and there will be no saving your father.” Mention of Donovan’s name was a low blow, but it had the desired effect.
“There’s a place in western Fairfax. I found out about it after my father died. But I’ve never been there.” Her voice sounded so even and cool, a sign she’d fallen back behind the ice wall. “A storage unit.”
“Do I need to get a warrant? Or are you going to take me there?”
Dr. Dixon sat in his study staring at the scrapbook he’d so carefully kept for years. He’d gently and lovingly cut out each article, paying close attention to creating neat, even edges. Clear lines. A surgeon’s touch.
He smoothed soft hands over the pages of an entry made a year ago. The headline read: CARLSON DEFENDS SISTER’S DECISION.
Angie Carlson.
He studied the grainy newspaper photo of her. He smiled. She had such a determined gaze as she stared into the camera’s lens. She was the type of woman who could bring a man to his knees. She was a fighter, a modern-day Athena, and a woman warrior.
For the last couple of years he’d been content to watch. And as much as he wanted more from her, he needed to be careful. He’d been charged with attempted murder once, and he never wanted to go through that again.
He’d never intended to kill that whore. He’d simply been getting his money’s worth. She’d promised rough sex, and that’s what he’d paid for. It wasn’t his fault that she freaked out.
It was just his damn luck that the woman’s screams had caught the attention of Kier and Garrison. The detectives had been dogs with a bone. They’d believed that he had killed the missing prostitutes. They’d tried to bully him into a confession. That’s when he’d sought out Angie, his Athena, and she’d come to his rescue.
He knew having a woman defending him would pay off in the court of public relations. And in the courtroom, Angie had been brilliant. She’d made the prosecution’s star witness look foolish enough that the jury had dismissed the charges. There’d been no more talk about him having killed those other women.
And he’d not killed them. That had been the work of The Other. He’d done the killing.
He’d also suggested they change the game. He wanted different women. More challenging kills.
And in all honesty, Dixon wanted more too. He’d grown tired of whores. So they’d chosen Sierra and then Lulu.
The Other had been clear who would be next. He wanted Angie.
She was no great beauty. Pleasant looking to be sure, but not anywhere close to the beauty she could be if he had time to really work on her. He’d once suggested during his trial that he could straighten out her nose and add a bit of fullness to her cheeks. She’d tossed back a quick but polite no.
That had been the first time she’d said no, and he’d felt the rush of anger. But they’d been in the midst of his murder trial so he’d been careful to hide his feelings. Their time would come. It would just have to be later.
After his trial, he’d come to her a second time. Their professional relationship had ended, and he’d felt free to suggest that they spend personal time together. He believed they were perfectly matched and destined to be together.
Again, she’d told him no. However this time the veil of politeness had dropped, and he glimpsed her disgust for him. She’d taken up his cause not because she believed in him but for the money he’d paid her. She was no different from the whores he’d paid and used for sex.
That’s when he’d begun to plan and dream of the day he’d have his Athena all to himself. Then, she could satisfy his sexual appetites.
He had to be careful. The Other would not appreciate his rebellion. He expected Dixon to do as he was told. But Dixon didn’t want to share her with The Other. He wanted her for himself. He wanted to hide her away and use her over and over again.
Dixon knew he’d have to move quickly, before The Other realized what he planned.