Chapter 6

Wednesday, October 5, 11 A.M.

Malcolm and Garrison arrived at the Commonwealth’s Northern District medical examiner’s office. Though the center was located in the neighboring county, the office served the entire Northern Virginia area, which included Alexandria.

They pushed through the metal doors on Dr. Henson’s floor. Immediately, the strong scent of bleach greeted them as they moved down the tiled hallway. Fluorescent bulbs cast a bright, if not antiseptic light on the entire floor.

Malcolm hated this place. He hated the smell, the gray tones, and the feel of death that hovered here. This place was a necessary evil that he would endure for the case.

He checked his watch. “Henson has had the bones seven hours. She said she’d get right on them.”

Autopsies often required a twenty-four to forty-eight-hour turnaround at best, but if Henson said a case rose to the top of her list, it did.

They reached the last set of doors and pushed through. They found Dr. Henson in Examining Room Three. She wore green scrubs, a mask with an eye guard, and a cap. She leaned over a stainless-steel exam table that now held the bones laid out in anatomical order. Her assistant Bruce, also dressed in scrubs, stood with a clipboard in hand.

“Dr. Henson,” Malcolm said.

She glanced up. “Detectives.”

“Thought we’d swing by and see if you’ve made progress.”

“I only just received the dental records from Ms. Day’s dentist and was preparing to compare them to the teeth in Jane Doe’s mouth. It might take me another few hours before I can get to it.”

“Anything you can tell us so far?”

“My earlier assumptions were correct. Female. Mid-twenties. She had healthy bones. Didn’t suffer from malnutrition, and she did have good dental care. She had veneers put in fairly recently.”

“Sierra’s husband said he paid for his wife’s veneers,” Malcolm said.

She cocked a brow. “Really?”

Moving to a desk, she picked up a manila file, pulled x-rays, and stuck them on a light box. “Might as well have a look now.”

Henson leaned into the film. “Sierra did have veneers. And also she had two fillings. Both in the back right molar.”

She turned to the skull and examined the teeth. “Veneers and right back molar with two fillings.”

Malcolm leaned in. “So you’re saying this is Sierra Day?”

“I’ll run DNA on the marrow to be one hundred percent certain.”

“You and I both know that will take weeks or months.”

“She has very distinctive teeth. If I had to call it now, I’d say this was Sierra Day.”

“Sierra Day has only been missing ten days. That’s not enough time for Mother Nature to strip the bones.”

Henson nodded. “Not given the current climate. Too cold.” She picked up a bone. “No trauma to the bones at all. In fact, I see no signs of saw marks or ax marks that would suggest she’d been hacked apart.”

“She didn’t just fall apart, Doc.”

Wisps of red hair peeked out from the edges of Henson’s cap. “Well, if you strip the flesh and tendons from the bones, then there is nothing to hold them together, and they do fall apart.”

“How do you do something like that? Acid?”

“I don’t think acid was used. Acid would have left marks on the bones. If I had to guess I’d say the flesh was soaked off.”

“Soaked?”

“It’s a common process.”

Malcolm rested his hands on his hips. “For who?”

“Companies that process animal bones for museums. You ever been to an exhibit and seen a display with an animal skeleton?”

“Sure.”

“Well, I can promise you that those bones did not arrive from nature all clean, white, and odor free.”

Garrison glanced at the bones on the table, which had a yellowish hue. There was no stench or sign of flesh. “These are not pristine by any stretch of the imagination.”

“Well, there are a few more steps. Next is the beetle tank. The bones are laid in a tank full of flesh-eating beetles, which eat remaining traces of flesh from the bones. These bones are clean of flesh so likely made it through step two. Then there is the whitening and bleaching process. These bones have a dull cast, so I’d say they haven’t been bleached.”

Malcolm shook his head. “How do you know this?”

“I worked a summer in a bone-processing plant out west. We handled thousands of bones just like this. Of course they were animal bones.” She lifted a forearm bone. “Whoever did this, I think, did not finish the job.”

The process had soured Malcolm’s stomach, but Garrison stared at the bones with a vague curiosity sparking in his eyes. “Got any theories why the killer didn’t finish?”

“Maybe the only goal was to strip evidence. I don’t pretend to understand why anyone would do this.” She adjusted her eye gear. “I can tell you that the victim’s right femur is missing.”

“His idea of a souvenir?” Malcolm said.

Henson shrugged. “You’re the detective, not me.”

Malcolm laughed. “Yep, that’s why they pay us the big bucks. Call us when you’ve thoroughly checked those dental records.”

At one minute to one, Angie glanced at the small gold ivory-framed clock on her desk. It had belonged to her father, and it was one of the few things of his she’d kept. She thought about her promise to represent Lulu Sweet as she tapped her pencil on her desk and watched the seconds tick. Regret nagged her.

A part of Angie hoped Lulu wouldn’t show, or would be terribly late or even would show up high. Any one of those reasons would be excuse enough to banish Lulu from her thoughts and confirm that Angie’s courtroom character assassination of the woman had been just.

Angie had left the courtroom that day satisfied that she’d shattered the prosecution’s case. She’d not expected Lulu to be waiting outside the courthouse. She’d not expected the girl’s outrage or anger.

You twisted my words well enough, but that man you are defending is evil.

The memory had Angie straightening. That day in the courtroom Angie had been defending the justice system and a defendant’s right to representation. She needed to be the one who believed in the system and what it represented. She needed to provide Dixon the defense that Eva had been denied so many years ago.

Her phone buzzed.

She pressed intercom. “Yes?”

“There is a Ms. Lulu Sweet to see you.” The voice belonged to Iris Stanford. Iris had run the offices of Wellington and James since the days the doors had opened—six years ago. A paralegal/administrator/mom, she kept Charlotte and Angie organized. The other named partner was overseeing a murder defense trial in Texas now and had been out of the office for two months. She wasn’t expected back until the first of November.

The clock chimed once, signaling Lulu’s punctual arrival. “Bring her back.”

Rising, she smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt and pulled the jacket off her chair. She slipped it on and fastened the middle button just as Iris appeared.

Iris had short, neatly trimmed hair with a subtle black headband. Her blue preppy dress and patent leather flats always gave Angie the sense that the woman had been plucked from the 1950s.

Right on her heels was Lulu Sweet. To Angie’s amazement the young woman had lost the pink spiked tips on her blond hair, the nose ring, and dark black eye shadow. A long-sleeved turtleneck covered her tattooed arms and chest. New jeans hugged her figure, which had filled out to a healthy weight. Even her scent had changed from dark and spicy to a clean soapy aroma. Without the hooker getup, Lulu looked a decade younger, reminding Angie that she couldn’t be more than twenty-one.

Angie extended a hand and a cool smile. “Lulu, you look great.”

The young girl’s grip was firm and her gaze direct. “That was the plan. I need to look the part if I’m going to get my son back.”

Iris slipped away, vanishing down the hallway.

Angie released Lulu’s grip. “So is this just an act for the court? Because I can tell you right now, I won’t represent you if you aren’t completely serious.”

Lulu’s fingers tightened around the strap of her purse, but her gaze didn’t waver. “I’m very serious. I want my kid back.”

“Kids are a lot of work, Lulu. And you’re young. From what Eva tells me you barely have gotten your life back on track.”

“I know I’m not the perfect anything. I know I’ve made more mistakes than I should have. But I love my kid, and I want to be his mother. He is the only really great thing I’ve ever done.”

Whatever Lulu’s motivations were in the past or whatever they’d be in the future she couldn’t see. What she could see was that right now Lulu was willing to move heaven and earth for her son.

Angie held out a hand toward an empty chair in front of her desk. “Have a seat.”

Lulu moved toward it but didn’t sit. “You’ve got to be wondering why I chose you.”

Angie arched a brow. “Eva told me you needed a mean bitch like me.”

Lulu didn’t flinch or appear remotely embarrassed. “That is true. My mom’s got a good attorney, and I need a better one. I know you’re good. But I know it’s more than just that.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I wouldn’t even have my son if it weren’t for you. The path I was headed on when I took that witness stand was a bad one. I was using a lot. David would have been messed up good even before he was born if you hadn’t torn me apart on that stand.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I was so pissed.”

“I remember.”

“So pissed that I could have been made to feel so low. Even when I was with a john, I always felt in control. Even when Dixon did his worst I thought I’d find a way out of the fix. But with you there was no escape. You brought me down lower than anyone ever had.”

Angie raised her chin. She’d done her job. She hadn’t seen Lulu as a person. She’d been an obstacle to be overcome. Now, she couldn’t dismiss the woman so easily. “Okay.”

“If I hadn’t hit rock bottom that day, I’d have stayed on the same path. I was so mad at you I wanted to show you I could be a better person.”

Angie knitted her fingers in front of her, not sure why she didn’t trust her voice at that point.

Lulu dug a picture out of her purse and set it on Angie’s desk. “That’s the last picture I took of David. It was taken last week. Mom only let me visit for a half hour with him.”

Angie picked up the picture. The boy was staring up at Lulu. His smile and eyes were bright in his mother’s presence. Angie suffered a twinge of jealousy for the girl who had given birth to such a perfect child. She wanted to trace the curls framing his face. Instead, she laid the picture down. “Why did your mother limit the visit?”

“The court said I only get a half hour at a time. Mom plays by the rules.”

“She’s trying to protect this child—your son.”

“I know. I see that.”

Angie picked up a Montblanc pen and pushed a legal pad in front of her. “I’ll help you, but I need to know if you are using.”

“I am not.”

“So I could drug test you right now.”

Lulu lifted her chin. “Sure. Bring it on.”

Angie stared at her a long moment. Instinct whispered Lulu was on the level. “I’ve got a list of things I’m going to need you to do.”

Lulu scooted forward in her seat, her eyes anxious and ready. “I’ll do whatever you say.”

“First, if you’re still hanging with people who are using you need to dump them. They can drag you into trouble in the blink of an eye, and if that happens your case will be damaged.”

“Sure.”

“You do have a place to live?”

“Yes. An apartment. It’s small, but there’s room for a crib.” Lulu rattled off the address.

“And a job?”

“I work for a cleaning service by day. And I waitress at night.”

“Who is going to watch the baby when you work?”

“My neighbor. She said he could sleep at her place at night while I work.”

“What about during the day?”

“I’ve just got the day gig to make extra money now. When David comes to live with me, I’ll quit.”

Lulu had thought through the details, but Angie still worried. So much could go wrong.

“What if the baby gets sick?”

“I’ve got other friends. They have kids. I’ve helped them. They will help me.”

“They’re responsible?”

“Yes.”

Angie’s gaze narrowed. “And if you get sick?”

“Those friends will help me too.” Lulu leaned forward. “Why are you grilling me?”

“I’m asking all the questions the judge is going to ask.”

“You sound mad.”

“I’m not.”

Lulu rubbed her hand over her arm. “You don’t like me.”

“I never said that.”

“A good hooker learns to read people well.”

Angie leaned forward. “My job is to prepare you for court, to press any weakness and see if you will break. Because if you break here and now, the chances are good you’ll break in the courtroom.”

“I doubt any judge can dish out anything worse than what you did during the Dixon trial.”

“Don’t bet on it.”

Lulu’s fingers tightened on the chair arms. “What else could the judge ask?”

“Dixon paid you extra so he could brutalize you. What kind of decent mother does that?”

Her gaze thinned. “I needed a hit and the money to buy it. The drugs made me desperate. No more drugs. No more desperation.”

“You’re sure?” Her own struggles had shown her that sobriety could be as fragile as crystal. One slip and it all shattered. “Raising a kid can be stressful.”

“I’ll manage.”

“You sound glib.”

“Just determined.” She sat back in her chair and ran fingers through blond, spiked hair. “You’re hoping to find a flaw.”

“It’s my job to find and fix the flaws.”

“Yeah, but you’re really hoping you can find some reason to ditch me.”

The observation hit near to the truth. “I told Eva I’d help and I will.”

The mention of Eva’s name softened Lulu’s anger a fraction. “She’s good people.”

“Yeah.” Angie shoved out a sigh. She had told Eva she’d help Lulu. “I have a friend who owns a dress shop. I want you to stop by. I’ll call her and let her know you are coming to borrow a dress.”

Lulu frowned and glanced down at what she was wearing. “I thought this was the kind of outfit the judge would want to see.”

“It’s a real improvement,” Angie conceded. “I can see you’ve done a lot of work on yourself. But the right dress will just take it up another notch.” She scribbled the address on a pad. “I’m also writing down the name of my hairdresser. Again, use my name. She’ll know what to do.”

“My hair is wrong?”

“Wrong for the kind of impression I want to make for the judge. Perception is everything, Lulu.” She tore the paper off and handed it to her.

Lulu frowned and glanced at the addresses. “These are in the nice part of town.”

“I know.”

“A dress shop in this area is going to be expensive,” she said without shame.

“The owner, Molly, owes me. Like I said, she’ll let you borrow a dress.”

“Will she even let me through her front door?”

“I’ll let her know you’re coming. She’ll take care of you.”

Lulu folded the piece of paper and creased the fold with her fingernails. “Okay.”

“I called the courthouse this morning to double-check the time of your hearing. It’s Thursday at noon.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Tomorrow.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“You miss that day, and it’s over.”

“I know.”

“I want you at the courthouse at eleven.”

“Why?”

“I want us to have time to review some of the questions your mother’s attorney will ask. Normally, I take more time with my clients, but we are in a time crunch so we’ll do the best we can.”

“Can I get my boy back?”

Angie offered a tentative smile. “You do your part, Lulu, and I’ll do mine.”

Lulu stood and held out her hand. “I promise, Ms. Carlson. I won’t let you down.”

“It’s not me who’s counting on you. It’s David.”

With the information supplied by the medical examiner, Malcolm and Garrison wanted to talk to Dixon. His priors plus his association with the victim made him a suspect in their minds.

Malcolm had to double-check his address for Dixon. The office space he’d had two years ago had been huge. Glittering glass, polished chrome in a high-rise on Duke Street. He remembered the view from the reception area. It had looked out over the Potomac past the Wilson Bridge toward the meandering landscape that had once been home to centuries-old plantations like Mount Vernon and Gunston Hall.

However, Dixon’s newer offices were more than a few steps down. The small suite off of Van Dorn Street had a cramped reception area furnished with bamboo furniture that looked as if it belonged on a patio. Even his receptionist had changed. Gone was the tall, sleek blonde with the perky breasts and tight rear end. In her place sat a fiftysomething woman with graying hair and a sour expression. There were no patients in the waiting room.

The publicity from Dixon’s murder trial had taken a toll. Clearly, it had chased off the Washington elite searching for a private nip or tuck. Malcolm should have gotten some satisfaction knowing the doctor had been knocked off his lofty pedestal, but he didn’t. Dixon belonged behind bars.

Shoving aside frustration, Malcolm strode up to the glass window and held up his badge. The receptionist’s blank gaze didn’t waver as she pushed open the window. “What can I do for you, officers?”

“Is the doctor in?”

“He’s in his office.”

“Let him know Detectives Kier and Garrison are here.”

“Is he expecting you?”

“He’ll want to see us.”

“All right.” The receptionist rose, moving down a short hallway and vanishing.

Through the entire trial, Malcolm had sensed that Dixon loved their cat-and-mouse game. The doctor’s ego had fed on the attention. As negative and destructive as it had been, the doctor had maintained a smirk, as if he knew a secret no one else would ever discover. The expression had irritated Garrison, but it had chipped away at Malcolm’s temper. There’d been times in the courtroom Malcolm had mustered all his control to keep from leaping forward and throttling the monster that pretended to be human.

And when Dixon had walked, he’d risen from the defendant’s chair, tugged the vest of his expensive dark suit down, and strode out of the courtroom. The doctor had all but glowed when he’d talked to the press. He’d spoken of justice winning out, of returning to his life and the devoted friends and patients that meant so much to him. He planned, in fact, to hold office hours that very afternoon.

As Malcolm glanced at the faded green carpet satisfaction did flicker. “How far the mighty do fall.”

Garrison smiled, but his eyes shone with anger. “Not far enough.”

“It’s only a matter of time.”

“You’re optimistic.”

“Shit, no. I’m determined. He’ll end up in jail. That’s a promise.”

Garrison shrugged. “Don’t drive yourself insane over what can’t always be controlled.”

“There is a lot in this world I can’t control, but putting Dixon behind bars is one thing I can.”

The receptionist reappeared. Her sour expression held a hint of worry. “The doctor will see you.”

Malcolm and Garrison moved down a narrow hallway lined with photos of Dixon at many different black-tie events. Senators, congressmen, and lobbyists all stood by him, their smiles as frozen as ice.

There were also framed diplomas. He’d graduated top of his class from top-fleet medical schools. Not bad for a guy who’d come from a poor family. They’d never determined how he’d gotten the money for medical school.

If you talked to any of his patients as Malcolm and Garrison had done two years ago, you’d hear nothing but praise. A genius. Masterful skills. An artist. No one doubted that Dixon was a skilled surgeon. It was his after-hours hobbies that Malcolm found vile.

When they reached the threshold they found Dixon sitting behind his hand-carved mahogany desk. The desk was a holdover from his old life. Judging by the small room, it was about all that remained of the old life.

The doctor’s dark hair was slicked back, and he had a tan that suggested a recent holiday or visit to a tanning bed. His red tie was fastened in his trademark Windsor knot, and he still took extra starch in his shirts.

The office was small but as impeccably neat as the fancy uptown space he’d vacated. Every paper on his desk was in a neat stack. His pencils lined the top right corner like soldiers, and the books on the bookshelves were still kept in alphabetical order.

Malcolm refused to knock or clear his throat. Instead he waited for the doctor to raise his gaze from the paper in front of him. The doctor appeared in no rush, and their silent war raged for several seconds until Dixon looked up.

He didn’t appear shocked or troubled by the visit. Instead, his eyes danced with the excitement of a child ready to play a new game. He stood, tugged his vest over his narrow belly, and nodded. “Detectives Kier and Garrison. What’s it been, a year or two since we last spoke? Time does fly.”

A primitive urge demanded Malcolm grab the doctor by the lapels and smack his head against the desk. Not only would that kind of stunt bring Internal Affairs and a lawsuit down on him, but also it wouldn’t find Sierra Day’s murderer.

“It does,” Malcolm said. The natural rasp of his voice made anything he said sound harsh so he tossed in a smile to give the doctor a relaxed impression.

“So what do I owe the honor of this visit, gentlemen?”

“Official business,” Garrison said. “Concerning one of your patients.”

Dixon frowned. “That sounds ominous. Please have a seat.” He motioned to the two club chairs in front of his desk and waited until the detectives had sat before he retook his seat. He closed the file on his desk and laid the folder on a neat pile to his right. “Which one of my patients?”

The low, too-soft chair tried to swallow up Malcolm. He pulled a notebook from his pocket and flipped it open. If his dad could see him now he’d have a good laugh. How many years had his old man begged him to pay attention to the details? The devil is in the details, boy. He’ll hang your ass if you miss the wrong one.

“Sierra Day’s body was found yesterday in a local park,” Malcolm said.

Dixon’s raised dark eyebrows showed real anguish. “Are you sure it’s Sierra?”

“We are.”

Dixon shoved out a breath and for a moment seemed lost in thought. “That’s just awful. I am so sorry to hear that. I just saw her about two weeks ago.”

The son of a bitch had managed just the right blend of surprise and remorse. “Can you tell us about your routine for the last few days?”

“Why?” He raised a hand. “Never mind. I know why. Our unfortunate history. I wonder when I will finally escape it.”

“We must do our due diligence,” Garrison said easily.

“I should be offended, but I know you are trying to find Sierra’s killer. Damn, but she was such a sweet girl.”

Malcolm tried to put himself in Dixon’s place. If he’d been falsely accused of attempted murder and acquitted, he’d be damned pissed if the cops showed up on his doorstep. “When exactly is the last time you saw Ms. Day?”

He turned to his appointment book and flipped slowly through several pages. “Ah, here it is. I saw Ms. Day eleven days ago. She had a nine a.m. appointment.”

“Did you see her often?”

“That was her second appointment.” Carefully, he closed the book. “That was our last consultation before surgery.”

“What was she planning to have done?”

He hesitated. “She’s dead, so I suppose there is no doctor–patient relationship to violate. She was going to have breast augmentation. Like many young women she wanted larger breasts. She’d planned to go from a B to a double D. And she wanted me to liposuction her buttocks and abdomen. She was looking for a model-perfect body, as most actresses today want. She’d planned on having her surgery next week. She was very excited.”

“That was the last time you spoke to her?”

“Yes.” Dixon sat back in his chair. “I still can’t believe she is dead. I just can’t believe it.”

“Really?”

Dixon was a master liar and manipulator. “You do believe me, don’t you, Detective?”

Malcolm met the doctor’s earnest eyes with a dead-panned expression. “Do I have reason not to?”

“As I mentioned, we do have a history, Detective.”

“I’m here with no agenda, Dr. Dixon, other than to recreate Ms. Day’s last days.”

“Do you always interview your victim’s doctors?”

“I interview anyone and everyone when I’m investigating a murder.” He flipped a page in his notebook. “What can you tell me about Ms. Day?”

Dr. Dixon hesitated. “She was a very excitable young woman. Prone to drama, you know? But it fit her vocation. Who would want to watch an actress who didn’t have a flair for drama?”

“Did you ever see her in a play?”

“I did, as a matter of fact. I went to see her over the summer when she was in Twelfth Night. I’m a contributor to the West End Theater, and the actors awarded us with a special viewing of their summer show. I met her afterwards. She pulled me aside during the party and told me of her desire for plastic surgery. I gave her my card and left it at that.”

“And you didn’t see her during the summer?”

“No. I did not.”

When he questioned friends and family, he’d be sure to bring up Dixon’s name. It had been his experience that no matter how careful people could be, someone somewhere had seen them or heard about them. “Is there anyone who might like to hurt Ms. Day?”

“All I know is that I did not kill this woman, Detective. I liked Ms. Day. She was a stunning woman whom I’d planned to make even more beautiful.”

“Like Lulu Sweet?” Malcolm tossed her name out to Dixon like bait on a hook. He wasn’t sure what he’d catch, but he was willing to take a chance.

Dixon twisted his cuff link. “So this is related to the old charges you could never prove?”

“Your attorney won your acquittal fair and square.” Carlson might be a bloodsucker, but she had followed the law to a T.

“Oh, come on. This visit is about getting a pound of my flesh. It wasn’t enough that you shattered my reputation—now you are going to try and pin a murder on me.”

Malcolm felt the tug on his fishing line and gave it a little slack. “No, sir, not at all.”

Dixon leaned forward. “I’ve been practicing in this hovel for nearly two years, barely scraping by with patients like Sierra Day who can’t afford a top-of-the-line surgeon.”

The line had grown tight, and Malcolm reeled it in. “It made you angry that you weren’t serving the cream of the crop anymore.”

“Of course it bothered me. I resent the fact that a penny whore I hired freaked out on drugs and nearly ruined my reputation. I resent that my partners dropped me from the practice, and I resent that my patients abandoned me. But that doesn’t mean that I killed Ms. Day.”

“I never said you did.”

“But I’ll bet money that you’ll do your best to pin it on me.”

“I’m looking for a killer, not a pound of flesh.”

“Humans search for the information that supports their opinion. And we are more likely to reject what doesn’t fit our worldview. And your tiny worldview paints me as a villain.”

“Did you kill her?” Garrison asked.

“I can’t believe you asked me that question.”

“Did you murder Sierra Day?” Garrison’s voice had more force.

“I should call your supervisor and demand you be reprimanded.”

“Did you kill her?”

Dixon faced Malcolm directly. “No.”

For a long, tense moment Malcolm stared at Dixon. He knew in his bones that the doctor was connected to this. And he feared it was only a matter of time before another woman fell prey to him. “Thank you for your time.”

Dixon rose. “That’s it?”

“For now, yes.”

“Should I get an attorney?”

“That is totally up to you.”

The detectives left the office, moving carefully and slowly as if it were business as usual. But when they got in the car, Malcolm gripped the steering wheel, wishing he could snap it. “That son of a bitch is evil. I know he’s connected to Sierra Day’s death.”

“Knowing and proving are two different things.”

Malcolm was silent for a moment. “It’s a gut feeling.”

“Let’s dig into his recent activities. We need more than your gut.”

Malcolm fired up the engine. “I want to put a tail on him.”

“As much as I’d like to, we don’t have just cause.”

Malcolm backed out of the parking spot and punched the gas. “Then we better find it.”