Deadly Games Read online

  He eased her carcass out of the chains and tossed her into the walk-in cooler. Then he mopped up the floor and went upstairs to paint.

  His strokes were strong and steady as he filled the canvas with suffering, pain, hatred, and death. The only thing the masterpiece was missing was remorse, and that was exactly how he wanted it.

  I WAS EATING breakfast on Sunday when my cell phone rang. This time it was SLCPD calling. The officer told me I needed to promptly arrive at the Trainwreck Saloon in Westport Plaza because another body had been found.

  I threw on my blue shirt and slacks, strapped on my hardware, and rushed to the crime scene where I bumped into Marisol in the parking lot.

  “Do you know any of the specifics yet?” I had to ask.

  “No, I was just told a body was found,” she replied.

  I groaned, “Can’t crime take the weekend off?”

  We approached the crowd, blocked off by the ugly yellow tape, and she tossed over her shoulder, “That sure would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

  Liam and Eric were already there waiting for us. Liam motioned us over, and then he explained the owner discovered the unidentified female when he showed up to open the restaurant for the day.

  “He said when he unlocked the patio doors, she was lying on the ground. He promised that he didn’t touch a thing, and he kept the employees out of the area too,” Liam informed us. “Eric and I looked at her, but we want your unbiased assessments, so go ahead and see her for yourself. Chris should be here soon, too.”

  I motioned to Marisol, and we brushed past the crime scene technicians who were already processing the scene. I gasped when I saw the woman’s face.

  “Oh my God! That’s awful,” I exclaimed with a gag.

  The woman’s red face was distorted with blisters and skin that was peeling away. The stench was horrific.

  “It’s also new,” she added. “And look, her wrists are broken.”

  I looked back at the human remains. “But those gashes in her body aren’t new, and Tucker Brown also had broken wrists.” A thought occurred to me. “It could be they accidentally broke their wrists from struggling against their restraints.” I asked a technician for gloves and put them on before lifting her wrist to examine it. “Her skin is raw. She definitely rubbed it against her cuffs.” I looked at the inside of her arm. “I see old track wounds. She had been hooked on something once upon a time.”

  “Mind if I take a look?” Chris asked, startling me. I hadn’t realized he’d joined us.

  “No, of course not,” I replied and got out of his way. He used a cotton swab around her mouth and smelled it. Then he opened her mouth and looked inside.

  “What do you think it is?” I inquired.

  His mouth was set in a tight line. “It smells like acetone, and it was poured down her throat as far as I can tell from this initial examination. I’ll know more when I do the autopsy.”

  Marisol and I both gaped in horror. “Who could be this cruel? Are there no boundaries this sick bastard won’t cross?” she exclaimed.

  “Poor woman,” I groaned.

  Chris motioned for the morgue technicians to remove the body. “I’ll get started right away. If he used chloroform on her, I doubt I’ll find trace around her mouth. Perhaps I might find it in her lungs, but I can’t guarantee it since she inhaled the toxic fumes from the acetone. I’ll have her prints ran through IAFIS.”

  “Thank you,” Marisol said on our behalf, and we followed the men out to the parking lot.

  “I think we need to call the FBI in,” Liam grumbled. “This is too much for just us.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. “I’ll talk to the captain about it.”

  We climbed into our cars and drove back to SLCPD. During the drive, I couldn’t help but think we were trying to catch the invisible man.

  While Liam spoke to Captain Roman, the rest of us gathered in the bullpen and discussed our thoughts.

  “Do you usually call in the FBI?” I asked them.

  Eric cleared his throat and told me, “No, but then we don’t usually have serial killers like this one. Normally, it’s gang-related violence when we see multiple deaths”—he slammed his fist on his desk—“I don’t think even those thugs are capable of such cruelty as this.”

  Liam came out of the captain’s office and summoned us to follow him into the conference room. “The captain agrees that we need to rely on the FBI’s help, so he’s going to start making calls. Of course, in the meantime, we’ll keep working the case from every angle, so what do we make of his change-up in MO with this victim?”

  I doodled on my note pad while I thought about it. “Chris said the chemical used on her face and likely poured down her throat smelled like acetone. Besides nail polish remover, what else contains that?” I wondered aloud.

  Liam wrote the word on the dry erase board and listed nail polish remover underneath it. Then, as we rattled items off, he added those too. We told him household cleaners, paint thinners, and automotive chemicals. There were several items that we found online and were able to exclude such as suntan lotion, paint, and sealants.

  “We’ll just have to wait on the lab report to see what the other compounds are to know exactly what was used,” Eric stated.

  As if on cue, Jackie knocked on the door. “I have some reports on your victim, and Dr. Edwards told me to bring them up right away.” She flipped through the pages and told us, “Her prints were in IAFIS from when she was arrested for solicitation. She’s Lara Reynolds, and her last known address was in East St. Louis. The chemicals found around her mouth are turpentine, mineral spirits, methyl ethyl ketone, and acetone. Those are the components of paint thinner. Dr. Reynolds will have more for you when he’s finished with the autopsy.”

  Liam spoke on our behalf, “Thank you, Jackie.” He accepted the reports and put them in the case’s file box. Then he addressed us again, “House painters would have a use for paint thinner, so maybe we are looking for someone in contracting. Maybe he built his own outbuilding for a walk-in cooler too.”

  “There are a lot of construction companies around the St. Louis area, or he could even work independently,” I stated.

  “Either way, he could be using that to approach people. He could be asking them if they want work done,” Marisol added.

  “I don’t think he’s doing that because they aren’t missing from their homes,” Eric said, and I nodded in agreement with his assessment.

  I thought about the recent victim. “If Lara Reynolds was still turning tricks, he could’ve approached her for that,” I offered. “But what about the others? I recall that Tucker Brown was a mechanic and Andrew Adams worked for a butcher shop. Do they use paint thinner to remove paint from cars?” I wondered.

  “No, they use paint stripper for that, and it’s a different list of ingredients,” Liam answered. “Good question, though.”

  Another knock on the doorframe made our heads snap up. It was Chris this time, and he walked in with his reports.

  “She died of asphyxiation from the methylene chloride fumes, and my findings suggest that she had a seizure before her untimely death. Since her lungs were filled with the fumes, I wasn’t able to find any trace of chloroform,” he informed us.

  “That’s okay. We think that, given her profession, she went with him willingly,” I stated.

  “Okay, well, she had multiple stab wounds just like the others, and her wrists were broken too,” he added. “She had a contusion on the back of her head, but she could have struck it when she had the seizure.”

  “Could he have hit her, causing the seizure?” I asked.

  He sighed, “I didn’t find tool
markings to suggest blunt force trauma, so I don’t think he did.”

  “Was she starved too?” Liam queried.

  Chris clasped his hands together in front of himself and replied, “Yes, he had starved her too, but she had liquid in her bladder, so he did give her water, just not much by the looks of things. Lastly, I think she broke her own wrists against the cuffs in her attempt to escape.”

  I looked down at the table and felt ready to cry. I couldn’t imagine being that afraid for your life, and I hoped I never would be. She’d given up all hope of being rescued and tortured herself to try to get away from the madman. No matter what, we had to stop him before he could do this to anyone else. If he isn’t already.

  The captain stepped up behind Chris and announced, “Three agents from the FBI are here to speak with you. I’ll show them in.”

  HE WOKE UP feeling restless, so he went back to his painting. Killing the tramp had given him a fresh outlook on his work, but the high would only last for so long, so he needed a fresh body. He could have held onto her for a while longer, but he wanted to toy with the police, especially the new detective. He pulled out the newspaper clipping about her promotion to the Homicide Unit and used her photo to sketch on a blank canvas. She was an attractive woman, and he would add the new art to his personal collection when it was finished. Or, he thought wickedly, perhaps he would send it to her as a gift.

  He dipped the brush into the blood-mixed red paint and outlined her face and hair. He thought about switching to the black paint to match the color of her hair, but the crimson-red was so pretty, that he decided this piece would go into his red collection. However, he used a tray and mixed a dab of the black with the red to make it darker. It looked perfect. He used the same mixture to outline her facial features and then to fill in her lips. Then he switched to a wider brush and slashed across the canvas to fill in the background with the lighter mix. The irony of surrounding the detective’s face with so much DNA was laughable. He’d collected the essence of every victim so far and blended it into the perfect hue.

  “The color of death,” he whispered to himself with a catty smile.

  While the portrait dried, he went to the other house to check on his prisoner. “You’re not looking well, my dear,” he drawled when he saw her.

  She looked up with lunacy in her eyes. “That’s because you’re killing me,” she seethed through gritted teeth. “Get on with it or just let me go!”

  He cocked his head to the side and smiled at her. “Are you afraid to die?”

  “No,” she growled.

  He laid out a kit on the table near her, and her eyes bulged when she saw the instruments inside. Some were metal, thin-bladed, and razor-sharp, while others were an assortment of pliers.

  “Are you afraid of how?” he taunted, and her reply choked off in her throat.

  Her tears did the talking for her. She squeezed her eyes shut to either hide them or to make the vision of him go away like a nightmare. When she opened them again, he laughed.

  “I’m still here. Don’t worry, darling. I don’t think I’m going to kill you today. Tomorrow looks better.” He reached for a set of pliers and thrust them toward her face.

  She pursed her lips tight, trying to keep him from her mouth, but he clamped hard onto her nose and twisted until there was a loud popping sound followed by her piercing screams. Her distorted face was the perfect picture. It was kind of like a Picasso painting. He took several snapshots and ran up the stairs to make use of the inspiration.

  Vivid colors splashed onto the stark white canvas, filling it with wild energy. Each color represented a different emotion until it was a creative mess of anguish, fear, pain, and grief. It told a grim and foreboding story. It was someone’s living nightmare, but not his. It was his masterpiece.

  THREE SERIOUS LOOKING agents entered the room and stood by the dry erase board after giving us and the board a once-over. The lone man introduced them.

  “I am Agent Mark Pullum, and this is Agent Tina Amos and Agent Amelia Gould. We are here in an advisory capacity to assist you in the capture of your recent serial killer, who has been dubbed the ‘St. Louis Slasher’ according to the media.”

  I studied the brooding man, wondering if he ever smiled. Actually, I had to wonder if any of them ever smiled. Liam introduced each of us, and then we showed them our poker hand, pulling everything out of the evidence box.

  “We still intend to knock on doors alongside the local police in those highlighted rural communities,” Liam informed them.

  “Good,” Agent Pullum said. “I think that’s wise. It might scare him enough to make him get sloppy.”

  I couldn’t help but play the devil’s advocate. “Or it might make him pick up the pace,” I blurted.

  Agent Gould spoke for the first time. “That’s a possibility, but then it just makes it more likely he’ll screw up and give something away.”

  “We’ll be standing by, ready to secure any warrants you might need,” Agent Amos added. “We have a few judges who are expeditious for us, and if you need backup, we’ll be ready for that too.”

  When all was said and done, it looked like tomorrow was going to be the start of an extremely busy week for us.

  I went home when we were finished talking and tried to salvage the rest of the day. I got caught up on my laundry and took Duke to a nice dog park in the area where I tossed the frisbee for him. There was a rain breeze kicking up, tousling my hair all around my face, but it felt good against the sun beating down on us through the gathering clouds.

  We made it back inside the house just as the first drops began to fall. It didn’t take long for the splatter to turn into a torrential thunderstorm, and I heard the warning sirens sound. I flipped on the news and saw that the county was under a tornado watch. I had emergency flashlights plugged in and charged, so if the power went out, we wouldn’t be in the dark.

  The satellite reception was hindered, so I popped in a DVD of Pretty Woman and microwaved a bag of popcorn. The movie made me think of Lara Reynolds, though, so I quickly swapped it out for You’ve Got Mail. I was a third of the way in when Justin called.

  “I just wanted to see how you’re fairing the weather,” he said. “Is Duke protecting you?”

  I chuckled, “Actually, he’s afraid of thunder, so I’m protecting him.” I looked down at the massive animal cowering next to me and softly petted him.

  “I can come over and protect you both,” he suggested.

  I sighed, “We’re okay, but we thank you for the offer. I think we’re just going to head to bed.”

  “Oh, well then I should definitely come over,” he flirted.

  “Good night, Justin. Sleep well in your own bed,” I replied and hung up before he could talk me into it.

  I turned off the TV and checked the alarm before turning in for the night. Holding Duke close, I fell asleep as soon as I closed my eyes.

  WHEN THE ALARM woke me up on Monday, it was still pouring down rain, so I had to dry Duke off when he came inside from his potty. Of course, it was after he shook off first, spraying water all over me and the kitchen.

  “I guess I should have seen that coming,” I laughed and wiped the droplets off my face.

  I fluffed him up and mopped up the floor with the towel before feeding us both. When I was just about ready to leave, Justin called.

  “What are you doing for lunch today?” he asked with a lilt in his voice.

  “I’ll be working through lunch today I imagine,” I answered. “There was another body found yesterday, and we’re knocking on doors today.”

  “Oh,” his voice fell, “I haven’t heard about that yet, but I’ve not been watching the news. Since you�
��ll be busy, though, can I take you to dinner?”

  After the kind of day I was expecting to have, seeing him wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. “If you want to drop by with a pizza around 6:30, I won’t say no, but I won’t feel up to going out.”

  “I’ll see you at 6:30 then. Try to have a good day.” He said goodbye, and we hung up.

  I weaved through the thick traffic on Lindell Boulevard and arrived at SLCPD thirty-eight minutes later. Shortly after, the FBI agents showed up, and we split up to knock on doors while the agents stayed behind to handle our warrant requests.

  We drove back to Wildwood while the fellas returned to Ellisville. Again, we went to the police station, and after apologizing to Chief Meyer for just taking off the other day, he rounded up some officers to help us. He sent Officer Jack Fisk with us to make sure everything was above board since we were out of our jurisdiction. We started at the top of our list of properties with special permits or with outbuildings.

  No one answered the door on the first two homes. “Must be at work,” Jack observed.

  “Or afraid to open the door to the cops,” I theorized.

  He shrugged. “I don’t think so around here, but I guess you never know.”

  A middle-aged woman opened the door on the third home, and we explained that we wanted to examine her outbuilding. If we did find walk-in coolers in the homes, we could easily get a warrant to search the entire premises.

  She looked past us and wrung her hands. “I don’t know. My husband isn’t here.”

  I spoke up. “Ma’am, what do you keep in the building?”

  “Oh, the lawnmower, gardening tools, and such. It’s really a mess. What are you looking for that you’d want to search it?”