Deadly Games Page 9

  An idea came to him, and he went to the garage to grab some wood for a sign. He hammered a post onto a piece of paneling and then took it to his studio to paint it with a fake realty listing. Once it dried, he’d put it in the yard to throw the authorities off. Why would they suspect a home that has people looking inside it every day?

  I’m such a genius.

  He heard rattling in the basement and figured his newest guest was alert. He couldn’t wait to welcome her to the fun, so he hurried down the stairs.

  Tiffany Clark looked up at him in confusion. “Mr. Peirick, what the hell is going on here?” she demanded.

  With a low chuckle, he removed the sheet he’d hung up in front of her, so she could see his other guest, Tamara. Her jaw went slack and fell open as far as it could. Then she began to scream. He laughed at first but then worried the cops could be back at any moment, so he fetched the duct tape.

  “Why are you doing—” her words were cut off into a muffle as the tape covered her mouth.

  He laughed again and stared into her eyes with daggers. “Why am I doing this? Because I can is the simplest answer, but it’s really because you rejected my hard work, so now you get to become a part of it.” He held up his masterpiece of the dead hooker. “Lovely, isn’t it?”

  Her eyes pooled with tears as reality overcame her. Between the woman on the opposite wall, who had dried blood all over her, and the terrifying painting, she knew the fate that was in store for her.

  “You told me to show emotion in my work, so I chose to use fear and suffering. I did a terrific job too if I do say so myself”—he gestured to the painting—“Yes, she suffered a lot for me, and I perfectly captured the moments.” He picked up his camera and snapped some pictures of her distress. “I think you’re going to make a wonderful model,” he growled with a threatening glare. “And now that I have seen your fear, I need to see your pain.” He approached her with a hammer and nail.

  I PICKED UP a bottle of Kahlúa on the way home and made a mudslide as soon as I walked in through the door. I didn’t drink often, but it was one of those days when a drink sounded good. If we came up empty on the properties that needed searching yet, I just didn’t know what we’d do. The captain had said something about a plan B, but did he have one already? I know I didn’t.

  “You’re not alone in this. Rely on your team, Delossa,” I chastised myself.

  My phone rang, and it was Maria Gomez. I hoped she had some useful information for my case.

  “Hi, Maria. What’s up?” I wondered.

  Her voice was in a whisper, so I knew she wasn’t alone. “You’re in danger. The word on the street is the Bloods are looking for you hardcore. They even threatened to start killing at random to flush you out.”

  I blew out a rush of air. This was all I needed to deal with right now. “Thank you. I’ll heed your warning. Have you heard anything regarding the Slasher case?” I figured I might as well ask while I had her on the phone.

  “No, not yet. I’ll keep listening and watching, though,” she answered.

  “Thanks. Call me anytime,” I told her and hung up.

  I fixed another mudslide and stepped out onto the back patio to watch the sun go down while Duke played in the yard. My phone rang again, and my breath caught in my throat when I saw it was Liam.

  “Hello?” I answered the call. “What bad news do you have for me now?”

  “Well, you don’t have to come in again, but I do have some news. The curator for the City Museum has been reported missing by her husband. She didn’t show up for work today, and she never made it home either, but her car is gone. I just wanted to let you know.”

  I closed my eyes and willed the day to be over. “Are you sure you don’t need me to come in?”

  “No, you’re fine. None of us are going back in, but Missing Persons is working on it. They are out searching with the dogs. We’ll discuss it more in the morning,” he said.

  “Okay. I’ll see you then. Bye.” I hung up and stared off into the distance. When will this be over?

  Feeling the effects of the alcohol and the stress of the case, I took a relaxing bath and headed to bed early without supper. Curling up with Duke was just what I needed to feel better.

  I WOKE UP an hour and forty-five minutes early on Wednesday and thought about going for a run with Duke, but then I remembered Maria’s warning about the Bloods, and after the encounter I had on Saturday, I decided to use my StairMaster instead. Being on the force was dangerous regardless, but perhaps while the Slasher case was active, it wouldn’t hurt to be extra vigilant.

  I had my stereo on and almost didn’t hear my phone ring half-way into my workout. It was Maria calling again.

  As soon as I said hello, she rattled off, “I can’t talk long, but I wanted to tell you to be careful today. I think something is going to go down, but I’m not sure when or where. I just heard them saying that today is the day.”

  “Okay, thanks for calling. I’ll notify the Gang Unit, so they can keep an eye out for unusual activity,” I replied.

  “Cool. See ya.” The line went dead.

  I showered after the call, quickly ate, and then headed in early, so I’d have time to talk to the Gang Unit before starting my day. I relayed Maria’s message, and they promised to be extra watchful of the gang’s activities. I also told my partners, and they agreed to have my back too. I felt confident around them, but what about when I went home? I had an alarm, a big dog, and of course, my gun, but I didn’t want to be alone. I supposed I could always ask Justin to stay over. Then again, he didn’t believe in guns or fighting, so I wasn’t sure if he would do any good if I was attacked.

  “So, I called you all last night about the curator’s disappearance, and there is no word on her yet,” Liam began, snapping me out of my reverie. “Tiffany Clark’s husband, Ron, saw her in the morning before he left for work, and no one has seen or heard from her since.”

  “Has the CSU been to her house to check for evidence?” I wondered, thinking maybe she was abducted from her home. “Did the Clarks have any maintenance men coming over yesterday or anything of that nature, and have the neighbors been interrogated?”

  Liam answered, “Yes, the technicians have been there, but they didn’t recover any trace. No one was expected to be stopping by, and the neighbors didn’t see anyone suspicious in the neighborhood. So, I think she might have stopped someplace on the way to the museum and was taken from there, but no witnesses have come forward.”

  “Let’s map out the route she normally takes from home to work and see what coffee shops and gas stations are along the way,” Marisol suggested and lit up the LED map we had of the St. Louis area.

  Liam used an LED pin and marked the street she lived on—Spruce Street. Then he put a pin where the City Museum is, which turned out to be only a handful of miles from her house.

  “So, she’d take Spruce to North Tucker Boulevard to Lucas Avenue,” Eric pointed out and then typed something into his computer. “The closest coffee shop is the Washington Avenue Post on Washington Avenue.”

  I lit up spots on the map. “Or she could’ve stopped at Kaldi’s Coffee here on Chestnut Street, and there’s also Shell gas station on North Tucker and Mobil on North Thirteenth Street in the area. We could contact them for surveillance footage.”

  Liam picked up his desk phone and began dialing. “I’ll have Missing Persons do it. We have to focus on our killer’s motives and think about where he’ll strike next.”

  I ran my hands through my long hair with a heavy sigh. “Therein lies the problem. Nothing ties our victims together yet, so we have no idea where he’ll strike next.”

  “I agree that so far the victims look random, b
ut there has to be something about them that makes him choose them,” Liam countered. “That’s what we need to figure out.”

  A knock on the doorframe stopped him from elaborating further. It was a FedEx driver with a package.

  “I’m looking for an Agent Sasha Delossa,” he announced, and I raised my hand. I signed for the package and thanked him, but I was confused because I hadn’t ordered anything. I let the package rest on my desk without touching it.

  Once he was out of earshot, I told the others, “I haven’t ordered anything. We need to get the Bomb Squad up here.”

  I slowly backed away from my desk, and Liam pushed the alarm button to evacuate the building. We all knew a bomb could be remotely detonated once it was in the hands of the recipient. Since packages can be tracked online, the sender could even use the FedEx system to see that it had been signed for.

  “Did you see who it was from?” Eric asked when we were outside in the crowd.

  I nodded. “I glanced at the name, which I don’t recognize. It said it was sent from a Jimmy Sutton. I didn’t check the address.”

  “That’s okay, we’ll look at it later. I told the technicians where the package is, and there they are now,” Liam stated and pointed to the men in dark blue protective gear who were rushing into the building.

  We held our breaths for several minutes until the supervising technician yelled that the building was cleared. Relief washed over me, but I was still confused. Who was Jimmy Sutton, and why was he sending me something? Was it simply a ploy to get me out of the building? Police personnel surrounded me, so it didn’t make sense for the Bloods to try something with us all out there, and I highly doubted they had a sharpshooter on a rooftop nearby. The St. Louis Slasher, though, was another story. But why would he target me? The eerie phone call ran through my mind.

  When we reached the door, the supervising technician told Liam, “It’s a flat non-electrical object.”

  “Thank you for checking it out,” Liam responded, and I added my own thanks on top. Then we rushed upstairs.

  They stared at me while I tried to open the package with my trembling hands. “It says it’s from Jimmy Sutton, of Two-Eleven Cass Avenue”—I looked up into their expectant faces—“I still have no idea who that is.”

  Eric was inputting the name and address into his computer while I pulled out the contents of the box. It was a painting—specifically, it was a painted portrait of me.

  “He apparently knows who you are,” Marisol observed. “Eric, what did you find?”

  My hands grew clammy, so I set the artwork down on my desk and looked at Eric for his response. “There is no such address, but there are a few James Suttons. One lives in Kirkwood, one lives here in St. Louis, and another is in Maryland Heights. Of course, if I extend the search, I’m sure we’ll find more,” he said.

  The captain had been listening in and watching, so he advised us, “Go knock on doors while the crime lab takes a look at the painting.”

  Instead of getting up to leave, I started tapping on my computer, drawing their collective attention.

  “What are you doing?” Marisol wondered.

  I glanced up at her. “I’m trying to cross-reference artists with the name to see if there are any in the area. That’s hardly a paint by number, and the artist has definite talent.” Sadly, the search came up null.

  “Ready to go?” Liam inquired, and I nodded.

  “Yep. Let’s see what turns up,” I answered with a sick feeling in my stomach. It was highly probable that the name was fake too.

  HE RUBBED HIS hands together while he stared at his computer screen. The painting had been delivered. He studied the loopy lines of her signature. It was feminine but confident. It was artistic. He wondered if she liked it, and he wondered if she was looking for Jimmy Sutton yet. The payback to the college art teacher would be epic. The teacher had never believed he could amount to anything with his artistic passion, which is why he’d gone in another direction with his line of work. Well, he’d prove the asshole wrong just as he’d soon prove the bitch in the basement wrong. Speaking of which…

  He trotted down the stairs, whistling a joyful tune, and approached the curator who was still crying. He was sure part of it was from the nail he’d driven into her left hand.

  “Does that still hurt?” he mocked, and she tried to shake her head up and down, but she was too weak. He held up his camera and mumbled, “Let’s capture your misery for all to see.” He snapped three photos and then looked back over them with a frown. “I don’t think it’s powerful enough. You’ve got to really own it. Pretend you’re in a movie and work it.” He grabbed another nail and pounded it into her right hand this time. Her eyes squeezed shut, and muffled screams escaped around the tape. “That’s better! Look at you!” He took more photos and strolled over to the other woman. “Don’t worry, Tamara, I haven’t forgotten you, but I don’t want to repeat myself too much. I have to keep the police guessing.”

  He gave her a sip of water from the bottle before puncturing a hole into her forearm with a power drill. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and her body violently shook. The jerking stopped within minutes, though, and only glassy eyes stared back at him. Click. Click.

  ONE HUNDRED COLE Street in the city was our first stop. Mrs. Cole answered the door and said her husband, who was a cardiologist at St. Louis Children’s Hospital, wouldn’t be home until after 9:00. She wanted, of course, to know what our visit was about, so I asked if he had any artistic hobbies. She laughed and told us he didn’t have a creative bone in his body, so we crossed him off the list.

  We went to Thirteen East Jefferson Avenue in Kirkwood next, and a portly older man answered. “Can I help you?” he asked when we flashed our badges and introduced ourselves.

  “Are you James Sutton?” I inquired, and he slowly nodded.

  “Yes, I’m James. What do you need, officers?” His voice trembled, and I immediately presumed he wasn’t our confident, narcissistic killer. He just didn’t fit our profile.

  “May we come in?” I asked, and he let us inside and led us to his living room. “James, I received a painting today, and I’m just trying to find out who it came from,” I told the man. “Would you know anything about that?”

  His face scrunched tight. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, officer.” He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed his face.

  “It’s Detective Delossa,” I corrected him. “Do you like to paint, James? Did you do this?” I held up my phone to show him a photo of the painting.

  “I didn’t do that, but the likeness is quite good. I’ve not picked up paints in months; however, I suppose…” His voice trailed off.

  “You suppose what?” Eric demanded.

  “I suppose it could be from one of my students,” James finished.

  “Your students?” I inquired.

  He smiled. “Yes, I teach art at the St. Louis Community College. I have for nearly fifteen years now.” He looked closer at the photo. “Why did you think I did that?”

  “Your name was on the return address,” Liam announced, and the man’s face lost all its color.

  “Well, I can only guess that one of my students is playing a hoax on me then, but I assure you I didn’t do that. For one thing, I’d never use just one color. I know Picasso had a blue period, but I’m not one for doing that sort of thing. I do, however, have a female student who likes to paint black and whites. I can always ask her about it if you want.”

  I looked at the others and used my eyes to convey my thoughts. This wasn’t our guy, and the female student wasn’t either.

  “That won’t be necessary, but we thank you for your time,” Liam told him and shook his hand to give
him a business card. “If you do think of something or hear something about it, though, please don’t hesitate to call us.”

  “Sure, but can I ask what it has to do with?” he wondered.

  “We aren’t sure yet,” I answered him, and we left his home.

  In the car, I had to ask, “Are we sure we aren’t chasing our tails on this? That old guy was probably right about being set up by a student.”

  Marisol interjected, “Our killer might be one of his students or even a former student. That’s where we should look.”

  Liam was quiet for a minute, but he didn’t start the car. Finally, he said, “Sasha, go back up there and see what we have to do to get his class roster.”

  “You bet,” I chirped and hopped out of the car. Mr. Sutton was apparently watching us from the window because he opened the door before I got there.

  “What else can I do for you Detective?” he called out.

  “We’d like a copy of your class roster, Mr. Sutton. Can you get that for me?” I questioned.

  He dabbed his face again. “I’m not sure about the school’s policy on something like that, so I think it’s best if you ask them. You’ll have my full cooperation as long as it’s okay with them.”

  I nodded. “Fair enough. That’s what we’ll do then. Have a good day.” I went back to the car, and we headed for home.

  “How do we even know that the painting is related to the Slasher case?” Marisol asked when we got to our desks.

  Chris’s voice rang out as he stepped into the office with papers in hand. “Because the medium for the painting is blood mixed with red paint, and the DNA matches your victims.”