Love Me Dead Page 10

  “I was busy cleaning up pig’s blood,” I say, though truly I had no idea he’d called me. I was busy with Kane. “Why were you calling?”

  “Because I had something important to say.”

  “Then say it.”

  “Detective Williams had a juvenile record,” he says. “She killed her step-mother.”

  “And she became a detective,” I say. “How the fuck did that happen?”

  “Several layers of paperwork, name changes, and a friend of a friend who knew the right people. Sounds like you know who your killer is. This one isn’t that complicated.”

  “Except it’s not her.”

  “It’s her,” he says. “She’s a crazy person.”

  “It’s not her. Send me her address. I’m going over there. And what about family, friends, exes?”

  “Her mother’s in a nursing home. Her father’s dead. No siblings. She does have a boyfriend. His name is Ralph Redman. He’s a criminal attorney, and get this, he’s got photos of big game he shot hunting. Like a tiger and an elephant.”

  “He’d know how to slaughter a pig for that blood,” I say.

  “Wait. You brought up a pig before. You never finished that thought. What pig?”

  “I guess you don’t know everything. You will, but seriously, you know Williams is missing, and you didn’t tell me about the animal killer?”

  “What pig, Lilah?” He sounds exasperated.

  “Pipe down. There was pig’s blood at the first crime scene. Text me the animal killer’s address, photo, and anything else I need.”

  “Done. You have it now. He’s in court today. He’s representing a stalker. He’s that kind of creepy guy.”

  It could be him, but it still feels off. It’s too obvious, like this is what I’m supposed to think, but chasing this lead may entertain Umbrella Man enough to delay another kill. I disconnect the call with Tic Tac and stare down at the photo of a decent looking man with neatly trimmed blonde hair. My phone beeps with a text from Tic Tac: I guess we were done?

  I reply with: I had to kill someone. Currently cleaning up the mess.

  Another text hits my phone, but this one is not from Tic Tac. It’s from Roger: Still waiting on your case file. Did you get mine?

  I stare at the message. I want his file, but I’m not keen on sharing with Roger, not because he’s Roger, but rather my concern of corruption within the department. Roger’s old school. He’s close to the longer termers, and he generally thinks most people are beneath him. I could see him being in the Society.

  For now, it’s a good excuse to avoid a man I don’t want to see. I text him back: I have yet to sit down to get the file done. Detective Williams is missing. More this evening. I’m walking into an interview.

  I’m about to hit send, but I reconsider. I delete the part about Detective Williams, but I can’t say why. My gut just says to keep this quiet. I find Houston’s number in the text he’d sent me and hit dial. He doesn’t answer so I leave a message.

  Roger hasn’t replied to my message. That works for me, but his silence won’t last. Roger never takes a backseat, and in this case, he’s been used by the killer, targeted like I have. If I don’t catch this killer quickly, Roger will be here, staring in my eyes and judging me.

  I stand up to leave and it’s as if the man heard me, my phone buzzes with a text, and damn it, it’s Roger: We got our man here. I’m coming back.

  I want to throw up. I set my phone down but manage to stare at his message. He’s coming back. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Inhaling, I reach in my field bag and pull out a photo of me and Kane, flipping it over to the marks I’ve made there. A mark for every murder I’ve solved since that night. That’s what Roger will see, the profiler who’s caught hundreds of killers. Not the profiler who is a killer. Not the profiler who killed easily. Not the killer who knows she could do it again. The only person who sees that part of me is Kane. And he’s the only one who will ever see her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I catch an Uber to the apartment of Detective Williams’ boyfriend.

  If I were anyone else, I might call Kane during my ride just to have him tell me I’m right; no one but him knows me or sees the real me. But I know this to be true. I don’t need a fucking man to tell me so. And I hate whiney, needy people who need to be coddled. I’m not going to become one of those people. Luckily, right as I’m about to call him anyway, my brother calls, and there is really nothing better in this world than a sibling punching bag.

  We get that party started right out of the gate. “You coming home for the weekend or staying up there with your criminal boyfriend?” he asks.

  “Says the guy dating his ex and taking hand me downs.”

  “Oh fuck, Lilah. Did you really go there?”

  “Since you’re dating that bitch, yes.”

  “Speaking of being a bitch, Lilah.”

  “Did you call just to tell me you love me or what?”

  “I called because dad’s holding a fundraiser Friday night. You said you were going to be supportive. He’s running for Governor of our great state, sis. That’s big.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Already the but—”

  “I’ve got a problem here,” I say, abbreviating to ensure the driver doesn’t put two and two together, but he doesn’t seem to know much English anyway. “And,” I add, “that problem’s hyper-focused on me. I’m not bringing him to you.”

  “What the hell does that mean? A killer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hyper-focused on you? What the fuck Lilah?”

  “You need to relax. This is what I do, Andrew. And I’m in an Uber, so don’t ask for details. I’m fine.”

  “How safe is your apartment?”

  “Kane basically hired me a bodyguard, and I’m going to stay with him tonight.”

  “Thank god for your criminal boyfriend.”

  “Hanging up, Andrew.” And I do.

  He calls back. “The fundraiser is at the Metropolitan Museum in the city. Show up. Bring Kane. Tell him to donate big.”

  “I can’t. Not with this situation.”

  “There will always be a situation. That’s who you are. I’m calling Kane to invite him.”

  “Don’t call—” He hangs up and I murmur, “Kane.”

  I dial Kane. He answers on the first ring. “You okay?” he asks.

  “Am I okay? Why are you answering like that, asking me if I’m okay? You do know who I am, right?”

  He laughs. “Yes, Lilah. I know very well who you are. Please forgive me for asking if you’re okay.”

  “My brother—”

  “Is calling me right now.”

  “Yeah, don’t answer. It’s an invitation to a fundraiser for my father that we aren’t going to.” The Uber stops in front of Ralph Redman’s apartment building, and I get out. “That’s all I had to say. You go take care of your assholes. I’m presently working on mine.”

  I watch a man walk toward the door that requires a code which means he’s my way in the building. “I have to go.” I hang up and rush after him, catching the door before it closes, and enter. I step into the entryway, and it’s reminiscent of Mia Moore’s place. Small foyer. Mailboxes to the left. Stairs directly in front of me. It’s not fancy, but it’s an expensive city to live in. My phone buzzes with a text, and I grab my phone to find a message from Kane: I accepted your brother’s invitation. We can fight about it in bed tonight.

  I scowl and shove my phone back into my field bag. He probably didn’t even accept. He’s just trying to piss me off. He enjoys pissing me off. I’ll deal with him later. For now, I start up the stairs, stopping at level two. There are four door options, two right and two left. I go left per the address indicated. I’m a few steps further down the hallway when I realize that Redman’s door is open. I grab my weapon and then my phone, dialing Tic Tac. “Don’t ask questions,” I say when he answers. “Is Redman in court right now?”
<
br />   “Checking.”

  I can hear him punching the keyboard before he says, “Yes. He’s in session now.”

  I disconnect and shove my phone in my waistband, approaching the door and kicking it open. “I’m behind you,” Jay calls out.

  I hold my hand out behind me, telling him to back off. I enter the apartment, scan the small living room, and find nothing. Jay steps to my side and I trust him because Kane trusts him. No, Kane trusts no one. I trust him because he’s afraid of Kane, which is a thought I’ll need to be uncomfortable with later when I have more time. I motion Jay right, down a hallway. I go left. I’ve just cleared a small workout area when I hear, “Holy fuck.”

  I hurry back down the hallway toward his voice, joining him in a bedroom where I find a dead pig with a bullet hole. It was shot to death. The absence of blood on the bed tells me it didn’t happen here. “How the hell did he get it up those stairs?” Jay asks. “And why?”

  My cellphone rings, and when I find Tic Tac’s number, I answer. “Yes, Tic Tac?”

  “Ralph Redman just shot and killed himself in the courthouse. He’s dead.”

  I hang up. Most people will now believe that Ralph was the killer, but that’s a bunch of crap. The real message is one of control. The killer controlled Ralph. He made him kill himself, and like the pig, he was shot because he was inconsequential to the killer.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “What kind of wicked fuckery is this?” Jay asks from beside me. “Is the cartel involved? Fuck. I need to call Kane.”

  “No.” I holster my weapon. “This isn’t the cartel. It’s just my job. Sick bastards are what I do, and Kane doesn’t need a phone call every time I deal with one of them.”

  “In this case, he needs a call.”

  “Holy fuck,” I say, grabbing my phone and dialing Kane myself.

  “Lilah.”

  “If your man can’t handle the sick fucks I deal with all day long, he needs to not be your man with me.”

  “You really are a bitch,” Jay bites out.

  Kane laughs. “What sick fuck scared Jay?”

  “The one who put a dead pig in a bed. I’m hanging up now.”

  “Lilah,” Kane says, and there’s expectation in his voice. He knows I don’t usually call him at all, let alone incessantly.

  “Yes, Kane?”

  “Glad you finally accepted protection.”

  “Fuck you, Kane Mendez.” I pull my gun and point it at Jay. “Should I kill him now?” Jay curses as I add, “Will that be enough acceptance for you?”

  “He’s a good guy, Lilah. Don’t kill that one.” He hangs up.

  I grimace and lower my weapon. “He told me not to kill you, but I don’t follow Kane’s orders.”

  “I’m not your enemy, Lilah, but whoever put that pig in the bed is. Now what?”

  “I was trying to figure that out when you distracted me with Kane fucking Mendez.” I point at him. “Stop talking.” I turn away from him and consider how any move I make creates another move by the killer. If I call him on this, if I tell the world he did this, not Redman, all I do is become a worthy opponent. I need him to believe that I’m stupid enough to believe he’s dead.

  I dial Houston, and he picks up right away. “Agent Love.”

  “Oh you answer your phone now but don’t return calls?”

  “I was taking care of a problem for you. And I was about to call you back. You’ll be happy to hear that Moser is on leave and under investigation.”

  “Good,” I say. “Fine, whatever. What about—”

  “That’s all I get?”

  “Yes. What about—”

  “The missing evidence hasn’t shown up. I talked to Joe. He said Williams took it from him. She’s still missing. I’m working on a search warrant to properly search her apartment. I should have it by morning.”

  “I’m about to make your search warrant easier. Detective Williams’ boyfriend has a dead pig in his bed, which I suspect is the pig that matches the blood at the Mia Moore crime scene. Additionally, if you haven’t heard, he just killed himself in an open courtroom.”

  “Holy hell. That was him? And you know this before me how?”

  “Because I’m doing my job.”

  “And I’m not?”

  “I’m texting you the address. Get me a forensic team here, and I’ll meet the team at Detective Williams’ place when you get the warrant. No one goes in without me. And see if we have camera footage somewhere. This bastard got a large pig in the building. Someone had to see that.”

  “Is he our guy?”

  I hesitate. I want to tell him no, but I don’t know who’s dirty and who’s not. I don’t know who is Society with some fucked up agenda I don’t know about or understand. “Just get me my team over here. And find my fucking evidence.” I hang up on him and turn to Jay. “You need to leave. You’ll have to be interviewed officially if you stay.”

  He nods and heads for the door. “Jay.”

  He turns to face me. “You didn’t save my life or anything, but you tried twice now. I won’t kill you. I might even save you if it’s in reverse.”

  He laughs. “You’re welcome, Lilah.” He exits the bedroom.

  “Yeah, thanks. Whatever.” I turn back around and stare at the poor pig, and my gut twists. I like animals more than most people. They don’t have attitudes and agendas. They aren’t inconsequential at all. They’re the necessary pure good in a world of evil. It’s hard to protect asshole humans, some of whom I’d rather kill my damn self at times. Protecting animals feels like a part of how I repent, how I make up for being one of those asshole humans. The thing about humans who are scared, who know they’re about to die, is that they become animals and this asshole knows it. I realize that now. He clearly believes animals to be inconsequential. He clearly made sure those women, and Redman, felt inconsequential before they died. That’s his message. I get it. I understand it and him.

  What he doesn’t understand about me is that when he killed the pig, he made sure I wouldn’t arrest him. I’m going to kill him. And I’m not going to feel bad about enjoying this one.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  It’s my expert profiler opinion that Umbrella Man has a sparkling clean toilet. Redman does not.

  I don’t wait on the forensic team. I start searching Detective Williams’ boyfriend’s apartment and what I find is a big fat nothing. That’s actually not true. He’s a slob. I stand at his nasty ass bathroom toilet that hasn’t been cleaned in what I estimate to be six months and grimace. I’ve decided I don’t like buckets of blood and dead people’s toilets, at least not Redman’s. It’s truly disgusting, and it’s also not Umbrella Man’s. Umbrella Man is anal. He’s precise. He’s a guy who cleans his bathroom. He’s not the guy who has shit hanging around on their toilet seat. And where does this lead me? Besides a memory of a Mr. Clean commercial? Redman is so far from “the guy” that I’m not sure Umbrella Man would believe it if I said this was the guy. It’s tempting to buy time to hunt Umbrella Man and say that he is, but I don’t believe Umbrella Man to be that stupid. He didn’t pick me because I’m stupid. He’s playing a game. I need to make sure that game becomes mine. I can’t do that when I haven’t even sat down and analyzed the case properly.

  I need to be in Purgatory, away from this sick fuck long enough to figure out the sick fuck.

  For now, I’m stuck in this hellhole with a dirty toilet that I know isn’t going to tell me shit unless Umbrella Man wants me to know. It’s that thought that drives me forward, looking for another message. By the time the forensic team arrives, I haven’t found any other significant find. The dirty toilet and the pig pretty much sums it all up. That pig deserves justice. I can’t say what Redman deserves. I didn’t know him. All I know is that he was a filthy bastard who didn’t kill himself. He did it for a reason, and there’s really only a few ways you can convince someone to kill themselves: shame, fear for someone else, or a dre
adful future, which could mean prison, but it could also mean loss of limbs, eyes, or the tool between his legs. Yes, I’m a sick fuck, too. That’s how I catch sick fucks. I go where someone a little less sick won’t. Williams is missing. Redman was dating her. Maybe killing himself was about a choice Umbrella Man gave him. He had to choose himself or her. It’s a thought worth exploring.

  It’s near four when the search warrant clears for Detective Williams’ apartment. I meet the team there, and because this is my crime scene, they damn sure cover their feet and hands. While they get wrapped up and covered, I’m the first in the door and alone by choice. I do a quick walkthrough to confirm what I already suspected: Detective Williams isn’t here, not even in pieces.

  Houston arrives shortly after I’ve allowed the team to enter the property with Thomas, the team forensic expert I’d met at the station. “This feels awkward,” Thomas says when I meet them at the front door. “She’s my damn boss.”

  “I’m your fucking boss,” I say. “Suck it up and get in there and find something you wouldn’t find because you know her.”

  Houston motions him forward. “She’s right. Do your fucking job.”

  Thomas sighs and heads into the apartment. Houston motions me into the hallway. “Anything?” he asks.

  “If you mean is Williams here? No, she’s not. I have no idea where she is, but I could have told you she wouldn’t be here before we ever arrived. She wasn’t here when we looked for her before.”

  “What do you know that I don’t know?”

  “Aside from the fact that she wasn’t here when we were here before, and that he isn’t dumb enough to show up at a place that’s on our radar?”

  “He? Like I said. What don’t I know?”

  “Nothing I feel like sharing, considering you can’t keep up with evidence,” I reply.

  “If the lead detective was dirty, Agent fucking Love, what do you expect from me?”

  “I expect your whole department to be investigated.”

  “It was, which is how I got this job. I’m cleaning up, which is exactly why acting on Moser was so damn easy for me. I don’t like the bastard, I don’t trust the bastard. I’m not the bad guy here. Ask Murphy. I called him. He told me to tell you to call him.”