Playing Dead_ A Novel of Suspense - Allison Brennan [2]
If she had told anyone about meeting him, he’d lie. He’d lied most of his life. He was good at it. He’d brought all her personal effects and tossed them into the grave, along with the ropes he’d used to bind her. He’d go back and make sure there was nothing of her in his room, not even a hair. He was a neat, orderly person. No one would be surprised if he deep-cleaned his room Sunday morning.
He had to move her body from his car to the grave. Not yet dawn, the quality of night was changing almost imperceptibly. He didn’t have much time.
He’d wrapped her body in a wool blanket. As he removed her from the trunk, her body was stiff and difficult to bend. Rigor mortis. It hadn’t even been six hours! He pulled her out, falling backward and dropping her body in the dirt. Jessica rolled out of the blanket, stiff legs bent at an awkward angle from the time spent in his trunk.
Frustrated and angry at himself for his clumsiness, he pushed her back onto the blanket and carried her like a baby to the grave. He dropped her in and quickly shoveled dirt over her. Seeing her dead again had unnerved him. He wanted to get back home as quickly as possible. He needed to shower.
Relieved upon finally finishing the unsavory task, he returned to the fraternity his father had insisted he join. He was to continue the proud family legacy. “You’ll major in biology, enroll in the premed program, then you can choose your discipline. Surgery would be the smart decision.” As if he wasn’t smart enough to figure out his father wanted him to follow in his big, fat footsteps.
He had no desire to go into medicine. He’d tell his father to go to hell. Someday. He should have done it a long time ago.
No one was awake when he returned just as the sun crept over the horizon. He went to the bathroom, locked the door, and flipped on the light.
Something was caught in the buttons of his shirt. He pulled at it, inspecting it carefully. Slightly greasy, what on earth . . .
He bit back a scream. It was her skin! Jessica’s skin had come off in a chunk on his buttons. What other parts of the dead bitch were on him that he couldn’t see?
He stripped and jumped under scalding hot water in the shower, scrubbing his body over and over until he was red and raw. Images of Jessica rising from the grave, her skin sloughing off in greasy chunks of flesh, haunted him.
Before anyone woke, he scrubbed down his room twice with the strongest cleansers he could find. Removed anything, seen or unseen, that said, “Jessica White Was Here.” Then he tried to sleep, but his heart was beating too fast. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Jessica rise like a zombie from the grave.
He went to the kitchen and made himself a hearty breakfast. He was famished. When he was done, he felt so much better.
It’s over.
Though he’d killed Jessica only hours ago, the event seemed surreal, as if he’d been an observer of the brutal act, not a participant.
When he returned to his clean room, he saw a note on his bed. Something was wrong.
It was a plain white card in a blank white unsealed envelope. He slowly removed the card.
We know what you did last night.
Something else was in the envelope. He poured it into his hand.
Dirt. And a single earring.
ONE
Present Day
Claire was an expert bullshit detector. That’s what made her so good at her job investigating insurance fraud.
This morning she’d been called to a warehouse fire in West Sacramento, at the Port of Sacramento near the docks where the Deep Water Ship Channel connected the Sacramento River to the San Francisco Bay. The port predominantly handled agricultural products, but container goods from China and beyond were not uncommon. They didn’t have customs or any serious inspections, which were taken care of at the port of entry. As far as docks went, they were relatively clean and quiet, even at seven in the morning. Most of the activity was at the