Sense of Evil - Kay Hooper [106]
It was nearly midnight when Emily Brower's bedside phone rang, and she was more than half asleep when she fumbled hastily to answer it before it could wake her parents.
“Yeah. Hello?” She listened for several minutes, then said sleepily, “Okay, but—now? Why now? Yeah, I understand that, but— Right. Right, okay. Give me ten minutes.”
She cradled the receiver, then pushed back her covers and sat up, muttering, “Shit, shit, shit.”
It didn't take her more than a couple of minutes to exchange her sleep shirt for jeans and a T-shirt and slide her feet into a worn and comfortable pair of clogs.
Her parents slept like the dead, especially these days with the aid of various sedatives, so she didn't hesitate to leave her bedroom and walk down the lamplit hall, down the stairs, and out the front door, snagging her car keys from the foyer table.
She wasn't surprised not to see the customary patrol car parked across the street, since she'd heard it fire up its sirens and speed away sometime before her phone had rung. An accident somewhere, she assumed.
And, anyway, the reporters always left by dark or shortly after, so there was no good reason for the patrol car to stay out there all night. She'd meant to call the police station and ask the chief or one of the agents about it but kept forgetting.
Shrugging off the question, Emily got in her car and backed it out of the driveway. She knew the way, of course, and hadn't thought much about it until she was almost there. But by the time she parked her car off the side of the road and got out, she was beginning to feel more than a little uneasy.
She got a flashlight from the glove box and carried it to light her way, feeling a surge of relief when she reached the clearing and the light turned the shadowy outline of a person into someone she knew.
“I don't understand what I can show you out here,” she said immediately. “And this is creepy, in case you hadn't realized it. We might not have been close, but still—this is where my sister was murdered.”
“I know, Emily. She was quite a woman. Very intelligent. It's a pity you aren't.”
“What?” Emily moved her hand, the flashlight's beam cutting through the hot, humid night. And that was when she saw the knife.
She tried to scream, but only her killer heard the bloody gurgle that emerged as she was nearly decapitated.
Monday, June 16, 7:00 AM
When the phone rang, he rolled over in bed and had the cordless receiver in his hand even before his eyes opened.
And even before his eyes opened, he smelled it.
“Yeah?”
“We've got another one, Chief.” It was Mallory, her voice bleak.
Still holding the receiver to his ear with his left hand, he held out the right one and stared at it in the early-morning light streaming into his bedroom.
His hand was stained with blood.
“Where?” he asked.
“Isabel was right when she said he'd probably start taunting us. He used the same place. As far as I can tell from the report that came in, the victim is exactly where Jamie Brower died. I'm on my way there now.”
“Who is it? Who's the victim?”
“It's Emily. Jamie's sister.”
“Goddammit, where was the patrol watching her?” Rafe demanded, sitting up in bed.
“They were pulled away from her house last night at about eleven-thirty and were only away a couple of hours. A traffic accident with fatalities.”
Rafe drew a breath and let it out slowly. “Which takes precedence over watchdog duty.”
“Yeah. As per standing orders.”
He shoved the covers away and got out of bed, heading for the bathroom. “Have you called Isabel?”
“Not yet. I only took the report instead of you because I went into the office a bit earlier than usual. I couldn't sleep past six, so I just came in.”
“I thought I ordered you to accept an escort.”
“You suggested, just like you suggested it for Stacy, the only other female detective in the department. We both passed. She's a black belt, and I can take care of myself. And neither