“Damn.”
“Is there anything you remember about the room where you were held?”
“Red and gold colors. Thinking back, I always sensed it must have been a hotel room. I assumed it was going to be about sexual exploitation, but I don’t think that ever happened. Duke had me see a doctor after I arrived at the shelter. Her examination revealed no traces of assault.”
“You never called the cops?”
A wry smile tipped the edge of her lips. “I wasn’t eighteen when I stumbled into town. I was terrified they’d send me back to New Orleans and my stepfather, so no, I didn’t call the cops.”
“What did you do?”
“Whatever happened scared the shit out of me. I realized if I didn’t do something, I would get swallowed up by the streets. Duke offered me a job at his restaurant and I took it. I worked hard and graduated high school. Won a partial scholarship to community college. I juggled school and work until I graduated. There was an opening at the police academy and I jumped at it.”
“That’s an odd choice.”
“How so? The way I saw it, the job had good benefits and I’d be a part of a group that would teach me how to shoot and take care of myself.”
“You’ve done well.”
“I’ve worked my ass off.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to lose the life I’ve created.”
“We’ll catch him.”
She ran a hand over her hair, tossing him a worried look. “Dr. Kincaid is waiting, and I think Kevin Lewis may shed some light.”
Doubt spiked in Riley, jabbing adrenaline through her muscles. After all these years of silence, she thought she’d feel some kind of cathartic relief in telling her story. But she didn’t feel relieved. She felt exposed. As she reminded herself a thousand times before, her past was nothing to be ashamed of, but dragging it back into the light in front of Bowman made it seem pathetic.
Without any more conversation, they made their way inside to the elevators. He stood beside her, his hands clasped in front of him. Though she stared ahead, she sensed his gaze on her.
The doors opened and she kept her sights on the medical examiner’s entryway, hoping this time when the doctor cracked open the victim, she would keep her shit wrapped tighter. Bowman already had her pegged as a victim, a view she found untenable.
They both gowned up and moved into the exam room.
“How many of these have you seen, Riley?” Bowman asked.
A challenge hummed under the question like a rattler ready to strike. “Enough.”
Dr. Kincaid threaded her gloved fingers together, working the latex into a tight fit. “Trooper Tatum is an old pro at this,” she said. “You worry about yourself.”
Old pro. Riley appreciated the doctor’s good word. She hoped the doc was right.
Ken Matthews assisted Dr. Kincaid and pulled back the sheet to reveal Kevin Lewis’s long, lean, and very pale body. Multiple bullet holes stitched along his left side. Her stomach knotted as the scent of decay wafted. Standing a little straighter, she refused to look away, even trying to look a little bored as if she’d seen a thousand of these cadavers.
“Agent Sharp called me,” Dr. Kincaid said. “He’s running late. Said to start without him.” She began with an external exam, detailing the victim’s tattoos: a queen of hearts on his left bicep with the name Susie worked into the design, a snake on his right calf, and in the center of his back, two hands pressed together and pointed upward in prayer.
“Sharp is expecting a search warrant for his hotel room,” Riley said. “Hopefully, he’ll find something.”
“What about Lewis’s financials?” Bowman asked.
“You’ll have to ask Agent Sharp about that. Technically, I’m not a part of this investigation.”
Bowman didn’t seem concerned.
Dr. Kincaid noted dark bruises on the man’s back and ribs. “I’d say he took a beating within a week prior of his death.”
“Broken bones?” Riley asked as her stomach tightened.
“Three cracked ribs on the X-rays.”
“It would hurt like hell, but it didn’t kill him,” Bowman said. “That kind of beating was sending a message to pay up.”
“Maybe the Shark beat him up,” Riley said. “Gave him an ultimatum.”
“Or the beating was the reason for Lewis to risk it all with the Shark.”
Dr. Kincaid concluded the external exam and reached for her scalpel. As she began to cut, Agent Sharp entered.
His frown deepening, he said, “It’s always a party in here.”
Bowman extended his hand. “Clay Bowman.”
Sharp accepted the hand, gripping hard. “My commander told me about you. Said you’d be offering an assist. Worked a similar case with the FBI?”
“Twelve years ago,” Bowman said.
Sharp accepted a set of latex gloves from Matthews along with a gown. The agent wasn’t happy about it but was smart enough to know when his options were limited.
“Mr. Bowman was asking about the victim’s financials,” Riley said.
“Will have something by lunch. Dr. Kincaid, don’t let me hold you up any longer.”
Dr. Kincaid pressed the tip of the scalpel into the victim’s pale skin, and as she sliced, Riley did not have to turn away or catch her breath this time.
By the time the autopsy was completed, they’d confirmed that six bullets had shredded the heart. His lungs had considerable damage from smoking, and his liver was enlarged from alcohol. He was fifty-one, but he had the organs of an old man.
After the autopsy Riley stepped outside and stripped off her gown. Rolling her head from side to side to relieve tension, she glanced at the clock. It was after eleven and she was starting to feel fatigue settling in. When she heard Sharp push open the doors behind her, she drew in a breath, knowing she’d find a second wind somehow.
“Tatum,” Sharp said. “You don’t look as green as the last time.”
The doors opened to Bowman and she shelved whatever ribbing she had readied to fire back. “Thanks again, Agent Sharp.”
“Appreciate the input.” Sharp shifted his attention to Bowman. “Any insights? You think he might be your killer from New Orleans?”
He shook his head, his gaze on Riley. “No. It’s all too easy and too convenient.”
Riley arrived at the forensic department before lunch to find Martin hunched over the clothes that she recognized as Vicky Gilbert’s. With tweezers in hand, the assistant plucked a hair fiber from the fabric and dropped it into a plastic bag.
“I don’t suppose you found a smoking gun yet, Martin?” she asked.
“Not so far, but you never know what kind of gems are waiting for me.” He reached for a legal pad and glanced at his scrawled handwriting. “Medical examiner sent over the semen sample from the Gilbert autopsy. It’s been sent off for testing. And as you know, DNA testing is a beautiful thing, when it gets processed quickly. But with the backlog at the state lab, I doubt I’ll see results until next month.”
“There’s a private security guy who is throwing his weight around, and something tells me you’re going to get your results much sooner.”
“Shield?”
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
“Sharp said to cooperate fully with Mr. Shield and his man, Bowman. You know anything about these guys?”
“Mr. Shield? The man has influence. His right-hand man, Bowman, is just as capable.” She shifted, rolling her head from side to side. “Anything that caught your eye that I can run down?”
“Gilbert’s clothes were older and well worn. But in the yellow dress I found a clear plastic thread used to attach a price tag to a garment. Someone must have missed it.”
“But no tag?” Riley asked.
“No, bu
t I searched the clothing label online. It’s high-end. There can’t be many shops in the area that carry it. It wouldn’t hurt to check their sales records and see if any of them have security cameras or credit card receipts.”
“I could start checking security footage. Maybe something will pop up.”
“Hell of a coup if we caught this guy,” Martin said.
“So they tell me. Thanks again.”
Riley left Martin in the lab and returned to her car, where she did a search on her computer. She discovered only one shop in a fifty-mile radius that carried this designer. The store was in a high-end hotel in Richmond. She checked her watch. If she discovered information that linked to the investigation, she’d call Sharp.
Thirty minutes later, she parked in front of the tony hotel. It was an older grand hotel with a marble facade and a stone circular drive where valets parked expensive cars. She realized immediately that she was underdressed. She could tell she’d stick out as someone who didn’t belong as she glanced in her mirror. The plain clothes made her look like a cop.
She reached for the pins in the back of her bun and pulled them out, combing her fingers through her long hair until it draped her shoulders. She unfastened the top button of her shirt and moistened her lips. She still didn’t fit, but the look was a bit less formidable.
She walked into the hotel, shoulders back as if she had purpose. A glimpse around the lobby and she spotted the dress shop. Her booted heels clicked on the marble foyer. In the shop she was greeted by floral scents and gentle classical music. The clothes weren’t packed in together as they were in the thrift stores but displayed like fine works of art.
The last time she’d been shopping with her mother, it had been in a shop like this. The clerks had rushed to help them and they’d been served tea. Her mother never once looked at a price tag or wondered if an item was on sale. She simply chose what she liked and pulled out her husband’s credit card. Looking back, Riley saw that spending money was a way for her mother to get back at her stepfather. Judging by the light in the salesclerk’s eyes as she rang up the final tab, her mother must have been furious that day.
Today, the clerk was a man and dressed in a sleek dark suit. When he raised his gaze to her, his smile froze for a split second but he recovered. Smart clerks understood that patrons with money came in all shapes and sizes; he’d play along until he figured out there was no commission in it for him.