“Turquoise cross? Yes. He was wearing it the last time I saw him. He did this bizarre kind of ritual where he took off a crystal horseshoe and hung it on a hook under Kaley Martell’s driver’s license. Then he put Trisha’s license on the shelf and put the turquoise cross necklace around his neck.” She glanced from Tom to Gideon. “Kaley Martell. She’s in the freezer. Her body, I mean.”
“We found her,” Tom said. “But thank you.” He drew a breath. “I have a question that’s probably going to be hard for you to answer, but we need to understand.”
Zandra braced herself. “Yes, he sexually assaulted me. But not with his . . .” She grimaced. “. . . penis. He had . . . implements. Some sex toys. Some were other things. They’re in one of the drawers. You’ll find them when you search. I got the impression that he couldn’t get it up for me. He tried. He really tried.” Her eyes narrowed. “He even called me Daisy while he tried, but he kept losing his erection, so he had to use the stuff in the drawer.” She glanced at Daisy. “Sorry.”
Daisy had visibly cringed. “No, no. Don’t apologize. I didn’t realize . . .”
Gideon fought to contain his fury, conscious of Molina’s steady regard. The man had fantasized about raping Daisy. But he didn’t. Because she fought him off.
So do not blow this. Do not lose your temper. Just focus on catching the bastard. He forced himself to relax, watching Molina do the same. He’d passed the test.
He returned his attention to Zandra, who was still talking.
“I considered using his impotency,” she said, “to throw him off balance, but he had sharp knives and I didn’t want him plunging one into me any more than he did when he was . . . you know. Carving.” She swallowed. “He carved all the letters of Sydney’s name into my stomach, except for the final ‘Y.’ He was going to come back and do that, but Sydney threw me out first.” Her composure trembled, then cracked. “I’m going to have scars.”
“I’m sorry,” Daisy whispered, her voice breaking.
Zandra pulled a tissue from the box and handed it to Daisy, who wiped her cheeks. “I’m alive,” she said grimly. “I’ll get through this.”
Tom hesitated, then shook his head.
“What?” Zandra snapped. “Don’t worry about my feelings now. I think I’m numb.”
Tom gave her an apologetic look. “I have a friend with similar scars from an attack when we were kids. She got tattoos to cover them. Vines with flowers. When you’re ready, if you’re interested, contact me and I’ll introduce you to her.”
Zandra gave him a long, sober look. “I might do that. I’m running on adrenaline now and channeling my badass lawyer self, but later . . . I’ll need something. Support. Something.”
“A friend?” Daisy suggested. “Call me, anytime.”
“I might do that, too. Thank you.”
“You said you figured out she was Sydney,” Gideon said when it seemed Zandra was ready to return to the interview. “What happened then?”
“I said, ‘Sydney,’ and she seemed pleased as punch that he’d mentioned her.”
“Can you describe her?” Tom asked.
“Five-eight, forty-ish, had some work done. Blond hair.” She aimed that laser look at Tom, then Gideon once again. “You found her, didn’t you? He came home and found her there.” She sank back on the pillows. “God. She created that monster. I’m not sure whether to feel pity or satisfaction that she died at his hand.” She waved a hand wearily. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell anyone. No interviews with the inside scoop. This is going to be damaging enough to my career.”
Gideon got that. Now that he was a victim of a shooting, it would likely be a point of question anytime he had to give testimony in court. His credibility and impartiality would be called into question. He’d seen it before. How much worse would it be for a prosecutor?
“Can you think of anything else, Miss Jones?” Molina asked.
Zandra petted Brutus for a full minute, thinking, then said, “Oh, yeah. He got shot. Left hand and he’s a leftie.”
Daisy nodded. “I know. I shot him.”
Zandra’s lips curved again. “You go, girl.” Her smile faded. “She kicked the dog. Sydney did. She was dragging me out of that little room and she kicked the dog for getting in her way. She threw us both out, me and the dog. But he was still friendly. Licked me and danced around until I followed him. To you guys.” She lifted a brow. “Also, I asked two different people for help while I was walking and they threatened to call the cops on me because they thought I was drunk and homeless. I wish they had called the cops. I’d like them to know that they turned me away. Just because I want them to feel bad about it.”
Daisy nodded. “You write down what you can remember of those two people and I’ll take care of it myself. That’s my neighborhood, too.” She shivered. “We had a serial killer in our neighborhood.”
“That’ll do wonders for your property values,” Zandra said dryly. “One more thing. He wears disguises. I saw a few. He can make himself look like someone totally different.”
“I’ve seen a few, too,” Daisy said. “What did he look like Friday at the bar?”
Zandra briefly closed her eyes. “He looked . . . smarmy. He had a shaggy look. Kind of a medium brown with blond highlights. Like a rock star trying to look young. His nose was longer. A little sharper.”
“You sound certain,” Molina observed.
Zandra opened her swollen eyes, only to narrow them. “You’re intimating that I was too drunk to remember. Yes, I was drunk, but I remember thinking that he looked like a boy I dated in high school who’d cheated with a cheerleader. I know what I saw.”
Molina sighed softly. “I’m sorry, Miss Jones. I didn’t mean it to sound accusatory. You’ve been through a trauma and we need to be certain.”
“Yeah, well, I managed to memorize the names of ten of his victims, too.”
Molina inclined her head. “Point taken.”
“Thank you,” Zandra snapped then slumped, clearly drained.
“You’re tired,” Daisy murmured. “Are you finished, Agent Hunter?”
“I am.” Tom stood up. “Thank you, Miss Jones. I’m going to leave my card at the nurses’ station. Please contact me if you think of anything else.”
“I will.” Zandra drew a deep breath. “Thank you. Thank you for saving me. Thank the woman who got out of her car to help me.”
“I will,” Gideon said. “That’s my sister.”
“I can see the resemblance.” She closed her eyes. “Thank you for making this easier for me. I’ll fall apart later, but . . .”
“The credit goes to Brutus.” Daisy put the dog back in her bag and adjusted it across her body. “I’ll leave my number with the nurses’ station, too. Please, feel free to call.”
And with that, they left Zandra to rest. And hopefully, eventually, to heal.
TWENTY-NINE
SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 21, 1:45 A.M.
He slowed his step as he neared Zandra’s room. The door was closed, a man in a black suit standing guard outside.
Don’t freak. Stay calm. He’d already passed muster with two other groups of nurses and the cop at the elevator. Luckily, the disguise in his duffel was one of his favorites. No one would recognize him. He’d removed the bandage from his hand and the gloves he wore were perfect with the whole nurse look. So do this. Now.
“I need to see the patient,” he told the guard. “It’s time for her pain medication.” Which would come in the form of the gun tucked into his waistband. He’d get in, shoot her in the head, then get out. Quick and simple, then no more Zandra. No more witness.
“You’ll need to wait,” the guard said gruffly.
He channeled every medical show he’d ever seen on TV, drawing himself taller. “She is my patient. Her care comes first. Let me in.”
“Stay here.” The guard scowled, cracking the door open enough for voices to emerge.
He tried not to stiffen, immediately recognizing the woman speaking. Daisy. Daisy was in there with her. Dammit.
He should have anticipated this. Should have anticipated that Daisy would visit her in the hospital. She seemed . . . kind in that way.
“What did he look like Friday at the bar?” she was asking.
Zandra’s voice was much stronger than he’d expected. “He looked . . . smarmy. He had a shaggy look. Kind of a medium brown with blond highlights. Like a rock star trying to look young. His nose was longer. A little sharper.”
Smarmy? he thought, indignant. But then he froze as her next words sank in. Shit.
She’d just described him. Perfectly. He was wearing the same face that he’d worn the day he’d taken her from Vail. She’d been so drunk. And he’d dosed her up. She shouldn’t have remembered anything. But she had.
And now the guard was giving him a suspicious, searching look.
“I didn’t realize the police were in there,” he murmured. “I’ll come back.”
He started walking, not too fast, not too slowly. Just a normal nurse doing normal nursing things. He approached the end of the hallway and glanced up at the round mirror hanging in the corner. No one was behind him.
But that didn’t mean he was home free. He needed to lose the disguise and get out. Out of the hospital. Out of the country. He needed leverage. Something to guarantee his passage.