Blue paper had been cut up to simulate waves.
And strewn over the paper were the pieces of a doll, a fashion model doll. Someone had taken the doll and dismembered it, then painted it in red. Bloodred.
The doll had once had blond hair, but now that was scarlet, as were all the joints where the head and limbs had been ripped off the torso.
There was no note.
There didn’t need to be.
The message was clear.
Back off—or wind up in pieces in Biscayne Bay.
13
They had barely parked when Jill Hudson walked out of the back of the funeral home, heading for her car, a white Toyota.
“So much for me bitching about endless hours of surveillance,” Diego commented from behind the wheel. “How far are we going to let her get?”
“Far enough to make sure we’re not being followed, too,” Brett said. “We’ll stop her before she gets to her house, though. I don’t know what her family situation is, and I don’t want to put her in an awkward spot.”
Diego kept several car lengths behind Jill as she drove toward Kendall. Eventually she turned in to one of the large malls in the area. That was good, Brett thought; he could catch up with her with dozens of people around, while Diego kept watch to make sure they weren’t being watched in turn.
He was glad to find parking just down from her, then followed her in through the food court. He turned quickly and made sure Diego was behind him, nodded and kept pace behind Jill until she entered one of the anchor stores in the center of the mall. She paused to look at a cosmetic company’s free-with-purchase advertisement, and he caught up to her there.
“You tried to call me,” he said quietly. “You didn’t call back.”
Jill wasn’t schooled in subterfuge; her face turned bright red immediately, and she looked around guiltily.
“We’re good,” he told her softly. “Want to get out of the main aisle? Will you be more comfortable?”
She nodded and headed toward the men’s department, taking shelter behind a rack of coats.
“I think it was Geneva,” she blurted out. Then she went silent, gnawing her lip and looking around again. “I don’t know why I’m so scared. No one is after me. But that man... His body was stolen from the funeral home. I’m sure of it. I’m terrified. I won’t even go home alone anymore. I’m here because there are people all around, and my husband meets me here when he gets out of work. He’ll probably divorce me. Who wants to be married to a paranoid freak, you know?”
“It’s all right, you’re not paranoid. I think you’re very smart to be cautious right now,” Brett said gently.
“But what if no one figures out what’s going on? What if dead men keep getting up and killing other people?”
Brett felt tension tighten his jaw. It was sad but true. It often took months, even years, to catch a murderer. And some murderers were never caught.
“We’ll find out what’s going on and we’ll catch this killer, I promise,” he said, knowing even as he spoke the words that he should never make the kind of promise he couldn’t be sure of keeping.
But it seemed to calm her. She met his eyes and began to talk. “Okay, this is what I know. There was a strange man in the office one day. Mrs. Diaz and I were the only ones there at the time. It was too early for viewing, and both Mr. Diaz and Mr. Douglas were out and Carl wasn’t in yet. I asked her about him later—just casually, you know. I asked her if he was looking to bury a loved one. She was so strange, vague. She didn’t lie, she just said he was asking questions, but she didn’t say about what. I never saw him again. And now everyone has been on edge since you and those other agents came in. And it might not mean anything. I could be maligning a good woman—she is a good woman. I like working for her better than Mr. Diaz or Mr. Douglas, because she’s so nice. But I have little kids. I’m not going to jail for something someone else did.”
“You won’t go to jail. Not only didn’t you do anything, you’re trying to help,” Brett said. “Do you know why Geneva Diaz might have agreed to let someone take Randy Nicholson’s body?” he asked. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”
“She was upset. I think the man threatened her,” Jill said, looking around nervously again. “I really don’t want anyone to see me talking to you. I—I think I would have called back. I just didn’t have a chance. On the phone... That would have been better.”
“I’ll leave. Where do you meet your husband?”
“At the food court.” She made a face. “Funeral directors might make a lot of money, but I’m not rolling in it, I promise you. He’s bringing the kids, and we’re going to have dinner before we go home. The food court is cheap, and you can choose things that are almost nutritious.”