“Same caliber as Chanel’s.”
“You shitting me?” The results might throw Kerry’s theory down the drain.
“Nope. We won’t know if it came from the same gun until after the lab finishes processing it.”
“That’s an interesting twist. Thanks.” He hung up.
What did Chanel and Willie Wyble have in common? Kerry had been so sure Nancy Donello-Sanchez was a victim of the serial killer. She’d been abused, pregnant, and had plastic surgery. But Willie Wyble? He didn’t have any of those characteristics. Shit. They must have been looking down the wrong barrel—or else they were faced with two different killers.
His phone trilled again and he snatched it off its cradle. “Yeah?”
“Detective Markum?” The woman’s voice wobbled, sounding old, frail, and scared.
“Yes?”
“I’m Helen Szemansky. I’ve been afraid to call, but when I saw you and that pretty woman on TV the other night, you both looked so kind and nice I thought what harm could come from checking.”
“Excuse me?”
“The bust of the missing woman your woman friend showed?”
“Yes?”
“I think the woman might be my granddaughter. Bea, that’s my daughter, didn’t want me to call.”
“I’m glad you did.”
She coughed several times. “Sorry.”
“Would you like to come in and take another look?” He thought her breath hitched. Poor woman. “Up close?” Perhaps it’d give her closure and them a positive identification.
“I’m afraid I can’t walk, and it’s too much for me to get my daughter to take me. She hasn’t been the same since Deidre left us.”
His mind raced. “I could come to your place, if that would be easier.” Her sigh of relief made him smile. “I have a good quality photograph of the model.”
“That would be wonderful. And bring that nice woman with you.”
The time had come to face Susan. Conflict tore Kerry up. Denying the father the right to see his daughter was wrong—unless Susan believed he’d harm the baby. Kerry was determined to find out what really happened in Ohio—and Florida.
Regardless of the outcome, she would finish the facial reconstruction of Teresa, if only to give her niece the respect she deserved. Having found no evidence of any stress fractions or damage to the bones, the autopsy had concluded the baby could have died of SIDS as Brad claimed. For that, she was grateful. For now, Brad seemed to be telling the truth.
She checked her watch. Hunter had called and said he was on his way to pick her up. ETA about fifteen minutes. She cleaned up her area, and then trashed the paper gown and booties. As she headed out to the front, Steven burst through the door, a serious look on his face. He stopped, his eyes widening.
“Hey,” he said. “You still here?” He wiped his palms on his lab coat.
Quarter to six wasn’t exactly overtime material. “I’m about the leave. Cutting the clay strips for my new reconstruction took longer than expected.” Total babble. Until she spoke to her sister, Kerry wouldn’t discuss the identity of Teresa. “And you?”
“Thought I’d clean out the vans while Dr. A’s not here. I can’t clean while he’s ordering me around.” Steven smiled, his teeth perfectly white and straightened.
Money. He must have been raised on the stuff. She wondered why she never noticed before. “I’m sure Dr. A will be pleased.”
“I hope so. But I’m doing it for selfish reasons. Last time I rode in the white van, I thought I’d puke, and I have a cast iron stomach when it comes to smells.”
She agreed the seats in that vehicle smelled like vomit and death. “Sounds like fun. I wasn’t aware Dr. A had left.”
Hunter was not going to be pleased Dr. Ahern cut out of his babysitting gig early.
“He took off about an hour ago, saying he was coming down with a cold.”
Good reason. “Well, goodnight.”
“Kerry?”
“Yes?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.” Steven smiled again and moved past her down the hall.
Yikes. Maybe the young man had a crush on her, though she hoped not. He wasn’t her type. Hunter’s face appeared in her mind and her pulse quickened.
“Are you okay?” Hunter asked the moment Kerry slipped into the car.
It might be hot and humid outside, but the heat couldn’t be the only cause for her blotchy face.
“Just a lot on my mind.” She faced the side window.
“Have you figured out what you’re going to say to Susan?” Hunter pulled into traffic.
“Not yet.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I was thinking about Steven.”
“John Ahern’s assistant?” He’d only run into the kid a few times, but he seemed nice enough.
“I can’t put my finger on it. He kind of creeps me out.”
Hunter stopped at a light and turned toward her. “What did he do?”
“Nothing, really. He smiled at me.”
“Oh, okay.” Hunter laughed. “I think with so much going on, you’re understandably seeing something that’s not there.” He reached over and squeezed her hand wishing he could do more to bring her comfort.
She half smiled. “That must be it. Thanks.”
He tapped the steering wheel. “Good news.”
“What?”
“I received a call from a Mrs. Szemansky about Jane Doe #4. She thinks the woman may be her granddaughter.”
Kerry grabbed his shoulder and her heat seared his skin. Her smile moved him, sending a rush of desire straight to his groin. Though the dark circles under Kerry’s eyes worried him, her renewed energy gave him a jolt. A car behind them honked.
Green light meant go. He took off.
“That’s great. Did this Mrs. Szemansky give you any details as to why she thought the model might be her granddaughter?”
Before he could answer, a car sped past his cruiser, going at least twenty-five miles over the speed limit. Idiot. While he didn’t stop folks for speeding anymore, he was tempted to put his siren on and tail the guy.
“No. Talking seemed to be an effort for her, so I cut the conversation short. We’ll know soon enough. We’re on our way there now.”
“That’s wonderful news.”
He kept his eyes peeled for the Bearss Avenue exit. Fifteen minutes later he turned off the interstate. After a few turns, he found the woman’s street, near where a prostitute had been brutally slain last week. White paper mixed with brown leaves blew and floated along the side of the road.
Kerry waved the scrap of paper he’d written the directions on. “That’s it.” She pointed to a small, pale yellow house.
Hunter pulled to a stop in front of the mailbox. The grass needed some cutting and the house could use a fresh coat of paint, but the blooming flowers showed someone cared. They slipped out, and he locked the car doors. No use tempting fate, especially around here.
The humidity had taken a small holiday and a cool breeze blew enough to relieve the intense heat. Hunter pressed a hand to her back and led Kerry to the front door. She stiffened but didn’t move out of his reach, a sure sign she was thawing toward him.
A woman in her late sixties answered his knock. The condition of the house was a palace compared to the landscape of the woman’s face. Only because she was standing did he know she was alive.
“Mrs. Szemansky?”
“No. That’s my mother. I’m Bea Flower.” Her voice came out hoarse, like she smoked three packs a day.
He introduced himself and Kerry. “May we come in?”
“Sorry. I don’t know where my manners are.” Shoulders slumped, she showed them in. “Please sit.”
A sweater and a shirt were tossed on the back of the sofa, and two full ashtrays along with a half-full plate of something unrecognizable sat on a side table.
Two kids ran past an elderly woman in a wheelchair, one waving a plastic sword and the other fending off the attack with plastic nunchucks. The old lady smiled a toothless grin. From all the eye rolling and pursed lips, the older girl, who was in her early teens, was doing her best to pretend she was enjoying herself. The younger sister, dressed in a Tae Kwon Do outfit, was screeching and laughing. Both were mirror images of each other.