“Great. Don’t let her leave until I get there.”
Blue lights flashing all the way, he made it to police headquarters in fifteen minutes. He found Riggs standing outside an interview room, his hands in his pockets.
“How’s she doing?” Novak asked.
“She’s still drunk but making more sense.”
“Have you asked her about Lana?”
“Nope. Thought I’d save that conversation for you.”
“Let’s do it.” Inside the small interview room, he found Bonnie Jenkins in a chair hunched over a metal table. Her hands cradled a cup of coffee, and beside her was a partly eaten doughnut. When he closed the door, she looked up.
Her skin was pale, her eyes heavily made up. Her tousled hair was brown, and one false eyelash was coming loose. She wore a red dress with spaghetti straps and a tight bodice.
“Bonnie,” Novak said.
“Why am I here? I’ve been drunk in public before, and I’ve never been brought to a room like this.”
He pulled up a chair beside her. He didn’t want the table separating them or her thinking he was the enemy. “I’m hoping you can help me.”
She sniffed and straightened. “With what?”
“You know Lana Ortega?”
“Sure, Lana. We partied together a few times. Where is that bitch, anyway?”
“She’s dead,” Novak said, matter-of-fact.
Bonnie blinked and sat back in her chair. “What?”
“She was murdered a few nights ago. You may be in danger, so we want your help.”
“Shit. How?”
“Hanged, suffocated, and carved on. Very gruesome and not done quickly.”
“That’s messed up. Was it a john?”
“We don’t know yet, but I don’t want him finding you.”
“I haven’t seen her since Monday.”
“You and Lana met another cop in the Edge bar. Do you remember him?”
“Yeah. Jim. He bought us a few rounds of drinks.”
“What did Jim look like?”
“Like a cop. Okay-looking. Suit. Typical cop.”
“If I had a sketch artist sit down with you, could you describe Jim?”
“Did a cop kill Lana?”
“We don’t think he was a cop, but I have to be sure. Will you work with me?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“What did Jim talk to you and Lana about?”
“He was more into her than me. Said she was his type. She loved the attention to flirt, but it never got serious with anyone.”
“Did he talk to you?”
“A little. But he was always more interested in Lana.” Her brow wrinkled with a frown. “When Lana left the bar that night, he left with her.”
“They say where they were going?”
“Another bar.”
“Was it Billy’s?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure.”
“Did either one of them return to the bar?”
“I don’t know. I hung around a little longer and then found someone else to party with.”
“Okay. Drink up that coffee, and I’ll get the artist.”
“Could I get a chocolate doughnut? Not crazy about the sprinkles.”
“Sure. Anything you want.”
“I don’t like the name Hangman,” he said as he coiled the rope around Ms. Monroe’s neck and secured it tight. “No imagination. I put time and effort into the knots, and no one appreciates the effort.”
Monroe stared at him, her eyes wide and full of fear, her voice silenced by the rag in her mouth secured with a strip of duct tape. She struggled to breathe with only one good lung now.
He ran the strand of rope around her wrist and secured it to a pole that crossed over her shoulder blades. Both her arms were now stretched out into a T. The pole was suspended by another rope that stretched up and over a rafter in the ceiling of the garage behind the main house.
“I like this setting. Perfect place for our party.” He removed the duct tape and pulled the rag from her mouth.
“Please,” she said.
“It takes planning to make these scenes work. It’s not just tying knots. And honestly, it was never about the money.”
She looked at him, her brown eyes bright with tears. A moan rumbled in her throat.
He moved back to his bag and pulled out another length of rope. Winding each end around his fists, he tugged. He knew it was strong, but also knew she was watching. Little things like this could ratchet up the terror. “You understand this is not personal,” he said as he approached her. “It’s that you fit the criteria, which is important to the endgame. Without the right trail of bread crumbs, I won’t catch the right bird.”
“What are you talking about?” she whispered.
“Julia Vargas. She’s the prize.”
“Killing a cop . . . you’re overplaying your hand.”
A grin tipped the edge of his lips as he looked at the ropes in his hands. “I’m not always logical, if you haven’t noticed.”
“Why her?”
“Partly because it’s a job. Partly because she thought she could catch me, like her old man. She needs to know she can’t. Like you need to know you can’t control me.”
He wrapped the rope around her neck, and she closed her eyes. Tendons tightened and bulged. He secured the rope at the base of her neck, then began to wind it around and around until it formed a high collar that brushed the underside of her chin.
“It might not feel tight now, but once I suspend you, your good lung won’t be able to take in air as well. The angle combined with the rope is going to take its toll. You would suffocate in a matter of hours. The best you can do is relax into your bindings and allow death to release you. Struggling brings only more pain and worry.”
He moved to the rope looped around a large hook and began to pull. She rose up on tiptoes, and her little pink-painted toes fluttered above the ground. A sound gurgled in her throat. He watched as her feet kicked. When her eyes rolled back in her head, he slackened the rope and allowed her body to crumple to the floor.
“Don’t. Please,” she gasped. “I can pay.”
He crouched beside her, watching the color return to her pale face. “I have no doubt you could pay me more. But you must know that this stopped being about money a long time ago.” He stared up at the rafters. “I’m running out of places to display my work, so I guess this is going to have to be a private collection.”
She moistened her lips; her gaze steadied on him. “I’ll get you whatever you want.”
He pulled the rope taut, forcing her to rise up on her knees, her feet, and then her tiptoes. “Nothing you have that I want—well, except for your life.”
“Please,” she rasped.
He jerked hard on the rope. It tightened around her neck, cutting into the flawless white flesh, and she gagged as her feet rose up off the ground again. She was now suspended several feet above the ground. He tied off the rope and stepped back, savoring the twitching and jerking of her muscles as they begged for oxygen.
Such a rush!
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Sunday, November 5, 7:00 p.m.
“Found a few videotapes that might be of interest,” Cindy said to Julia as she came down the back stairs to the bar.