The force of the strike rattled up Baby’s arm. Over and over Baby smashed the tire iron against bone until the woman’s body stilled.
One heartbeat stopped and another ratcheted up. This was thrilling. Exciting beyond words. A drug that could easily become addictive.
Baby raised the tire iron again. More strikes sent bolts of energy radiating up through the metal. Hot blood splashed against flushed skin and splattered the white coverlet as blow after blow obliterated Rebecca’s once lovely face.
Finally, the fever of the kill eased. Breathless, Baby stepped back and stripped off bloodied hoodie and coveralls and shoved them in a plastic bag. In the bathroom, blood rinsed away easily under the tap. Baby grabbed a white towel and dried hands and face.
A heavy, satisfied smile curled thin lips. This was a good day. A very good day.
February 9
Sugar,
I love you, Sugar, but I won’t beg.
A.
Chapter Fourteen
Tuesday, October 18, 12 NOON
With KC officially retired Deke, for the moment, was without a partner. The other members of the squad were consumed by their own cases so he arrived alone at the West Hotel to a flash of lights and uniformed cops surrounding the main entrance. Nodding to the uniforms, he made his way inside and up the elevator to the fifth floor. On the right, yellow tape and a half-dozen uniforms marked the entrance to the crime scene.
Pulling on rubber gloves he watched as Brad snapped pictures of the victim who lay on the other side of the bed. From the door he could see the spray of blood on the white comforter and on the walls. Pale white feet peeked out from behind the bed. “Brad, can I enter?”
His camera dangling from his neck, Brad reached for a logbook in his pocket and made a note. He was careful about documenting who entered and who left his crime scenes, a trait that had come in handy during trial.
When Deke received the thumbs-up, he slipped on paper booties and ducked under the tape. He moved into the room slowly, absorbing details. To his left he saw the drawn bath, rose petals floating on the surface. On the bath mat by the tub he spotted the impression of one set of small feet. The victim. Across from the tub, the blood splashed the sink, mirror, and the white countertop. A bloodied white towel lay discarded on the floor. Also by the sink the faint impression of a larger set of footprints. The killer.
In the room, he directed his attention to the bed where expensive lingerie draped over a black designer dress. Judging by the way the garments had been casually discarded, she had not been worried when she’d arrived and undressed. The attacker had come after she’d stepped out of the tub.
Brad’s camera flashed as he took more pictures of the body.
Another step and Deke saw the crumpled body of the woman, now curled on her side. The side of her head was an unrecognizable mess. The white hotel robe was soaked with blood.
Whereas Lexis’s blows had landed on her extremities, this victim, like Dixie, had been beaten primarily around the face.
“How long has she been dead?” Deke asked.
“I’m guessing twelve to eighteen hours. She was supposed to have checked out by eleven today. The maid found her when she came into the room. Blunt force trauma killed her.” He nodded toward the bed and an expensive handbag. “Her driver’s license identifies her as Rebecca Saunders, age thirty-one. She also came armed today with a box of condoms in her purse.”
“Expecting someone.”
An open wine bottle tilted in an ice bucket now filled with room temperature water. One glass sat untouched by the bucket and the other, stained with red lipstick, lay on the floor.
“No doubt.” Brad shoved out a breath and looked away from the body. Horrific scenes like this stayed with the responding team for a long, long time. “If the first blow didn’t kill her then surely the second did. The other blows were overkill.”
Deke studied the position of the body. “The first blow on the side of her head brought her to her knees.”
“That’s exactly what I think. The killing blow landed on top of her head. She’d never have felt the remaining blows.”
“Dixie and this victim had died almost instantly whereas Lexis Hanover suffered before she died.”
“This murder definitely matches the first. Lexis is the anomaly.”
“Maybe the killer wanted something from Lexis. That explains why her first blow didn’t kill her outright.” Rebecca and Dixie looked like Annie. Rachel and Lexis had been working on Annie’s murder case. All roads led back to Annie. “Have you had a chance to look at the Dawson letters?”
He craned his neck working tension from the tense muscles. “It’ll have to be tomorrow or the next day. I’m tied up here all day.”
“Sure. Are they real?”
He stretched the tightness from his lower back. “I think so.”
“Think?”
He lifted the camera back to his eyes. “I’ll explain later. I’m not sure it’s black-and-white.”
Deke brushed aside the urge to press for more questions knowing Brad needed to process the scene. “Sure. I’ll let you work, Brad. We’ll talk later.”
“I’ll be here the better part of the day. Make it later.”
“Done.”
He headed into the hallway and to the registration desk. He found the manager, a short pale man with thinning black hair sitting in his office. In shaking hands he held a cup of coffee.
Deke shoved on the door. “Are you the hotel manager?”
The man started, making coffee slosh on his hand and his burgundy shirt. He set the cup down and rose. “Yes. I’m Jimmy Winters.”
Deke held up his badge. “Detective Morgan. I’ve questions about the woman on the fifth floor.”
The reference was enough to send him back into his seat. His face paled another shade. “Worst I’ve ever seen in my life. I’ll never be right.”
The scene had been awful, but not the worst he’d seen. Fifteen years on the force had hardened him to the worst life had to offer.
“What can you tell me about the woman?” Deke asked. He settled in the seat across from the manager. “Has she ever been here before?”
The man pursed his lips and drew in a deep breath through his nostrils. “The officer told me you’d be asking questions like that so I searched our records.” He turned toward a computer screen and punched a few keys. “She’s been coming here every Sunday for the last eight weeks. She always pays cash and she doesn’t stay the night.”
“She’s a hooker?”
The manager frowned. “We don’t have hookers at our hotel. This is a good place.”
“So what do you think she was doing here once a week?”
He sat a little straighter and adjusted his tie. “She was dressed well, polite to the staff and we never had an issue with noise or payment. I didn’t ask too many questions.”
“She must have had clients?”
“If she did, I never saw them.”
“I assume you have security cameras on the entrances?”