“He struck again. Chief Thomson wants us on the scene right away.”
The unpleasant bitterness churning in her stomach increased tenfold with the putrid stench of death coming from the house. She squatted and drew in a shaky breath.
Randy crouched beside her and spoke discreetly. “Are you okay?”
Becca pressed her lips together firmly and gave him a definitive nod. “Let’s do it.” She straightened her stance and gave her professional persona full rein, a mastered trait garnered over twenty years living on the ugly side of life.
Once inside, an eerie silence settled upon the room like a blanket of fog. The coroner kneeled beside the latest victim, a man. His eyes remained wide open, and blood caked the flawlessly aligned holes where the needle had pushed through his lips. A perfect hole in the center of his forehead looked like the killer had painted it on. The man clasped the long stem of a fuchsia azalea in his bound hands.
Disturbingly peaceful.
Chief Thomson stepped out of the kitchen and padded across the room to join them.
“Detectives,” he said, stone-faced. “Jeffery Dunn, thirty-eight years old, computer tech.”
“Did you find anything that might link him to any of the others?” Randy let his gaze wander the room.
Their boss shook his head. “Not that we can see.”
Becca frowned. “I don’t see a box.”
“That’s because there isn’t one. None of the other crime scenes had one either. This guy does a thorough cleaning before he leaves.”
“How did he get in this time?” she asked.
The chief shrugged. “No sign of forced entry or a scuffle of any kind. There is one difference to this case, though.”
“And that would be?”
“The neighbour called the cops after seeing a motorcycle leave the driveway. The old gal has lived in this neighborhood for years and never once saw a bike at the victim’s house. In fact, he rarely had visitors. When she phoned over and didn’t get an answer, she called 911.”
“A motorcycle? The press is going to have a field day with this, bad-assed bikers and all,” Randy folded his arms across his broad chest.
“Did anyone see a motorcycle at the other houses? A delivery truck maybe?” asked Becca.
“That’s a good question. There is no report of a delivery truck or a strange car out front.”
“I bet nobody even thought to mention a bike,” Becca added.
“I’ll get somebody on that right now.” Chief Thomson strode out to his car.
Becca moved robotically. It was like she’d flipped a switch to transform the confident, self-assured woman he was falling for into a stone-faced, no-nonsense cop.
While she talked with the coroner and one of the crime-scene techs, Randy took the opportunity to call the professor. A woman named Mable answered and scheduled them a visit the following morning.
Hopefully Becca would agree to take the rest of the evening off, giving him time to research Professor Davies.
The motorcycle added an interesting twist to the case. Unfortunately the press would undoubtedly blow the biker aspect way out of proportion and everyone who rode a bike would be suspect, putting even more emotional strain on the city.
By the time they were ready to leave the crime scene, the sun had begun its decent, lighting the horizon ablaze in shades of orange and pink.
“Why don’t you go home and take it easy for the rest of the night? It’s been a long day, and I think you could use a good night’s sleep.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll go home and take a long soak in the tub.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “Sometimes you act more like a father than a partner.”
He moved in close enough to feel her breath on his face. “Trust me, Red. I have no desire to be your father. How about I share that bubble bath with you and remind you how good we are together?”
Becca pressed her palm against his chest and pushed him back a step. “Trust me, I don’t need a reminder.”
“Is that a no?” Randy trailed a finger down the hollow of her neck. Her shiver had him grinning sheepishly.
“How about you ask me again after we find this guy?”
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
Randy insisted following her home and seeing her to the door.
“This really isn’t necessary. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a cop. I know how to take care of myself.”
“Humor me. I’ll be back here by nine bells. Try to get some sleep.” He turned on his heel and descended the porch steps.
“If I’m a good girl, can we stop for ice cream tomorrow?”
He chuckled to himself on the way back to his bike.
You can have anything your heart desires, Red.
Chapter Seven
For the first time since Susan’s death, Becca slept through the night without a nightmare. Dare she feel hopeful about their visit with the professor in just a little while?
She sifted through pictures of the different flowers The Florist left in his victims’ hands. How were these beautiful images connected to the strange items he left in their mouths? It was more than his signature, something he went to great lengths to orchestrate.
The rumble of a Harley approaching brought a smile to her face. She padded across the tile floor to a full-length mirror in the hallway. At a light rap on the door, she quickly swiped gloss across her lips and slipped the tube in the front pocket of her jeans.
“Come in.” She inched the door open, and her partner poked his head inside. “Have a seat. Can I get you some coffee?”
Randy shook the hair from his eyes “Sure. We’ve got a little time to kill before we’re due at the farm.” He pulled out a chair and sat, careful to keep his feet on the mat in front of the door.
“Don’t worry about your boots.” She poured him a cup of coffee, inwardly pleased he cared enough not to step on the floor.
He reached for his mug at the same time she set it on the table, his hand lingering a few seconds longer than necessary. Flustered, she addressed the photos.
“It’s ironic how beautiful the flowers are. Why does he leave them behind after doing what he does to the poor souls?” He sipped from his mug.
She shrugged. “I’ve been asking myself the same question. Maybe the professor can shed some light on this whole sordid mess.”
Randy gulped the rest of his coffee down. “Well, there’s no sense in sitting inside on a beautiful day like this. It’s a nice run through the country to his property.”
“Now that sounds like a plan.” She smiled. “I’ll just grab my helmet and we can head out.”
Randy squinted against the bright morning sun and slipped on his sunglasses. It was a beautiful day to be out on the bikes. Too bad it wasn’t under different circumstances. He wouldn’t mind getting reacquainted with the gal he’d only known as Red.
Her bike, parked outside the garage door, sparkled in the sun. Some serious time went into buffing the chrome. You gotta love a woman who takes such pride in her ride.
The back door banged shut, and Becca locked it before putting her helmet on. She’d tied her oversized denim shirt around her tiny waist. The black tank top revealed three quarter sleeves of colorful tattoos up her arms. The edge of another tattoo peeked out from her scooped neckline. Several colourful feathers cupped the curve of her milky white breast. The memory of her naked body quickened his pulse.
Tall, tattooed and mysterious. He grinned sheepishly.