Elizabeth agreed and stayed behind to catch up with the pathologist; Spencer headed to his car. As he slid into the Camaro his phone vibrated. It was Tony.
“Pasta Man,” he said. “I was just going to call you.”
“Great minds, Slick. Got news. Jessica Skye’s family has been located. Small town in Alabama. Daphne. They’ve not heard from her since before Katrina.”
“Have they tried to find her?”
“Got the sense that wasn’t high on their priority list. Apparently Jessica and her family weren’t on great terms, though her mother sounded really shook up when I asked if she’d be willing to look at a photo, see if she thought it was her daughter.”
The forensic sculptor’s reconstruction.
“She agreed to do it?”
“She did. I contacted the Daphne PD,” Tony went on. “Promised me they’d do the honors as soon as they received a jpeg image of the reconstruction.”
“I’m heading in now, I’ll do it. You got a name?”
“Detective Fields. You want the number?”
“I’ll look it up. How’s the condo search coming?”
“Progressing. So far, nothing’s jumped up and bit me in the ass. The techs are applying Luminol now.”
The chemical mixture, when sprayed on areas where blood was suspected but not seen, reacted with iron in the hemoglobin and fluoresced. Many a criminal thought he had expertly mopped up the scene of the crime, only to be tripped up by Luminol.
“By the way, there’s a photo of Messinger on her bathroom vanity wearing the Tonya necklace.”
“It’ll do until we can get a positive ID. I have news, too. Messinger may not have been killed by the Handyman.”
“You’re shitting me, right?”
“Wish I was. Dr. Walker found some major differences between the old amputations and this new one. The most stunning, she believes the original samples were made by a right-handed killer, this one a left-handed.”
“You going to tell the captain this happy news?”
“Actually, I was going to let you.”
“Fat chance, Slick. You’re family, she won’t kill you.”
Before Spencer could argue the truth of that, Tony hung up.
55
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
6:35 p.m.
Yvette bent over her bathroom sink and splashed her face with cold water. It snapped her out of the fog she had been in since Patti told her.
Tonya was dead. Murdered. In her heart, Yvette had known it all along. But now it was real.
He shot her. Twice.
And removed her right hand. His trademark.
She straightened. Gazed into the mirror.
Her fault. Tonya was dead because of her.
She stared at herself, suddenly light-headed. Her knees went to rubber and she clutched the vanity for support. She breathed deeply through her nose, exhaling through her mouth. Letting go. Of the guilt. The fear.
Her life had spun completely out of control, her with it. Morphing her into a person she was afraid to know.
“You okay?” Stacy called softly, tapping on the bathroom door.
Anger surged up in her. She fisted her fingers. “No, I’m not okay! I’m pissed. At you. At your stupid boyfriend. If you’d done something right away when I told you about the Artist, Tonya would be alive.”
“You don’t know that. He may have targeted-”
“I turned to Tonya for help…and now she’s-” Yvette fought the urge to cry. “It’s your fault, not mine. You hear me? Your fault!”
The other woman didn’t respond. The seconds ticked awkwardly past. Yvette went to the door, rested her palms and forehead against it. “Say something, dammit!”
“I’m sorry, Yvette.” She said it softly, her voice thick. “I really am.”
“Sorry doesn’t mean jack!”
Make the hurt go away. Make this nightmare end.
Stacy cleared her throat. “If you…need anything, let me know. I’ll be right out here.”
Yvette squeezed her eyes shut against the need that welled up inside her. For comfort. Companionship. The urge to spill her guts and pour out her heart.
“Just leave me alone,” she said instead, harshly. “Go away! I don’t want you h-”
To her horror, the words choked off on a sob. A terrible, broken sound.
Biting back another, she crossed to the commode, flipped down the lid and sat. She curved her arms around herself and rocked back and forth.
What to do? What to do? She was losing it.
On the vanity counter, her cell phone pinged, announcing the arrival of a text message. She gazed at the device a moment, then reached for it. Hands shaking, she retrieved the message.
i miss u
pls dont b mad
He didn’t identify himself; he didn’t have to.
Riley.
Yvette reread the message, heart beating heavily. It seemed forever since she’d stormed out of Tipitina’s, pride wounded and heart broken.
In light of today’s news, her actions seemed childish and melodramatic. She wished she could take them back. Wished she could rewind to last Thursday night and stand up to June Benson.
Stand up for herself. Her feelings.
Maybe she could do it now?
She hit reply and typed:
i miss u 2
Holding her breath, she sent it. A moment later, her phone pinged. He’d responded! She eagerly read:
meet me tnite moonwlk
She wanted to, badly. To tell him how she felt, what his sister had done. How it had hurt. And ask if they still had a chance.
And she wanted to do it without a chaperone. How could she get rid of Stacy?
If you need anything, let me know.
She needed something, all right. Quickly, she typed a reply.
when
He answered almost instantaneously:
now
Smiling to herself, she typed:
ok wait 4 me
Yvette knew she had to come up with something urgent enough to propel Stacy from her post. Something that couldn’t be put off or ordered in.
She mentally thumbed though her choices: food, drink, reading material. Then she knew. Something every woman understood.
Smiling to herself, she got to her feet, went to the vanity cabinet. From it she retrieved an almost full box of tampons. She dug some tissues out of the waste basket, dumped the box’s contents in, then covered it with the used tissues.
Box in hand, she went to the bathroom door, peeked out. From where she stood, she had a straight view into the living room. The detective sat on the couch, reading a magazine.
“Stacy?”
The woman looked over at her. It occurred to Yvette that Stacy’s expression seemed off; she ignored the thought and moved her plan forward.
“I’ve got a problem.” She held up the empty box. “I just started.”
“You don’t have any?”
She shook her head. “There’s a drugstore up the block and around the corner. Royal Pharmacy.”
“Does the store deliver?”
“Not that I know of.” Yvette mustered what she hoped was distress. “I flow kind of…It’s going to get messy fast.”
Stacy made a face and stood. “Where’s the store?”
“Up one block, take a left. It’s right there.”
“Dead-bolt and security chain the door. Don’t open for anyone. Anyone. Got that?”
Yvette nodded and scurried out of the bathroom, joining the other woman at the door. “And Stacy?” When the woman looked back at her she sent her a weak smile. “Thanks.”
The moment she had closed and locked the door, she raced back to the bathroom. She rinsed her face again, ran a brush through her hair, then applied mascara, blush and lip gloss.
Snatching up her purse, she tiptoed to the door and peered out the peephole. The coast looked clear and she carefully eased the door open, half expecting the other woman to jump out with an “Aha!”