The male voice on the other end was familiar, though it took her a moment to place it. The man’s words shocked her into full awareness, and she quickly remembered every detail of her conversation with Miles.
“Are you sure?” she asked. “Where…? I’ll be there right away.”
A few seconds later, the room was illuminated by a hanging ceiling lamp. As was her custom, Violet was nude but she got dressed in a hurry, pulling on a pair of black slacks and a man’s button up shirt, which she tucked into the slacks. She threw on a black blazer over both and flat-soled shoes. It was a working outfit, something she might wear when on a case.
Ordinarily, she’d call Miles at this point and let him know where she was going. It was strange how odd it felt to not do that right now. She’d grown used to having him as a paternal figure in her life, frequently scolding and disappointed but always supportive.
But that was all going to change.
Miles was dead.
VIOLET STEPPED FROM the taxi, shivering in the cold air. It wasn’t hard to spot the crime scene: half a dozen uniformed officers were joined by twice that many plainclothes cops. It was a huge number of people covering a single person’s murder and she wondered what had dragged them all out of bed.
She searched for and spotted Police Chief William McKenzie and made a beeline for him. McKenzie was one of the youngest police chiefs in the country, dark-haired and handsome. He was also one of the most coveted bachelors in the city and enjoyed the company of many beautiful women. In fact, Violet had gone out with him a handful of times. He was an excellent lover but definitely not ready to settle down.
He gave her a grim nod of his head. Behind him, a body lay beneath a sheet, lying half on the street and half on the sidewalk. A pool of blood spread outwards from the shrouded form of Miles Knopf. Violet forced herself to remain calm and professional. She’d seen plenty of death and the fact that she had been a friend with this person shouldn’t matter.
“Hello, Violet,” he said. “It’s a damned shame.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“Was he out working tonight?”
“Yes.”
“I thought he didn’t usually do that.”
“He didn’t. What happened?”
“Several things. He was cut up pretty bad and then shot. A bullet right through the heart.”
Violet looked around. They were only three or four blocks away from Sidney Morehouse’s address. It was a quiet residential area and she could see faces pressed up against windows. “Anybody see or hear anything?”
“Nobody’s admitting to it if they did. What kind of case was he on?”
Violet shrugged. “You know I can’t give you any details without talking to my client first. Confidentiality.”
“You can give me something to go on. Was he meeting somebody out here? When was the last time you saw him?”
“He was supposed to be tailing somebody. And as for when I saw him last… that’s kind of a hard question to answer.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’d think I was crazy.”
“Try me.”
“I talked to him earlier tonight at the movie premiere. Only no one else could see him. He had cuts all over his face and he told me that he was sorry for taking this case, that it was worse than he’d expected. And then he walked off.”
“And nobody else saw him?”
“Not even people standing right next to us.”
“What time was this?”
“Right before the movie started playing.”
“Well, Miles has been dead for at least three or four hours, if not longer. Rigor mortis has started to set in.”
Violet fumbled for a cigarette and Will fished out a Zippo lighter from his pocket. He lit it for her and then put it away. “Can I see him?” she asked.
“You probably don’t want to.” McKenzie leaned closer and Violet could smell his aftershave. It was a nice scent and reminded her of happier times. “You said he had lots of cuts on him when you saw him?”
“Yeah. But I might have imagined the whole thing. I’d just had a run-in with Armitage and I was on edge.”
“Seems an odd coincidence, though. Miles suffered severe facial lacerations before he died. In fact…” McKenzie paused and seemed to consider if he really wanted to go on. He finally decided that Violet deserved to know. “They took his face.”
“What does that mean?”
“Someone cut the skin of his face off. Took it with them. From the looks of it, he was still alive when it happened.”
Violet started, stricken with horror. “He said he was going to have a gun with him…”
“He did. He never drew it. There are no signs of a struggle either.”
“Miles wouldn’t have just stood there while someone cut his face off…” Violet said. She felt suddenly even colder than before and it had nothing to do with the December weather. Miles was such a sweet, gentle man…
“I know that. I’m just telling you what we’ve been able to figure out. Would you mind coming down to the station and telling me exactly what he said to you at the theater?”
“You don’t really think he was there?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. And I really am going to need to know about the case you two were working on.”
Violet nodded, her face having gone placid. “Can I do it in the morning? I’m exhausted.”
McKenzie followed her gaze to her friend’s body and gave a quick nod. “Sure. Go home and get a few hours of shut-eye. Can you be at my office around nine?”
“I’d rather you came to my place.”
McKenzie realized that Violet hadn’t been to the police station since Walter’s death. She’d managed to avoid it ever since. McKenzie had never gotten a chance to meet her husband— he’d arrived in Atlanta just weeks after his death — but from all he’d heard, Walter Cambridge had been one hell of a detective. His death had been a loss for not just his wife but for all those in the city whose interest lay in justice.
“Sure, Violet. Want me to have one of the boys drive you back to your place?”
“If you don’t mind.”
McKenzie waved one of his men over and gave him instructions. Violet had stopped listening. She couldn’t get past the fact that her friend — her husband’s best friend — was now dead. It felt like the final nail in Walter’s coffin had just been hammered in.
Her eyes still locked on his corpse, Violet made a silent promise to Miles to avenge his death… and to find out what the hell was going on.
Chapter III
Daniel Armitage grunted in pleasure. He was sitting in a chair behind his desk, the sun’s morning rays spotlighting the dust motes that floated above his ledger. His pants were unzipped and his short, stubby cock was poking through his fly. His secretary, a round-faced, big-bottomed redhead named Lacy, was sliding her bright red lips up and down his shaft. She was doing it nice and slow, which was the way Armitage had taught her that he liked. Her lips came off the tip on every upward stroke, making a little smacking sound that the fat man enjoyed.
Lacy had worked for Armitage for about six months and oral sex had become the morning routine. Every day he would come in, take off his coat and hat and buzz her in for his morning coffee. She’d bring it in, set it on the edge of his desk, and get down on her knees. She was married with two kids but badly needed the money and Armitage knew it. Her husband had lost the use of his legs after a construction accident and it was only Lacy’s hard-earned money that was keeping them afloat. Armitage knew that she didn’t particularly like him and certainly didn’t find him sexually appealing but that was okay. Her distaste for the act only made it better for him.