At Rope's End (A Dr. James Verraday Mystery #1)(59)

The team members nodded. Even Rivers looked serious.

“All right then. Let’s close this case right here and now.”

Maclean’s team eagerly set to work. Rivers pulled back the clammy bed sheets and raised an eyebrow with an exaggerated expression of distaste that was only partly mugging. He waved a hand in front of his face as though waving away a bad smell.

“Baby, you need a hazmat suit to go down to this funky town.”

“I’ll be sure to write you up for a bravery commendation,” said Maclean. “Keep looking.”

Maclean began taking notes on her iPad, taking her own photos and listing every object that caught her eye, any detail that could be a clue. Rivers felt around in the sheets, working his way down to the foot of the bed where the top sheet was tucked in tightly.

“Something wedged down here,” he said.

He gave a gentle tug. Then grinning, he pulled back the sheets and triumphantly held up his prize, a pair of women’s black lace panties.

“Unless this guy was a Frederick’s of Hollywood model, I’d say we’ve got some evidence here, boss.”

“Bag it up, Rivers,” said Maclean. “And get it UV tested to see if there are traces of semen on it.”

“I don’t need a UV light to give you the answer to that one.” He furrowed his brow into another look of distaste. “I’d say these were somebody’s playmate of the month. Only question is whose.”

“Let me get a shot of them,” said Vasquez, a slim young woman who was the team photographer.

Vasquez snapped photos from every angle before moving on to the hall closet. She reached into the closet with a small flashlight and probed the recesses.

“There’s something here that you should see, Detective.”

Vasquez pointed to a long two-pronged object, partly hidden behind a mop and broom.

“You know what that is?” she asked.

“Yeah,” replied Maclean. “It’s a cattle prod. That’s evidence. Get some photos.”

Rivers looked over.

“Judging by this place, that cattle prod got a lot more use than that mop or broom.”

“Keep digging, people” said Maclean. “I want everything.”





CHAPTER 29


By the time Verraday’s cell phone rang that evening, he had already had a couple of large glasses of red wine. Between that, the gas flames from the fireplace, and the patter of rain on the windows, he had been lulled into a pleasant state of drowsiness. Maclean’s call changed all that.

“North’s apartment is a fucking gold mine, James,” said Maclean. He could hear the excitement in her voice.

“What have you got?”

“Panties that match Rachel Friesen’s in the Assassin Girls photos. We’ll have to check them for her DNA as well as North’s to confirm. But it looks like a positive. There was a cattle prod that could have been used on Helen Dale. The dress that they both wore is here. It’s got blonde hair in the zipper. Could be Helen’s. Found two small tins, one with a locket of dark-brown hair, the other blonde. I’m sending it all to the lab for identification.”

“How about Alana Carmichael? Anything of hers there? That Cupid’s arrow maybe?”

“No. Nothing’s turned up yet. But we’re not done looking. When I get off the phone, I’ll e-mail my notes to you along with the photos of everything we’ve got so far.”

“Good. I’ll take a look as soon as I get them.”

“Okay. Let’s talk in the morning. And thanks.”

Verraday watched as the inbox of his laptop began to fill up with the files Maclean was sending him. He was excited, but also apprehensive. He was relieved that the killer might have been stopped in his tracks once and for all, but he also felt trepidation at having to examine the evidence. The intimate articles of clothing and jewelry that the young women had worn, both to please themselves and their clients, had instead become the perverse trophies of a psychopathic killer. It would be a disturbing process to examine all the evidence piece by piece, but it was necessary in order to conclude the case and provide closure to the survivors.

Verraday steeled himself for the task at hand by going to the kitchen to pour himself a large brandy. He took his Seattle World’s Fair tumbler from the dish rack then grabbed the bottle. It felt very light, and as he poured the last of the contents into his glass, he saw that there was less than half an ounce in it. He was annoyed at himself, couldn’t believe he’d forgotten to pick up a fresh bottle after making a mental note the previous evening. He didn’t feel up to viewing the evidence photos from Cody North’s apartment without the numbing effects of the brandy and resigned himself to going out to buy some more. Verraday put his jacket and boots on, grabbed the umbrella off the hall tree, and stepped onto the front porch.

The showers had grown heavier throughout the evening, and now the wind had begun to blow in hard from Puget Sound, whipping the rain diagonally toward the ground. Verraday opened his umbrella. A sudden gust nearly pulled it out of his hands and began to turn it inside out. As Verraday angled the umbrella into the wind to keep the metal frame from snapping, he heard his front gate bang. He saw it swinging freely, rattling against the latch. He knew that he’d pulled it shut behind him when Maclean dropped him off. All the other gates on his street were closed. He bent down to see if there was something faulty with the latch, but it was fine. He stepped out onto the sidewalk and made sure the gate was now properly secured. He had planned on walking the four blocks to the liquor store, but the rain was so heavy that even if his umbrella survived the trip, which was uncertain, he knew he’d be sopping wet by the time he got there and back. He felt vaguely guilty about driving his car for such a short journey but decided it was the lesser of two evils.