When You See Me (Detective D.D. Warren #11)(88)

But I do have one thing on my side. I don’t care if I live or die. What future is there for me, really? I don’t need to survive. I just need to take him down with me.

For my mother. For myself. For all of us.

I will make him pay.





CHAPTER 34





KIMBERLY





KIMBERLY PROWLED THE MOTEL RESTLESSLY. While the ME and his assistants had arrived to whisk the body away, she’d grilled the lodging owner relentlessly.

Were there cameras?

Yes, but they captured activity only at the front door, not at the edge of the parking lot.

Had he heard anything, registered any kind of disturbance?

Absolutely not!

But the man had been sweating profusely. Their UNSUB’s tactic to intimidate the locals was clearly working.

She went at the man for another ten minutes, then gave up. He was too terrified to speak.

The maid’s death tore at her. She’d talked to the woman just yesterday. Had agreed when D.D. said they needed to get both Bonita and Hélène out of the inn. Yet somehow, while Kimberly and Sheriff Smithers and D.D. were all still in the establishment, Hélène had been taken. Whisked away right under their noses.

Goddammit.

This case had started out as an exercise to bring closure in a fifteen-year-old missing persons case. Now? They had bodies dropping everywhere, and Kimberly couldn’t shake the feeling it was all her fault.

The motel’s glass doors opened. D.D. entered, her expression a mirror for Kimberly’s own. Behind her came Bonita, her face pale but otherwise composed. The girl had known Hélène, but she didn’t appear grief-stricken, just grim.

Next came Flora, Keith, Sheriff Smithers. That was enough for Kimberly.

“Meeting. D.D.’s room. We need a new plan of attack.”

They all filed wordlessly down the hall, leaving the rattled motel operator in their wake.

D.D. held open the door to the double room. No one spoke till she closed it and bolted it behind her. Even then, Flora crossed to the window, peered out intently, then shuttered the curtains.

Siege mentality, Kimberly thought. Yet wasn’t that exactly what they were in?

“We can’t keep reacting to whatever the hell is going on in this town,” Kimberly began.

“Damn straight,” Smithers said.

The sheriff wasn’t looking good natured anymore. Or exhausted or overwhelmed. Or for that matter, guilty or shifty. He appeared pissed off, which was good. In Kimberly’s experience, angry cops got things done. It was one of the reasons she respected D.D. so much.

“Keith has an idea,” Flora spoke up.

Kimberly stared at the computer analyst. He flushed slightly, then straightened his spine and launched into a lecture on criminal enterprises, the dark web, and the key roles of the local cabal they had not yet identified but given the required skill set, they might have a shot at locating.

No one spoke right away. Kimberly was thinking hard, as were D.D. and the sheriff. Flora kept peering through a slight crack in the curtains, as if their UNSUB might magically appear on the other side of the window. Or was lying in wait for them there.

Only Bonita appeared composed. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching Flora. No, Kimberly realized a moment later—gazing at the silver handle of the butterfly blade peeking out of Flora’s boot.

Kimberly turned to the sheriff. “I’ll buy Keith’s analysis. The FBI’s bread and butter is organized crime, and Keith’s right—they function along the same lines as any large business enterprise. Given that, let’s start with our so-called mastermind. Always best to cut off the head of the snake. Who are key influencers and leaders around here?”

The sheriff rocked back on his heels, considering. “Mayor Howard,” he supplied at last. “But to look at him yesterday . . . man’s genuinely distraught. Plus, he’s got no motive to order the murder of his own wife, especially given her own level of involvement.”

“Did you check on him this morning?” D.D. asked.

“Nah, came straight here when I heard the news. But I visited his cell around eleven last night.”

“How’d he look?”

“Like a broken man.”

“I don’t think he’s our mastermind,” Kimberly said. D.D. and the sheriff nodded their agreement. The mayor’s emotional response yesterday had been too genuine.

“What about our UNSUB? Our mystery killer?” Kimberly turned to D.D. “You said Bonita drew a picture.”

The girl looked up at the sound of her name, then went back to her study of Flora’s boot.

D.D. crossed into the second room, returning momentarily with three drawings in one hand, and a lone drawing in the other. She held out the first three, kept the fourth.

The rest of them gathered around to study.

“I’ll be damned,” the sheriff said first. “If that ain’t a picture of pure evil, I don’t know what is.”

Kimberly had to agree. In terms of specific features, the coloring didn’t help them. In terms of sending a shiver down her spine, however . . .

“I never thought to draw Jacob,” Flora murmured softly. “But if I did, it would be something like that.”

Kimberly moved to the second picture. Blue into red. It took a moment to get it. D.D. was right: Bonita was a gifted impressionist.