Minutes to Kill (Scarlet Falls #2)(72)

Framed snapshots lined a shelving unit in the living room. Brody stooped to look at a framed photo of two bikini-clad young women, a blond and a Joleen, standing on a beach. He focused on the brunette. Long hair. Early twenties. Slight frame. The tiny heart tattoo on her hip matched the one on Jane Doe’s body. Brody’s gaze flickered to her face. Her wide, happy smile sent a rift of anger through his chest. Her killer had obliterated her identity. The violence of her murder was staggering. He pointed to the tattoo. “That confirms it. Jane Doe is Joleen Walken.”

Ripton nodded. “She worked in a bank two years ago. We’ll contact her former employer and get her fingerprints sent over to the medical examiner for official corroboration.” He led Brody down a short hallway. A closet door stood open. Inside, a baseball bat leaned in the corner, right below a floor mop. “We believe this is the bat he used to beat her face in.” A valid conclusion, since he hadn’t bothered to wipe off the wood. A yellow evidence marker stood on the floor of the closet next to the bat.

“Are you going to call Chet?” Ripton asked.

“I am.” Brody stepped outside and dialed Chet’s number. His friend picked up on the first ring. “It’s not her. The body isn’t Teresa.”

“I know,” Chet slurred. He was drinking. Damn it.

“How did you know?” Brody asked.

“I found an old e-mail. One of my contacts said she was seen in Vegas last month with a known pimp.”

“I’m sorry, Chet.” Brody could feel his friend’s pain through the connection.

“Don’t be sorry. At least she’s still alive.” Glass clinked in the background. Chet wasn’t hopping back on the wagon tonight.

“Are you all right?” Brody asked. “I can come there when I’m done at the scene.”

“I promise I’m not going anywhere.” Chet hiccupped. “I hid my keys from myself.”

“She’s alive, Chet.”

“She’s being trafficked, Brody.”

Shit! Brody curled his fingers and punched his thigh. “I’ll come over when I’ve finished here.”

“I know you’re worried, but if you go anywhere tonight, go see Hannah. You need her. She needs you. Don’t fuck that up.” His voice slurred. The sound of liquid pouring into a glass came over the line. “I’ll be out cold as soon as I finish this last drink.”

Damn it. He should have known Chet had a stash of booze. Brody wanted to go to Chet’s house and, once again, pour every ounce of liquor down the drain. As sad as it was, passing out for the night was likely Chet’s safest option. Besides, Brody wasn’t likely to have any time until morning. Maybe not even then. “Tomorrow we’re calling your sponsor. Together.”

Chet answered with a long sigh filled with resignation. “Fine.”

“Detective McNamara?” Ripton prompted.

Brody nodded and held up one finger. “I have to go, Chet.”

He ended the call. Officer Ripton pointed toward the back door to the trailer. “I want to show you something in the shed.”

They walked across the yard. The rain had stopped, but the cold air blowing across the field was frosty. Brody buttoned his overcoat. It seemed unbelievable that a couple of hours ago, he’d been in a warm bed with a woman. They walked into a sagging shed. Two portable lamps brightened the space. A cheap oriental-style rug lay on the barn floor. The center was stained dark red. Hair and other matter clumped on the pile.

Brody shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “The missing rug.”

Ripton’s mouth went flat. “We found teeth, Brody. Six teeth.”

The sound of a trunk popping echoed in the open space.

“Ripton, over here,” another cop called.

Brody and Ripton walked to the rear of another car, a battered old Corolla. The trunk stood open. Inside, the nude body of a young woman lay on its side. Brody gasped, and his pulse stuttered a beat. For a second he’d thought it was Hannah. But a second glance told him that other than the short blond hair, there was little resemblance. This girl was younger. Her eyes were brown instead of blue. She was a head shorter and curvier. Plus, he’d just left Hannah alive and well.

The hair must be a coincidence, but the similarity left him with an uneasy feeling in the pit of his belly. He would not breathe easily until they caught Joleen’s killer.





Chapter Twenty-Seven

Brody spent the early morning hours on Thursday walking through the rest of the scene with the lead crime scene tech. The shooting of a police officer and the sheer brutality of Joleen’s killing eliminated the normal gallows humor of a death scene.

The second woman had been identified as Chrissi Tyler. A few phone calls determined that she’d had a fight with her boyfriend Tuesday night at The Scarlet Lounge. The security tapes showed a man following her out the door, a man who knew how to keep his face away from the surveillance cameras. Both Chrissi and the man had disappeared from the range of the parking lot cameras. Chrissi’s hair had been long in the tape, and a few snipped strands had been found in the mobile home bedroom. The killer had given her a haircut that looked just like Hannah’s. How the hell could that be a coincidence?

Brody drove toward the station but somehow ended up sitting in front of the Barrett farmhouse. Through the windshield, dawn brightened the tops of the trees. For a minute, he leaned on the headrest and closed his eyes. The things human beings did to one another never ceased to appall him. That was probably a good thing. The day he could shrug off a man beating a woman to death with a baseball bat was the day he should hand in his badge.