Part 2 (1/2)

”Alisha Burgess, twenty-six. School teacher.” Harper waited at the foot of the bed. ”No criminal record.”

Burgess had dark blond hair. She was tall and thin. Her finger and toenails were well manicured. Her body was lean and toned.

Jess s.h.i.+fted her attention to the final act of depravity committed by the killer, the one that told far more about him or her than anything else in the room. The victim's chest had been opened in a savage, primitive manner. A number of tools-hammer, box cutter, hatchet and pry bar-had been used to hack open her ribcage and then abandoned haphazardly around the room. Was this killer just careless or totally arrogant?

The lack of arterial spray confirmed the damage to the chest had been done after the heart stopped beating. At least the vic hadn't suffered that horror before taking her last breath.

Leaning closer, Jess's stomach did a warning flip-flop even as her throat tightened. ”Her heart is missing.”

”Yes, ma'am. If either one is here, we haven't found them.”

A generic list of motives for removing a victim's heart immediately cataloged in Jess's thoughts. Jealousy. Regret. Hatred. She moved around the bed and to the other side of the room to get a better look at the second victim whose body hung in front of the the closet doors. The doors were a set of bi-fold louvered ones about four, maybe five feet wide. Wrist shackles had been mounted to the wood facing on either side.

At least one of the two women was no novice at s.e.x games.

To each her own.

The second vic was tall and slender as well, with long auburn hair. She hung by her wrists, her head lolled to one side and dropped back as if she were staring heavenward.

”Lisa Templeton,” Harper said. ”Twenty-seven. She was a manager at an adult entertainment shop over on Valley Avenue.”

Whatever her cause of death, which wasn't readily discernible, Templeton's heart, like her roommate's, had been excavated from her chest. There was more blood but not arterial spray. Gravity had drained a good portion from her body. Blood had spread across the hardwood floor.

That tightening in her belly warned Jess again. She hadn't barfed at a crime scene in twenty years, but being pregnant wasn't going to make this part of her work easy.

Templeton's wrists didn't bear the markings of a prisoner who had attempted to escape her bonds and her feet were unrestrained. What had prevented her from fighting her killer? Jess scanned the body for some indication of cause of death. The state of rigor and visible lividity in both bodies indicated death had occurred more than a few hours ago.

Templeton's eyes bulged and her mouth was open but there were no ligature marks on the neck or any other indication of strangulation on the throat or face. Jess dug a penlight from her bag. She needed a look into Templeton's throat, but that wasn't possible without a stepladder.

”I'll grab a chair from the kitchen,” Harper offered, recognizing her problem.

”Thanks, Sergeant.”

While he hurried back to the kitchen, Jess worked at calming her stomach's reaction to the scene. These two women needed her on her toes. No one deserved to die in such a vicious manner.

Harper returned with the chair. ”ME's here.”

”Just in time,” Jess muttered as she climbed up onto the chair's wooden seat. The victim was in full rigor, but her mouth was wide open. Jess aimed the light into her throat and immediately spotted what she imagined would prove to be the cause of death. Something neon pink and possibly plastic or rubber had been jammed deep into the woman's throat. ”Well that explains the asphyxiation.”

Harper helped Jess down. However experienced these women were at s.e.x games, their menage-a-trois or whatever it was, had taken a wrong turn.

”Sergeant, check with Detective Wells and see if we know yet who these ladies left the club with last night. We need names and descriptions, if possible, of anyone who left about the same time they did.” Jess considered the room again. ”We need to know who they partied with on a regular basis.” She exhaled, wished she could exorcise the smell of rotting blood from her lungs. ”Let's start with Templeton's coworker.”

”You want to question her here?”

By now neighbors would be gathering near the police blockade. Reporters would be growing impatient. ”Let's take her downtown. Also, locate the landlord and find out how long the ladies have lived here and if there's been any trouble.”

”Yes, ma'am.”

Even in the bedroom there were few personal touches in the home. No family photos on the walls. Had these two just moved in?

”Well this is interesting,” a female voice announced from the door.

Jess turned to greet the medical examiner. No matter the hour, Sylvia Baron never showed up to the party looking anything but her best. Tonight she'd outdone herself. Black sheath and glossy pearls. Maybe she'd had a date.

”Sometimes dating can be h.e.l.l.” Jess presented the medical examiner with a smile.

”That's why I only date men I've properly vetted.” Sylvia entered the room and prepared to do her part for the victims. She would provide a preliminary time and manner of death-not that there was much question as to the manner.

”I'll make that call to Detective Wells,” Harper said before making himself scarce.

Sylvia had a reputation for rubbing folks the wrong way. Most cops preferred to steer clear of Jefferson County's deputy coroner. Jess had sort of gotten used to her, considered her a friend. Kind of.

”Did you learn anything in Knoxville?” Sylvia asked as she set to her task of examining Alisha Burgess.

”Not as much as I'd hoped.” Unfortunately, that was the ugly truth. They were no closer to catching Spears than before. Just because he'd been in Birmingham three days ago didn't mean he was here now. And just because one of his minions had held three women captive for more than a week near Gatlinburg, Tennessee, didn't mean he'd ever been there.

What they had boiled down to nothing except a missing woman and a freak show of followers who had been talking about Jess on the Net and stalking her from a distance. She'd only picked up on one stalker but judging by the photos of her all over the Net, there were a whole lot more than one.

”That's a shame,” Sylvia remarked.

Jess couldn't agree with her more. ”The Bureau still has nothing. Feels like we're all just running around in circles.” Worry gnawed at her again.

”That's too bad, but I meant it's a shame for you,” Sylvia explained. ”I heard Mayor Pratt's received several requests from concerned citizens who think you should be run out of town before your obsessed serial killer can murder anymore of Birmingham's citizens.”

”Aren't you sweet to keep me informed like this?”

Sylvia sent her a look. ”What're friends for?”

4.

Dunbrooke Drive, Mountain Brook Tuesday, August 24, 7:15 a.m.

Jess arched her back as she tugged the zipper of her dress into place, then she studied her reflection. The turquoise dress she'd had for ages still fit the same. She didn't look any different, not really. Well, other than the glaring dark circles under her eyes from working until two this morning and managing less than three hours sleep.

Slogging through murder scenes and interrogating witnesses and killers alike was her job. Her body rebelled regularly at her consistent abuse. Just as regularly, she ignored the nuisance. After all, murder rarely stuck to a nine-to-five schedule or selected the most convenient places to occur.

But everything was different now.

She pressed her hand to her abdomen. ”You really messed up this time, Jessie Lee.”

Her chest felt suddenly too heavy. What was she thinking? Dan Burnett was the only man she had ever really loved. How could she equate carrying his child with messing up?

She couldn't. It was that simple.

”Bad timing. That's all.” She ran the brush through her hair, then stepped into her Mary Jane pumps and swung her bag onto her shoulder. She turned to the bathroom door but hesitated before opening it.