Faces of Evil [2] Impulse Page 2

  If Jess wasn’t scared to death, she would be spitting mad. This was her fault. The Player had followed her here – and Lori had paid the price. Her fingers itched to put a bullet right between his eyes.

  Let me close again, Spears.

  “The crime scene unit is four minutes out,” Burnett said as he came around the hood to join her on the street.

  He was shaken as badly as Jess or he would already be inside. Wells was his detective. And she was Jess’s friend, even if for only for a few days.

  How the hell had she let this happen? She’d made a mistake. . . a terrible, terrible mistake. She had to find a way to fix this. . . to stop this sociopath.

  “Harper’s waiting for us.” Burnett gestured to the apartment complex.

  Jess nodded, then followed him across the street, past the squad cars and up the sidewalk that led to what was now a crime scene. Fear had her in a daze. . . she had to pull it together.

  Lori needed her to do this right.

  The two officers greeted their chief of police as she and Burnett approached the door. Sergeant Chet Harper waited inside, his expression grim. No, not just grim, sick and terrified.

  I’m sorry! Jess wanted to scream the words. I didn’t mean for this to happen.

  Calm. . . stay calm.

  She couldn’t change what had already happened, but this she could do right. The Player would not best her again.

  After slipping on the shoe covers and gloves Burnett provided, she entered the apartment, leaving her emotions on the welcome mat. Every case deserved her absolute best, but this one hit a deeply personal chord. Putting aside her personal feelings would require considerably more than the usual discipline.

  She could do it. . . she had to do it.

  Burnett remained outside to take a call.

  “The door was ajar when I arrived,” Chet explained, his tone quiet, somber. “That bar stool was overturned.” With a gloved hand he indicated the small island with its two stools that divided the kitchen area from the living area of the one-room apartment. “A glass of orange juice on the coffee table was knocked over as well.”

  Jess made her way to the old-fashioned trunk Lori used as a coffee table. The drying puddle of OJ had stained the tan carpet. A half-eaten bagel languished on a napkin. Surveying the space again, this time more slowly, she noted discarded lounge pants and a t-shirt lay on the floor by the bed. Lori had gotten up and dressed for work. Both doors, closet and bathroom, remained closed.

  “What about her cell?”

  “I haven’t found her phone.”

  Chet was visibly rattled. Like Burnett, Lori was his colleague. But for Chet there was more. He wanted a personal relationship with Lori. Jess had a feeling there had already been some serious physical bonding. She also understood that, for now, she needed the emotional distance of referring to the detectives by their last names or respective rank. After working so closely the past few days, she and the two BPD detectives had reached a first name basis.

  This event changed everything.

  She had to depersonalize the victim. . . Lori. Her new friend.

  “What about her purse? Keys?”

  Chet – Harper shook his head.

  “Her car?”

  “The Mustang’s not in her parking slot or anywhere on the street.”

  Didn’t make sense that Spears would use Detective Wells’ personal vehicle. Certainly wasn’t his MO. “Give me a few minutes, sergeant.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Jess moved across the room to the closet. Neat, organized. If anything had been disturbed it was impossible to discern. Nothing unexpected in the bathroom other than the evidence that Wells bordered on OCD. Jess smiled, her lips a little stiff, a little shaky. No normal person was this neat.

  Then again, what was normal?

  Jess trailed her fingers down the robe hanging next to the shower. “Be strong, Lori,” she murmured. “I will find you.”

  Tears burned her eyes and she blinked them away.

  Returning to the main room, Jess took one last long look around the apartment before getting out of the way. The evidence techs had arrived and Harper waited near the door. Jess walked over to wait with him. She wished there was something she could say to reassure him, but there wasn’t.

  The truth was, there was very little chance this would end well. Dread and anger constricted her throat. The Player had made his move. There was no going back. No stopping him from taking the next step.

  It should have been me.

  “The carrier is working on tracking Lori’s cell phone,” Burnett said as he joined them at the door, distracting Jess from the painful thoughts warring inside her.

  “I received an update from the officers canvassing the neighbors. So far no one saw Detective Wells leave,” Harper added, his voice reflecting the same devastation his expression carried. He looked from Burnett to Jess, then at the floor as if holding her gaze was too much to ask.

  Harper and all the rest knew. . . this was Jess’s fault.

  Stay on track. Evaluating the scene and making conclusions had to be done from an objective place. You cannot screw this up.

  “It won’t matter if we find an eye witness.” Jess kicked aside the fear and self-pity and considered the anomalies in the apartment’s otherwise neat appearance. “Detective Wells left alone.”

  “What’re you thinking?” Burnett sounded surprised by her conclusion.

  “There was a struggle,” Harper argued, confusion joining the mix of powerful emotions cluttering his face.

  “These aren’t signs of a struggle, gentlemen.” Jess gestured to the overturned glass. “Wells was having breakfast when she received a call that startled her.” She pointed to the stool on the floor. “She knocked that over when she grabbed her purse and keys.” OCD or not, most people dropped their keys on the surface nearest the door they used most often.

  “Whoever called, it rattled her. Scared her even. Detective Wells was in a hurry to get out of here. That’s why she didn’t care if she locked the door or not. That’s also why you haven’t found her cell. She carried it with her when she left in her Mustang.”

  “I called her mother and her sister,” Harper countered, clearly confused. “Neither answered. They’re probably already at work. Her mother is –”

  “Do her sister and mother live together?” Another possible layer of the scenario fell into place for Jess.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Get a unit over there now.” A new worry robbed her lungs of air. “Right now.” The emotion she had hoped to keep at bay washed over her.

  Lori Wells had rushed out of her home with no care as to whether she secured the premises. Something had her scared to death. The most primal emotion known to man, or woman, was the protective instinct. Put a loved one in danger and all reason evaporated.

  Burnett made the necessary call.

  Jess turned to Harper. “We need to get there as quickly as possible.”

  If she was right, and Jess had a sinking feeling she was, they could very well have three victims instead of one.

  Overton Heights, 11:38 a.m.

  As Jess had anticipated, Lori Wells’ red Mustang was parked in the driveway alongside a gray Impala that belonged to her mother. From the passenger seat of Burnett’s SUV, Jess peered past the tinted glass to survey the house and front yard. The house was a 70s style split-level, part brown brick, part beige siding. It sat on the “up” side of the street, the driveway ascending the steep bank and disappearing into the attached garage. Nothing moved. Nothing appeared out of place or amiss.

  But, inside would be an entirely different story. She wanted to get in there. It took every shred of patience she could muster to sit here and wait for the tactical team to do their stuff.

  If they got inside. . . and the Wells family had been murdered. . .

  Pain pinched her face as Jess suffered a new trickle of panic. The need to call her own sister, just to hear her voice, expanded against h
er ribs. Lily and her family were safe at home, under police protection. If there was trouble at Lily’s, Jess would know. Burnett would get a call.

  Fate apparently heard her thoughts and wanted to ratchet up the tension a little tighter. Burnett shifted behind the wheel and reached for his cell. That band of pressure narrowed around her chest. Why the hell did he keep the damned thing on vibrate all the time? A little warning would be nice.

  “Does her sister have a car?” Jess asked Harper while Burnett spoke quietly to his caller. At eighteen, odds were Terri Wells, Lori’s younger sister, either had a car or used her mother’s.

  “It’s in the shop, ma’am,” Harper said from the backseat. “Terri drives a blue Chevy Cobalt. Lori – Detective Wells told me it’s in the shop.”

  Lori was gone. . . her family could be dead – dammit, Jess needed to be in there! What the hell was taking so long?

  Damn Eric Spears and his games!

  He was here, in Birmingham. No more speculation. Not just a hireling, the monster himself. . . the Player. This morning’s delivery of that damned package was all the proof she needed.

  He’d taken Lori and sent her badge to Jess – at the chief of police’s office – by special delivery.

  Dread joined the pain and frustration expanding in her chest.

  The son of a bitch had started one of his games here. . . just for her.

  Take a breath and concentrate, Jess.

  Burnett ended the call. “The carrier confirmed that a tower in this area was the last location Detective Wells’ cell pinged.” He slid his phone back into the holster at his waist. “Looks like you called this one right out of the gate, Jess. Your instincts may have saved valuable time.”

  Jess absorbed the information. She was on the right track. Wells rushed away from her apartment to come here. That confirmation didn’t make Jess feel one bit better about what they would find inside. The chances of Detective Wells’ mother and sister having survived an up close encounter with the Player were vague to nonexistent.

  The valuable time she may have saved would prove meaningless in the Player’s grand scheme.

  He never left evidence or witnesses or bodies at the scene of an abduction. At least not as far as the Bureau’s research had determined. If anyone was alive in that house, a whole new precedent would be set. He’d already changed his game by targeting Jess rather than a close family member of the victim with that damned package.

  That could mean other steps in his sadistic methods had changed.

  Please don’t let them be dead.

  Jess wanted in that house. . . now. She wanted everyone inside alive. And she wanted to find Detective Wells. . . before he was finished with her.

  “What’s taking so long?”

  Burnett assessed her with a long, worried look.

  “I know. I know,” she said before he could point out the obvious.

  No matter that Spears would undoubtedly be long gone from the Wells home, standard operating procedure dictated that they use caution entering the scene. BPD’s Tactical Unit had used the street that ran along behind Overton to approach the house. When the unit was in place, they could move in.

  Jess checked the time. Two more minutes, maybe.

  The seconds ticked off like hours.

  “Let’s gear up.” Burnett opened his door and climbed out.

  Anticipation sent her pulse into a rapid fire rhythm as Jess did the same. Her legs were rubbery with fear. She battled it back, had to find and stay in that neutral place. The one that allowed her to function with the highest measure of objectively. . . no emotions and distractions allowed.

  Harper was already out and pulling on his Kevlar vest. Burnett passed one to Jess. Despite holding an administrative position, she had to give him credit; the man maintained a preparedness level that surprised her. He carried a veritable “what if” arsenal in his high-end Mercedes. From fire power to evidence collection to tools and first aid supplies.

  Old habits died hard, she supposed.

  She pulled on the vest and slung her bag over her right shoulder. Not that she could actually say anything about anyone’s enthusiasm in the readiness department. She lugged around a considerable investigator’s arsenal in her bag, including her Glock .40 caliber handgun, which contributed greatly to her lack of good posture.

  She and Lori had laughed about the difficulties of being prepared while still looking chic as a female investigator.

  Men didn’t have that problem.

  Jess listened while Burnett confirmed their communication links were operational, then she followed him and Harper up the steep bank between the Wells’ home and that of the nearest neighbor, using the thick hedges for cover. Members of the tactical unit were now in position and checking the windows in preparation to make an entrance.

  The tactical commander gave the order to go through the door. Anticipation roared through Jess.

  Finally.

  The damned stilettoes slowed her progress. When she’d dressed this morning she had done so with saying goodbyes and driving away in mind. A new job offer with BPD and this were nowhere near her radar.

  Why couldn’t Spears have followed her until she was out of town, maybe confronted her at a gas station between here and Virginia? Or just have waited for her there?

  Because he knew this would deliver the most devastating blow.

  He thrived on the fear of his victims and he knew this move would prompt that all-too human emotion in both the victim and in Jess.

  She could not let him win.

  By the time she reached the steps of the split-level home’s front porch, weapon drawn, the tactical team had entered the house.

  And Jess understood with complete certainty that she had spent far too much time behind a desk and computer screen. She was seriously out of breath and her calves were aching. Damned shoes.

  An eternity elapsed one tiny fragment at a time before the next announcement echoed across the com link.

  All clear. Two vics. . . alive.

  Relief trembling through her, Jess shoved her weapon back into her bag and rushed through the open front door.

  Thank God.

  Harper immediately went to Detective Wells’ mother to remove her bindings. The unit commander freed the sister, Terri.

  Jess took a mental step back and again attempted to clean away the emotions. She checked the front door. No sign of forced entry which meant the door had been unlocked for Spears and had remained so after his departure. Otherwise a battering ram would have been used by the tactical team.

  The large L-shaped living room that flowed into the dining room appeared in order. Two of the dining chairs had been dragged into the middle of the living room and used, along with duct tape, to secure the mother and daughter.

  “He took my sister!” the younger woman shouted as soon as she was free. She swiped at her face with the backs of her hands. “He took Lori! You have to find her!” Sobbing, she rushed to her mother.

  They hugged, understandably hysterical.

  Burnett leaned close to Jess. “I’ll take the sister.”

  “The kitchen,” Jess suggested. The sooner they got these two separated, the less likely they were to get duplicated details. Witnesses were far more likely to recall events from their memories if that recollection was not muddled by listening as another retold those same events.

  “Mrs. Wells,” Jess said over Harper, who was crouched down in front of the lady attempting to calm her with gentle assurances, “if you’re up to it,” Jess directed a pull-it-together look at Harper, “we have some questions for you.”

  “Let’s move to the sofa,” Harper suggested, “where you’ll be more comfortable?”

  The mother looked to be late fifties. She was still dressed in her robe and house slippers. The sister had apparently been already dressed and ready to head to work when their unexpected visitor arrived. Harper mentioned that she had a summer job at a local bookstore. The mother worked part time at a daycare center
. Both had the same dark hair as Lori, but not the green eyes. Both were distressed at being pulled apart as Burnett ushered the daughter into the kitchen.

  When Harper had settled Mrs. Wells on the sofa, Jess turned to him, “Why don’t you get Mrs. Wells a glass of water? And, sergeant. . .”

  Harper met Jess’s gaze.

  “Take your time.”

  Harper didn’t argue, though the protest flashed in his eyes.

  Jess sat her bag on the floor and shrugged out of her vest. Most witnesses found police gear intimidating. This was Lori’s mother. . . even if she possessed some familiarity with how police work was conducted, her daughter was missing and she was terrified.

  Jess perched on the edge of the sofa and reached for the other woman’s hand. “My name is Jess Harris. I’m going to do everything I can to help find your daughter. I know this is an awful time.” She gave the woman’s trembling hand a squeeze. “But we need your help to figure out how to proceed. Okay?”

  Mrs. Wells nodded, then drew in a shuddering breath.

  “Let’s start at the beginning,” Jess prompted gently.

  “I was fixing breakfast when he knocked at the door.” Mrs. Wells tugged at the lapels of her robe, dragging it tighter around her. “I thought maybe it was Lori dropping by before work.” A trembling smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “She does that sometimes. Especially if she knows I’m making pancakes.”

  Jess gave her a reassuring smile. She understood. Pancakes trumped a bagel any day of the week.

  There was a peep hole in the door but Mrs. Wells hadn’t checked. Jess didn’t have to confirm that deduction. The woman would feel guilty enough when the full ramifications of her actions had time to set in. No need to add to her burden.

  Spears had wanted in. He would have gotten in one way or another.

  “You opened the door,” Jess suggested, “but it wasn’t Lori.”

  Mrs. Wells nodded, the tears welling again. “He. . . he barged in. He had a gun in his hand. He told me to sit down.” She knotted her fingers into the fabric at her throat. “Terri was still in her room. I prayed she would overhear him and call the police, but she didn’t.” Mrs. Wells gestured toward the hallway on the other side of the room “She came flying in here and he grabbed her. . . oh God.” Her body quaked with remembered terror. “He stuck that gun to her head.”