Deeper Than the Dead

“When we asked Dr. Crane if he knew where Karly Vickers was going after her appointment, he suggested she might have stopped by the Quinn, Morgan offices to find out about getting time off to have her dental work done,” Vince said. “Has anybody checked that out?”

“If she left the dentist at five o’clock, the law office was already closed,” Mendez said. “The sign on their door says they close at four thirty.”

“They lock the door at four thirty. That doesn’t mean there might not have been someone still there,” Vince pointed out. “Appointments run late. Lawyers love to rack up those billable hours.”

“Check it out,” Dixon said.

“She probably never made it out of the dentist’s office. Janet Crane probably killed her and ate her,” Mendez said. “That’s the meanest woman alive. I don’t get why he would be married to her. He’s a successful, educated, good-looking guy. Why would he hook up with a ballbuster like that one?”

“Maybe he sees another side of her,” Vince offered. “Or maybe he’s a masochist. Can you picture her wearing leather and spike-heeled boots?”

“If I want to have nightmares.”

“Don’t add another killer to the mix,” Dixon said. “We’ve got enough trouble. If you can’t find anyone at Quinn, Morgan who saw Karly Vickers after her appointment, find out where Peter Crane was.”

“Home with the family,” Mendez said. “That’s his alibi. We’re not going to break that unless someone saw him somewhere else.”

“I’m meeting his wife this afternoon. I’ll see what I can find out,” Vince said, drawing a stunned look from Mendez. “I’m curious. What can I say? And she’s the agent representing the vacant building next to her husband’s office. A great place for a newcomer to start a business—or for a kidnapper to stash a victim while he establishes an alibi. I’ll scout it out for you.”

“I’ve made a call to the Oxnard PD,” Mendez said. “That was where Julie Paulson had her last two arrests for prostitution. They’ll get back to me if they can connect her to any johns who might have gotten caught up in a sweep with her.”

“Steve Morgan spends a lot of time in Sacramento,” Dixon said, grim-faced. “I can reach out to a friend in the PD, see if they’ve had anything going on up there. I hope to God not.”

“If we’re dotting i’s and crossing t’s,” Mendez said, “Someone has to account for Frank’s whereabouts last Thursday night. Otherwise it’ll look like we gave him a pass.”

“Talk to his wife,” Dixon said, checking his watch. “I told him we have to do this by the book, and no one is more by the book than Frank. He’ll deal with it.”

Famous last words, Mendez would think later. For the moment it was just one more thing on the endless checklist of a murder investigation.

41

Vince popped a couple of pills and washed them down with a locally bottled orange cream soda. Nice town, he thought again, as he walked down the pedestrian plaza. Nice place to settle—except for the serial killer.

He tossed the soda bottle in a trash can camouflaged with decorative wrought iron, and checked himself in the window of a parked car. In a smart dove gray suit with an orange Italian silk tie, he looked pretty damn good for a guy who had been raised from the dead.

Janet Crane was waiting for him when he arrived at the building next door to her husband’s dental office where a sign on the door declared the office was closed. A HAVE YOU SEEN THIS WOMAN? poster of Karly Vickers hung below the CLOSED sign.

She was an attractive brunette in her thirties with a head of puffed-up, sprayed stiff black hair, red suit, red heels, and a thousand-watt smile.

“You must be Vince,” she said, shaking his hand. She tilted her head just so and batted the eyelashes. She seemed a little too excited, a little too eager, her grip was a little too strong. “I’m Janet Crane. It’s so nice to meet you, and so nice to be able to show you this fantastic space.”

“Lovely to meet you, Ms. Crane. Any relation to the dentist next door?”

“Peter is my husband,” she said, letting go of his hand. The smile lost a couple of watts as he took away her tool of flirtation. “Do you know him?”

“I saw the name on the door.”

“Well, he’s the best dentist in town, in my humble opinion. If you were to lease this space, you could just pop next door when the need arose,” she said.

“I’ll hope that doesn’t become necessary, no offense,” he said, flashing the big white smile. “So let’s see what the place has to offer.”

“As you can see, this is the main retail space,” she said as they walked inside. “Like most of the buildings on the plaza, this building dates back to the mid-1920s and has all of the original detail such as the cove molding and the tile floors. But the electrical and plumbing is all up to date,” she said. “You’re new in Oak Knoll, Vince?”

“Visiting, actually, but I’m very taken with your little city. I can see myself staying.”

“Where are you from?”

“Chicago.”

“Well, you’ll miss the winters, I know,” she said, laughing at her own joke. “But this is a wonderful community. We have the college, a very good small hospital, wonderful restaurants, cultural opportunities. We’re convenient to both Los Angeles and Santa Barbara.”

“What about crime?” Vince asked.

The smile became a little brittle. “Generally, there isn’t much to speak of.”

“But I saw something on the news about a woman missing, and another woman being found dead in a park,” Vince said. “That’s pretty serious.”

“Yes, but the exception, not the rule,” she said. She didn’t like him steering her off her sales pitch. “What kind of business are you thinking of for the space?”

“Italian imports. Olive oil, gourmet foods, pottery,” he said as if he had given the idea a lot of thought. “The police are looking for a serial killer, I heard.”

“We also have an excellent sheriff’s office that takes care of the city as well as the county,” she countered. “Are you married, Vince?”

“Single, but I have two daughters. How are the schools?”

“Excellent. The top in the state for their size.”

“Nothing strange goes on there, I guess,” he said jokingly, even as he recalled Dennis Farman and the severed finger.

A muscle in Janet Crane’s jaw pulsed. “Not at all.”

“So it’s just the serial killer we have to worry about.”

Now she was getting pissed off. He could see it in the set of her shoulders, the quickness of her breathing, the little line of frustration that made an L between her eyebrows. He wasn’t letting her manipulate him, and she didn’t like it.

He chuckled. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Crane. I’m not going to be frightened away. After all, I’m not exactly a part of the target group of victims, am I?”

The brittle smile reappeared. “No, you aren’t.”

“Still, it’s a terrible thing to think about.”

“I heard the man responsible is in custody.”

“They called him a ‘person of interest’ on the news, not even a suspect. I don’t know that they believe he did it,” Vince said. “I’ve read about serial killers. They’re very clever, you know, practically chameleons. This guy could be a businessman, someone respected in the community, but with a dark side. I’ve heard of women being married to serial killers and not having a clue about their husband’s other life.”

“That seems hard to believe.”