Killer Scents

“You’re not so intimidating now, are you?”

She finally looked directly into his eyes as he moved closer, his fingers slipping beneath the front edges of her housecoat. He had no desire to see her naked body, but he could think of no better way to humiliate her. The material fell away, pooling at the sides of her quivering breasts. Carol squeezed her eyes shut, letting loose a fresh torrent of tears.

The familiar cool metal of his revolver kept him grounded. He assumed the position, standing on the arm of the sofa. He took aim, purposely avoiding her eyes, and squeezed the trigger.

Chapter Ten

Several officers looked up from their desk as their pagers buzzed at the same time. Randy met Becca’s gaze, silently validating a sense of urgency. They quickly weaved their way through a maze of desks to the chief’s office. Tension wafted towards them before they stepped inside to find Chief on the phone, pacing behind his desk.

“We’re on our way!” His shoulders rose and fell as he turned to face them. “He struck again.”

Randy saw the surge of emotion in his partner’s eyes disappear, quickly replaced by no-nonsense. Was it fear, anger...? He couldn’t tell.

Chief shrugged into his jacket. “I’ll fill you in on the way over there. I think it’s best if we take my sedan.”

Becca opened her mouth like she might argue the decision, but replied with a shrug instead.

Randy sat up front with the chief, leaving Becca alone in the back. Since the first time he’d laid eyes on her, she remained constant in his mind. Sometimes thoughts of her came at the most inopportune times throughout the day and in his dreams at night. It wasn’t going to be easy, but if he didn’t reign in his desire for her, his wandering mind might hamper the case, and finding Susan’s killer was just too important to Becca.

“Carol Tate is a high profile defence attorney. It looks like he was waiting in the house and confronted her shortly after she showered.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t a disgruntled client?” Becca spoke up.

“Nope, her mouth is sewn shut. We won’t know what’s inside it until she arrives in the morgue.” Chief looked in his rear view mirror. “Our guy left his signature behind. It’s a white orchid.

“What do we know about the victim?” Becca wedged herself between the front seats. “Isn’t she the ball- breaker lawyer who is always in the paper for winning cases for scum bags?”

“That about sums her up.”

Cop cars with flashing lights, an ambulance, and several radio stations reporting live littered the yard and spilled out into the street.

“The neighbor called 911 after seeing a motorcycle back down the driveway.”

“I’m glad we’re not on our bikes.”

Randy opened her door. “Hold up.” He jogged across the lawn where two attendants carried the body bag from the house. Slowly, he unzipped it enough to find the lawyer in the same state as the first five victims—a single gunshot between the eyes, her mouth sewn shut. “Call me once you find out what’s in there.” The silver-haired doctor, who followed the gurney, nodded before taking his leave.

Becca hadn’t moved from the doorway, her face void of expression. The chief entered the house and stood beside her. After a brief exchange of words, she left the house.

Where the hell is she going?

Randy motioned for the chief to join him. “Is Becca okay?”

Chief Thomson arched a brow. “Why wouldn’t she be? I sent her out to talk to the neighbor who called 911.”

Becca welcomed the task that took her out of the house. This makes six. We gotta find this guy and fast.

A tiny, old lady stood at the edge of the driveway holding a sweater closed over her nightgown. Her eyes were a tad too bright as she watched the body being transported to the ambulance.

“Mrs. Miller?” Becca purposely stood in her line of vision. She doesn’t need that image haunting her dreams.

“Yes?” The woman’s forehead wrinkled.

Becca showed her badge. “My name is Detective Talbot. Can we sit up on your porch and talk? Those chairs look pretty comfy.”

Mrs. Miller didn’t hesitate to accept her extended arm. They slowly made their way across the lawn.

“I don’t know what this world’s coming to. A woman isn’t even safe in her own home anymore.”

Becca patted her hand sympathetically. “I promise we’re going to do everything in our power to find this guy.”

The old lady sat in an oversized armchair, and Becca sat beside her.

“Can you tell me what you saw? Why did you call 911?”

“I’ve lived here over twenty years. Carol moved in around six years ago. She was a nice lady who always had a smile for me.” She paused to pull a hanky from her sleeve and dab at her eyes. “Poor soul rarely had visitors, liked to keep to herself like me. So when I saw that guy on his motorcycle, I knew something wasn’t right.”

“Did he do or say anything?”

“Nope. He pushed that big black bike down to the road. He was looking all over the place before he jumped on it a couple of times to start his motorcycle. I’m surprised the noise didn’t wake the neighbourhood.” She sighed. “When I saw a container on his back, I remembered reading the paper about some whacko they were calling The Florist. That’s when I called the authorities.”

He had to kick start the bike. So did the one at the professor’s place.

“Can you describe the case?”

“Oh, you know those round cases architects put their blue prints in, but this one was black. Everything about him was black—black shoes, black rain suit, the case, and even his bike”

“Did you say rain suit?”

“Well, I think that’s what you call them. It was just like the yellow ones we used to call slickers.”

“You’ve been very helpful, Mrs. Miller.” Becca placed her card in the woman’s weathered hand. “If you think of something else, please call me any time. Do you want me to send someone to stay here with you?”

“My son should be here any minute now.” The old woman smiled weakly. “I hope you catch that guy. Be careful dear. I’ll be praying for you.”

He rides old school. Maybe it’s time to talk to a few old friends who might know if there’s a bike like that around town.

Randy stood in the doorway. The second their eyes met, he dropped his gaze and scribbled in his notebook.

Becca scowled. I think I’ll go this one alone.

Chapter Eleven

After spending most of the day inside the precinct, Becca welcomed the diversion her plans afforded her. A little voice in the back of her head kept yelling she shouldn’t be doing this alone. What choice did she have? The way Randy acted of late, and after he totally ignored her all day, she didn’t know whether to trust him or not.

She tucked light-wash jeans into her knee-high leather boots and stood in front of a full-length mirror. Her fringed top matched the same dark tan of her boots. After going a little heavy on the eyeliner, she was good to go. Hopefully I’ll run into one of our old contacts. Maybe one of them has heard or seen something.

On the way out of the house, Becca twisted her unruly red hair and tucked it under her helmet. Her bike, the one thing in her life that had never let her down, sat in the driveway.

On any other night like this she would’ve headed to the lake, revelling in the scent of the water and the wind against her skin. All too soon she arrived at the bar and parked at the end of a row of bikes. A couple of guys were