“Okay, that’s enough pussyfooting around. What exactly does this whack job do?” She squelched her volatile Irish temper.
Chief sighed wearily. “Follow me.” He led her to the familiar brainstorming room where they showcased the bigger cases.
The overpowering aroma of pine cleaner flooded her senses, intensifying her already queasy stomach. Becca rolled her shoulders back and stepped over the threshold. Everything around her ceased to exist as she zoned in on the bulletin boards at the front of the room. Three of four panels shared pictures of The Florist’s victims laid out on couches, each of them clasped a different pristine bloom in their hands, and all of them had a single gunshot wound to the head.
Becca swallowed hard, trying to process it all. She looked from one board to the next. In startling contrast to an otherwise peaceful expression, all three had their mouths sewn shut. Envisioning Susan’s last moments sent a shiver up her spine.
“Please tell me he did that to them
Chief Thomson hung his head. “I wish I could tell you that, but no, he binds them and stuffs a different item in each of their mouths before he begins sewing.”
“What kind of items? Does he at least blindfold them?”
The last thread of her composure began unraveling as she watched the chief shake his head. She had a million questions and all she could think about was how terrified her sister’s best friend must have been. For the first time since Darla passed away, she was actually glad her sister wasn’t around to witness her dear friend’s demise.
“How did he get in? I can’t see her opening the door to a stranger, even for a delivery.”
“The first three he preyed on were delivered a flower. The perp forced his way in when each one answered their doors.”
Becca frowned. “Why do you say the first three? What is so different about Susan’s murder?”
He shrugged. “From what our team can tell, he simply walked in the front door and snuck up on her washing the dishes.”
Becca choked.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Becca. How can it be your fault?” He sat on the corner of a table and passed her a handful of tissues.
“I stopped by to check in on her like I promised Darla I’d do. Susan told me to lock the door on my way out.” Her breaths came too fast, teetering on the edge of hysteria. “That bastard must have watched me ride away. She was doing dishes when I left.”
Chief Thomson took her hands in his and squeezed. “Look at me.”
She shuddered, fighting tears. “I did it...”
“Look at me, Becca.” Her boss put a finger under her chin and raised her head to stare directly into her eyes. “It wasn’t your fault. Don’t you see? It doesn’t matter if the door was locked or not. He chose her for a reason and nothing could have stopped him.”
A young girl rushed into the room and began tacking photos on the fourth board. Susan stared back at her, eyes filled with terror, mouth sewn shut.
Chief took Becca by the arm and ushered her from the room. “Damn! I’m so sorry. You didn’t need to see that right now.”
She suddenly stopped. The room spun around her. Susan’s face flashed over and over in her mind. Her knees buckled as strong arms wrapped around her and she fell into a black abyss.
Chapter Four
Bright lights coaxed her awake and she blinked rapidly until the room came into focus.
Her dry mouth made it difficult to swallow. The image of Susan’s wide-eyed stare on the bulletin board came back to her.
Her chest heaved as she tried to calm herself, and a sob rose into her throat. She quickly glanced in every direction. The weight of her head made it impossible to turn and see out the door.
“Hello? Is somebody there?” Panic settled in her voice, her fragile emotions hanging from a tattered thread.
A vision in stark white rushed to her side, taking her wrist in hand and checking her watch. “I’m right here, Miss Talbot. Take a deep breath and let it out nice and slow. I’m Nurse Karen, and you’re in the hospital where we are taking good care of you.”
“Why can’t I move my head?”
The nurse wrung out a cloth over a basin next to her bed and smoothed it across her heated brow, its coolness soothing. “We gave you something to help you stay calm. Your heart rate was sky high when your boss brought you in.”
“Chief Thomson?” She relaxed, the effort to talk suddenly too much.
“Why don’t you just close your eyes?” She re-soaked the cloth and laid it neatly across her forehead. “You’ll feel a whole lot better the next time you wake. I promise.”
“Mmm...”
Randy eased back in his seat and removed his helmet, hanging it off his handlebars before he slid off his bike. At six in the morning the whir of a garbage truck marked the first sign of the city’s awakening.
The Westside Precinct was the only original station left. Its wide stone staircase commanded attention between the neat rows of newly restored brown houses and fragrant magnolias.
He winced attempting to run his fingers through his windblown mane. It served him right for not tying it back. He’d put on enough miles to know better.
Randy ambled through the historic building. He couldn’t figure out why the chief called in help from another division. Surely there was at least one detective here capable of partnering with Detective Talbot besides him.
He reached the empty meeting room where he’d agreed to meet Chief Thomson. His gaze came to rest on a row of bulletin boards filled with disturbing photos of The Florist’s victims.
His long, low whistle filled the room. Other than the type of flower, there didn’t appear to be any differences in the murders. That was until he took a closer look and discovered the uneven sutures on the first victim had progressed to perfectly spaced stitches on the last.
“He’s one sick puppy, eh?” Chief Thomson stood behind him, stroking his five o’clock shadow. His red-rimmed eyes told how badly he needed sleep.
“I’d say so, Chief.” He offered his hand. “It’s good to see you.”
Chief pumped his hand. “I’m glad you agreed to come on board.”
Randy arched an eyebrow. “I’m a little confused. Last I heard Becca took an early retirement.”
“Let’s just say she was on an extended sabbatical.”
“Even so, why me? There has to be at least one guy here who’s qualified.”
“Becca wants to come back and work the case. Technically she isn’t related to Susan, and I figure it’s better to let her in than have her run off half-cocked and get hurt. She’s one of my best, and the detectives here are just too close to keep her under wraps. She knows if there’s any sign of her emotions jeopardizing the case, she’s out.” He slapped a file on the table in front of him. “Here’s what we know, the guy uses the same MO each time he attacks.”
Randy straddled a chair and opened the file, listening to the chief.
“You can see here that so far he’s killed three women and one man. We believe he gets them to answer the door under the pretense of delivering flowers. However, there hasn’t been a witness who can confirm this theory.”
A knock sounded on the door. He looked up to find the perfect candidate for the calendar of
