Kiss Me, Kill Me

wouldn’t tell me where he was. I still have a key to his apartment. I went inside, and it smelled like him. I took off my clothes and laid naked in his bed. I put my face in his pillow and remembered when we fucked like rabbits in this bed. He said I was the best. No one turns him on like me. How could he walk away from me? I went to his computer and found his schedule. He took his pet retard to Vancouver, Canada! I can’t go, I don’t have a passport, why did he do this to me? I can’t live without him. I’m going to kill myself. He’ll be sorry then. Friday, August 20 I found videos of other girls on Wade’s computer. Alanna doesn’t satisfy him like I do, otherwise he wouldn’t be watching girls get off on dildos. I’ll get him back.

“She’s been writing in that book daily for over two years,” Lucy said.

“She threatened to kill herself,” Sean said.

“Turn to the last page.”

He did. Whitney’s last entry was dated yesterday.

It’s hopeless. He’ll never love me like I love him. I need to end this horror.

“You think she killed herself?”

“Not yet. She won’t kill herself until Wade is dead.”

Suzanne stepped into the room. “What did you say?”

They all turned to face Suzanne.

“Wade’s in danger,” Lucy said. “It’s the subtext in the journal. She has several drawings in her sketchpad that show him dead or in pain. She’s murderous and suicidal.”

“I wish she’d just kill herself and save us all the headache,” Suzanne mumbled.

“You don’t mean that,” Lucy said.

Sean wasn’t so sure, but didn’t say anything.

Lucy added, “She killed Sierra Hinkle to get Wade out of prison so she can try to convince him to run away with her. If he refuses, she’ll kill him.”

Suzanne said, “He’s still in Rikers, and he’s not leaving until his arraignment tomorrow.”

“Rikers might be the safest place for him right now,” Lucy said.

“I doubt I can convince Wade or his attorney to keep him in prison. But I can put him into protective custody. I’ll put someone on his apartment, and we’ll escort him from Rikers to his home tomorrow. Tell him to stay put until we find Whitney.” Suzanne looked around the room, a pained expression on her face, then said, “Are you almost done in here?”

Andie said, “Thirty minutes.”

“Did you find the missing shoes?”

“No, but we found a raincoat with a missing button.”

Lucy said, “She took the shoes with her.”

“Why?”

“To show Wade before she kills him.”

Sean asked, “Why did she take the shoes to begin with?”

“I don’t know,” Lucy said. “It was impulsive, it doesn’t make sense-they’re big, hard to conceal, and a direct connection to the victim. Forensics can easily pair up the shoes.”

“Maybe she planned on framing someone,” Suzanne suggested.

“Possibly.” Lucy frowned. “Except not consciously, because Alanna’s murder was impulsive and unplanned.”

“When I get her in interview, I’ll ask her,” Suzanne said with complete confidence. “The faster we wrap this up in here, the faster we can find the crazy bitch before she kills someone else.”

Suzanne stood outside even though she was freezing. She wanted to forget she’d ever seen the twisted drawings in Whitney Morrissey’s apartment. Foolish thought.

There were some cases that stayed with you forever. Suzanne had a few. And this case really hadn’t upset her until tonight. It was the raw lunacy on display upstairs that had done it. The insanity and obsession of one woman who drew endlessly, over and over, the face of the same man. Who took her talent and skewed the drawings of women she’d killed. The journal of obsession that the shrinks like Lucy Kincaid would spend weeks analyzing and dissecting.

How could Lucy have spent four hours up there? After four minutes, Suzanne had been ready to puke.

She didn’t need to know why Whitney Morrissey was a psychopath. She didn’t care. She didn’t need to see the results of her sick mind. Didn’t want to. It was strange: if Suzanne had walked into Whitney’s apartment and found a butchered body, she would have dealt with it far better than this.

Sean Rogan emerged from the building and headed her way. Dammit, why couldn’t she have just two minutes alone to shore herself up?

“They’re coming down.”

“Well, congrats on finding your missing girl. You going home now?”

“Tomorrow morning. Unless you need Lucy.”

She shook her head. “Unless she can look into her crystal ball and tell me where Whitney Morrissey is right this minute, she’s gone above and beyond. And didn’t even get paid for it.”

“Is that why you do this? For the money?”

Suzanne snorted. “Yeah. For the money.”

They were several feet away from the entrance to Whitney’s building. Lucy was helping Andie load boxes into the van, checking the logs, making sure they had sealed everything to preserve the chain of evidence. This was going to be a complex legal case, but as soon as they found Whitney, Suzanne’s role would be over until trial.

“How does she do it?” Suzanne asked Sean.

“She has me.” Sean extended his hand and Suzanne shook it. He pulled her into a hug. “Take care of yourself, Mad Dog.”

He stepped back, grinning.

“Who told you? Hicks!”

Sean winked and walked over to Lucy. He put his arm around her shoulder and kissed her forehead. Suzanne felt a rush of jealousy. Not because Lucy had Sean, but because Suzanne had no one.

She turned, blinking back tears, and called her cop friend Mac.

“Hey, you want to get a bite to eat?”

“It’s midnight. I’m on duty at eight.”

“Sorry, I just got off.”

“Tomorrow, okay?”

“Sure.”

She hung up and looked back at Sean and Lucy. He walked her across the street to his car and opened the passenger door for her. Then he got into the driver’s side and drove away.

She was going to miss them both.

THIRTY-ONE

Wade Barnett’s arraignment Monday morning lasted ten minutes. He was released on his own recognizance. His attorney agreed to all terms: If Barnett cooperated with federal and local authorities in the capture and prosecution of Whitney Morrissey, all charges would be dropped.

Suzanne drove Wade to his apartment. After the arraignment, she had told him what they’d discovered in Whitney’s apartment, but she wasn’t surprised that he had more questions.

“How long has she been stalking me?” he asked.

“We’re still processing evidence. Over two years.”

“Years?” He frowned. “I started dating Whitney a little over a year ago, around Thanksgiving. I’d known her casually before that. Was she stalking me before then?”

“It appears so.”