He stepped over the threshold and paused in the living room. The thermostat was set to sixty degrees, and the house felt like a meat locker.
“Killer turned down the AC so no one would smell the body,” Shepard said. “The heat’s been brutal the last few days.” She searched the premises. “Jeff!”
“In the back bathroom,” Jeff called back. “I’m down the hall. Last door on your right.”
Ramsey noted the framed wall posters of various country-western and rock bands. Given that Nashville was the hub for country music, the town had more than its share of touring bands pass through.
Detective Granger stuck his head out of the bathroom door. In his late fifties, he had gray hair and a full mustache that made him look a little like the actor Sam Elliott. “She’s in here. We believe her name is Jennifer Brown.”
Ramsey moved past Detective Granger and looked into the bathroom. The woman was lying in a tub filled with water. Her blond hair was tied up in a neat topknot with tendrils flowing down over her shoulders. Large breasts bobbed on the water.
She stared sightlessly up toward the tin-panel ceiling, her mouth agape. Purple bruises shaped like fingers ringed her pale neck. Her eyes bulged and her lips were bloated.
Most of the crime scenes Ramsey had seen in the last five years had been via photographs. He had always considered himself an active participant but now realized he had become far more removed.
As repulsed as he was by this aftermath of violence, a surge of energy shot through his body. It had been too long since he had felt the rush of adrenaline that came with an active crime scene. He missed it.
Shepard stood behind him and asked, “Ramsey, when’s the last time you worked a scene like this?”
“It’s not been that long, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said.
“It’s been a while for me, too. I find people. And if they turn up dead, I turn the case over to homicide investigators,” she said.
His gaze dropped to the victim’s left hand. The ring finger had been clipped away with a sharp instrument. He guessed shears. “This finger didn’t make it into our jar.”
Ramsey motioned her forward. “The medical examiner will confirm time of death, but I estimate she has been dead at least a few days.”
“Jeff,” she said. “Do we know anything about Jennifer Brown?”
“We’ve only just begun to piece together her story. DMV tells me she’s thirty-nine, five foot eight, one hundred and thirty pounds, green eyes, blond.”
“Another blonde,” Shepard said. “We know the first two victims were blondes. Coincidence is turning into a pattern.”
“Ages are all about the same,” Ramsey added. “So are the heights and weights. Our guy has a definite type.”
“Don’t they look a little like Bonnie?” she asked.
“The forensic team is pulling up,” Jeff said.
“I’m not sure Bonnie was even in town when this woman died,” Shepard said.
“Maybe she was in contact with the killer, and her text or call set him off,” Ramsey said. “Sonny is not going to want to be found.”
“Believe me, there are plenty of missing persons praying not to be found. It’s certainly harder to locate them, but they usually leave a trail.”
The sound of voices and technicians carrying equipment into the house signaled the arrival of the forensic team. Ramsey and Shepard both headed outside.
The air was hot and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Shepard closed her eyes and tipped her face to the sun, and he noted the long, graceful line of her neck. She was a beautiful woman.
She straightened and opened her eyes, scanning the street. “I can start knocking on the doors of the neighbors and see if anyone has seen anything.” Her phone buzzed and she glanced at the display. She let the call go to voicemail. “A call from the correctional facility.”
“Who?”
She played back the recording and held it out so he could hear. The message was from the sheriff, informing Shepard that Bonnie Guthrie wanted to see her again. “Interesting.”
“Wonder what game she’s playing?” he asked.
“I’m not sure.” She closed her phone and tucked it in her back pocket. “She’s messing with me again. She’s a grifter. They manipulate people.”
“Why you?”
“She sees me as the weak link in this investigation. And for the record, she would be wrong,” Shepard added.
“I can have a uniformed officer knock on doors. Better if you talk to Bonnie and see what she has to say. We need to find Sonny soon.”
“I owe a visit to Elena first. It won’t take me long. The girl might have something more to share. Bonnie can wait.”
He liked her style. “Call me after your visit.”
It was close to dinnertime when Melina knocked on the hospital room door and poked her head inside. Elena was sitting in her bed watching the nurse take her blood pressure. Set in front of her was a plate of nearly untouched food. The watch still dangled from her wrist.
“Knock, knock,” Melina said.
The girl’s eyes brightened, but there was no smile. “Melina.”
“How are you doing?” Melina asked.
The nurse glanced up from the blood pressure gauge. “She’s doing just fine. MRIs came back, as well as the blood work. She doesn’t show any sign of injury.”
“That’s fantastic.” The news meant that Elena would be leaving the hospital today or tomorrow at the latest. But with no custodial parent, Elena would be placed in foster care. Though the foster parents might be well meaning, they were still strangers. This little girl had seen far too much upheaval in her young life.
The nurse removed the blood pressure cuff and stepped back. “Maybe you can get her to eat.”
Melina lifted the covering over the large plate. “Mashed potatoes? Who doesn’t like mashed potatoes?”
“I love them,” the nurse said.
Elena shrugged but didn’t respond.
Melina set down her backpack by the bed. “Let me try.”
“She’s all yours,” the nurse said.
When the woman vanished out the door, Melina walked to the small sink in the room and carefully washed her hands. She dried them with a paper towel and then balled it up. Raising her hand high in the air, she tossed it toward the trash can. It bounced off the rim. “Rats. No points for me.”
She did not speak, but Elena regarded Melina as she picked up the discarded towel and held it out to the girl.
“Do you want to try?” Melina asked.
“No.”
She tossed it in the trash. “Where are your bubbles?”
“Gone.”
“You used them up?”
Another shrug. “Yeah.”
“Well, I’ll have to mention that to Jerrod. He might be able to pick up more.” Using the plastic fork and knife, she stirred the melted pool of butter into small bites before she opened the packet of salt and poured it on the potatoes.
“It’s okay,” Elena said. “I don’t need any more bubbles.”
“Why not?”
“It’s better to travel light.”
“Is that what BB told you?”
“And my mommy.”
Elena twisted Melina’s gold watch around her slim wrist. She remained quiet, and Melina was willing to let the silence stand while the child processed her choices. Trust could not be forced.
Finally, Elena whispered, “I miss her.”
“I know you do, honey.” She swirled the potatoes and the butter. “Did you and BB leave while your mother was asleep?”
“Yes.”
“Is your daddy looking for you?”
Elena glanced at the watch’s face. “I don’t have one.”
“You left your home right after your birthday, right?”
“Yes.”
“And that was August twenty-second?”
“On my birthday.”
Elena’s eyes did not fill with tears. The girl was accustomed to coping with absences, including her father’s and now her mother’s. “BB told Mommy needles were bad. Mommy said she was sorry and promised to stop.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“BB said not to be sorry. Sorry is for losers.”
“That doesn’t mean your mother didn’t love you,” Melina said.
“BB said she was weak.”
“I bet she couldn’t help herself,” Melina said. “She was sick.”
“With what?”
“Some grown-ups can’t stop. They want to, but they can’t.” Melina laid her hand softly on Elena’s arm. “None of this is your fault.”
Elena closed her eyes. “Okay.”
“It’s going to be okay,” Melina said.
The girl’s narrowing gaze suggested otherwise. But she nodded as if she had been taught not to show her true feelings.
“Honey, I’m going to see BB this evening,” Melina said.
The girl reached for her stuffed dog.
“Is there anything you want me to tell her?”
“No.”
“What about Sonny? Do you want me to tell him anything?”
“No. I don’t like Sonny. He has a mean face,” she said.