a day or two in the local lockup.
Of course, Cleve Calhoun hadn’t been causing much trouble for anyone in the past few years....
“I came here thinking I’d be looking at just one murder.” Sutton broke into her thoughts. “I don’t suppose you could make my job a lot easier by telling me April Billings’s murder is unrelated to the others?”
“Depends on who you ask,” she said drily. “Some people around these parts think we just hit an unlucky streak.”
“Four stranger murders in Bitterwood, Tennessee? In under two months?” Sutton’s eyebrows rose. “One hell of an unlucky streak.”
“Not everyone is convinced they are stranger murders.” Her coffee had already started to go cold; she shoved the cup away with a grimace.
“There are people on the force who actually think these women were killed by people they know? Four different people they know?”
She shrugged. “Apparently Bitterwood is a seething hotbed of suppressed homicidal passions.”
Sutton laughed softly. “Okay.”
She’d figured if she ever set eyes on Sutton Calhoun again, he’d suffer in comparison to her lingering girlhood memories. Nobody could live up to that idealized image of vigorous youthful masculinity.
But damned if the grown-up version didn’t come awfully close. His smoky hazel eyes had an unnerving tendency to smolder when he smiled, a reminder that he might be more honorable than his swindler father, but he was just as dangerous a charmer.
“I do think the murders are connected,” she admitted. “The victimology might lead you to think otherwise—”
“Because they’re different ages and had different lifestyles?”
She narrowed her eyes. “How’d you learn all this information so fast?”
“Research.” At her look of skepticism, he inclined his head slightly. “Someone at Cooper Security has a former army buddy who now works for the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation.”
“Someone in the crime lab,” she guessed.
“I honestly don’t know. He just emailed me the information. I didn’t ask any questions about his source.”
“So you know there are plenty of similarities between the murders, even if the victims’ ages and lifestyles aren’t that similar.”
“Crime scene similarities, sure. Late-evening times of death, the first three, at least, killed with a knife from the victim’s own kitchen. But none of the murders take place in their homes. They were all killed somewhere else and returned to their homes after death. No evidence left behind.” His eyes narrowed. “Which I suppose might raise the question of whether your perp could be a cop. Is it a theory you’re seriously entertaining?”
“There are a lot of theories I’m entertaining at the moment,” she admitted. “We still don’t know how he gains entrance. Never any sign of a break-in. And how do you stab women to death and leave zero evidence at the scene? No excess blood, despite the bodies often being partially exsanguinated. Little sign of a struggle.”
“He seems to surprise his victims when they’re vulnerable,” Sutton said thoughtfully. “Late at night, when most people are in bed. These women were all attacked when they were asleep, I’d bet.”
For a second, an image flitted through her mind. She saw herself, head down on the desk in her study, dead asleep. It was as if she were looking at herself through someone else’s eyes. She tamped down a hard shudder.
“Is something wrong?” Sutton asked.
She shook her head. “No. And yes, we believe they were attacked when they were asleep. Clearly he takes them and kills them somewhere else—explaining the lack of blood and other evidence where the bodies are found. Then he returns them to their beds. That’s a crazy way to kill people, but that looks to be how all four murders happened. What are the odds they’re unrelated?”
“Nonexistent.”
Well, damn, she thought, her heart sinking. I’ve just spilled my guts about a serial murder spree to a civilian just because he’s sexy and I’m weak. What the hell have I done?
As if reading her mind, Sutton leaned toward her, laying his hand on top of hers on the table. “You know I’m not going to use anything you told me in any way that would hurt your case.”
Her skin seemed to burn where he touched her. She pulled her hand away. “Make damned sure you don’t. And if you find anything I need to know, you’ll call me. Right?”
“Call you at the police station?”
She almost flinched at the thought. The last thing she needed was a call from Sutton Calhoun coming through the department phone system. Might as well put a sign on her back—stupid girl detective can’t keep her mouth shut or solve a case