Dreaming Death (Krewe of Hunters #32) - Heather Graham Page 0,31
we go in too hard too fast, we’ll have ourselves and the bureau in trouble, and might be shut out when we need to be in. Until then, I want to speak with Fred quickly and then hit the streets. Someone had to have been friends with Jess Marlborough. Just a...hunch, I guess. We need to go back to the beginning.”
Jackson nodded.
Stacey didn’t protest. But she addressed Jackson. “Sir, with recent discoveries, I’m worried about Tania Holt. She’s terrified. I don’t think she was lying to us—she was stunned to find out that a woman had been murdered in the basement and is scared that she might be next. Is there any way we could put an FBI protection detail on her?”
“Do you think she’s so terrified because she knows something?” Jackson asked.
“No,” Stacey said.
“There’s always the possibility that she knows something that she doesn’t realize she knows,” Keenan said. “I don’t think it would hurt, if we could spare the resources.”
Jackson nodded gravely. “I’ll find a few agents just in from the field. Guard duty calls for vigilance but also allows for a little rest and relaxation. I’ll see to it. Go on.”
“Thank you,” Stacey said.
They walked out the door of the autopsy room, removing their masks and ripping off their gowns. Stacey was surprised when she felt Keenan’s hand on her shoulder. Surprised by his touch and the little electric jolt that seemed to pass through her.
The look in his eyes, too. Honesty. Deep blue honesty.
“Stacey, that was brilliant. It occurred to me how right you are—Tania might be in danger. Not just because she could be a target for this killer, but she could be a target if someone thought that she might know too much. Tania just might be in real danger.”
She swallowed. “I...um...thanks.” She grinned, trying for humor. “I wouldn’t want your girl hurt.” She grimaced once she said the words. “Sorry. That was...dumb.”
“Hey, don’t worry. Sometimes we have to try to joke in this business, right?”
As they left, Keenan called Fred Crandall, asking about the area where Jess had worked. He kept the phone on speaker so that Stacey could hear.
“She was found right near her usual corner. Rough neighborhood. Be careful even questioning people. The girls there have rough pimps. No one works those streets without protection. Make sure you watch out for your partner.”
“She’s right here, Fred. And after getting to know her better, I think the bad guys better be watching out for her.”
“Thanks, Fred,” Stacey said. “We’ll watch out for each other.”
“Well, sure, watch the giant’s back,” Fred said.
They ended the call and headed out to the car.
As they drove, Stacey asked him, “Keenan, do you think that the killer might be planning on getting to Tania for his last attack?”
He turned to her and asked dryly, “Do you think that there is going to be a ‘last’ attack? If you’re right, and these killings are to steal organs, they’re not going to stop. Jack the Ripper lives in infamy because of the horror of his attacks, and because he remains a mystery. But there have been other mutilation murders in history. Unfortunately, many of them. I’m afraid that if we don’t stop this lunatic—or businessman—now, this will just go on and on. Maybe in a different city. I do know that we have to stop this.” He hesitated. “Brutal hours, lousy food, little sleep. You okay with that?”
She smiled. “I’m just fine with it.”
“Here we are. I’m going to park. We’ll do a little cruising on foot and see what we can find out.”
They were, beyond a doubt, on the wrong side of town. Keenan had pulled over at a corner with broken parking meters—new ones, but smashed, nonetheless. The building they’d parked in front of was a liquor store with bars covering the glass windows. Next to it was a dark alley, where graffiti covered the walls.
A haze seemed to linger over the area. Steam rose from the subway below and combined with the smoke from various greasy restaurants to coat the figures walking casually along.
Women in short-shorts and spiked heels, slinky dresses, halter tops.
“Jess Marlborough was found just ahead, about fifty feet. The alley is a known thoroughfare for working girls and those seeking their business,” Keenan told her. He shrugged with a grimace. “Be careful out here. You may find that you’re getting some pretty good offers.”
“In this alley? I doubt it!” she told him.
“Shall we?”
“They may all bolt the minute they see us. We look