The Stranger You Seek - By Amanda Kyle Williams Page 0,106

a paper bonnet and booties and surgical gloves.

Do you know how long you’ve been here? Can you understand me? What does it feel like? Can you hear me? HOW DOES IT FEEL?

Melissa’s head drooped downward and the killer tilted her chin upward, looked into her eyes and smiled gently. The smile was genuine, not meant to be taunting or malicious. A certain love for them sometimes developed during their time together, love for what they’d given of themselves, for the hours and the patience.

So tired, you poor baby. Don’t worry. I fed your kitty.

A sigh, a twinge of regret. Not for what had happened there. Not for what was about to happen, but because it was nearly over.

Ah well, time to move on. Time to make my marks. Time to clean the scene.

32

It’s full pay plus expenses,” Larry Quinn told me. There was a hollow sound followed by dead space between words that let me know I was on a speakerphone. I glanced at Neil, who was leaning back in his chair with his feet propped up. I switched to speaker so Neil could eavesdrop. “But you’ll have to head up to Ellijay,” Quinn said.

Ellijay. Rural North Georgia. Yikes! Dueling banjos and Ned Beatty on all fours sprinted through my brain. But I needed the money and, truthfully, I was happy to have a reason to get back out of town. For one, I’d miss dinner with the parents Saturday night. And I thought about finding the picture at Charlie’s place and what he’d written over my face. Lying bitch. I thought about the gruesome package that had been sent to me at the Georgian. So far the press hadn’t connected me to the Dobbs murder, but it wouldn’t be long.

“It’s pretty up there,” Quinn continued. “Be cooler. We’ll get you a nice little cabin. You available?”

“What’s the job?”

“Well, it’s sort of a missing persons,” he said, and I heard someone in the background start to snicker.

“Uh-huh.”

“Actually, it’s a missing cow,” Quinn said. Giggles erupted from somewhere in his office.

Oh boy.

“It’s a cow case,” he added, and unsuppressed laughter broke out.

This got Neil’s attention. He grinned at me and wandered into my office.

“Just one cow?” I asked, and winked at Neil. “Or a whole herd of cows?”

This plunged them into hysterics. “I’m sorry, Keye,” Larry said. “It’s our first cow case. Give me a minute.” Unrestrained laughter now complete with snorting sounds.

I looked at Neil and rolled my eyes.

Quinn said, “Okay, sorry about that. A client in Ellijay owns some property and the family cow disappeared. The client asked us to find someone to find the cow, and you’re our go-to girl.”

“I’m flattered,” I said. “The cow’s a pet?”

“Yep,” Quinn managed between sniffles and moans. I thought he might have actually been crying. “Sadie the pet cow,” he said, and in the background his office came completely unhinged.

My cell phone played Rauser’s ringtone. “Larry, can I think about this for a minute and call you back?”

“Déjà moo,” Quinn said, and Neil finally lost it.

“Looks like we got another one,” Rauser told me. His voice was worn thin and weary. “Housekeeper found her in the basement when she went down to do the laundry.”

“Oh, Rauser,” I said.

“Signature’s there, scene staging, stabbing, wire, bite marks. As soon as we ran her name through the system, it came up that she had a lawsuit at Fulton. Discrimination, sexual harassment. Hefty settlement from an employer. Her name’s Melissa Dumas. She had been restrained in a chair, stabbed repeatedly on the front of the body, moved to the floor and stabbed postmortem another dozen times on the back of the body. No weapons at the scene. ME thinks the injuries to the front of the body were sustained twelve to fifteen hours before she died.”

I let that fresh horror sink in. “He really took some time with her,” I said, more to myself than to Rauser. “Jesus.”

“Her wounds were sustained at different times. I think he came and went a couple times. Sadistic bastard let her suffer. I just keep thinking how scared she must have been down there in that basement waiting for him to come back. People next door couldn’t remember anything about this girl except that they’d seen her jogging. They didn’t even know her name. Keye, she’d lived there four years and they didn’t fucking know her name.”

“Any evidence of sexual activity? Was there penetration? Or sexual mutilation?” I thought about Anne Chambers, about the crime scene photos I’d pored over