I’m Watching You (Richmond Novels #1)

Chapter Twenty

Wednesday, July 9, 8:10 A.M.

As Zack drove in to work, he was in a foul mood when his cell phone rang. Sex with Lindsay had been better than he could have imagined. And for a moment he’d thought their troubles were behind them and they would find a way back together. And then she’d panicked and bolted.

He took the Parham North exit off I-64 toward police headquarters. He unhooked the phone from his belt and snapped, ‘Detective Kier.’

‘It’s Warwick. We’ve got another mutilated body.’

Zack’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. ‘Where?’

‘At Meadow Farm Park.’

Zack glanced at the dashboard clock. ‘I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.’

He did a U-turn at the intersection, merged onto I-64 east, and followed the interstate to the Mountain Road exit. He pulled into the graveled parking lot. A dozen cruisers, blue lights flashing, filled the lot. It looked like a three-ring circus.

Zack got out of the car. Already the heat of the day was oppressive. Sweat trickled down his back. He removed his coat, tossed it in the backseat, and rolled up his sleeves. He headed toward Warwick, who stood outside the yellow tape that roped off a colorful playground play set. ‘What do we have?’

Warwick wore khakis and a black T-shirt. His gold badge hung around his neck. ‘The call came in about a half hour ago. A jogger found the body.’

Both donned rubber gloves and put paper booties on their shoes.

‘Ayden will be along soon,’ Warwick said. ‘The chief is chewing his ass out. The county manager is going nuts. The area hasn’t seen a stranger murder in years and now we’ve had two in three days. It looks like no one is sleeping until this guy is caught.’

Zack followed Warwick under the yellow tape into the wooded area. The body was propped against a thick oak tree. The victim was a white male in his midforties with a shock of black hair on his head and dark stubble covering his square jaw. His jeans and burgundy sports shirt were covered in dirt, blood, and the thick scent of urine. His left hand had been cut off.

‘I know this guy,’ Zack said.

‘Burt Saunders,’ Warwick said. ‘He attacked Lindsay yesterday as she left work for lunch.’

Zack shoved out a breath. He hoped Lindsay had an alibi.

‘He wasn’t shot,’ Warwick said. His expression was grim. ‘It looks like Saunders bled out from his wrist and a sliced femoral.’

‘Jesus,’ Zack said.

Warwick pointed to the body. ‘He has pronounced bruising on his right hand and around his ankles. He fought against his restraints.’

Zack squatted, studied the body. ‘There’s not much blood here. He was killed somewhere else.’

‘Wherever he died has to be soaked in blood.’

Humid heat clung to Zack’s skin as he stared at the stump that had been Saunders’s left hand. ‘Look at the cuts. The killer wasn’t in a rush. He worked the guy over pretty well.’

Warwick frowned. ‘And the victim is another connection to Lindsay.’

Zack was loyal to his wife. ‘Lindsay is no murderer.’

Warwick’s silence telegraphed his uncertainty. ‘Do you know where she was last night?’

‘No.’ He sighed. ‘Where is the guy’s wife?’

Warwick checked his notebook. ‘His wife, Gail, has a sister in Blacksburg. I called there a half hour ago and spoke to Gail. And her sister will verify that Gail hasn’t left her sight since she arrived thirty-six hours ago.’

Two men who both were accused of beating their wives were dead. Both wives had an alibi. Jesus. He didn’t want to consider that they had a serial killer on their hands.

‘Is there a note?’

‘No.’

‘Any sign of the hand?’

‘Not yet.’ Warwick shoved the notebook in his back pocket. ‘I reviewed the Channel 10 news tape from Monday. The cameraman caught the edge of a vehicle arriving at Sanctuary and a delivery man sprinting to the door with a flower box. The tape shuts off before he turns. I can’t tell what kind of vehicle it was and the driver is unrecognizable.’

‘You think it was the Guardian?’

Warwick nodded as he stared at Saunders’s body.

The rumble of a truck had them both turning. The Channel 10 news van rolled to a stop.

Kendall Shaw got out. She looked cool and sophisticated as her gaze scanned the scene. A faint smile danced behind her eyes.

‘Speak of the devil,’ Warwick said, staring at her. ‘She’s eating this up with a spoon.’

‘This story will be national by tomorrow.’

Zack watched the reporter approach the yellow tape. The uniforms blocked her advance. The patrolman would keep her out of their hair for the time being.

‘Where is Lindsay now?’ Warwick said.

The image of her fleeing his house an hour ago dug at him. ‘I’m guessing she’s at home.’

‘We’d better head over there.’

‘You’re right. If the Guardian repeats his last performance, she’s going to get another hand.’

‘She also has questions to answer,’ Warwick said.

‘Let’s go.’

The forensics van arrived. Sara got out and Kendall Shaw was forgotten. The tedious process of data collection began.

As Kendall Shaw watched Kier and Warwick leave the murder scene, she tapped a manicured finger against the side of her microphone. ‘Now why are they leaving?’

Her cameraman, Mike, a tall burly man with a walrus mustache, hoisted a camera on his shoulder. ‘Is it important?’

‘He’s investigating a murder and he leaves five minutes after arriving with the other lead detective. You know he’s married to Lindsay O’Neil?’

‘No shit?’

‘Yeah. I searched her name at the Department of Vital Statistics. Their marriage license popped up.’

‘They don’t act like they’re married.’

‘Separated.’

Where was Lindsay’s husband going? She’d bet money that he was headed out to find Lindsay.

‘Hurry up and shoot as much as you can.’

‘I’m not going to get much. The cops have us too far back and they’ve parked their vans right in front of the body.’

‘Can we get enough if I need to fall back and write a report?’

‘Give me twenty minutes.’

‘Good. After you’re finished we’re leaving.’

‘Where, dare I ask?’

‘I want to go to Lindsay O’Neil’s town house.’

Mike lowered the camera, giving her a ‘you’re a diva’ look. ‘And why is that?’

God, he could be so shortsighted. ‘Because,’ she said, lowering her voice, ‘Lindsay O’Neil’s husband just left the crime scene and he’d only do that if it were really important. He’s worried about his wife.’

Mike shrugged. ‘Okay. Whatever.’

‘Let’s shoot those scenes and get over to Lindsay’s.’

*

Lindsay lingered in the shower longer than she should have. But the hot water felt good against her skin. And she hoped if she stayed under the cleansing spray long enough she’d erase the memory of this morning from her mind. She had soaped up her entire body and washed and applied conditioner to her hair. Now, as she rinsed the conditioner from her hair, the hot water started to cool. She’d drained the hot water heater.

After shutting off the water spray, she toweled off. Through the fog on the bathroom mirror she stared at herself. ‘What insanity possessed you today?’

She turned away, then dressed in a simple black skirt and a white collared shirt. Normally, she didn’t wear a skirt to work, but normally she didn’t have to cancel morning appointments to make time for a meeting with Dana. She dried her hair and put on lipstick and mascara before sweeping her hair into a ponytail, then headed downstairs.

Lindsay made a fresh pot of coffee. As the machine spit and hissed, she stared out the back window into her garden. Normally, just staring at the lush plants calmed her. But not today. Today she was filled with a restlessness that made her feel as if she could jump out of her skin.

Sex with Zack. It was the dumbest thing she could have done.

Lindsay had sworn she’d never be like her mother. In college she’d been labeled ‘ice queen’ by the men she’d dated on campus. She’d refused to get close to anyone, because no man was going to ruin her life. Or make her repeat her mother’s mistakes.

But the moment she’d met Zack, all her vows to keep men at arm’s distance had vanished. When she’d met him, he’d had long hair and worn a small gold hoop in his left ear. He’d had a two-day growth of beard on his chin and he’d reminded her of a pirate.

From the very beginning, she’d been drawn to him. She hated the terms soul mates and We were meant to be, but both described how she’d felt about Zack in the early days. The ice had melted, and for the first time life was filled with brilliant color and hope.

He was dedicated to his work. He loved catching the bad guys, as he liked to say. In her mind, he was the warrior-protector. With him, she felt safe.

Their third date had been a charity fund-raiser for the yet to be opened Sanctuary. It was a pancake breakfast and she’d vowed to make and sell a thousand hotcakes to raise money for the shelter. She’d had five volunteers on board to help, and when two hadn’t shown up, she’d panicked. Zack had chosen that moment to stop by, and when she’d told him of her dilemma, he’d rolled up his sleeves and started making pancakes. He’d dazzled the crowds and was a better cook than she was.

They’d made love for the first time that night. And Zack had been touched and humbled when she’d shyly confessed that she was a virgin.

After that their courtship had been quick, hot, and intense. They’d met in March and by mid-April they were on a plane bound for Las Vegas. They’d driven straight from the airport in a rented Jeep with the top down. The sky had been a brilliant blue and the air warm.

Lindsay had been nervous but Zack had been steady as a rock. They’d bypassed the hotel and gone to the Little White Chapel, ending up in the Chapel of Promises in front of a justice of the peace. They’d both worn jeans and she’d carried a bouquet of white roses that Zack had purchased at the chapel. They’d exchanged traditional vows and in that moment Lindsay had believed in happy endings.

But once they had returned home the tide had quickly turned against them. Lindsay had thrown herself into the creation of Sanctuary and Zack had returned to undercover work almost immediately. His case, which had involved child trafficking, had required that he be gone for days at a time. When he had been home, he had drank more than she had thought was good for him. When she’d mentioned his drinking to him, he’d told her to back off. His anger had felt like a betrayal and she’d fallen into her old habit – she’d retreated into herself.

Zack had apologized. She’d accepted his apology. He’d confessed that the case wasn’t going well – that he’d seen things that could never be erased from his mind. She’d tried to understand. They’d made love and she’d thought that was the end of it. But within days he had been drinking again and they had been fighting again.

As quickly as they’d fallen in love, they’d seemed to have fallen out of love. The wall that had risen between them felt unbreakable.

And then this morning Zack had touched her, and her vows to guard her heart had evaporated. In those explosive moments, there’d only been the heat of his touch and the pulse of desire in her body.

‘Stupid, stupid, stupid.’

Yesterday, she’d spoken to Nicole about options regarding pregnancy. She’d sounded so reasonable and so calm. But now that she faced the same problem, black and white faded to gray. Her hands slid protectively to her stomach. What if she was pregnant?

Lindsay halted her dangerous train of thought. ‘Don’t borrow trouble.’

After clicking off the coffee machine, she got her purse. She had no time to spare if she was going to get downtown for her nine o’clock meeting with Dana.

She headed outside, closed the door behind her, and clicked the dead bolt into place. This time she pocketed the key, instead of putting it under the flower pot.

Dashing down the walk, she spotted the morning paper. ‘Finally.’ She reached down and scooped it up.

The instant she touched the newsprint, she knew something was terribly wrong. The paper was too heavy and bulky, and it was wet.

She glanced down and saw the red stain of blood seeping through the newsprint and onto her hand. Terrified, she screamed and dropped the paper.

Her hand was covered in blood.

And at her feet lay a severed hand.

Warwick’s cell phone rang as Zack pulled the Impala into Lindsay’s neighborhood. ‘Warwick.’

The cop’s face tightened as he listened. ‘Right. We’re minutes away.’

Zack sensed the shift in Warwick’s tone instantly. Warwick hung up. ‘What happened?’

‘You were right. Lindsay O’Neil just got another delivery. A hand wrapped in her morning newspaper.’

A protective urge exploded in Zack. ‘Is she all right?’

‘Yeah, she’s fine, but the patrolman says she looks like she’s about to freak.’

Zack maneuvered the Impala down the side streets. As he rounded the final corner to Lindsay’s cul-de-sac, he saw the blue and white patrol cars and their flashing blue lights. He parked the car and he and Warwick got out.

Yellow tape looped around bushes and a light post and blocked the sidewalk leading to Lindsay’s town house. A crowd had gathered.

Lindsay sat in the backseat of a patrol car. The door was open and her head rested in her hands. Even from fifty feet away, she looked rattled.

He strode to Lindsay and crouched by the open door. He wanted to touch her but was careful not to. He was mindful that Warwick’s gaze was trained on him. ‘Are you all right?’

Lindsay lifted her head. Her eyes were red as if she’d been crying. ‘No, I’m not all right. I’m completely freaked out.’

‘What happened?’

‘I was on my way to a meeting with my boss. I spotted the paper and picked it up. Immediately, it felt wrong. Then I saw the blood. I dropped it, and then I saw the hand and screamed. The maintenance man heard me and called the police.’

‘Did you notice anyone different standing around?’ The question came from Warwick, who now stood behind Zack.

‘No. But I was running late and I was distracted. And then after I saw the hand, I didn’t see anything else.’

‘When’s the last time you saw Burt Saunders?’ Warwick asked.

Her lips flattened. ‘You were there yesterday. He attacked me in the parking lot at Mental Health Services.’

‘You haven’t seen him since?’ Warwick said.

She glared up at him. ‘No.’ She paled. ‘Is that his hand?’

Zack rose and faced Warwick. ‘Did anyone call the EMTs? Lindsay should be checked out.’

Warwick frowned. ‘She looks fine to me.’

Lindsay got out of the car. ‘I am fine. Do you know whom that hand belongs to?’

‘Do you have an alibi for last night?’ Warwick said.

‘I was out with a friend.’ She sighed. ‘Dr Sam Begley.’

Zack frowned but said nothing.

‘He’s at Mercy Hospital?’ Warwick said.

‘Yes.’ She kept her gaze on Warwick. ‘He’s the one who called me about Gail Saunders. We went out for dinner.’

‘He’s also the doctor who treated Jordan Turner and Gail Saunders,’ Zack said.

‘He didn’t have anything to do with this,’ Lindsay said.

Zack’s brow lifted, surprised by her defense of the man.

She shook her head. ‘I know how cops think. Everyone is a suspect.’

Warwick studied her. ‘The doctor has a connection to both victims.’

‘Dr Begley is one of the good guys.’

‘How long have you known him?’ Zack said.

‘Seven months.’

‘Are you dating?’ Zack challenged.

‘That’s my business.’

Zack muttered an oath as the forensics van arrived. Warwick excused himself and went over to the technician as he unpacked his equipment. Zack caught Lindsay glancing toward her town house. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘No.’

‘Is someone in the town house? Maybe your Dr Begley?’

She met his gaze. ‘Sam is not in my town house.’

Two hours ago, Zack had been inside her. In those moments they’d been so close, the world had felt right, balanced. Now, she was doing her best to keep space between them. They were back to being near strangers. ‘Is there anything else I should know?’

She shook her head. ‘You have all my shelter records. I don’t have any more secrets to hide.’

‘You’re protecting someone. I know it. Is it Dr Begley?’ Zack challenged.

Her face flushed. ‘I told you, Sam has nothing to do with this.’

He lowered his voice so that only she could hear him. ‘You’re holding back on me.’

‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’

‘Warwick is running this investigation now. He’s got a reputation for being tenacious as hell. He won’t give up until he has answers. Tell me what you’re hiding.’

The slight shift in her gaze spoke volumes. ‘I’m not hiding anything.’

He’d felt nothing but frustration from the moment he’d laid eyes on her two days ago. ‘Don’t make this harder than it has to be.’

She almost smiled. ‘It was never easy for us, Zack. So why start now?’

Zack cursed and strode away.

Vega and Ricker pulled into the parking lot in front of the church. Vega shut off the engine. His phone rang and it was Warwick who updated him on the latest murder.

‘Thanks,’ Vega said. He gave Ricker the rundown.

She shoved out a breath. ‘This gets nastier by the minute.’

‘Yeah.’

Ricker checked her notes. ‘Pam Rogers has a brother and a half brother. She and the accountant shared both parents. She and the minister share only a mother. The accountant checked out, so now let’s have a chat with the minister.’

They got out of the car and crossed the graveled lot toward the modern church. ‘The church was built last year,’ Ricker said. ‘It already boasts three hundred families on its Web site.’

Vega shrugged. ‘Business is booming.’

They entered the side door and followed the signs to the office. At this early hour, the place was quiet. It felt deserted and kind of creepy as far as Vega was concerned. And the new-carpet smell didn’t sit well with him either.

There was no one sitting at the reception area, so Ricker pushed past it to the door to an inner office. She knocked on the door.

‘Yes?’ The voice was male, cultured, and sounded a little annoyed.

Ricker pushed open the door. ‘Pastor Richards?’

The young minister looked up from his computer. He sat behind a large modern desk. Behind him were rows of shelves filled with books. A large wooden cross hung on the wall across from him. ‘Yes?’

‘We’re detectives with Henrico police. We have a few questions.’

The minister was dressed in a golf shirt and light-colored pants. He rose. ‘What is this about?’

‘Lindsay O’Neil,’ Vega said.

Recognition flashed in the minister’s eyes. ‘Come in and have a seat.’

They each took one of the seats in front of the desk.

Vega didn’t feel like beating around the bush. ‘You know Ms O’Neil?’

‘I do. Our church has kind of adopted her shelter in the last couple of months.’

Vega didn’t like the guy. He was too polished. ‘Does she know that your sister was a resident at Sanctuary?’

The minister’s brows knitted. ‘No. I never told her that Pam was my sister.’

‘Why not?’

He steepled his fingers. ‘I’ve wanted to. In fact, I almost did the other night. She was here speaking to a group of parishioners about domestic violence and she used Pam’s story as a case study. It nearly broke my heart.’

‘Why didn’t you tell her?’

‘I like her. I know Pam’s death hurt her. I didn’t want to cause Lindsay any more pain. The woman is practically a saint.’

‘How did you two hook up?’ Ricker said.

‘A couple of months ago, I was looking for an outreach project for the church and I saw the article about her in Inside Richmond. It felt like a sign from God, so I called Lindsay.’

Ricker’s eyes narrowed. ‘Lindsay. You’ve called her Lindsay twice.’

‘That a problem?’ Richards asked.

‘It’s the way you say her name. You really like Ms O’Neil, don’t you?’

He swallowed. ‘There’s a lot to admire about her.’

Vega picked up Ricker’s vibe. ‘Feels like a little more than admiration.’

Richards stiffened as if he’d been caught doing something illicit. ‘Does this have to do with the murder at the shelter? Because if it does, I can tell you I had nothing to do with it.’

Rickard leaned forward. ‘Where were you early Monday morning and early this morning?’

‘Here, working at the church on sermons and budgets.’

‘Any witnesses?’ Vega asked.

The minister shrugged. ‘No.’