The District Page 3

  “I’ll give your order to Sergeant Hammond. It usually takes about forty-five minutes.”

  Eric reached into his pocket for some cash and handed her two twenties. “Thanks, Rita and thank the sarge for us, too.”

  “You’re welcome. Anything else I can do for you?”

  Christina gave her one of her sweet smiles that seemed to have gotten even sweeter. “We’re good. Thanks so much for your help.”

  Rita practically bowed out of the room, closing the door behind her.

  Eric jerked his thumb at the door. “What do you think she expects out of all this? It’s not like you can give her a recommendation for homicide.”

  “Maybe she thinks you can pull some strings with your brother.”

  “Sean? Rita’s in the same department. She should know by now Detective Sean Brody is not a quid pro quo kinda guy. He expects everyone to work hard to get ahead.” He leveled a finger at Christina. “Besides, it’s you she idolizes.”

  “I think she just wants to learn. The men in the department probably aren’t very encouraging and maybe she doesn’t have any role models here.”

  “You didn’t need any role models.”

  “I was a special case. Didn’t you always tell me that?”

  Drawing his chair toward the desk, he hunched forward. “What drove you up that tree, Christina?”

  “I told you—a hunch.”

  “One of those hunches? Did you feel anything?”

  She squeezed her eyes closed and massaged her left temple. “Incredible evil.”

  “Did you tell the P.D. here?”

  She gave a short laugh, almost a bark. “Are you kidding? I want to be taken seriously, not written off as a crackpot.”

  “The Bureau has used psychics before.”

  “I’d hardly call myself a psychic, and honestly, the Bureau may use them but most don’t respect them. Greavy sure doesn’t.”

  “Like I told you before, it’s a talent you should try to develop.”

  She hugged herself. “I don’t know if I want to develop it. Besides, in this case, I didn’t get much at all, just a feeling.”

  “Up to you.” Eric checked his watch. “Let’s get started before lunch gets here.”

  “Umm, do you want to wheel around here? I’ll take you through the first San Francisco murder.”

  He walked his chair to her side of the desk and at once her scent overwhelmed him. The familiar musky perfume wrapped its tendrils around him, but the essence of Christina had a stronger impact on him.

  He couldn’t put his finger on it. He never could and it had haunted him ever since the day he cut her loose.

  She dragged a file folder between them on the desk and flipped it open. She spread a stack of photos in front of him, and green, leafy, verdant forest blurred together.

  “Was it another running trail?”

  “Hiking, just across the bay.”

  He thumbed through the photos. “Victim?”

  “Liz Fielding, late forties, single. Some trouble in her past but clean for at least five years.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Some drugs, petty theft, a little hooking.”

  “What about the other two?”

  “Haven’t dug up anything like that yet, but the investigation is still young.”

  He plucked out the pictures of the body. She’d been positioned like his male victim in San Diego—stretched out on her back, hands positioned over her stomach, the tarot slipped between her fingers. He traced a finger over her disheveled clothes.

  “No sexual assault, huh?”

  “Nope, not for any of the victims. Your guy?”

  “No.” He shook out another photo, this one a close-up of the victim’s throat and the ghastly, gaping wound. A necklace clung to the woman’s neck, still intact.

  Eric’s pulse jumped and he held the picture closer to his face.

  “What is it? You see something?”

  He dropped the photo and he jabbed a finger at the victim’s throat. “This necklace...same one my kidnapper wore.”

  Chapter Three

  Christina jerked her head to the side, her jaw dropping. Was Eric seeing things? He’d rarely mentioned his kidnapping as an eleven-year-old in San Francisco. It had been a strange one—no ransom note, no demands, and the kidnappers released him on a street corner two days later.

  At the time, the police had connected his kidnapping to the serial killer case Eric’s father had been working—the serial killings Joseph Brody would later be suspected of committing. Right before he jumped from the Golden Gate Bridge.

  What did this murder victim, Liz Fielding, have to do with Eric’s kidnapping?

  She snatched up the photo from the desk where he’d dropped it. “What are you talking about, Eric? Her necklace?”

  “She kept her face hidden, they all did. I guess they figured that was easier than blindfolding me. And the woman, she’s the one who always checked on me. When she leaned over me, her necklace would swing forward. I got a good look at the medallion hanging from the chain.” He tapped the picture. “Just like this.”

  She squinted at the necklace with the round pendant nestled against the dead woman’s chest. “It’s just a coincidence, Eric.”

  He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I always thought it was some symbol of Satan or something.”

  “And why wouldn’t you?” She studied the design of the symbol, black etching on the silver disc. It almost looked like the outline of a whale’s tail, but she could see how a child might see a pair of horns.

  “Did you ever research it?”

  “Honestly, I’d forgotten all about the design until two minutes ago.”

  “How can you even be sure it’s the same symbol after all these years?”

  “You have your feelings, and I—” he poked his chest with his thumb “—have mine.”

  “It’s not the same necklace, Eric. This is not the same woman.”

  “The age is right. My kidnapper was probably mid-twenties. This woman is mid-forties.”

  “Eric.” She gripped his wrist. “Liz Fielding is not the same woman who kidnapped you. She’s wearing a similar necklace.”

  Licking his lips, he wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. “You’re right. It just took me back. Crazy.”

  He opened the desk drawer and slipped out a piece of paper. He started sketching on it with his pencil.

  “Now what?”

  “I didn’t have access to a computer or the internet twenty years ago. Now I’m curious what, if anything, this symbol means. Who knows? The meaning of Liz’s necklace might even lead to a break in this case.” He lodged his tongue in the corner of his mouth and continued drawing.

  While Eric took his walk down memory lane, she perused the crime scene photos, checking them against the report. The detectives in Portland hadn’t identified a location where the killer could’ve been lying in wait, but he must’ve done so. He’d had his killing accoutrement with him, a blunt object for stunning his victim, a sharp knife for the cutting and the tarot card for the coup de grâce.

  Maybe it wasn’t going to be Liz Fielding that day, but it was going to be someone.

  She’d have to make a return visit to the area where Liz had been found and take Eric with her. She slid a glance at his face, the lines set in concentration.

  He still made her pulse race, and warm, sweet honey pool in all the right places.

  He’d broken her heart when he walked out on her. By the time she’d discovered her pregnancy he’d gone on a leave of absence and escaped to parts unknown.

  Even when she’d heard he was back on the job, she couldn’t bring herself to contact him and tell him about Kendall. He probably w
ould’ve accused her of using Kendall to get him back.

  Once he’d discovered her notes about the Phone Book Killer, it had completely destroyed any trust between them. She’d been so outraged that he believed Ray’s lies about her, she didn’t bother explaining the truth to him. When she found out she was pregnant, it was too late. He’d disappeared from her life...but apparently not for good.

  “There.” He ended the drawing with a flourish. “I’m going to track this down.”

  “I hope it does mean something.”

  Someone tapped on the door and they scooted their chairs apart as if they’d been cheating on an exam.

  Officer Griego waved through the window and held up a white bag.

  “Come in, Rita.”

  She pushed into the room carrying the bag in one hand and a drink in the other. “Here you go. The other drink’s on the table outside.”

  Eric jumped from his chair and took the bag and soda from her and put them on the desk. “Thanks.”

  She handed him the other drink and a fistful of money. “Here’s your change.”

  “That’s okay.” He waved a hand. “Put it in the lunch kitty.”

  “Will do. Enjoy your lunch. Let me know if you need anything.”

  Eric tapped his black bag on the floor with the toe of his shoe. “Wi-Fi for my laptop?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Thanks, Rita.”

  Christina peeked into the bag that already had a spot of grease forming on it. “I hope they got my sandwich right.”

  “Hand it over, Sandoval. I’m starving.”

  She dug his sandwich and a cone of fries from the bag and held them up. “Where do you want them?”

  He took the bag from her, pulled her sandwich out and then ripped the bag open and spread it out on the desk. “Right here.”

  She placed his food on the bag and snatched a French fry. “Now I know where all that grease came from.”

  “Greasy fries, just the way I like them. Nothing beats those fish and chips at Scolino’s on the Wharf, though.”

  She bit into her sandwich and nodded while Eric reached into his bag on the floor and pulled out his laptop.

  “I’m going to fire this up and do what I couldn’t twenty years ago.”

  “What? Online dating?” She chuckled at her own joke and peeked under her bread to make sure the extra pickles were in place.

  “Why? Have you given it a try?” He tapped the power button on his laptop and then reached across it to grab his sandwich.

  She almost choked on a pickle. She hadn’t even given old-fashioned dating a try since having Kendall, let alone the online kind. “No. Have you?”

  She swallowed and held her breath.

  “I don’t think the Bureau would look too kindly on one of its agents trolling online dating sites while working in a foreign country.”

  He hadn’t tried it because of his job, not because he didn’t want to. She sipped her soda to avoid blurting the first jealous thing out of her mouth. She had no right to be jealous or to care who or how he was dating.

  Their engagement was over. He’d ended it when he found her notes on his father’s case and chose to believe Ray Lopez, a reporter, over her about what she planned to do with them. But she had to be honest with herself. That discovery may have spurred him on, that and the disastrous ending to the kidnapping case he’d been working, but they’d been having fundamental differences about where to take their relationship.

  Kids—that had been the fundamental difference. And now they had one and he didn’t know a thing about her.

  “Where should I start looking?” Eric flattened his drawing on the desk next to the computer. “Symbols? Signs? Demonic symbols?”

  “Try all three.” She pilfered another French fry from his pile and then dusted the salt off her fingertips.

  He held a hand over his food. “If you wanted fries, why didn’t you order them?”

  “Because there are so many more calories in a full order that you can eat all by yourself than a few stolen fries.” She hunched forward as he scrolled down the page containing websites about satanic symbols.

  “Right. When did you ever worry about counting calories?” His gaze darted to his right and then returned and wandered down her body. “Although...”

  Prickles of heat danced across her flesh in the wake of his inventory as her body called out for his in every way.

  She grabbed another fry and waved it in his face to distract him from the subtle responses shifting through every cell of her being. “Are you trying to say I’ve gained weight?”

  He blinked and turned back to the screen. “A little, but it suits you.”

  “Just great.” She patted her stomach. “That’s exactly what you want to hear from someone after two years apart.”

  He snorted and tapped the keyboard. “Don’t pretend to be the insulted party, Christina. You were skinny before and now you’re not so skinny. You’ve filled out in all the right places and you look great. There—I said it. You can stop fishing for compliments now.”

  With her eyes stinging, she took a big bite of her sandwich. He still saw her as devious and conniving, even over something petty like her appearance. How could she ever tell him about Kendall when he still harbored such resentment against her?

  She watched his strong hands as they hovered over the keyboard. Resentful he may be, but he hadn’t gotten her out of his blood any more than she’d gotten him out of hers. His brain might be telling him no, but his male libido was sending an entirely different message—one that she read loud and clear.

  She’d been on only a handful of dates in the past few years, but she recognized the look of lust in a man’s eyes when she saw it—especially in Eric’s eyes. She’d seen it there enough times when the passion between them ran hot and undeniable.

  “Who knew there were so many satanic symbols?”

  She cleared her throat. “Maybe it’s not satanic. Maybe it has something to do with Mother Nature or Buddhism or something.”

  “I’m looking at all three women now and I don’t see much of a connection between them. Olivia Dearing was a waitress in Portland. Liz Fielding worked as a nurse’s aide, and Nora worked in a bookstore.”

  Eric tapped a pencil against his stubbled chin. “They’re all service jobs. Maybe they ran into someone in the course of their day who tagged them for murder.”

  “Maybe, although the women don’t look much alike, so if it’s a random selection of victims it’s harder to connect the dots.”

  “At least we know he traveled from Portland to San Francisco to San Diego and back to San Francisco at some point, which leads me to believe he lives here.”

  She lined up pictures of the three women in life side by side, and pointed to each one. “He travels for work, he eats out, he visits someone in the hospital.”

  “Liz didn’t work in a hospital. She did home health care.” He nudged aside the finger she had planted on Liz Fielding’s picture with his own.

  She snatched her hand away from his warm touch and dropped it in her lap. Then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. If she wanted to give him the impression that his hard body and smoldering eyes had absolutely no effect on her, she’d better up her game.

  “Are you okay?”

  Her eyes flew open and she met his concerned gaze. Concern? She’d figured that emotion would be in short supply from him. They were making progress.

  “You’re not getting any of those feelings, are you?”

  “From a few photos?” She coughed and plucked a tissue from the box on the credenza behind her. “Not likely.”

  “The cards?”

  “Didn’t have enough time.” She snapped her fingers. “We’re forgetting all about your San Diego victim.”

&nb
sp; “I haven’t forgotten about him.” He reached into his bag, pulled out a bulging accordion file and hoisted it onto his lap.

  “I mean, what did he do for a living?”

  “Shoes.”

  “Shoe salesman?” She scooted to the edge of her seat. “Another job with customer contact.”

  “Women’s shoes.”

  She dug her elbows into the desk blotter and rested her chin in one palm. “It doesn’t mean our killer didn’t notice him there. Department store shoes?”

  “A shoe store in a mall.”

  “Better yet. The Tarot Card Killer saw him eating lunch at the food court.”

  Eric raised his eyebrows. “The Tarot Card Killer? You’ve given him a moniker already?”

  “He gave it to himself. Not—” she created a cross with her two index fingers “—in that way. I just mean it’s kind of an obvious name for him, isn’t it?”

  “I guess thinking of a catchy name for a serial killer isn’t something I do right out of the box on an investigation.” He slid the band off the file with a snap. “I leave that to the reporters.”

  Heat scorched her cheeks. Did she just think they were making progress? Scratch that.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Get-Down-to-Business.” She swept her trash from lunch into the wastepaper basket and reached for the papers spilling from his accordion file. “Now let’s get down to business.”

  They managed to work side by side for the next four hours without either one of them throwing a punch...or stealing a kiss.

  Christina pushed back her chair and stretched, interlacing her fingers over her head. “I’m done.”

  “I think we have a good start here. I’m willing to turn over our notes to the SFPD if you are.”

  “Sure. Maybe something we pulled out will resonate with them.”

  “I know they went to the bookstore where Nora worked, but I’d like to have a look myself. The Kindred Spirit doesn’t sound like your run-of-the-mill bookstore.”

  “It’s an independent. That name could mean anything.”

  “Yeah, but whatever it is, Detective Winston didn’t make note of it here.” He thumbed through the papers from the P.D.’s case file.