He’s tall, with dark hair and good looks, very John Kennedy, Jr. The kind of man women want and men want to become. Well, until he’s murdered. I squat down beside him and examine the blood on his neck. I shoot photos of the wound. Based on rigor, he’s probably still warm. Someone wanted us to find him quickly. If he drank the weapon that killed him or swallowed it in a pill, an Advil, or whatever it might be, then someone had to know when it happened to call it in. So maybe he did have a visitor. Unless there are cameras in the house that were hacked. A kinky bedroom camera, maybe?
I dig for his phone and find it in his inside jacket pocket. I hold it to his face, unlock it, and scan his text messages. Sure enough, there’s a message to Rip that reads: One more for the history books.
Interestingly enough, Rip replies with; We’ve had this conversation. No.
The next message reads: That’s what I thought you’d say —J
J.
The killer leaves his signature. He wants it to be known he did this.
I scan the rest of the messages. There are a few exchanges with a woman that includes a photo of her breasts, and a view between her legs with a question: Want some?
And yikes. He replied with one word: No.
Jesus her breasts aren’t that bad.
She replied with: Bastard.
His answer is: Once was enough.
All right then, I think. There will be a list of women on the suspect list, that’s for sure. Except he wasn’t killed by one of those women. It was a man, someone angry with him. Someone he treated like a little bitch, unworthy of this time.
“And that makes three,” Andrew states, stepping over the top of me. “Sounds like a serial killer to me.”
“I’d be careful how I define this particular killer,” I warn, standing up.
“He’s killed three people,” Andrew argues. “Two makes a serial killer.”
“Which is ridiculous,” I say, without explaining all the ways that statement doesn’t work, regardless of what the books technically state. “That’s a narrow view with a reach that is too wide,” I say instead. “These are revenge killings. Find out what these people did and to who, and you’ll have your killer.”
“And you know this how?”
“Because I read the crime scenes. They were playing a game together that I’d venture to guess led to sex, money, and volatile relationships. Someone got pushed out. And then that led to murder. Revenge murder. Why was I told he was a groom?”
“I talked to Mary in dispatch. The male caller said, quote ‘He’s dead. He’s still in his tuxedo. I told him not to say yes. Now he’ll never get married,’ and then he gave the address and hung up.”
“Was Rip at a wedding tonight?”
“A charity event for a children’s cancer society.”
I tuck away that information for later use. “I assume the call is untraceable?”
“Made from a public phone in a bar,” he says. “I have officers chasing that lead.” He lowers his voice. “Kane’s chopper going down is on the news, Lilah.”
There is a sharp pain in my belly. “And what does the news say about it?”
“That a search and rescue mission is underway. The killer didn’t call in the past murders. He was anxious this time. He wanted you here. You know it. I know it.”
I don’t think he’s wrong. I just don’t think it’s for the reason he might think. I’m not personal to the killer. I am, instead, an agent who just found out her mentor is a serial killer, who’s engaged to marry the notorious Kane Mendez, and who is now afraid he’s dead. I’m not focused enough to see the real answers in front of my face. Or so the killer thinks.
“Lilah,” Andrew says, snapping my attention back to him and lowering his voice. “If you know something about what’s going on that I don’t, speak up now. What kind of fucked up game are we playing? And what does it have to do with Kane’s chopper going down?”
“It doesn’t,” I say. “The killer is opportunistic. He wanted me to read the scene while under duress. We need to stay focused. Connect the dots, Andrew. Find the revenge circle because there is a revenge circle.”
“Are you a part of it?”
“I just explained where I fit in.”
“What about Kane?” he challenges. “Is he in the revenge circle?”
“Kane has nothing to do with this.”
“You weren’t so sure when I got the call about this murder. Keywords in that call we got, Lilah: tuxedo, married, dead. Those things lead to you and Kane.”
“Dead?” I challenge, feeling myself unravel inside. “You think the word dead leads to me and Kane? You’re still obsessed with what you see as the dirty side of Kane.”
“In case you forgot, I helped him bury a body, Lilah.”