The uniform hooked his thumbs in his gun belt, frowning his worry. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
Rising, her jaw tensed. “You want me to keep the door open so you can watch?”
The uniform shifted his stance, glancing down so that she didn’t see him blush. “That won’t be necessary. The detectives are gonna want to talk to you so hurry back. ”
She brushed a strand of dark hair from her forehead. “I’ve told my story a dozen times.”
“Might have to do it a dozen more.”
“Damn it.” She headed toward the Porta-Johns sandwiched between the river and the path.
Donovan waited an extra beat and then hurried toward her, positioning himself near the john. He pulled the pack of smokes he always kept close and lit one up. His window to talk to her would be very brief.
She vanished into the john, locking the door behind. She reemerged less than a minute later, rubbing her hands on her pant legs.
He took a deep puff on his cigarette and blew it out toward her.
The scent of his smoke reached her and had her turning. “I don’t suppose you have an extra?”
He grinned, reaching in his breast pocket for the pack. “Sure.”
The woman closed the distance between them, her expression a mixture of joy and relief. “God bless you.”
He jiggled the pack so that a couple of cigarettes peeked out of the opening enough for her to grab one. She took the filtered tip in her fingers and accepted the lighter he offered. She lit the tip, inhaling slowly as she savored the kick of nicotine. “I keep swearing I’m going to quit.”
“Me too.” He grinned as he took another pull. He exhaled. “But the butts always beckon. Especially when I’m stressed.”
She exhaled a lungful of smoke. “I’ve had a day for the record books.”
“What happened?”
“Found a body.”
“Damn.” He inhaled and handed her the pack. “You deserve the whole pack.”
She tossed him a half grin as she accepted the package. “I don’t suppose you have a bottle of Scotch in your pocket?”
“Sorry, the canteen is empty.” He glanced toward the crime scene tape. “I’m Connor.”
“I’m Kelly.”
“Kelly. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
“So who died?”
“I don’t know. I never saw her before. A woman. Stabbed. And burned.”
A soft breeze blew from the Potomac, and he did his best not to look rushed or impatient. If he rushed this, she just might shut down. “Shit. How you holding up?”
“Ready to get the hell out of here. I’ve had it with the questions. Cops just won’t let me go, like I committed a crime or something.”
“They can be a pain in the ass.”
“I just want to go home.”
“I bet it will be soon.” He pointed toward the scene. “You know they found that other woman who’d been stabbed.”
Kelly nodded, staring at the glowing tip of her cigarette. “I heard about it on the radio but I don’t watch much television so I missed whatever else they said. Did she have crosses burned on her stomach too?”
His heart kicked but he kept his voice even. “Cops didn’t say. I’ll bet it’s been a bear of a case for the cops.”
The woman nodded. “I shouldn’t have looked at her body, but it was kinda like a car wreck. You look. “ She took a long pull on the cigarette. “And she was covered in these funky star-shaped marks. They looked so red and awful.”
Excitement burned to the tips of his fingers, which ached to type out this story. “Damn. I’m sorry you had to see that, Kelly.”
“I don’t know who would do that to a woman.”
“Some sick bastard.” Donovan glanced up and his gaze caught Garrison’s. Busted. The cop’s dark angry glare even caught Donovan short. No doubt the cop had murder in his heart now.
Donovan tossed his cigarette on the ground and crushed it with his shoe. “See you around, Kelly.”
She glanced up, a bit of disappointment in her eyes. “Hey, you don’t have to go. In fact, if you’re free …”
“Sorry, doll, I got to go.”
Garrison startled the two uniforms by the EMT truck with a blast of angry words. They both glanced in his direction and he knew if he didn’t get moving he’d find himself arrested for interfering with a crime scene.
He turned to leave when he spotted Detective Kier headed his way. The guy moved toward him like a slow-moving freight train. Malcolm didn’t look rushed, but when the impact came it would knock him off his feet.
Malcolm grinned. “Going somewhere, Donovan?”
Donovan grinned. “Just leaving, as a matter of fact.”
“Oh, no, stay and chat awhile. I know Garrison will want to have a word.”
Kelly looked between the two of them, her mouth slightly open like a dumb twit. “Hey, what’s the matter, Officer? The guy just gave me a smoke.”
Malcolm didn’t remove his gaze from Donovan. “He’s a reporter, ma’am.”
“A what?”
“Meet Connor Donovan. A man who will say or do anything for a story. ”
Donovan shrugged. “I just gave the lady a smoke.”
Kelly tossed him back his pack of cigarettes. “Asshole.” She passed Garrison as she stomped back to the EMT’s truck.
Garrison pulled off his glasses. “So what did you find out?”
Donovan winked. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
Garrison didn’t even attempt to flash his trademark grin. “Back away from this, Donovan. I don’t want you turning this into a circus. ”
“Serial killers are hot stories, Detective. Readers need to know they aren’t safe.”
Garrison tightened his jaw. “You’ve no proof of a serial killer.”
“Witnesses at both scenes reported the victims had been branded with a star.”
He pulled in a long slow breath and let it out slowly. “Don’t print that.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“No, I can’t. But if you print that detail, I’ll end up with another nutcase who will try and recreate what you’ve written.”
Donovan shrugged.
“You’re being dramatic.”
“Do not print that detail.”
“Maybe you should do a better job of overseeing your crime scene and controlling your witnesses, pal. I’ve got a story to write.”
Garrison’s blood boiled as he stared down at the murder victim. Shoving that bastard Donovan from his mind proved to be a challenge. Visions of punching the guy danced in his head.
Malcolm moved beside him. “He’s gone.”
“Great. Much like closing the barn door after the horse is gone.”
“Yeah.” Kier didn’t bother to offer any platitudes. “He’ll print whatever sells papers.”
“I’ve called the department’s public relations officer. She’s going to try to get hold of the story.”
A gust of wind blew off the river, sending a chill through him. “How long can she hold off the papers? ”
“Depends on what kind of mood the editor is in, I suppose. But he knows how the game is played. He helps me now, I might be able to help him later.”
Malcolm shoved his hand in his pocket. “You certainly sound reasonable.”
Garrison grinned, not feeling the least bit jovial. “Good.” He shoved aside his anger and focused on the body. The four gruesome stars had been etched into her flesh in a circular pattern just like the last victim. “Whoever is doing this is no longer tentative. The stars are pronounced and clear.”
“Practice makes perfect.”
“She’s young like the last victim. Maybe thirty and attractive when she’d been alive.”
“Yeah.”
Garrison nodded. “The medical examiner hit the nail on the head. The killer’s confidence is growing.”
“And now he’s a cocky son of a bitch who doesn’t need to set a fire to get our attention.” Malcolm rubbed the back of his neck. “Why her?”
“I don’t know, but I’d bet a year’s salary none of this is random.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He’s just too damn careful. Forensics hasn’t found much at this scene either. This guy is smart. And he’s picking his victims for a reason.”
“Hard to catch.” Malcolm drove strong fingers through his thick black hair.
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“I did some checking on branding irons. They can be electric or can be heated up the old-fashioned way in a fire, just like Dr. Henson said. You can order the damn things off the Internet. I’ve got Sinclair searching the top twenty Web sites and sending enquiries.”