He stared down at her. It was a miracle that she’d gotten up off the table. After what the First One had done, it was a wonder she was alive. But he’d have been furious if she’d died. The killing was his treat. His well-deserved reward.
He’d not expected she’d be such a fighter. She was a beautiful woman accustomed to using her beauty to get what she wanted. She’d never tasted the harshness that life really could offer.
But she’d faced him with a haughty arrogance that he found a bit charming. It was always more fun to bring the bossy ones down a peg.
He clicked on an overhead light and studied her face. Her flesh had been torn and bruised. If anyone saw her now, they’d be appalled by the damage. He didn’t like it when skin was mauled and ruined.
But thankfully, her injuries were only skin-deep. Flesh may have been torn, but her bones were sure and strong.
She would make a fine addition to his collection.
Chapter 1
Tuesday, October 4, 9 P.M.
The flashing lights of the cop cars at the entrance to Angel Park grated Detective Malcolm Kier’s nerves as he pulled his badge out from his glove box and strung it around his neck. He’d been in the mountains for the last three days, taking a much-needed vacation in the small cabin he owned. Nestled on a lake in the Shenandoah Valley, his cabin was set on thirty acres connected to the main highway by a dirt road that snaked up the mountain. The closest store was twenty miles away.
The log cabin that he’d built had small, shuttered windows that kept the bugs out in the summer and the cold at bay in the winter. There was a front porch that overlooked a lake, but it was only wide enough for two chairs. A generator fed electricity to a small refrigerator, and a propane tank supplied a crude kitchen stove with gas. Indoor plumbing was limited to cold water only in the kitchen, and until he paid down the loan on the land, a full-scale bathroom was the dream and an outhouse the reality.
Most would look at the cabin and wonder what kind of sane man would bother. But from the moment he’d laid eyes on the land, he’d felt at home. At peace.
No, the place wasn’t comfortable or easy, but that’s what he liked about it. He liked that not just anyone could saunter through the front door and call the place home. He liked that he didn’t smell the grit of the streets; that he didn’t hear the blare of sirens or the sobs of victims.
Most of the cops he worked with considered the utter silence a curse, but he loved it. No cell phone service meant that when he took a few days off from the demands of being an Alexandria homicide detective, he was truly off.
His girlfriend, Olivia, had been after him to take her to the cabin for weeks. He’d relented, hoping she’d see beyond the obstacles and grow to love the place. However, on her first and only visit, she’d been using the outhouse when a black snake had slithered past her feet. Her scream could have shattered glass. And when she burst out of the outhouse, tugging up her pants and trying not to trip, he’d had the good sense not to laugh. He’d found the snake and told her it wasn’t poisonous. Olivia had recovered enough and announced in a calm voice that she didn’t care. She wasn’t returning. She still loved him, but this was a part of his life she’d not share.
A smile curved the edge of Malcolm’s lips as he thought about her traipsing toward his car and mumbling.
Over the last few days, he’d missed his gal and had been half tempted to drive down the mountain and call from town. But the lure of calm and silence had been stronger than his need to talk, and in the end he’d never called her.
Kier had been twenty miles outside of Alexandria, Virginia when his cell had rung. The sound, which he’d not heard in seventy-two hours, had him straightening. A glance at the caller ID told him the call came from dispatch and that his vacation had officially ended.
He grabbed his holster and revolver from under the seat and got out of the car. He slipped the holster over his black flannel shirt and then shrugged on a jean jacket.
Angel Park was an eleven-acre recreation area sandwiched between Duke and King Streets. By the looks there were picnic areas, ball fields, and lots of places for kids to run and hide.
On a warm day, this place would have been swarming with kids and parents. There’d be the peal of laughter. The squeak of swing sets.
It pissed him off that a killer had breached a place reserved for kids. Places like this shouldn’t allow death or evil. But he’d learned long ago that killers violated any rule that suited.
Malcolm glanced toward the yellow crime-scene tape and saw his partner, Detective Deacon Garrison. A tall man, Garrison stood a good head above most of the other officers. Malcolm’s shoulders were as broad, perhaps more muscular, but at five-foot-ten, he had to tip his head back to make eye contact with his partner.
Garrison had a thousand-watt smile that he used with laser precision to disarm witnesses, cajole judges, and piss off defense attorneys. Kier had often quipped his partner could sell ice to an Eskimo with that smile.
Malcolm strode past the uniforms, nodded, and ducked under the tape. He moved beside his partner, who stared at an empty patch of dirt. “Not the kind of welcome back I’d hoped for.”
A humorless smile tipped the edge of Garrison’s lips. “You have a nice vacation?”
“Yeah. The woods always bring me back to life.”
Garrison shook his head as he slid a hand into his pocket. “If your place is only half as bad as you’ve said, I don’t know how it could. Seems to me the primitive setup would do the opposite.”
Malcolm shrugged. “Hey, if you ever want me to suffer, lock me in that airplane hangar of yours and make me work on that pile of junk you call an airplane.”
Garrison’s smile warmed a fraction. “It is a classic '38 Beechcraft. Beyond the rust is great beauty.”
“Whatever you say, boss.” Malcolm and his partner were opposites in so many ways. When faced with a pile of shit, Garrison could smile and appear as if nothing bothered him at all. However, Malcolm, a self-described powder keg, blew up fast and wore his anger on his sleeve.
Malcolm nodded his head toward an area lit up with floodlights and roped off with yellow crime-scene tape. No doubt they’d be hearing from the park’s residential neighbors complaining about the light. “Body’s over there?”
“Wait until you see this.” Displeasure deepened the lines on Garrison’s face as they strode toward the shelter closest to the woods.
Malcolm braced, wondering what horror waited.
In the middle of a picnic table sat a pile of bones stacked neatly in a square. Resting in the center of the bone square was the skull, which stared sightlessly at him.
The bones weren’t bleached white, as if they had been lying in the sun, nor were they dark and molded as if long buried under layers of dirt. Light beige, they were oddly clean, stripped completely of flesh.
“The killer took his time arranging the bones.”
Garrison nodded his head. “Yes.”
“Time that would have exposed him to potential witnesses.” Malcolm rested his hands on his hips and leaned in for a closer view. “He’s meticulous. Detail oriented. Likes order in his life. Takes pride in his work.”
“Maybe. Whoever did this wanted to get someone’s attention.”
Malcolm tried to imagine the killer arranging the bones and then standing back for a moment to admire his handiwork. The homicide detective had a talent for slipping into the skins of the men he tracked. The trait made him a good cop and at times a bad boyfriend, son, or brother. “Arranging the bones generates fear and creates one hell of a puzzle for the cops.”
“Plausible.”
“The average killer does not do this.”
“No, he does not.” Garrison shoved out a sigh. They’d had a very extraordinary killer stalk Alexandria last year. Dubbed the Sorority House Killer by the press, the killer had not only displayed the victims, but had set a fire at the first murder scene to draw attention. However, the Sorority House Killer had been convicted
of murder and now resided on death row.
“Where is forensics?” Malcolm searched the half dozen cop cars. Normally the forensics unit beat the detectives to the crime scene.
“They’re on the way. They’ve been overwhelmed by the string of robberies. They’re running in circles right now.”
“Who found the bones?”
“Three boys were staring and pointing fingers when an off-duty cop spotted them. He’d just gotten off his shift and was walking his dog. When he called out to them, they bolted. However, the cop’s dog is retired from our K-9 unit.”
Malcolm grinned. “They didn’t get far.”
“No.”
“Where are they?”
“Cooling their heels by the squad cars,” Garrison said.
Malcolm saw three teen boys leaning against a marked car. Arms folded over their chests, they did their best to look tough despite downcast gazes messaging worry. Low-slung jeans, white T-shirts, and matching leather jackets with yellow bandanas tied to their right forearms suggested a gang.
“This could be gang related,” Garrison said. “The placement of the bones could be some kind of initiation. Leaving bones would send a clear message.”
Malcolm studied the boys. “They don’t look like the types who have the know-how or patience to stack bones.”
“People never stop surprising me.”
Malcolm glanced toward the yellow crime-scene tape and spotted a slim man, slightly balding and wearing glasses that reflected the floodlight’s glare. Paulie Som-mers. Forensic technician. Efficient. Brusque to the point of rudeness.
“What do we have?” Paulie ducked under the tape and approached.
Malcolm eased out of Paulie’s way. He liked razzing the guy. “Not as quick on the draw as you used to be.”
“Tell the boys in robbery to catch the son of a bitch who’s breaking into every jewelry store in town. Once they do that I can have time for better crimes like your murders.” Sarcasm dripped from the words.