“Maybe this is the first time he decided to show off his work to the world. Maybe whatever he did before he hid because he didn’t want to be discovered.”
“So why go for an audience now?”
“Ego. Maybe he’s tired of working in obscurity. He wants the world to know what he’s doing.”
“A master needs his work recognized.” Bitterness dripped from the words.
Rokov studied the salt circle and tried to imagine the killer painstakingly dribbling it out. “He had more control over this scene.”
“Think he needs more control?”
Rokov nodded. “If he thinks he’s slipping. Sure. Control is important to him.”
“Control and attention.”
“I’m wondering if something has changed in his life. Maybe he lost a job, his girlfriend broke up with him, or he is sick.”
“Or his boss yelled at him, or his dog died. It could be a million reasons. These guys don’t need much of an excuse to do what they do.”
“You’re right.” He stared at the blacked-out windows.
“But something has changed for him. And I’m willing to bet it’s fairly drastic. First, he goes public with his kills. Second, he is getting more precise with his crime scene. This is more than ego. This is anger.”
“At a woman in his life?”
“It would be my guess.”
She shoved out a sigh. “We need to find out who Jane Doe is ASAP.”
“I agree. And I’m going to resubmit to the ViCap system and see if I get a hit this time. I’m also putting heat on the forensics lab. I want the DNA put in CODIS sooner than later.”
“Detective Rokov,” Paulie called out.
Rokov glanced back to find the technician holding up a small orange ticket stub. “What is that?”
“Found this in her pocket. It’s a ticket stub from the carnival.”
“Does it have a date?”
“Four days ago.”
“Thanks.” He looked at Sinclair. “That’s two for two and the carnival. We need to figure out where that carnival has been in recent years and check the jurisdictions to see which ones might have had murders not submitted to ViCap.”
“The carnival visits a lot of small rural areas. This area is the big exception. Smaller localities don’t always input into ViCap, which might explain the lack of hits.”
“Once you get their travel schedule, we’ll check with the jurisdictions directly.”
“Want to talk to Grady again?”
“I sure do.” Rokov thought about the grizzled old man, who he suspected lied as easily as he breathed.
“But I think what I’m going to do is talk to Charlotte Wellington.”
“Why her?”
“If your gossip is true, Sinclair, and she is linked to the carnival, she might have some interesting information.”
“What about Sooner Tate?”
He thought about the Life Style focus on Sooner. Effective for public relations but reckless when it came to the girl’s safety. “You talk to her. I’ll talk to Charlotte.”
Chapter 17
Wednesday, October 27, 9 a. m.
Knowing Charlotte would likely be at her office, Rokov headed to the offices of Wellington and James. He rang the front bell and waited for the receptionist to buzz him inside.
“Detective Rokov,” the receptionist said. She was in her mid-fifties and wore a dark dress, matching headband, and flats.
“You know me, but I’m afraid I don’t know you.”
“I’m Ms. Wellington’s secretary and basically manager of all things that have to do with Wellington and James. Call me Iris. And I know you. Alexandria Police.”
He’d heard Charlotte had hired a top-notch assistant with an uncanny memory for names. “Is Ms. Wellington here?”
“She is. You’d like to see her?”
“I would.”
“Be right back.” She vanished down a carpeted hallway, giving him time to study the reception area. The place was sleek and had a moneyed, old world feel that fit the public Charlotte. She’d always carried herself as if she’d been raised with a silver spoon, and it still amazed him that she might have grown up in a carnival. Perhaps this place, like the carnival, was just an elaborate set designed to support the fantasy.
“Detective.”
Charlotte’s smooth clear voice had him turning from a hunt country painting toward her. She wore a black pencil skirt, white fitted blouse, heels, and the pearls she’d had on the last time they’d made love. She’d swept her hair into a French twist, accentuating her long neck and high cheekbones.
“Ms. Wellington.”
Suspicion darkened her eyes. “What can I do for you, detective?”
“Is there someplace private we can talk?”
Green eyes grew wary. “Why?”
“You’ll see.” A narrowing of her gaze told him she wanted to give him the bum’s rush. She wasn’t comfortable. Was she simply busy or embarrassed by his visit? Just the idea he embarrassed her set his nerves on edge. And so he waited, determined not to budge an inch.
“This can’t wait?” she said.
“No.” In the past when they were alone, he’d allowed her to run the show. However, this was no game, and he called the shots.
Sensing the steel in his resolve, she nodded. “In my office.”
He followed her down the hallway to the back office. It didn’t appear to be the largest of the offices, but it was the most private and remote. She’d placed a large decorative screen behind her desk that blocked the view of the street. Was that a holdover from her attack three years ago?
She closed the office door and motioned for him to take one of the club chairs in front of her antique desk. “Have a seat.”
He waited until she’d moved behind him and took the seat behind her desk before he sat. “Taking up a defensive position?”
She knitted her long manicured fingers together. “Do I need to?”
Five feet and that damn desk separated them, but it might as well have been a million miles and a brick wall. “I heard through the grapevine that you used to work for the carnival.”
Surprise and then acceptance crossed her face. She raised a brow. “Is that the latest gossip about me?”
“Is it true?”
She hesitated. “Does it matter?”
“I have a second victim. There might be a link to the carnival.”
Her face paled. “Oh, my God. I didn’t know.”
“No one does yet.”
“What does the murder have to do with me and the carnival?”
“Always the attorney scoping the lay of the land before you answer.”
“Second nature.” She shrugged. “It’s true. I grew up in the carnival.”
He sat back in his chair, realizing this was the first bit of personal information she’d acknowledged. “You cultivate the impression that you come from a very different place.”
She released a breath. “It was deliberate.”
“Why pretend to be something you are not?”
Her gaze narrowed. “Did you come here to quiz me about why I don’t talk about my past? Because if that is the case, I’ve got too much work to stroll down memory lane right now.”
He made no move to rise. “There is a method to my madness. Why the deception?”
“Why do you care?”
He managed a grin that wasn’t so friendly. “Humor me.”
She offered a small shrug. “I wouldn’t exactly call it a deception. I wanted to go into defense law and discovered back in law school that the people with money like to work with people who have money. I figured out the nuances of being from a certain world and embraced them.”
“Spoken like a defense attorney.”
“I’ve never lied about my credentials on my C V. I don’t mention high school but I did graduate from George Mason and Georgetown.”
“On scholarship?”
“Partly. I also worked my butt off.”
> “Doing what?”
She sat back in her chair. “I still don’t see where this is headed.”
“It relates to a case, I promise.”
She pressed fingertips to her temples as if they now throbbed. “Can you keep it to yourself?”
“Sure, if it has nothing to do with the case.”
She released a breath slowly and then met his gaze. “I was a stripper. I worked in a club called Gold’s.”
If not for his own firsthand experience with the prim Ms. Wellington, he’d have discounted the story. He knew under the ice was fire. “I know the place. In D.C.”
“That’s right.”
“I worked undercover there a couple of years ago.” He’d watched the strippers, appreciated a few, but had not given any of them much thought at the time. Placing Charlotte on one of those stripper poles did not set well with him.
She seemed to read his disapproval. “That would have been long after my time.”
“How long were you there?”
“Five years. From eighteen to twenty-three.”
“No one recognized you from those days?”
“I wore a wig and a half mask. It was part of my mystique. A trick I learned at the carnival. It also protected me from the embarrassing run-ins with professors and friends.”
“Always hiding behind a mask.”
“Not so much anymore.”
“Did you have run-ins at the club with people you knew?”