Last Known Victim

“And?”

Yvette swallowed past the lump that had formed in her throat. “Her car was there. Her stuff. But she…wasn’t.”

Captain O’Shay stood and went to stand at the single small window. She stared out several moments, expression thoughtful.

After what seemed an eternity to Yvette, she turned and faced her once more. “I have a question for you.”

“Okay.”

“Are you scared?” When Yvette gazed blankly at her, she went on. “You come in wanting my help. For your friend. What about you? If what you’re telling me is true, a murderer has become obsessed with you.”

A murderer has become obsessed with you.

Yvette went cold. She realized she had been so consumed with finding Tonya, so worried about her, she hadn’t paused to consider just how much danger she might be in.

She could be next.

The woman was watching her intently, no doubt able to read her thoughts, the resulting fear, in her expression.

“He’s worshipping you from afar. But he’s privy to the intimate details of your life. Where you work and live. Who your friends are. Who your lover was. Probably the route you take home, your entire schedule.”

“Why are you trying to frighten me?” Yvette asked, voice shaking.

“Just spelling it out. Giving you a little wake-up call.”

Yvette stiffened her spine. “Will you help me?”

“Yes, though I need some time to think this through. To make a plan.”

“How long?”

“The end of today.”

“How do I know your plan isn’t to eliminate me as soon as I’m out of here?”

The woman smiled at that. “I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

“Tell me again why I should?”

“Because you don’t really have a choice, Ms. Borger. You need me.”

38

Monday, May 7, 2007

12:45 p.m.

Patti sat at her desk. What she had said to Yvette Borger had been true-the young woman needed her. But she, ISD captain and career NOPD, needed her just as much. Maybe more.

She wanted the Handyman that badly.

Not the Handyman, per se, but Sammy’s killer. So badly she could taste it.

Borger had given her no proof. Nothing but her word to go on.

She believed her. Ironically. After a lifetime of analytically weighing evidence, objectively assessing witnesses and suspects, she was throwing it all away. Putting her trust in a known liar.

That’s why Spencer hadn’t bought Yvette’s tale-she had fabricated the original story about Kitten. When Marcus Gabrielle had been killed, she had created a fictitious “business partner.” Then she had approached them with the Artist again, without witnesses or proof.

Toss in a record and an admitted dislike for cops, only an idiot would take her at her word.

Captain Patti O’Shay, at your service.

She considered going to the chief, laying it all out for him, asking him to give her a chance. But if he refused, she was screwed.

And he would refuse. Chief Howard liked Franklin. She couldn’t blame him. The guy was an ex-con; he’d been caught with the murder weapon in his possession. Unless she presented him with something really compelling, Chief Howard would not be swayed.

She had to go this one alone. That included leaving Spencer out of it.

Time to put all her ducks in a row.

First, a detective to question the two dancers who had known Jessica Skye. She had called the Hustle and obtained the necessary information from the general manager.

Standing, she crossed to her door and peered out to see who was available. As she did, Tony Sciame ambled across her line of vision, a Taco Bell bag clutched in his left hand.

“Detective Sciame, could I have a minute? Feel free to bring your lunch.”

“Sure, Captain.” He followed her into her office and plopped onto a chair. The smell of spicy meat and grease filled the air. “Mind if I eat?” he asked.

“Please do.”

She watched as he pulled out a soft taco and took a huge bite. Messy things. Beef and sauce oozed out the ends and onto his fingers. He didn’t seem to mind and took another bite, gaze on hers, waiting.

“I want you to question these two women, Gia Stiles and Autumn Wind.”

She slid the women’s data across her desk. “That’s their home information. They’re both dancers at the Hustle. Apparently they knew a fellow dancer, Jessica Skye. I have reason to believe Ms. Skye is our City Park Jane Doe.”

Tony nodded, crumpled the now-empty taco wrapper, stuffed it into the bag, then helped himself to another.

“That it?” he asked.

“See what else you can dig up on Skye. Previous addresses. Friends. Lovers. Family members.”

He made quick work of the second taco, wiped his fingers on a napkin, then retrieved his spiral notebook from his shirt pocket and plucked a pen from the holder on her desk. He jotted down what she had said so far, then looked back up at her.

“Track down her doctor and dentist. Her dental records would be a home run. Get back to me ASAP.”

“You want me to call Spencer in on this?”

“Not necessary this time, Detective.”

He returned his gaze to hers. He had been a cop long enough to read between the lines and know something was up. And long enough to understand that if she wanted him to know what that was, she would tell him.

He stood. “I’ll be in touch.”

“You do that, Detective. And shut the door behind you, please.”

When he had, she picked up the phone and dialed the number Yvette Borger had left for her.

“Yvette,” she said when the young woman answered. “Captain O’Shay.”

“Yes?”

The word sounded breathless, hopeful.

“I’m going to help you.”

Complete silence followed. Patti frowned. “Ms. Borger? Are you still there?”

“Yes. I…I’m just surprised.”

“Surprised? Even with the threat of exposure you dangled over my head?”

“You’re a cop,” she said simply. “A captain. I figured my threat was pretty lame.”

That said a lot about her opinion of police officers.

None of it good.

“Can you get me into Tonya’s apartment?” she asked.

“I think so. The neighbor has a key. He let me in.”

“Good.” Patti glanced at her watch. “Meet me there at two.”

When Patti arrived, Yvette was waiting for her. The other woman looked nervous.

“Thanks for doing this,” Yvette said.

“I hope it turns out to be mutually beneficial.” They started toward the condo complex’s front entrance. “What can you tell me about this neighbor?”

“Lives in the unit next to Tonya. When she didn’t respond to my knocking, I tried his door.”

“What’s his name?”

“Bill. I don’t know his last name.”

“Know anything else about him? Could he be involved in her disappearance?”

“I don’t think so. He’s really old.”

Patti didn’t have much confidence in Yvette’s assessment. After all, at Yvette’s age, “really old” was a lot younger than at hers.

“He’s got a thing for boobs,” she went on. “I don’t think he ever took his eyes off mine.”

Patti nearly choked on a laugh. She had to hand it to the other woman, she didn’t mince words.

They made their way into the building and to Bill’s condo. He answered their ring and Patti saw right away she hadn’t given Yvette’s observational skills enough credit. The man was ninety if he was a day.

He smiled at Yvette. “You came back to see me. And brought a friend. How nice.”

“Captain O’Shay,” Patti said, displaying her shield. “I’m helping Ms. Borger out with her situation.”

“Bill Young.”

“Good to meet you, Bill. I understand you let Ms. Borger into her friend’s apartment this morning.”

“I did. Tonya gave me a spare key for deliveries and such.”

This definitely fell under the “and such” category.

“Ms. Borger is concerned about her friend. I thought I’d take a look around.”