Last Known Victim

June followed her to the kitchen. Patti got out plates and napkins, filled a mug for June and freshened her own.

Muffins, Patti saw as they sat down. Big, fat banana-nut muffins.

Heaven on earth.

June made pretty much the best muffins on the planet. They were so good, for a time she had considered marketing them. She could have been the Mrs. Fields of muffins. But then the low-carb craze had come along, and she’d abandoned the idea.

“So what Spencer told me is true.”

Patti dug in. “What’d he tell you?”

“That you asked for a leave of absence to try to track down Sammy’s killer yourself. That you’ve lost hold of your senses. That you’ve now involved Stacy in it. He’s quite worried.”

“And he called you and asked if you would try to talk some sense into me.”

“Pretty much. What’s going on?”

“I haven’t lost my mind, if you’re worried.”

June smiled and peeled away a muffin’s paper liner. “Prove it.”

“Yes, I’ve taken a leave of absence. I don’t think that in itself is so shocking. As for tracking down Sammy’s killer, I’ve had doubts about Franklin. The department does not. While I’m footloose and fancy free, I thought I’d investigate a few leads.”

“Now, venturing into the ‘lost it’ category. That’s not who Patti O’Shay is.”

Patti looked away, then back. “I’m not so certain I know who Patti O’Shay is anymore.”

“It’s natural for you to feel this way.” June reached across the table and covered Patti’s hand with her own. “After what you’ve been through.”

“Now, I’ve inserted a wedge between Spencer and Stacy.”

“He said she moved out. That they were through.”

Patti nodded. “How’d he sound?”

“Miserable.” June took a sip of her coffee. “Personally, I say good for her. It’s about time.”

“How can you say that?”

“Has he not been stringing her along? Taking her for granted? Men wield all the power in relationships. Seems like she’s taking some back.” She reached for her muffin. “Again, I say good for her.”

June had said things like that before. Patti felt bad for her. Several failed romances and a short, disastrous marriage had left her wary of men, cynical about relationships and the balance of power between the sexes.

Patti’s experience had been so different-mutual respect, give and take, collaboration.

“You’re not the only one who’s lost their mind,” June continued. “Riley seems to have taken leave of his senses as well.”

“How so?”

“He’s besotted with that dancer. Yvette-”

“Borger?”

She nodded. “He does this, gets all head-over-heels stupid about some woman, then when it doesn’t work out, he mopes around for weeks. Then suddenly-”

“-is head-over-heels over another one?”

“Exactly.” June sighed. “She came to see him play the other night.”

“What night?”

“Last Thursday.”

The night she disappeared. So that’s where she’d gone.

“Why does he keep falling for women like her?”

“What do you mean, women like her?”

“You know what I mean. Strippers, party girls. Why can’t he fall for someone like Shauna?”

“Yvette’s okay,” Patti said, realizing she was defending the woman to yet another person in her life, this time her oldest friend. “She hasn’t had it easy.”

“Who has?” June shot back. “You didn’t see me drop out, resort to drugs or turning tricks.”

Patti stiffened, offended. “As far as either of us know, she has turned to neither drugs nor prostitution.”

“Lap dancing is-”

“A way for a young, uneducated woman to make a good living. Not all of us have a fat inheritance to fall back on. I respect her for doing as well as she has.”

June flushed. Patti squeezed her hand. “We can agree to disagree. Right?”

“Sure. I-” She cleared her throat. “Forgive me. I sounded just awful then, didn’t I? Like one of those snobs Mother used to play bridge with. Always looking down their noses at somebody. I guess the Good Lord knew what He was doing when He didn’t give me children.”

“That’s just nonsense. You have Riley. You’ve been watching out for him most of his life. And he’s turned out wonderfully.”

Patti was shocked to see June’s eyes fill with tears. “I’ve screwed him up. Made him too dependent. Emasculated him.”

“Emasculated? June, that’s just not true. You’ve been a wonderful sister.”

“I worry about him. About the way he sometimes broods. He’ll withdraw from me, become almost secreti-” She bit the thought back. “He’ll be fine.”

“Exactly. He’ll be fine.”

“Thank you.” June caught her hand again, holding it tightly. “You’re my best friend, Patti.”

“You’re my best friend, too. Twenty years now.”

“We were such babies when we met.”

Patti laughed. “You were such a baby. Remember, I’ve got ten years on you.”

June didn’t smile. “I don’t know if I could have managed all the curves and bumps without you. And I mean that.”

Tears stung Patti’s eyes. “Now you’re just getting maudlin. And you’re making me that way, too.”

June released her hand, then wiped a tear from her cheek. “Must be premenopausal.”

“Been there, done that, it sucked.” Patti’s cell phone vibrated. She saw that it was headquarters, sent June an apologetic glance and picked up. “Captain O’Shay.”

“Patti, it’s Tony. Thought you’d want in on this. Looks like we have another Handyman victim.”

52

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

9:20 a.m.

The lower Ninth ward had been one of the hardest hit by Katrina. Water had topped the levees in some areas by more than twelve feet. Rebuilding here had been at best sporadic. The current population of this parish stood at about twenty-five percent its pre-hurricane population. It was a tragic wasteland-but a smart place to dump a body.

Patti picked her way around the piles of building debris, slick from the previous night’s rain. She ducked under the scene tape, aware of the crime techs arriving behind her. The press wouldn’t be far behind once word leaked that the Handyman had struck again.

Spencer and Tony stood beside the badly decomposed victim. They looked her way as Patti approached. Spencer didn’t smile.

“Hey, Captain,” Tony said, holding out a jar of Vicks VapoRub.

She took it and applied a smear under her nose; it helped mitigate the stench of the corpse. “Detectives. What’ve we got?”

She could see the basics already: female, white, quite dead.

“Found by a couple of sightseers on a ‘disaster tour.’ Saw more than they wanted to, that’s for damn certain.”

“ID?”

“Nope.”

“Cause of death?”

“To be confirmed by autopsy, but she was shot in the chest. Twice.”

Patti frowned. “That’s not the Handyman’s MO.”

“True. But that is.”

She followed the direction of his gaze. Right hand missing.

“No sign of the hand?” she asked.

“Nope. That’s not to say a dog or wild animal couldn’t have carried it off, but there’s no doubt it was ‘removed’ first.”

Patti fitted on latex gloves and squatted beside the victim. When dumped, the victim had been fully dressed. Like her body, the garments had begun to deteriorate in the hot, humid air. Patti moved her gaze over her, starting with her head, forcing herself to go slowly. Long, bleached-blond hair-she’d needed to have her roots done. Dangly earrings, flashy. Two necklaces, both gold. She had indeed been drilled in the chest. Point of entry for both: her left side.

Patti lowered her gaze. Wearing thong panties and low-cut blue jeans. “No sexual assault is my guess.”

“But maybe sex. Then a ride and bang bang, tomorrow never comes.”

She nodded. Wouldn’t be the first time some guy got rid of his honey after enjoying himself one last time.

But was that the Handyman’s way?

Until now, they’d never had enough of a victim to know.