Kristen made her own lips curve. „A hardship, I’m sure.“
His smile dimmed, draining her energy with it. „You have no idea.“
Suddenly too weary to stand, Kristen abandoned the mantel. „I’m tired, Abe. I think I’m going to call it a night. You should sleep, too. Please.“
He turned only his head, studying her from her head to her toes and back again, his eyes hot and her weariness evaporated, replaced by tingling awareness. He’d been stunned, he said. So was she, she admitted.
„Do you ever plan to take those pins out of your hair?“ he asked and her breath left her in a hard exhale that left her head spinning.
Breathe, Kristen. Breathe. „Why?“
He shook his head and the spell was broken. „Never mind. Go to sleep. Morning will be here soon enough.“
„And what will happen then?“
He lifted a brow. „We dig up Trevor Skinner.“
Chapter Twelve
Saturday, February 21,
7:00 am.
The press was a barely suppressed horde, led by none other than Zoe Richardson who was currently tempting fate by brandishing a microphone way too close to Abe’s face.
„The public has a right to know the identity of this victim,“ Richardson demanded. „You can’t keep this quiet.“
„We will until we’ve notified the victim’s family,“ Abe said in a warning tone, cognizant that his every move was being recorded for the public’s „right to know.“ He motioned to the officer assigned to crowd control at the scene. „Just keep them behind this line.“ He walked back to the scene, sheltered by some trees just off the main road.
Julia stood beside Jack next to the shallow grave that had been topped with a marker that read renee dexter. Mia stood next to Kristen who had quietly told them the details of the case. It was much as she’d described the night before in her kitchen. Dexter was a rape victim who Skinner had verbally eviscerated on the stand.
„I objected and objected,“ she’d murmured, staring at the woman’s name forever inscribed in marble. „But the judge let Skinner tear that woman to shreds.“
Jack’s team was bringing the body up now, under Julia’s watchful eye. Once Skinner was on the ground the five of them gathered close and Mia knelt next to the body.
„He’s got something in his hand,“ she explained. „His fist is wrapped with duct tape.“ Jack carefully slit the tape, opening the hand. With a look of revulsion on her face Mia looked up and met Abe’s eyes. „Looks like the proverbial cat our humble servant let out of the bag got Skinner’s proverbial tongue.“
„‘He died without saying a word in his own defense,’“ Kristen quoted from the letter. „You’ve told his wife?“
Abe nodded. „Spinnelli arrived at the Skinners’ house at the same time we arrived here. We didn’t want the press to tell her first“
Still kneeling next to the body, Mia looked up at Julia. „Can a person die from having their tongue cut out?“
Julia knelt on the other side of Skinner’s body. „No. But look at these depressions on both sides of his skull. Same size, same placement just behind his ears.“
„Vise grip,“ Jack said and Julia looked up at him with approval.
„That would do it.“
„Do what?“ Abe asked.
Julia stood up. „I’ll be able to confirm it after the autopsy, but if your boy is consistent and this bullet hole in Skinner’s forehead is postmortem and not the cause of death, I’m thinking we’ll find blood in his lungs.“
Abe sighed. „Meaning he cut out Skinner’s tongue and immobilized his head with the vise so that he drowned in his own blood.“
Mia rose to her feet, brushing her knees. „I think we need to put a watch on the guy that was acquitted for Renee Dexter’s rape. It’s logical that that’s where he’ll strike next.“
They all stepped back as the ME’s office zipped Skinner into a body bag.
„He’s crossed the line,“ Kristen murmured. „Skinner was a bastard in the courtroom, but he never broke the law.“
„What’s next?“ Jack asked bitterly. „Judges?“
„Or prosecutors who don’t win,“ Abe said and Kristen’s eyes widened, meeting his. „This guy has no boundaries, Kristen. He doesn’t blame you yet, but that could change.“
„We asked Spinnelli to give you twenty-four/seven protection,“ Mia said and Kristen opened her mouth as if to protest, then closed it.
„Thank you,“ she said instead.
„And until then,“ Abe said, „you stay with one of us.“
Mia’s phone beeped and she flipped it open. „Mitchell.“ Her lips curved in a feral smile as she listened. „You don’t say. Ain’t technology grand? Hold on.“ She looked at Abe, blonde brows lifted. „They found Skinner’s car across town. It has one of those global positioning systems.“
Abe’s pulse jumped. Finally a break. „Ask them if they can track the car’s movements Thursday night.“
Mia looked satisfied. „They can and they did. Looks like we have our own little x-marks-the-spot.“
Saturday, February 21,
7:00 A.M.
He staggered back against his basement wall, nauseous. He slid to the floor. Gasping. His heart thundering as if it would claw its way out of his chest. His hands, his arms, his chest, his face… all covered in blood. I did this. Dear God… I did… this. This.
He closed his eyes. Relax. Take a deep breath. Get control of yourself.
He drew in the air with deep gulps, shuddered it out, felt control return in slow spurts. He was finished. Angelo Conti was dead. Very, very dead.
Bracing his feet on the cement floor, he pushed against the wall, forcing himself to his feet. And surveyed the carnage he’d left in the process. He’d lost control. He mustn’t allow that to happen again.
But Conti deserved it, the cocky punk. It had been no great mystery finding him last night. He’d just waited until Angelo came out of his favorite bar just off Northwestern’s campus, weaving drunkenly. He’d headed for his brand-new Corvette, obviously intending to get behind the wheel. Conti hadn’t cared that he was too drunk to walk. One would think the boy would be minding his manners after narrowly avoiding prison for the murder of Paula Garcia and her unborn son, but obviously Angelo thought himself charmed.
Angelo had been wrong…
He never saw me coming. He could have just hit Conti on the head and dragged him into the van, but something about that drunken swagger and the brand-new Corvette made his blood boil. So he’d popped his knees. Both of them.
Then he’d coshed him on the head and dragged him to the van.
He’d savored the anticipation of Conti’s return to consciousness, the fear that would make the boy’s eyes go glassy and his tongue finally stop flapping. But no. Angelo had roused from his stupor surprisingly alert and in seconds had figured out where he was.
And who I was.
He hadn’t stopped talking, and before I knew it, the tire iron was in my hand. The first few blows were to get his attention. But still Conti wouldn’t shut up. Then he started talking about Kristen.
And I lost control.
The things Conti had said… vicious, vile things. „How did she pay you for doin’ her dirty work, huh? How was she? I bet there’s a real tiger under that prissy suit.“ He kept talking, saying perverted, vile things about him, about Kristen. He just wouldn’t stop.
And then neither could I.
He drew a breath. No one would recognize Conti now. Most of his face was gone. There would be no sense in taking any Polaroids. He walked to where he’d left Conti’s things and found the boy’s wallet. His driver’s license had been taken away for too many DUI’s. But Conti did have a university-issued photo ID. That would have to do.