Never Again Read online

  Damn, if I had time to date, and if he weren’t a coworker, Jeff would definitely be my type.

  Standing at six feet four inches tall, Jeff Belafonte had dark brown hair, light brown skin, square jaw, and sky-blue eyes with just a touch of green, resting above a symmetrical nose and full kissable lips. His hard body couldn’t be missed by the way it filled out his crisp uniform. This was why I tried not to look at him. I needed to keep my mind on the job, and it was not easy when he talked to me in his slow Southern drawl.

  Mind out of gutter. Now.

  I cleared my throat and the cobwebs from my head. “I don’t know, but we can never be too sure. My mom was really upset, and this just pushes me over the edge. We have to find that son of a bitch before he murders his next victim.” I squeezed my fists together under my desk, thinking about what had happened, feeling my blood boil. My earlier thoughts of Jeff went out the window. “Ginger lived in my parents’ neighborhood; this much we know. My mom is devastated, and now it’s personal. I’m not sleeping until we find this prick.”

  “Understood. I’ll see what I can do on my end. Look over the case files again and go to the white board. I’ll meet you there in a few. Maybe we’re missing something.”

  I grabbed the case files from my desk and went to the break room to pour myself a cup of coffee that looked like mud, and probably tasted like burnt coffee grounds. I took a sip—it did—but caffeine was caffeine and burnt mud would have to do for now.

  I stood before the white board, looking at the photos of all seven victims, and my stomach dropped when I saw the wreck that was left of Ginger Walters. My mother knew her. In my mind, I knew I had to separate myself and look at each victim with a technical eye: What had I missed? Was there anything that could lead us to the identity of the killer? Instead, I continued to look at Ginger and think about my mom and dad. Who was harassing them? Was any of this connected? I knew I needed to get a grip, or I wouldn’t be able to do my job.

  Shaking my hands out to the side and taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes, then began to focus on what I did know.

  Like pieces of a puzzle forming in my mind, I glanced at the faces of all the women, and their lifeless bodies; how they were killed and put on display, then cut with precision. Two victims had their tongues cut out and placed near their left ear, both, exactly the same.

  Why were these two different from the others? The diamond-shaped wound on their abdomens held the same calling card as the other victims. These women must have done something the killer deemed untrustworthy; he’d made it personal. I closed my eyes, concentrating on the similarities and anything that might be hidden from the human eye, a code of sorts.

  The deep lacerations were still on the left side of their faces. Their tongues had been strategically placed near their left ear.

  What does the left side signify?

  The common word, left, comes from the Latin word, sinister…

  Were the lacerations on the left side of their faces a missing piece of the puzzle we’d yet to put together?

  Sinister… Foreboding… An impression that something harmful or evil would happen or be spoken.

  Speak, hear… Tongue, ear… Connection… Did he know the victims?

  Something was beginning to click when Jeff walked into the situation room, startling me from my thoughts. “Dammit! You scared the shit out of me.”

  “Sorry, Detective.” He smiled a crooked smile, enjoying my flushed face. He seriously needed to stop.

  “Did you find anything?” I smoothed my sweaty hands over my black slacks and grabbed my cup of now-cold coffee.

  “Not yet, but we have time. It looks like the calls were made from a burner phone. Not surprising.”

  I huffed in frustration. “Who the hell would do something like that? I mean, prank calls and a dead cat? It’s freakin’ sadistic and creepy. My main concern is, what if the same thing was happening to Ginger, since she lived in the same neighborhood?” I set my mug on the table. “Do we have her phone records yet?”

  “Yep. Cindy just got them.” He placed the files on the table and took a seat. “I thought we could look them over together, if you don’t mind.”

  Of course I minded. Damn. “No, it’s fine. Maybe we’ll find a link, if not, at least I know my dad’s getting a security system.”

  We pored over page after page of freakin’ phone records until we found it—the link. Dammit! Mom was right. An unknown number had been calling Ginger for weeks, almost immediately after calling my parents. I didn’t believe in coincidences. Now, I just had to find out who that damn burner phone belonged to.

  I went home for the night, still mulling over the connection between the severed tongues and the word “sinister.” Something in my gut told me this was the missing piece we’d been looking for; the killer had deviated, and it was quite possible he knew those two victims.

  What had the women said that caused him to remove their tongues? Was it biblical in reference, or just a sick twisted game he was playing to throw us off track? The right side was typically in reference to the “right hand of God.” Yet the killer had chosen the left. Was it possible he was acting out his vengeance toward God in an attempt to play God himself? Did something happen in his past to make him feel slighted by God?

  Maybe we were looking at this from the wrong angle. We could be looking for someone who thought the church, or God had forsaken him.

  The diamond-shaped pattern came to mind. What was its significance? Immortality, or the semblance of nature, encouraging the aspect of truth and trust… Was that it? Were the calling cards his own wacked out brand of immortality, seeking out truth, reveling in his victims’ death?

  Untrustworthy... The tongues being removed. There was a link between the two; I just had to put them together.

  ***

  Another freakin’ body. My partner called me at two a.m., and I lost my shit. I thought for sure we were on our way to locating the serial killer, but no. He’d struck again, and this time, right under our noses. I was pissed. I’d done nothing but work my ass off and had barely slept, trying to piece everything together. I thought for sure I’d found the connection, working tirelessly to link the killer to all seven victims. I was closing in fast—I had leads—or so I’d thought. Now this? Another murder, and I felt responsible.

  Pulling into Audubon Park, my stomach clenched. I walked slowly toward the line of uniformed officers and slid under the crime scene tape after presenting my badge. My partner, Greg, was already there waiting for me with the ME. The woman’s body had been staged on a park bench near the waterfront under a large oak tree.

  “Hey, Char,” Greg greeted me, then proceeded to give me the run-down.

  I watched as the ME carefully looked over each laceration, while the forensic team took pictures of anything they deemed evidentiary. All I could see was her—the exact same calling card—everything I’d been working hard to prevent from happening again. My heart thudded in my chest, and I felt like I was about to explode. What could I have done to stop this? It was as if the killer knew we were onto him, and this was all some sort of game. This woman’s death was my fault. I couldn’t breathe.

  Chapter 2

  Present Day

  The strong smell of antiseptic assaulted my senses when I felt myself coming back to the world of the living. The beep, beep, beep of machines sounding off let me know I was in the hospital. But how did I get here? I thought for sure I was dead.

  My eyelids were heavy, and my body hurt all over—it felt like I’d been hit by a truck and then rolled into oncoming traffic again. The sound of someone’s heavy breathing alerted me that I wasn’t alone. I attempted to open my eyes, but they felt like I’d been caught in a sandstorm with no eye protection. I slowly cracked my eyes open to find my partner, Greg Stevenson, asleep in the chair next to my bed.

  Clearing my throat, I tried to speak. “Hey.” It sounded like gravel. I needed water in a bad way.

  Greg jumped from his chair. “You’re awake! Damn, you gave us a scare. How ya feelin’?”

  I just looked at him like a dumb ass. “Water.”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry.” He grabbed a pitcher of water from the table next to my bed, and poured me a cup with a straw, then held it so I could take a sip.

  “When we found you, I…” He paused, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Char. That son of a bitch is behind bars now.”

  I turned my head to face him. He looked like shit, with messy dishwater-brown hair and red rimmed whiskey-colored eyes. He must have slept in his clothes.

  “Good. I hope he dies there.”

  “Captain came by earlier. He wants to ask you some questions.” Greg shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable.

  “Yeah? Hand me that water, would ya? And help me sit up, if you don’t mind?”

  “Sure.” He gently moved me to a sitting position, and it felt like the fires of hell were burning my insides. Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea after all. I still didn’t know the extent of my injuries. “Here’s your water.”

  I winced in pain when I reached for the cup, and saw my hands were partially wrapped in gauze. Then I looked at my arms. I didn’t want to see any more, so I braced for the pain, and took a generous gulp of water to clear the desert sand out of my mouth, then handed Greg the cup.

  “Thanks, Greg.”

  “Char, I know this isn’t easy, but as your partner, I need to know—are you gonna be all right?” His eyes were full of concern and what looked like regret.

  “I’m not sure. I don’t remember much after I passed out, but I’m sure it’ll come back to me. How long have I been out?” My throat still felt scratchy.

  “Four days.”

  I slumped back onto the bed and looked toward the ceiling, attempting
to hold back the tears. Fleeting memories of what had happened that night plagued my mind, but I couldn’t let that psychotic fucker beat me. He had no power over me. “Go ahead and call the captain now. I might as well get this over with.”

  Greg looked at me with pity in his eyes. What the hell? I really needed to know everything that had happened to me.

  “All right. I’ll just step out and make the call.”

  “No, just call him. What’s the big secret?” I felt something was off, something he wasn’t telling me.

  “Char, you need to wait for the doctors, okay? I can’t…” He hung his head, rubbing his hand nervously along the leg of his pants. “Just wait.”

  “What the hell are you not telling me, Greg? This is bullshit!” I cried out when it felt like stitches ruptured somewhere in my gut. I looked down and saw blood appear on my thin white blanket. Just fucking great. I pressed the call button for the nurse. “We’re not done here.” My breathing was ragged as the pain became unbearable.

  Greg stood from the chair, looked at me with sad eyes, and stepped into the hallway.

  A nurse, looking like Nurse Ratchet, came in just as he walked out. “Oh, my. You’re bleeding.”

  No shit, Captain Obvious. “Yes. It just started.”

  “Let me take a look at it.” Nurse Ratchet pulled the blanket back and then lifted my standard issue hospital gown. I had staples in my stomach. Staples! “It looks like we’re going to have to get this taken care of right away. I’m calling the doctor now.”

  I just laid my head back while she tried to control the bleeding until the doctor arrived. She put something in my IV, and off to dreamland I went.

  Chapter 3

  I awoke to the steady beep of my heart monitor, and the sickening smell of antiseptic again, reminding me that I was still alive and in the hospital. I wondered if anyone had called my mom and dad. I’d been in here for four days, but the only person I’d seen so far was Greg.

  I pressed the call button for my nurse and waited. This time it wasn’t Nurse Ratchet, it was another nurse: a petite blonde with tanned skin. She introduced herself as Emily.

  “Hello, Charlotte. Good to see you awake. How are you feeling?”

  “As good as I can be, I guess.” I shifted a little to get comfortable. I hated hospital pillows. They were so damn sticky. “Has anyone called my parents, or have they stopped by? Dan and Leanne Pierce?”

  Emily’s face went pale. “You don’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  “Maybe it’ll be better if I call Captain Davis to come back in and talk to you. He’s been waiting for several hours.”

  “What the hell is going on, and why won’t anyone tell me anything?”

  Emily took a step back. “I’m sorry, Charlotte, but I believe it’s best if you speak with your captain. I’ll get him now.” Then she rushed out of the door.

  My heart began thundering in my chest. I had no idea why everyone was being so fucking secretive around me, like I was some kind of child. I was attacked by a serial killer and lived. I was a damned detective. Shit happened. People needed to start talking, or I was gonna lose my shit in that hospital.

  Captain Marshall Davis walked in interrupting my internal rant. His normal crisp appearance was disheveled, and he had dark circles beneath his hazel eyes. It seemed like his salt-and-pepper hair had grayed even more since the last time I’d seen him.

  “Captain.”

  “Detective.” He took a seat in the chair next to my bed.

  “I’m just gonna forget the formalities here, considering I’m lying in this bed, and no one will answer my questions. Why did that nurse just run outta here like her ass was on fire at the mention of my parents?”

  Captain Davis scrubbed his hand over his face and then looked down at his shoes. After a moment, he glanced back up. “Charlotte, there’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just be straight with you. Francis Medley killed your parents the day”—he paused, and I choked—“the day you were attacked. We found pictures of you and your family in his greenroom. He’d been stalking you.”

  I couldn’t hold back the tears. My parents; the only people left in this world who truly gave a damn about me—gone—murdered—by the same man who’d tortured, and nearly killed me. How did I not know I was being stalked?

  “Why?” I choked on a sob. “Why would he stalk me? My parents? They had a security system. Dad… I don’t understand.”

  Captain Davis stood from the chair and walked toward the window. “It seems you were too close to the case. Remember Ginger Walters, the seventh victim?”

  “Yeah.” I began to feel the walls closing in around me.

  “She lived near you, and that’s how he found you, learned you were a detective on the case. He had a shrine of sorts.”

  “But my parents?” I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. I knew I was probably going to bust another staple or stitch, but I didn’t give a damn. It was connected… just like Mom had thought all along. That fucker deserved to burn in hell. And I still couldn’t remember all that he had done to me.

  “I’m sorry, Charlotte.” Captain Davis walked back to my bed and placed his hand on my shoulder. “We’re all here for you, and counseling will be made available when you recover.”

  “How the hell long am I supposed to stay in here?” I couldn’t help but shout. Who was going to bury my parents? What the hell was I going to do?

  “I don’t know, but you’ve sustained severe injuries, many I’m not sure you’re aware of.” Captain Davis couldn’t look me in the eye; he just stared at the floor.

  “When will I know? Can you please tell a damn doctor to come in here? I’m not some fucking invalid.”

  The tears continued to fall as I thought of a life without my mom and dad.

  “I’m sorry, Charlotte. I’ll have the nurse get the doctor on call. You have my number if you need anything.”

  He still couldn’t look at me. “Bye, Captain.”

  He walked out of the door with a slight wave, his head hung low.

  I screamed at the top of my lungs. My heart shattered into a million pieces—that murderous piece of shit killed my parents, and I had done nothing to stop it. Mom had called me that morning, wanting me to stop by for coffee, but I was too busy. Why was I too busy? I couldn’t even remember! Now she and Dad were just gone! I could’ve been there to stop him, but I was…busy. I continued to wail until someone entered the room. Even then, I sobbed uncontrollably. My parents were dead. I couldn’t even kill the son of a bitch; he was locked away.

  “Miss Pierce, please calm down. My name is Doctor Leslie, and I’m here to help you.” He walked closer to my bed, but I didn’t care. “Miss Pierce, please.”

  “My parents were murdered by a serial killer, who I couldn’t stop, and you want me to calm down?” I looked at him incredulously.

  “Would you like me to give you something to help calm your nerves?” He tried to hand me a box of tissues, but I ignored him.

  “No, I want answers, dammit.” I took a deep breath, realizing that it wasn’t his fault, and then attempted to dry my face with my blanket. Gross, but whatever. “I’m sorry. I just learned my parents were murdered by the same man who attacked me. And I need to know the extent of my injuries so that I may find a way to bury”—I choked back a sob—“bury them.”

  “I understand, Miss Pierce. Do you mind if I sit?”

  “No, please. It’s fine.” I didn’t care if he sat or stood.

  Doctor Leslie’s blonde hair was swept to the side of his forehead, and his green eyes were hidden behind a pair of black horn-rimmed glasses. He looked to be in his mid-forties, but he seemed to be genuinely concerned about my well-being based on the look on his face.

  “I’m afraid you have lacerations covering thirty percent of your body, Miss Pierce. You were also sexually assaulted, but your fellow officers found you while”—he paused to clear his throat, covering his mouth with his fist—“while the man was still…in the act. He used a serrated blade to cut your thighs, but—”

  “You can stop now, Doctor Leslie,” I interrupted. “I don’t need to hear anymore. Once my wounds heal, I’m sure I’ll see them for myself.”

  “I’m truly sorry, Miss Pierce—for everything you’ve had to endure. And your parents.” He reached out to touch my gauze-covered hand, and I almost retracted but decided to allow it. He was being kind. “We have grief counselors on staff, along with chaplains, and professional associates for victims of sexual assault if you would like me to contact one of them for you.”