6 Killer Bodies Page 14

  “Did they say if this man ever gave her jewelry? Or did she have a nickname for him?”

  Chance snapped his fat fingers. “She called the guy Doc.”

  Carlotta pursed her mouth. “So he could’ve been a doctor, or someone who said he was a doctor, or Dr. Doolittle?”

  Chance frowned. “Who?”

  “Never mind,” Hannah said, patting his hand. “You did good.”

  Carlotta sighed, feeling contrite. “Yes, Chance, thank you. Do you have the names of the two friends you talked to?”

  “It was Whisper and Tambourine. They hang out at the donut place on Ponce.”

  Carlotta wrote down the names and the nickname “Doc,” but even as she did, she realized she would only be giving the authorities more reason to suspect Coop. With tempered optimism, she looked up to Wes. “Have you seen Liz?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Spare me the sordid details,” she said, holding up her hand. “Did you find out anything about Coop?”

  Wes frowned. “Nothing good. Liz says that Coop doesn’t act like an innocent man. She’s worried.”

  “That’s all she said?”

  “She asked me if I thought he was The Charmed Killer.”

  Panic began to bubble in Carlotta’s stomach. If Coop’s attorney thought he was guilty, things were looking bleak. “What did you tell her?”

  “I told her the Coop I knew couldn’t do it.”

  The Coop they knew. Carlotta felt queasy. Was there a side of Coop they didn’t know?

  “You said you came across some new info?” Hannah asked Carlotta.

  Carlotta reluctantly relayed what Shawna Whitt’s coworker had revealed—that Shawna had worn a bracelet and one of the charms had been a chicken, and that the guy at the information desk had ID’d Coop as a frequent customer. She also told them about the white van Shawna’s neighbor had seen the day before her body was found. When she finished, she wet her lips and glanced around the table. “So I need theories to help explain the coincidences. Anybody?”

  They all stared back at her.

  “I’m waiting,” she said, tapping her pen on her notebook.

  Chance scratched his chin. “Uh…everybody’s lying?”

  Carlotta frowned.

  “Okay,” Hannah said, leaning forward. “When we last talked, we said there were two ways to tackle this. We could either disprove it’s Coop, or prove it’s someone else. Carlotta, do you still think Michael Lane is The Charmed Killer?”

  “Yes. By the way, he’s blond now. A bartender at Moody’s confirmed that Michael was in the bar last weekend when I was there.”

  Wesley looked concerned. “You didn’t see him?”

  “No, but someone followed me into the ladies’ room. The person didn’t talk, but I smelled cologne that seemed familiar. It wasn’t until later that it occurred to me it might’ve been Michael. The fact that the bartender ID’d him confirms it.”

  “But Lane is still unaccounted for?” Hannah asked.

  Carlotta nodded. “Jack’s working on it now since the GBI is keeping him away from The Charmed Killer case. I met with a reporter for the AJC yesterday and she agreed to help me think of something that might flush Michael out of hiding.”

  Wes made a strangled noise. “You’re going to taunt this guy?”

  “I still have a security detail at the store, and the stun baton Jack gave me. I’ll be careful.”

  “That lunatic probably blew up your car!”

  “I appreciate the concern, Wes, but let me handle this. You’ve got your own problems,” she added with a meaningful look.

  “How was your interview with the GBI this morning?” Hannah asked.

  Carlotta sighed. “Predictable. They’re stuck on Coop, even though I pointed out there were other suspects.”

  “Are there others besides Michael Lane?”

  Carlotta exchanged a look with Wesley. “Our father’s name came up in the investigation.”

  “But it was spit out as part of a profile, wasn’t it?” Hannah asked.

  “Right.” Carlotta frowned. “I think the APD’s new profiler is eager to get her picture in the paper.”

  “I saw her picture,” Chance offered. “She’s smoking hot.”

  Hannah whacked him on the arm.

  “But she’s nothing compared to you, babe,” he added obediently.

  Hannah looked smug, then glanced back to Carlotta. “So they don’t have anything else on your father, right?”

  “I…told the police that he gave me a charm bracelet when I was fourteen. Jack asked for it, and I gave it to them.”

  “That’s a pretty thin thread,” Hannah said.

  She doodled in the margin of her notebook. “And as it turns out, Randolph knew the second victim, Alicia Sills.”

  “The lady we thought fell off the stepladder?” Hannah asked.

  Carlotta nodded. “The two of them used to work together and…maybe more.”

  Wesley lurched forward. “You didn’t tell the GBI, did you?”

  She caught his gaze, then nodded. “I told them this morning.”

  “Why?” he demanded.

  “To plant doubts and maybe buy Coop some time.”

  Wes stood and paced away from the table. Carlotta wasn’t sure how much of his agitation was with her and how much was due to the Oxy. He shoved his hands in his pockets, probably to hide the tremors, she realized. When he got to the wall, he banged his palm against it, then strode back.

  “I was at the morgue yesterday,” he blurted. “The burned body is still unidentified. But Kendall Abrams told me the charm pulled out of the victim’s mouth is a bottle.”

  Carlotta turned to the page where she’d made notations about the charms. “Any particular kind of bottle?”

  “No…just a bottle.”

  But something in his tone made her look up. “Is there something you aren’t telling me?”

  He wiped his hand over his mouth. “I was thinking about all the charms that had been left behind, trying to figure out if they had something in common.”

  Carlotta leaned on her elbows. “And?”

  “The first charm was a chicken, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Chicken…coop.”

  She scoffed. “That’s a stretch.”

  “The second charm was a cigar,” Wes continued. “And Coop hangs out at Moody’s. Plus he collects cigar boxes—I’ve seen them in his van.”

  “But those are for a hobby of his,” Carlotta said. “I explained it all to the GBI this morning. That’s why they found charms in his house—he uses them to create miniature scenes in cigar boxes. Coop showed me the tiny library he’s working on now.”

  Hannah averted her gaze.

  “What was the third charm?” Wes persisted.

  Carlotta checked the list. “A car.”

  “Coop is a car buff. Look at that primo classic Corvette he drives. What was the fourth charm?”

  “A gun.”

  “Coop has a handgun. We saw it when we were in Florida, when those guys started firing at the rest area. Coop pulled out his pistol and shot back, remember?”

  Carlotta remembered. Because of his record, Coop wasn’t allowed to own a gun. Jack had covered for him after the shooting incident.

  “What was the next charm?” Wes prompted.

  She looked down at her notes and blinked rapidly to focus on her own writing. “Handcuffs.”

  “We all known Coop’s worn those before,” Wes offered. “And the next charm?”

  “A keg…maybe a barrel,” Carlotta murmured.

  “A barrel maker is called a cooper,” Wes said, then waited a beat for the info to sink in. “Are you starting to see the pattern, Sis?”

  Carlotta pushed to her feet. “No…it doesn’t mean anything.”

  “The charm left in the next victim’s mouth was a bottle,” Wes said. “That’s pretty self-explanatory. And the last two charms were books. Coop is an egghead, and you said he was working on a minia
ture library.”

  She nodded, numb.

  “So what if…” Wesley trailed off, then lifted his hands. “What if Coop was using those last charms to steer the police back to the bookstore where he met the first victim?”

  Carlotta shook her head. “I don’t believe it…I can’t believe it.”

  “You don’t want to believe it,” Wes said. “None of us do, Carlotta. But you have to face facts. It’s starting to look as if Coop really is The Charmed Killer.”

  Carlotta blinked back tears. She’d had doubts herself, hadn’t she? Hadn’t she opened her mind to the sliver of possibility that Coop’s proximity to death had driven him to indulge in horrific urges? That it was so contrary to his normal personality that he was able to keep that side of himself hidden from others?

  But she’d seen other sides of Coop that the people in this room hadn’t seen. She’d seen him in tender, vulnerable moments during their walks on the beach in Florida, when he was matter-of-fact about his problem with alcohol. And later, when they’d almost made love before Wes had interrupted them with an emergency. Coop had been warm and funny and romantic. How could she believe that mere weeks later, he would embark on a killing spree?

  Carlotta lifted her chin. “There’s nothing you can say to convince me that Coop is The Charmed Killer.”

  Wes shook his head, then gripped the back of a chair. “Since you told the GBI about Dad being acquainted with one of the victims, I assume you told them about everything else—what you learned at the bookstore about Coop? And about the van spotted in the victim’s neighborhood?”

  “No,” she murmured.

  He threw up his hands. “You’re in denial, Sis.” He reached for his backpack. “I gotta go to work.”

  “Me, too,” Hannah said apologetically, pushing to her feet. Chance followed, sending wary looks in Carlotta’s direction, as if he thought she might be losing her mind.

  “Thanks for your help, both of you,” Carlotta said. “I’ll keep you posted.”

  Hannah and Chance nodded, but she could read in their expressions that from here on out, she was on her own.

  “Wesley,” she called before he could get away. He said goodbye to Hannah and Chance, then came back.

  “What?” A muscle worked in his jaw.

  She studied his face, ticking off the physical symptoms of Oxy abuse he was showing against the list she’d memorized from the Internet: bloodshot, twitchy eyes…blotchy skin…parched lips. He needed a kick in the pants, but she’d always spoiled him. Perhaps she’d loved him too much.

  She stood to face him. “Wes…if you don’t take care of this drug habit of yours, I’ll turn you in myself.”

  Wesley’s lips parted. “You’d send me to jail?”

  “Yes, I would.”

  Anger darkened his expression and his body shook. “Of course you would. You’ve thrown Dad under the bus. Why not me, too?” He turned around and stormed toward the door.

  “Wes—wait!”

  But he was gone. The second man who’d walked away from her today. And it wasn’t until he’d disappeared that she remembered she’d forgotten to ask him how he’d gotten rid of the fire ants.

  17

  “Thanks for the ride,” Wes muttered to Mouse as the Town Car pulled into the parking lot of the county morgue.

  “No problem,” Mouse said. “You okay, little man? You kicked ass today collecting, but you’ve been in a bad mood all afternoon.”

  Wes just wanted to get out of the car. This morning at work, Meg had treated him like a paperweight. Then Carlotta not only refused to believe the mounting evidence against Coop, but had offered up their father as a diversion to the GBI. Top that with being a nervous wreck that Mouse would somehow find out about the money he’d collected from Jett Logan and then lost, and Wes had been glad to have an outlet for his nervous energy.

  Although he harbored a bit of remorse for swinging the baseball bat—and connecting—more than usual, the result had been impressively higher collections.

  “I just have a headache,” he assured Mouse.

  “Maybe it’s from all those little white pills you’re taking.”

  “Dude, I told you—I got it under control.”

  “Really? You’re as moody as my wife. Your hands shake like an old man’s. And you’re jumpy as hell.”

  “I just got a lot on my mind.”

  “Did you ever find out who planted the bug in the wall of your place?”

  “No. I’ll probably just drywall over it.”

  “Not a bad idea,” Mouse agreed.

  “Listen, since we had a good collections day, would you mind if we skipped tomorrow?” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Things are busy at the morgue, and I’ve been asked to put in some extra hours.”

  Mouse pursed his mouth. “Yeah, that’s okay. It’ll give me a chance to do some things around the house my wife has been bitching about.”

  “Pick me up after my probation meeting Wednesday?”

  “Yeah, sure. Hey, I keep meaning to ask you about something.”

  Wes’s pulse hammered. “What?”

  “There was something in the paper over the weekend about a tip on the identity of the guy you de-toothed. Do you know anything about that?”

  Wes blinked, not sure what surprised him more—the fact that Mouse thought he was the tipster, or the fact that Mouse read the newspaper. “How could it be me? I don’t even know who the guy is—er, was.”

  “Right.” The big man chewed his lip, nodding. “Okay, see you Wednesday. And hey, don’t worry about letting Jett Logan get away from you. I’ll fix things with the boss.”

  Wes swallowed. “Thanks.”

  He retrieved his bike from the trunk, then watched the black Town Car roll away. His knees felt rubbery as he locked up his bike. A cannon was going off in his head. He had promised himself he’d start weaning himself off the Oxy today, but there was just too much going on. Tomorrow, he promised as he tossed another capsule into his mouth. Tomorrow he would kick the O for good.

  He made his way into the morgue and stopped at the front desk to sign in. He had offered to meet Kendall Abrams to help clean the vans and do some routine pickups. And he was still trolling for information. On the way down the hall, he passed M.E. Pennyman, who had worked at the morgue for a while.

  “Hey, Wes. Haven’t seen you around here lately.”

  “I’m holding down two other jobs. And I worked primarily with Coop.”

  “Oh. Right. Did you hear the news?”

  “I guess not. What’s going on?”

  “The judge granted Coop bail.”

  Wes blinked. “Really? Did the D.A. reduce the charges?”

  “It’s still murder, but only one count, in the case where DNA was recovered. I guess the D.A. is waiting for more evidence to link the other killings.”

  “What kind of DNA was recovered in the one case?”

  “I can’t be specific, but the killer left items at the scene.”

  “Which victim?”

  “Wanda Alderman.”

  Inside his pockets, Wes fisted his hands. “That was a bad scene.”

  “I remember,” Pennyman said, nodding. “Didn’t the woman’s son find her?”

  “Yeah.” In his mind, Wesley could still see the stricken look on the kid’s face. It was similar to the way he’d felt when he realized his parents weren’t coming home. But at least he’d had Carlotta. Suddenly, like a big sissy, moisture pooled in his eyes.

  “You okay, man?” Pennyman asked.

  Wes lifted his glasses to rub his eyes. “This new lens prescription is going to take some getting used to. So, Coop is out of jail?”

  “Not yet. The bail was like a million dollars. And he has to wear a GPS ankle bracelet, so I guess that’ll take a day or two to get worked out. But a lot of people aren’t happy about it.”

  “I can imagine,” Wes said. After all, even he was starting to believe he’d been all wrong about Coop. “Dude, has the bu
rnt body been identified?”

  “Not yet. We’re still waiting for results from the state crime lab.”

  “There was another Doe in the crypt, a John Doe, no head. Has that body been ID’d yet?”

  “Not yet, but the APD passed us a tip on the man’s name.” Pennyman made a rueful noise. “The kicker is that Coop was working on the case. Now, it could sit for months.”

  With a sinking sensation, Wes watched Pennyman walk away. At this rate, the headless man would never be identified. The man’s family would never know what had happened to him.

  Wes caught up with Kendall Abrams in the garage, spraying down the morgue vans. Kendall was intent on his job, his thick brows furrowed. Once again, Wesley wondered whether the guy could live up to his uncle’s expectations. Kendall was studying to be an M.E., but so far he’d demonstrated an incredible insensitivity to the deceased, treating them much like the roadkill he’d cleaned up in his previous job with the Department of Transportation. Still, Kendall seemed eager to learn, and even more eager to please his overworked uncle.

  “What’s on the schedule today?” Wes yelled over the noise.

  “Hey,” Kendall shouted, then turned off the water hose. “Boring stuff—hospital pickups.”

  “Ready to go?”

  “Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

  Wes climbed into the passenger seat. “Where to first?”

  Kendall checked a clipboard. “Piedmont Hospital. They got five bodies waitin’ for us.”

  Wes’s mind jumped ahead. The last time he was at Piedmont Hospital was when he’d pretended to be a doctor and crashed Meg’s father’s lecture. It was also the day he’d followed Coop to the neurologist’s office. Maybe he could snoop around for answers while he was there.

  Kendall yammered on like a yodel-head—the guy was a total redneck. “…and iffen the animal happened to be in pretty good shape, I’d put it in a cooler and take it to my friend Danny, who’s a taxidermist, and he’d stuff it for me…got a whole wall full of deer head…course they all look a little startled…”

  When they arrived at the hospital morgue entrance, Wesley climbed out and coordinated the transfer of the five bodies from the crypt drawers to the shelves in the van that resembled bunks. Kendall seemed happy to do what he was told.

  When they were finished, Wes said, “Do me a favor, man, and hang out here for a few minutes. I need to look in on a friend who’s recuperating.”