“I have neither. And I’ve got my gun. I’ll use it if necessary.”
She imagined how easy it would’ve been to sneak up on him while he was unconscious. “Now that you’re awake, shooting an assailant might be a possibility.”
“A distinct possibility. I have nothing to worry about.”
“Fine.” She wiped the image from her mind. She was so rattled she perceived danger lurking around every corner. Maybe she was overreacting, assuming Butch was a threat to everyone.
And maybe it was true…
Either way, Jonah was merely a work associate responsible for his own safety. She had to remember that.
Sidling up to the window, she parted the curtains to stare out at the empty, second-story landing. “So…why’d you call me earlier? What’s happening with the body?”
“The M.E. finished the autopsy two hours ago.”
“And?”
“The victim was raped before she was killed.”
She didn’t want to acknowledge that. “Anything else?”
“She has a small tattoo on the inside of her right thigh.”
Francesca experienced a surge of hope. She couldn’t imagine such a straightlaced teacher getting a tattoo. Maybe that corpse wasn’t April Bonner, after all. But when she hung up so she could call Jill and ask, she didn’t like the answer. Yes, April had such a tattoo.
They’d found her.
Francesca explained the situation as gently as she could. She even spoke to Vince, who got on the extension. The Abbatiellos were understandably broken-hearted; it made her feel terrible that she could offer no solace, except the promise that she’d do all she could to bring April’s killer to justice.
By the time she said goodbye, she was clammy with sweat that wasn’t entirely due to the minimal air-conditioning in Heather’s apartment. Pressing her forehead to the glass of the picture window in the living room, she called Jonah back. “It’s her. Jill just told me they each got a butterfly tattoo on April’s thirtieth birthday.”
“You might want to have her draw a picture of it, just to be sure,” he said.
“I will—tomorrow. Let’s give her and Vince tonight to deal with their grief.”
“They’ll check the victim’s dental records, too,” he said, “but it sounds pretty certain.”
“That means Butch is the killer, Jonah,” she said.
“We don’t have any proof of that yet,” he reminded her.
“In a way, we do. He was done with her. He’d already buried her. He would’ve left her where she was if it wasn’t for me.”
“How do you figure into this?”
“Digging her up and leaving her for the police was his way of taunting me, scaring me, making me feel powerless.”
There was a long pause. “I hope you’re wrong about that.”
“I’m not. He’s proud of his work, as Finch said earlier. And he wants to prove his superiority to the police. He’s left all the other people he’s murdered in the ground, hasn’t he?”
“As far as I know. We’re the ones who dug up the bodies in Dead Mule Canyon.”
“Exactly. Are you prepared to tell me it isn’t the same guy? You think we have two killers going around raping and beating women to death in such a sparsely populated area? No. He dug up April because of me, to show me what I have to look forward to.”
“Don’t even say that,” he said. “Anyway, I’ve convinced Finch that we need to keep an eye on Butch. They’ll be watching him.”
“Starting when?”
“Tonight, I hope. If they’re not there now they should be soon.”
That news brought some relief, at least for the moment. She could go home tomorrow and enjoy a short reprieve from the anxiety that’d been pumping through her blood like oxygen. But what if one week led to the next and Butch never acted suspicious? The police couldn’t sit there indefinitely. He could outwait them. What with budget constraints, it wouldn’t even be hard—a few weeks, a month at most. And then…
Something jumped from the roof onto the landing, causing Francesca to rear back. She dropped her phone before realizing it was only a cat. A black cat…
“What’s wrong? Francesca? You there?” Jonah’s voice came to her as if through a tunnel when she retrieved her cell.
“Sorry. I was…startled by a cat, that’s all.” She managed a laugh but, with her heart still racing, knew it only revealed how frazzled she was.
“You okay?”
“Of course,” she said. But she couldn’t help being a little spooked. Maybe it was her imagination, but that cat seemed like a harbinger of doom. It stared boldly up at her with its unblinking, tawny eyes. Then it twitched its tail and sauntered away.
So what if it was black? she told herself. She wasn’t superstitious.
“Fine. Call me if anything comes up,” Jonah said.
“You do the same.” A click confirmed that he was gone.
Trying to relax despite what they’d learned, she drew a deep breath, but before she even set her phone aside, another call came in—from Unknown Sender.
10
Having lost sight of the cat, Francesca let the drapes fall into place and answered her phone on the way back to her laptop. “Hello?”
“Is this Francesca Moretti?”
She didn’t recognize the voice, and it was a little late for a sales call. “Yes…”
“This is Dean Wheeler.”
“Who?”
“Paris’s brother.”
Thinking this had to be a referral from a previous client, she sank into the seat she’d occupied earlier. “I’m afraid I don’t remember a Paris.”
“Paris Vaughn. Butch’s wife?”
She’d been about to shut down her computer, but as she heard this, her fingers hovered in midair. Was her caller the slim young man who’d watched the events at the salvage yard with such ambivalence? It had to be. He spoke as if she should know him. “What can I do for you, Dean?”
“I wanted to tell you I’ve found your purse.”
She closed her laptop without bothering to power it down. “What did you say?”
“The purse you lost?”
There’d been no “losing” involved. Butch had stolen it from her. But she didn’t insist on the truth. She preferred to see where this was going. “You’re prepared to return it to me?”