I Can See You

Chapter Five

Monday, February 22, 2:45 p.m.

Eve stood on Martha Brisbane’s apartment building manager’s welcome mat, her fist an inch from the woman’s door. She’d stopped herself from knocking twice already.

Eve’s attempt to talk with Christy Lewis had fallen flat. Christy hadn’t come into the office and hadn’t called in sick. That meant Christy had either overslept after spending all night online, or was still online. Frustrated and needing to do something, Eve had driven to Martha’s, hoping to learn where the woman’s funeral would be held.

But what if the building manager asks how I know Martha? You’ll say you know her from work. That’s not a lie. Drawing a breath, Eve lifted her hand to knock just as a little old lady came stomping down the stairs to the manager’s basement apartment.

“I don’t want any,” she said. She slammed the door so hard the walls shook.

“I think I’ll wait for the obituary,” Eve murmured. She started up the stairs, then heard footsteps coming down. The hairs on the back of her neck lifted, and she’d learned long ago to trust her senses. Slowing, she waited until whoever was coming was gone.

It was a man, all in black. All the way up to the fedora on his head.

Oh. It was more quiet exhalation than a word, but he’d heard. He paused at the door, then turned, and her stomach rolled, just as it did every time she saw him.

Mr. Tonic Water himself. He came to the head of the stairs, eyes shadowed by the brim of his hat. “Eve?” He sounded as surprised as she was.

“Detective.” It was the only word that would move from her brain to her lips. Why was he here? Why did her heart have to hammer like a piston every time she saw him?

“Why are you here?” he asked, which was a damn good question.

She walked past him to the door. “I was wondering when Martha’s funeral would be.”

“That I don’t know,” he said. “How did you know Miss Brisbane?”

She stared up at him unflinchingly, her mouth dry as dust. “From work.”

His dark brows lifted slightly. “From Sal’s? I never saw her there.”

You only come in once a week. “Not from Sal’s. I’ll check the paper for her obituary.”

“Eve, wait. I need to know more. You knew her from work, but not from Sal’s?”

“I just wanted to pay my respects. Excuse me.” She could feel his eyes on her as she escaped, staring from beneath the brim of his fedora.

Fedora. Why was the Hat Squad here? Abruptly she turned. “I read Martha committed suicide.”

“That’s what the paper said, yes,” he said, his stare too penetrating for her comfort.

“But you’re homicide.”

“We investigate suicides.”

“But that’s not why you’re here. If Martha killed herself you would have closed it last night.” When he’d come by to fetch Jack, he was so angry she’d felt it across the bar. She came closer, until she could see under the brim of his hat. “Did Martha kill herself?”

His jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly. “Why?”

Because if she didn’t, I’m not guilty or responsible. Someone else was. Oh my God. Martha was murdered. By whom? And why? She was in Shadowland eighteen fucking hours a day. How could any real person have known her to murder her?

She drew a breath of frigid air. “It matters to me, okay? Martha mattered.”

His eyes shifted and suddenly they were no longer unreadable. She saw a flash of pain, of grief, of anger. And suddenly she knew Martha mattered to him as well.

In that moment Eve wanted, needed to tell him everything. Which terrified her.

“She didn’t kill herself,” he said. “Where did you know her from? I need to know. Please.”

I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill her. Relief sent a shudder down her spine. “Work. I knew her from work. I have to go.” And when she turned, he didn’t try to stop her.

“Was that Eve from Sal’s?” Jack asked when Noah got back to the car.

“Yeah. She said she knew Martha ‘from work.’ ”

“Really? I never saw Martha at Sal’s.”

“No, Eve said it was from Martha’s work.”

Jack blinked, clearly taken aback. “Really? Well, well, well. Still waters, they say.”

“What the hell are you babbling about?” Noah asked irritably.

Jack held out a paycheck. “Payable to Martha Brisbane from Siren Song, Inc.”

“Siren Song. Never heard of them,” Noah muttered.

“Me either, so I had Faye run them through the system.”

“And?” Faye was their office administrator. “What did she say?”

“Siren Song is a phone sex business.”

Noah’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“Yep. I called the number on their business registration, but only got a voicemail. Here’s the address. Let’s go pay them a visit.”

“Wait.” Noah’s mind was still spinning. “Eve is a phone sex provider?”

Jack looked amused. “Um, so was Martha. Our victim? Remember her?”

Noah opened his mouth. Closed it again. “Goddammit,” he said.

He started the car and Jack shrugged. “I checked Martha’s bank statement while you were in there. She spent almost every penny on that nursing home for her mother, which is expensive. She needed the money, Web. Maybe Eve does, too. It’s not illegal.”

I’m just disappointed. He’d thought more of Eve. For a moment, seeing her there, outside of a bar… For a moment he’d thought it was fate kicking him in the ass, like Trina said. But now… A phone sex provider? “Bartenders make good money.”

“She’s a grad student,” Jack said. “College is expensive.”

Noah’s scowl deepened. “How did you know she’s a grad student?”

“You think I’ve been going up to the bar to get your water because I’m nice? I’ve been trying to get Eve to go out with me for six months, ever since… Well, you know.”

Yeah, Noah thought bitterly. He knew. Before six months ago Jack wouldn’t have given Eve the time of day. Her scar had put him off. The man was a prince.

Jack made a rude noise. “Don’t you look at me like that, Web. You sure weren’t making a move, before or after she got her face fixed.”

Sometimes, I swear to God… Noah gripped the wheel to keep his hand from balling into an annoyed fist, but couldn’t stop himself from asking, “What did she say?”

“She evades me every single time. She’s a smooth one.”

Noah thought about the way she’d bolted away minutes ago. Not so smooth. He’d known she was hiding something. A damn big something. His mind was still reeling.

“But I bet she’s good at it,” Jack added as Noah pulled out of the parking lot.

“What?”

“Eve. Phone sex. She’s got that smoky voice. I bet she makes good money.”

Noah knew Jack was riding him, but still the anger rose higher. “Shut. Up. Jack.”

Jack chuckled. “God, you’re easy. Ask her out. She’ll say no and you can move on.”

“No.” Noah bit the word off, then regretted it. He was letting Jack bait him. Again.

“Whatever.” Jack was quiet a moment. “One of Martha’s clients may have killed her.”

Noah made himself concentrate. “Possibly. Did Faye have Martha’s LUDs yet?”

“Yeah, and there was a toll-free number she called at least ten times a day.”

“Her connection into Siren Song’s switchboard.”

“I’m thinking that,” Jack said. “When we get Samantha’s LUDs, we’ll see if Sammy called the same number. Maybe Siren’s the connection between the two.”

“Hell. If this perv is hitting on phone sex operators, and Eve is working for them…”

“Let’s make sure all the other Sirens are still alive and heavy breathing.”

“Not funny, Jack.”

Jack’s sigh was almost sincere. “Wasn’t really meant to be. Sometimes they just come out on their own. Hey, my dad’s a stand-up comic. It’s genetic.”

“Your dad’s a retired podiatrist.”

“He does stand-up part time at the comedy club. Said after looking at feet for forty years, it only seemed right. He’s pretty good. Henny Youngman, watch out.”

Noah laughed wearily. Just when he was ready to strangle Jack, his partner acted human and… almost likable. “Jack.”

Jack’s lips curved. “But you laughed. Look at the bright side. Maybe one of us can convince Eve to leave Siren and go into private practice. If you know what I mean.”

Unbelievably, Noah felt his cheeks heat. “Are you a perpetual teenager?”

Jack considered it without rancor. “Yep. You wanna grab lunch, hit Siren Song, then head back to the nursing home to chat with Martha’s Mommy Dearest?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Monday, February 22, 3:02 p.m

Liza Barkley flipped open her phone the moment she walked out of the school. She’d been checking surreptitiously all day, but Lindsay hadn’t called back.

Worried sick, she called Information and was connected to Shotz Cleaning Service.

“Hi, my name is Liza Barkley and I’m trying to reach my sister Lindsay. She didn’t come home last night, after working the night shift. Have you heard from her?”

There was a long silence on the other end and Liza’s stomach turned inside out. Poised in front of her school bus, she froze. “Is my sister all right?”

“Um… we had to let Lindsay go last June. Business was bad.”

Stunned, Lindsay stared at the ground. June? “She goes to work every night. She told me that business was bad, that she had to take the night shift to keep her job.”

“I’m sorry, but we don’t have a night shift. Good luck.”

For a moment Liza stood, too numb to move. Lindsay lied. What had she been doing all these months? It didn’t matter now. Lindsay was missing.

“Liza?” The bus driver leaned forward. “You need to get on. It’s time to leave.”

Do something. “I’m not going home. Which city bus goes to the police station?”

Monday, February 22, 3:35 p.m.

Eve sank into the stuffed chair in her living room. Someone had murdered Martha, who’d spent eighteen hours a day online. Was it random or connected to Shadowland?

“That’s crazy,” she said out loud. “Nobody knew who Desiree was in the real world.”

You did. That stopped her cold. And Christy Lewis didn’t show up for work today.

Oh my God. What if something had happened to Christy, too?

Eve logged in to Shadowland, chose her Greer avatar and went to Ninth Circle. But Greer searched, finding no Gwenivere. Eve navigated Gwenivere’s virtual house, and… the breath rushed out of her lungs. A black wreath hung on the door. The death of an avatar. Heart pounding, Eve had Greer open the door.

And everything real around her faded away. Eve stared at the screen until she heard a whimper and realized it had come from her own throat.

Gwenivere was hanging, a noose around her neck, her face made up like a garish clown. Her red shoes had fallen off. One lay on its side and the other sat straight up.

“Oh my God,” Eve whispered. Her pulse now pounding out of control, she set the laptop aside and paced. Martha was found hanging. Now Christy’s Gwenivere was hanging. It could be a coincidence. But you know damn well it’s not. Call 911.

And tell them what? That a virtual-world character got whacked? They’ll laugh at me.

So don’t tell them about Shadowland. Just tell them to check on her.

And they’ll ask why. So I’ll say, she missed work today. They’ll still laugh at me.

“I can’t call 911,” she said. “But I have to tell somebody.” Somebody she could trust.

If this were Chicago, she’d call Detective Mia Mitchell who, along with Dana and Caroline, had raised her. But this wasn’t Chicago and Mia wasn’t here.

She calmed until all she could hear was the dripping of the water into the pots in her living room and then she knew what to do. Olivia Sutherland. Olivia was Mia’s sister and Hat Squad, too. Olivia was a kind person-she’d helped Eve get the job at Sal’s. If Christy was in trouble, Olivia could tell Noah Webster and keep Eve out of the whole loop. If Christy was fine, Olivia would keep it to herself.

“Now you’re finally thinking,” Eve muttered. She dialed the precinct, asked for Olivia. And got voicemail. “Olivia, it’s Eve Wilson. Could you call me please? It’s urgent.”

She hung up and stared at the hanging avatar on her laptop screen. “Now what?”

You have to check on Christy. Hands shaking, Eve searched the online phonebook. Martha had been listed, but there were twelve Christine Lewises in the Twin Cities.

The addresses of all the study subjects were in a file on the university’s server under Dr. Donner’s account. The one time she’d broken in, she’d done so from Donner’s admin assistant’s PC. Jeremy Lyons had typed the names in when the study began.

Jeremy Lyons was also careless and left his workstation unprotected when he took one of his many bathroom breaks during the day. It had taken Eve only minutes to find the file and write down the names of the subjects she’d thought at risk. There hadn’t been time to write home addresses and she hadn’t wanted to know them anyway.

That had been too close to real-world stalking. Now she wished she’d copied them.

“You could just call Noah Webster,” she said aloud. And tell him what? How about the truth? She’d wanted to tell him when she stood in front of Martha’s apartment. There was something in his eyes that she… trusted. Trust was a precious commodity.

So’s my place in grad school. Eve needed access to the server in a way that couldn’t be traced back to her. She knew someone who could do it. Dana’s husband, Ethan, was a network security expert. When she lived in Chicago, Eve had worked for Ethan part-time and had learned a hell of a lot about networks. She needed to phone home.

If this doesn’t work, I’ll call Webster and come clean. Fingers crossed, Eve dialed and nearly cried when Dana’s familiar voice answered. “Evie, how are you?”

“I’m fine.” Dana was pregnant again, due in a month. There was no way Eve would tell her anything was wrong. “Can I talk to Ethan? My hard drive froze again.”

“You will tell me what’s wrong, sooner or later,” Dana said. “Hold on, I’ll get Ethan.”

A minute later he picked up. “Eve. How the hell are you, kid?”

“I’ve had better days. Ethan, I need access to my university’s server, but don’t want anyone to know I’ve been there.”

“Why?” The single word carried all of Ethan’s unvoiced concerns.

That was a damn good question. “I told you about my thesis study.”

“Building self-esteem in the virtual world. Your subjects get to play all day in Shadowland. I wish I were on your study.”

“No, you really don’t. I’m concerned about one of the subjects. I need to get her home address. Can you trust me and not ask me any more?”

“I can do that. You’ll tell me if you get into trouble? I can be there in a few hours.”

Eve’s heart squeezed. “Thank you.” She gave him Jeremy Lyons’s logon and password. “He wrote it on a sticky hidden under his blotter.”

“He’s an idiot,” Ethan muttered. “Writing his password down like that.”

“But so many do.” One of her jobs for Ethan had been to hack into his clients’ networks, to show them their vulnerabilities. It had been all too easy.

“Keeps me employed,” he said. A minute passed, then two more while Eve watched Christy’s avatar swing from a virtual noose. “I’m in. What do you want to know?”

“Home address for Lewis, Christy L., for now. Can you email me a copy of the file?”

“Done and done. Christy Lewis lives at 5492 Red Barn Lane in Woodfield.”

It would take a little while to get there. “Thanks.”

“Eve, wait. How much trouble are you in?”

“I broke the double-blind code on this test. If anyone finds out, I’ll get expelled.”

“Ooh.” In her mind’s eye she could see him wince. “That’s bad, kid.”

“I know, but it was the right thing to do.”

“You’re Dana’s,” he said quietly. “I’d expect no less. Call me if you need me. I can keep it from her for a little while. She and the baby are strong, so don’t worry.”

Eve hung up, staring at the hanging Gwenivere. “Easy for you to say.”

Monday, February 22, 4:05 p.m.

“It’s officially a homicide,” Ian Gilles said when he joined the team that had gathered in Abbott’s small office. “Martha was strangled. Among other things.”

“What other things?” Noah asked, then put up his hand. “Wait, before you tell us, you know everybody, right? Micki Ridgewell and Carleton Pierce?”

“Of course I know Micki.” Ian smiled at her, a rare look for his face. “And Dr. Pierce and I worked on a homicide last year. Good to see you.”

“And you.” Carleton had photographs of the two victims in front of him and he pointed to Samantha. “Have you re-examined her yet?”

“Not yet,” Ian said. “I’ll have her body tomorrow. For now, I can only tell you about Martha Brisbane. Her bloodwork was positive for ketamine.”

“The puncture wound on her neck,” Jack said. “Ket’s a sedative.”

“Exactly. It’s sometimes used in field surgery because it sedates and immobilizes. This is interesting.” Ian pulled a photo from the stack. “These are her lungs.”

Micki frowned at the photo. “They’re blue. Why did you stain them?”

“I didn’t. She came that way.”

“I’ve heard of holding your breath till you turn blue,” Jack said, “but I never actually thought it worked. What is it?”

“Copper sulfate. I found traces in her tracheal wall and stomach. Copper sulfate is found in drain cleaners that clear tree roots. You flush it down your toilet.”

Micki winced. “It eats through tree roots?”

“And skin. I found traces on her face, under the makeup.”

“He held her face in the toilet?” Noah asked and Ian nodded.

“She was held under long and frequently enough that she’d inhaled and swallowed the liquid. If he hadn’t strangled her, the copper sulfate might have eventually killed her. Also, she’d been cleaning right before her death. I found pieces of sponge beneath her nails. Her hands had also been in contact with some very strong bleach.”

“Her landlady said the apartment was filthy,” Noah said, “but it had been cleaned. The sonofabitch made Martha clean before he killed her?”

“Now, that’s a new one.” Jack looked at Ian. “No signs of sexual assault?”

Ian shook his head. “This woman had not been sexually active in some time.”

“Well, not in the conventional way,” Noah muttered. “You done, Ian?”

“Almost. I found a callus above her left ear. I’ve seen it before in victims who worked in phone sales. It was where the headset rested on their skin.”

“Martha spent quite a lot of time on the phone,” Jack said deliberately. “That we can’t find her headset means he took the tool of her trade, painted her face up, made her clean up her apartment… It does all fit.”

“Martha worked for Siren Song,” Noah said. “It’s a phone sex company.”

Micki blinked. “She was a phone sex operator?”

“No wonder her mother was mad at her,” Abbott said.

Noah sighed. “Perhaps Martha didn’t consider it prostitution, but her mother did. We’re thinking Martha may have been killed because of Siren.”

“By a client or somebody who didn’t approve,” Jack added. “We don’t know how Samantha Altman factors in, yet, although she had been laid off recently. Maybe she was working for Siren until she got something better.”

“We want Siren Song’s employee list. It could connect Samantha and tell us who’s at risk for the next attack.” Like Eve, Noah thought.

“I’ll call the DA,” Abbott said. “Get the subpoenas started. Mick, what do you have?”

“All the prints matched the victim except for one set we found on pipes, light fixtures, etc. I’m betting they belong to the maintenance man.”

“Taylor Kobrecki,” Noah said. “He does all her maintenance. He’s still AWOL.”

“Also, we’ve searched her computer,” Micki said. “Looks like the drive was wiped.”

“Can you work your magic and save the day?” Jack asked.

“Sugar’s working on it,” she said. “If anything’s there, he’ll find it. That stool that you two recovered from the thrift store this morning is a match to Martha’s. I haven’t traced the origin yet, and there are no usable prints. On the other hand, both victims’ dresses and shoes came from The Fashion Club, an online shopping network. Unfortunately they sold hundreds of each this year, none to Martha or Samantha. If we get a suspect we may be able to use the list to confirm, but I don’t see it being a beacon.”

“If this killer bought those dresses, he had to have known his victims’ sizes,” Carleton said thoughtfully. “That’s quite a bit of planning.”

“I agree,” Micki said. “Lots of planning and no mistakes. No fibers or hair, except the cat hair in Martha’s carpet. She had food and a box of litter, but no litterbox.”

“And nobody’s seen the cat,” Jack said.

“That’s not good,” Carleton said quietly. “Serial killers often begin by killing animals.”

“Wonderful.” Abbott shook his head. “What about the noose?”

“Ordinary rope,” Micki said. “Could have been purchased at any hardware store. Same with the hook in the ceiling. Martha had really high ceilings in that apartment. I don’t think she could have put the hook in herself. She would have needed a ladder.”

“Or a handyman,” Noah said. “Taylor Kobrecki, again.”

“So the panty perv moves to the top of our list of suspects,” Abbott said.

“Mrs. Kobrecki says Taylor’s out of town,” Noah said. “I’m thinking that as soon as I left, she called him, so we put in for her LUDs, cell and home phones.”

“He could be hiding in an empty apartment unit next to Martha’s place,” Jack said.

“We called for a warrant,” Noah said. “We didn’t have cause. Now we might.”

“I’ll push it with the DA,” Abbott said. “Carleton, any thoughts on profile?”

“White male, twenties or thirties. High IQ. He plans and he’s dramatic. He’s obsessive about detail.” He sorted through all the photos until he found the ones of Samantha and Martha hanging in their identical poses. “There is something about the eyes that’s important to him. He made sure they’d stay open.”

“Which was very creepy,” Micki said under her breath.

“Agreed,” Carleton said. “Whoever did this thinks he got away with it with Samantha. So he did it again with Martha. It’s interesting that he used ketamine, and that he injected it in the neck. That indicates a level of… confidence. Except for Ian, how many of you would be comfortable shoving a syringe in a woman’s neck?”

“You think he’s had medical training?” Noah asked and Carleton shrugged.

“Or practice.”

Abbott nodded. “Let’s find out if the panty pervert ever played doctor. Ian, go through the hanging cases over the year. See if any others have puncture wounds.”

“We’ll track down Siren Song and get an employee and client list,” Jack said. “I can’t imagine they’ll fork over their clients without a subpoena, so we’ll get that started, too.”

“And we’ll talk to tenants, including the three women who filed a complaint. Somebody knows where Taylor hangs.” Noah winced. “No pun intended.”

Faye stuck her head in the door. “Noah, call on one. The woman said it was urgent.”

Noah pulled Abbott’s phone to the edge of the desk. “Webster.”

“This is Eve Wilson. You need to come to 5492 Red Barn Lane. It’s in Woodfield.”

Eve? Her voice didn’t falter, but he heard the underlying fear. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s a woman here. She’s dead. She’s hanging from her bedroom ceiling.”

His heart sank, both for the newest victim and for Eve’s now undeniable connection. “Are you in the house?”

“No. I’m looking through the back window. Her name is Christy Lewis.”

“Did you know her from work, too?”

“Yes,” she said, resigned. “Just hurry. Please.” And she hung up.

Noah stood. “Victim number three.”

“I’ll get my team out there,” Micki said.

“I’ll meet you there,” Ian said. “I want to see this scene myself.”

Carleton already stood, buttoning his coat. “So do I. I’ll follow you up, Ian.”

Jack put on his hat. “Then let’s go.”

Abbott waved them out, then pointed at Noah. “You stay. Close the door.”

Noah obeyed, knowing what was coming and dreading it.

“Who, how, and why?” Abbott asked.

“Eve Wilson,” Noah said dully.

Abbott did a double take. “From Sal’s?”

“Yeah. She was at Martha’s today. Said she knew Martha from work. She just said the same thing about this victim.”

Abbott still looked stunned. “I never would have picked her for a phone sex jockey. So she knows something. Find out what it is. I’ll send a squad car to the address, just in case this guy is still around. And to make sure Miss Wilson doesn’t leave.”

Monday, February 22, 4:55 p.m.

Eve sat in the back of a police cruiser, staring at the handcuffs on her wrists, trying to stay calm and not think about the woman hanging from a rope inside the house.

She hoped somebody’s wires got crossed, because she’d been cuffed and pushed into her current seating assignment. It had taken a lot of years, but she’d finally grown accustomed to a casual touch from a friend, or a stranger in passing. But this… the cops had put their hands on her. Pushed me. For a moment she’d been eighteen again and terrified, without enough air to breathe.

Luckily she’d breathed her way through enough panic attacks to know how to control the fear. She was still rattled, but she no longer needed a paper bag to breathe into.

She’d gotten a text off to Callie before the cops had arrived so somebody knew where she was. Then she’d been surrounded by cruisers, ambulances, flashing lights. For Christy, Eve thought, the memory of her empty eyes still fresh. And terrifying.

“Oh for God’s sake. You cuffed her? You weren’t supposed to arrest her.”

Noah Webster. She looked up through the window and met his eyes beneath the brim of his hat. She said nothing as he opened the rear door and unlocked her cuffs.

“I’m sorry, Eve. A little miscommunication there.”

Eve rubbed her wrists gingerly. “Have you seen her?”

“Your friend? Not yet. Come.” He took her arm and urged her to her feet.

Eve yanked away, panic still bubbling too close to the surface. “Where?”

“To my car. It has dark windows. I don’t want the press taking pictures of you.”

She followed, but when he opened the passenger door the panic boiled up and over, closing her throat. Didn’t your parents teach you not to get into cars with strange men?

It was his voice. Winters, the man who’d left her for dead, five years, eleven months, and eight days ago. His voice taunted when she was panicked. Or stood next to a man’s car. Even a man she trusted.

“Are you all right?” Webster asked.

“I’m fine. Fine,” she repeated focusing on Noah’s voice. He was real, in the here and now. She forced herself to get into his car, flinching when he slammed her door.

“I need you to listen,” he said when he’d slid behind the wheel. He stared straight ahead, his jaw hard. “We know about your work.”

She forced her face to remain composed. How did he know? “Really,” she said.

“Really,” he repeated tautly. “You might be in danger. Stay here while I check.”

The word “danger” gave her pause. “Don’t cuff me again. Please.”

“I don’t plan to.”

“How did you find out about my work?”

He looked at her then. “I’ll ask the questions for now. When did you arrive?”

There was disapproval in his eyes. Were it Donner, she’d understand. But Webster had no cause to disapprove of anything she’d done. She’d broken the rules, not the law. “About three minutes before I called you,” she said stiffly.

“How did you know to come here?”

“Christy didn’t show up to work today. I was worried.”

“So you knew her well?”

“Well enough.” Which was true. Martha had been all about the merchandise when she came into Eve’s Pandora store in Shadowland. She came to buy face upgrades for her Desiree avatar, while Christy’s Gwenivere had come to chat. Martha had been all business. Christy had just seemed lonely. Within a few visits, Christy, through her avatar, had blurted her whole real-world life story, including where she’d worked.

And now she’s dead. “Her eyes.” Eve swallowed hard. “They looked unnatural.”

“I know. Do you know if Martha or Christy had problems with anyone from work?”

“Besides the one who killed them?” she asked sharply, then looked down at her hands. “No, I don’t know of anyone who would have done this. I wish I could help you.”

“So do I. So far you’re our only connection between three dead women.”

Eve’s chin jerked up. “Three?”

“Yes. The other was Samantha Altman.”

Eve tried to see the participant list in her mind. They had over five hundred test subjects. Samantha Altman was not a name she remembered. “I don’t know her.”

“She didn’t work with you?” he asked, still disapproving. Disappointed.

“I don’t think so. If I knew, I’d tell you.” She met his angry eyes. “I swear.”

That seemed to satisfy him, temporarily at least. “Stay here. I’ll tell the officers to keep any press away. You’re our one link right now. I don’t want any of this leaking.”

“Don’t worry,” she said grimly. “I’m in no hurry to tell.”

He nodded and touched the brim of his hat. “I’ll be back.”

Frowning, she watched him go. What did he know? How had he known? And who was Samantha Altman? Quickly she pulled her cell from her pocket and dialed Ethan.

“I can’t talk long. I don’t want them to see me calling you.”

“Who is ‘them,’ Eve?”

“The police. It’s bad. Christy Lewis is dead. And she’s not the first.”

There was shocked silence on the other end. “Oh my God. Are you all right?”

“Yeah, if you don’t count the fact that I’ve been cuffed and questioned.”

“They cuffed you?” he whispered fiercely, as if he didn’t want Dana to overhear him.

“Detective Webster took off the cuffs. It was a mistake. The cops that first got here weren’t supposed to do that. Did you keep a copy of that file you sent me?”

“Eve,” Ethan warned. “What the hell is this all about?”

“I really don’t know. If anybody catches me talking to you, I’m asking you to get me an attorney. I probably won’t need one, but it’s a believable story. Do you have the file?”

“Yes.”

“See if there is a Samantha Altman on the participant list.”

There was a short silence as he searched. “No Altman on the list.”

“I didn’t think so. Three women are dead. Two were in my study, Altman wasn’t. They think I’m their only link, but I can’t be.”

“Don’t say anything else until we get you an attorney,” Ethan said firmly.

“I’m not a suspect, Ethan. They’re worried I’ll be a victim.”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” he gritted.

Two CSU vans had just pulled up, along with an SUV from the ME’s office, followed by a sleek Mercedes. “Not really. If I get arrested, you’ll be my one phone call, okay?”

“And until then?” Ethan demanded.

“Until then, I guess we wait. I gotta go. Don’t worry. I’m perfectly safe here.”

Monday, February 22, 5:10 p.m.

Noah stared. It was déjà vu all over again. Again. Christy Lewis hung from a rope on a hook in her bedroom. Her dress was the same style as Martha’s and Samantha’s, as were her shoes. One shoe lay on its side while the other stood straight up. The makeup, the upholstered stool, the open window… Everything was the same.

“My God,” Ian murmured. He walked around the victim. “This is… unreal.”

Carleton had followed him in. “It certainly is… except it’s very real.”

“Can you get a time of death, Ian?” Noah asked wearily.

“Not right now. She’s got the same petachiae in her eyes, the rope’s in the same position. He’s got this down to a science.” Shaking his head, Ian went to work.

“Did you find her?” Jack asked, and Noah knew he meant Eve.

“Yeah. Damn locals had her cuffed in the back of their cruiser.”

Micki looked up from taking pictures, her brow creased in an angry frown. “You unlocked her, didn’t you?” she demanded. She’d been floored when Noah had told her the caller was Eve Wilson. She’d been outraged when Noah had told her Eve worked with Martha Brisbane for Siren Song. You must have made a mistake, she’d said, so adamantly Noah had wondered all the way up here what Micki Ridgewell knew.

“Of course I unlocked the cuffs.” Noah studied Micki’s face. “Why?”

Micki shook her head. “She’s just been through a lot, that’s all.”

Noah knew Micki well enough to know that’s all she’d say. He’d look it up later.

“This feels like Groundhog Day,” Jack said quietly.

Noah looked up into Christy Lewis’s “unnatural” eyes. They were glued open, just as the others had been. “I know.”

“Oh God.” Ian straightened abruptly and looked around the room, alarm on his face.

“What?” Noah looked around as well, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing he hadn’t seen twice before anyway.

“Look,” Ian said, then lifted the skirt away from Christy Lewis’s legs.

Rope burns around her ankles. “He tied her,” Noah said, then saw what Ian was pointing to. He cringed, horrified. Twin pricks on the side of her foot. “Oh my God.”

Jack bolted back a step, going pale. “Fuck. A goddamn snake. I hate snakes.”

“They’re more afraid of us,” Micki said, then her lips twitched. “Maybe not of Jack.”

“From the necrosis around the bite, it was venomous,” Ian said.

Jack paled even more. “F-” He couldn’t even get the oath out.

“Jack?” Carleton turned to study Jack’s face. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Jack managed, but his rapid shallow breathing and pallor said no.

Carleton gave Micki a look of reproof. “It’s not funny,” he said seriously.

Micki took pity on Jack. “Everybody out until we know the house is clear,” she said.

Jack didn’t have to be told again. “Bye. Meet you by the car.”

Carleton checked his watch. “Luckily I have a patient appointment at 6:30, so I’ll leave you all to your snake hunting.” He took a last look at the victim. “This killer is a fascinating personality. I don’t think I’ve ever read anything like this in the literature. I’ll do some in-depth research tonight. Consult with my colleagues.”

“Can you check on Jack?” Micki asked. “I’m feeling a little bad for laughing at him.”

Carleton nodded, a frown of reproach on his face. “I will. And you should.”

“I’ll wait outside with Jack,” Noah said when Carleton and Ian had gone, leaving just himself and Micki. And the victim, of course. He thought of Eve Wilson, sitting outside in his car. “And I want to know how Eve connects to it all. What do you know, Mick?”

“What happened to her, in Chicago… was bad. Any more needs to come from her.”

“Suggestions?”

Micki’s eyes shadowed. “If you run into a wall, call Olivia Sutherland.”

“Olivia?” She was one of their homicide detectives. “How does she connect?”

“She’s a friend of Eve’s family. Just… be kind. And keep Jack muzzled.”