Skin Deep

88

Steve called Dana’s numbers again, and still no answer. He called Lanie Walker, who said she didn’t know where Dana was. He called Jane Graham, two colleagues at her school, but they had no idea either. The same with her aerobics teacher, who had not seen her for at least a week.

His blood was racing. He made another call. On the third ring he heard Mickey DeLuca answer. It was about one o’clock and the afternoon dancers were on the stage warming up the beach crowd. “I’ve got a few questions for you.”

“I’ll do my best, Detective.”

“I’m looking at photos of Terry Farina a.k.a. Xena Lee. She looks different in the older ones than your Web site shots.”

“Yeah, and that’s because couple of months ago she got a new rack.”

“A new rack?”

“You know, inserts, breast enhancements.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

“Came back with friggin’ musk melons. What a difference! I mean, like, the guys went wild.”

“I’m sure. But the thing is her face looks different also. Her features…”

“Yeah, she got a paint job, bright red hair. ‘Xena on Fire’ is how we billed her.”

“I’m talking about her face. Her eyes and mouth look different. Know anything about that?”

“No, not really.”

“Did she ever mention getting any plastic work done on her face?”

“No. I mean, she was in her upper thirties, and girls sometimes do that, because customers like them young. But she never said anything about a face job.”

“When she took those weeks off in May, did she say anything about having some work done, maybe getting away to recover?”

“She never said.”

“Did she ever mention a plastic surgeon, or ever say where she got her breasts done?”

“Not a clue. The girls don’t talk about their personal lives. We’re pretty strict.”

“Know any friends who might know?”

“Not a clue.”

“Other girls or staffers up there?”

“Not a clue.”

His answer would probably cover any known subject in the universe. When he hung up, Steve dialed Katie Beals. He got the answering machine and left the message to call him on his cell phone as soon as possible. It was urgent.

His eye fell on the map with markers of where the women lived—a hundred-mile circle around Boston. All the victims were around forty and in professions where a premium is put on looking younger than their age.

All were in transition from relationships, starting over, reinventing themselves.

All were killed within weeks of having cosmetic surgery.

All dyed their hair red about the same time they had their cosmetic makeovers.

All had the same heart-shaped face with wide cheeks and forehead and angular jaw and full lips.

He dialed Dana’s number. Again he got the answering machine. Steve tried to control his voice. “It’s me again. It’s urgent. Call me immediately.” He dialed her cell phone. He got her voice mail. He left the same message.

Almost seems like a progression.

Jackie’s words cracked across his mind like an electric arc.