Dead Ringer - Softcover

Burton, Mary

Softcover

ISBN 10: 078604277X ISBN 13: 9780786042777

Verlag: Pinnacle, 2018

Inhaltsangabe

SOME NIGHTMARES . . .
Beside each body, he leaves a simple charm bearing a woman’s name. Ruth. Judith. Rachel. The victims were strangers to each other, but they have been chosen with the utmost care. Each bears a striking resemblance to Kendall Shaw, a local anchorwoman…each brutally strangled by a madman whose obsession will never end...
 
DON’T FADE . . .
In front of the cameras, Kendall is the picture of stylish confidence. But at night she’s haunted by nightmares in which she is young, alone, and filled with fear. Are these memories—or omens? Despite warnings from Richmond Detective Jacob Warwick, Kendall can’t stop investigating the recent string of murders. She knows she holds the key to catching an obsessed psychopath—if he doesn’t get to her first . . .
 
WITH DAYLIGHT
The deeper Kendall and Jacob dig into the victims’ backgrounds, the more terrifying the discoveries. For from the shadows of the past, a legacy of evil has resurfaced. Every murder, every moment has been leading to Kendall. And this time, nothing will stop the killer making her his final victim . . .
 
“With a gift for artful obfuscation, Burton juggles a budding romance and two very plausible might-be perpetrators right up to the tense conclusion.”
—Publishers Weekly

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

MARY BURTON lives with her family in Central Virginia. She is an avid hiker and enjoys the occasional triathlon. She can be reached by e-mail at www.maryburton.com.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Dead Ringer

By MARY BURTON

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

Copyright © 2008 Mary Burton
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-7860-4277-7

CHAPTER 1

Tuesday, January 8, 8:10 A.M.

Homicide detective Jacob Warwick flexed his right hand, working the stiffness from his joints as he strode over the frozen land toward the flashing police car lights. The five patrol cars were parked on the rural patch of land near the James River's banks. Friday's snowstorm had whitewashed the landscape, robbing it of color and life. A morning haze obscured the southern bank of the river and most of the river's smooth waters.

The temperature hovered around thirty degrees, but the breeze made it feel like twenty below zero and cut through his jacket as if it were thin cotton.

The cold irritated his bruised knuckles and he regretted leaving his gloves at his apartment. He turned up the collar of his worn leather jacket and shoved his fists into the pockets. A skullcap covered his military short hair and a black scarf warmed his neck.

An hour ago, Jacob had been at the gym, enjoying his day off by giving what he had to a punching bag. Breaking a sweat sent endorphins rushing through his brain and for a little while eased the tension that stalked him.

His cell had rung midswing. He'd steadied the swaying punching bag, muttered a foul oath before wiping the sweat from his eyes, and dug his cell out of his gym bag.

His partner, Detective Zack Kier, had recited the bare facts. Female murdered. Midthirties. Caucasian. The body had been dumped on the banks of the James River at the Alderson construction site, located in the east end of the county a dozen miles past the airport. Jacob had showered, burying his face under the hot spray and regretting that he couldn't linger.

Another gusty breeze off the river sent Jacob deeper into his coat. This parcel of land was all raw fields and spindly cedar trees, but if the sales sign he'd passed on the way in was correct, Alderson Development Company would transform all this into a lush golf course surrounded by brick houses with perfectly placed trees and flower beds. The proposed clubhouse would offer tennis courts and a heated swimming pool.

Starting in the $900, 000s. The slick marketing signs implied that the riverfront houses, with their top-of-the-line amenities, also supplied the right brand of status and a Father Knows Best kind of happiness. Life had taught him there were no guarantees. And thirteen years on the force had shown him misery could be found in high-dollar homes as well as low-income ones.

Jacob spotted a group of ragged-looking men standing by a muddy black Suburban. They wore jumpsuits and camouflage jackets. They were the Alderson Development's survey crew. This was their job site. They'd arrived just after sunrise to survey the north bank of the James River. They'd been the ones who'd found the body.

"Hey, when are you gonna let us get back to work or let us go home?" The shouted complaint came from one of the surveyors. Steam rose from the coffee cup in his hand.

"Can't say," Jacob said. "But stay put."

Jacob moved toward an older officer with a buzz cut and a perpetual frown. The other officer stamped his feet and rubbed his gloved hands together. "Cold enough for you? My bones can't take too much more of this frosty shit."

Jacob's body still ached from a boxing match last week. "I hear ya."

"What are you complaining about? I've been here for an hour already."

Jacob smiled. "You're tougher than I am."

"My ass." Watson's gaze narrowed as he glanced at Jacob's face. "That the remnants of a shiner?" "Yeah. The other guy had a mean right hook." But that hadn't stopped Jacob from winning the charity boxing match.

Watson's gaze narrowed. "How old are you now? Thirty-four, thirty-five?" "Give or take."

Watson shook his head. "You're getting too old for those kind of antics. You're not eighteen. You should stop now while you still have all your parts."

Thirty-six wasn't old in the big scheme but for a boxer it was ancient. In the army he'd been Golden Gloves. Since he'd left, he'd remained a strictly amateur boxer. Boxing gave him a thrill, reminded him he still had it. Whatever the hell it was.

But the sport was taking a toll. He didn't rebound like he used to. He'd taken on so many bouts these last few months there was rarely a day when his body didn't ache. Watson was right. He didn't recover as he had in his twenties. "I'll keep that in mind."

Watson eyed him. "Bullshit. You ain't gonna stop."

That coaxed a guilty grin.

Most outsiders — noncops — didn't understand how they could chat about everyday things or be so casual in the face of death. But this kind of banter, even humor, was a way of blowing off steam and cutting the tension so they didn't go insane.

Jacob pulled rubber gloves from his jacket pocket. "Forensics isn't here yet?"

"Tied up at another scene. Will be here any minute."

"Good." He ducked under the yellow tape and strode toward his partner, Detective Zack Kier.

Zack Kier faced the icy river. Tall, broad shouldered, he possessed a lean build suited so well for the triathlons he enjoyed. His unseasonably tanned skin was a souvenir from a Caribbean second honeymoon with his wife, Lindsay. A black overcoat brushed his knees and plastic gloves covered his dark winter gloves.

"So what do we have?" Jacob asked. He yanked on his gloves.

Zack turned at the sound of his voice and nodded toward the river's edge. "See for yourself."

Jacob followed Zack down the embankment toward the frozen riverbank. Where water met land, lay a woman on her stomach. She wore a camel overcoat, gloves, scarf, navy pants, and flat shoes, all soaked with water. Her gloved hands were outstretched in a T fashion. One hand lay in the water and the other on land. Her face was turned toward the river and her long dark brown hair streamed over her cheek in a gloomy curtain. Small waves lapped against her body.

Jacob moved toward the body but stopped ten feet short. He didn't want to contaminate the scene any more than he had to before forensics got there. His heavy sigh froze on contact with the air. "Do we know who she is?"

Zack shook his head. "Not yet. There was no ID in any of her pockets. And no purse to be found."

Jacob squatted. He stared at her face, mostly hidden by her thick brown hair. How did a neatly dressed middle-income woman end up here? "There are a few bridges downstream and dozens of docks. Suicide?"

Zack's expression was grim. "That's what the responding uniform thought at first."

Jacob frowned. "And?"

"He felt for a pulse on her neck when he arrived. He had to push back her hair to make contact with her skin." Zack tightened and released his jaw. "He found black-and-blue finger marks around her neck.

"Strangled."

"He also spotted marks on her wrists. Looked like rope burns."

Jacob shifted his gaze to the edge of her coat sleeve. He wanted to push up the wet fabric and see the marks for himself but he would wait for forensics. "Did the responding officer touch the body anywhere else?"

"No. Only on the neck and wrist to check for a pulse."

Forensics needed a complete record of everyone who touched the body. "Good."

Jacob's gaze settled on the victim's wrist. "Whoever did this held her captive before he killed her."

"That's what I'm thinking."

The victim was fully dressed, down to scarf and gloves. But that didn't mean she hadn't been stripped and sexually assaulted. Some killers, especially novices, often...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Pinnacle
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2018
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 078604277X
• ISBN 13: 9780786042777
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 464
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Dietmar Rusche; 15110751138; rusche.dietmar@gmx.de; ; Dr.-Willi-Bergmann-Str. 13; St. Andreasberg; 37444; Deutschland