Allison Brennan - Sudden Death

“What about his partner? Any leads?”

“Not that I know of, but I’m heading over to the hotel in a few minutes and I’ll find out. Be careful, Padre. I need you alive and well when I return to Hidalgo. If Rosemont’s partner is going to finish this twisted game, you may be next. What about the sketch? Did the Rangers send over a sketch artist?”

“She arrived an hour ago, but I have a funeral Mass at one-in fact, I need to prepare, the family will be here in a few minutes.”

“As soon as you’re done, send it to both me and Megan. And watch your back. Both Tim and Mike are there, right?”

“Yes. We’re fine.”

“I’ll feel better when I’m back there.”

“When is that? There have been inquiries about your services. One of the major charities in Belize wants escorts when they take a Habitat for Humanity group out to a remote village next month.”

Jack had put his business on hold this week, but he hadn’t had a choice. Now he did. Rosemont was dead; he could go back to Hidalgo right now if he wanted. Nothing was holding him here-except Megan and Rosemont’s murderous partner.

He’d become a glorified chauffeur-flying the feds around instead of driving them. While they might have needed him at first to help with the military angle, it was clear now that his expertise wasn’t in demand.

While Megan had proven she could take care of herself, she was facing an enemy capable of taking down Delta-trained soldiers. Rosemont was dead; his killer was even more ruthless. Jack was concerned about Megan’s safety.

“You still there, Jack?”

“Tim can take any job he wants as long as he brings in an appropriate team,” Jack said, “but I’m taking a week.” Jack would take as much time as Megan needed.

“A week?”

“I’ll keep in touch. Watch your back, Padre. We don’t know what’s going on here.” He hung up.

Megan hadn’t asked him to protect her, and she’d probably tell him she didn’t need a bodyguard. Maybe she didn’t. But Jack wasn’t taking any chances. She was part of his life now, and he took care of what was his.

Dr. Ian Clark was a short, cerebral-looking middle-aged forensic expert with little hair and Coke-bottle glasses that doubled the size of his blue eyes, which Megan found disconcerting.

“Put on booties and gloves,” he demanded. “We’re not done.”

Megan slipped on the protective gear and surveyed the room. The bodies hadn’t been removed, but Dr. Clark was bagging the second victim. Two technicians were collecting trace evidence. Another tech came out of the bathroom with two paper bags, one in each hand, and passed by Megan without acknowledgment. A fourth tech was outside studying the sliding glass door.

The resort beachfront cabin was one large room, comfortably sized, with a king-sized bed, desk, and sitting area with two love seats. A refrigerator was under the desk, and a small bathroom and closet were to the right of the entrance.

The first thing that struck Megan was the amount of blood. She looked around the room, saw blood soaked into the neutral beige carpet, spreading several feet across. Blood spatter radiated across the floor, indicating that someone had been shot while laying on the carpet. She said as much.

“Correct,” Dr. Clark said. “General Hackett was attacked three feet from the door-hamstrung. You can see the spatter on the bathroom door. He fell to the ground, and it appears he pulled himself toward the doors at the rear of the room. He moved six feet before he was shot-twice, a head shot and once to his back. From the amount of blood, a bullet pierced a major artery. There’s also brain matter and bone embedded in the carpet. We’ll be cutting out the carpet for further blood analysis.”

“Where was Rosemont found?” Hans asked.

Dr. Clark stood in the center of the room. “He was close to Hackett’s body and fell across his legs. He was shot in the chest twice.”

“Detective Holden said there was no knife found.”

“Correct. We’ve broadened the search, but so far nothing. We’ve also received a limited warrant to search every hotel room, occupied and unoccupied, in the resort.”

Holden said, “My officers are in the middle of that search. So far, nothing.”

Clark continued. “Though I will need confirmation from the autopsy, it appears that Rosemont attacked Hackett as soon as the door closed. I inspected Rosemont’s hands and he was wearing gloves. The gloves had small nicks in them, consistent with brushing against a sharp blade. We also found a medical-type bag with restraint materials and more than two hundred acupuncture needles. The needles tested positive for blood and there is multiple biological matter on them. He may have rinsed them off, but he never sterilized them.”

“Prints?” Megan asked.

Clark shook his head. “Far too slender to retain enough fingerprint information for a possible I.D.”

“What about prints in the room?” she clarified.

“We found several of Rosemont’s prints on the main door and the sliding glass door, in the bathroom, and on the desk. There are several sets and the hotel is providing us with prints of all its employees to compare to. But the only recent prints belong to Rosemont and Hackett. Hackett touched the doorjamb, the knob, and he had a key for this room in his pocket.”

“But I thought the room was registered to Rosemont under the name Ethan Rose,” Hans said.

“Correct. But Hackett had a key.”

Meg turned to Holden. “You said that Hackett was seen with a woman in the bar.”

“Yes.”

“Rosemont’s partner.”

Hans turned to her. “We don’t know that.”

“Why else would Hackett have a key to this room? Females are great lures.”

Holden said, “One of the housekeeping staff said she saw Rosemont and a woman on the beach earlier yesterday, but she couldn’t provide a description, only a blond Caucasian.” His phone beeped and he excused himself.

Megan looked at the two body bags, then at the door. “Did Rosemont shoot Hackett or was it Rosemont’s partner?” she asked, almost to herself. “What I don’t get is why such a public place. The general must have caused a raucous when he was hamstrung. He wasn’t gagged, correct?”

“No.”

Hans said, “Test his blood for all barbiturates. If he was drugged before he came in, he may not have been able to call for help.”

“And the killer escaped through the back door,” Megan said as she crossed over to the sliding glass doors. The beach spread out in front of her, the ocean rolling up only a hundred feet beyond.

“Look here.” Clark led them to the door. “See those prints?”

“Prints?”

“Shoe impressions.”

Megan squatted and looked carefully at a triangle pattern. “These are shoes?”

“High heels. There are no identifying marks, but we can see the impression of the spikes in a couple places- mostly by the main door. I think the killer tried to run on her toes and not put the spike part of the heel down, but sometimes she couldn’t avoid it.”

“You think the killer is a woman.”

“I think the killer is very likely a woman,” Clark said. “Hackett had lipstick on his face and neck.”

“And she ran across the beach?” Megan looked out. Crime scene tape divided the beach in half.

“Yes, south. But we were only able to track her footfalls for about thirty feet before they became too integrated with the other prints.”

“Heels in the sand?”

“No, she took her shoes off. Come here.” He opened the door and they walked to the small patio that fronted the sand. “No prints, so she probably had gloves on-”

“Wait,” Megan said. “If this is the same woman Hackett was getting cozy with in the bar, how could he have not noticed she was wearing gloves?”