Adelle Laudan - Killer Scents

They gave themselves to each other in unabashed abandon, blocking all the ugliness and heartache The Florist brought to their lives. Never in his life had he felt so connected to a woman. They shared an unspoken language only their bodies could decipher.

Any attempt to sleep once he got back to his place proved futile, so he showered and climbed on his bike. The wind had a way of soothing his soul like nothing else could, and as much as he wished to keep going, they had a killer to catch. He turned from the country road toward the precinct.

Less than twenty minutes later he flicked on the light, illuminating the morbid smiles of The Florist’s victims on the seven boards at the front of the meeting room. He set his files on the table and hurried to put some coffee on.

Chief Thomson stepped through the doorway, coffee in hand. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Chief.” Randy propped himself on the edge of a table. “Are results in from last night?”

“The others should be here any time now. Let’s wait until they arrive so I’m not repeating myself.” He sat at a table nearest the boards and opened a file. “Here, put these up on the empty board at the end.”

Randy took several photographs from him. Like all of the others, there was a picture of Kevin Baird pre-murder, and half a dozen taken at the crime scene.

Her voice carried in the room before he saw her, setting his pulse racing. Randy braced himself and turned, almost knocking her over. “Well, hello.”

Becca stood less than a foot away with her hand out. She stared intently into his eyes. “Work first?”

He narrowed his gaze on her, trying to figure out her intentions. He gave her a nod. “Okay. Play later?”

She smiled. “Let’s find this guy.”

“That sounds like a plan to me.”

Chief took his glasses off to rub his eyes. Once everyone was seated he raised his hand to silence everyone.

“I’m sure you’re all tired and frustrated. This guy has taken down seven people, and we’re no closer to finding him than we were on day one.” He walked down the row of boards, hitting each one. “Sandra Bedows, Derek Masters, Carol Tate, Lori Davis, Susan White, Jeffery Dunn, and last night, Kevin Baird.

He sighed wearily. “Randy, what do we know about these people.”

Randy pushed back from the table and walked to the first board, his notebook open. “Sandra Bedows, twenty-six years old, single. She lived on a disability pension due to being morbidly obese.”

Randy turned a page.

“Derek Masters, thirty-two years old, also single. He was an orderly until five years ago when he was let go for being a Peeping Tom.”

“Carol Tate, forty-seven years old, never married. At twenty-six years of age she murdered her plastic surgeon for ruining her face. She served ten years of a fifteen-year sentence.”

Randy stopped at Susan’s board and looked directly at Becca, who nodded her consent for him to continue.

“Susan White, sixty years old, single. She was a retired nurse’s aide.”

He turned his back to the boards before continuing. “Lori Davies, lawyer. Jeffery Dunn, computer tech, and Kevin Baird, a bouncer and ex-con.”

Randy snapped his notebook closed. “We know all seven victims came from very different walks of life. In fact, the only commonality is, they were all single. Hardly a reason for The Florist to kill them the way he did.” He returned to his seat.

Chief Thomson returned to the front of the room. “It’s obvious The Florist did his homework on all of his victims. He most probably watched them for quite some time before making a move. Given how quickly he’s carried off these murders, he had a pretty precise plan of action.

“It wasn’t like he typed in ‘potential victims who are single’ in the search bar and a magic list of only seven single people popped up. No, we’re missing a piece of the puzzle. There has to be a connection.”

He slapped the file down on the table. “I want all of you on this. I can’t stress enough how time is of the essence. I want this bastard found before he strikes again.”

Chapter Seventeen

A pile of wadded-up pages lay on the floor beside him, his head resting on his hand while he stared off into space. All through the night he’d wrestled with who his next victim would be . Now that I know, why is this still so hard?

Using the drug on Kevin Baird added a new element of satisfaction, but he only purchased enough for the one time, and the dealer had come to him. I need to get my hands on another dose, but how? He made the drug deal a year ahead of his killing spree. Am I setting myself up to get caught if I venture into that part of town? He didn’t exactly blend in with the street people. In fact, he stuck out like a sore thumb.

I can wear a disguise. His excitement mounted at the prospect. How am I going to pull this off without looking like an amateur? It’s not like wearing a Halloween costume where everybody knows you’re wearing one. If any of those guys suspect I’m not the real deal... He needed it done by a professional, one of those fancy make-up artists used on television.

Where the hell am I going to find one of those? He shrugged. Maybe... From the drawer he pulled out the thick Yellow Pages and flipped through them. It’s a long shot.

Costumes...nothing but retail outlets .

Make up...a kazillion listings for women’s makeup.

Frustrated, he shoved the book back in the drawer and shut it with a bang.

He opened his laptop and turned it on, typing in ‘makeup artist for hire’ in the search bar. In seconds, a list of artists from all over the world filled the screen. He refined his search to locations and hit enter.

The corner of his mouth lifted, and he clicked his cursor on the first link. His eyes scanned the page and found the address.

Perfect.

Becca picked up the phone on her desk. “Polly, its Becca.”

“Hello there, what can I do you for?”

The girl’s strange attempts at humor were highly infectious. “How far back did you go when you searched their phone records for a connection between the victims?”

“Chief Thomson instructed me to go back five years. Why do you ask?”

“How much trouble would it be to go back even further?”

“No trouble. A little bit of time, but no trouble. How far back do you want to go?”

“Ten years. Can you do it?”

Polly chuckled. “Of course I can. I’ll give you a shout when I’m done.”

“Polly?”

“Yes?”

“Can this be a priority?”

“Sure. Does the chief know about this?”

“Not yet, but I’m on my way to fill him in.”

“Good. I’ll talk to you sometime this afternoon.”

“You’re a doll. Thanks, Polly.”

Her response came in the clicking of nails hitting the keys before disconnecting. She really is a doll, in a strange kind of way. Becca leaned back in her chair and stretched out her legs.

What about the objects in their mouths? Were they random, or did he have a reason for using those specifically?

Sandra Bedows, a morbidly obese woman. How did the birthday cake factor into the equation? Is it a specific birthday cake? Did something happen at a birthday party?

Becca covered her mouth and yawned.

The only thing I seem to be uncovering is more questions.

She couldn’t shake the feeling there was something she’d overlooked. She scanned the open files in front of her.

What can it be?