Dreaming Death Read online

  “She was excited,” Candy said. “She wouldn’t tell me any particulars, but she was so excited. She said that she finally hit the big time, and she was going to be able to help us all. She took her time getting dressed, and she wore her low heels. It’s not like she looked like a schoolmarm or anything, but...”

  “She looked classy,” one of the others put in.

  “Did you see her leave?” Keenan asked. “Was she picked up in a car?”

  Candy shook her head thoughtfully. “I didn’t see... She was picked up in front of our place, though. I heard the car. We’re on the ground floor.”

  “Rain seeps in all the time,” another muttered.

  “Well, it is a bona fide hovel,” Candy said dryly.

  “But the car—it stopped right in front of your place?” Keenan asked.

  Candy nodded, her brows knitting into a frown.

  “Would you mind taking us there?” Stacey asked.

  “The cops already came,” Candy said. “Well, not to the apartment, but here. They wanted to speak with us. They tried to find next of kin for Jess. We’re the best thing she had. She doesn’t know of any next of kin. She grew up in an orphanage and passed from foster home to foster home.”

  “And she came out of it nice and kind to others,” Stacey said sympathetically. She glanced at Keenan. He knew she meant to find a way to have a respectable funeral for Jess Marlborough.

  “But your place—may we see it?” Keenan asked.

  “I’m Nan, honey pie,” the bouffant-haired woman said, stepping forward. “You’ve met Candy. We round up with Betty, Zora, Tiffany and Gia. And not one of us wants to work tonight, if you’re sure that prick Rafael can’t get out tonight.”

  “Trust me, attacking a federal agent is enough to hold him tight for a while,” Keenan said.

  “Well, then, walk this way!” Nan said.

  They walked out of the alley and down the next block. The entry to the apartment—one that looked as if it had been built as part of a low-income housing project—was on the side street, but the women were on the first floor. As they went in, Candy explained how she had been picking things up by the window and that’s how she heard a man speaking.

  The apartment was spotlessly clean. It couldn’t have been more than fifteen hundred square feet, and before Jess’s murder, there had been seven women living in it. The furniture was old and worn, and the walls needed painting. In the parlor area, there was a bunk bed.

  “There are two bedrooms, but I like it better out here. We really are clean,” Tiffany told them. “I mean, neat and tidy and not diseased. We go to the clinic and check on our health all the time,” she added.

  “Have you eaten?” Keenan asked them.

  They all looked at each other.

  “I could eat something!” Betty, a tiny brunette, spoke up, looking around as if seeking an okay from her friends.

  “You’re going to cook?” Nan asked.

  “I’m going to call for delivery,” Keenan said, taking a seat on the sofa. “So, what’s your pleasure?”

  Two of the girls burst out laughing.

  “Sorry, that’s usually our line,” Betty said.

  “Let me backtrack,” Keenan said, smiling at her joke. “What would you like?”

  “Anything?” Tiffany asked.

  “Anything.”

  Stacey was standing by the window, looking out. As the women talked among themselves about what kind of food they’d like, Stacey turned to Candy again.

  “You heard a man’s voice. Did you hear what he said?”

  “I—I’m not sure. I think he was rushing her. Trying to get her into the car quickly. As if he was afraid of being seen in this neighborhood. At least, that’s what I thought. He was probably a married man. Most of the time, they are. They just get bored. They need some excitement,” Candy said.

  “Italian?” Nan asked Keenan.

  “Italian, it is,” Keenan said. “Now, for your orders?”

  On his phone, he’d already brought up the webpage for one of the food-delivery companies that the Krewe used frequently—he knew that while they might not be happy about the area, they’d get food there quickly.

  “You mean...we can get more than pizza?” Gia asked, wide-eyed. She was a tall girl, dark-haired, dark-eyed and bronze-skinned. Once, he thought, she’d been beautiful. She looked tired.

  “Anything you want,” he said.

  “Hey, you guys have better budgets than the cops—or you’re just nicer,” Nan said.

  “There are nice agents and nice cops,” he said. “Maybe the cops just didn’t know that you would all enjoy a good meal. So...place your orders.”

  They did. He filled the order form and sent it through.

  He glanced over at Stacey. She shook her head and then her gaze went back around the women and their tiny, shabby home.

  He could see that she was touched by the plight of the women—and that she had taken Candy’s words regarding Jess Marlborough to heart.

  “Okay, food’s on the way,” he said, rising. “I’m going to stroll out front and around the building, all right? Be right back.”

  Nan had taken up a weary position on the sofa. “You won’t find Tess’s killer out there. Out there, if someone has a beef, they shoot you or stab you straight up. Even the dope dealers—it’s just bang-bang.”

  “I’m not looking for a local,” Keenan assured her. He smiled and stepped outside. A minute later, Stacey joined him.

  He was on the sidewalk that fronted the window on the side of the apartment where the car had picked up Tess.

  He looked her way; she was watching him. “What are you doing?”

  “Hoping against hope that there’s a security camera of some kind on a building near here,” he told her.

  “Oh!”

  “Unlikely, but I’m ever hopeful.”

  She stood by his side silently for a few minutes. He found himself distracted. It was amazing; after their long day, she still smelled good.

  “Keenan!” she said suddenly. She, apparently, hadn’t been distracted.

  “Yeah?”

  “There, right there. Across the way. There’s something on that little store...looks like a pawnshop!” she said excitedly.

  “You may be right.”

  He started across the street. She would have followed him; he stopped her.

  “Hey, wait, please, for the food? I can find out—I mean, even if they have one, it may not shoot far enough, though it isn’t a big street...”

  His words trailed as she nodded and went back inside.

  The pawnshop was closed, but it did indeed have a security camera. He could only hope it surveyed the street—and that the camera was taking footage and wasn’t up just for show.

  He pulled out his phone and called Fred Crandall, explaining where he was and what he had found. “Figure you might have had a run-in with the proprietor or questioned him at some time, seeing as how he’s across the street from where Jess lived.”

  Fred made an unhappy sound. “We didn’t get anyone to talk enough to even tell us where she lived. When the women in the area saw us coming, they scattered. You understand, of course, that sex workers aren’t generally pleased when they see the police coming.”

  “Even when someone has been butchered and they’re terrified.”

  Fred laughed. “My friend, I figured you were on to something when that scuzzball pimp made it on down to the station. Are you coming in for paperwork?”

  “You can hold him overnight without it, right? We could have filed federal charges, but the timing wasn’t right. Needed to be where I was, and I knew that your guys would be there in seconds.”

  “Yeah. We can hold him twenty-four hours before charges. And trust me, we will. And I’ll have video—if it exists—for you first thing in the a.m.
”

  “Thanks, Fred. Talk to you then.”

  Keenan headed back across the street and to the apartment.

  Stacey was sitting there, handing out various containers and plastic dining implements, chatting all the while, smiling easily, and getting them all to talk.

  “By the way,” she said, “I know that Jess was being secretive—hoping that things would work out for her, and maybe all of you—so we assume this man she went with had some kind of money and influence.”

  “Oh, I’m sure!” Candy told her. “I’ve never seen Jess so... Like a teenager going on a first date! She checked her clothing and her makeup and hair over and over again.” She hesitated. “She was so excited. She hugged me so warmly before she left.”

  “But she didn’t say a name?” Stacey asked.

  Candy shook her head. She stopped speaking, taking a bite of her Italian food.

  “Oh, this is good!” she whispered around the mouthful. She looked up at Keenan and said softly, “Thank you!”

  The echo of her words went around.

  “My pleasure,” he said, glancing over at Stacey.

  She arched a brow slowly to him.

  Looking at Candy he said slowly, “You said that she was excited about getting dressed, and obviously, that clothing is...gone. But what was she wearing before she started getting ready for her date?”

  “Jeans and a shirt.”

  “Do you still have them?” Stacey asked.

  “In the closet. Stacey, if you want to look in there with me?” Candy asked, reluctantly putting down her fork.

  “Sure. Thank you.”

  Stacey followed Candy through to the bedroom, which had a double mattress on the floor and another bunk bed. Because it was an old building, the room also had a fireplace and hearth. The small closet apparently afforded space for all the women’s things.

  She emerged with a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, handing Keenan the jeans. He went through the pockets as she studied the T-shirt.

  The jeans were empty.

  He saw Stacey’s expression change as she found something in the tiny pocket that was sewn into the chest area of the T-shirt.

  It was a tiny scrap of a napkin—torn, as if Jess had meant to discard the entire thing, but that bit had ripped off and remained in her pocket.

  It bore just three letters.

  I T H

  But he knew what they were both thinking.

  Smith.

  Congressman Colin Smith.

  “You’ve found something!” Nan said breathlessly.

  “Not really, just initials,” Keenan said easily. “But hey—we will look at absolutely everything. And I swear, we will do everything in our power to find out who did this.” He glanced at Stacey. “Ready to go?”

  “Yes, yes, of course. And you have our cards,” she told the women. “You’ll be careful, promise.”

  “Oh, you bet!” Nan said. “But...”

  “Yes?” Stacey asked.

  Nan looked at the others.

  “He’s going to kill again!” Tiffany said.

  “And...it could be one of us,” Gia put in.

  “And we can pray that you’re right, that they’re going to keep Rafael Sabatini locked up,” Candy said. “Once he’s out...we’ll be back working for him.”

  Keenan paused, looking at Stacey. “Hang on,” he said.

  He dialed a number. They could all hear his hurried conversation about protection.

  When he finished the call, he turned back to them. “Detective Crandall—he’s the main DC cop you talked to before—is a great guy—”

  “He was respectful,” Candy said.

  “Anyway, stay off the street. Detective Crandall is making sure that Rafael is hit with enough charges to keep him in lockup without any kind of bail for several days, at least. And he’s going to see to a two-man patrol on the streets out here until we get somewhere.”

  They gushed around him, thanking him.

  He tried to be gracious.

  “You still put through calls to us right away if anything happens, if you see anything, anything at all,” Stacey told them.

  “Yes, yes, yes!”

  They grouped around her then.

  Stacey hugged them all goodbye. Keenan made a point of getting to the door and waving.

  They were back out on the street, heading for the car.

  “The security camera?” she asked.

  “Fred is on it.”

  “Great. And that piece of napkin. Keenan, we may have something. I-T-H. Smith. That slimy bastard is involved in this somehow.”

  He was quiet for a minute. During his time in the Krewe—stationed in Virginia, but in an area that housed much of the government—he’d learned not to believe in a strict adherence to a political party. The modern world had too many issues, and so when he looked at candidates, he looked at their individual stances on issues that mattered to him.

  There were good men and women in the government. And there were men—and women—in government who were slimy as hell as well.

  He didn’t know Colin Smith other than as the world saw him, what was seen on TV and in other media.

  He couldn’t stand the man’s manner or his politics. He had a way of talking that invited hostility between people of different sexes, religions and ethnicities. He seemed to have no sense of common decency and liked to rile up issues that had been nonissues to create a frenzy.

  No, he didn’t like the man.

  He had to put that aside for the investigation, though. And whether he’d really figured how to do it properly or not, it was past time for them to have a good heart-to-heart with the congressman.

  “We’ll have a full day tomorrow. They’ve managed to hold Sabatini, but he’s going to be arraigned. We’ll have to give our statements. We’re going to want to see the security video Fred will have pulled. And then get an interview with Smith somehow. That won’t be easy. Jackson—or even Adam—may have to step in.”

  He suddenly realized that she wasn’t answering him.

  He glanced her way; she had fallen asleep. Her eyes were closed. Her dark hair was waving an angelic frame around her face. Her lips were just slightly parted, and her breath came softly between them. He smiled to himself. She did give one hundred percent. And he could sleep damned easily himself right now, too. Long days on a case like this.

  He was on the Beltway when she started talking. At first, she startled him; he thought that she was speaking to him.

  She was not.

  Her eyes remained closed. Her face twisted from side to side.

  “No, no. Oh, no, no. You can’t, no, you can’t...don’t. Don’t. Don’t take advantage like that... I know what you’re going to do, no, no...”

  She was becoming violently fretful, straining against her seat belt. Her hands flew and she fought her sleep-battle, and she whacked him in the face.

  While he was on the Beltway.

  He quickly exited the busy highway. As he navigated, he tried to wake her, saying her name, to no avail. He touched her shoulder gently, a little more firmly...

  Nothing.

  His place was close, just off the Beltway. He had the entire ground floor of an old building with a parking spot he could just swing into. He made it there quickly and parked, hopped out of the car and came around to the passenger’s seat, unbuckling her while he tried to awaken her.

  “Stacey! Stacey! Stop, stop, you’re all right, you’re all right!” he said.

  Her eyes opened. She stared at him. He wasn’t sure what she saw.

  But she must have trusted him; her eyes closed, and she went dead limp in his arms.

  He carried her up the walk and to the porch, glad that the entry to the upstairs apartment was to the side of the house. With a bit of maneuvering, he opened his f
ront door and keyed in his alarm code before walking into the parlor and laying her as gently as he could on his sectional.

  He checked her pulse and her breathing.

  She seemed to be fine, just...deeply, deeply sleeping.

  Perplexed, he hesitated. It had grown late, but he knew that wouldn’t matter to the assistant director, so he called Jackson and explained the situation.

  “Leave her.”

  “Just leave her—sleeping on my sofa?”

  “She’ll be fine, and when she wakes, she may have something for us.”

  “This dream thing is...unpredictable.”

  “I’ve long ceased trying to explain or understand what some people are capable of or why. Or how,” Jackson told him. “Stacey’s nightmares seem to be a forewarning of what could happen, and when she sees the possibility of what might be, she has a chance to try to change it. I imagine a scientist would say that in the depths of the part of the brain we don’t use, there is a fountain of possibilities, and Stacey sees them in dreams. You’re both bone-tired, right?”

  “Right—it’s been a few long days, but then, you know that.”

  “And they’ll get longer. Let her sleep. Did you get anything today?”

  “Yes. I called Fred. He’s getting his people to reach the owner of a pawnshop that has a video camera. It might have picked up something. And Stacey found a few street girls who would speak with us—Jess Marlborough’s roommates. Jess was excited about a date. She didn’t suggest it was anyone political, but she did suggest someone with money. Someone who didn’t want to be seen in a neighborhood known for being...on the wrong side of the tracks, I guess.”

  “Interesting,” Jackson said. “At least that’s something. I spoke with Detective Crandall. He told me that he struck out with the maids. They were just terrified. They had no idea that anyone had been in the house, much less someone killing a woman in the basement.”