Chapter Eight
Delilah Larsen’s lakeside condo was a million-dollar chunk of real estate, more like two mil the way property values had inflated.
The entire back wall of the living room was glass, the window providing a spectacular view of Lake Washington.
White carpet covered the floor. The furniture, an L-shaped sofa and chairs, was upholstered in a nubby white raw silk fabric. Dark wood accents grounded the space.
The place was glamorous, something a movie star might live in. Being a world-class model had its advantages. But Delilah had paid a terrible price for fame and fortune.
A price Ethan was determined none of the other women would pay, especially not Valentine Hart.
He stopped at the door and grabbed a pair of crime-scene booties, stretched them over his low-topped boots.
Pulling a pair of surgical gloves out of the box on the entry table, he snapped them on, then headed for the lead detective, Bruce Hoover.
The lieutenant was not quite six feet, early fifties, with a bald head fringed by light brown hair.
One thing you could count on with Hoover: He was always in a bad mood.
The detective looked up as Ethan walked toward him. “Brodie. I heard you were working this.”
“Matt Carlyle brought me in to help with La Belle security a couple of days ago. He beefed up the manpower after some of his models received threatening notes. I presume you know about that.”
“I got the info this morning. A little late for Ms. Larsen. But yeah, we know about the notes.”
“Carlyle made the call. The women are lingerie models. They deal with crackpots every day. No one expected the guy to take it this far.”
“Maybe he didn’t.” Hoover turned his gaze toward the door from the living room into the kitchen.
“Looks more like a break-in. Disabled the alarm. Lock-picked the back door, came in through the laundry. Jewelry box is empty. Purse has been cleaned out. She probably walked in on the guy and he offed her.”
Ethan walked over to where the woman’s body sprawled on the floor, covered by a clean white sheet.
There was a lamp broken on the floor, but not much sign of a struggle.
He knelt and drew back the sheet, saw dark bruises discoloring the woman’s throat and her head tilted at an odd angle.
Silky blond hair formed a halo around her face.
Ethan’s jaw tightened. Yesterday Delilah had been a beautiful, vibrant woman. Today she was a corpse.
He drew the sheet back farther, took in the length of her perfectly formed body. “She’s still wearing her nightgown.” An expensive lavender silk with beige lace trim. “Hadn’t gotten dressed for the day when it happened. What’s the preliminary time of death?”
“Sometime between three and five A.M. Still dark, happened before the sun came up.”
The slinky nightgown hugged her curves but hadn’t been shoved up, hadn’t been torn as she’d fought to breathe. “Doesn’t look like she’s been raped.”
“Not at first glance. We’ll know more after the autopsy.”
He lowered the sheet back into place, hiding the woman from view, wished he could blot her image out of his head that easily. “Preliminary cause of death?”
“Strangulation. Her neck was also broken.”
But the bruises said her heart was still beating while her killer was asphyxiating her.
“Big,” Ethan said. “Strong enough to break her neck without much effort.”
“If he was the guy who wrote the notes, he knew what he was doing. It didn’t take him long to kill her. Personally, I’m leaning toward a burglary gone wrong. There’s been a rash of break-ins in the area. So far no one’s been home at the time.”
“Why would he think she wasn’t home?”
Hoover shrugged. “Maybe she spends her nights with a boyfriend. We’ll give that angle a look.”
“Good idea. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep me in the loop on this.”
“Yeah, well, I’d appreciate it if you stayed out of police business.
The only reason you’re here now is Paul Boudreau is a friend of the mayor.
” Boudreau, the owner of La Belle, was extremely wealthy and a big philanthropist in Seattle.
“Carlyle is Boudreau’s top man and he wants you in. Just don’t press your luck.”
Ethan bit back a smile. Grumpy as the detective was, he was good at his job. They had worked together before and respected each other. Ethan was glad Hoover was on the case.
“I’ll just take a quick look around and be out of here.”
Hoover grunted.
Figuring his time was limited and needing to get Val back to her house to shower and change, he made a quick perusal of the condo, heading for the master bedroom, noting that the bed was turned back, as if Delilah had gotten up at some sound and gone to check on it.
Nothing out of the ordinary in the big marble bathroom. Clothes—and there were plenty of them—neatly hung in the oversize closet. Some still had price tags. He read the tags, dollars in the high hundreds, even thousands, designer fashions that cost a small fortune.
He tried to imagine Val wearing the expensive garments, yesterday could have, not today.
He walked into the kitchen. Alarm was the wireless kind, probably disabled remotely.
He walked into the laundry room, took a look at the back door.
Frowned. Carefully opening the door, he walked out on the back deck.
Guy was good with a pick, only a tiny scratch where he’d jimmied the lock and opened the door.
The entry was neat and clean; just a couple of twists and the door was open. The chain lock had been cut, probably with a pair of bolt cutters.
He walked back into the house and made his way to the living room. “What about fingerprints?” he asked Hoover.
“The place is wiped. Burglary makes the most sense. But we can’t disregard the wacko and his notes, at least not yet. Our guys are canvassing the area. Maybe we’ll get a hit.”
Ethan stripped off his plastic booties and gloves and tossed them into the trash the CSIs had set beside the front door. “Keep me posted. I’ll do the same.”
“You’re a pain in the ass, Brodie.”
Under different circumstances, Ethan would have smiled.
Val looked up as Ethan approached the Jeep. Beneath his black T-shirt, heavy muscles bunched as he slid in behind the wheel.
“What did you find out?” she asked.
“Not enough.” He started the engine. “Cops think it was a break-in. Burglary gone wrong.”
“They think she walked in on someone?”
“They do.”
“But you don’t.”
He shrugged those wide shoulders. “It makes sense. The guy knew what he was doing. No prints. Easy in and out. Took jewelry and money, nothing else that we know of, at least not yet.”
“Delilah had some really expensive jewelry. She was popular with the men.”
He sliced her a look as the Jeep rolled along the road at the edge of the lake. “She have a boyfriend?”
“I’ve only heard gossip. I’d rather not repeat it.”
“A woman’s been murdered.”
She sighed, nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Rumor was she had several very wealthy men friends over the last couple of years. Delilah loved jewelry. The men . . . umm . . . earned her favors by giving her expensive gifts.”
“Did she keep the stuff in her apartment?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know the men’s names?”
She shook her head. “We weren’t close friends.”
Ethan’s phone signaled. He hit the hands-free. “Brodie.”
“Hoover.” The detective’s voice rattled over the line. “The guy hit her safe. It was hidden in the back of her closet. We missed it the first time. Killer took whatever was inside.”
“She had boyfriends who gave her jewelry,” Ethan said.
“Must have been in the safe. I’ll follow up. The thing is, Brodie, the box was empty, but the guy left a note inside. Pretty much the same as the last one. ‘Sinners, sluts, and whores. Repent or you’ll be next.’”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah, that pretty well sums it up.”
“How’d he crack the box?”
“Either he knew the combination or the guy was a real artist. I’m thinking he forced her to give him the numbers before he killed her.”
“How’d he know about the safe?”
“Hell, I don’t know. Maybe she offered him the jewelry as a bribe, tried to use it to get him to leave.”
Ethan started nodding. “Instead, he got the combo and killed her anyway.”
“Works for me. Considering the note he left, that would make sense.”
Ethan ran a hand over his face. “That it?”
“For now.”
“Appreciate the call, Lieutenant. If I run across anything, I’ll be in touch.”
Ethan ended the call and turned to Val. “That was Detective Hoover. He’s the lead on the case.”
“So it wasn’t a burglary,” Val said softly.
“No.”
“You never thought it was, did you?”
“No,” he said.
Val looked at Ethan, feeling a kernel of respect. The man knew what he was doing. She was glad he was the guy keeping her safe.
Ethan flicked a glance at the beautiful blonde sitting rigidly in the passenger seat. Her face had paled as the ramifications of the note in the safe sank in. “Now you understand why I needed you with me.”
“Yes . . .” She glanced down. “I’m sorry.”
Her hands were clenched in her lap. He reached over and covered them, gave them a squeeze. “We’re going to get this guy, Val. Before he hurts anyone else. The police are working the case. Carlyle asked me to help. We’ll find him, okay?”
She frowned. “So you’re a detective. I thought you were a bodyguard.”
“Personal protection’s my specialty.” He cast her a glance. “Before I moved to Seattle, I was a homicide detective in Dallas. Now I work as a private investigator whenever I catch a case. Hoover’s good. I’m just as good or better. We’ll find him, okay?”
Val looked at him and nodded, but she didn’t seem convinced. “I need to call Megan. She got a note and she’s one of my best friends. I want to make sure she’s okay.”
“Go ahead. Be better if you don’t give her too much information, though. This is a police investigation. They’re cooperating so far. They’ll stop if they can’t trust us with what they know.”
“I understand.”
She called her friend. He knew which one she was: the redhead with the big blue eyes, the one Dirk had in his sights.
Hopefully, his friend would wait till the tour was over before he homed in on his target.
“Meg, it’s Val. Do you know what happened? Are you okay?”
Ethan couldn’t hear what the other woman said, but Val was nodding.
“I’m okay,” she told her friend. “I’m with Ethan Brodie.
He’s bringing me to the rehearsal. What about you?
” She started nodding again. “So the other guy, the one named Dirk, is there? He’s at your house now?
” She looked over at Ethan but spoke to her friend.
“He’s bringing you to the theater. Okay, that’s good. I’ll see you there.”
Ethan silently cursed. Looked like Dirk wasn’t waiting. But then, Ethan hadn’t waited to go after Val. He could make all the excuses he wanted, but the truth was, he wanted her safe.
“Megan is at her house with your friend Dirk,” Val said. “You work together right?”
“That’s right. We both work at Brodie Operations. My cousin Ian owns the company. Dirk’s a good man. Your friend is in good hands.”
She didn’t reply, just leaned back in the seat. A few minutes later, he pulled up in front of her duplex, went inside to make sure she had no unwanted visitors, then brought her into the living room.
“You’ve still got some time before you have to be at the theater. Why don’t you take a shower, maybe nap for a while? You’re going to have a long night ahead of you.”
When her pretty blue eyes filled, he reached over and lifted her chin. “You don’t have to be afraid, Val. I’ll be right out here. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
She turned away from him, walked over and stared out the window. “That’s not it. I just . . . I keep thinking about her. Did she struggle? How long did it take him to kill her? Did she suffer? I can’t get it out of my head.”
Ethan came up behind her, settled his hands on her shoulders. “He was big, powerful. It was over quickly. He didn’t rape her. That’s all I know. I hope it’s some comfort.”
She turned to look up at him, her eyes swimming with tears. “How could someone do that to a defenseless woman?”
“There are a lot of sick people out there, Val.”
She swallowed, brushed away the wetness that escaped down her cheeks. “Thank you for coming to get me, making sure I was safe.”
“It’s my job.”
“You could have sent someone. You did it because I’m Sam’s friend, right?”
His eyes locked with hers, dark brown into worried blue. “Mostly,” was all he said.
For the next few hours, while he waited until it was time to drive Val to the theater, Ethan worked by phone. He talked to Matt Carlyle, but they had both spoken to Hoover, so neither had anything new to report. He mentioned Delilah’s men friends, and Carlyle agreed to see what he could find out.
Even after finding the note in the safe, they couldn’t afford to make assumptions. There were lives at stake. They needed all the information they could gather in order to find Delilah’s killer and protect the other women.
A phone call to Dirk had him grinding his teeth. “I take it you’re with the redhead.”
“Megan. That’s right. They were going to send one of the guards, but I volunteered. She’s a nice girl. I didn’t want anything to happen to her.”
“Yeah, well, she’s also Valerie’s best friend. Val’s a friend of Samantha’s. That makes her family, which makes Megan hands-off. You get what I’m saying?”
“I’m just doing my job—same as you. And who’s Valerie?”
“That’s Valentine’s real name. She’s studying to be a vet. Long story. Just remember why you’re there, and it isn’t to screw one of the models.”
Dirk ignored him. “You get a look at the crime scene?”
“Yeah.”
“Was it him—the nut job?”
“Looks like. Safe was robbed, looked like a burglary at first, but the guy left a note similar to the first. This one said ‘repent or you’ll be next.’”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“What’s your take?”
“The guy’s no amateur. He was in and out slick as grease, killed her quick and easy, broke into her safe, stole her money and jewelry—very expensive jewelry. That doesn’t sound like a wack job to me, but still. . . .”
“But there’s no reason a wack job couldn’t have taught himself a few tricks along the way. Maybe even decided to make a little money while he was doing his dirty work.”
“Could be. Could also be this isn’t his first rodeo.”
A pause. “You aren’t thinking serial here?”
“Gut instinct? No. Cops will be checking that angle, though, looking for some kind of pattern.”
Dirk sighed into the phone. “I hope to hell the cops can keep this quiet. We get a leak, we won’t just have to worry about the killer. We’ll have half a dozen copycats crawling out of the woodwork, sending notes to those girls on the tour.”
“You got that right. Keep an eye on the redhead,” Ethan said. “Just not too close an eye.”
“Same goes for the blonde.” Dirk hung up the phone.