Chapter 34 – Lily #2
“You know Jax?” I ask once we’re tucked inside as Aster discards his masquerade mask for his glasses. “Did he give you intel on me?”
“No way, baby,” Aster replies with a chuckle, pushing the frames up the bridge of his nose. “I’m a self-research kinda guy.”
“Do you see each other a lot?” I ask, putting on my seat belt as he takes off towards the exit.
He glances in the side mirror, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “Other than the occasional text here and there, not really.” Weird.
We exit the gates of the Westerford property, beginning our drive through the dark forest, and both of us let out an audible sigh of relief. “I think we should consider ourselves lucky for getting in and out of that place twice.”
“Not sure we want to risk a third,” he says, and my mind returns to thoughts of the basement and the beetle pit.
“So, what? We just let them keep doing their creepy shit?”
“Of course not, but I think now it’s time to recon outside of the estate.”
“Well, I’m happy to hear you say that because I think I’ve got something we can use.” Digging in my purse, I retrieve my phone. The modern one that actually takes pictures. I pull up a photo I took in Jude’s study after he’d finally left me alone, and angle it Aster’s way.
“What is this?” he asks, the light from the device reflecting off his glasses.
“I think it’s a client list. There are names and descriptions, although a bit undecipherable, and dollar amounts.”
He plucks the phone from my hand. “Really?”
“Hey.” I snatch it right back. “Not while you’re driving.”
“Aw, she cares about my safety,” he coos.
“Bitch, I’m also in the car.”
“Hey.” He scowls at me. “The only time you can make me your bitch is in the bedroom.”
My cheeks flame. “I haven’t pictured you as a sub.”
Even in the low light, the grin on his face is obvious. “I fear you could convince me to do just about anything in that dress.”
I release a sigh, shaking out the dirty thoughts flying through my head. “Can you please focus on the task at hand?”
“Booooorinnnngggg.”
“Have you forgotten we’re trying to catch a killer?”
“That’s a typical Tuesday night for me, Karma baby.”
An hour later, we’re standing before the murder board, a milkshake in one hand and a sharpie in the other. The printer screeches as it finishes printing out the client list photo. Aster pins it to the board near the Westerfords’ photos.
“You think it’s related to Kodak?” I ask him.
“It’s a good theory. Bodies are dropping, and they’ve got a creepy tomb in their basement and a decomposition ditch in their barn.”
“Okay.” I unpin it from the wall again. “Let’s try that angle, then.
” I flip the board to the victim map on the other side.
“Let’s see if we can match any of the names or find connections between the victims and the Westerfords or the victims and this list.” Aster snatches the paper from my fingers. “Hey!”
“Sweetheart,” he patronizes, and I curse myself for how much I enjoy what it does to my insides. “I’m the writer for the crime section. I think I’d be more likely to know people’s names off the top of my head.”
“Or we could split the list and partake in actual research. Aren’t journalists supposed to do that as well?”
“Sometimes the research is”—he taps his head—“right here.”
“You’re such a cocky bastard.”
He chuckles, eyes dropping down my body still adorned in the baby blue dress, and I squirm. “There must be something seriously wrong with me.”
“Why?”
He steps closer, taking my chin between his fingers. “The meaner you are, the more it turns me on.”
“Well, in that case…” I bite my lower lip, stifling a smile. “You are so handsome.”
He groans, running a hand against the front of his slacks. “When you’re nice, it turns me on even more.” He leans in, puckering his lips, and I press a hand to his face, pushing him away.
“None of that until we make some actual progress.”
“Are you bribing me with sex?” An unabashed smile spreads across his face. “You should know, I’m highly motivated by a reward system.”
“I’d do just about anything for some answers right now.”
“Anything?” He cocks a brow.
“Just about.”
“Fine,” he relents, turning his attention to cross-checking each of the victims. After thirty minutes of silence, he steps forward, glancing back and forth between the client list and the board. “No fucking way.”
“What?”
“Georgio Rezea, killed a few months ago.” He points to the article on the board. “He used to be the accountant for the Vetrel family.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I’d heard rumors they thought he was working with the FBI, but when he got killed, I never really thought about it again.”
“You think Kodak got him because he was working with criminals?”
“Or the criminals got him because he was working with the FBI.”
“But this was a textbook Kodak Killer case.”
“Yes, but maybe we’ve been looking at this all wrong. Until now, we’ve assumed the Kodak Killer was picking his victims at random. What if…” Aster’s eyes bounce around the board at a pace that makes me nervous.
A more terrifying thought settles into my bones. “What if he isn’t picking the victims at all?” Is this what the anonymous caller wanted me to understand? They’re merely a pawn?
“I mean… I guess it’s possible.”
An aching panic sets in my gut. A serial killer on the loose scares me. The possibility that someone else might be pulling the strings? Horrifying. “Do you think you could have the same contact?”
“No way.” He shakes his head. “Kodak is far too theatrical for their taste. We prefer the get in, get out, don’t get caught method.”
“And who is this contact of yours exactly?” I ask, hoping for any sliver of clarification.
He sighs, eyes finding mine. “I promise it’s more for your safety than theirs that I can’t tell you.”
“Do I know them?”
He pauses, and my gut churns. “I can’t tell you that either.”
Ignoring my disappointment and curiosity, I choose not to dwell on the fact he doesn’t entirely trust me yet and return to the task at hand.
“So, let’s say you’re right. If Kodak is more of a contract killer than a serial killer, who’s calling the shots and why?
” Aster cocks a brow, waving the piece of paper at me. “The Westerfords?”
“They do love theatrics.”
We spend the next several hours marking each victim with a suspected crime, determining if or why someone might have wanted them dead and trying to establish if they had ties to either Vetrel or the Westerfords.
And we find a very interesting pattern.
“So all the victims up till Violet,” Aster says, pointing at a chronological chart he made, “while they seem to have criminal ties, only a few of them had ties to Vetrel or the Westerfords.” They seem to have criminal ties… Violet, what were you into?
“And after?” I ask.
“The kills are more sporadic. Harder to explain. Some of them are criminally tied, and some of them just seem like normal people who may have crossed paths with the Westerfords at some point.” So maybe she only crossed paths with them. Wrong place, wrong time.
“And Karolyn Heinzel.” I point to her photo. “She knew Vetrel and the Westerfords.” I gesture to the photos from the Kodak Killer, tapping my finger on the graffiti above her corpse. “Thief.” “Was she taken out because she stole from someone?”
“Jude said Vetrel was greedy and that they wouldn’t likely be able to trust him again. And then mentioned they’d killed ‘her’ but kept him alive since he was still useful.”
“Maybe they both stole from the Westerfords?” I say, brain spinning as pieces click together.
“Vetrel and Karolyn were familiar. And they seemed stressed at the gala. Maybe Jude found out about whatever they were doing and decided to kill Karolyn as an example?”
“In his office Vetrel said he told ‘him’ he was getting the money together…” My eyes meet Aster’s. “Maybe he assumed I was there on behalf of Jude? He wanted Vetrel to pay back the money he owed, and that’s why Vetrel raised the rent?”
“It’s a possibility.”
“Vetrel did look surprised when I told him to stop messing with the small businesses. I thought it was because of the gun I had pointed at his dick, but maybe it’s because he realized that I wasn’t there for Jude.”
Aster runs a hand through his hair. “So if all that’s true and the Westerfords had Karolyn offed, why? To send a message?”
“Maybe to get Vetrel in line?”
“He’s not an easy man to replace,” Aster says. “I guess that’s why they wouldn’t have been super happy about his death even if he’d double-crossed them.”
“And there is another much bigger piece of evidence to be considered as well,” I point out.
“And that is?”
“Vetrel’s body being at the Westerford estate when it was supposed to be at a morgue. Or being prepared for a funeral at the very least. Last time I checked, random civilians can’t just claim remains of offed mob bosses.”
“I’ll see if my contact at the station can check for us,” Aster says, pulling out his phone. After a minute of assumed bribery, he’s got it on speaker. I don’t recognize the voice, but it is a big precinct.
“Can you check where Frederick Vetrel was sent after being released from the morgue?” Aster asks him, and there’s clattering on a keyboard.
“Looks like…” the man says, continuing to tap around. “He was sent to Charon’s Crematorium.”
“Isn’t the investigation ongoing? Why would they release it?”
“It was ruled a suicide.”
“What?!” Aster all but shrieks. “Why?”
“According to the file, he was having some financial troubles, and yep. That’s all she wrote.”
Aster and I lock eyes, and I mouth, Crematorium?
Aster clears his throat. “Who owns the crematorium?”
A moment later, the contact says, “It’s some shell corporation. Onyx Ares Inc. But I can’t find anything further.”
“Okay, thanks.”
The line goes dead.
“Well, that explains how they got the body,” I say.
“What do you mean?”
“The Westerfords clearly are involved or even own that shell corporation.”