Dead Suite Part 19

The woman answered on the first ring. Using her most businesslike yet compa.s.sionate voice, Sadie made arrangements to meet her at her daughter's home in the Bellevue area. The address was only a couple blocks from the suicide she'd cleaned a week ago for Hugh Pacheo. Her hand went to the pendant nestled in her cleavage, and she played distractedly with the worn gold disc warming her chest.

The only drawback was that she didn't have her company van. She'd have to cram all her supplies into her car and, depending on the scene, it might take a few trips.

Sadie was bolstered by the idea of having a job that didn't involve a serial killer. Work that would be fulfilling because it served her original purpose in the bio-clean business, which was to prevent families from being traumatized a second time by having to clean up after their loved ones. The spiritual aspect of Scene-2-Clean could take a backseat for once.

Dressed comfortably in jeans and a b.u.t.ton-down shirt, Sadie was headed to Bellevue. On her way she dialed Rosemary Thingvold, wanting someone to talk to about Marlene's unnerving visit. Rosemary reiterated some of what Maeva said.

"She's moving outside of the hotel and the Halladay Street house to be with you now," Rosemary said after hearing the story. "She's adhered to you and is able to follow where you are. That makes her stronger than most spirits I've dealt with."

Not long ago Sadie dealt with the spirit of a friend who could travel beyond her place of death because she'd attached strongly to Sadie.

"In my limited experience, I've found that once they can start going here, there, and everywhere to be with a specific person, they've been dead a long time," Sadie said.

"That could be why she sounds so far away when she talks," Rosemary said. "I don't like her threats. She's obviously a danger to you and we should look at doing a circle of protection on your house."

"I don't think she's the danger," Sadie said. "She's warning me. According to your video, she tried to pull the demon off me at Halladay Street, remember? And obviously, if she wanted to hurt me in my own house, she could have easily done that while I was asleep. Alone. In my own bed. Alone. n.o.body else was with me." Sadie cleared her throat. "Because I was alone and Zack moved out."

Rosemary paused. "Okaaay. I got it. You were alone."

Sadie sighed and then blurted, "I wasn't alone. I just don't want word getting out everywhere that I sleep around-"

"I've apologized about the video. Your personal life is your own and I would never include that in company business."

"Even if the person I slept with was Owen Sorkin?"

"Oh. My. G.o.ddess!" Rosemary shrieked. "He has one fine a.s.s. I knew he had the hots for you!" She paused. "I don't know how wise it is sleeping with a client, but-"

"He's not my client," Sadie corrected. But then she remembered that, in fact, she was being paid by Gayla and Owen to help Madam Maeva's. "Well, not really."

"Hey, what you do in your personal time is your choice."

"I need to bounce some information off you and get your feedback."

Sadie told her everything she knew about Marlene, the fingers, the blogger releasing information about killings in Albuquerque, and Owen's connection to the New Mexico area.

"Are you asking if I believe Owen Sorkin is a serial killer?" Rosemary asked.

"I just gave you a slew of facts and want your gut reaction."

"Well, my gut says that there are too many points connecting Halladay House to those killings. It could all be coincidence, or it could be that the connecting factor isn't Owen, but you," Rosemary pointed out. "This ghost, Marlene, might be following you around . . . following you to Halladay Street and to the Hotel Pacifica. We need to get together with this spirit and find out what your connection is."

On one hand Sadie really did not want to summon the eerie ghost of Marlene, but on the other, she knew that might be the only way to get the answers she needed.

She was almost in Bellevue now so she told Rosemary she had to go and agreed that they could talk again later to discuss the idea of making contact with Marlene and then putting a circle of protection on Sadie's house and, perhaps, on her entire life.

She met her client promptly at one o'clock at the tidy town house on Bellefield Park Lane. The woman was a no-nonsense lady with dark skin who carried an extra twenty pounds effortlessly around her middle, but her shoulders hung heavy with the weight of grief. She asked Sadie into the town house and made tea. Although Sadie cringed, she sipped the black hot liquid politely. Almost as bad as the tea was the distinct coppery smell of blood that permeated the small house.

Sadie let the woman tell her story in her own time. She talked about the weather and appeared oblivious to the smell of blood. Halfway through her second cup of tea she began softly speaking about the beautiful young woman who was her daughter. She explained to Sadie that her daughter's cancer had been in remission for years, but recently they'd discovered it had returned and was inoperable. They'd taken a trip to Hawaii and the night they got back the daughter had been exhausted. She thanked her mom for the trip and told her she loved her. Once she'd left her daughter alone, the young woman had gone into her bathroom and used a gun to remove cancer's own deadline.

"She left a note saying she couldn't stand the thought of me sitting by her bedside in some hospital room for months," she said.

"I'm so sorry for your loss. I went through a similar situation with my own brother. He didn't have cancer, but he was troubled and took his life in the same way," Sadie replied.

Their eyes met across the table and held in mutual grief. Sadie took out a pamphlet from her purse and gave it to the woman.

"This is a great support group for families affected by suicide," Sadie told her. "They were a big help to me."

The client thanked her and then slid a key across the Formica table to Sadie.

"I'll leave you to do what you need to do. Call me when you're finished up here."

Sadie promised she would. Then Sadie waited until after her client was gone before she went to her car, got her hazmat gear and camera, and returned to the house to take pictures of the scene for her records. Before she even opened the door to the en suite bathroom, Sadie knew the horrific scene that waited for her. She took a deep breath, steeled herself, and opened the door.

The bathroom was an explosion of red that had dried in long streaks and drips down the walls, cabinetry, and mirror. Sadie snapped pictures matter-of-factly. It was exactly what she expected and she could finish the job in eight to ten hours.

She'd brought a number of bins and supplies with her from home, so she carried in what she had. She then locked up the tidy townhome and headed to her storage unit, where she kept additional supplies. Within half an hour, Sadie had loaded up her vehicle and was on the road back to Bellevue.

She was only a couple blocks away when Petrovich pa.s.sed by her in his unmarked car. Sadie watched curiously as the detective turned onto 112th Avenue. This was the same street on which she'd cleaned up the garage for Hugh Pacheo. Curious, Sadie followed Petrovich down the road and was shocked to see him stop in front of the same house. She was even more stunned that the garage she'd cleaned was covered in crime-scene tape.

A feeling of dread filled her stomach as she pulled to the curb behind Petrovich and hopped out to approach the detective.

"What's up?" Sadie called to him.

Petrovich approached Sadie with his eyebrows raised in question. "What's up with you? What are you doing here?" he asked her.

"I'm working a suicide clean a block away and was returning with supplies when I saw you pull up to Mr. Pacheo's place."

"Whose?" His eyes darkened as he closed the gap between them. "You know who lives here?"

"Well, sure." Sadie swallowed nervously. "I was hired to do a suicide cleanup just a few days ago." Sadie's fingers went automatically to the necklace around her throat.

"Who hired you?" Petrovich reached out and clamped a hand on Sadie's wrist.

"Hugh Pacheo," Sadie said, yanking her arm out of his grip. "I thought it was clear, Dean. There was no tape across the place. Fluids from a hanging in the garage. It looked routine to me."

Dean Petrovich's eyes had dark circles under them and he wearily rubbed the stubble on his chin. He looked pained.

"No wonder we're getting no trace whatsoever from that garage," he growled. "You sterilized the place within an inch of its life."

"Well, yeah," Sadie said, nervously. "That's what I do. It was a suicide and-"

"Not a suicide," Petrovich hissed at her. Looking around, he nodded to his car. "Wait here."

She climbed into the pa.s.senger seat of his unmarked and waited.

Not a suicide?

Sadie thought about Hugh Pacheo and the fact that she hadn't been able to reach him since cleaning up. She was getting a bad feeling about the entire thing.

She watched as Petrovich approached a couple other officers standing in the driveway. Simultaneously all three turned and stared at Sadie. She sunk lower in the seat under their scrutinizing stares.

Petrovich returned to the car and regarded Sadie coolly. "Couple weeks ago a neighbor got suspicious and called SPD. We came and found a young man hanging in the garage," Petrovich began.

"Hugh Pacheo's son, right?" Sadie said.

"House belonged to a young man named Lester Pacheo," Petrovich continued.

"Right." Sadie nodded enthusiastically. "After you guys did your job, removed the body and everything, I came in to clean up. His dad hired me," Sadie repeated.

Petrovich sighed. "It looked standard to us. Homicidal hanging is not your everyday cup of joe. He left no note, but there isn't always one. Anyway, the medical examiner had issues with the ligature marks and ran a toxicology test. Lester Pacheo was drugged using the exact same c.o.c.ktail as the prost.i.tutes." He pinned Sadie with his most cop-like glare. "Do you understand what I'm saying? This case is connected to our finger-chopping serial killer."

"Oh my G.o.d," Sadie whispered. Her eyes were wide with fear as the realization dawned. "The dad, Hugh Pacheo, hired me to clean up!" The gears inside her head were turning. "Is he the killer? Did I take a job to clean up after a serial killer?"

"Sadie," Petrovich said, blowing out a long breath and shaking his head, "Hugh Pacheo died over ten years ago."

Chapter 14.

Sadie felt suddenly sick. Not just slightly nauseated, but like she'd been swallowed by a tsunami of swirling sewage.

Are you going to throw up?" Petrovich asked. "You don't look so good. "

She was sweating like a Satanist visiting the Pope.

"I just need some fresh air," Sadie said.

She climbed out of his car and drew in deep, cleansing breaths before she went down like a sack of wet cement in a dead faint.

When she came to, Detective Petrovich was crouched next to her and eyeing her like she was a specimen under a microscope.

"Do I need to call an ambulance?"

"No!" Sadie sprung to her feet and stood with her legs apart to give her a little extra balance. "I've been dizzy lately. I must be coming down with something. Maybe the flu."

"This isn't like you." He scrunched up his face and looked at her stomach. "You're not pregnant are you?"

"What! No, no, no." Sadie laughed a little too loudly. "That would be entirely impossible."

She thought about her hot and heavy night with Owen Sorkin and blushed to her roots.

"Huh." Petrovich looked skeptical. "Then you need to see a doctor."

"You're absolutely right." Sadie nodded and cringed at the thought of the cost of visiting her doctor and then paying for all the tests he'd probably order.

"If you're not going to pa.s.s out again, I need a description of this guy claiming to be Hugh Pacheo."

"Of course." Sadie nodded enthusiastically. "Can we do this in my car? I've got a bottle of water in there."

They walked over to Sadie's vehicle and Dean Petrovich folded his legs up to his chest to fit. He couldn't move the pa.s.senger seat farther back because she'd filled the backseat with cleaning stuff.

"Sorry," Sadie said. "I was on my way to a job a couple blocks from here and SPD still has my van."

"Right." Petrovich angled his body so he was facing her. "We gotta figure out what your connection is here. Fingers have been left on your windshield twice, so he knows what you drive. A faked suicide just to get you out here to clean up? He's playing cat and mouse with you. I'm guessing this is someone you've met, or at least dealt with in the past, and you must've p.i.s.sed him off big-time."

Sadie shook her head and felt tears well up. "I can't think of anyone who hates me this much."

"Describe exactly how you got the call from this Hugh Pacheo and where you met him."

"E-mail. He, um, e-mailed me first. Left me a cell number and we talked, but the phone's been disconnected since then." She scrolled through her phone and forwarded the e-mail she received from him to Petrovich's e-mail account. "I've sent it," Sadie told him. "The cell phone number is included in that e-mail."

"I'm betting we'll find that the cell is stolen or it was a throwaway phone."

Sadie described everything she could think of about her communication with Hugh Pacheo.

"You met him in the evening. Was it dark?"

"Starting to get dark," Sadie agreed. "Streetlights had just come on."

She nodded her chin toward the long driveway lined with a tall cedar hedge.

"We parked in the driveway and the nearest neighbor probably wouldn't have been able to see us in our cars because of the trees." She described the late-model gray Chevy he'd been driving.

"So he took you inside and showed you the place the body had been?"

She shook her head.

"We signed the contract outside of our cars and he only gave me a key for entrance to the garage through the side door. He didn't come in with me." She saw Petrovich scribbling notes. "But that's not unusual. Most parents aren't anxious to revisit the place where there kid died."

"But he wasn't the parent," he reminded her. "Describe him."

"He looked like a nice old guy. Early sixties. Full head of thick, salt-and-pepper hair. Blue eyes. Average build and height. He had nicely manicured nails, which I thought was unusual for a man his age." Sadie shrugged helplessly. "I don't know what else to tell you. He had the type of face that seemed vaguely familiar but I'm sure we never met."

"Then why would he seem familiar?"

"Just had that look . . . like he was every kind, sweet grandpa you'd ever meet . . . your average guy on the street." Sadie closed her eyes in thought. "Sorry I can't give you more."

Petrovich took a photo out of a manila folder and handed it to her.

"This guy look familiar?"

Sadie examined the picture closely. The bald man in the photo had a rotund face sporting numerous chins and a red bulbous nose.