Deadly Obsession Part 2

"Detective," Laurie nodded in greeting, pushed off the doorframe, and exte nded a hand as she approached him. Trust is the key here.

"Miss Michaels." Cole rose from his desk. He reluctantly shook her hand. H is eyes narrowed, bringing his brows together above the bridge of his nose . "I didn't realize we had an appointment. Had I known, I might have gone home and dressed a little more appropriate."

"We didn't. Officer O'Riley showed me in."

Cole's expression hardened and Laurie knew Cole would reprimand O'Riley la ter. Cole retook his seat and returned his gaze to the paper he'd been stu dying a moment ago. "Then I have nothing to say."

How could he dismiss her with such little regard? "This is big news-front p age headlines."

Cole looked up, his gaze thoughtful. "Miss Michaels, I told you there would be a press conference this afternoon. I would be happy to answer your ques tions then."

"Detective, you know more about the body that was found this morning than yo u're telling me, and I aim to find out what it is." She punctuated her a.s.sur edness with a smile. Laurie was accustomed to getting her way; after all, sh e had been Daddy's little girl.

An answering grin split Cole's face. "And just how far are you willing to g o to get that exclusive, Miss Michaels?" One brow arched upward in challeng e.

Laurie's heart skipped a beat. Cole had somehow detected her reaction to him . The implications of his question should have had her slapping his smug fac e, but instead, his allure had her thinking of how his lips could make parts of her body sing.

She stiffened her spine. "I won't offer myself in exchange for an exclusive, if that's what you're implying, Detective. But I will get answers-one way o r another."

But before he could respond, a small trim-bodied man stepped through the o pen door. "Lieutenant, we got a positive ID on the murder victim."

Chapter 3.

Cole rose from his desk and brushed past the annoying Miss Michaels. He had a case to solve and he'd be d.a.m.ned before he allowed some over-eager repor ter-beautiful or not-to get in his way. Moments ago, he entertained the ide a of pushing aside ethics and letting Laurie Michaels know exactly how she could earn that exclusive. Her cinnamon lips and lush body, not to mention his lack of a social life, tempted him. If she hadn't been a so-called jour nalist, he might have pursued her.

"Detective Kincaid?" he heard her call after him.

The thump of her heel on the tiled floor told him she had actually stomped her foot. A chuckle rose to the surface as he smiled at the absurdity of a young woman throwing a temper tantrum. He would lay odds, had he turned aro und to glance at her, her arms would be crossed beneath her ample b.r.e.a.s.t.s a nd her lower lip would protrude in a pout.

He burst into the chief's office and closed the door, barring all intruders.

"What do we have, John?" Cole stood in front of the chief's steel-framed desk .

"Word reached more than Westlife , Cole." The chief's voice held a slight edge to it. "Seems someone from WEWS was out at the scene, too, though for tunately for us, they had no cameras. Sort of stumbled across the case, I should say. They ran a small piece on the morning news about a body being found in Bain Park. White female."

"Not a lot to go on."

"Enough that Mrs. Darby called in. Her daughter's been missing almost a y ear. Runaway. She went to the morgue and positively ID'd her daughter."

"d.a.m.n, tough break."

"I'd say. Shana Darby was the victim. Brown hair, brown eyes. Seventeen-ye ars-old. The last her mother knew, Shana had been spotted on the streets i n downtown Cleveland. Probably a prost.i.tute-just like you thought."

"Jesus," Cole blasphemed, raking a hand through his hair. He paced the floo r in front of the desk, then stopped and turned once again to the chief. "Ho w's the family handling it?" "Not well. The mother's in the interrogation room crying her eyes out and t hey have yet to contact the father. Seems they're divorced and the father's out of town on a business trip. Went to California. We've been unable to c ontact him by phone."

"I'll have someone call a department over there-see if they can't locate h im. Did Mrs. Darby say when he was due back?"

"Not until the end of the week. She doesn't even know where he's staying-ju st has his cellular phone number."

"We'll locate him. Any other family?"

The chief shook his head. "Only child."

The blood drained from Cole's face. Taking a deep breath, he shook his head . This was the reason he left Cleveland behind. He no longer wanted to look into the distraught face of a mother whose only child had been brutally sl aughtered. His own life had taken enough tragic turns that he just wanted t o live in peace in a small town where the worst crime to report was the rob bery of a convenience store.

And d.a.m.n, here he was, about to confront a mother who just lost the most pr ecious thing she had-a child.

Cole released the breath he held, then turned to leave. The chief called ou t to Cole, stopping him at the door where he looked back at John solemnly.

"What?"

"When you collected evidence at the scene-did you happen to notice a ring o n the victim's hand?"

"She wore no rings. Why?" His interest piqued, he turned and returned to the desk, bracing his palms on the cold surface.

"The mother claims she was given a ring on her sixteenth birthday and notic ed at the morgue it wasn't on her hand."

The air in the room grew frigid, hampering Cole's breathing by some unknown force. Cole had felt the strange stirring of his soul before. Evil was at pl ay here. Pure malignancy. He tried to shake off the feeling. "She could have p.a.w.ned it."

"I don't think so, Cole. Mrs. Darby said it belonged to Shana's grandmother . Apparently her grandmother's death hit her hard. When she was given the r ing at the reading of the will, Shana told her mother it was like having a piece of her grandma with her. " John paused. "You said yourself, Cole, you didn't think this would be his only murder."

"Jesus! He took a trophy from the victim."

A weight settled in the middle of Cole's chest and he doubted it would abate until they caught this twisted individual. Ma.s.s murderers struck out of anger , taking nothing from their victim. Serial killers were usually s.e.xual devian ts, collecting trophies from each victim to help them relive the event in the ir own sick fantasies. The son of a b.i.t.c.h was probably looking at her ring at this moment, masturb ating in the corner of some G.o.d-forsaken hole.

"Our best plan of action is to go after this piece of c.r.a.p with a vengeance a nd stop him before he strikes again, " said the chief. "Let's hope we're wron g."

"There's always hope. But if he hasn't already left the area-we'll find anoth er body."

Cole opened the door to the office and stormed past Laurie Michaels, who stoo d in the reception area, still waiting for her story.

"Detective?" she called after him, ready to pursue, but Cole whirled around and fixed her with a malicious glare. Her mouth snapped shut, her innocent ey es glistened, making him feel like a heel. It certainly wouldn't be the first time-or the last.

"I suggest, Miss Michaels," he hissed her name with contempt, "you quit follo wing me around and find someone else to pester, or I'll have your pretty litt le rear end thrown out of here-derriere side up." Wisely, she kept her lips s hut for once, though he detected a slight tremble. He almost felt bad. Almost . "I'll issue a statement to the press at three o'clock. If you want my view of the case, you'll just have to wait until then. I don't want to see your fa ce, no matter how nice it is to look at, even one second before the conferenc e. And, this is on the record, keep your nose the h.e.l.l out of my business."

Without giving her a chance to respond, he stormed down the hallway to the interrogation room where Shana's mother waited. Cole was a man of few words , but this slip of a woman brought out the worst in him. If not entertainin g ways to get her into his bed, he contemplated ways to keep her lips close d. Both ideas held a certain amount of appeal.

Mrs. Darby sat in the small room with her head bent, mopping her red swolle n eyes with a well-used Kleenex. Cole watched her from the one-way gla.s.s, w aiting for the courage to enter the room. He could stand here all day and n ever find the nerve to approach her or know the right things to say. What c ould he say to someone who had just lost a child? Unfortunately, he knew th e feeling of losing a loved one all too well, and "Sorry" never cut it.

Cole grasped the cold handle to the door and entered, drawing the sullen w oman's gaze. She sniffed and wiped the Kleenex beneath her nose as a fresh wave of tears flowed down her cheeks.

"I'm Lieutenant Cole Kincaid, Mrs. Darby. I'm in charge of finding the pers on who killed your daughter." Cole took a chair on the opposite side of the table. He grasped one of the woman's icy hands within his. "I a.s.sure you I will do everything I can to find the murderer."

"Do you know anything?" Her voice trembled; her jaw tightened, attempting to stop the tears from falling. "I'm so sorry," she apologized, placing a fist upon her lips.

"It's all right, Mrs. Darby. Take all the time you need. We are currently try ing to locate your ex-husband-"

She chuckled nervously, ending it with a hiccup. "You won't find him, Mr.

Kincaid."

"Call me Cole."

"Nicholas is the master of disappearing. If he doesn't want to be found-you won't find him."

"It's our business to find people, Mrs. Darby."

"Marge...my name is Marge."

Cole slid the box of tissues toward the grieving mother. She pulled two fres h ones from the box and tossed the used one in the gray metal trash containe r beside the table. Cole waited for her to talk. He knew the personal questi ons he had to ask wouldn't get the responses he needed.

"She was only seventeen you know." She glanced at a spot over his shoulder, then down at the table. "She was a baby yet. I know what you're thinking.

She was a prost.i.tute. But she was just mixed up, Cole. She didn't know what she wanted. She only knew she didn't want to live with her father or with me. This is all my fault."

"This is not your fault, Marge. You can't blame yourself or the grief will c onsume you."

Her tears fell anew as her shoulders shook; Cole squeezed her hand in reas surance. He sat silent, watching the lamenting woman, feeling her pain as though it was his own. The pain of four years past washed over him like it was only yesterday. This poor woman's anguish reminded him too much of hi s own. He'd find the son of a b.i.t.c.h who killed Shana.

She turned her sad gaze on him. "Do you know what it feels like? To los e someone you adore? Someone who means so much to you?"

"Unfortunately, I do."

"Someone stole my daughter's life. How can you pretend to know what I fee l?"

"I lost someone unfairly. Believe me, Marge, only time will heal your wound s." Cole paused, watching the emotion in her gaze change to one of trust; s he'd accepted that he knew, really knew what she was experiencing. "I need to ask you a few questions. If you're not ready, I'll have an officer take you home. I can come by later."

"That's all right. You can ask me anything."

"Some questions may hurt or anger you, but I have to ask them."

"I said it's all right. I just want to get it over with."

Cole suddenly hated the cold gray room they sat in, but the small station of fered them little else. He pulled his note pad and a pencil from his back po cket, laying them on the table. He glanced at Mrs. Darby. She'd probably been a young-looking woman for all her forty years. But at the moment, it appea red as though she'd aged a lifetime. Black circles ringed her puffy eyes; he r cheeks sagged from the gravity of the events.

"When was the last time you saw your daughter alive?"

"About six months ago. My ex-husband and I hired a private detective to fi nd Shana. We were desperate. We'd looked for her nonstop-she'd been gone f or six months. We were so worried." Her lips trembled. She placed her fing ers lightly over them, swallowed, then continued. "We brought her home. Bu t after she found out nothing had changed-she left again. We didn't even b other looking for her the second time she disappeared as we had exhausted most of our funds the first time. Besides, we knew it would do no good. Sh e'd just run away again."

"What do you mean by 'nothing changed'?"

"About three years ago, Nicholas was spending more time at his office than at home. I eventually figured out he had been spending time with his new secretary, Kay. When I confronted him about my suspicions, he flew off the handle and accused me of not trusting him."

Again, she paused and looked at the wall. She blew out a slow unsteady bre ath, then turned back to Cole. "He accused me of being the one who was che ating. Imagine that," she scoffed, shaking her head. "I didn't go anywhere . How was I supposed to meet men? I waited on Nicholas hand and foot. I to ok care of our daughter, his house, his laundry. My G.o.d, I did everything . He never appreciated what I did."

"They rarely do."

"Anyway, about a year after I accused him of sleeping with Kay, I found pa nties in his briefcase. He told me someone had given them to him as a joke . I might have believed him, but they were used. We had a h.e.l.l of a fight.

It turns out that Kay was one woman in a long line of many. Nicholas had been cheating on me since one week after our wedding. One week!"

Cole said nothing. He jotted a few notes and waited for her to continue.

"I hated him more than I hated anyone in my life. I kicked him out. Told hi m I would fight him for full custody of Shana and get his rights taken away . Now I realize my mistake."

"How so?"

"That's when things went downhill for Shana. I never thought about how muc h she might love her father. I just wanted to hurt him-and I knew he loved Shana more than anything else in his life. Especially me."

Cole scribbled "bitter" in his notes. He felt sorry for Marge, for Shana. "

How old was she when your marriage ended?"

"Fifteen."

"Was there a reason she was an only child?"

Anger flashed in her eyes as she looked at Cole; she wasn't happy with his question, but she answered anyway. "Our s.e.x life wasn't great. Truth be t old, he was always too tired. Probably from s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g other women. We rarel y had intercourse, Lieutenant Kincaid."

Cole noticed that Marge had slipped back to the formal use of his name and that told him she hadn't liked where he was going with his interview. "Re member, I have to ask these questions. Any time you don't want to answer, stop me and we can do this later."

"If it will help you find the man who killed my daughter, I'll answer your qu estions. But digging up the past is painful."

"I'm sorry, Marge." He paused to give her a moment to compose herself. "If Shana was fifteen at the time of the divorce, what caused her to runaway a year later?"

Marge stared at the cold gray surface of the table, then ran her hands over he r face. Finally, she looked at Cole, her eyes haunted, full of self-blame.

"She was supposed to go with her father to Cedar Point in Sandusky for the day." She glanced at the one-way gla.s.s. "Can you really see through those o n the other side?"

Cole's gaze mimicked hers, staring at his reflection in the mirror, knowing one of the station's secretaries, probably Cally, witnessed the interview. I t was standard procedure when a male officer interviewed or interrogated a f emale.

"Yes," he replied.

Marge glanced back to Cole, holding his stare. "I wouldn't let her go. That same night, she ran away. Two days after her sixteenth birthday. Nicholas blamed me...said he'd never forgive me for losing his daughter. And now...s he's gone forever."

Marge placed her face in her palms as a fresh round of tears wracked her bo dy. Cole sat quietly waiting for the wash of emotion to subside. Minutes la ter, she grasped a fresh tissue and dabbed at her eyes. She placed the tiss ue beneath her nose and blew, the sound echoing about the empty room.

"Have you seen her at all in the last six months?"