Chapter 24
Wednesday, October 12, 3 A.M.
Court order in hand, Malcolm and Kier arrived at Dixon’s house ready to search for any signs of the doctor or the murder weapon. The small brick home was located in an upscale neighborhood. The home’s exterior was perfectly maintained. This time of year leaves fell daily, but there wasn’t a leaf or stick on Dixon’s lush green lawn, which looked so smooth in the moonlight. Whoever maintained the yard came several times a week.
They rang the bell, and when no one answered, they pounded on the front door. “Dr. Dixon,” Malcolm shouted. “This is Alexandria Police. We have a warrant.”
When the house remained stoically silent, Malcolm tried the front door. “Locked.”
“No surprise.”
“What about the garage door?” Garrison offered.
They moved around the side of the house to the side door illuminated by a light. They peered inside and saw that Dixon’s car was not parked in the space. The door beside the garage was also locked.
Malcolm found a small landscape rock by a flowerbed and broke the glass on the door. He reached between the shards and unlocked it. The detectives moved inside the house, flipped on the garage light, and made their way into the house.
The garage, like the house, was neat and clean.
Flipping on lights, they moved through a kitchen and den. All of the rooms were as neat and organized as the front yard, but unlike the exterior the interior was Spartan.
By the looks, pictures had been stripped from some of the walls, and it seemed quite a few pieces of furniture were missing. Dixon had a taste for antiques. The only room that remained fully decorated and intact was a front parlor.
“He wants the world to believe he’s doing fine, but he’s selling his precious antiques to pay the bills,” Malcolm said.
They moved upstairs, taking their time to determine that the house was indeed empty. Dixon’s bedroom was furnished with just a mattress and box spring. The night-stands were cheap plastic pieces. The bureau looked like it was from a box store.
Down the hallway, the first two rooms were stripped bare. “Sinclair is having a look at his financials as we speak.”
“It still galls me that he’s walking the streets,” Garrison said.
“Not for long.” They reached the back bedroom. Malcolm flipped on the light. “Shit.”
The walls in the room were plastered with pictures of women. The pictures were arranged in groups, and all followed a progressive pattern.
The first in a grouping showed the women smiling and seductive, clear participants in whatever was happening. But then the images changed. Smiles vanished and were replaced by looks of terror. Tear-streaked mascara ran down their faces. Some had bloodied lips. Others had bruises around their necks. But in each and every photo the women were alive.
“The pictures appear to go back decades.” Garrison’s voice was tight with anger.
Malcolm’s fury burned in the pit of his stomach. “He’s been at this for a long time.” He pointed to the wall. “Look, that’s Lulu Sweet on the far right. Other than Foxy, she must have been his most recent.” He let his gaze roam to the next woman. “Sierra Day.”
The next two pictures were of two prostitutes who’d vanished this past summer. “We never found their bodies.”
“No.”
“And before them is Lulu again.” But she was a couple of years younger. She wore her hair short with spiky pink tips as she had during Dixon’s trial.
“And before Lulu, the other three missing prostitutes.”
“If these pictures are an accurate time line, it looks like he took a couple of years off between his trial and his next victim.”
“The murder trial must have scared him enough to stop for a while.” Garrison studied the images that went back decades. Neither of them recognized any of the women.
“It’s going to take legwork to find these women.”
“Yeah.” Garrison’s gaze settled on the first image. “Shit. Look at the first one.”
The picture was at least thirty years old, but he recognized the face. “Fay Willow. She was his first.”
“Dixon was the boyfriend?” Garrison said.
“He could have been. He would have been in his early twenties when she died.”
“Fay’s roommate said the boyfriend made deliveries to the museum.”
“A little digging will confirm his employment records.”
Malcolm moved to a table on the far end of the room.
It appeared to be a workstation where Dixon cropped and arranged his pictures. He glanced down, and instantly his blood turned to ice. “Garrison, look at this.”
Garrison moved and studied the images of the woman. The pictures were snapped when she was selecting produce in the grocery store, walking in Old Town Alexandria, and standing on the steps of the courthouse. “His next victim.”
Malcolm fisted his fingers. “Angie Carlson.”
It was nearly four in the morning when Angie arrived at Dr. Dixon’s house after receiving a call from Kier. Kier’s normally abrupt tone had been sharp like a razor, cutting into her deep slumber. Curt and direct, he’d told her she had to come immediately. She pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt. She pushed her feet into loafers.
Police cars surrounded the home, their lights flashing in the darkness. The forensics van blocked half the neighborhood road.
She found a place to park several houses down and walked toward the chaos. The front yard was roped off with yellow crime-scene tape. She moved toward a uniformed officer.
“My name is Angie Carlson. I received a call from Detective Kier.” She moved to pull her driver’s license from her wallet to prove her identity.
He held up his hand. “I know who you are.” He handed her a set of plastic gloves. “He’s on the second floor.”
She ducked under the tape, pulling the gloves on as she moved across the yard. When she reached the front door another uniformed policeman greeted her and directed her up the stairs to the second floor. The house hummed with the snap of cameras, conversations, and officers moving around as they searched all the rooms.
She found Malcolm in the back bedroom. He and Garrison leaned over a table of photos, and both seemed deep in thought.
Her greeting died on her lips when she looked at the pictures on the wall. The women’s pain-filled eyes stared back at her, sending a haunting appeal for help. The sharp, crisp images were so vivid she could almost hear their cries. For a moment she thought she’d be ill.
Dear God, she’d defended this monster. She’d used all her legal know-how to put him back on the streets.
“Carlson.” Malcolm’s deep voice startled her from her thoughts.
She squared her shoulders. “Detective.”
“Interesting glimpse into your client’s mind, isn’t it?”
“He’s no longer my client.” Her voice wasn’t as strong as she’d have liked.
“But when he was, you did a bang-up job of defending him. You put him back on the streets.” Bitterness laced the words.
Guilt mingled with anger. “I did my job very well, Detective. And if you’d done yours better we wouldn’t be here.”
His jaw hardened.
She tightened her hand around her purse strap. “Did you call me here to argue?”
“Then why?” The grotesque images behind him taunted her. She didn’t want to see the damage Dixon had done.
“Your client killed another woman.”
He was baiting her, directing his anger at her. A part of her knew she deserved his ire. “He’s not my client.”
Kier arched a brow as if he didn’t quite believe her. “I want to make damn sure you have no information about him that might help us.”
“I’ve not spoken to him in over a week.”
“He’s not contacted you in any way?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
She leaned in so close she could smell his scent. “Call me a bitch. Call me a barracuda. Hell, call me the Queen of the Night. I don’t care. But do not call me a liar, Detective. I’ve gone out of my way to help you with this case.”
He held his ground, maintaining the close proximity. He stared at her so hard; she suspected he was trying to read her thoughts. “There’s something else you need to see.”
She didn’t want to see any more. She wanted to leave. She wanted to slip into a dark bar and drink wine until her mind was numb. “Show me.”
He guided her across the room to the table. “Have a look.”
She braced and glanced down. Immediately, her in-sides constricted. The images were all of her. “These are all recent. Taken in the last couple of months.” She didn’t dare touch the images. “I never once saw him.”
“He may have taken the pictures himself or hired someone. But it’s clear he has a real obsession with you.”
She moistened her lips, praying she didn’t get sick to her stomach now. “I was his next victim.”
“I think so.”
“You said he killed another woman?”
“He cut her throat.”
“Cut her throat? That doesn’t sound like Dixon.”
“Why?”
“Dixon is so fastidious. And he wouldn’t be so bold.”
Malcolm considered her closely. “Why do you say that?”
“He was truly terrified at the prospect of going to jail. He said many times that he’d never survive in prison. Killing a woman like this is messy, and his DNA would be all over the room. He’d be too easy to track after a killing like that.”
“Maybe he got lost in the heat of the moment.”
“Dixon? Doubtful. I never ever saw him once relinquish control. Control is critical for him. I just don’t believe he’d be so foolish.”
She studied a photo taken of her entering King’s. Eva was at her side, and they were laughing. She remembered the spring day clearly. They’d gone shopping, and for the first time in a long time she felt as if they were sisters. To realize Dixon had been lurking and snapping pictures of that moment made her feel dirty.
“I want you to look at another picture.” His tone had lost some of the harder edges.
Unshed tears burned her throat. Numbly she nodded and followed him to the end of the photos. She glanced up. “Who is this?”
“Fay. We think she might have been his first.”
“Was Dixon her boyfriend?”
“He could have been. He would have been in his early twenties. She was twenty-nine when she died. Not an impossible arrangement.”
“He killed her and stripped her bones?” She shook her head.
“I don’t know. That’s why we’re searching for him.” He cupped his hand under her elbow and guided her away from the picture. “Could he be working with someone?”
“A partner? I doubt it. He liked things done his way.”
“Maybe he changed his mind?”
She nodded. “What can I do to help you?”
“Is there anyone whom he would have worked with?”
“None that I know. He had no family that he ever told me about. Whatever friends or acquaintances he had before his trial abandoned him. I got the sense he was quite alone in the world.”
“What was his social life like?”
“I can’t speak for his recent activities, but in the past he was a patron of the arts.”
“The theater.”
“And the ballet and the art museums. He loved that world.”
“Okay.” He tightened his jaw. “Call Eva. See if you can stay at King’s for a few days. Until we find Dixon or his possible partner you are not safe.”
She didn’t want to surrender her life to scum like Dixon. But she had to be practical. “Sure.”
Her agreement seemed to strip away some of his stress. “Good. I’ll have a uniform follow you to your office and then to King’s.”
“Thanks.”
“Angie, be very, very careful. For whatever reason, Dixon has not killed you, but he’s got something planned.”
Dixon’s head pounded. His mouth felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton. In a pitch-black room, he tried to pull his arm to his mouth but discovered it was tied above his head. Not only were his hands tied, but his feet were tied as well. “Hey!”
Immediately, an overhead light clicked on, blinding him. Shutting his eyes, he turned his head. “What the hell is going on?”
“Now you of all people should know what is going to happen.” The familiar voice echoed out from the darkness.
Dixon’s heart slammed fast and hard against his chest wall. “Why are you doing this? We’re partners.”
“Let’s say I’m tired of playing the game with you. I’m ready to play alone.”
“But it’s been going well.” He wanted to keep his voice calm, but a shrill of panic twisted its way around the words.
“It suited for a while. I did have a lot to learn from you after all.” The voice circled around the table, but the blinding light made it impossible for him to focus.
“It can still be great. Look, I know I got a little over the top today. I see that now. But we can take it back to the way things were.”
“You can never go back. You said so yourself.”
“I wasn’t thinking straight. I was frustrated. But I’m not frustrated anymore.”
“Neither am I. And I had been for a very long time. I ached to be who I once was and to regain what I’d had before, but I was afraid. You gave me the courage to take what I craved. And for that I want to thank you.”
The cool tip of a knife blade traced his eyebrow, making him flinch. “We’re partners!”
The Other smiled. “It is never wise to trust a scorpion.”
“You are not a scorpion. You are a man. You can reason and see beyond this moment. You know this does not have to happen.”
The knife lip pricked the top of his scalp. Within seconds warm blood oozed from the spot.
Dixon screamed. “You need me.”
“I do?”
“You said you needed me to make a call.”
The Other snapped his fingers. “That is right. That is right.” He pulled a phone from his pocket. “And I have your phone.” He started to type a text.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m telling him to meet you at the corner of West Braddock and Route Seven in the basement of the burger joint that went out of business.”
“Is that where we are?”
“Yes.” The Other hit send. “Good.”
“So you’re letting me go?”
The Other snapped the phone closed and tucked it in his pocket. “No. I’m not.”
“Shit! Don’t do this!” Dixon pissed on himself.
The Other wrinkled his nose. “I wish I had time to strip all your bones. They’d make a nice addition to the chess set. I was thinking the bishop.”
“Don’t!” Dixon twisted at his bindings.
“I wanted a memento of our partnership. But your body needs to be found by the cops.”
Dixon yanked at his bindings. They didn’t budge. “Why?”
“They need someone to pin these murders on, and I’m going to give them you.”
“If you kill me they’ll know there is someone else.”
“You just texted your ‘accomplice’ and told him to meet you here. You both will go down for this.”
“You don’t have to do this! Let me live, and I will help you.”
“Help me?You tried to steal Angie from me. And you know how much I’ve wanted her.”
Dixon rattled against his bindings as his partner moved behind him and set down his knife. “You can still have her. We both can. Let me help you!”
His warm breath brushed Dixon’s ear. “I promise to take extra time with her bones and fashion them into the finest queen.”
He picked up an ax and walked to the foot of the table. Before Dixon could scream, blinding pain sliced across his calf as an ax cut through his anklebone. Dixon screamed, railing against his bindings.
“I can clean these bones later and make them into something special.”
The pain overwhelmed Dixon’s senses, blinding him to his desires for Angie, his anger, or reason. His partner unstrapped his hands and foot. But he didn’t care. There was only the pain.
And then a knife blade sliced across his throat, severing his jugular.
“Good-bye, James.”
As the blood drained from Dixon’s body, the strong scent of gasoline grew. “I do want to thank you. I’d still be asleep now if it wasn’t for you. You’ve showed me just how wonderful and full my life could be again.”
The Other lit a match and stared at the flame before blowing it out. “As soon as our friend gets here, it’ll be a party.”
Angie spent a long tedious Wednesday at the office, and by the time she was ready to quit she was exhausted. She’d promised that as soon as she finished her work, she’d call for an escort and head to King’s, where her sister waited.
Angie rubbed her eyes and glanced at the clock. It was ten o’clock. “I’ve got to get out of here.”
Charlotte also worked late, and when Angie heard Charlotte move down the hallway to the back door, she realized the time to wrap things up had arrived.
She rose, listening to Charlotte clicking the back door’s dead bolt back and forth, back and forth. It was Charlotte’s custom to do this several times until it sunk into her mind that the door was truly locked.
Angie had been aware of Charlotte’s quirks for a long time, but in the last week, with the deaths of Sierra and Lulu, they’d grown worse.
Angie shut off the light at her desk, grabbed her purse and coat. She found Charlotte standing by the back door, frowning. “It’s okay. It’s locked.”
Charlotte startled and turned. “I know. It’s locked.” A hint of panic wove around the words.
“Do you want me to check it for you?”
Charlotte glanced at the door. “No, no. It’s fine.”
“It’s been a hard week for us all. All our nerves are on edge.” She’d not told Charlotte about the photos. “It’s okay to be scared.”
Charlotte frowned. “I’m not scared.”
Angie shook her head. “Charlotte, I’m scared too.”
Her boss stared at her a long moment and then sighed. “I guess all that’s happened has made me remember. And when I remember I start to obsess about things.”
She arched a brow. “You don’t seem to worry about much.”
A crooked smile tipped the edges of her lips. “I’m great at faking it.”
Charlotte laughed. “Welcome to the club.”
“Hang tough.”
“It’s the only option.” She drew in a breath. “I’ve got to get a little sleep. Tomorrow’s a long day. Are you leaving soon?”
“I’m right behind you.”
“I can wait.”
“Don’t.” Angie didn’t want to mention the police escort she was supposed to summon before she left. “I’ll be fine. I’m parked right out front.”
“And you’ve got the mace I gave you for Christmas?”
“Yes.”
After Charlotte left the office, the rooms grew so quiet she could hear the air flowing through the ducts. Outside a horn blared. Suddenly she felt so alone, as if she were the only person in the world. At King’s there would be plenty of noise and conversation there for hours to come.
The idea of crowds didn’t appeal, but what she wanted didn’t really matter. Dixon was on the prowl, and she had to be practical. Better to go to King’s.
She called the number Kier had given her for an escort and waited until a marked car pulled up in front of the office. She grabbed her purse, shut off the last of the office lights, and headed out the front door. She waved to the waiting police car, set the alarm on the office, and climbed into her car.
The drive from her office to King’s only took ten minutes. She found a spot down the street from the pub under a street lamp, waved to her escort, and hurried down the uneven brick sidewalks to the front door. Her hand on the front door, she glanced up toward Kier’s place. His lights burned bright. His muscular frame passed in front of a shaded window.
The ache of loneliness grew stronger. Suddenly she dreaded the crowd inside the pub. She stepped inside and watched her escort drive away.
The music, laughter, and conversation blared and grated her nerves. She glanced up again through the front window at Kier’s.
On impulse Angie gripped her purse, pushed out the front door, and crossed the street. She climbed the side staircase to his apartment. Sweat pooled at the base of her spine. Her stomach fisted tighter with each new step.
What the devil was she doing? Leave the man alone. His day had to have been longer than hers.
As logic nagged her, she kept climbing until she reached his apartment door. Just ask him about the case and leave. Maybe he’d have a few reassuring words.
Immediately, she feared if she took one more moment to think, she’d dash down the stairs.
Heavy footsteps echoed down a hallway, and after a brief hesitation the door opened.
Kier stood in the doorway, his hair damp and his shirt-tail out. His face was hard with suspicion. She glanced down and noted he had his gun in hand at his side.