Black Silk

“You going to answer me, Kossak?”

“Come on, Le Blanc. We’ve got a female strangling victim. Give yourself a break. Let me handle this one.”

“I can carry my end of the job, Kossak,” she informed him, her already husky voice dropping even lower.

“Nobody said you couldn’t,” he said sharply and when he noted heads turn in their direction, Vince hustled her over near a window and out of earshot of the fingerprint team. Lowering his voice, he repeated, “I never said you couldn’t carry your end of the job. Hell, half the time you’d carry mine if I’d let you. But you are not personally responsible for solving every homicide in this city.”

“I know that.”

“Then act like it. Cut yourself some slack for once.”

“I can’t,” she told him and looked away.

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t,” she insisted.

“Why can’t you?” he pressed.

She whipped her gaze back to him and spat out, “Because if I don’t stop him, he might kill another—” She paused, took a steadying breath. “He might kill someone else.”

Vince said nothing. But he had no doubt that what she had been about to say was that he might kill another innocent girl like her sister.

“I thought you said this one was high priority,” she said more calmly. “So are we going to process the scene or not?”

Vince knew any further attempt on his part to dissuade her would be pointless. So he said, “Let’s do it.” He headed to the bedroom, knowing she was behind him. He paused at the door and donned gloves so as not to mar any evidence. “Ready?”

“Ready,” she replied as she finished putting on her own gloves.

They stepped into the room. It was huge, almost the size of his apartment, he noted as he surveyed the scene a second time. Only this room smelled of booze, perfume and sex. The virginal-white color scheme was only broken by the clothing that lay strewn on the carpet and the golden-blond hair of the woman who lay on the bed.

“She’s beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Vince replied. From a distance she did look beautiful, like something out of a painting, a siren draped in satin sheets. Her heart-shaped face looked as if it had been carved from ivory. It was smooth and perfect. The green eyes stared glassily up at the ceiling. The long, yellow-gold hair was spread out against the pillow and fell across pale shoulders. One hand rested near her face, the diamond ring on her finger catching the light. Only the marks across her throat marred the picture of beauty. He eyed Charlie, worried about the impact of the scene on her. But other than a momentary stiffening, she gave nothing away.

“Judging by that rock on her finger, we either have ourselves a very dumb thief or robbery wasn’t the motive. The way she’s positioned on the sheets with her hair spread on the pillow and her hand near her face looks staged,” Charlie remarked. “Our killer is evidently into showmanship—which tells me this was no robbery turned homicide. And it was no act of passion either. It was planned.”

He had reached the same conclusion himself. “Given the security in this place, I’d say our vic must have known her killer.”

She glanced down at the discarded underwear. “I’d say she knew him well enough to go to bed with him,” Charlie added.

“I figure they started off with drinks in the living room,” he began, mentally re-creating how the murder had gone down.

“Then they decided to take the action into the bedroom,” she continued. She walked past the high heels that had been discarded a few feet from the door, then stopped in front of the black sequined dress that lay in a heap. “Pretty,” she said and stooped down to examine the dress. She checked the label and read, “Ricardo’s. I know this shop. It’s very expensive.”

“Why, Le Blanc, I never would have guessed that you’d go in for this kind of number,” he said in an effort to distract her from what awaited.

“Oh, I’d go for it all right. The problem is I’d never be able to conceal my gun in it or be able to afford it, which is exactly what I told my sister Anne when she dragged me into the place to see a skirt she’d been drooling over.”

“Did she buy it?” The question was out before he’d been able to stop it and he could have kicked himself for the slip. Anne Le Blanc was little more than a kid, but for some reason she got under his skin.

“No. I managed to talk her out of it,” she said and went back to examining the dress. “We should get the techs to dust the zipper for prints. There’s always the chance we’ll get lucky.”

But it wasn’t likely, Vince thought. A killer who would take the time to pose the victim wouldn’t make the mistake of leaving his prints on the dress’s zipper or anyplace else.

Charlie moved farther into the room and stopped again, this time to check out a spot on the carpet. She poked at the matted section of carpet with her gloved fingertip, then sniffed it.

“My guess is it’s champagne,” he told her. “There was an empty bottle in the living room and a couple more bottles in the bar.”

She nodded, rose and continued toward the bed. “So they get a little more frisky here. She loses the bra,” Charlie said, playing out the scene just as he had. She looked at the overturned glasses that rested on the night table, eyed the panties beside the bed. Then she spied the black silk stocking draped on the bed next to the victim. Suddenly her body stiffened.

Vince was sure Charlie noted, as he had, that the stocking looked smooth, no visible snags, not even a crease, as though it had never been worn. Instead, it appeared to have been placed beside the victim for effect.

Finally she looked up at him. “The other stocking isn’t here, is it?”

“No,” he told her, knowing the conclusion she would draw. Her sister had been strangled, her body posed in the bed in a similar manner and a single black silk stocking found at the scene.

“He took the other one as a trophy. Just like the last time,” she said and stared once more at the bed. “Just like when he killed Emily.”

Two

Cole Stratton studied the floor plans of the newest Logan Hotel for which he and his firm, CS Securities, had been contracted to provide a security system. Spreading out the blueprints on his desk, he made notations to those areas where additional cameras would be needed. Logan Hotels, which had begun with a few small, luxury hotels a decade ago had blossomed into an international chain whose “L” logo guaranteed excellence in accommodations and in service. Cole had set his sights on this account nearly a year ago. Getting the call from Josh Logan telling him the job was his had been the culmination of months and months of hard work. It had been a major coup for him. He should be thrilled. He should be out celebrating.

Instead, he was sitting in his office on a Saturday afternoon trying to assuage his concern for his sister by concentrating on business. But it wasn’t working. Frustrated, Cole threw down his pen and rammed his fingers through his hair. If only he had been able to convince Francesca not to file charges against his sister, Holly. But despite his efforts, the woman had been determined to follow through on her threat and have Holly arrested for violating the restraining order. Even though he’d sent Holly out of town for the time being, it would only be a temporary fix. If Francesca had contacted the police this morning, as she’d sworn she was going to do, they would already be looking for Holly. For his sister’s sake, he hoped Margee Jardine’s skill as a lawyer would be able to override J.P.’s political influence. The last thing his sister needed was the trauma of being dragged into the police station by her father’s newest wife.

“Damn,” he muttered. Thinking about what Francesca was putting his sister through infuriated him. But he couldn’t lay all the blame at Francesca’s feet. No, J.P. was the one responsible for this mess. If the man hadn’t fallen into lust with his own daughter’s friend, Holly wouldn’t be in trouble now.

Damn you, J.P.

The selfish S.O.B. didn’t care whose life he ruined as long as he got what he wanted. If he weren’t so angry at Francesca, he might even feel sorry for the woman, because it wouldn’t be long before she discovered that being Mrs. J. P. Stratton came at a very high price. His mother had paid it. First with her fortune, then with her dignity and finally with her life. The women who had followed had paid a price as well. So had each of J.P.’s children—including himself.

Unfortunately, by the time his father’s new bride discovered the cold, ruthless man behind the charming facade she’d married, it would be too late. She would have become another casualty of J. P. Stratton’s ego and greed. But, maybe not. After all, Francesca Hill struck him as the type of woman who always landed on her feet. Of course, her share of J.P.’s fortune would certainly help cushion her fall.

But Francesca wasn’t his concern. Holly was. And for the time being, there was nothing more he could do but wait and hope Francesca was too busy preparing for her wedding to follow through with the charges. Reminding himself that his sister was safely tucked away for now, he picked up his pen and went back to work. Lost in the challenge of the hotel project, he didn’t register the pounding on the door out front until he heard the shouting.

“Cole!”

Recognizing his brother Aaron’s voice, Cole pushed away from his desk and headed down the hall to the reception area. His first thought was that there had been a warrant issued for Holly. Just as quickly he dismissed that notion. Margee Jardine’s contact in the police department had promised to notify her if a warrant was issued.

“Cole, open the door!”

He frowned as he approached the door, suspecting that his brother was there to try one last time to convince him to attend J.P.’s wedding. Younger than him by four years, Aaron had been blessed with his mother’s blond hair and green eyes while he had inherited his father’s dark hair and blue eyes. Even though he more closely resembled his father than his four half siblings, it was Aaron who shared the closest bond with J.P. And it was Aaron who constantly tried to bridge the rift between them. Cole unlocked the door.

“It’s about damn time,” Aaron snapped. “I’ve been trying to reach you for over an hour. Why in the hell aren’t you answering your cell phone?”

“Because I didn’t want to be disturbed,” Cole told him. “So if you’re here to try and change my mind about going to J.P.’s wedding, you’re wasting your time.”

“There isn’t going to be any wedding,” Aaron told him, his voice flat. “Francesca’s dead.”

For a moment, Cole thought that his brother had made some sort of tasteless joke. After all, Aaron had made no secret of the fact that he thought J.P. marrying his own daughter’s friend was disgusting. But one look at Aaron’s face and he knew his brother wasn’t joking. “What happened?”

“It looks like she was murdered.”

Cole’s brain tried to process the news. The determined young woman he’d tried to reason with the previous night was dead? “When? Where?”

“Sometime last night at her apartment,” Aaron informed him. “The maid found her a few hours ago. Blackwell, the manager at the Mill House, called me and I had him phone the police. Then I went over to the apartment building to wait for them. Seeing that dead body shook me up. You’d think my years in the military and in the SEALs would have prepared me for something like this.”

“Sit down,” Cole told his brother, motioning to the sitting area where sofas and chairs had been grouped around a square marble table. Aaron sank down into one of the upholstered chairs. Cole did the same and waited for his brother to continue.

“Anyway, once the police arrived, I left and came looking for you since I couldn’t reach you on the phone.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Cole said and meant it. “Do the police have any idea who did it?”

“Not that I know of. They think robbery might have been the motive. Francesca’s wallet was empty and the maid said some of her jewelry is missing.”

“A robbery at the Mill House?” Cole remarked skeptically. He knew the building and the security system. Both were excellent.

“I know. I find it hard to believe, too. But it’s the only thing that makes sense. You know how the old man drapes all his women in jewelry and shows them off. He spent another chunk of change on a bracelet for her just last week. And Francesca wasn’t at all shy about flashing her little gifts under everyone’s noses. The woman might as well have pasted a sign on her back. Every thief in a five-state radius could spot her as an easy mark.”

Somehow he doubted the street-smart woman would allow herself to be anyone’s mark, Cole thought. But then he also couldn’t see her going down without a fight. “How did she die?”

“The police say it looks like she was strangled.”

Like a lightning bolt, a dark memory from his childhood flashed through Cole’s mind—a furious J.P. arguing with his mother, grabbing her and choking her. He’d been no more than five at the time, too small to take on a man J.P.’s size. But he’d grabbed his baseball bat and struck J.P. across the back as hard as he could. It had earned him a backhand and a bloody mouth, but it had given his mother time to get away. “How did J.P. react when you told him?”

“He doesn’t know yet,” Aaron said. “That’s why I was trying to reach you. I was hoping you’d come with me to break the news to him.”

“We both know the news will go down better without me there,” Cole told him. And it was true. He and his father were civil to one another, but just barely. Besides, they had nearly come to blows last night when he had ripped into J.P. for encouraging Francesca’s actions against Holly.

“You’re probably right,” Aaron replied and stood. “I’m just not sure how he’s going to take this. You know how he is when he thinks he’s in love with a woman.”

He did know, Cole admitted silently as he stood. He’d seen

J.P. fall into lust more times than he could count when he’d been growing up. And each time, J.P.’s new fling had taken precedence over everything in his life—including each of his wives and his children. “I don’t think you have to worry about J.P. He’ll bounce back fast enough,” Cole said. “You’re probably right about that, too.” I am right, Cole thought. His own mother’s grave wasn’t cold before J.P. had married Aaron’s mother. He walked his brother to the door and placed a hand on his back for a moment. “Don’t worry about telling Holly. I’ll let her know what’s happened. Are you going to tell the twins or do you want me to do it?” he asked, referring to his two youngest half siblings.

“Christ! I forgot all about them. They’re probably getting ready for the wedding right now,” Aaron said. “You’d better tell them. I don’t know how long I’ll be at the old man’s place and I don’t want them to hear about it on the news.”

“I’ll tell them,” Cole promised. He walked his brother out into the hall, down to the elevator bank, and pushed the button. After the elevator arrived, he rode with Aaron to the parking level.

When they exited the elevator into the garage, Aaron said, “Boy, talk about a mess. The press is going to have a field day with this and the timing couldn’t be worse. We’re waiting for approval on J.P.’s application for a new gaming license.”

“I’d be more concerned with finding Francesca’s killer than with any bad publicity her murder might generate for J.P.,” Cole told him, irritated that his brother’s thoughts were on business and not the tragedy of a young woman’s death.

Aaron’s eyes darkened and he shot him a look of annoyance. “You don’t have the market on empathy, Cole. I’m just as concerned as you are. I even liked Francesca. But someone has to look out for the business.”

And because Cole had walked away from his father and the career path that had been planned for him, that duty had fallen to Aaron. Unfortunately, since Aaron had earned his law degree, J.P. had taken full advantage of his son’s legal skills. As a result, Aaron had never pursued the brilliant career or personal life he could have had outside of J.P.’s shadow. “I hope J.P. realizes how lucky he is to have you,” Cole told him honestly.

“He’s my father,” Aaron said as though it was the only explanation needed for giving up his own career to work as his father’s attorney and right-hand man. “He’s your father, too. It wouldn’t hurt for you to remember that.”

“Trust me. It’s something I never forget.” And Cole had certainly tried. In fact, he’d spent most of his life trying to distance himself from the man. Being J.P. Stratton’s son was something about which he had never taken pride. As far as he was concerned, the only good thing that J. P. Stratton had ever given him was his half siblings. It was because of them, and only them, that he maintained any relationship with the man at all. His brothers and sister were also the reason he had not destroyed J.P. as he had vowed to do following his mother’s death.

The zap-zap of Aaron activating the door locks of his car with the remote broke into his thoughts. When they reached the vehicle, Aaron turned to him. “We’re going to need all the help we can get with damage control. It would help if you’d make a call to that friend of yours at the TV station to counteract any bad press.”

“J.P.’s no stranger to publicity. I’m sure he can handle it.”

“It’s not him I’m worried about. It’s Holly. What do you think they’re going to do when the story gets out about her crashing the rehearsal dinner last night and throwing wine in Francesca’s face?”

Cole had heard all the ugly details from his sister last night. It had been a stupid and immature thing for Holly to do. Of course, she’d regretted her actions later. But by then the damage had been done.

“How do you think Holly’s going to handle having the press in her face?”

Aaron was right. Holly was as beautiful as a hothouse flower and just as fragile. And ever since that mess J.P. put her through eight years ago, she had never been the same. Having the press all over her would only unnerve her. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Charlie stood, waiting impatiently for the M.E. to complete her preliminary examination of the body. As she did, she kept seeing that silk stocking lying next to the victim. But instead of seeing Francesca Hill’s face, she saw Emily’s. The memories came tumbling back like slides from a home-movie reel…back six years ago…back to another dreary and cold afternoon….

Charlie adjusted the rearview mirror of her car in an attempt to diffuse the blinding headlights from the car that was practically on her bumper. When the other driver pulled out into the oncoming lane to pass her, horns blasted as the car nearly collided with the SUV coming from the other direction. Gasping at the near miss, Charlie hit the brakes of her car when the driver pulled back into the lane in front of her.

“Idiot,” she muttered when her heart began to beat almost normally again. The jerk could have gotten himself killed, not to mention the people in the SUV and her. Of course, she wouldn’t even be on this road if it weren’t for Emily.

Emily. Just thinking of her younger sister annoyed her.

This was payback. She knew it was. Her sister was punishing her by not answering her apartment phone or cell phone because Charlie had refused to drop everything and race over when she’d called yesterday. Emily’s claim that it was urgent usually meant one thing—guy trouble. Younger than her by four years, she and Emily couldn’t have been more different in appearance or personality. Emily was petite, feminine and blessed with the sexy curves that teenage boys dream about. Whereas she was tall, on the skinny side and more comfortable in jeans and T-shirts than a dress. Guys had been tripping over their tongues to go out with her younger sister from the time she’d gotten her first bra at the tender age of twelve. When it came to Charlie, the boys were more apt to ask her to play a game of catch than to go to the movies.

She didn’t mind that Emily was always considered the pretty, ladylike one while she…she was the smart, athletic one. She never had minded. She was even glad to see that their baby sister, Anne, was turning out to be a good mixture of the two of them—pretty and feminine, athletic and smart. She loved both of her sisters, would do anything for them. But she resented the heck out of Emily screwing up her plans by playing stupid games.

Because that’s just what she was doing by not answering her phone, Charlie reasoned. Emily knew that their mother would worry and insist that Charlie drive right over and check on her younger sister. And, of course, she would never refuse her parents—especially when her mother offered to make the drive from New Orleans to Baton Rouge if Charlie couldn’t.

As a result, here she was driving clear across town and dodging idiotic drivers just to make sure that Emily was okay, when what she should be doing was studying for her criminal-law class. And she really, really needed the extra study time if she wanted to finish at the top of her class. You’d think by now their folks would be used to the fact that Emily was a drama queen, she reasoned, growing more resentful with each mile she drove. She didn’t know why her sister had bothered to take premed courses when she clearly belonged on the stage. Everything in Emily’s world was of major importance. Even a blemish popping up on her face the day before the senior prom in high school had been a life-or-death matter to her younger sister.

Charlie smacked the steering wheel, irritated all over again that she had to put her own life on hold to come check on her sister. Finally she turned off onto the street where Emily lived. She pulled her car to a stop in front of the small cottage that their parents had leased for Emily at the start of the new semester. When she spied Emily’s Honda in the driveway and lights on inside the house, she fumed. She turned off the engine, slamming the car door as she exited, and marched up to the porch.

She jabbed the doorbell with her thumb and held it there for an extra moment or two. Five seconds, ten seconds ticked by and she hit the doorbell again. When her sister still failed to answer, Charlie pounded on the door with her fist. “Come on, Emily. I know you’re in there. Open the door!”

After several moments passed and her sister failed to answer, Charlie tried to peer through the frosted glass set in the wood panel of the door, but all she could see was the glow of lights. Since the drapes were drawn, she didn’t bother trying to look in the windows. Instead, she banged on the door again.

When she still got no response, Charlie began to worry. Tilting the potted fern beside the door, she retrieved the spare key that her sister kept there. Quickly, Charlie inserted the key in the lock and opened the door. “Emily,” she called out as she stepped inside and pushed the door closed behind her. She could hear music coming from somewhere in the house, a mushy love song from that CD her sister had purchased a month ago and had played incessantly when she’d been home for the weekend.

“Emily,” she called out again. Still no answer. A shiver of unease skipped down Charlie’s spine as she checked out the combination living room/dining room, but the room was empty. Charlie hit the off button on the CD player and suddenly there was silence. Too silent, she thought.