Tabloid Trix Chapter 10
Daniel Mangan looked up at the ceiling in his bedroom. Yup, it was still there. And he was still slugabed this morning. Unfortunately, he was alone.
Not that he couldn't have had company, of course. A couple of girls at school made it perfectly clear they wouldn't mind at all making a house call. His phone was full of numbers; all he had to pick was the name, the age, and the hair color. So then why was he staring at those little imperfections the ceiling paint revealed?
Dan liked women. All shapes, all sizes, all of them. And mostly, they liked him right back. He was fascinated by these delicate yet tough creatures; by the soft, silky smoothness of their skin; their scent; the way their hips swayed as they walked.
He tried to drum up some interest in his extensive repertoire. Really, he did. None of them had hair as black as a raven's wing, flirty grey-green eyes fringed with long lashes, or a sexy, raspy voice that wound its way into his gut and parked there. He could sum it up in two words: Kaitlin Mary McCourt. Well, okay, that was three, but who's counting?
Damn it all. He didn't want this. This unsettled feeling when he wasn't with her, wondering who she was with, what she was doing. He wanted it light and easy and FUN.
He hadn't spoken to her since the day at Java City as his knight in shining armor instincts got the better of his self-preservation instincts when he saw Kaitlin there, all alone and so very unhappy. He teased her with a couple of funny stories from his ride-alongs; was gratified when the thunderclouds lifted from her brow.
As they were walking home, his cell phone rang. He was laughing so much, he answered it without thinking.
"Hello?" There was a smile in his voice as he spoke into the small device.
"Hi, Danny-boy, it's Elle."
The southern, dulcet tones at the other end wiped the smile off his face as he glanced sidelong into Kaitlin's laughing eyes.
"Oh, hey Elle," he said softly, as if by speaking lowly Kait wouldn't hear.
"Are we still on for Friday?" Her honeyed voice once wrapped around his libido and squeezed mightily. But not now. Kaitlin could obviously hear the conversation, and there was a flash of something in her eyes, gone before he could identify it. She touched his hand; pantomimed taking the call, and scurried away. He tried not to let his eyes follow her or note her slumped shoulders. Hey, she knew the score. They weren't exclusive, it was just for laughs.
"Danny?" Elle's voice caught his attention again. He turned away from the picture of Kaitlin striding through the streets of New York like some avenging Celtic goddess.
"Yeah, sure. What time do you want me to pick you up?"
He had a miserable time with Elle. The southern voice that had once charmed him sounded too honeyed, too slow to the point. Her messy blonde hair wasn't sleek and dark, her lips sorta thin, now that he took a good look. And is she called him Danny-boy one more time…
And he finally identified the look that flickered in Kait's beautiful eyes. Pain.
He turned on his side and squinted at his digital alarm. 11.30 a.m. She should be up by now. He punched her cell number in, ignoring the fact it was the only one he knew by heart, absent the Bob-Whites' digits.
"Hello?" Her raspy, sexy voice sounded wary, and he winced.
"Hi, beautiful," Dan said, in his huskiest voice.
"Hey Dan." She waited a beat for him to say something else. "Wha…what's up?"
"It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood," he sang, off-key and loudly. "I thought maybe we could take a walk, see a movie, grab a bite to eat."
"Ummm…I can't Dan. I,uh, have a date." They had promised each other no strings, but Kaitlin found little invisible threads beginning to connect her heart to Dan Mangan's. How could she help Aidan understand he had to move on, if she pined around for Dan? The phone call a few days ago from another woman sealed it for her. Time to step back a little; get on with life. When Christian asked her out for a fun evening at the Costume Institute over at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, she didn't hesitate to accept. Now, if only the little aches in her heart would ease as the threads were snapped…
The blow to his solar plexus may not have been connected to a fist, but the pain there felt the same. A date? She has a…date? "You have a date? With who?" he demanded, sitting up sharply.
"A guy from one of my classes, Dan. Christian. He seems nice. We have a lot in common." She was frowning at Dan's suddenly possessive tone. After all, he had a date too!
"Where is he taking you?" Why are you going with him? What about us? Dan wanted to yell into the phone. He fisted one hand in his bedsheets, crumpling them up, just like he'd like to do to freakin' Christian's face.
"We're going to the Cost…" Kaitlin caught herself. Why the hell should she tell him where she was going? He didn't tell her where he was going. And with whom. She wanted to cry, to rage at him about stupid Elle, and her stupid southern accent, and make him hurt. Just like she was. "We're just going out," she replied evenly.
"Well, have a great time," he said stiffly.
"Thanks." She disconnected the call, and he sat there, holding his cell phone in his hand, ready to throw it against his door in frustration just like Jim did so many months ago.
Brian was frustrated with Honey; Mart was frustrated with Di; he was frustrated with…Kaitlin? It was different in his case, he assured himself. Brian and Mart, well they were in love with their girls. He didn't love Kaitlin…did he?
He groaned aloud and flopped back on his mattress, covering his face with his pillow. Damn that Jim Frayne anyway. It was entirely his fault. He was over there, happier than a pig in sh…crap, married to the girl he loved since he was fifteen, while the rest of the male Bob-Whites were wallowing in pits of relationship hell. Somehow, it just did not seem kosher.
On Nick Clayborne's OMG! Online blog…
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Montréal, Quebec, Canada
He leaned against the cold, tiled wall of the shower, watching as all the red sluiced off of him and swirled its way down the drain. The water was almost blisteringly hot, almost…punishing, one might say,
It wouldn't do for Becky to see him this way.
He loved her, he really did. At least, he thought he did. He wasn't quite sure what love was, but he knew he was obsessed with her since he was seven years old. For most of his life, his thoughts were crowded with her lovely face and delectable body. A face and body now ravaged by fire and time, and he realized the clock was spinning madly, counting down, shrinking the period they had left together.
Unless he could find the human vessel to contain her spirit. The perfect Rebecca Jonsson. He'd been all over the world, and had yet to find someone as…perfect…as his Becky. But lately, lately it had become hard just to let go of them, the other Beckys. He wanted to play some more with them, even if they weren't the real Becky.
They all begged and cried, promised him anything. Sex, money, life in servitude to him. Their eyes were never right, never bright blue and beautiful. He had become fascinated with their skin of late, so soft and white. He could run the scalpel softly, barely making a thin line of red, or plunge it deeply and watch how it…the blood…fountained up like a gushing Yellowstone geyser. It was always so warm and slippery and he so wanted to taste it.
But that would be crazy, wouldn't it? And he definitely was not crazy.
He was supposed to be out hunting yesterday, stalking his prey, discovering a new possibility. He saw the girl, a little drunk, waiting for the Metro. She was happy to accept a ride from the handsome man in the big, black Mercedes.
The next thing he knew, they were over on St. Helen's, and she was dead. Her eyes removed along with her clothes, and blood everywhere. He was standing there, nude, in the woods, fisting the scalpel and grinning madly at the perfectly fileted thing on the ground.
A short boat ride across the river, and he was home, all traces of him erased from the island; the thing's clothes served as his protection against getting any blood in the boat. When he pulled into the boathouse, he wrapped his clothes and the thing's into a small package to be dropped off later in a dumpster miles away from the body. Or maybe he'd just keep them. His little secret. Something Becky did not know.
He turned off the water and chuckled. Secrets.
At Kaitlin & Aidan's apartment…
Aidan did a double-take as Kaitlin walked out of her bedroom and into the living room. It had been a long time since he saw his sister look so, well, sexy. She did something with her eyes that made them greener, smoky and mysterious. Her beautiful hair was simply pulled back from her face, but fell in a shining sheet, to the middle of her back. She had a simple red tank top and black leggings, her feet stuffed into black, flat ankle boots, and she was carrying a red and black sweater.
"Wow, Kait, you look gorgeous," he sputtered out. "Dan must be pulling out all the stops if you dressed up like that." He still felt bad about what he said to her the other day, and the guilt was eating away at him.
A brief flash in those smoky eyes, and she smiled at her little brother. "Not Dan."
Aidan collapsed in the recliner. "Not Dan? Not Dan?" He couldn't have been more shocked if she told him she was back with Jake the rat.
"Nope. Christian, from school," she responded airily. At least she hoped she sounded that way.
"I kind of thought you and Dan were, you know, hitting it off pretty well." He plucked at a loose thread on the arm of the chair.
Kaitlin looked down at the area rug, traced the design with her toe. She looked up at her brother, eyes serious. "Dan and I, well, we're not exclusive," she said in her husky, raspy voice. Even though you want to be. That little voice in the back of her brain taunted her with the lie.
"But I thought…well, never mind what I thought. Is he picking you up here?" Aidan's voice was quiet, introspective.
"Aidan, it's New York City! We're meeting downstairs and walking over to the Metropolitan Museum of Art." Too expensive to have a car in the City. Her little yellow Bug was safely ensconced back in Sleepyside with their parents. "Don't wait up." She grabbed her keys and bag and kissed him on the head.
He watched her shut the door, his beautiful sister, so unlucky in love. But at least she's out there trying, instead of feeling sorry for herself. "Maybe I should try, too." He said the words out loud, testing them outside of the confines of his mind.
Dan was coming back after a short walk to City Java to clear his brain. He looked up from his steaming cup to see Kaitlin, looking like something out of a magazine, smile at a tall blonde-haired guy who bent down and kissed her cheek. She giggled a bit, called him Christian. He grabbed her hand and the handsome couple walked off, deep in conversation. She never even noticed Dan.
Dan's shoulders sagged and the delicious coffee suddenly tasted like ashes. He threw it in the litter basket, and his cell phone rang. It was Elle again. He stood there in the street, looking at the phone, caught tightly between the willing and the wanted.
At Locard HQ…
Anna Ciccone brought the box into the inner sanctum, as she liked to think of it. So many crimes were solved in these rooms, they ought to be dismantled and trucked to the Smithsonian. Maybe someday in the future, fans would be making up stories about the brilliant Dr. Brietling and his sidekick, Detective Stephen Jensen. She of course, would be cast as the mysterious, beautiful girl Friday that both men were secretly in love with. A girlish giggle escaped those perfectly lipsticked lips, and both men looked up, smiling at the sound.
"Care to share the joke, Anna?" Will smiled at her as she shook her head no
"Just a breezy little thought meandering through." She smiled. "Trixie's business cards are here." She handed the box to Will. "Her office is all ready for occupancy." She glanced at the hallway and thought about the shiny new brass plate on the door of the small office between Will's and Stephen's. Trixie Frayne, Investigator. Inside was a desk, several filing cabinets, a bookshelf; a multi-line phone and a state-of-the-art computer. Quite a nice set-up for the men's protégée.
"Trixie will be here on Tuesday for a few hours," Will said, looking at his email. "She is…very energetic. I just hope that we old folk can keep up with her!"
"Oh, I have no doubt that you both will tire her out. Oh, Will, I was vetting your email," Anna frowned. "You have another email from that professor at John Jay, Luke Masse."
"Doesn't that man ever surrender?" Stephen sighed. The professor's frequent emails were something of an in-joke among the three. "What does he want this time?"
"This time he actually requested a meeting with Will. Something about a student misusing a Locard pin. He didn't give any specifics, just requested a meeting."
A brilliant smile lit Will's normally austere countenance. "Shall we play detective, Stephen?"
"Most certainly, my friend. Let's put the clues together. A professor at John Jay…"
"With a student wearing a Locard pin…"
"A professor who has made an absolute nuisance of himself…"
"Who wants a meeting to impart information about this alleged misuse…"
"And what do you deduce, Anna?" Stephen teased.
"Oh my, Stephen. You don't even have to be a detective to figure this one out." Anna perched on the arm of one of the chairs. "The student is Trixie Frayne, and obviously there is no love lost between the two or else she would have told him she is a member."
Will pulled up Trixie's schedule. "Luke Masse, Criminology 101. Same guy." The corners of his moustache suddenly turned down. "I don't like this. If he is giving Trixie a hard time, it can impact on our schedule and her enthusiasm."
"I'll do a little digging," Stephen said. "See what the buzz is about this bloke. Maybe put a little bug in the ear of the Dean of Students. After all, it is quite a coup for the college to have the first student member."
Will steepled his fingers, and glanced at his two friends. "Maybe we'll both make a visit to Cop College. Trixie and Honey are both way past Criminology 101. Anna, when Trixie comes to work, see if you can get anything out of her regarding her relationship with this professor. Also, send an email in my name thanking him for his concerns and that we'll be in contact with him at a later date regarding a meeting." His faded blue eyes went flat, a cop's eyes. He hated to throw around his reputation. But Trixie was of one them now, and he'd damn well go down to the wire for her.
At the Central Park jogging trails...
Honey, Trixie and Diana collapsed on the bench. New York City in September could be just as steamy and hot as the middle of August, sometimes even more so. It was as if summer was doing its darndest to hang on and make every one miserable. Even Di, who could probably run a marathon and cross the finish line looking like she just stepped out of Vogue, was flushed and sweaty. Running a cold bottle of water over her red face, she announced to no-one in particular, "That's it! Next time we'll just use the gym at the apartment. At least it's air-conditioned!"
The two other girls just grunted their assent in between gulps of refreshingly cool (and expensive) bottled water. Their thin tank tops were plastered to their bodies, and the jogging shorts were damp and uncomfortable. Trixie picked at her top, pulling it away from her skin, only to have it sog back.
With the ease born of their long friendship, the women just sat there quietly, resting and looking out at the green oasis in the big city. "Are you two doing anything tonight with Brian and Mart?" Her brothers were short-tempered for the past couple of days, but it was the start of a new school year, and hey, she definitely knew about frustration.
Di and Honey exchanged a guilty look, one that wasn't lost on Trixie's trained eyes. "Nooooo," Honey answered slowly, drawing out the word.
"Nothing scheduled with Mart," Di said, staring out at the couple setting up a picnic on the lawn. They worked together to get the red-checked cloth down, and the big picnic basket was set on one corner. He reached out and stroked her hair; she turned her face up for a kiss…god, she missed Mart.
"You and Jim doing anything?" Honey hurried to direct Trixie's inquisitive nature away from additional questioning.
"Jim has a double shift at the cafeteria. He's working breakfast and lunch, so he'll be tired when he gets home. We'll probably stay in and watch a dvd or something." She paused while they stood up and began walking to the apartment building, lulling them into a sense of security. "So, are either of you going to explain why neither of you have a date tonight?"
Diana stared up into the cloudless blue sky, snorted in a very unladylike manner, and pulled the scrunchy out of her ponytail. Running a slim, restless hand through her hair, she stared accusingly at Honey. "I told you we'll never be able to keep a secret from her," she wagged her thumb at Trixie.
Trixie stopped in her tracks and leaned against the hot concrete of the skyscraper. "Spill it, ladies? What gives?" She crossed her legs at the ankles and relaxed there, as if they had all the time in the world.
"You're going to think it's stupid, Trix," Diana began, huffing out a breath.
"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Honey interrupted. "It's not stupid. Besides, why would Trixie think it's stupid? We did a lot more stupider things when we were solving mysteries." She turned to her best friend, leaning there with a slight upward tilt to her lips. "Diana and I are on strike."
Trixie's sandy brows rose. "On strike. On strike against…"
"Being booty calls for your brothers," Diana spat out. "The only time they want to see us lately is for, well, you know."
"They think that we want to get married now, like you and Jim did," added Honey. "And we don't. It may be right for you and my brother, but I know Brian still has a lot of years of studying and frankly, I'm not ready either. Neither is Di."
Trixie worked valiantly to repress the laughter that was bubbling up. "And you know this how?"
"By the way they're treating us! They think just because we talk about how romantic it was when Jim finally came to his senses, or say anything about anyone we know dating or anything, that we're angling for a proposal!" Honey was livid.
"Did…did you try to talk to them about it?" Trixie's sapphire eyes were sparkling with unconcealed mirth.
"Trix. These are your male relations we are talking about. Masters of deflection." Diana began walking, and the other women followed. "How many times did you try to talk to them about your mysteries and they gave you the yeah, yeah, yeah response? Honey and I, well, we deserve better than a couple of guys who only want a relationship on their terms."
"Do they know you're on strike?"
"They both took Literature. I think they'll be able to figure it out," Honey snarked. "If it was good enough to end the Peloponnesian War…"
"It should be good enough for the Belden boys to begin communicating instead of dictating." Di opened her amazing violet eyes wide.
"Do you guys want me to talk to them?" Trixie couldn't restrain the giggles that erupted. Both women turned to her, matching expressions of horror on their faces.
"Oh, no, Trixie! You'd be breaking the Woman Code!" Honey gasped as Di nodded in agreement.
"The…the Woman Code? What's that?" In another moment she'd be on the ground, laughing hysterically.
"You know. You can't tell them what's wrong because they're supposed to know what's wrong. They know that we know there's something wrong, but they have to figure it out or else it doesn't count in relationship points," Honey rambled.
"Relationship points." There was such a thing as relationship points?
"Yup," Di agreed. "If we have to tell them, then they obviously don't care enough to find out what's wrong. And that gives them the upper hand. This way, they have to work at it," she finished, a triumphant note in her voice.
"Where was I when my copy of the Woman Code was passed out?" Trixie mused out loud.
"Your brothers probably buried it in the orchard along with your dolls," Di giggled.
"The Woman Code," Trixie muttered under her breath. Linking her arms through those of her best friends, she let loose a musical laugh. "Okay. My lips are sealed." She nearly laughed out loud again, wondering who the winner would be in this war between the sexes. She had a feeling both sides would be waving a white flag before long. She couldn't wait to tell Jim.
Quantico, Va.
"He's escalating." The two little words brought a chill into the hearts of the team assigned to apprehending the Dollmaker. The Special Agent in Charge handed out the grisly autopsy photographs of the latest victim. Her high school graduation picture was pinned to the murder wall. Too many victims to be confined to a mere corkboard.
The contrast between the smiling, fresh-faced girl and the body at the bus stop was startling. "As you can see, he's continued his pathology of shaving the victim's head and putting a blonde wig on her."
"Her eyes were excised from their sockets," he continued, "While she was still alive. This also is consistent with his signature. He replaced them with blue dolls eyes."
"Same clothing as the others," remarked one of the female agents. "But red?"
"He…he cut into her skin this time, using a very sharp object, like a scalpel. Some of the cuts are shallow, barely nicking the skin. Others are quite deep, exposing bones and deep muscular tissue. Also performed while she was still living. I just hope to God she went into shock and didn't feel a thing," he ground out.
"So the dress was saturated with blood," the female stated baldly.
"So much blood that the poor guy who found the victim thought she was wearing a red dress and red tights."
"This is a major escalation of the pathology." The quiet voice of Karl King commanded attention. "He is under some stressor. Either the fantasies that fueled him in the past have paled and are not exciting enough, and he needs to…" King searched for the correct word, "Add additional fuel to kick them up another notch. Bring back the original kick he has enjoyed." He noted the grimaces of disgust on most of the agents' faces. "Or else he is in the process of making a break with his original pathology. He may be sinking further into whatever madness drives him, decompensating. In any event, something is changing for him, something that allows for this," he gestured to the gruesome photos.
"In effect, Donna Deminski just bled out. This is quite an escalation. Prior to this he suffocated the victims with carbon monoxide fumes. A more humane way of killing," the Special Agent in Charge said bitterly.
King, the FBI's top profiler, looked around the table, meeting each and everyone's eyes in turn. He knew he was about to depart from the standard Bureau line of nature and nurture. He truly believed some people were just born evil. He should know. He looked into its face often enough. "I'm not sure you could call this UNSUB human."
