Killer Headline Read online

  Her phone rang. She held up her hand as she pulled the receiver to her ear.

  “Kramer.”

  “Violet, it’s Ross. I’ll be in town within the hour. How ’bout if I pick you up at your house about 7:00 p.m.? We can get something to eat. Maybe see a movie.”

  “Sounds great. See you at seven.”

  She hung up, noting Jimmy’s raised brow.

  “You and the cop going out tonight?” he asked, glancing at the roses.

  She shook her head. “I told you there’s nothing between us.”

  “Yeah, right.” His tone had darkened.

  “Violet?” Stu hurried toward her desk. “There’s another story I need you to cover. An author whose daughter was murdered. He’s written a book about forgiveness and is speaking at the library. Evidently, he was at one of the local churches last night where the city librarian heard the program. She asked him to talk to the Friday Reading Group today. Starts at 4:00 p.m.”

  Not the story she’d hoped to write, but she couldn’t turn down an assignment. Especially with Stu’s “excellent” still ringing in her ears.

  Violet glanced at her watch. If she arrived at the library ahead of schedule, she’d be able to get a few quotes from the speaker before the program. Otherwise, she’d have to stay afterward. If he was signing his book, the line could be long, and she didn’t want anything to keep her from meeting Gwyn at the appointed time.

  Violet grabbed her coat and purse. Jimmy had walked back to his desk and was staring at her. The look on his face made her wonder if what he’d said earlier about their friendship had been true.

  Quinn stuck his head out of his cubicle and waved to her, once again giving her a thumbs-up. His encouragement only served to underscore the negative vibes she got from Jimmy.

  Clay had said she needed to be careful. Violet was starting to take his words to heart.

  The program at the library took longer than Violet had expected. The man’s story had been both poignant and uplifting, as Bernice had recounted last night. When his daughter had been murdered, the father knew the trauma and pain could draw him closer to God or drive them further away. He had worked hard to ensure God came first. The biggest test of God’s unconditional love working in his life had been when he’d forgiven his daughter’s killer.

  His testimony had visibly touched many in the audience. Tears had swelled in Violet’s eyes, and she’d choked back a lump that filled her throat.

  For so long, she’d wanted to find Lettie’s murderer, but she’d never thought about what she might be called to do once he’d been identified. Forgiveness hadn’t entered the picture.

  Something to ponder when she had time. Right now, she was late for her meeting with Gwyn. Violet raced to the strip mall on the southern edge of town. Not an area she often frequented. Pulling into the parking lot, she stomped on the emergency brake and yanked the key from the ignition.

  Purse in hand, Violet ran toward the sandwich shop located on the far edge of the complex. Night was falling, and the light from inside spilled out into the darkness.

  She reached for the door handle and pulled, but the door failed to open. Shoving her face against the glass, she looked inside. No customers. No cooks. No waitresses.

  Violet stepped back and glanced at the hours-of-operation sign hanging in the window.

  Open 10:00 a.m.—5:00 p.m.

  Where was Gwyn?

  Violet swiveled around to stare at the parking lot. Was she waiting for her there? Violet searched for a brown-haired woman, whose picture she carried in her cell phone before returning to her own car. A shiver tingled her neck as if she could feel eyes watching her. Clay’s words of caution once again rang through her mind. She missed the sense of security she always felt when he was near.

  Earlier, she’d worried about Jimmy, but standing in the parking lot in the darkening night, Violet realized she should be worrying about a lot more than a guy from college.

  Climbing behind the wheel, Violet checked her cell phone. If only Gwyn would call. If she were in danger, Violet could help. Clay would contact Micah, and the Marshals could get her the protection she needed.

  Driving back to her house, Violet thought over everything that had happened. Once again, she had gone off on her own, trying to right the wrongs done to so many women, and she’d ended up not helping anyone.

  Clay had warned Violet about sticking her nose into the Chicago Mafia’s business. She’d ignored his warnings due to her own willful stubbornness. The Mafia was in Missoula. The two towns where the women had been killed weren’t far away by Montana standards. The thugs could have driven to Missoula easily enough, especially if they got wind of a nosy reporter who was making trouble for the mob.

  Tears stung Violet’s eyes more from anger than anything else. Anger at herself for charging headlong into something that called for caution. She wanted to tell Clay she’d been wrong. In fact, she wanted to be with him tonight instead of Ross.

  There was no comparison between the two men. Ross was a nice guy, but not the right guy for her. Clay got under her skin in a good way. He was exciting and energetic and full of life. She’d been attracted to him the first time she’d seen him in Chicago. No matter what she told herself, she was attracted to him even more now.

  At the next red light, she plugged in Ross’s cell number. When he didn’t answer, she left a message. “Tonight’s not going to work out, Ross. I’m tied up and won’t be able to go out with you.”

  Seeing her house in the distance, Violet turned into the alleyway and parked in the garage. She’d try to contact Ross again. Then she’d order Chinese, head to Bernice’s and surprise Clay for a change.

  She smiled, feeling a sense of relief as she hurried toward her back door. She stuck her house key in the lock, realizing she’d never called the locksmith. Nor had she secured the dead bolt when she’d raced to her car this morning.

  Silly woman, she told herself, pushing the kitchen door open and stepping inside. Throwing her purse on the table, she checked the time and hurried to the bedroom. She’d shower and change into jeans and a sweater and low shoes before she ordered the Chinese.

  When she entered her bedroom, her heart crashed against her ribs. She reached for something, anything to steady herself. Her eyes blurred. A discarded tube of lipstick, the end caked and worn, lay on her white carpet.

  Her stomach roiled, and the room swirled around her. The cold hand of fear clasped down on her throat, making her gasp for air as she read the message scrawled across the wall.

  Roses are red, violets are blue, women have died and so will you.

  FOURTEEN

  Violet grabbed her purse and ran from the house. Keys in hand, she started her car, wanting to get as far away as possible from the message written across her bedroom wall.

  She needed arms to hold her. She needed Clay.

  Her phone rang. She dug into her purse.

  “Clay?”

  “Violet?” A woman’s voice.

  “Gwyn?”

  “I’m leaving town. They’ve found me.”

  “Who’s they?”

  “Someone from Chicago.”

  “I’m in my car,” Violet said. “Tell me where you are, and I’ll meet you.”

  “I’m packing. I only have a few minutes.”

  “Are you near the sandwich shop?”

  “Two blocks east. Take a left at the third light past the strip mall. There’s an extended-stay motel on the right. I’m in room 103, in the rear, bottom floor.”

  “Give me ten minutes.”

  Violet stepped on the gas. She had to get there and convince Gwyn before she left Missoula for good that Witness Protection would be the best way to escape the mob.

  Fumbling with her phone, Violet tried to plug in Clay’s number while she drove, her foot pushing the accelerator to the floorboard. She entered an incorrect sequence of digits, irritated when a recording indicated her error.

  Letting out a frustrated breath, Violet sea
rched the road ahead. A dump truck approached in the oncoming lane. Dropping her phone to her lap, Violet clutched the wheel with both hands, navigating a tight curve, going faster than the limit. The tires screeched as she tried to hold the road.

  The Mini slid across the yellow center line.

  Letting up on the gas, Violet pulled back into her lane barely missing the oncoming truck. The startled driver laid on his horn, the sound bellowing through the night.

  “Sorry!” Violet called out, knowing he couldn’t hear her apology.

  The muscles in her neck tightened. Her fingers burned from gripping the wheel. A straight stretch of road loomed ahead. No oncoming cars.

  Once again, she reached for her cell, her fingers stiff and clumsy. The small cellular device slipped from her hand and dropped to the floor.

  She moaned. Keeping her eyes trained on the road, she reached down with her right hand and slapped the floor. Where was the phone?

  More cars approached. She straightened, needing both hands on the wheel.

  Swish. Swish. Swish. Headlights flashed as they passed in the night.

  Another car approached. High beams. Momentarily blinded by the glare, Violet flipped her own lights to high then lowered them to signal the driver.

  He didn’t get the message.

  The glare of the headlights blinded her.

  She blinked at the sudden darkness once the car had passed.

  An overhead traffic light swayed in the wind ahead.

  Red.

  Violet slowed, glanced right and then left. No oncoming cars. Shoving her foot down on the gas, she powered through the crossing.

  Arriving at the motel, Violet pulled behind the building. The trip from her house had taken eight minutes. Record time.

  She pulled the key from her ignition and grabbed the cell she now spied lying near the brake pedal.

  Racing from her car, she found room 103, knocked twice and, when no one answered, turned the knob.

  The door creaked open.

  “It’s Violet.”

  Darkness greeted her. She stepped inside.

  Smelled copper.

  Something wet underfoot.

  Violet flipped on the light.

  Reaching for the door, she retched. The woman whose picture she’d taken two days ago lay in a pool of blood, her throat cut, her eyes open and a look of terror frozen on her face.

  Trembling, Violet raised her cell phone and snapped a photo then, turning toward the door, she called 911.

  Before the connection completed, a noise sounded behind her. Violet started to turn. Hands wrapped around her throat.

  “Ruby and Carlie and Gwyn had to die. I tried to warn you, but you wouldn’t listen. You messed with the mob. Now you’ll die, too.”

  A car door slammed.

  She screamed.

  “Violet?” Clay’s voice.

  The hands slipped from her neck. She dashed for the door and stumbled outside. Clay pulled her into his arms.

  Sobbing, she clung to him, feeling safe in his embrace. She couldn’t think, couldn’t react.

  Another woman had died.

  “Help me, Clay. The mob. They killed her. Tried to kill me.”

  Sirens sounded. A patrol car pulled to the curb.

  Clay pointed two blue suits toward the motel room. Two more officers appeared. “Circle to the rear. Cover the exit in back.”

  Clay held Violet’s shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded. “The killer was behind me. He…he whispered in my ear. His hands around my neck.” She touched her bruised flesh.

  The memory of Gwyn’s body burned through her mind. In a moment of clarity, Violet realized if Clay hadn’t arrived, she would have been the next to die.

  Investigating crime scenes was a way of life for a cop in Chicago. Clay had developed a tough skin and a sense of detachment that had kept him from being affected by what he saw.

  Until now.

  This time he was too close, too involved. He couldn’t separate his heart from what his head kept telling him. Violet had almost died. The mob had found her. If he’d arrived seconds later, he wouldn’t be watching as she gave her statement to the officer in charge.

  Clay called Jackson. “Another Montana murder.”

  “Not Violet?”

  “Her informant from Chicago. The woman tried to escape her Mafia boyfriend. Someone followed her to Missoula.”

  “What about Violet?”

  Clay’s stomach tightened. “She evidently surprised the murderer.”

  “Did she see him?”

  “Negative. He grabbed her from behind.” Clay’s mouth went dry. He swallowed, needing to give Jackson more information, and glanced again at Violet as if to ensure she was still alive. “The guy’s message was ‘Mess with the mob and you’ll die.’”

  “But she got away.”

  “Thank God, I arrived in time.” Clay paused, his mind again playing tricks on him. He saw Violet lying on the floor in place of the victim.

  Rubbing his free hand over his jaw, Clay willed the thought to flee. He needed to separate his feelings for Violet from his need to analyze the evidence or he’d compromise his ability to keep her safe.

  “The killer heard me approaching and released her. Luckily, I had called Missoula P.D. when I arrived at the motel, just in case. Two patrol cars were in the area. The killer exited through a back door that spilled into the swimming-pool area. A side archway led to an empty lot. He probably had his vehicle parked there.”

  “Surveillance cameras?”

  “They’ve been pulled and are being reviewed.”

  “Anything yet?”

  “One man moving through the pool area. He wore a baseball cap and a hooded sweatshirt and kept his back to the cameras. The surrounding area is being canvassed. Cops are going door-to-door. Chief Howard’s providing as much manpower as he can to track down every lead. FBI arrived a few minutes ago.”

  Jackson sighed. “I’ll see if there’s any talk on the street here in Chicago. Most of these lower-level mobsters like to brag about what goes down.”

  “Any activity around the Martino compound?”

  “Not that we’ve seen. Salvatore might hang on for a while longer. Doubt we’ll see many changes until he’s gone.”

  “Once Missoula P.D. identifies the victim, see what you can find on her Mafia boyfriend. First name Angelo. Gwyn told Violet he wasn’t high on the Mafia food chain. Despite that, Gwyn had good intel.”

  “Which she could have gotten from some of the other girls who serviced the mob. Sounds like they stick together.”

  “A sisterhood of support.”

  “I’ll call you when I’ve got Violet at the safe house.”

  Flipping his cell closed, Clay glanced once again at the motel. Crime-scene tape cordoned off the sidewalk leading to Room 103.

  Part of him wanted to scream with rage to the heavens for putting her in danger. The other part of him wanted to thank the Lord for allowing him to see her car swerve out of the alleyway.

  He’d followed, and tried to call Violet’s cell, but he kept getting her voice mail.

  She’d driven at breakneck speed. He would have caught up with her, except for a red light and two approaching vans coming from opposite directions.

  Thankfully, he’d stopped. As the vans had passed, he’d seen Baby On Board signs and little heads in car seats.

  Once the intersection cleared, he’d taken off again, spying Violet’s taillights in the distance.

  He’d lost her again just before the motel appeared on his right. Weighing his options, he’d selected the extended stay as a possible destination.

  A cop’s instinct or a higher power? He’d never believed in divine intervention, but no matter what had caused him to head for the rear of the building, he was grateful.

  Clay was equally grateful he’d programmed the Missoula police number into his cell and that two patrol cars had been in the vicinity.

>   The officer in charge nodded to Clay when he finished questioning Violet. “I’ve got everything I need.”

  Violet sat in the passenger side of his car with the motor running and the heater pumping warm air. Ashen faced, wide-eyed, she fidgeted with the buttons on her jacket.

  The medical examiner had arrived, and the ambulance was waiting to remove the victim once the officer in charge released the body. Clay wanted Violet out of the area before the body bag rolled to the waiting wagon.

  One of the officers approached. “Sir, we’re almost finished with the crime scene. Chief Howard will be here shortly. You’re free to leave, he’ll contact you after he’s finished here.”

  “What about her house?”

  “We’ve got a team there, as well.”

  “And Ross Truett?” Violet had provided his name. Every option needed to be covered.

  “He checked into a downtown hotel earlier today. No one has seen him since then.”

  “The chief has my number. Tell him to call me if he needs more information.”

  Clay slipped into the driver’s seat and reached for Violet’s hand. “We’re going someplace safe.” He needed to reassure her.

  She looked at him with troubled eyes. “What about Gwyn?”

  “They’re finishing up the crime scene. Her body will go downtown.”

  “She doesn’t have immediate family. Maybe a distant relative.”

  He rubbed his fingers over her hand. “The cops know what they’re doing, Violet. They’ll locate her next of kin.”

  She swallowed and glanced down at her lap as if processing what he’d just said. Shock manifested in different ways. Hopefully, she’d be able to move beyond the trauma she’d seen tonight. For all her attempts to be strong, Violet had been deeply affected by finding the murdered woman. Who wouldn’t be? Innocent women shouldn’t die at the hand of a barbarian mobster.

  Clay circled Violet with his arm and pulled her into his embrace. He wanted to hold her and keep her safe and ensure no one ever hurt her again.

  He’d promised he’d keep her safe.

  But he hadn’t succeeded.