Chapter Twenty-Six
Jax pulled to a halt in front of the pale pink building with the tiled roof. The Paradiso. It took up an entire block, with long wings that had tall windows and arched openings that led to an inner courtyard. Jax climbed out of his car. The spa had the feeling of old Hollywood. A place where Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks might have spent a quiet weekend away from their hordes of fans.
But as he walked forward, it was easy to see it was faded. And a little tarnished. The flagstone walkway was crumbling beneath his feet. And as he neared the sprawling structure, he could see the windows were dingy, with layers of dirt.
He paused as he caught sight of the sign across the middle of the double doors.
FOR SALE BY OWNER
Well, well, well.
Angling away from the front entrance, which was heavily padlocked, he walked through an arched entry and stepped into the courtyard.
A smile touched his lips as he caught sight of the marble fountain in the center of the tiled floor. It was empty now, with a layer of mold, but there was no mistaking it was the same fountain he’d seen in the photo. He was standing in the same spot as his grandmother. The knowledge tugged at his heart and he took a second to imagine her strolling through the elegant spa, perhaps laughing and chatting with another guest.
It was nice to think of her when she was young and happy, and feisty enough to slip away from the demands of her family for a little peace and quiet. He now understood where his mother had gotten her backbone.
With a shake of his head, Jax walked toward the glass door that led toward the east wing of the building.
He grabbed the handle and pulled. Locked. He swallowed a curse, pivoting to cross the tiled floor to try the door to the west wing.
He was reaching toward the handle when he caught sight of a shadowed form moving across the wide foyer inside the building. With a quick movement, he unzipped his heavy coat to give himself ready access to his gun.
As the form neared the glass door, Jax could start to make out details. He pressed his lips together, suppressing his smile. The person looked exactly like the clichéd owner of a fancy spa.
He was slender, with a delicate build, and he was wearing a gray cashmere sweater and a pair of dark slacks that no doubt cost a fortune. His silver hair was carefully brushed to hide a growing bald spot, and as he pushed open the door, Jax caught sight of dark, bronzed skin that looked like it came from a tanning bed. The leathery color contrasted sharply with the unnaturally white teeth.
Jax guessed his age to be close to sixty, but with his lean face frozen by Botox injections, it was hard to be certain.
“We’re closed,” the man stated in a clipped voice.
Jax forced a smile to his lips. “I noticed the for-sale sign on the front door.”
The man ran a suspicious glance over Jax’s worn leather coat and down to his shoes, which came from a department store.
“You’re interested in purchasing a spa?”
“Not personally,” Jax said, trying to avoid a direct lie.
“Are you a real estate broker?”
Jax lowered his voice, speaking in a confidential tone. “I’d like to keep everything off the record until I’ve had a chance to look around,” he said. It was perfectly true. “Are you the owner?”
The man remained suspicious, but he gave a nod of his head. “I’m the owner. What do you want to see?”
Ah. This was Dr. Bode. Just the man he wanted. Jax felt a stab of satisfaction as he brushed past Bode to enter the foyer. “Let’s just wander around while you tell me about the history of this place,” he suggested.
The doctor hesitated, looking annoyed at having his day interrupted. But then again, he was clearly anxious to sell the place.
“My father bought the property in the late fifties,” he said, leading Jax across the tiled foyer, which had a high ceiling, a marble floor flecked with gold, and frescoes of palm trees and flamingos on the walls. “This lobby and the outer courtyard are part of the original mansion.”
Jax hid his grimace. It was not his style, but it might have been the fashion back then. “Do you know who he bought it from?”
There was the faintest hesitation. “Frank Pruitt.”
Jax recognized the name. It was well before his time, but there were stacks of boxes at the station that included Pruitt’s arrests for extortion, illegal gambling, and even murder. Not one had led to a conviction. He had powerful friends in high places.
Then he had suddenly disappeared. Had the elder Dr. Bode given him a new face in exchange for the property?
“The name is familiar,” he murmured.
“He was a prominent businessman,” Bode said, heading across the floor to the hallway.
Jax followed, obediently standing next to the older man as he pulled open the first door to reveal an empty room that had a faded carpet on the floor and a tall window that needed to be washed.
“This is one of the private rooms for the guests. As you can see, everything is built from the highest-quality material.” Bode pointed toward the crown molding near the ceiling and then toward the built-in cabinets. “You don’t get that sort of workmanship nowadays. Perfect if you wanted to convert the spa into a hotel.” He sent Jax a too-white smile. “And on the upper floors there are larger suites you could keep for premium guests or convert into smaller rooms to double the occupancy potential. Would you like to see them?”
“Not now.” Jax stepped back. “Are there rooms in the other wing as well?”
“No, but there’s an indoor pool with a hot tub and a steam room, as well as a small gym and a full kitchen,” Bode quickly assured him.
Jax began strolling down the hallway, entering the foyer so he could peer out the glass door.
“What about the upper floor?” he demanded.
“It was a clinic until I closed it a few years ago.”
Jax glanced toward the man, not having to fake his curiosity. “What sort of clinic?”
“The spa used to offer beauty treatments, and I performed cosmetic surgery on guests who wanted more than a facial.”
“You’re a doctor?” Jax feigned surprise.
“Yes.”
There was an edge in the man’s voice that told Jax he didn’t want to discuss his career as a physician. Why not? Jax was guessing he had something to hide.
“Do you still do surgery in another clinic?”
“No, I gave up my license when I decided to retire.” A muscle twitched at the base of Bode’s jaw, assuring Jax that the doctor hadn’t given up his license willingly. “The clinic could be renovated if you wanted to create more rooms.”
“Can I see?” Jax demanded, wanting to inspect the clinic for himself.
It should be easy to determine if it’d been used recently.
Bode seemed to come to the same conclusion. Licking his lips, he reached into his pocket to pull out an ivory business card.
“I’m busy today. If you want a full tour, I suggest you ask your client to call me to make an appointment for next week,” he said, pressing the card into Jax’s hand.
Jax dropped the card on the floor, his smile fading. No more games. He needed answers. And he was going to get them one way or another.
“Actually, I’m going to insist we do it now,” he said, pulling aside his coat to reveal his badge, attached to his belt.
Bode frowned, leaning down to study the ID. “‘Detective Marcel,’” he read out loud, slowly straightening with a confused expression. “What’s this about?”
“I have a few questions.”
“About the spa? I assure you, all my zoning permits are in order.”
“I’m a homicide detective,” Jax told the man. “I’m not interested in permits.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I told you.” Jax narrowed his eyes. “I would like to see your clinic.”
Bode shifted from foot to foot. “Why? It hasn’t been used in years.”
“I don’t believe you.” Jax’s voice was hard.
“Check with the medical board,” the man tried to bluff. “They’ll tell you I haven’t worked as a doctor.”
“I assume they took your license?”
Anger flared in Bode’s eyes. “Yes. It was all a mistake, but they stole my ability to work as a surgeon.”
Jax couldn’t care less why the doctor had lost his license. “You couldn’t perform surgery legally, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t do it in secret.”
It was a direct hit. Bode clenched his hands, his face paling despite the leathered bronze of his skin. “I think I should call my lawyer.”
Jax shrugged, pretending to be indifferent to the threat. Inside, he was reminding himself to be careful. He could get a warrant to search the place, as well as force the man to talk even with a lawyer, but it would take ten times as long.
He couldn’t risk the delay. Not with a serial killer stalking Remi.
“Right now, I’m just looking for information,” he said, giving a casual shrug. “But if you want to make this official, we can finish our conversation downtown.”
There was a brittle pause as Bode silently weighed his options. No doubt his logic was warning him to keep his mouth shut, but his pride was balking at the horror of being hauled into a police station.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
“Information about what?” he demanded at last.
Jax released a silent breath of relief, reaching beneath his coat to retrieve the photos he’d tucked into the pocket of his suit jacket.
“These two women,” he said, holding them out.
The doctor took the photos, sucking in an audible breath as he obviously recognized Angel Conway and Rachel Burke.
Bode coughed, reluctantly lifting his head to meet Jax’s steady gaze. “What about them?”
“They recently had plastic surgery.”
“And?” Bode tried to look bored. Instead, he looked like he’d swallowed something nasty. “There’re a thousand plastic surgeons in Chicago.”
“And all of them have denied having these women as patients,” Jax said.
Bode abruptly shoved the pictures back into Jax’s hand. “I don’t know what that has to do with me.”
Jax carefully tucked the photos into his pocket, considering his words. Obviously, the doctor was determined to deny any knowledge of the victims. Time for a different approach.
“There’s a rumor your father used to make extra money offering mobsters new faces.”
The man blinked, confused by the sudden accusation. “My father died twenty-five years ago.”
“I know.” Jax folded his arms over his chest. “I thought you might have followed in his footsteps.”
Bode forced out a harsh laugh. “Are you claiming those girls are mobsters?”
“I’m saying you might have been in need of cash.” Jax deliberately glanced toward the wall where the palm trees were peeling and the flamingos had faded from pink to a nasty shade of salmon. “Why not do a little nip and tuck off the books?”
Bode grimaced, seeming to at last realize that Jax wasn’t here on a whim. “Even if I did a few small procedures, and I’m not admitting anything—”
“Of course not,” Jax interjected in dry tones.
Bode ignored his interruption. “Why would a homicide detective be involved?”
“Because those two women are now dead.”
“What?” Bode jerked at Jax’s blunt explanation. “That’s impossible.”
“Don’t you watch the news?” Jax demanded.
Bode gave an absent shake of his head. “I have better things to do with my time. Besides, I’ve been preoccupied.” With a sharp movement, the doctor turned to pace across the foyer before spinning back to glare at Jax. “Dead. Are you sure?”
Jax squashed his pang of disappointment as he studied the man’s horrified expression. He hadn’t known. No one was that good an actor. Dammit. Jax had realized it would be a long shot for Bode to be the Butcher, but he’d still clung to the hope. It would have solved all his problems.
Of course, even if he wasn’t the killer, he had to know who was, he told himself.
“It’s my job to be sure,” he told the older man.
“What happened?” Bode demanded. “An accident?”
“Both of them had their throats cut open.”
Bode gasped, lifting his hand to his neck. “They were murdered?”
“Yep.”
“At the same time?”
Jax shook his head. “No, it was a few days apart.”
“This is . . .” Bode paced back toward Jax, his heels clicking on the tiled floor. The sound echoed eerily, reminding Jax that they were all alone in the building.
Cautiously, Jax shifted his hand so it was near his holstered gun. “What?” he asked.
“Unbelievable,” the doctor breathed.
Jax had intended to conduct the interview in the clinic, but now that they’d started, he didn’t want to give the man time to reconsider his need for a lawyer. “Tell me about the women,” he commanded.
Bode nervously smoothed his hands down his cashmere sweater, a film of sweat on his face despite the chill in the air.
“Angel came to me first,” he abruptly confessed.
Jax didn’t pull out his notebook and pencil. He’d take the good doctor down to the station to make an official statement later. For now, he wanted his hands free in case he needed his gun.
Even if Bode wasn’t a danger, this was a big building. Anyone could be hiding in one of the rooms.
“How did she find you?”
Bode shrugged, he eyes darting from side to side. He was trying to come up with a feasible lie.
“I’ve been doing Botox parties for the past three years,” he finally said.
Jax was confused. “Botox parties?”
Bode gave a wave of his hand. “A group of friends get together at my clinic. We have wine and cheese and I give them Botox injections.”
Jax snorted. What happened to Tupperware parties? “Angel wasn’t old enough for Botox,” he pointed out.
“Are you kidding?” Bode looked amazed by Jax’s stupidity. “Any woman who cares about maintaining her beauty begins preventive care in her twenties.”
Jax wrinkled his nose. He supposed it was fine for a woman to do whatever she wanted with her own face, especially if it made her happy. But his mother was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, and it was completely natural.
“Fine.” He held the man’s gaze. “Angel couldn’t afford your party.”
“She heard about me from one of the ladies.” The words were said in a rush. A certain sign the man was lying. “She came to me and asked if I could do more extensive work.”
“What sort of work?”
“The usual.”
Jax stepped forward, poking his finger in the center of the man’s chest. “Don’t screw around with me, Bode,” he snapped. “What work did you do on her?”
The doctor took a stumbled step backward, a drop of sweat hanging from the tip of his nose.
“She wanted me to make her look more like Remi Walsh,” he ground out, reaching up to brush away the sweat. “She was the girl who was attacked by the Chicago Butcher a few years ago.”
Jax’s gut twisted, even as he felt a blast of satisfaction. He and Ash had been right. There was someone out there deliberately creating victims who looked like Remi.
“I know who she is,” he said in cold tones. “Why would Angel want to look more like her?”
“She told me they were making a movie about the Butcher. She had the role of Remi, but she wanted to look more believable.” The doctor sounded defensive, as if he could make excuses for operating without a license on a young girl who had been lured to her death by her dreams of fame. “She paid in cash, so I didn’t really care why she wanted the surgery.”
Jax bit back his urge to tell the doctor he thought he was a total scumbag. He’d save that treat for later.
“And Rachel?” he asked.
“She came to me a week or two later,” Bode admitted. “She told me the same story.”
Jax frowned. He’d already surmised the doctor wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. He’d managed to lose his license and the spa he’d inherited was crumbling to dust. But he wasn’t stupid.
“You didn’t think it was odd that they would need more than one actress to fill the role of Remi Walsh?”
“I assumed the first one didn’t work out,” Bode muttered, his lips twisting with disgust. “To be honest, I wasn’t surprised.”
“Why?”
“She was kind of flaky.” Bode glanced toward the glass door at the opposite wing. “Plus, I caught her searching the clinic for painkillers. It was obvious she was an addict. It was only a matter of time before she did something to get fired.”
His words echoed what he’d learned from Angel’s autopsy. She had traces of drugs in her system, and enough physical damage to reveal she’d been abusing opioids for years.
“You’re telling me that two women just wandered in off the street, plopped down a stack of cash, and asked you to make them look like Remi Walsh?” he demanded, his tone mocking.
“More or less.”
Jax struggled to leash his anger. The doctor was seriously pissing on his last nerve. Time to turn up the heat.
“They stayed here after the surgery, didn’t they?” he demanded, already guessing this would be the perfect location for the killer to keep them isolated from their friends and family.
Bode hunched his shoulders. “They remained here for a few days. Just so I could keep an eye on their incisions. After that—”
“They were murdered,” Jax interrupted, his tone blatantly accusing.
“I told you, I didn’t know.”
“Two women.” Jax stepped until he was towering over the man, his expression hard with warning. “Both made to look like the Butcher’s preferred victim. And now both dead.”
Bode pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his forehead. The motion allowed the dim light to sparkle off the large diamond on his pinkie. “What are you implying?”
“The killer has a fascination with Remi,” Jax continued. “And a sharp knife that might very well have been a scalpel. Does that remind you of anyone?”
Bode was shaking his head before Jax finished speaking. “No way in hell are you pinning this on me.”
Jax abruptly reached out to grab the front of the man’s sweater, twisting it until he forced him onto his tiptoes.
“Then tell me the truth,” he growled.
“I did.” The words came out in a sputter as Bode stared at Jax with a nervous gaze. “The women came to me, they asked for the surgery to look like Remi Walsh, and that’s what I did. Once they left the clinic, I never saw them again.”
Jax glared down at him. “They didn’t come here alone, did they?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
Jax gave him a violent shake. He was done. The man was going to give him the answers he needed or he was driving him downtown and throwing him in jail. Maybe a day or two locked in a cell with a bunch of hardened criminals would loosen his tongue.
“Someone brought the girls to you. The same someone who had the stacks of cash,” he insisted.
“I . . .” Clearly realizing he was about to be introduced to the delights of the Illinois penal system, Bode released a harsh sigh. His shoulders slumped and his eyes dimmed with defeat. “Yes.”
Jax felt a blast of elation. Finally. He was about to put an end to the Butcher. Once and for all.
“Tell me.”