Chapter Three

Elijah returned to the office and found Sanchez taking a break. “So, what’s she like?” She slumped back in her chair, chewing on a chocolate bar, the second of the day. She’d have to buy her own candy company at this rate.

He shrugged. “She seemed reasonable. She just wants Green assessed by a more reliable doctor.”

“I heard she’s a looker.”

He indulged in the memory of those long, shapely legs and her eyes, the compelling color of good whisky. “Yes, I think most people would consider her quite attractive.”

“You know Davis, he knows all the gossip. Looked her up online, like a friggin’ stalker. He said she put herself through college modelling for some of the big catalogues.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me.” Glancing at his watch, he grabbed his jacket and keys.

“Where you headed?”

“I have that interview with the third man Bennett dated recently, Jarvis Bentley.”

“A lawyer, right?”

“Yes. Personal injury.”

“His own firm?”

“Yes.”

“Big bucks, then. Where’s the office?”

“He’s got a suite at the power tower.” It was their nickname for the most expensive office building downtown.

“You’ll be lucky if they’re willing to let one of us in the front door. Have fun.”

“Be back in a couple of hours.”

“Wanna grab us some lunch from that deli next door? You know the one I mean. They got that great pumpernickel bread.”

“Sure.” He turned back. “What do you want?”

“Surprise me.”

Fifteen minutes later, Elijah parked in the garage underneath the building, guided to an available spot by the attendant after he flashed his badge. A sleek, mirrored elevator whisked him to the twentieth floor with gut-wrenching speed. He located the correct suite easily and found a sleek, young receptionist at a desk, positioned close to the open front doors. Her designer clothes made him feel a little shabby in comparison. The slim blonde stood about five-foot-six and probably wore a size two on a bloated day. “How may I help you?” she asked, giving him a barely veiled once over.

He pulled identification from his pocket. “Detective Black to see Jarvis Bentley.”

Lifting her nose a fraction in a time-honored gesture of snobbery, she said, “Do you have an appointment? I’m afraid he’s fully booked today.” She didn’t look remotely sorry about that fact.

“You were told to expect me.” He smiled. “I won’t take much of his valuable time.”

Picking up the phone, she murmured into it. She looked up in response to whatever had been said. “May I ask what this is in reference to?”

“I’m afraid not.”

She spoke again, then placed the phone back in its cradle. “He’ll be with you in five minutes.”

Nodding, he took a seat in one of the plush, cushioned chairs that sat in a semi-circle off to one side. The office décor was modern and white, full of hard angles and lines. The modern look was all the rage, although for the life of him he couldn’t understand why. Give him rich color and some quality antiques any day.

As he expected, the promised five minutes turned into ten, then ten into fifteen. Such behavior was a plot used by insecure men to demonstrate a sense of power. Just as he planned on how to circumvent the receptionist, a tall man appeared from behind her. Spouting insincere apologies, he glided forward to meet him. “I’m Jarvis Bentley. So sorry to keep you waiting. Please come with me.”

Elijah took note of the man’s appearance as he followed him to his office. Bentley’s perfect tan looked salon applied, designed to accent his full head of carefully barbered golden hair. His well-cut designer suit probably cost more than Elijah made in a month.

The spacious office had only his massive desk, three chairs, and a teacart. Huge, yawning windows offered an impressive downtown view. Expensive modern art stared at him from the three remaining walls. He wondered if the man could name any of the artists. Unlikely. When Bentley turned to gesture him to a padded leather chair, his glacier blue eyes seemed to look right through him. “To what do I owe the honor of a visit from one of the boys in blue?”

The bluff tone didn’t fool him. Something about this man raised the hair on the back of his neck. His appearance and the stage setting of the office seemed more like theatrics. It was as if he tried to create the image of perfection without any regard to reality. “I’d like to ask you some questions about Sylvia Bennett.”

“I heard about that on the news this morning. What a terrible thing.”

If Elijah hadn’t studied body language, he might have believed the sincerity of his words. His lips were saying the right things, but the upright frame of his body proved he experienced no particular sadness at all. Grief or even empathy always pulled the shoulders forward. “According to her records, I believe the two of you dated several times in the past two months.”

“Yes.” He leaned and flicked through some pages on his device. Reading out the three relevant dates, he gave him times for pickup and end times as well. After he provided the information, an odd smile passed his lips.

He took note of the details. “Were these all dinner dates?”

“The first two were.” He listed the best restaurants in town, clearly expecting him to be impressed.

Elijah made sure to show no reaction, marking the information in his notebook. “And the third?”

“We went to the opera.” Smirking, he added, “I have box seats, of course.”

“Had you planned on a fourth date?”

“No.”

“May I ask why?”

“There was no physical connection. I didn’t see any point in continuing to waste my valuable time when there were many other available women to consider.”

He sensed, with some certainty, that this man had pushed her sexually and been shut down. Was he the man who’d put her off by being too forward? “How would you describe Ms. Bennett in general?”

Leaning back, he steepled his hands. “Attractive, intelligent, a little old-fashioned. She scored about an eight on my preference scale. I prefer a solid ten.”

Although he knew the comment was intended to provoke him, he couldn’t help responding. “I beg your pardon?”

Bentley laughed, flashing the expensive caps on his gleaming teeth. “Let’s be frank, Detective Black. We are both virile men, and the world is jammed full of eager women. Why settle for just another pretty face?”

Seriously, how do men like this ever get a decent date? He ignored the crass comment and moved on. “Did Ms. Bennett ever express concern about anyone following her or making her uncomfortable?”

Again, that odd smile passed his lips. “I’m afraid I can’t help you there. Most of our conversations centered on our respective careers, the opera, and art.”

“Do you frequently find your dates online?”

“Absolutely. Having dozens of women begging for your company on a nightly basis is an experience well worth savoring. Have you tried it?”

“No.”

“You should. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

Elijah was sure this man’s initial popularity was only because these women hadn’t yet met him. He’d had enough of this braggart. Standing, he shook his hand and left a business card. “If you think of anything that might help—”

“I’ll be sure to let you know.” As he shut the door, his last glimpse was a smug smile on the other man’s face.

Leaving the building was a relief as if the man’s very presence offended the air around him. Elijah waited in line at the delicatessen next door, buying him and Sanchez thick roast beef sandwiches on the famous bread she adored. Deciding to spoil her, he grabbed some chocolate chip cookies, too. He had to struggle to exit with the early lunch crowd clogging the front entrance. Arriving at the car, he lay his food on the passenger seat and closed himself in.

Driving back, he put a deep dive on Bentley on the to-do list. He trusted his instincts—there was something warped about him. It may not have anything to do with Bennett, but he owed it to himself to make sure.

****

The Rhymester spent his days off, and even some of his work hours, stalking his next victim. Oh, she was full of herself, flirting and flaunting with every man to get her way. And it worked. It wasn’t just the television cameras that followed her. Men and women alike trailed her to her appearances, desperate to be linked to her rising star.

Pathetic.

Being born beautiful was just genetic fortune, not a personal achievement. The endless search for physical perfection continued with some help from a skilled plastic surgeon. And he knew for a fact that Pamela Clayton had purchased boobs, added a new nose, and wore hair extensions to augment her flowing locks.

Fake everything, including talent.

Women didn’t belong on the crime beat. How many talented men had been overlooked during that particular network search? That they’d chosen someone who looked more like a plastic blowup doll was infuriating.

She wasn’t the most observant creature, either. He’d been following her, on and off, for weeks—to and from work all over the city, the television station, and at least to the door of her fabulous apartment. Like everyone else, she had a few bad habits. He made note of every one which provided an opportunity.

He carried out his crimes in a way both fast and thorough. Efficient, really, although that sounded more boring than impressive. Thirty seconds was all he required to carry out the deed. Maybe a few bonus moments to watch a victim’s last breath trickle from her slender throat. Especially careless walking to and from her car, Clayton frequently leaned into her trunk to fumble with all her odds and ends. That left her no way to see him if he approached her from the rear. That would likely be his best chance.

Oh, to see the look on her face when she realized what vital clue she’d missed. If she didn’t recognize him from before, she would as she sucked in her final breath. His first murder had been a cause for gleeful celebration. It had gone perfectly. His confidence level had risen and, now, his hunger for another kill rose.

The insistent clock was ticking in his ear. It wouldn’t be long now.

****

Elijah had worked on the case for almost two hours when he realized Sanchez had barely uttered a word. That was a rare enough occasion for him to turn toward her. “Are you okay? You’re suspiciously quiet this morning.”

She ran a hand through her hair, shoving back the abundant waves. “Jeez, I’m so friggin’ distracted.”

“What’s going on?”

Rapping her knuckles on the desk, she sighed. “Got some personal shit going down.”

“Ray okay?”

“He’s okay. Not sure I am.”

He waited for more information. Sanchez rarely talked about her personal life. She stood and paced around the room, muttering to herself. Finally, she whirled to look at him, her expression one of alarm. “He asked me to marry him last night.”

The news surprised him, especially because she didn’t look too excited. “That’s great! Congratulations.” She still didn’t smile. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

Her voice cracked. “He bought a ring and everything.”

Clearly, he didn’t understand the point she was trying to make. “That’s generally what you do when you want to marry someone. You do love him, right?”

“That’s not the point,” she huffed, planting her hands on her hips.

“I’d say that’s exactly the point. What am I missing?”

“What the hell do I know about that kind of stuff?”

“What, marriage?” Not everyone knew about her lousy childhood, not to mention an ex-boyfriend violent enough to end up serving life in prison. Elijah tried to understand her fears through the perspective of her history. “Strong marriages do exist. You know they do. My parents were very happy together for over fifty years.”

“I know.” She hung her head and kicked at a gap in the floor. “We both know that cases like theirs are more of an exception than a rule, though. There’s a lot of others that go rollin’ down the tracks straight to Crapsville.”

“What did you tell him when he asked?”

“I said I’d have to think about it for a while.” She sucked in a breath. “He wasn’t too happy with me. I mean, not mad, but, you know, disappointed. Like I kicked him in the gut.”

A rush of affection for her and her quandary swept over him. “He’ll get over it. He’s crazy about you, you know.”

“Yeah.” A ghost of a smile crossed her face. “Maybe he’s just crazy to want me.”

He walked over and patted her on the back, one of the only forms of affection she usually accepted. As she peered up at him, he said, “Just ask yourself one thing. Whose face do you want to see at the end of a long day?”

“His.” She’d responded without pausing.

He took a chance and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “I think you just answered your own question.”