Forty-One
Kelly’s trigger finger was itchy again, and it was taking all her willpower and self-control not to act. Killing Ramirez wouldn’t solve her problems, even if he was her problem. She’d end up going to prison, her life over. He wasn’t worth it. She just needed to get the hell out of Miami PD.
Paramedics had picked up Gordon at his house and had taken him to the hospital, where they fussed over him some more, despite his protests. She stood by and made calls to West’s and Sullivan’s lawyers, and neither of them had a record of receiving hate mail related to Kelter. After that, she managed to squeeze in to talk to Gordon while he was waiting on a doctor. He’d told her that he recognized the delivery guy from a bakery he and Jenna used to go to sometimes.
She opened the door for Sweet Tooth Bakery and was immediately enveloped in a heavenly assortment of smells: croissants, cheesecake, sugar cookies, icing, icing, and more icing. She could lick the tops off the red velvet cupcakes in the display case. Icing was right up there with loaded nachos. Yum.
A woman about the same age as Kelly was smiling at her from behind the counter. “What can I get you?”
A tub of icing… Followed immediately by the thought, A moment on the lips, forever on the hips.
She pulled out her badge, and the woman shrank back.
“It’s okay. I just need to speak to the manager.” Kelly smiled at the woman and she nodded, then retreated into the back.
Kelly took in all the goodies, her stomach growling. It was after five and she’d hardly eaten today. Surely, she could justify a cookie, maybe two. Hey, it could be her dinner. But she knew she’d be hungry again in an hour. Pouring sugar down her throat wasn’t a solution. Not that she was a health nut, but she watched what she ate, even if it was just before it went into her mouth. Those cookies were probably about three hundred and fifty calories a piece, which would mean she’d have to spend somewhere in the neighborhood of an extra hour running. Not worth it, especially when her time was such a hot commodity. Her regular hour a day was hard enough to work into her schedule, but it was also her savior—both physically and mentally.
“Can I help you?” A woman in her fifties approached, her gray hair tied back into a tight bun, her hands clasped in front of her. Nothing about her fit the image of what Kelly had expected for a manager of a bakery.
Kelly held up her badge again. “I’m Detective Marsh with Miami PD.”
“Connie Baxter. I’m the owner here.” She crossed her arms and tilted her head, clearly impatient.
Some people really didn’t like cops—some outright hated them—and it was possible that Connie was in their ranks.
Kelly brought up the photo array that included the delivery guy and the unsub on her phone. She held out the screen to Connie, who moved closer to the counter, albeit reluctantly.
“Now, what am I looking at?” Connie asked snidely.
“I need to know if any of these people look familiar to you.”
Connie regarded Kelly with suspicion. “Why?”
“Unfortunately, I can’t—”
“Let me guess. It’s an open investigation or some such thing.” Connie loosened her arms and lowered them when a female patron stepped up to the counter beside Kelly. Connie smiled at the woman, but when she looked back at Kelly, she was scowling. “I’d love to help you, but I’m not sorry I can’t.”
“You can’t, or you won’t?” Kelly served back with some heat.
“Both.”
Wow, there was nothing sweet about the owner… Kelly put her phone away. She couldn’t force Connie to do as she asked, and she didn’t have a legitimate reason to take her down to the station. Kelly glanced at the customer next to her, who smiled back. At least there was one friendly face in the crowd.
Kelly was turning to leave when she locked eyes with the cashier who had gotten Connie for her. She was watching Kelly and something about the look in her eyes expressed a desire to help.
Connie asked, “Will you be leaving or are you getting anything to—”
“I’ll have a cookie,” Kelly interrupted, taking only a modicum of pleasure from repaying the favor. Three hundred and fifty calories. “And a large coffee—black.” Zero.
Connie turned up her nose. “Christine will help you.” With that, the owner rode her broomstick back to where she’d come from.
Christine finished up with the customer, bagged Kelly’s cookie, and poured her coffee. She collected the money and said, “Just give me a minute.” She disappeared into the back before Kelly could respond. When she returned, she was untying her half apron and proceeded to set it on a counter. She pointed toward a side door and went outside, Kelly close behind.
The door opened into a small alleyway, and Christine shuffled away from the door about twenty feet.
Kelly stopped across from her. The women were about a foot apart and facing each other.
“Connie doesn’t like cops,” Christine said, as if that were necessary.
“I take it you do?” Kelly concluded. It wasn’t like Christine knew exactly what Kelly wanted. She would have seen Kelly show her phone and ask Connie if she recognized anyone. It was doubtful that Christine could have seen the faces from where she had been.
“Let me see those pictures you were showing Connie.” Christine held her hand out. “I take it you’re trying to track down a customer.”
This woman was smart, Kelly gave her that, and intuitive. But Christine had also made a large assumption. How could she know the pictures were about a customer? “How do you know—”
“Well, it wasn’t personal to Connie or you would have asked for her by name. And you followed me out here, so it’s something you figure I might be able to help with.” Christine’s gaze softened, becoming apologetic. “I’m sorry for interrupting you. It’s just that I don’t have much time.”
Kelly put the bagged cookie in the pocket of her light jacket and exchanged it for her phone. She balanced the coffee in one hand and worked to bring up the pictures with her other one. She put her phone in Christine’s hand. “There are a few photos. Just scroll through them and let me know if you recognize anyone.”
“Okay.” Christine glanced at Kelly, almost hesitant before looking at the screen. She squinted and moved it at different angles. “Ugh, the sunlight,” was all Christine said. She settled on an angle, and her eyes widened if only marginally as she swiped the screen.
Kelly felt a rise of excitement in her chest. “You recognize someone?”
“Uh-huh. This guy.” Christine turned the phone and pressed a finger to the screen.
Kelly understood what she was saying about the sunlight as a glare was cutting right over the face Christine was indicating. Kelly took Christine’s hand and maneuvered it so she could see clearly. She expected to see the delivery guy; instead their unsub’s face was staring back at her.
She wanted to scream and celebrate, but caution reined her back. “You’re sure?”
“Definitely. He’s been coming here for a while.”
The white boxes the heads were placed in were pegged as confection boxes, like the kind one gets from a bakery. Kelly gulped. Her heart was pounding in her ears now, an infusion of adrenaline racing through her veins. “He’s a regular?” They could set up surveillance, see if he returned, catch him, put an end to the killings. Finally.
“He comes in probably about once a week.”
Okay, keep your cool, Kelly coaxed herself. “The same day every week?”
“Not that predictable.”
And there it was: a piercing needle taken to her balloon of hope. Some air hissed out.
Christine added, “His name’s John Doe, if that helps.”
“John Doe?” Kelly was taken aback. “If this is some sort of joke—”
“I know how it sounds. My first reaction to hearing it was the same as yours, but I swear I’m telling you the truth. He said his parents had a stupid sense of humor.”
If someone actually named their kid John Doe, they had bigger problems than a warped sense of humor. Kelly studied Christine’s eyes and, satisfied she was being honest, took her phone back. “What else can you tell me about—?”
The side door opened behind Kelly, and she glanced over a shoulder. It was Connie.
“Christine, your five minutes are up,” the owner snarled.
“I’ll be right there,” Christine said.
“Now,” Connie ordered and retreated back inside.
“I’ve got to go. Obviously.” Christine rolled her eyes. “Otherwise she’ll hop on her broomstick. I’ll save you from seeing that.”
Kelly laughed. She knew there was something she’d liked about Christine.
Christine took a few steps and said, “Come back tomorrow morning. Eight o’clock. It’s Connie’s day off.”
“I’ll be here,” Kelly said. “Thanks.”
“You should know that John Doe wasn’t the only man I recognized from your pictures.”
“Who—”
The door opened again.
“Christine!”
Christine leaned in toward Kelly as she walked by. “The one who was wearing a Miami Dolphins hat.”
Kelly stood there for a few minutes after the door opened and closed behind the cashier. The Miami Dolphins hat belonged to the delivery guy. Although she was at the bakery because Gordon recognized him from there, it felt great to hear someone else did, too. Someone who might have something to offer as to his identity.
She pulled out her phone and dialed Nadia Webber. She figured what she was going to ask was a reach, but if she called anyone at Miami PD, it would get back to Ramirez. She wanted to keep him in the dark for as long as possible.
Nadia answered on the second ring.
“It’s Detective Marsh.”
“Kelly? I haven’t received any hits on the delivery guy with facial rec yet.”
“Thanks, but that’s not why I’m calling,” Kelly said. “Could you do me a quick favor?”
“Anything.”
“I just had someone ID our unsub.”
“That’s great,” Nadia exclaimed.
“Hold off on getting too excited just yet. The name I was given was John Doe.”
“Are you joking?” Nadia let out a bark of laughter. “You have to be.”
“I know this is a crazy long shot, but would you run the name through the database, see if anything pops in Miami or surrounding area. From there, see if any match our unsub.” The second her verbal request hit her own ears, it only confirmed what an improbability this was, but she couldn’t just disregard the fact she’d gotten a name, whatever it was.
“John Doe? Okay.” Nadia sounded skeptical, not that Kelly blamed her. Regardless of how Nadia felt, if the keystrokes coming across the line were any indication, she was doing what Kelly had asked.
“There are a few John Does actually,” Nadia confirmed.
“Among the living?” Kelly teased, attempting to remain light and unattached to the outcome.
Nadia laughed. “Yeah.”
“Those poor men.”
“You can say that again.” At the tail end of that short sentence, Nadia sounded more serious. “But none of these John Does match the picture we have of the unsub.”
Kelly sighed. She couldn’t say she was surprised. She thanked Nadia and ended the call.
John Doe was a name that would taunt and ridicule her until she had this unsub in custody. This guy sure as hell had a sense of a humor, just like the parents who actually did name their sons John Doe, but she wasn’t amused.
Her phone rang, and she answered quickly. As she listened to the caller, that balloon of hope was filling with air again. Kelter’s phone had just been traced.