CHAPTER FIFTY

 

Detective Cramer entered the victim’s condo. Her name sounded familiar, but it wasn’t until he actually saw Cyndi Gordon’s lifeless face that he put two and two together. Todd Foxworth had brought her to his backyard barbecue. And now she was dead—the apparent victim of foul play that showed all the signs it was the work of The Woods Strangler.

As had become a bad habit of late, Cramer danced around crime scene investigators and the supplementary cast of police personnel. He walked up to Geoffrey Rawlings.

“It’s really getting scary in this part of town,” Rawlings told him. “Our man has struck again, right under our damned noses—and it stinks all to hell.”

“It’s draining the life out of all of us,” Cramer said.

“It certainly drained one life tonight. The victim’s been identified as Cyndi Gordon, age twenty-five.”

“Yeah, I know her.”

Rawlings lifted a brow. “No kidding?”

“Well, sort of. She was at the barbecue, riding high on the arm of Todd Foxworth.”

“The dude who owns the spa?”

“One and the same.”

Rawlings met Cramer’s eyes. “Real interesting. Especially since, according to a neighbor, Ms. Gordon was at the spa today.”

Cramer flinched. The last thing he wanted to believe was that Todd Foxworth had killed his girlfriend as part of a string of strangulation homicides. But stranger things had happened. And Foxworth had been at the last community meeting as well as the barbecue.

“We need to have a talk with him,” Cramer said. “If for no other reason than to notify him that his lady friend is dead.”

“Maybe I’ll just double-check to see if we have anything on him that could be considered suspicious, if he’s not an outright criminal,” Rawlings said.

“Yeah, do that.”

The two men stepped outside for some fresh air.

“Who found her?” Cramer asked.

Rawlings tilted his head in the direction where an officer was talking to a young African-American male in a pizza restaurant uniform.

“Name’s Jamal Baroney. He was delivering a pizza to the victim when he found her lying there—”

“How’d he get in?”

“Says the door was open,” Rawlings said. “And he just walked right in.”

“Hmm...” Cramer mused. “Either he’s lying or the killer’s getting sloppy.”

“Or he’s getting more confident that he can come and go as he damn well pleases and doesn’t need to close up shop anymore after he kills.”

“See what else you can come up while I go talk to the kid,” Cramer told Rawlings.

Cramer studied the young man who looked visibly shaken. “Do you make a habit of entering residences uninvited?”

Jamal shook his head. “No, man. I-I, uh, I just wanted to deliver the pizza. When nobody came to the door, I went inside since it was open—you know, to make sure she knew I was there.”

“And that’s when you found the body?”

“Yeah,” he said sadly. “Last thing I wanted was to be blamed for something I didn’t do, but I couldn’t just leave her there with no one knowing...”

“No one’s pinning this on you, kid,” Cramer told him sympathetically. The truth was he didn’t fit the profile. And it was doubtful that The Woods Strangler would call in his kill and hang around till the authorities arrived. “But we have a job to do,” Cramer continued. “And that means we need your help. Did you see anyone coming or going?”

“I never saw anybody,” Jamal said.

“You didn’t see anyone outside at all—someone walking, running, or getting into a car?”

Jamal thought about it. “Well, uh, when I first drove up I saw a dude crossing the street near the front of the complex. But he didn’t seem like he was in a big hurry or anything.”

“What did he look like?”

“Can’t really say ‘cause I barely got a look at him. All I remember is he was wearing a cap—”

“A baseball cap?”

Jamal shrugged. “I don’t know. Can’t say for sure.”

“Was he African-American? Latino? White...?”

“Don’t know that either. Sorry.”

Cramer narrowed his eyes. “That isn’t good enough. Maybe if you just focused a bit more—”

Jamal gulped. “I guess he could’ve been Latino, or maybe a light-skinned African-American...or a white man with a tan. Sorry. I was just trying to get the pizza here on time and not paying attention to what was going on around me. If I could do it over—”

Cramer hid his disappointment while directing an officer to get a sketch artist over there to try to jog the kid’s memory.

Suddenly there was a commotion, and Cramer spotted Todd Foxworth trying to storm through the police barricade at about the same time the coroner arrived.

“I want to see her!” Todd demanded.

“I don’t think so,” said a brawny officer, holding him back.

“She’s my girlfriend!”

Cramer raced over, flashed his badge, and said, “Let him through.”

The officer complied.

“Where is she?” Todd glared at the detective.

Cramer kept his cool, not wanting to make a scene. And, although he could understand Todd’s apparent distress, Cramer still had to consider him a prime suspect in the murder of Cyndi Gordon.

He pulled Todd over to the side. “She’s still in the condo and I can’t let you go in right now. It’s an official crime scene.”

Todd sighed. “Did he kill her?”

“Yeah, it looks like it.”

Todd put his hands on his head. “Why? Why did it have to be Cyndi?”

“Looks like he might have followed her from the spa.”

Todd’s brows shot up. “What?”

Cramer watched his reaction. “She was at the spa today, wasn’t she?”

“Yeah, she was there. So were a lot of people. That doesn’t mean one of them followed her home or killed her.”

“Maybe not, but right now it’s a working theory.”

Cramer paused as the black body bag with the victim was brought out. He gazed at Todd and thought he saw hurt in his eyes, which may have been real.

Or damned good acting.

“I’m sorry, Todd,” Cramer said. “How long did you know Ms. Gordon?”

Todd seemed momentarily distracted by his thoughts. When he refocused on Cramer, he responded, “Uh, about a month. Why?”

Cramer chewed his lower lip. On the one hand, Foxworth was a friend and neighbor. As far as he knew, they had nothing on him other than his obvious connection to the victim. But a woman was dead and her killer was someone she willingly let in.

Like maybe a boyfriend.

Cramer looked at Todd. “You don’t happen to own a cap, do you? Like a baseball cap?”

“Yeah, I do. I play softball sometimes. So what?”

Cramer had been hoping he’d say no. Instead, his friend had only put himself into potentially hotter water.

“I think we should talk about this at the station.”

Todd stared at him. “Talk about what? You think I had something to do with Cyndi’s death?”

“I’m not saying anything,” Cramer replied. Not yet anyway. “We have to interview everyone who was associated with the victim. Unfortunately, we need to start with you—”

Todd sneered. “Do I need a lawyer?”

Cramer met his gaze head on. “You tell me...”

* * *

Hours later, Quinn sat across from Todd in a coffeehouse. He’d decided to support his friend who had just lost his girlfriend and was also considered a suspect in her death. He knew something about that in ways Todd could not possibly imagine.

“I never thought it would be this hard, man,” Todd said, looking a bit haggard and unshaven. “It’s bad enough that Cyndi was murdered. But for the cops to think for one second that I had anything to do with it—”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Quinn said. “No one who knows you thinks you could have done such a thing.”

“Dennis Cramer knows me. At least I thought he did. Now he’s treating me like a damned criminal. Meanwhile, the guy who killed Cyndi is still out there.”

“Don’t be too hard on Dennis,” Quinn said. “He’s under tremendous pressure from all sides. He’s just doing his job to make sure all the bases are covered. I’m sure the police will realize they were barking up the wrong tree where it concerns you.”

Todd flashed angry eyes at him. “You mean when another woman is killed?”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“So how do I get back my reputation as an honest businessman?” Todd asked.

“By not freaking out about this as if you are guilty. It’s not like they’ve charged you with anything. Just go about your business and force the police to turn their attention elsewhere.”

“Easier said than done,” Todd grumbled. “Especially when I keep thinking about Cyndi and wondering what her last moments must have been like.”

Quinn thought about that, too. And it wasn’t a pretty picture.

Then he thought about Selene. Would he be able to keep her out of harm’s way? Or would she too eventually succumb to this murderer’s madness?