“No, not really. Erin often turns off her phone. She isn’t—wasn’t—the kind to talk on it all the time.” Madison couldn’t help blaming herself. She should have driven over yesterday instead of house-hunting for a home she could never replace. If she had, Erin might still be alive. Surely the killer wouldn’t have tried to murder two women. She could have saved her friend if she hadn’t been obsessed with replacing a home—and a life—that was gone forever.
“When I couldn’t make contact this morning, I drove over here,” Madison told them.
“Do you have any idea where she’s been or who she was with?”
Madison shook her head.
“Boyfriend? Parents?”
Before she could respond, Tanner asked, “Do you know anyone who would want to kill your friend?”
“No, no. Of course not.” She heard her voice crack and with it came the threat of tears.
The men were silent for a moment, waiting for her to compose herself. A Miami PD van marked Crime Scene Investigation pulled to the curb. The uniformed officers went over to meet it, and Madison was left with the detectives. It seemed to be straight out of a CSI: Miami episode—only this was horribly real.
“Erin doesn’t have a boyfriend. Both parents are dead. I’m all she has.”
None of the three reacted—exactly—but they silently regarded her with keener interest.
She suddenly realized how it sounded. “I—I mean, Erin has had boyfriends in the past, and she would like—would have liked—to find a guy. That’s why we went out clubbing on Friday night. But as far as family, I’m it. We grew up together.” She looked at Paul Tanner, feeling more of a connection with him than the other two men. His expression said he was measuring every word. “Our mothers met when they were pregnant with us. I’ve known Erin my whole life.”
Two men and a woman in navy jumpsuits with Crime Scene Investigator stenciled on the back had emerged from the van with a video camera and bags of gear. The crime scene techs headed toward the open front door. While she’d been talking, someone had strung yellow crime scene tape across the porch.
“We’re close,” Madison continued, “just like sisters.”
The detective taking notes arched one thick eyebrow. “Where were you last night?”
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see where they were heading with this. “Wait a minute. You don’t think I—”
“They’re just doing their job,” Paul interjected. “This is a question they’ll ask everyone associated with your friend.”
“I spent the night alone. I’m house-sitting for a friend. That’s where I was.”
The detective taking notes asked, “Make any phone calls?”
Madison knew that could establish her whereabouts. “No. But I wouldn’t have any reason to kill Erin. She doesn’t have any money or anything of value to inherit.”
She could have added that the dog on the leash was her friend’s only valuable possession, but she didn’t want to draw attention to Aspen. Erin had gone out of her way—and violated her lease—to rescue this dog. Madison couldn’t bring herself to give up the retriever. She knew he’d be sent to some pound and kept there for who knew how long. Erin wouldn’t have wanted the dog to be distressed. The animal was all she had of her friend; she had to protect him from more abuse.
“We’re going to need a set of your fingerprints,” the detective said.
“Eliminating your prints and your friend’s may leave them with the perp’s,” Paul added.
“All right,” she said, but something in their attitude told her that she was a suspect. “A man had to have killed Erin, right? She was strangled.”
Silence greeted her statement. Then the detective taking notes said, “We’ll take you down to the station for the prints.”
“I’ll come in this afternoon,” she told them in her firmest tone. “Aspen has to go to the vet’s.” She tugged on the leash, making this up as she went. She had to get away from here. “He has an eye infection.”
“It’ll have to wait,” the detective said.
Maybe it was just her imagination—misplaced anxiety over her best friend’s death—but Madison needed to get away. Perhaps she should consult a lawyer. Why, she couldn’t imagine, but something was going on here that she didn’t understand.
“I said I would come into the station. Unless the department wants to be slapped with a lawsuit for causing blindness in a champion show dog, I insist on taking Aspen to the vet.”
The word lawsuit detonated on impact. The men exchanged indecipherable looks. “We’ll need those prints by four o’clock.”
It took all Madison’s willpower to lead Aspen to her Beamer without running. Who’d killed Erin? How could she possibly be a suspect? It didn’t make sense.
Something else had been niggling at the back of her brain. She was behind the wheel, driving away from the cluster of police vehicles when it hit her. Paul Tanner. He wasn’t some former cop who just “happened” to live in the neighborhood. He claimed to be a policeman. This morning Jade had said a Paul Tanner wanted to see her about selling her security software or something. He’d driven up in a Porsche. He’d followed her here. Why?
CHAPTER THREE
“THERE’S NO SUCH THING as a perfect crime. Little things—the unexpected—stand in the way of a flawless murder.” The killer spoke the words in an undertone, although there was no one around to hear.
Erin Wycoff’s murder had made headlines. People feasted on the brutality of the crime and lapped up every gory fact. It was to be expected. Death was fascinating, especially if it wasn’t yours. The details had captured the city’s imagination. Many identified with the victim and felt lucky to have escaped her fate.
“The devil is in the details. Always has been, always will be.”
Not many people realized blow-dryers were no longer instruments of death. He certainly hadn’t. He’d been too consumed by his life’s work to read the papers or watch mindless television that might have given him the information he needed.
An enterprising manufacturer would advertise the fact. But the truth was most people didn’t recognize their potential—big corporations included. Never mind. The blow-dryer didn’t electrocute Erin, but the mission had been accomplished in spite of the unexpected development.
The killer stared out at the series of waves tumbling one after another onto the white sand, remembering and reliving the instant the blow-dryer hit the water and hissed like a cat with its tail on fire. The killer had anticipated a guttural scream, then a body collapsing into the water. Dead.
The earsplitting cry had erupted from Erin’s throat as expected. But instead of dying, she’d vaulted from the tub and streaked out of the bathroom with wild, unfocused eyes, reminding him of a rabid dog. She had to be stopped, had to be shut up before she awakened the neighbors.
Luck was always with those who planned and noticed details. The red sash for her robe had been right there on the bathroom door. She’d fought like a hellcat, but she was a small woman. Her struggle had been exhilarating but brief.
A strange twist of fate. Death was always exciting but not this thrilling—so stimulating that nothing could match the experience. It was the struggle that was so captivating. The others had died well-planned deaths—they hadn’t even been listed as murders. This time there was no mistake.
When you didn’t anticipate having to physically attack, the chance of leaving incriminating evidence grew