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Not after so long. Breathing hard now, she forced herself to keep reading.
Sorry I ducked out for a while there. I wanted you to know I was thinking about you the whole time I was gone. Dreaming about you, too, and all the things I’m gonna do to you when we finally get together. And then I had a great idea.
How about I show you?
The chunky lettering, both bold and strangely tentative made her head spin. She knew that handwriting. Nausea rose in her throat. She choked it back and clenched her fists to keep her hands from shaking.
It couldn’t be.
“I told the detectives about Victor,” Jarrod said, his tone holding undisguised irritation. Blame, too. “We’ve already compared the writing to the notes he left here. They match.”
The room tilted, disorienting her senses. It was Victor — her tormentor. The unbearable nightmare started about two years ago, with his incessant phone threats and disturbing presents.
Yet, for the past six months, there had been nothing. A glimmer of hope had flickered within her. She’d figured the Lord had answered her tearful prayers. Victor had lost interest. Or fallen off the face of the Earth. Either suited her.
Anything to bring an end to the terror.
“He can’t possibly be back,” she whispered.
His face a mask of sympathy, Fuller extended his phone towards her, revealing a haunting image of a battered face. “I apologize for having to show you this,” he uttered with genuine remorse, “but...”
The woman in the picture stared back at Tenaya, same dark, tight curls, same medium brown skin. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The dead woman’s features were hauntingly familiar, despite the pallor of death.
The murdered woman could have easily been her.
She bolted to her feet, knocking her latte over as she pressed a hand to her throat. “I have to go.”
2
Tenaya barely made it to the wastepaper basket in her office before vomiting up the remains of her breakfast latte. The bitter taste of bile burned her throat.
By the time she straightened, Detective Morris hovered in the doorway, radiating discomfort. “Can we get you some water?”
She shook her head, breaths sawing loudly in the small space. The image of that battered face—so like her own—hovered behind her eyelids. This wasn’t happening. Please let this be a nightmare...
Only it clearly wasn’t. While the detectives waited in the doorway, she rinsed her mouth and splashed cold water on her face, fighting for composure. She had to pull it together.
Once she was certain she wouldn’t start heaving again, she knotted her damp hands together and leaned against her desk. “Tell me about the victim. What do you know?”
Fuller consulted his notes, reciting the basics in a monotone. “Female, late twenties to early thirties. No ID on the body. ME estimates time of death at 8 to 12 hours prior to discovery at 0600 hours this morning.”
Morris picked up the narrative. “Ligature marks on the neck indicate strangulation as the cause of death. Minor abrasions on the knees, possible defensive wounds on the hands and arms. Toxicology is pending. Fingerprints have been entered into the system. Results’ll take a couple days, minimum. Could be a lot longer than that.”
“And if she’s not in the system, you’ll get nothing.” Tenaya specialized in family law, divorces mostly, but she knew enough criminal law to understand how IDs worked. Unless the victim had been fingerprinted, the search wouldn’t help.
Her mouth went dry. “Was she...” She couldn’t say it.
Fuller’s eyes softened with understanding. “No signs of sexual assault.”
Relief loosened the iron bands around her ribs. One small mercy. She focused on steadying her breathing while the detectives waited patiently.
Morris flipped open a leather notebook. “Victor Montalvo. Age 47. A real estate developer, primarily commercial properties in LA and the Valley. Numerous harassment complaints against him but no criminal charges ever stuck. Mr. Vogler says you met Victor when he was helping his sister through a messy divorce. Vogler says you aced the case. Got the woman a fantastic settlement. Clearly, there’s no reason the creep would be angry with you.”
“Sounds like a garden variety stalker,” Fuller added, disgust plain on his open face. “Until now. Tell us about him.”
“He’s smart,” Tenaya said bitterly. “And rich enough to make problems go away. Believe me, I tried filing charges. The police wouldn’t cooperate, even with hard evidence of threats.”
“We know.” Fuller’s gravelly voice held an edge. “But we’re cooperating now. This murder changes things. With his history, Montalvo has to be considered dangerous.”
