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“My point being, as you do the research for this book, it’s going to be in your best interests to encourage Plank to stick with his confession regarding my sister’s homicide.” She snapped on her seat belt and hit the dash with her palm. “Let’s get out of this place.”
He gritted his teeth as he pulled away from the parking space. “I don’t have any best interests here, Jessica. My best interest is to write a truthful and compelling book about a killer and maybe give some dignity to the victims, including Tiffany, if Plank continues to insist he killed her. Are you beginning to believe he did?”
“I don’t know.” She sighed as she slumped in the passenger seat. “He reminded me of his confession while also encouraging me to compare the dissimilar MOs. I don’t know what to think anymore.”
“That’s the way he wants it. Continue on the path you started. If you truly believe he didn’t murder Tiffany and that somehow Morgan’s homicide is connected to hers, then go for it. Keep investigating.”
“And you’ll help me?”
He felt her stare searching his profile, heard the cajoling tone of her voice, even smelled the intoxicating scent of her floral perfume that infiltrated all the sensible parts of his brain, and God help him, he was falling into her trap again.
He took a hard turn onto the highway and said, “Yeah, I’ll help you. Now let’s get something to drink before we get to the airport.”
* * *
HOURS LATER, back in her hotel room, Jessica unzipped her boots and pulled them off, dropping each one on the carpeted floor with a clunk. She fell across the bed, and herstomach growled, the turkey sandwich in Walla Walla a distant memory.
Finn had offered to buy her dinner when they landed in Seattle and drove back to Fairwood, but she needed time away from him to digest the news about his book.
Was the book the reason he’d even agreed to look at her evidence? Despite what he said, his book would have more traction if the victim he’d discovered had actually been murdered by the subject of his book.
And was she? Jessica slid her phone from the side pocket of her purse and navigated to her recorded conversation with Plank. Finn had been right about one thing—Plank liked to play games. But he didn’t scare her. It’s not like he’d been wheeled out like Hannibal Lecter with a face mask. He’d behaved like any garden-variety psychopath—no remorse for his crimes or pity for his victims, elevated sense of self-worth, no sense of right and wrong.
The only time Plank had gotten under her skin was with his knowledge of Tiffany’s background, of her own family. Finn had chalked it up to Plank’s sick hobby. Was it his way of hinting that he had killed Tiffany?
It would be easy for her to believe him, to believe the cops, put her sister’s murder behind her. She’d been close to doing just that over the past few years, but something always dragged her back into the maelstrom. This time Morgan Flemming’s homicide had been the catalyst that reignited her quest for the truth.
The fact that the MO in Morgan’s case mimicked Tiffany’s more than either one mimicked the Creekside Killer slayings had been the strong lure.
She grabbed a pillow from the head of the bed and pulled it into her arms, where she squeezed it tightly against herchest. Had Morgan’s killer counted on that? Is that why he’d left the card and the doll? Had he left them for her?
Her gaze traveled to the rag doll sitting atop the credenza, next to the TV. Nobody would’ve known the meaning of that rag doll except her—and she’d gotten the message loud and clear.
Time to put aside thoughts of Finn Karlsson and his stormy blue eyes. She had an investigation to pursue, and if Finn Karlsson got in the way of that investigation, she’d handle him…just like she did the last time.
* * *
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, with the rag doll tucked into a bag and a new tire on her wheel, Jessica entered Ashley King’s address into her GPS. Ashley had been Tiffany’s best friend at the time of the murder. They’d lived together, and Ashley had offered one of the more intriguing clues to Tiffany’s murder when she told the deputies that Tiffany had sensed someone following her in the weeks leading up to her murder.
That tip didn’t rule out the Creekside Killer, as Plank had been known to stalk his victims to get a sense of their routine. But he’d always snatched his victims when they were working the streets, pretending to be a mild-mannered john. Tiffany hadn’t been a working girl…at the time of her homicide.
As the deputies had patiently pointed out to Jessica, Plank could’ve scoped out Tiffany months before the murder when shehadbeen a sex worker. Plank was known to play the long game with his prey.
Fifteen minutes later, Jessica pulled into the mobile home park where Ashley lived. Jessica hadn’t called first, hadn’t notified Ashley that she was dropping by for a visit.Ten years ago, Ashley’s sympathy for Jessica had waned in direct proportion to Jessica’s hounding of Ashley about details she didn’t have. She didn’t want to give Ashley a chance now to avoid her. She couldn’t exactly use her position with the Washington State Patrol to demand that Ashley speak to her or answer any of her questions. Jessica had one foot in the crime lab as part of the official investigation into Morgan Flemming’s murder and one foot on her own turf, reinvestigating Tiffany’s murder.
Her car crawled past the mobile homes in the community until she found Ashley’s number, and she swung a U-turn to park in front. She grabbed her purse and the doll and shoved her door open with her foot. She inhaled the pine scent as she slammed her car door and crunched across the gravel to the double-wide.
The long weeds in the yard stirred as she walked past them, and a profusion of flowers bowed their heads. Someone had made an attempt to spruce up the appearance of the unit, but the upkeep had outpaced them.
She rapped on the screen door, and the ripped mesh flapped back and forth. The door squeaked on its hinges as it opened, and Ashley King stared at Jessica for a second or two before recognition flooded her face.
“Oh my God. It’s Jessie.” Ashley kicked open the screen door so hard, Jessica had to dodge it.
In an instant, she found herself wrapped in Ashley’s chubby arms, enveloped by the skunky scent of weed. “I’d recognize you anywhere—tall, blonde and fierce. At least you’re still tall and blonde. How about it? You still got that chip on your shoulder?”
Jessica patted Ashley on the back. “I hope not. God, I must’ve been insufferable.”
“Nah, just grieving hard.” She cupped Jessica’s face with her soft palm. “Come on in. I can’t say I’m any better at keeping house than I was when me and Tiff were roomies.”