Stalked - By Allison Brennan Page 0,1
my victim’s pocket.”
“Who’s the victim?”
“No ID, purse stolen. We ran plates on the nearby cars, and we think the woman is Rosemary Weber.”
“You’re not sure?”
“You tell me.”
He lifted the bright yellow tarp to reveal a body. By the extensive pool of drying blood she was killed right here.
“It’s her. What happened?”
He dropped the tarp and stared at Suzanne. “Tell me how you know her.”
“Don’t interrogate me, Joe.” He was just doing his job, but she didn’t appreciate his all-cop tone. “I knew her because she’s writing a damn book on the psycho killer who suffocated four teenage prostitutes between October of last year and February, when SWAT saved the taxpayers the cost of a trial. I worked the case with Vic Panetta.”
“Cinderella Strangler?”
She rolled her eyes. “I hate that name. The killer suffocated the victims, took one of their shoes, and the press’s label on the case stuck.”
“Did you meet with Weber?”
“Twice, because my boss made me. The first time was brief because I was called out to a scene; the second time was the longest hour of my life, where she shared her focus on the book and how she wanted my help. I told her I needed approval from national headquarters before I said one word about the case; then I pleaded with my boss to deny her request. I have no idea where it is in the process.”
Her explanation appeased DeLucca, and he said, “She was stabbed once, below the sternum, bled out fast, according to the coroner’s preliminary exam. He’s getting ready to transport the body, but I wanted you to see the layout first.” He motioned to a uniform near the coroner’s van and made a circular motion with his hands to “wrap it up,” releasing the body to the coroner. He stepped away and Suzanne followed. “Body was found by two fans leaving the game at eleven thirty p.m. Coroner says she died sometime during the game, between ten and eleven. No witnesses, no physical evidence. The crime scene techs have already been through here and they’re on a wider sweep now, I have uniforms canvassing, but what really sucks is that there are no security cameras over here. They have them at entrances and exits, but not covering the lot itself.”
Suzanne knew that, from being a longtime patron of baseball games. Probably anyone who’d ever been to a Mets game could find loopholes in security without much effort.
“Robbery?” Suzanne asked.
“No purse, and it’s obvious the killer removed jewelry, but…” His voice trailed off.
“You don’t think it’s a robbery.”
“I don’t know enough yet, but in a robbery turned south I’d expect defensive wounds.”
“She had none?”
He shook his head.
“You think she knew her attacker.”
“Or he was waiting for her.”
“Meaning she was a specific target.”
DeLucca made a noncommittal grunt, but Suzanne had nailed it.
“She used to be a crime reporter, before she wrote books. I don’t envy you—there’s probably a lot of people she pissed off.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Me?”
“Yeah, you. This is a straight-up homicide, nothing federal about it.”
“Your card was in her pocket. She was writing a book about your investigation. Her murder could have a connection.”
“This isn’t federal.” Though her brain couldn’t help but tick off all the players involved in the Cinderella Strangler case. She wondered if any of them had the capacity for murder. “Now, what do you really want me for?”
“Other than naked in my bed?”
She glared at him, discreetly looking around to make sure none of the uniformed cops heard him. “Knock it off, DeLucca.”
He grinned. “Your help.”
“You don’t need my help.”
“Admitting I’m better at my job?”
“Admitting I’m swamped and don’t need another investigation eating into my free time and costing me tickets to a winning Mets game.”
“You were here last night?”
“Supposed to be here. Got stuck on frickin’ paperwork on a bust I worked with your brothers in blue in Brooklyn.” His dark eyes probed hers, and she said, “Dammit, DeLucca, you don’t need me.”
“Wallet gone, a ring appears to have been taken off her finger—we’ll confirm that with next of kin. But that car she was parked next to? The witnesses said they got here early and tailgated. Went in just before the first pitch. Space next to them was empty because they’d spread out, so she got here after the game started. No ticket stub found on her or in her vehicle.”
“And?”
“She’s in the damn parking lot.”
“Maybe she was going to buy from a scalper. Or at Will Call. Or it’s in her missing purse.”
“We’re looking