The Heart of a Killer

“Then why am I here?” Something had obviously happened, but why would Roman call her to this crime scene? Because Dante was here?

And why the hell was Dante here?

She hated questions with no answers.

“Thought you’d want to know. That’s George Clemons back there.”

Third reason she almost tripped over her own feet. “George? Oh, my God, Roman. I’m so sorry. What happened?”

He laid his hand on her arm to halt her forward progress. “You need to know, Anna. He’s been beaten to death.”

She sucked in a breath and grabbed onto Roman, fighting to stay in the here and now. “And? There’s more. Tell me.”

She saw the reluctance in his eyes. “Tell me.”

“Someone carved a heart in his chest. Right where…” He glanced down at her shirt, at her left breast.

Oh, God. No. The heart carving just like hers. Her scar throbbed and she resisted the urge to touch it, to rub the ache away.

George Clemons, beaten just like the guys had beaten Tony Maclin that night.

She took a slow, long breath, then let it out. “I don’t understand.”

“Anna.”

Dante appeared beside her, but she had no time for him. Not now, not when her vision was nothing more than a pinpoint of light.

She had to focus on the scene and only the scene. It was the only thing that was going to get her through this.

She pushed past them both. “I need to see it.”

“Don’t,” Roman started, but she was already on her way to the body. To George Clemons, a nice man who’d raised foster children ever since he’d been discharged from military service.

And his wife, Ellen. Poor Ellen.

She knelt beside the body. Richard Norton was on the scene already, thank God. She was glad to have the chief medical examiner on this case.

“What have you got?” she asked, pulling on her gloves.

“Warm body. Based on liver temp and lividity I’d say he hasn’t been dead more than a few hours at most. Won’t know cause of death until I do the autopsy. He’s a bloody mess.”

That he was. Someone beat him badly, worse than the guys had ever pounded on Tony Maclin.

“This is interesting,” Richard said, pointing to the heart carved into George’s chest.

“Yes, it is.”

“Someone loved him to death, I guess.”

She grimaced. “So not funny, Richard.”

Richard grinned. “Hey, I thought it was one of my better lines.”

“George Clemons, our victim here, was Roman’s foster father.”

His smile died as he looked over his shoulder to where Roman stood with Dante and Gabe. “Oh. That’s a pisser.”

“Anything else you can tell me?”

“Not until I get him cleaned up and try to figure out what killed him. I don’t see any obvious bullet or stab wounds on the body, other than the carving here, but like I said, he’s a mess.”

“Okay. When will you autopsy?”

“Probably sometime tomorrow or the day after. I’ll check my schedule and let you know.”

She patted his shoulder. “Thanks.”

She stood and walked the scene, looking for evidence, then moved over to talk to the crime scene techs.

“Find anything?”

“No,” one of the guys said. “It’s like whoever did this vacuumed the place up after he was done. There’s nothing. Not even a gum wrapper. The only evidence is the victim himself. But we’re picking up whatever we can.”

“Okay, thanks.”

She turned around and there he was.

Twelve years. Twelve goddamn years and not one word.

“Anna…”

“When did you get back into town?”

So much for the reaction Dante had hoped for. If Anna was surprised or shocked to see him, she was sure masking it well.

“Couple hours ago.”

She looked to George, then back at Dante. “Just in time to kill your former foster father?”

Dante scratched his nose. He’d laugh if this whole scene wasn’t so sad.

“I think you know better than that.”

“You think I… That’s so funny, coming from you. I don’t know anything about you. You’ve been gone for twelve years, you suddenly show up here and now there’s a dead body in the alley. A body you’re connected to.”

“You’re serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious.”