“Yes, they did.”

His friend digested that, then murmured, “You should have brought your suspicions to me.”

“I should have.” Rick shifted his gaze. “No excuses, Val. Truth is, I wanted the answer and I knew I could get it.”

“And when exactly were you going to bring me on board? For the arrest?”

“Today.”

“Where is he, Rick? I want Mark Morgan now.”

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit. Where is he?”

“Missing. Which is why Liz Ames came to me for help. Mark intended to find Tara ’s killer. To do that, he planned to infiltrate the Horned Flower. That was two days ago. She hasn’t heard from him since.”

Val laughed, the sound far from amused. “Is everybody on this island running their own private investigation?”

He began to pace. After a moment he stopped and looked at Rick. “What you’re saying is, there’s a secret cult operating on Key West, an island of three-by-four miles? An island where everybody knows everybody? A cult that murders its members for no obvious reason? Do they have a secret handshake? Or do they take a blood oath? Do you realize how silly this all sounds, Rick?”

“I thought the same thing, until I saw the drawings. I think there might be a connection here.”

“Question, Rick. Did it ever occur to you that the reason the two images matched is because Pastor Howard had seen Tara ’s tattoo? Perhaps Tara even got the tattoo during the time she was being counseled by Pastor Howard. Perhaps she discussed it with the pastor. Perhaps this Horned Flower group was a figment of the girl’s imagination, one she carried to obsessive lengths.”

Rick thought he had considered every scenario, but he had to admit he had overlooked that one.

“Look at the facts,” Val continued. “Mark had a personal relationship with the victim. He had reason to want her dead. He was at the scene. Those are the facts.”

“Sometimes what looks like the truth is a lie. You know that.”

“Sometimes, but it’s damn rare. The guy who looks guilty is usually the one who did it. The big surprise twist at the end is Hollywood, not real life.”

When Rick opened his mouth to speak, Val held up a hand stopping him. “Here are some facts you should also know. I did a little digging on your friend Liz Ames. You need to be careful who you align yourself with.”

“Don’t be coy, Val. Just spit it out.”

“Last year was a big year for our Ms. Ames. Early in the year her mother died, a handful of months later her father. Her sister accepted this call and moved about the same time Liz walked in on her husband screwing a good friend of hers. Turns out the friend wasn’t his first cheat. Her marriage fell apart. A teenager in her care attempted-and nearly succeeded-in committing suicide. Then her sister disappeared.

“Liz made her decision to come here, fresh on the heels of a total emotional and mental breakdown. A breakdown that required her to be hospitalized. Her therapist begged her not to come here, he feared she would relapse.”

“A little digging?” Rick asked, voice tight. “You called the St. Louis P.D. and had them check her out. On what grounds?”

“She was first to the scene. She knew the victim. What would you have done, Rick?”

The same thing, he acknowledged. Like it or not, Val had been doing his job.

“She has issues, my friend. Serious emotional issues. I thought you’d want to know.”

Rick struggled to digest what Val had told him, to place and make sense of it. Val’s words explained Liz’s tears, the desperation he had heard in her voice time and again. Her aura of vulnerability.

His first reaction was a sense of betrayal, of having been lied to. She hadn’t been honest with him.

“What you’re saying is she’s a nutcase and I shouldn’t believe a thing she says. Is that it?”

“Hardly. I’m checking out her claims. But I wanted to warn you. Be careful, Rick. She has an agenda, one based on emotions not logic. Desperate people do desperate things. They lie. They manufacture evidence. Use whatever means necessary to achieve their goals. And they can be pretty goddamned convincing. That she’s not playing with a full deck right now makes her a little scary.”

Rick had to agree. He felt as if his old friend had delivered a swift punch to his solar plexus, momentarily knocking the wind out of him. He wanted to champion her. He wanted to deny that what Val was telling him was true.

Despite his earlier intentions, he had lost all objectivity when it came to Liz Ames and this investigation.

Val’s cell phone sounded. “Lopez here.”

He listened a moment, expression tightening. “Say that again, Carla.” He waited. “I’ll be right there.”

He holstered his phone and stood. “What is it?” Rick asked. “What’s happened?”

“Seems Naomi Pearson didn’t run off,” he replied grimly. “She turned up on Dog Beach.”

“Dead, I’m guessing?”

Val hesitated, then nodded. “About as dead as you can get. Throat slit, torso carved up.” He met Rick’s gaze. “Looks like we’ve got a serial on our hands.”

CHAPTER 31

Sunday, November 18

6:10 p.m.

A favorite with locals because of its “pets allowed” policy, Dog Beach was a sandy stretch between Waddell Avenue and the Atlantic Ocean, tucked up next to Louie’s Backyard restaurant. Naomi Pearson had been discovered by a golden retriever chasing a Frisbee. The dog’s owner had used his cell phone to call the police-after upchucking in a toy pail left behind by some kid.

Carla stood several feet from the deceased, a handkerchief doused in cologne pressed to her nose. The stench was, quite simply, unbearable.

Carla had known it would be and had come prepared. She’d been part of the team that had investigated a drowning last year. She’d gained firsthand experience that bodies decayed differently when submerged, reacting with the water to create a waxy, yellowish and rancid-smelling substance called adipocere. Over time, adipocere replaced the muscles, viscera and fatty tissues of the body, giving the corpse a bloated, nightmare appearance. The warmer the water, the faster the decomposition.

As corpses went, Naomi Pearson’s was pretty damn grotesque. Bloated beyond recognition, head half-severed, gaping wounds on her torso, the corpse looked at once human and creature brought up from the bowels of hell.

Carla glanced to the right, toward Louie’s dining veranda. No way Naomi had been here long. Even a light breeze in that direction would have shut the place down. So, where had she been all this time? Dragged back and forth by the currents? Hung up on something under the water?

From behind her came the sound of a car door slamming. She looked over her shoulder and saw that Val had arrived, thank God. Being alone with this vic was making her itch. She felt as though she should be doing something, but she didn’t know what. She was out of her depth here. Way out of her depth.

Carla signaled to Val, then waited as he crossed to where she stood. As he neared her, he brought a handkerchief to his nose. He, too, had come prepared.

“Who found her?” he asked when he came within earshot.

“Somebody’s golden retriever. Owner’s pretty shook up. Questioned him, then sent him on his way. Got his name and address, of course.”

“Scene’s secure?”

“As well as a place like this can be. Got it cordoned off. I put Reese on the north side and McKinney on the east.” She noticed a group forming on Louie’s dining veranda. “Wind must have shifted.”

Val glanced toward the restaurant, then turned his attention fully to the victim. For long moments Val simply studied her, then he moved closer, circling slowly, expression intent.

Finally, he lifted his gaze to her. Carla saw that his eyes were watering. “You know for sure this is Naomi Pearson?”

She nodded. “Her handbag washed up with her.”