Illusions of Death by Lauren Linwood Page B

“Looks like Roy G. Biv has hit Fountain Valley. An art teacher didn’t report for work this morning. Didn’t call in for a sub. Wasn’t answering her phone. Her principal went to her house to check on her. Saw the body through the window, in all its painted glory.”
    Rick tossed his napkin on the table. He pulled out a twenty and dropped it there. “I got it. You up for heading over there with me?”
    “Sure.”
    It was the first—and last—thing Logan wanted to do.

Chapter 17
    Silence permeated the car. Logan took slow, even breaths. Murders rarely occurred in these little havens outside Atlanta. Detectives handled burglaries. Drugs. A few sexual assaults. If he’d been a patrolman in the Springs, he might’ve cleared wrecks or dealt with teenage drinking.
    But murder, here in his neck of the woods, brought a deep unease. And not the drugstore variety of murder. A savvy serial killer who had murdered over and over again.
    This would be his tenth victim.
    Rick pulled into a cul-de-sac, waving at a patrolman moving sawhorses to block vehicles from approaching. Of course, that didn’t stop the foot traffic. Logan saw a crowd of stay-at-home moms and retired citizens already gathered.
    A paunchy officer with a receding hairline met them on the front sidewalk. Mabry made a quick introduction and motioned for a report.
    “Twenty-eight, white, divorced. Taught at Wilson Elementary the last three years. Neighbors said the ex is out of the country working for an oil company—”
    “—in Qatar,” Logan finished. “It’s Jeanine Tyler.”
    The officer nodded. “Cell phone’s ICE had a Walton Springs number. You know her, Detective?”
    “A long time ago. I played high school ball with her brother Gregg. Jeanine was probably ten the last time I saw her. Gregg died in a car accident after we graduated. This’ll be rough for the Tylers. She was the only child left.”
    “Canvas turn up anything?” Rick asked.
    “Not yet. Lady next door said she was a runner. Up about five-thirty most mornings. Said she pounded the pavement like it was her ex’s face. The neighbor said he’d cheated on the vic. She even took back her maiden name after the divorce. Neighbor’s retired, didn’t hear a peep, and she seems the nosy type that would know.”
    “What about Brady and Malone?”
    “Took the principal downtown. He barfed in the bushes after catching sight of the body. Can’t blame him, Loo.”
    The patrolman’s pained face said it all. Logan mentally prepared himself as they moved toward the front door.
    Dread seeped through his veins. In Atlanta he finally realized that he could never get used to it, only hardened. Answer enough calls and even the grisliest scene becomes old hat. He’d throw a switch and automatically be in homicide mode. Couldn’t look at the dead as a person, at least not then. A cold dispassion took over. Study the scene. Think like the killer.
    Only later did he allow himself to think of the vic as a person. Someone who loved and was loved. Someone robbed of time.
    Still, he was glad he was out of practice. He wouldn’t trade going back to that work life in Atlanta in a million years.
    The hum of activity never changed. He let Rick take the lead as they entered. Logan knew the details about Roy’s victims. A macabre interest drove him to read the police reports circulated along with the FBI profiles to local law enforcement. He knew Jeanine would be hand-painted a garish yellow as Roy cycled around the rainbow to his latest innocent.
    An average living room held the requisite sofa, coffee table, and entertainment center. Everything clean and orderly. No newspapers scattered about or clipped coupons or magazines in sight. He remembered Jeanine being neat, her hair always braided, a matching ribbon to her outfit woven into it. She hadn’t been a grubby child with skinned knees or untucked shirts. Obviously, she hadn’t changed as an adult.
    Logan soldiered on behind Rick, down a hallway. A