Casanova Killer, An SSCD Crime Thriller

Casanova Killer

  An SSCD Crime Thriller

  By Tallulah Grace

  Copyright 2012 Tallulah Grace

  The names, places and events contained within this book are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including recording, photocopying or any other information storage and retrieval system without prior, written permission of the Author.

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  Casanova Killer takes place a year before the Timeless Trilogy. So many readers wanted to read more about Dylan, that I created this book to offer a peek into his life as an FBI agent. This step back in time also showcases Jerry as his partner, showing us why she’s a little in love with Dylan and gun shy about men in general.

  Jerry (Jeri) takes center stage in the remaining novels of the SSCD Series.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue 2

  Chapter One 4

  Chapter Two 6

  Chapter Three 11

  Chapter Four 13

  Chapter Five 20

  Chapter Six 21

  Chapter Seven 26

  Chapter Eight 28

  Chapter Nine 33

  Chapter Ten 40

  Chapter Eleven 45

  Chapter Twelve 54

  Chapter Thirteen 71

  Chapter Fourteen 78

  Chapter Fifteen 84

  Chapter Sixteen 90

  Chapter Seventeen 97

  Chapter Eighteen 103

  Chapter Nineteen 107

  Chapter Twenty 116

  Epilogue 119

  Prologue

  The sapphire waters of the Pacific churned into frothy white spray against the rocky coastline of Muir Beach.

  “It’s like a painting,” Jenna remarked as she removed her strappy sandals. The planked boardwalk, outlining the cliff ridge high above the shore, did not appear friendly to stiletto heels, especially ones that cost more than most monthly mortgage payments.

  “Wait until you see the view from the point.” The man she knew as Robert smiled and held out his hand. She took it.

  The first coral streaks of sunrise complemented the ever-brightening blue water as they strolled along the snaking walkway. The majesty of the landscape was theirs alone, for the moment.

  Jenna sighed. It had been a magical evening; dinner at a new bistro followed by dancing at the exclusive Portman Lounge. Robert knew how to treat a woman. His impeccable manners and attention to her every whim reaffirmed her decision to cheat on John, her lover of several years.

  Long used to the finer things in life, courtesy of her married lover, Jenna especially enjoyed being visible on a man’s arm in the city that she loved. John gave her the lifestyle she craved, but hidden rendezvous and trysts tailored to his schedule soon grew tiresome. Meeting Robert changed all of that.

  The timing couldn’t have been better, she marveled once again. John had no sooner left on a weeklong business trip than Robert had appeared by her side. His natural charm, movie-star good looks and British accent drew her to him immediately. The Rolex shining from his wrist and the Maserati he left parked at the curb didn’t hurt either. The past week had been a whirlwind of sightseeing adventures, prosaic phone calls and romantic evenings. Jenna was head over heels.

  As the blunt end of the walkway came into view, Jenna’s Robert congratulated himself on a flawless execution. The past few days had been perfect; the woman beside him practically oozed her adoration.

  “Ooh, I wish I’d brought my camera,” Jenna skipped the last few feet, pulling Robert along behind her. “The view is stunning!”

  “It certainly is,” Robert’s voice warmed her even as his breath tickled her neck. Standing close to her back, he wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her against him. She wiggled against his erection, just enough to let him know that she noticed.

  The sound of the waves, crashing against the rocks below and the ever-constant wind masked the snap of the stiletto blade opening.

  “Till we meet again, my sweet,” he murmured, quickly drawing the blade in a single line across her throat. With no more effort than tossing garbage into a pail, he flung Jenna’s body over the wooden rail to the sea below.

  Chapter One

  “Get your size fifteens off my desk, Dawes.” Nate Banks scowled at the man lounging in his office.

  “Sorry, Boss,” Dylan Dawes replied automatically as he passed a hand over his eyes and slowly straightened. “Just catching a few winks.”

  “You can sleep on the plane.” Nate tossed a file into Dylan’s lap as he passed. “We leave for California in an hour.” The desk phone beeped loudly as he depressed a single digit. “Jerry, my office,” he barked into the speaker, not waiting for a reply.

  “What’s up?” Dylan asked, opening the folder, his fatigue forgotten at the prospect of a new case. The team had just wrapped the nasty business of chasing one Michael Phillips across three states. The self-proclaimed Phantom had eluded them for two months, killing sixteen teenagers in the process.

  They were due for a break, but as one of the few teams the FBI trained in profiling and tracking serial killers, the Special Serial Crimes Division rarely knew any downtime.

  “What’s up, Boss?” The female voice echoing Dylan’s question preceded the woman into the room by scant seconds. Jerry Forbes, Dylan’s partner and friend, dropped into the second chair facing Nate’s desk. Dylan, long accustomed to her striking beauty, shook his head at the bright sparkle in her eyes.

  “How can you be so perky? We’ve been up for three nights straight!” He grumbled, then grimaced when she poked him in the arm.

  “One of the benefits of youth, old man,” she teased, even though Dylan was only a few months older than her. Turning to Nate, she became serious. “What’ve we got?”

  “Three women murdered, in and around San Francisco. Throats slashed, bodies left in remote areas. All of the victims were affluent brunettes, aged twenty-five to twenty-nine.” Nate recited the facts. “The last one was found yesterday, much quicker than the others. She’d only been dead for six to eight hours. The other two went undiscovered for seven and twelve days, respectively. No DNA evidence on any of the victims, thanks to the time lapse and the weather conditions in the area. Finding the latest victim so quickly gave us our best shot at DNA, but it rained most of the day, washing away whatever might have been present on the body.”

  “Was the discovery a lucky fluke, or do you think he’s getting bored with waiting for notoriety?” Jerry asked.

  “Hard to say. He tossed her over a cliff leading down to the Pacific. The spot is a popular viewing point for tourists and locals alike, but theoretically, she could have lain there for weeks without being noticed.”

  “Who found her?” Dylan asked.

  “A local news team doing a touristy-type puff piece flew over the area in a helicopter. A flash from a crystal on the dead woman’s shoes caught their attention. Before they realized it, they’d broadcast the woman’s body live to three counties.”

  “Let me guess, now it’s viral,” Jerry spat out in disgust.

  “You know it. Never underestimate the public’s fascination with a gruesome murder. Anyway, it establishes the pattern, so we’re on it.” Nate sat back, templed his fingers and looked at Jerry. “We need you undercover on this one.”

  “How so?”

  “You’re his type: tall, beautiful, brunette. Now we just have to turn you into a socialite. Oh, and a m
istress.” He tried to hide his grin as he watched the meaning of his words sink into Jerry’s consciousness.

  “Socialite? Me?” Jerry shook her head. “Mistress I can handle, no biggy, but a socialite?” She leveled an incredulous gaze at first Dylan and then Nate. “I don’t really have to go to parties and all that stuff, do I?”

  “You’ll have to live your cover, you know this.” Nate stood, bringing the meeting to an end. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”

  “Easy for you to say, you grew up fancy, I didn’t,” Jerry grumbled as she walked to the door.

  Dylan laughed. “I find it curious that you’re more comfortable playing a mistress than you are in the role of a social butterfly. Anything you want to confess, Forbes?”

  “Bite me, Dawes. At least you don’t have to get all dressed up and make small talk with highfalutin strangers, or does he?” she asked Nate.

  “As a matter of fact, yes, he does. Every mistress needs a keeper.” Nate’s eyes crinkled at the expression on Dylan’s face.

  “Come on, Boss, you know I hate that crap. With your background, you’d be perfect as Jerry’s keeper.” Dylan flashed a grin at Jerry, knowing that she’d hate the terminology. “You grew up in that world, tossing Jerry and me into it is like serving hot dogs at the opera.”

  “My background is the problem. I know people in the circle you’ll be infiltrating. They know me. The unsub is likely part of that group; we don’t need to spook him before we get a handle on his identity.” Nate stopped before entering the hallway and turned to face his agents. “You’ll both be fine. Don’t let the cover get in the way of the mission. The unsub thinks he’s untouchable; he’s already stalking his next victim.”

  “You said the victims were affluent. Do you mean they’re wealthy in their own right, or wealthy thanks to their benefactors?” Jerry looked pointedly at Dylan.

  “The latest victim was solidly middle class, but her married ‘benefactor’ kept her in style, complete with a six figure bank account. The first victim’s expenses were covered by a corporation, one that her companion owned. He’s not married, she came from old money, so their arrangement could have been a social tit for tat.” Nate nodded at the folder Dylan held. “Uncover the circumstances for the second victim’s lifestyle. We should know if ‘mistress’ is truly part of the victimology or if it’s a by-product. Good question, Jerry.”

  “Thanks, Boss.”

  Nate nodded. “Get packed, guys. Wheels up in forty-five.”

  Chapter Two

  “We appreciate the assist, thank you, sir.” Nate raised the window shade on the Learjet as he disconnected the call. So much for sleeping their way across the country. His one-sided conversation with the FBI Director of International Relations had already awakened Jerry and Dylan. At least they had made it to Colorado before the call came in.

  Nate tossed his cell onto the table separating the four captain’s chairs. “Change of plans, guys. Better get some coffee.” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes as Dylan accommodated the three of them, bringing back three steaming mugs from the kitchenette in the rear of the cabin.

  “Thanks,” Nate told him and sipped the warm liquid. “Seems like our unsub has been busy across the pond,” he began.

  “Europe?” Jerry felt the cobwebs slowly melt from her brain.

  “England, Central London specifically, and the Italian Riviera.”

  “Both are playgrounds for the rich and fabulous.” Dylan said wryly. “Our boy likes the finer things.”

  “Interpol is sending an agent to work the case with us. Ethan Barnes has been tracking the unsub across Europe, he’ll meet us in San Francisco.” Nate nodded to Jerry. “He’ll be your partner for this one. Dylan and I will work behind the scenes.”

  Jerry didn’t care for the idea of pretending to be the mistress of an agent she’d never met before. Living in close quarters with a man she knew, respected, and yes, even had a small crush on, was enough of a challenge. Now she had to get cozy with a stranger. She knew better than to complain; Nate would not be putting her in this position if he had a choice.

  “Whatever you say, Boss.” Nodding in Dylan’s direction, she grinned. “He can’t be any worse than this one.”

  Grateful for her easy acceptance, Nate nodded. “Barnes has already established a cover as a wealthy playboy. No point in duplicating efforts.”

  Dylan, thrilled with the turn of events, decided not to tease Jerry about being an international plaything. “I take it the unsub’s signature is the same?”

  “Identical, down to the right to left slice across the neck. His victims are all beautiful brunettes, loaded or wealth-accessible. They spend their time shopping, being pampered, or otherwise occupied with the man paying their bills. He killed three in Central London and four in Italy.”

  “What about the drop zones, Central London is not exactly filled with remote locations.” Dylan questioned.

  “He left the bodies in warehouses, south of the city. That’s all I know, at the moment. Barnes can fill us in on the details, but the Director says he’s confident that our unsub and the ‘Casanova Killer’ are one in the same.”

  “You’re kidding, right? Casanova Killer? Jeez, sounds like a bad Gothic novel.”

  “Exactly, but that’s how he’s known in Europe. Courtesy of the press, I’m sure. Apparently Barnes was closing in when the unsub disappeared, two months ago.”

  “Lucky us, he surfaced in San Francisco.” Dylan gathered their coffee cups for a refill.

  “What’s his timeline?” Jerry flipped open her laptop and began making notes.

  “Six months in London and two months on the Riviera.”

  “Three kills already in San Francisco in less than a month. He’s escalating.” Jerry’s fingers flew over the keys.

  “He may be compensating for the time he laid low, between Italy and here.” Dylan offered his opinion along with the fresh coffee.

  “It’s not unusual for a serial’s initial kills to be spaced farther apart, while they perfect their technique,” Jerry added.

  “True. It’s also possible that San Francisco offers a more fertile hunting ground for his preferences.” Nate opened the manila folder housing the bulk of the information they’d received from the San Francisco Police Department. “Let’s make a quick profile, based on what we know of his US kills.”

  “All three victims are white females, in their mid-to-late twenties, with similar socio-economic circumstances, though their backgrounds differ. All were brunettes, between five feet ten inches and six feet tall.” Nate read from the police reports.

  “Hopefully, the victimology of his European kills will clarify whether or not being a mistress is a crucial part of his signature.” Dylan remarked.

  “Any restraint marks?” Jerry asked.

  “No ligature marks present on any of the bodies. The toxicology report isn’t back yet on the latest victim, but the first two revealed no signs of drug use. If he’s restraining them, his methods leave no trace.”

  “Did he kill them at the disposal site?” Jerry stopped typing as Nate flipped through the pages.

  “Yes, and no. All three women had their throats slashed at the top of a steep incline. They were still bleeding out when he tossed them down the hill.”

  “He must be well over six feet and in good shape, or he wouldn’t be able to maneuver them over the edge so easily.”

  Jerry added Dylan’s observations to the list.

  “Assuming they were not restrained, they must have gone with him voluntarily.” Jerry mused.

  “Gives credence to the term ‘Casanova Killer.’ Maybe he romances them before he kills them.”

  “Possibly, but let’s focus on what we know about these murders, charming European moniker notwithstanding.” Nate passed Dylan the coroner’s reports. “No defensive wounds on any of the women. Most likely, they didn’t see it coming”

  “So he stands behind them, close enough to slice their throats, without th
em putting up a fight. No restraints and no defensive wounds suggest that the victims were comfortable with him, unless he surprised them somehow.” Dylan reclined his seat, closing his eyes to aid his concentration. “Did the victims have vehicles on site?”

  “Good question.” Nate shuffled the papers again. “The victim’s cars were all found at their residences. So, he must have taken them to the kill site.”

  “What about interviews with friends and neighbors? Any man, other than their ‘keeper,’ on the scene?” Jerry wrinkled her nose in distaste. “We really need a better word than ‘keeper.’”

  Dylan grinned, but his eyes remained closed. “Take your pick: Sugar Daddy, Main Squeeze, Companion, John…” his voice trailed off.

  “’John is inaccurate, they’re not prostitutes, not in the strictest sense of the word. These women were not doing anything illegal.” Jerry protested.

  “One of the men paying the bills was not married, so ‘mistress’ is also inaccurate across the board. Let’s not get hung up on semantics. Call the boyfriends ‘companions.’” Nate looked up at Jerry. “To answer your question, no, the first two victims did not have a new man in their life, at least according to the few interviews that the police conducted. No info on the latest victim.”

  “We should dig a little deeper. Chances are good that at least one of the women confided in her best friend, if she was seeing someone other than her companion.” Jerry made a few notes.

  “Good idea. We’ll re-interview their closest friends.” Nate nodded at Jerry. “Though you’ll probably have better luck getting close to them while you’re undercover.”

  “What, you think there’s some sort of club, or local hangout, for mistresses?” Dylan laughed.

  “No, smartass, but Jerry will be new in town. She’ll need to join a yoga class, frequent the same spa, or whatever it is these women do all day.”

  “Yoga. Yuck.” Jerry made a face. “I could get behind spa visits, though. It’s been awhile since I’ve been pampered. This assignment may not be so bad after all.”

  “You’d better hope that none of the besties are into dancing. I’ve seen your moves.” Dylan nudged Jerry with his toe.