Free Deeper Than The Dead by Tami Hoag Page A

was a little nervous, but excited about starting her new job. Yesterday was supposed to be her first day.”
    “But she didn’t show up,” Mendez said.
    “No.”
    “The employer is . . . ?”
    “Quinn, Morgan and Associates. A law firm that helps us out with family court cases.”
    “When was the last time you saw her?”
    “I saw her last week—Thursday morning at the center. I helped her pick out her new work wardrobe. We have our own store in-house, clothing donated from working women here in town, from Santa Barbara, from Los Angeles.
    “Thursday was Karly’s makeover day. She had her hair done, her nails, her makeup. I remember her saying she felt like Cinderella.”
    “Could she have gone out looking for Prince Charming?” Mendez asked. “She had a new look, new clothes. She was feeling pretty—”
    “She’s shy. She was still recovering emotionally from being beaten nearly to death by her boyfriend.”
    Mendez dug his notebook and pen out of the patch pocket of his tweed sport coat and started scribbling. “Do you have a name for him?”
    “Greg Usher. I have all the information available on him in Karly’s file at my office. He has a record.”
    “And he’s walking around loose?”
    “The last I heard.”
    “Do you have a photograph of Karly?” Dixon asked.
    “Not with me.”
    “Do you know if he tried to contact her recently?” Mendez asked.
    “She would have told us.”
    “Maybe she was afraid to.”
    She didn’t have an answer for that. She wasn’t sure.
    “Does she have a car?”
    “Yes, a gold Chevy Nova. 1974 or ’75. I have the license plate number in her file.”
    “Where’s the car?” Mendez asked.
    “I don’t know. It’s not at the cottage.”
    “So she could have gone somewhere on her own.”
    “No. She didn’t just leave.”
    “You know as well I do, Jane,” Dixon said quietly. “How many of these women go back to their abusers?”
    “Not our women.”
    Dixon lifted one white eyebrow. “None of them?”
    Jane Thomas scowled. She knew better. “Not this one. She wouldn’t. She would never just leave Petal.”
    Mendez stopped writing mid-word. “Petal? Who’s Petal?”
    “Karly’s dog.”
    His heart gave a big thump then began to beat faster. “What kind of dog?”
    “A pit bull. Why?”
    He turned to Dixon. “The kids said there was a black-and-white dog at the scene. It might have been a pit bull.”
    “Oh my God,” Jane Thomas whispered, sinking down onto the chair behind her. She covered her mouth with her hand as her green eyes filled with tears.
    “Where is she?” she asked. She didn’t look at Mendez or at Dixon but stared at the floor as if her life depended on it. “Can I see her?”
    Dixon sighed. “We’ll be sending the body to the LA County coroner for an autopsy, but it hasn’t left yet. But it might be better just to have you look at some Polaroids from the scene—”
    “No.”
    “Jane—”
    “I want to see her.” She looked up at Dixon now in a way that made Mendez wonder just how well they knew each other. “I need to see her.”
    Dixon started to say something, then clamped his mouth shut and looked out the window. The silence hung in the air like fog. The image of the dead woman’s face slid through Mendez’s memory. He wished he hadn’t had to look at it, and that was his job.
    Finally Dixon nodded. “Okay. But I’m warning you, Jane, it’s going to be hard.”
    “Then let’s get it over with.”
     

     

    The three of them got in a sedan and Mendez drove them to Orrison Funeral Home. No one said anything. Dixon sat in the backseat with Jane Thomas, but neither of them looked at the other, Mendez noted, glancing at them via the rearview mirror.
    The funeral home director took them to the yellow-tiled embalming room where their vic was on a gurney in a body bag, waiting for her ride to the city.
    Dixon dismissed the man, who closed the door behind him as he left.
    “We don’t think she had been dead that