Free The Tangerine Killer by Claire Svendsen Page A

you.”
    “What if I told you I know who killed Lisa?”
    “Lisa killed herself.”
    No one but Detective Olin and I knew about the note or the suspicious nature of the suicides in Tangerine. Yet Faye had her doubts and from the look on Jill’s face it appeared that she did too.
    “Yeah right. She just threw herself off a bridge? Lisa would never have done that, not when she was about to get her daughter back.”
    “Her daughter is dead.”
    I reached for the yellow photograph in the pocket of the jeans I’d left crumpled in a heap on the floor. I flashed the image at her but as she reached for it, I pulled it back.
    “Who told you her daughter was dead?” she asked.
    “Harvey.”
    “He’s lying.”
    “Well where is she? Where is the child now?”
    “I don‘t know.

EIGHTEEN
     
     
    Stakeouts have bonuses. That’s the first time he sees Jill. While Lisa sleeps, he watches as Frank slips out into the darkness. He follows him down the street at a brisk pace. Frank glances behind nervously but never carefully enough to see he is being followed. He slips into a car parked on a lonely side street. Vacant lots have been staked out with little sticks and orange tape. One day people will live here but not today.
    Hidden behind a pile of lumber he sees the dark haired woman greet him with a kiss but soon they begin to argue. He watches with mild curiosity as she slaps his face and hears the inaudible muffles of rage as he hits her back.
    At one point she leaves the car, as if she has some place else to go. He goes after her, trying to placate and please her and finally he succeeds. They kiss and then he pulls her skirt up. Frank takes her right there in the darkness. Her bottom squeaks against the hood of the car as he fucks her in the moonlight.
    Crouched behind the rotting wood he finds himself getting hard. It usually only happens in anticipation of the kill but since the opportunity presents itself, he takes care of business. He matches his own strokes to the adulterers, surprised to find the pace quite satisfying. The cries of the woman spread on the car like a whore are more exciting than he expects. He comes quickly but they finish soon after. Then pull their clothes back into place and go their separate ways.
    He finds himself longing for Sam again.
    He’s been following the slut ever since. She’s not his primary target but he’s fascinated with her all the same. What makes a woman degrade herself in such a way? He wishes he knew. He never has such luck.
    Frank isn’t the only one she’s been sleeping with and now that he’s dead she’s picked up the pace. There are multiple guys every night. Some in hotel rooms, others in the park. He hides in the bushes and sees her pressed against the trees with her panties down round her ankles. Sometimes she forgoes the panties all together. He thinks this is a smart move. The guys never last very long anyway. He doesn’t get that either. He likes to draw things out. Prolong the pleasure. Perhaps introduce a little pain along the way.
    He doesn’t know if she started out that way but now she’s a dirty whore. She slips cash into her bra as the men wipe their dicks and walk away. Sometimes the next guy is already lined up waiting. Lurking in the shadows with dick hard and pride forgotten.
    He masturbates to her every encounter but what was once exciting is now mundane and boring. He no longer feels excitement when he sees a man penetrate her. She barely seems interested herself as they thrust and groan. Instead her look is faraway and sad. He hopes she’s thinking about Frank. About all that could have been and now will never be. The passion and fire she once had has gone and he knows it’s all because of him.
    When she’s done with her work, she goes to buy drugs. Heroin from the guy on 5th Avenue. Sometimes she can’t even wait until she gets home. She squats behind the dumpster like a rat and injects herself. He watches as that stupid grin comes over her