Free Video Kill by Joanne Fluke Page B

the executioner moved toward her. She heard her scream echo off the walls of the tunnel, but the dream didn’t disappear. There was no reassuring burst of light as she reached out in panic to turn on her bedside lamp. There was only the icy shock of the water as her fingers brushed its surface.
    Tammara tried to scream again as her groggy mind reeled in terror.
    And then executioner’s hands were around her neck, strong fingers squeezing, bruising her tender skin. Tammara’s glasses slid off, and she heard them clatter as she kicked out with all of her strength. The same padded cushion that had cradled her moments ago now served to smother her pitiful defenses as the executioner’s fingers tightened into bands of fiery pain. And then the darkness of the tunnel rolled back to reveal the deeper blackness that claimed her.

6
    Monday, July 12
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    Oliver “Sam” Ladera stood on the crest of the east lawn and watched his men scurry back and forth below. A violent murder. A beautiful actress. And Sam was willing to bet a week’s salary that they’d run into the same brick wall again. He didn’t know how it was possible to actually record a murder in progress without leaving some visible clues, but the Video Killer had done it once. And Sam had no doubt that this was a repeat performance.
    â€œDo you want us to dust the switch that controls the boats, Chief?” Zeke Jackson, Sam’s young black assistant, tapped him on the sleeve to get his attention.
    â€œGo ahead, Zeke, but I don’t think you’ll get much. The groundskeeper turned off the boats when he spotted Miss Welles.”
    Zeke nodded. “And the Video Killer probably used gloves again, right?”
    â€œRight.”
    Sam frowned wearily as Zeke raced off to instruct the fingerprint men. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and he felt ten years older than his actual thirty-six. He’d been up since the call had come in shortly after four this morning, and he’d gotten a grand total of five hours’ sleep in the past two days. His ex-mother-in-law used to tell him that he looked like Sylvester Stallone when he had dark circles under his eyes, and Sam had gone into a rage every time she’d made the comparison. Sure, he had a cleft in his chin like Stallone’s. Lots of people had clefts in their chins. It was also true that he had dark hair and brown eyes, but that’s where the resemblance stopped. Sam was six feet tall.
    â€œChief?” A young female officer held out a steaming cup of coffee. “It’s fresh. The housekeeper made it when she came in at seven. She asked to make certain we returned the cups. They’re lace porcelain, imported from Europe. That’s twenty-four-karat gold around the rim, and the roses on the cups are all painted by hand. I’m pretty sure they’re close to a hundred dollars apiece.”
    â€œThanks, Judy. Would I be up for a sexual harassment charge if I asked you to collect them and take them back when the guys are finished? I could always ask Donovan to do it but . . .”
    Judy laughed. “I’ll do it, boss. Donovan’s got hands like meat hooks. Besides, I want to take another look inside. I might spot something the guys missed.”
    Sam sipped the strong brew, not even minding that it had no cream or sugar. It was delicious. Maybe coffee tasted better when you drank it out of a hundred-dollar cup. As he finished the coffee, he looked down and saw his officers standing in tight little groups, handling their coffee cups with the utmost of care. Judy must have warned them. And Donovan, that big Irish oaf, was actually holding his little pinky out in the air.
    Sam couldn’t help it. He started to shake with repressed laughter. This whole situation was incongruous, L.A.’s finest milling around on this lush, green lawn at the crack of dawn, sipping coffee out of porcelain cups just like they were attending a