Free Reunion by Sharon Sala Page B

long-stemmed rose.
    Serial killer.
    It was enough to give even the veteran officers a knot in the pits of their stomachs. Not only could this cause a public panic, but pressure would come down heavy on them to solve the murders and solve them now.
    Problem was, except for the roses found on the victims, there was no similarity between them. They were different ages, different sexes, and had definitely moved in different social circles. Bush had already checked on Theodore Russell’s personal life on the off chance that he could have been one of the prostitute’s clients. That hadn’t panned out. When he’d been notified that the Oklahoma State Bureau of Investigation was sending one of their best men in to help him out, he’d been more than willing to share. This nut was one killer they needed to get off the streets, and fast. He would take all the help he could get.
    Bush held out his hand as Kirby walked up.
    “Agent Summers, isn’t it? Ray Bush, Homicide. I assisted you on a case a couple of years ago.”
    “Yeah, the missing motel owner, right?”
    “Right,” Ray said.
    “Pleasure,” Summers said, shaking the other man’s hand then glancing down at the body. “So, what have we got?”
    Bush pulled out his notepad. “Theodore Russell. Early forties. Senior accountant. Went out looking for his wife’s lost dog. Didn’t come home. She reported him missing around 3:00 a.m. An early-morning jogger found his body around 6:00 a.m. Unfortunately, the rain washed away whatever clues the killer might have left. All we have is this rose.” He held up a plastic bag, containing one very bedraggled long-stemmed red rose.
    “I understand you had another body a couple of days earlier with a similar signature.”
    Bush nodded. “Right down to the fact that the stem is thornless.”
    Kirby glanced down at the body. “How did he die?”
    “Just like the prostitute. A broken neck.”
    Kirby’s dark eyes narrowed. “Does the media know about the missing thorns?”
    Ray nodded. “No, sir. I made certain of that.”
    “Good.” Then Kirby squatted down beside the body, watching as the medical examiner continued to work. “Hey, Sam. Anything you can tell me that might help?”
    Sam Whitehall paused in the act of bagging some hair that he’d found on the dead man’s jacket and looked up.
    “He’s got something lodged in the back of his throat. My best guess is that it’s some kind of whistle. I’ll extract it when I begin the autopsy.”
    Kirby frowned as he stood. “A whistle?”
    Bush flipped down his list of notes. “His wife said he’d gone out to look for a missing dog. Maybe it’s a dog whistle.”
    Summers made another note, then took a handkerchief out of his suit coat, swiping at the sweat running down the back of his neck.
    “You through here?” he asked.
    Bush nodded.
    “I’d like copies of everything you have on both victims as soon as possible.”
    “You got it,” Bush said.
    “I’ll be in touch,” Summers said, and started to walk away when Bush called out.
    “Hey, Summers.”
    Kirby stopped and turned. “Yeah?”
    “Something about this gives me the creeps. Glad to have you aboard.”
    Summers thought about the fishing trip one last time and then nodded. “No problem.”
     
    Laura overslept. When she opened her eyes, she knew it was late by the amount of sunshine reflected on the wall opposite her bed. She lay without moving, absorbing the quiet of the house and thinking of Gabriel Connor. He made her uncomfortable in a way she’d never experienced. When she was around him, she felt out of control. It was disconcerting to know they would be lovers. While the thought wasn’t abhorrent, right now it was frightening. The man was somehow involved in these murders. Whether it was psychically or physically had yet to be discerned. And that was why she was here.
    She groaned, then rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom. A short while later, she emerged from her room dressed in a