Hunt and Prey (Kelsey's Burden Series Book 8) Kaylie Hunter (books on motivation txt) 📖

a warrant if the line was too far into federal lawbreaking territory.

“I don’t remember all the details. The patient was a heart attack victim. After he was pronounced, I was prepping the body when we moved him and I saw the mark. It wasn’t a bruise, though. It looked more like a red welt.”

“Like a wound that hadn’t bruised yet?”

Erica shrugged. “Maybe. I just remember it was about three inches tall but ran straight across the back of his neck. It was an unusual marking. I noted it in the file.”

“Do you remember how long ago this was?”

She placed her hands on her hips and looked up at the ceiling, thinking. “Maybe a year ago? Gosh—I’m not sure. It’s been a while. If it helps, he died before he got here. Paramedics tried to revive him, but he’d been down a while before he was wheeled in here.”

“Okay. I can work with that.”

Erica smiled. “Really?”

“I’ll task a grunt with searching death certificate records for heart attack victims.”

“Now there’s a horrible job. There’ll be thousands of death certificates. Talk about a needle in a haystack.”

“But if we find that one needle, it could hold all the answers.” Throwing my handbag over my shoulder, I tucked Lydia’s autopsy file under my arm. “And now, I’m off to see a man about sexual asphyxiation.”

“Ewe.”

“Agreed. Stay safe. And thanks for the info,” I said before leaving.

~*~*~

On the way to the Outer Layer, I called Quille and asked for a researcher. He assigned me the young and incompetent Detective Gibson. I knew Quille had assigned me Gibson as punishment for Danny Rickers’ missing fingertips which I.A. was now investigating. And the reason I knew was because Quille spent ten minutes screeching at me, telling me that was why I was getting stuck with Gibson. As much as I wanted to argue, I decided it was best to roll with it.

Next, I called Gibson, tasking him with three jobs: Find the heart attack victim, pull the files on Terri Weston’s murder, and pull any crime files in the last five years that involved morphine. The last one was triggered by the story of the kid trying to steal a morphine drip machine from the hospital. I wondered if the kid was just stupid or if he had other reasons for his failed adventure. It seemed an odd enough story that broadening the search seemed reasonable.

Then I told Gibson to bring everything he could gather on all three requests to Hibiscus park. He started choking when I told him he had forty-five minutes to meet me there. I disconnected before he could whine any complaints.

Entering the Outer Layer via the private entrance, I took the elevator to the third floor. Stepping into The Parlor, I spotted Evie sitting at the bar talking to Eddy, another bartender.

I looked next to the elevator, then upward. “Garth,” I said, nodding to him.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Harrison,” Garth replied with a slight grin. “Will you need any transportation changes today?”

“Do I still have any vehicles here?”

“Only the truck.”

I imagined the beat-up, rusty, short-bed truck parked outside the mansion, and my mood lightened. “I’ll have someone take the truck on the next visit. It might come in handy.”

Garth inclined his head but didn’t say anything.

“If I watch Evie, do you mind running upstairs and asking Baker to compile a list of sexual chokers?”

Garth flashed his teeth in his version of a smile. “You don’t want him to explain the intricate details of sexual asphyxiation?”

I scrunched my nose in disgust, but my nose was still bruised and I quickly regretted it as my eyes watered. “I was hoping to skip the educational speech. I just need names and phone numbers.”

“I understand. He can sometimes get carried away explaining the details. Stay with Evie until I return so Baker doesn’t have a meltdown.”

Garth left in the elevator as I walked across the room and sat next to Evie.

“Anything new?” she asked as Eddy set a mojito on a coaster in front of me.

“I need more details. That’s why I’m here. Anything you can share about your ex? Any scars, tattoos, names, dates, places?”

“No scars or tattoos. He was too secretive to mention any names, and he liked to stay inside.”

“Tell me about that. Where did you guys live? Your place? His place?”

“He owned a condo near downtown. It was swanky. I kept my apartment, but I practically lived at his place.”

I handed her a piece of paper and asked her to write down the address. “I have a photo, but it’s black and white and he’s wearing sunglasses. Is this him? Xander?”

“Yeah.” She took the phone, studying it. “Did you get this from my old job?”

“Spence did. We can’t make out his features, though. Does he have any ethnic traits?”

“He does have light brown skin, but I couldn’t tell you anything about his family’s origin. He doesn’t speak with an accent.”

“Does he speak any foreign languages?”

Evie took a long moment to think. When she remembered something, her face lit up and she started bouncing in her chair. “Yes! He yelled at a parking valet once in Spanish!”

I didn’t tell her that I could also swear at someone in Spanish. “How often did he come to Georgia? Was there a pattern to his visits?”

“Once or twice a month, but I never knew when. And he’d only stay for a few days, then take off again. I seldom heard from him when he was away, but if I wasn’t at either work or the condo when he came to town, he’d get mad.”

“Mad, like how?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not violent. Xander was more strategic than that. He’d somehow make me feel bad for disappointing him.”

“That’s helpful,” I said, leaning back in my