Residual Moon Read online

  She looked at the photo now, examining how this woman was bound. The roping was very methodical. Whoever hogtied these women knew exactly what he was doing. They were bound the same way with the same type of rope.

  After searching every store in Chicago, they concluded that it was basic heavy twined roping that could have been purchased from one of twenty stores in the downtown area, and one of a hundred in the Chicago metropolitan area.

  It wasn’t so much the rope, but how it was done. These women were not just bound and dumped. Someone methodically and professionally bound them. Instinctively, Grayson knew these poor women were not dead when this happened. They were bound helpless and alive. Someone took a knife of some sort and slashed these women with the markings. He placed duct tape across their mouths to silence them, then slit their throats.

  She looked up to see a patrolman walk toward her desk holding a manila folder. He smiled slightly. “Forensics knew you’d be here, Detective. This is the prelim. They’ll have more later.” Grayson took the file.

  She looked around to see the morning sun shining through the window. Shit, it was nearly seven, and the precinct was buzzing with the start of a new day. She had completely lost track of time.

  “Thanks, Jeff,” she said tiredly and took the folder.

  She looked at the photos of the latest victim. “Tied the same way. Same knots,” she said aloud. She was used to talking out loud to herself.

  In the past year, she’d done that quite a bit. If she wasn’t taking openly to herself, she was talking to Vicky’s picture. This, however, usually happened after several glasses of whiskey.

  After Vicky’s death, visions of her haunted Grayson constantly—visions of their lovemaking and her warm smile and sarcastic grin. She remembered the time they looked for a place together. Vic needed to see the sun; Grayson needed the lake. They compromised on a nice loft apartment on the fifth floor. Vic had the sun and Grayson had everything right there in Vic’s deep brown eyes.

  Then the vision of Vic leaping in front of Grayson and the two other policemen, taking the spray of bullets meant for them, flashed through her mind.

  Grayson had already been shot, and she lay there helpless as she watched the body of the brave woman she loved riddled with gunfire.

  She closed her eyes and angrily rubbed her forehead, trying desperately to erase the visions. She should have known better; the visions would always haunt her.

  Chapter 2

  “Detective MacCarthaigh?”

  Grayson shook herself and looked up to see Lieutenant Keller standing there offering the cup of coffee in his hand.

  “Thanks.”

  The older detective pulled up a chair and sat down. Grayson avoided his probing eyes as she drank from the steamy cup and winced. “Did you make this?” she asked cautiously.

  Keller let out a laughing grunt. “So go to Dunkin’ Donuts. Now tell me what we’ve got.”

  “Another woman hogtied, cut, then the throat slit. Perhaps just in that order, I’m not sure. It’s nearly an exact duplication.”

  “Nearly?” Keller asked as he watched her.

  “Both women have some sort of markings carved into their skin just under the left breast,” Grayson said, showing him the photos. “They’re similar, but I have to believe very different and mean something different.”

  Keller examined the photos as he listened. “So what do you think, MacCarthaigh? Have we got some sick fuck into bondage and S&M?”

  Grayson stared at the pictures of both women. She took another drink from the Styrofoam cup. “I don’t know. My gut says it’s not that simple. I’ll check out the local bars that cater to that sort and go from there. Look at how they’re bound.”

  Keller took both photos and examined them. “Seems whoever this is knows what they’re doing.”

  “I agree. The intricacies are amazing. The knots are perfectly situated. Someone took the time to bind these women,” she said in quiet frustration as she stared at the photos once again.

  There was a brief moment of silence between them.

  “How are you getting along with Stan?” He sat back.

  Grayson pulled a face and shrugged. “He’s a good cop. He’s all right. I’d rather do this alone,” she added, feeling her anger rising again.

  “Not gonna happen, Gray,” he said sternly.

  She shot him an angry look. “Why not? I’m better alone. You know it.”

  The old man took a deep calming breath. “Such a fucking pain in my arse,” he mumbled. “No, you think that. I know better. Now quit your bellyaching and get this solved. Detective Resnick is your partner—treat him like it. You’re a good cop, MacCarthaigh. I know this can’t be easy for you, but do you honestly think you’re the first police officer to lose a friend?”

  “Vicky was more than a friend, sir,” Grayson said in a low voice. She felt the tears rising in her throat and cursed herself for it.

  “I know, Gray, and I’m sorrier than I can say,” he said in a gentle voice, “but I can’t afford for you to fall apart on me now.”

  Grayson was overtired, overworked, and just plan tired of feeling so alone. She felt her lip quiver.

  He leaned in. “You listen to me, Grayson MacCarthaigh. I knew your father for twenty years, and when you came to my precinct eleven years ago, I knew I had just struck gold. I’m sorry, but you know the media is going to play this up big, and they’ll be sniffing around. I need you, Detective,” he said in a sure, firm voice.

  Grayson took a deep calming breath and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  He stood and picked up his coffee. “By the way, how is your mother?”

  Grayson looked up and grinned. “She’s fine. Nuttier than ever.” She chuckled.

  “When was the last time you saw her?” he asked fatherly, and Grayson cringed.

  “Last month.”

  “What?” he asked in a quiet angry voice. “The woman lives three miles away and you haven’t seen her in over a month?”

  Grayson frowned deeply and stood. “I’ve been a bit busy, sir,” she said sarcastically.

  “You get your ass home and shower. Then I want you to go to your mother’s today, you little shit. Don’t you know she worries about you?”

  Grayson glanced around, seeing the smirk on several co-workers. “I’m a grown woman. I don’t need a lecture,” she said. “Why don’t you go see her?”

  The old man narrowed his eyes and breathed heavily. They were treading on dangerous ground now, and Grayson knew it. Mike Keller had known her mother, Maeve, for twenty years. When her parents moved here from Ireland, they became fast friends. He’d loved her mother ever since; Grayson knew this, as well. Her father, Dermott, died five years earlier, and Mike Keller didn’t know what to do about Maeve Grayson MacCarthaigh.

  “Oh, get back to work, you idiot.” He turned back into the office. “What the fuck are you all gawking at? Isn’t there enough crime for you great detectives?”

  Immediately, heads were buried into their respective work, each of them wincing as the door slammed loudly.

  Grayson grinned childishly. She just loved to see the vein pop out in his forehead.

  “One of these days, you’re gonna give the old man a stroke,” a younger detective said.

  Grayson let out a laughing snort and sat down. “He’ll live to be a hundred. He’s too ornery.”

  “What’s all the commotion?” Stan called out from the doorway. He had a box of what Grayson knew was fresh from the bakery in hand and two cups of coffee. He placed them on his desk, which faced Grayson’s.

  All of the sudden, she was starving. Stan grinned evilly as he opened the box. The sweet aroma of cinnamon wafted to her. Damn this guy.

  “Well, partner,” he drawled as he took a healthy bite. He then looked up. “I thought I’d come in early. I had a craving for Mrs. Walinski’s cinnamon rolls. Oh, would you like one? Or are you going to sulk for the duration of our partnership?”

  Grayson gave him a smug look an
d took a pastry. “Thanks,” she said and grinned slightly.

  Stan’s ridiculous grin covered his face. He handed her the large steamy cup. “Better than that sludge from last night. Now what do we have?” he asked with his mouth full.

  For the next few hours, they agonized over the forensic preliminary report and the photos. Stan agreed with her about the professional way the victims were bound. He also agreed with Keller. “A bondage freak and sadist, I’m thinking.”

  Grayson was not so sure.

  Grayson stood under the hot spray of the shower. Leaning her hands against the wall, she allowed the water to ease her tired body. Her mind vacillated from the murders to Vic. She tried to empty her mind for just a little while, just enough to get some peace.

  The gods above would not allow it.

  “Need a hand?” Vic said in a low seductive voice as she opened the shower door.

  Grayson grinned and cracked open one eye, as she peered at her lover through the soap in her hair. “Your timing, as usual, is perfect.” She pulled her into the warm spray.

  Vic laughed as she gently washed Grayson’s black curls. “I love your hair. Why don’t you let it grow? I’d love to run my fingers through long hair.”

  Grayson leaned into the gentle massage and reveled in the feeling of the warm body behind her. “It’s too much hassle. You know that.”

  “I don’t have a problem,” Vic said smugly.

  Grayson laughed. “That’s because you’re a girl and you like girly things. Like painting your toenails...”

  Vic let out a short laugh as she pushed her under the shower to rinse the shampoo out of her hair. “If I remember correctly, Detective MacCarthaigh, you love to paint my toenails.”

  Grayson laughed out loud and got a mouthful of water. She shook her head and pulled the woman she loved close and looked into the soft brown eyes. “You’re absolutely right, and when we’re done here, I’ll do it again for you,” she promised with a long wet kiss. She grinned as she heard the soft moan and felt the shiver.

  “We’ve got about five minutes before this water gets cold,” Vic warned breathlessly. Grayson nodded and kissed her again; her tongue easily slipped into her mouth. Both women groaned as they clung to each other. “I fall and I’ll kill you,” Vic murmured.

  “Never,” Grayson vowed as she kissed down her neck to her breast. She bathed Vic’s hardened nipple with her tongue, and Vic held her wet head in place.

  Suddenly, Grayson was on her knees and Vic’s leg was over her shoulder. She balanced on her outstretched arms as she held on to the walls of the shower.

  “Oh, God,” Vic whispered, as Grayson licked up and down the length of her. She loved the taste of this woman. So sweet, so Vic…

  Taking the engorged clitoris into her mouth, she gently sucked. Vic cried out, “Geezus, Gray!”

  Grayson let out a deep groan; the flat of her tongue languidly slipped between her folds as she felt Vic’s body begin to tremble.

  “No more, sweetie. I can’t…” Vic panted and Grayson quickly stood and wrapped her arms around the trim waist, kissing her deeply.

  “God, I love you, MacCarthaigh,” she murmured into her neck.

  “I love you, too, Ms. Green.” Grayson nibbled at the sensitive earlobe.

  Grayson shivered as the cold water broke her from her dream. She sighed sadly, turned off the water, and grabbed a big towel. Chuckling quietly, she remembered how she and Vic rarely showered separately. They enjoyed the communal shower and intimate time together. They felt safe and protected before they joined the real world of their jobs.

  “We were so close to it, Vic,” Grayson said as she dried off and sat on the edge of the bed—a different bed now. After Vic died, Grayson couldn’t bear sleeping in the same bed. There was just too much there. Tears formed in her eyes as she wrapped her arms around herself and rocked back and forth.

  In a few moments, she took a deep angry breath and dressed. She grabbed her leather jacket and keys and slammed the door on her way out.

  Grayson tiredly walked up the front porch steps and rang the bell. She grinned when her mother opened the door.

  “I thought I heard the rumble of that beast,” her mother said.

  “Hey, Ma,” she said with a crooked grin.

  Maeve peered over her reading glasses and grinned, as well. “Hey, nothing, get in here. You look like hell,” Maeve said and pulled her inside. “Have you eaten?” She reached up to touch her cheek. Grayson shrugged but said nothing.

  “Go into the kitchen and sit. I was on the phone with Sally.”

  “I’m sorry. I—”

  “Oh, shut up and go,” she ordered and pushed Grayson down the hall. “There’s coffee on the stove.”

  “Why don’t you use that coffee maker I brought you?” Grayson grumbled.

  Maeve rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t taste the same. Now sit.”

  Grayson poured a cup of coffee, sat at the old round table in the middle of the big kitchen, and looked around. “You were always here, cooking, cleaning, and taking care of me and Dad. How you found time to become a college professor is beyond me.”

  Maeve cocked her head to one side. “It’s not like you to be so nostalgic. I took care of you two idiots because I love you.”

  Grayson grinned and drank her coffee. “You’re a good mother. That’s why Vic and I decided…” Her voice trailed off as she stared at her coffee cup.

  “I’d ask what’s bothering you, but I’d need a pair of pliers to get it out of you. You must be starving.” She kissed the top of Grayson’s head. She pulled the leftover roast beef, horseradish, mayo, and tomatoes out of the refrigerator.

  Grayson watched and grinned. “My favorite.”

  “I know.”

  “Thanks, Ma.”

  “You’re welcome,” her mother said. “So tell me what’s been going on. I haven’t seen you in three weeks. That must mean you’re working on something you can’t talk about.” She stopped as she sliced the roast and shot a worried look at Grayson. “The young woman found by Lake Michigan three weeks ago. That’s your case?”

  Grayson took a deep breath and nodded as she drank her coffee. She leaned on her elbows and roughly rubbed her face. “Another victim was found early this morning at BelmontHarbor, by the rocks. Both murdered the same way.”

  Maeve finished making the sandwich and cut it, setting it on the plate. She got an enormous glass of milk and placed it in front of Grayson.

  She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down. “So are they related?”

  Grayson took a healthy bite of the sandwich and nodded. “You know I can’t tell you much, but yes, I think they’re related. If we don’t solve this, we’re gonna have a fucking serial killer in downtown fucking Chicago,” she said angrily.

  Her mother let out a low hiss of disbelief. “Don’t swear. Drink your milk.”

  Grayson looked over at her mother, watching her deep in thought. She was an attractive older woman, Grayson thought. Though not nearly as tall as Grayson, Maeve MacCarthaigh had a quiet allure about her. She had black hair like Grayson, only long with a considerable amount of white in it now. She kept it pinned up and off her neck, often held there by a pen or pencil, which of course she could never find. Her blue watery eyes sparkled, and her rosy cheeks made her look as though she just finished running a race. She was a kind and considerate nut.

  She taught Irish history and mythology at the University of Illinois at the downtown campus, and taught a night course of—and Grayson cringed at this—Irish Druidism at WrightJunior College every Tuesday night. Yes, Maeve Grayson MacCarthaigh was a Druid. Oh, pardon me, a Druidess.

  “Gray?” her mother called softly.

  “Sorry, I was thinking,” she said. “I need to find something to go on here, Ma.”

  Maeve regarded her carefully. “I hear uncertainty in your voice, sweetie, and that worries me because you’re not an uncertain woman.”

  Grayson frowned and rubbed her hands over her
face again. Her mother sat back and offered an indulgent grin, which Grayson tried to ignore. She knew what was coming next. Maeve was about to…

  “You know, you’re a confident woman and a good detective. I’ve watched you grow into a self-assured person, albeit a bit arrogant at times.”

  Grayson chuckled but said nothing. She knew it was time to shut up and let her mother be, well, motherly.

  “The day you were born in Ireland, I knew that my only daughter was destined for something great. You had that underlying heroism all your life, that sort of ‘big sister’ attitude,” Maeve said softly and continued. “As a young girl, you were constantly coming to the aid of your friends—both boys and girls. Remember when you were ten years old?”

  Grayson winced and felt the color rush to her cheeks.

  “You wanted to be a sheriff in the Old West. Then being a firefighter like Uncle Jack was a better idea. Then you finally settled on your best idea…”

  Grayson felt the tears sting her eyes as she looked at her mother, who was also tearing. “And became a police officer like my father.”

  “Exactly,” Maeve said. “Now you’re exhausted. You need to sleep, sweetie,” she said firmly. Grayson sighed and only nodded. “I want you to come to dinner on Sunday and spend the night.”

  “Ma…” The word was drawn out into several syllables.

  “I’ll make corned beef and cabbage,” she enticed with a grin.

  Grayson frowned and folded her arms across her chest, instantly feeling like a five-year-old.

  “Or I’ll call Mike—”

  “You will not call Mike Keller!” Grayson saw the challenging look on the rosy-cheeked face. She sighed as she stood. “You would. Fine, I’ll be here at five on Sunday.”

  “And spend the night.”

  “And spend the night, you nag.”

  Maeve laughed and pulled her daughter down in a fierce hug and kissed her forehead. “Now get out of here and go solve the murders of those poor women.”