The White Carnation by Susanne Matthews Page B

Even going there to get a story took a lot out of her.
    She was either dead or unconscious.
    Moving to the bed, he knelt beside it and reached over to check her carotid pulse. He placed his fingers in the appropriate places and let out the breath he’d been holding when he felt its steady beat. Unlike the Harvester victims, she was pale, the freckles on her skin standing out against the waxy whiteness of her face. Was her pulse slower than it should be? The rise and fall of her breathing was scarcely noticeable. He moved his fingers upward and touched her cheek, the one thing guaranteed to rouse her from the deepest sleep, but she didn’t respond, not even a twitch. How long had she been like this?
    Her freshly washed hair was spread across her pillow as if someone had purposely placed it that way. Faye never left her hair loose when she slept, hated it when it got in her face, and she was a belly sleeper. Lying on her back like this was a pose—like the Harvester’s victims. His heart stopped. He lowered the sheet. Faye was bare, her hands folded together under her breasts, in the same pose he’d found the victim last night.
    Naked! Faye never slept nude, not even when they’d been together overnight. It was some strange quirk she had. What if there was a fire, and they had to leave suddenly? She’d be damned if her neighbors would see her
au naturel
. He bent closer to smell her, searching for the ammonia he associated with the Harvester’s victims, but instead the familiar aroma of her strawberry-scented shampoo and body wash filled his nostrils. Pulling the blanket up, he took a deep breath to suppress the panic building within him.
    Calming himself as best he could, he considered the situation analytically, the way he needed to for Faye’s sake. If his theory was right, and he was sure it was, Faye was the Harvester’s next victim. The monster had plans for her before he killed her, and this might be the first of them.
    He was almost certain Lucy Green’s killer had tossed the place, but a messy killing like hers didn’t really fit what he knew of the Harvester. So, why did he do it? Rage? Had not finding what he wanted at Lucy’s set him off? Made him act out uncharacteristically? Could they be looking at someone with multiple personality disorder? A callous killer who destroyed violently, without regret, living inside a neat freak who posed his victims almost lovingly? It was possible. Whoever had destroyed Faye’s apartment had taken the time to bathe her and put her to bed, like a loving parent would do to a child. But the place was a mess, and Faye hadn’t been sanitized, which meant they might get lucky and recover DNA from her.
    Placing his gun on the bedside table, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed 9-1-1.
    “9-1-1. State your name and the nature of the emergency.”
    Rob assured himself Faye was still breathing and focused on the operator. “This is Detective Sergeant Rob Halliday, Boston PD, badge number two three seven six. I need an ambulance and an investigative unit at The Tannery on Riverside Drive in East Cambridge, loft six. The place has been tossed. The victim is unconscious. The perpetrator has left the scene.”
    “Right away, Detective. What’s the victim’s name?” The woman’s voice was steady, keeping him anchored to the task at hand.
    “Faye Lewis. This is her apartment. I didn’t notice any sign of forced entry.”
    “Cambridge PD and paramedics have been dispatched to your location. Would you like me to contact Boston PD as well?”
    “Not at this time. I’ll call in. I wasn’t on duty today.”
    “Is there anything else you can tell me, Detective?”
    “Her pulse seems slow, and her breathing is shallow.”
    “I’ll convey that information to the paramedics. They should be there shortly. Please stay on the line until help arrives.”
    Rob put down the phone, keeping the line open as requested, and stood. There were so many things he should be doing as a