guts churn and his mouth go hate dry. That vicious bastard deserved to die, one bullet at a time.
Bliss slid his hand under the newspaper on the passenger side of the car, stroked the cold steel of his newly acquired Glock. If he got lucky, and Beauty headed where he thought she was heading, he'd get his chance to provide those bullets.
For now, he'd wait, play it cool.
Revenge was good, but it didn't pay shit.
His mouth twisted into a thin smile. Wouldn't it be sweet, Vanelleto, Beauty, and the Wart all under one convenient roof?
Three chickens to pluck, two to fuck, and one to kill.
Warmed by the thought, he settled back into the seat of his rented Chrysler and watched the expensive red car switch deftly into the fast lane—but stick carefully to the speed limit.
He nearly laughed aloud. That's what made his plan so damn perfect: the woman driving the car had no more interest in attracting a cop's attention than he did.
Which made him and his Glock safe as babes in a stroller.
* * *
Cade mentally gave the DSHS, and Wayne Grover specifically, an A+ for record keeping. There was much more to go on in his files than the police report he'd borrowed from the SPD, Seattle's finest. Being a one-time criminalistics prof had its perks.
He shoved the Vanelleto and Lintz files aside and again opened Wartenski's.
It was thicker than the other two, more detailed, and he'd already committed most of it to memory. The child that was Addilene Wartenski now filled his mind and poked at his imagination. There were two pictures in the file, one of the girl at age seven or eight locked in the embrace of her mother, the other a stark portrait taken when she was eleven, the year she went permanently under the state's wing.
Cade wondered about the family photo. It was unusual to find a happy picture of a mother and daughter in the cold confines of an overworked caseworker's file. There was a sticky note on the back—in Grover's handwriting— return to Addilene at Belle's.
Obviously, he'd forgotten to do so, or the murders and her running away precluded it.
There was no record anywhere of the father, and her birth certificate, like Dianna's, stated "father unknown." But even that scant information was more than there was for Vanelleto. There was zero documentation on his background, his birth, or his school time. Nothing. How he'd managed to stay in the cracks as long as he did was astounding, and it made profiling him impossible—and the worst place to start.
Addilene had at least attended school, albeit intermittently, until she hit the streets, although her grades were brutal and her attendance even worse.
According to her file, her mother, Marylee Wartenski, died when the child was nine, and Addilene was taken in by Marylee's sister, Gloria. Neither Marylee nor Gloria had married, and according to Grover's files, there were no other relatives. At least none he ever found. And from what Cade could see, the man had knocked himself out trying to find some.
He picked up the case photo and studied the likeness. The girl looked pale, glum, and plain. Blue eyes, long dark hair, apparently uncombed when the photo was taken, and lips that were either knife thin or tightly compressed. Hard to tell.
There were no birthmarks listed in the description, but it was noted she had a thin scar under her chin—probably invisible by now—acquired as a toddler when she fell from her tricycle.
While there was considerably more about Addilene's background than either Dianna or Vanelleto's, when it came to the murder of Belle Bliss, her name carried the least weight in both the police reports and in Grover's file.
Because of her age, Cade guessed. She would have been thirteen when the murder occurred and the youngest of the three. She'd been in the system for only two years and on the streets for most of that, after running away from Aunt Gloria for the third time.
With no home, no real family, no roots, Addilene would have been sweet
Bliss slid his hand under the newspaper on the passenger side of the car, stroked the cold steel of his newly acquired Glock. If he got lucky, and Beauty headed where he thought she was heading, he'd get his chance to provide those bullets.
For now, he'd wait, play it cool.
Revenge was good, but it didn't pay shit.
His mouth twisted into a thin smile. Wouldn't it be sweet, Vanelleto, Beauty, and the Wart all under one convenient roof?
Three chickens to pluck, two to fuck, and one to kill.
Warmed by the thought, he settled back into the seat of his rented Chrysler and watched the expensive red car switch deftly into the fast lane—but stick carefully to the speed limit.
He nearly laughed aloud. That's what made his plan so damn perfect: the woman driving the car had no more interest in attracting a cop's attention than he did.
Which made him and his Glock safe as babes in a stroller.
* * *
Cade mentally gave the DSHS, and Wayne Grover specifically, an A+ for record keeping. There was much more to go on in his files than the police report he'd borrowed from the SPD, Seattle's finest. Being a one-time criminalistics prof had its perks.
He shoved the Vanelleto and Lintz files aside and again opened Wartenski's.
It was thicker than the other two, more detailed, and he'd already committed most of it to memory. The child that was Addilene Wartenski now filled his mind and poked at his imagination. There were two pictures in the file, one of the girl at age seven or eight locked in the embrace of her mother, the other a stark portrait taken when she was eleven, the year she went permanently under the state's wing.
Cade wondered about the family photo. It was unusual to find a happy picture of a mother and daughter in the cold confines of an overworked caseworker's file. There was a sticky note on the back—in Grover's handwriting— return to Addilene at Belle's.
Obviously, he'd forgotten to do so, or the murders and her running away precluded it.
There was no record anywhere of the father, and her birth certificate, like Dianna's, stated "father unknown." But even that scant information was more than there was for Vanelleto. There was zero documentation on his background, his birth, or his school time. Nothing. How he'd managed to stay in the cracks as long as he did was astounding, and it made profiling him impossible—and the worst place to start.
Addilene had at least attended school, albeit intermittently, until she hit the streets, although her grades were brutal and her attendance even worse.
According to her file, her mother, Marylee Wartenski, died when the child was nine, and Addilene was taken in by Marylee's sister, Gloria. Neither Marylee nor Gloria had married, and according to Grover's files, there were no other relatives. At least none he ever found. And from what Cade could see, the man had knocked himself out trying to find some.
He picked up the case photo and studied the likeness. The girl looked pale, glum, and plain. Blue eyes, long dark hair, apparently uncombed when the photo was taken, and lips that were either knife thin or tightly compressed. Hard to tell.
There were no birthmarks listed in the description, but it was noted she had a thin scar under her chin—probably invisible by now—acquired as a toddler when she fell from her tricycle.
While there was considerably more about Addilene's background than either Dianna or Vanelleto's, when it came to the murder of Belle Bliss, her name carried the least weight in both the police reports and in Grover's file.
Because of her age, Cade guessed. She would have been thirteen when the murder occurred and the youngest of the three. She'd been in the system for only two years and on the streets for most of that, after running away from Aunt Gloria for the third time.
With no home, no real family, no roots, Addilene would have been sweet
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