The Chameleon

Chapter 1

Jessica had a feeling this was her lucky night.

I think I’m going to get laid, she said.

She laughed at the sound of her words. Her friends at work would be shocked to hear her talk that way. She knew they thought of her as a good girl type—even a bit on the prim side. They didn’t have a clue how uninhibited she could be sexually.

Not that she’d had much chance to be uninhibited lately. Her last relationship had ended in a nasty break-up eight months earlier. The bastard had been cheating on her with some slut of a secretary from his law firm. She’d actually caught them in the act when she’d shown up at his office one day after work. She’d meant to surprise him with an offer to cook him dinner that night. Instead she’d been greeted by the sight of the secretary’s naked ass.

Tears pricked at Jessica’s eyes as she remembered the humiliation she’d felt that day. She thought she’d known the kind of person Ken was, thought she could trust him. She’d even confided in a friend from home that she thought Ken was the one.

To hell with him! she said and immediately felt better. Who needed the jerk anyway, now that she’d found Daniel?

Daniel. The name made her smile at herself in the bathroom mirror as she inserted her favorite silver earrings. She thought about the day they’d met just two weeks earlier. She’d been waiting for a decaf latte at her local Starbucks when the handsome, sophisticated looking man behind her suddenly asked her about the novel she was holding. Before Jessica knew it, they were sitting at a table together talking excitedly about their favorite books.

Jessica had liked Daniel immediately. His charm, his sly sense of humor, and his love of good literature had all appealed to her at once. But she had also felt a sexual attraction to him that she could only describe as electric. Even sitting there that first day in Starbucks she had felt herself getting aroused. The attraction was so strong that she was embarrassed he might be able to see it in her face.

They’d been out three times since that first day—once for lunch and twice for dinner—and it had taken all of Jessica’s willpower not to drag Daniel off to bed. But she’d told herself she wanted to do things differently this time. She’d jumped into bed with Ken the first night they’d gone out together and look what happened with him. She wasn’t sure if it was superstition, or if she just wanted to get to know Daniel better first. Either way, waiting had felt right, though the feelings of lust she experienced when Daniel kissed her had been hard to resist.

But she didn’t have to wait anymore, she told herself. She felt sure about Daniel now. He was the kindest, most thoughtful, sexiest man she’d ever known.

She took one final look in the mirror and gave herself a nod of approval. She was wearing her favorite black bra and her skimpiest pair of panties. Tonight was going to be her lucky night.

The evening was all that Jessica hoped it would be. The restaurant had been the perfect choice—dark, candlelit, romantic—and the food had been superb. Daniel had never looked more handsome or spoken so well.

He also seemed to know what was on Jessica’s mind because he was much bolder than on their previous dates. At one point, when they were well into their second glass of wine, he told her how beautiful she was and slid his hand up her skirt and along her thigh. Shocked at her own boldness, Jessica caught hold of his fingers and drew them further up so he could feel how wet she was. The look that passed between them threatened to set the restaurant on fire.

Jessica had put a bottle of white wine in the refrigerator before she’d left for dinner, thinking she’d offer Daniel a glass when they got home. She barely had time to close the door to her apartment, however, when he pounced on her. He pushed her against the wall, pinning her hands above her head. When he kissed her, Jessica kissed him back hard, pushing her pelvis against his crotch. She felt dizzy with lust.

By the time they got to the bedroom, Jessica was wearing only her bra and panties. She crawled onto her bed and knelt down, with her head on the counterpane and her ass in the air. She could feel Daniel kneel behind her and slide his hands along her back until he reached the strap of her bra. He undid it in one smooth motion and then slid his hands underneath her. When her large breasts slid out of her bra and into his hands, Jessica heard herself gasp with pleasure.

A minute later, Daniel slid her panties down to her knees and began to do marvelous things with his fingers. He stroked her ass gently and then slid his hand into the hot, wet place between her legs. Jessica felt the throbbing in her crotch grow even stronger.

Please, she said. Please.

Daniel didn’t have to ask what she meant. He slid her panties down to her ankles and slipped them over her feet. As soon as they were off, Jessica spread her legs apart and tilted her pelvis. She could hardly bear to wait any longer.

But Daniel didn’t keep her waiting. He found her opening and penetrated her in one smooth thrust. Jessica thought she’d never felt more aroused in her life. She got up on both hands so she could rock back and forth more easily. Daniel took hold of her long hair and pulled her head back, as if he were riding a horse. The thought made Jessica feel even hotter, and in another minute she could feel herself beginning to come, crying out in her pleasure.

Instead of loosening his grip on her hair, however, Daniel began to pull her head back farther and farther.

That hurts, Jessica said, still gasping.

I know it does, you stupid bitch.

Jessica felt a surge of fear. The harsh, angry voice no longer sounded like Daniel. Who was this man? What was happening?

She didn’t have much time to wonder, however. Letting go of her hair, Daniel grasped her head with both of his hands and, with a savage twist, broke her neck. He then let her head down gently onto the bed where it came to rest at a sickening angle. He noted with satisfaction the look of shock and horror in the still-open eyes.

Stupid bitch, he said again.

Chapter 2

Janet Barlow contemplated the dregs of coffee in the bottom of her mug while pondering her career choice. She had the sudden thought that coffee grounds might be like tea leaves. If you knew what you were doing, maybe you could use them to read your future.

But she didn’t know how to read coffee grounds any more than she knew how to find a crystal ball. Sighing, she got up to pour herself another cup of coffee. It was a two-cup morning, she told herself, though come to think of it they were almost all two-cup mornings these days. So much for cutting back on caffeine. She slopped in some low-fat half-and-half and a spoonful of sugar and sat down again.

She remembered how upset her parents had been when she’d told them she was going to the police academy.

Why not be a teacher? her mother had asked her.

Or a nurse, her father had added. Your friend Debbie’s a nurse, and she loves it.

I’m not Debbie, Janet had responded angrily. And I don’t want to spend my days taking orders from doctors and holding people’s hands.

By the time she landed her first real job, Janet’s parents had seemed resigned to the idea of her being a cop. It helped that she was working for the Cambridge Police Department. Home to both Harvard and MIT, the city of Cambridge had a cachet that even her unsophisticated parents could appreciate. It was also smaller and safer than Boston.

But when she announced her promotion to homicide detective, they’d just looked at each other. They didn’t even have to say anything this time. She could read their thoughts loud and clear in their faces: confusion, disappointment, disapproval. They were ashamed of her, she thought.

She’d said as much to her older sister.

They’re not ashamed of you, Becky told her. They just don’t get it. They have such a narrow view of the world, and a woman being a cop just doesn’t fit that view. Remember, Jan, they didn’t even go to college.

I know, I know, Janet had answered. It was easy for her sister to say these things. She worked in a bank, after all—a respectable job. And she’d been promoted twice in the last three years. Janet could imagine her mother bragging to Irene Murphy next door that her daughter was a high-powered banker. She wondered what her mother said about her, or if she even mentioned her.

But she couldn’t blame everything she was feeling on her parents, Janet reminded herself. She was having some doubts too. She knew what she was letting herself in for when she became a cop—the sexist jokes, the subtle humiliations—and she’d handled all the crap that had come her way with dignity and grace. The problem was that she’d let herself hope things would be better when she moved up to detective. She’d let down her guard. Instead of getting better, however, she found that she had to prove herself all over again.

And just when she thought things might be improving a little, they’d assigned Dennis Franconi to be her new partner.

Dennis Franconi. Everything about the man made Janet want to throw up. The way he walked, the way he talked, the way he ate. And then there were the sly insinuations, the stupid double entendres, and the constant comments about other women’s bodies.

The harsh ring of the kitchen telephone interrupted her internal diatribe. Janet glanced at the clock. She had another half an hour until she was due at work, so something must have come up. She picked up on the second ring.

Hey babe.

Janet stiffened. Don’t call me ‘babe,’ she said automatically.

You’re not going to get all militant on me, are you? Dennis asked.

Why are you calling? Janet snapped.

And good morning to you, too, Dennis answered. You’d better get your butt down to the station quick. A call just came in. Some chick got offed in her apartment near Porter Square. Sounds like a nasty one.

Janet thought that Dennis sounded excited. One of the things she hated most about him was the disrespectful way he talked about victims. But she could also feel the adrenaline starting to pump through her veins as she grabbed her jacket and headed for the door.

Five minutes, she told Dennis.

She paused for a moment in the front hallway to check her appearance in the mirror. It wouldn’t do to arrive at the station with a piece of food stuck to her face. Dennis would never let her forget it. Earlier she’d pulled her unruly dark hair back into a no-nonsense ponytail, and for a moment she stood staring into her piercing blue eyes. Not liking the worried look she saw there, she shook herself, as though trying to shake the anxiety out of her system.

It wasn’t until she hit the stairs that she remembered her half-drunk cup of coffee sitting on the kitchen table. She slowed for a moment but then shook her head and hurried on. It wouldn’t do to keep Dennis waiting.

Several police cars were gathered at the front of the red brick apartment building when they arrived. Janet noticed that their flashing blue lights reflected off the glass door like a rock show. A few cops were milling around, one of whom was trying to get the usual crowd of gawkers and television reporters to move back.

Dennis, my man, one of the cops called out as they approached the building. He was clutching a cup of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee between his hands, warming them against the cool March air. He glanced coldly at Janet but didn’t acknowledge her.

If it isn’t Eddy Bean, Dennis replied, slapping the man’s hand in a way that made Janet want to roll her eyes. What’s happening?

Better go up and take a look, Eddy said. Second floor. I think you may have a real sicko on your hands. He winked at Janet and took a big sip of his coffee.

Asshole, she thought automatically.

The interior of the apartment building was well maintained, Janet noticed. It was one of a group of buildings that had been converted to condos back in the mid-1980s when the Red Line had been extended out to Porter and Davis Squares. The apartment in question was immediately apparent from the two cops standing outside its entrance. Janet had seen them before but didn’t know their names.

Well if it isn’t the boys and girls from Homicide, one of the cops said when he spotted them. How you doing, Dennis?

Janet felt her stomach tighten. Did Dennis know everyone in the department? How she hated the old boys’ network.

Dennis greeted the two men and then introduced Janet. She smiled at them through gritted teeth as she shook hands. It always felt like Dennis had the upper hand in these situations, like she was some embarrassing relative out of the family loop.

So what we got here? Dennis asked when the introductions were over.

Dead white girl, said the cop named Steve. When she didn’t show up for work yesterday or answer her phone last night, a friend got worried. She came here early this morning to check on her and found the apartment door unlocked. I guess her screams woke up the whole building.

Looks like the vic had some fun on the way out, said the second cop, a man named Jake. He grinned at them through two rows of crooked teeth.

Janet didn’t like his tone. What do you mean? she demanded.

Why don’t you check it out, Jake said, flashing her a hostile look. I think you’ll get the picture, Detective. He made no effort to hide his contempt.

ME’s checking her out now, Steve added. She may have more information for you.

Janet felt her spirits lift when she heard the pronoun she. The city’s chief medical examiner was a woman named Susan Schrift. The cops in the department called her Short Shrift because of her diminutive size, but what she lacked in height she made up for in competence and intelligence. Best of all, from Janet’s perspective, she was another woman.

Entering the apartment, Janet’s first impression was that some kind of eccentric cleaning service was at work. The crime scene unit had arrived 20 minutes earlier and were going over the place with a fine tooth comb. One member of the team, a man named Michael, acknowledged Janet with a nod and pointed across the room.

The bedroom’s down the hall, he said and went back to dusting for fingerprints.

Even before she reached the bedroom, the smell hit her—that familiar, sickly smell of decomposing flesh. Janet stopped in the doorway for a moment, breathing through her mouth now. She could feel Dennis’s impatient presence behind her but told herself he could wait. She liked to take in the crime scene as a whole before walking into a room. Today her eyes were immediately drawn to the naked figure on the bed.

Janet’s first impression was that she was looking at a pornographic movie. The woman was kneeling down with her legs spread open and her head on the bed. She looked as if she was preparing to have sex, except that something about her head wasn’t quite right.

Move it, girl. You’re blocking my view.

Dennis’s words jarred Janet out of her reverie. She scowled at him but moved into the room.

There you are.

Janet had been too busy looking at the body to notice Susan Schrift standing at the end of the bed. She greeted her warmly, surprised by how good it felt to see this woman who wasn’t even a friend. As usual, the small ME radiated a sense of energy and efficiency

I’m glad you’re here, Susan said, pushing a strand of curly brown hair away from her eyes with the back of a hand. I didn’t want to shift the body until you saw it.

Thanks, said Janet. What have we got here?

Susan flipped back a page in the small notepad she was holding. Jessica Carter, white female, age 28. Apparently she works for a small publishing company near MIT—Walden Press. The friend who found her said she’s lived in this apartment building for a couple of years.

How long… Janet began, but the ME held up a hand.

I’m getting to that, she said. Judging from the temperature of the body and the state of decomposition, I’d say she’s been dead for about 33 hours, give or take a couple of hours on either side.

Janet did some quick calculations. Today’s Tuesday. That would make the time of death late Sunday evening or very early Monday morning.

I don’t see any blood on her, Doc, Dennis broke in. She didn’t die from too much sex, did she?

Susan gave Dennis a dubious look. No, Detective, she said evenly. She didn’t die from too much sex, though she clearly had sex before she died. I already bagged a semen sample. She paused a moment, as if for effect. Whoever killed her, did it by snapping her neck.

Dennis whistled, for once at a loss for words.

Is that hard to do? Janet asked.

Not if you know what you’re doing and you’re strong, Susan said. But not a lot of people would know how to do it.

Could it have been rape?

Susan shook her head. There’s no evidence of a struggle, and no vaginal bruising or tearing. I gather there was no sign of a break in either, she added. But look at this.

Susan led the detectives to the other side of the bed. From this angle, Janet could see there were markings on the dead woman’s body. Someone had used a red marker to write the word bitch across her rear end. Janet felt a chill in the pit of her stomach.

Someone must have been pretty angry to do this to her, Dennis said quietly.

I think that’s putting it mildly, detective, Susan said. I think what we’re looking at here is an act of pure rage.

But what would make someone that angry? Janet asked. She immediately regretted how naïve the question sounded, but Susan smiled at her.

That’s for you to find out, the ME said. All I have to do is tell you how she died.

Janet looked at the dead woman’s open eyes. Although they now had a cloudy quality about them, they still held a look of both terror and surprise. The man who did this to Jessica had sex with her and then calmly broke her neck. What kind of person would do that?

Janet felt the chill again.

Chapter 3

Janet found a parking place in front of the two-family house she’d been hunting for and sat for a moment studying it. It had taken her a while to convince Dennis that she should interview Sally Woodbine, the friend who found Jessica Carter’s body, alone. The young woman was probably traumatized, Janet had argued, and would feel more comfortable talking to a woman. Dennis had grumbled about it but eventually backed down. To her surprise, he’d then offered to track down Jessica’s next of kin and inform them of her death. Even Janet had to give him points for that.

The cops at the crime scene, Steve and Jake, had talked with Sally and taken a statement, but Janet liked doing her own interviews. Observing the person she was questioning, getting a chance to see their nonverbal cues, felt like an important part of the process. At any rate, she always got more information if she did it herself.

Janet could hear the peel of the doorbell inside the apartment, followed a moment later by the sound of footsteps. When the footsteps stopped, she got the feeling someone was checking her out through the peephole.

Who’s there? a voice asked from behind the door.

I’m Detective Janet Barlow from the Cambridge Police Department, Janet said, holding up her badge to the door. She could hear a chain being slid back, and the next moment the door swung open.

Sally Woodbine was dressed in blue jeans and a tee shirt. She was of medium height and had light brown hair. She was an attractive woman, Janet thought, though it was hard to see that now because her eyes were puffy and red.

She led Janet back to the kitchen where she was making a cup of tea. Janet agreed to join her. She’d found that accepting offers of tea or coffee from the people she had to interview helped break the ice. They seemed more at ease if she was drinking something with them, and they tended to open up more easily.

I’m not sure why you’re here, Sally said when the two women were finally sitting at the kitchen table. I told those two policemen at Jess’s apartment everything that happened this morning.

I know, Janet said, and we appreciate that. But I’m on the team of homicide detectives working this case, and it helps if I talk to people myself. Sally gave a nod of understanding, but she continued to look shell-shocked.

How long have you known Jessica? she asked.

Almost two years, Sally answered. Ever since I started to work at Walden Press. I’d just moved to the city, and she was the first friend I made here.

Were you good friends?

Sally’s eyes filled with tears. She was my best friend, she said shakily. She paused for a moment, making a visible effort to pull herself together. I have friends from college, she went on, but they’re scattered across the country now. Jess was my closest friend in the Boston area.

Did she have any other friends?

Lots of them, Sally said. There are a bunch of us who hang out at work—the younger editors. We go out for drinks most Fridays. And Jess had friends outside of work too.

Any boyfriends?

She had a serious boyfriend when I first met her, but she broke up with him about eight months ago. She found out he was cheating on her. Sally made a face, and Janet smiled at her.

What about lately?

A troubled look came into Sally’s face. She was just starting to see someone new, but I don’t know any of the details. I could tell something was going on, though, and finally pried it out of her. She said she didn’t want to talk about him yet. She was feeling superstitious because of what happened with Ken. She said she wanted to make sure this was serious. I could tell she was excited, though, because she was glowing.

Did she say anything at all about this man? Where she met him? What he did for work?

No, Sally said. The only thing she told me was that they hadn’t had sex yet. The young woman colored slightly. She said she thought that was going to change real soon.

Was Jessica promiscuous? Janet asked.

Sally frowned. Not at all, she replied stiffly. She hadn’t been with anyone since breaking up with Ken, and that was eight months ago. But she wasn’t a prude either, she added, before Janet could speak again. People who didn’t know her well sometimes got that impression.

You mentioned that her last boyfriend cheated on her, Janet said. Do you think Jessica had good judgment about men?

Sally hesitated. It looked as if she was involved in some internal struggle.

No, I don’t, she finally said. I don’t want to say anything bad about Jess. I loved her. But I think she was a terrible judge of men. I thought Ken was a jerk the moment I met him. It didn’t surprise me at all that he was cheating on her. And the boyfriend she had before Ken treated her terribly. At least, that’s what she told me.

So did you have some worries about this new guy?

Sure I did, especially when Jess wouldn’t tell me anything about him. I also worried she was a bit desperate, and that never helps. After eight months she was feeling pretty frustrated, if you know what I mean. Sally blushed again.

Janet knew exactly what she meant. Her social life hadn’t been lighting up the world of late. The last guy she’d gone on a date with was such an idiot she’d left halfway through dinner. And that had been six months ago.

Were any of the men she worked with interested in Jessica? she went on.

Sally shook her head. Two of the guys we hang out with are gay, she said, and the other one has a serious girlfriend.

Do you know of any reason someone would want to hurt her?

No. Why would anyone want to hurt Jess? She was just this kind, decent, thoughtful person. She was good at her job. She was nice to other people. She was a great friend.

Sally choked up as she was speaking and then started to cry. Janet sat quietly until the young woman had composed herself again.

I’m sorry, she said. I’ve never had a friend die before. And I keep thinking about the way she looked kneeling on that bed.

No need to apologize, Janet said. Is there anyone who can come over and be with you? You’ve had a big shock.

Sally nodded. Yeah, a couple of friends from work are coming over. They gave everyone the day off when they heard the news.

Janet took a last sip of her tea and excused herself. She thought she’d gotten any useful information there was to get from Sally.

Thanks for your help, she said at the door. I know how hard it must be to talk at a time like this.

Sally smiled at her.

If you think of anything else, no matter how small it is, give me a call, Janet added, giving Sally her card.

The young woman glanced at the card and then back at Janet. Please catch the guy who did this, she said.

Back at the station, Jessica put out an all-points bulletin describing the nature of the murder. This bulletin would go to police departments across the country. Breaking someone’s neck was so unusual a method of murder that it should immediately stand out if it had happened elsewhere.

After grabbing a cup of coffee, she headed to her desk, thinking about what Sally had told her. She was beginning to get a picture of Jessica: a friendly, outgoing person who was popular with her fellow workers but who didn’t have much luck in her romantic life. The series of bad relationships suggested a lack of self-esteem under the outgoing exterior. When coupled with the poor judgment, the low self esteem made her more vulnerable to the kind of predator who’d killed her.

Predator. Janet thought again about the manner in which Jessica Carter had died. This was not a crime of passion or a robbery gone bad, she thought. Jessica had trusted the man in her apartment. She’d had sex with him willingly. And then he’d turned around and killed her in a manner so cold and calculating that it made the hairs stand up on the back of Janet’s neck. Although it was too soon to know for sure, the words serial killer kept pushing into her head.

Most of the homicides Janet had dealt with so far had been of the routine variety: the result of domestic violence, gang fights, or shootings during robberies. She’d read about serial killers during her training, but she hadn’t ever dealt with a case involving one and had no reason to think she ever would. In fact, the words Cambridge, Massachusetts and serial killer didn’t seem as though they belonged in the same sentence. Despite the impression given by popular thrillers, where virtually every murderer was a diabolical psychopath, the great majority of homicides were actually quite mundane. Janet had a feeling in her gut that there was nothing mundane about Jessica’s killer.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Dennis’s entrance. He did not look pleased. He sat down at the desk across from her, slopping some of his coffee onto a large stack of papers. When he cursed, Janet had to stifle a smile.

You owe me, girl, Dennis said, mopping ineffectually at the spill with an old piece of paper towel. The brown stains on the paper indicated this wasn’t their first encounter with coffee.

What do you mean? Janet asked.

"I mean next time you get to inform the family, Dennis said. The mother got hysterical on me, and then some dog began to bark uncontrollably, and I could hear another woman wailing in the background. It took me 15 minutes before I could get a simple fact out of any of them."

The woman just heard her daughter was dead. How did you expect her to behave? Janet snapped.

I’m aware of that, Dennis growled. But the hysterical crying thing drives me crazy.

Janet looked at him more closely and realized how upset he was. She felt bad for him, but she felt frustrated too. If he’d just told her how hard it had been to make the call, she would have been sympathetic. Why did he always have to put on this insensitive, macho front? What was wrong with men, anyway?

Where was she from? she asked, trying to shift the conversation to a less emotional place.

Minot, North Dakota, wherever that is. She got a degree from University of North Dakota and moved east right after graduation. Always wanted to live in a big city, her father said. Sounds like she got out and never looked back.

She wasn’t in touch with her parents? Janet asked.

Oh, she called them now and then, Dennis said, but she hadn’t been home since her younger sister got married. That was two years ago.

Was there some falling out with the family, or some trouble with a college boyfriend?

I asked about all that, Dennis said, and they denied it. But then they wouldn’t necessarily tell me the truth, would they? From what they said, she always wanted to get out of North Dakota, and as soon as she got her chance, she went. Just distanced herself from the family. They sounded pretty hurt about it.

Janet found herself thinking about her own parents. When was the last time she’d called them? She pushed the thought away.

I don’t suppose they knew about the new boyfriend, Janet said without much hope.

They didn’t even know about the old boyfriend, Dennis said. She didn’t tell them anything.

Are they coming to get her?

The father’s going to fly out tomorrow. I told him the autopsy should be done by then. He’ll take the body home the next day.

We should talk to him.

I told him that, too.

Dennis took a sip of