Xs, An Allie Armington Mystery Read Free Page B

what
happened to Caro. And she was so pleased, she recommended him to
me. But, but it wasn’t a scam. I mean, he did the work.”
    Greene looks at me. “After hours they ‘borrow’ the
offices of established plastic surgeons. Usually talk the patient
into immediate surgery. Dope them up for a few days, then demand
cash, or, as in this case, have a nice lady direct a wire transfer
to a dummy account.”
    I lean forward, heart pounding. “But what about my
money?” Greene gives me a rueful look. “I doubt your insurance
covers scams.”
    ————
    After a two-hour wait in the ER, it’s our turn. A
doctor, Angela and I are crowded behind a drawn curtain while
Greene stands just outside whistling an annoying, one-note
tune.
    My sister has my hand in a stranglehold that
tightens with each snip of the scissors. The last bandage falls
away. No swelling. No bruises. No scars. Poor Angela. What do I
mean poor Angela? She’s fine, beautiful as ever. Poor me, still
plain and now broke.
    The doctor draws back the curtain. “No surgery has
been performed on this subject. No sign of any subcutaneous
structural changes, nor is there evidence of laser work.”
    Angela gently touches her face. “But I did have
surgery. Doctor Severeid’s on the cutting edge of this new painless
technique. Caro said he was the best.”
    I touch her arm. “The man you saw is named Granger.
Remember?”
    I push around the doctor and grab Greene’s arm. “My
sister can’t be a suspect. Just because she didn’t have the surgery
she thinks she did is no reason to—”
    “Maybe, maybe not. After fifteen years on the force,
I’ve seen just about everything.”
    Greene hustles us out of the ER and back up the
street to the precinct house.
    Once we’re again settled in his office, he turns to
Angela. “Look, Miss Armington, as far as I’m concerned, the only
crime you’ve committed is being a dupe for a con man, but—”
    I wave my hand. “Don’t stop with the ‘but,’
Detective. There has to be a helluva lot more to this than you’re
telling, and I need to know exactly what it is.”
    He hunches between his shoulders and studies his
notes for a few seconds. When he looks up, his eyes aren’t as
friendly as they have been. “I really don’t have to tell you
anything other than your sister is part of a murder investigation
and she better not leave the city.”
    Big whoops. Went too far. Demanding like a DA
instead of asking like a concerned party. I backtrack as adeptly as
I can. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get in your face. My curiosity
got the better of me.”
    The room is silent. Angela, for once, is keeping her
mouth shut.
    Greene takes out his pad and goes through several
pages, then says, “FYI, Miss Montoya wasn’t the first woman who
bought it that way—tied up, sexually assaulted, then garroted.”
    He makes a tiny mark with his pen next to some
words. “There are a couple of very curious details. Number one: No
DNA. The perp must use surgical gloves as well as a condom. And
that final wipe-down with the pine-scented disinfectant is the
finishing touch. We haven’t been able to turn up so much as a
partial fingerprint in any of these cases.”
    He slides a photograph from another folder in my
direction. “But the signature X tells us it’s the same guy.”
    I look at a woman’s breast. Above the aureole is a
small, precise X.
    “Every one of the victims has a small X on the left
breast in exactly the same location. Didn’t you notice the X on
Montoya?”
    I shudder and look away. “I didn’t get that close.
The minute I realized she was dead, we were out of there.”
    Greene puts the photo back in the folder. “We’ve
been compiling bits and pieces of evidence over the last ten
months; there were similar killings in January, March and May, and
now this. And another interesting fact: all the women except
Montoya were prostitutes from the same stable.”
    “What about forced penetration?”
    Greene glances