dolls?
One. Luscious. Easy pickings. Like taking a rat from a cellar.
Gavin cringed. Sometimes Morte got to be a little much. But what could you do? It was hard for Gavin to talk to people, the online world was his oyster, his outlet. He had other friends who weren’t quite as crude as Morte. Speaking of which … he glanced at the listing of contacts and saw Necro90 was online as well. He sent him a quick hello, then went back to his chat with Morte.
When do you think you’ll be ready?
Morte came back almost immediately.
Within two days. Did you do it like we discussed? You were more careful with the disposal than with the snatch, weren’t you?
Gavin bristled a tiny bit, then relaxed. Morte was right to chide him. After all, he had made a mistake. He’d quickly learned that following Morte’s every instruction was important. Very, very important.
Yes. It was perfect. I’ll send you a photo.
He uploaded the shots, breath quickening in remembrance. So beautiful. Within moments, Morte responded.
My God. That is perfect. Lovely. You’ve become quite an artist.
Thank you.
Gavin blushed. Receiving compliments gracefully wasn’t one of his strongest attributes. He glanced over his shoulder, knew he needed to wrap this up.
Morte, I’ve gotta run. Long day today.
I’ll bet. You be good. Don’t forget, two days and counting. I’ll expect pictures!
Bye.
A picture flooded his screen—Morte had sent him a gift. Gavin studied the photo; his ears burned. Oh, Morte was amazingly good with a camera. So much better than he was.
Morte’s doll had no animation, no movement. Her eyes were shut. Gavin turned his chair around so he could stare at his own dollhouse, his own doll, lying in the darkness. Alone. He’d need to find her another friend soon. If only Morte’s girl was a sister. He didn’t have a taste for white meat.
Another chime—this time it was Necro responding. He asked how Gavin was doing, if there’d been any news in the community. Gavin replied with a negative—he’d heard nothing. Of course, his ear wasn’t to the floor like Morte—Morte was the architect of their online world. Gavin had found his friends deep in a sleepy sex message board, and was so thrilled to have them. They made his life bearable.
He chatted for a few minutes with Necro, read a rambling account of a perfect specimen Necro had sighted on some white-sand Caribbean beach, then logged out. He stared at the photo he’d downloaded from Morte. He was overwhelmingly turned on, and no longer able to contain himself. With a last glance at his doll, he went up the stairs, unlocked the door, locked the basement behind him and returned to his life. It was time for another shower, then bed. He had a very busy day ahead of him. A very busy few days. The plan was in motion.
He was proud of himself. He only checked the doll’s breathing three times during the night.
Two
Taylor Jackson was happy to spy an empty parking spot halfway up Thirty-second Avenue. Luck was on her side tonight. Parking in Nashville was extremely hit-or-miss, especially in West End. The valet smiled hopefully as she turned in front of Tin Angel, but she couldn’t leave a state vehicle with a kid who didn’t look old enough to have a driver’s license, not without getting into all kinds of trouble. She drove past him, paralleled smoothly and walked the slight hill back down to the restaurant’s entrance. She was looking forward to the evening, a girls’ night with her best friend Sam and colleague Paula Simari. No homicides. No crime scenes. Just a low-key meal, some wine, some chicken schnitzel. A night off.
She was early, her friends hadn’t arrived yet. She followed the hostess to a table for four right by the bricked fireplace. The logs were stacked tightly and burning slow, putting out a pleasant low, smoky heat. Even though the weather was warming, it was still nippy in the early mornings and late evenings.
She ordered a bottle of Coppola Merlot, accepted a menu, then lost herself in thought. The envelope she’d addressed before she left for dinner was burning a hole in her pocket. She took it out and stared at the lettering, wishing she didn’t recognize the handwriting. Wishing she didn’t have to address letters to federal penitentiaries, even if they were the chinos and golf-shirt variety.
Winthrop Jackson, IV
FCI MORGANTOWN
FEDERAL CORRECTIONAL INSTITUTION
P.O. BOX 1000
MORGANTOWN, WV 26507
The edges of the envelope were getting frayed. She needed to decide if she was going to mail this letter or not.
She traced the outline of the address, her mind still screaming against the reality. Her father, in prison. And she’d been the one who put him there. Glancing to make sure no one was looking, she slid the single handwritten page from its nest.
Dear Win,
I am sorry. I know you understand I was just doing my job. I had no choice. I would appreciate it if you would stop trying to contact me. I find our relationship impossible to handle, and I want to get on with my life. Mom is still in Europe, but she has her cell phone. She can send you the money you need.
For what it’s worth, I do forgive you. I know you couldn’t help yourself. You never have.
Taylor
“Whatcha reading? You look upset.”
Taylor started. Sam took the seat across from her, dropped her Birkin bag on the floor under the table and stretched her fingers, the joints popping slightly. She grimaced.
“Holding a scalpel all day does that to you. What’s that?”
Taylor shook the page lightly. “A letter to Win.”
“Really? I thought you’d sworn off dear old dad. Did you order some wine?”
“I did. It should be here any minute. Where’s Paula?”
“She got called to a case. Sends her apologies. She’ll catch us next week. It’s just us chickens tonight.”
Sam settled back into the chair, the firelight glinted red off her dark hair. Taylor still wasn’t used to the blunt-cut bangs that swooped across Sam’s forehead. She’d cropped her tresses into a sophisticated bob, what she called her mom do. Taylor thought she looked less like a mom and more like Betty Page with that cut, but who was she to comment?
“What are you staring at?”
“Sorry. The hair. It’s so different. Takes me a minute.”
“You have no idea how easy it is. Though I do miss long hair. Simon does too.”
“I thought about cutting mine. When I mentioned it, Baldwin had a fit.”
The wine
