Page 71 of Knife to the Heart
“I wish I could have asked her.” He pulled open the top drawer of a file cabinet near the door and pulled out a full bottle of Stoffrei. Yanking the cap off, he shot a glance at Cannon, daring him to reprimand him. At Cannon’s slight nod, Wulf took a swig and swallowed. “She was found dead on the couch the day after her son’s casket arrived. The official cause of death was natural causes, but I don’t buy it.”
Cannon reached for the bottle. “I agree. Too coincidental.”
Wulf handed it to him as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I searched for the Klaus look-alike for almost two years. A couple of months ago, I got a positive facial recognition from a traffic camera in Berlin and tracked him here.”
Cannon jerked like he’d been slapped. “To Red Snow?”
Rosalie leaned forward in her chair. “You said the murder happened two years ago? When exactly?”
Wulf nudged her away and brought up a folder marked “Ludwig” on his laptop. A click brought up a spreadsheet detailing the order of events leading up to Anya’s murder. “Klaus’s alleged son first showed up on February twenty-first.”
“February twenty-first?” A week after she’d been stabbed and her father had died. Angry, desperate energy laced with the thrillof uncovering an important clue raced through Rosalie as Wulf opened another file.
Cannon clamped his hands on her shoulders. “Holy shit.”
She leaned forward to study the scar on Anya’s back and pressed her fist into her own wound. It had hurt when she’d looked at the deadly tattoo on the other two victims, but seeing it etched into Anya’s skin and hearing Wulf’s soft cry unleashed a pain that burned in a blistering hum.
Cannon whispered something, but she couldn’t make it out as he leaned over her and opened another file. More photos of Anya’s tortured body shuffled in a sickening, deadly parade, followed by equally horrific photos of the other two victims who had suffered the same fate as Anya.
She spun in the chair to Wulf. He took out his knife and unsheathed it inches from her face. She tried not to flinch but failed.
“I don’t blame you for not liking knives, Agent Zenner; I know Malgor stabbed you. You see, Anya was fierce. She was the best hunter I’d ever met. This was her favorite knife. The blood is still on it from our first date.” A smile ghosted his lips as he caressed the swirly pattern in the cream-colored handle. “I took her bow hunting.”
Rosalie stood and forced herself to look at the deadly blade.
For Anya.
For herself.
Her effort lasted less than a second.
Cannon glared at the knife. “Put it away and tell us who you tracked to Red Snow.”
“Not just to Red Snow.” Wulf pulled a folded-up piece of paper from inside the knife’s leather sheath. “I tracked the bastard who gets off on raping and slicing women to this hospital and got a job here so I could watch him. When I find evidence he killed Anya, I’m going to gut him with her knife.” Hesmiled. This time, it reached his eyes with a frightening gleam. He handed the paper to Cannon. “I hope you haven’t grown too fond of your CIO.”
Rosalie held her breath. Seconds elongated to years as Cannon unfolded the paper. Karl Schlitz’s face stared back at her. Without a word, she pulled the tail of her shirt out of her pants and revealed her scar to Wulf.
He cursed again in German. “Based on that and the murders in town, it looks like we’re chasing the same guy.”
“No, the same monster.” She didn’t bother to ask how he knew about the details of the murders as she ran out the door and yelled, “Lock down the exits.”
Wulf barked the order into his radio. Cannon sailed past her and opened the door to the stairwell. “I didn’t see Karl in the conference room this morning when we got in. You?”
“No. Check his office.” She ate up the stairs two at a time. The search on the van that had fled the murder scene this morning had come back stolen and was abandoned near the city limits. The monster had to be close.
Her feet pounded on the concrete stairs. She’d been just feet away from that flash of gray. It had to have been Malgor. Karl always wore gray to match his creepy eyes. Was his real name Karl Ludwig? Or Klaus Ludwig, after his father? Who cared? It wouldn’t matter what the judge called him when his life sentence was handed down or what name was etched on his tombstone if he died when she finally faced him.
She drew her gun as she tore up the last flight. Who was she kidding? She was going to kill the bastard when she found him.
THIRTY
Rosalie pushed past Jimmy and a hospital security guard standing in Karl’s doorway.
“Sorry, Zenner,” Jimmy said. “Everything is cleared out except for the message he left you.”
“Dammit.” She looked to where an agent was taking photos of the desk and muttered a few more curses as she crossed the room. She shouldn’t have gasped when she saw the dead rose in the top drawer, yet she did.
She rubbed her nose with her fist to get rid of the musty smell. It didn’t work.