Shame

parking lot. Kathy said she liked to exercise anyway. She was a tall woman, with long, straight blonde hair that went almost all the way down her back. Parker commented on her hair, said it was long like that woman in the fairy tale, Rapunzel, who was always having to let her hair down for her prince to climb up. Kathy laughed at that. She was a pretty woman, had broken up with her last boyfriend a year earlier, and she enjoyed the handsome stranger’s attention.
    When they arrived at Parker’s car they were off by themselves, though not in a completely deserted location. The balloons, in all their shapes and rainbow colors, were just taking off and had seduced all eyes but Parker’s.
    Parker opened the trunk of his Ford and said the compressor was in the very back. Kathy bent over and started tapping with her hand, futilely looking. “I don’t think—” she started to say but never had the chance to finish her sentence. From behind, Parker grabbed her, applied a choke hold, then strangled her to death.
    Overhead the balloons, in all their splendor, floated by in the azure Albuquerque sky. Some people in the gondolas waved down to the earth.
    The balloons raised themselves higher and higher into the sky, but Kathy’s friends and family believe she preceded them into the firmament. Unlike the balloons, though, Kathy never returned to this earth.
    —Excerpt from the book
Shame
    by Elizabeth Line
    The door hadn’t opened easily.
    Elizabeth had been stonewalled by the sheriff’s secretary and referred over to Sergeant Hardy, who headed up the sheriff’sPublic Affairs Office. She repeated to Sergeant Hardy that she needed to see the sheriff, and to make her point she handed the sergeant one of her books and referred him to a particular section.
    Hardy had kept a poker face while reading the passage and then had asked to be excused for a minute. When he returned, Hardy offered Elizabeth a personal escort over to the Sheriff’s Office. Her book had evidently preceded them.
    Sheriff Bill Campbell held up the copy of
Shame
. “Unique calling card, Ms. Line,” he said.
    He thumbed through the book, examined her picture on the back cover, then gave her a pointed glance. Elizabeth felt her neck get hot. She’d wanted to update the author photo, but the publisher had preferred her Dorian Gray image. Though she looked young for her age, she was no longer the girl in that picture.
    She pushed a piece of paper across the sheriff’s desk. “I also asked your secretary to give you this—my references. I’ve had a lot of dealings with law enforcement, and the people listed there will vouch for me. I’ve earned their trust, and I’d like to earn yours.”
    The sheriff looked at the sheet for considerably less time than he had her book picture, then passed it on to Sergeant Hardy. He turned his eyes back to her, volunteering nothing, waiting for what she had to say.
    “I referred the sergeant to a section in the book that deals with the death of Kathy Franklin,” said Elizabeth. “She was Gray Parker’s second victim.”
    “Is that supposed to mean something?” the sheriff asked.
    Elizabeth knew that in San Diego County the sheriff was an elected position and that there were those who thought Sheriff Bill Campbell was more politician than lawman. He wasn’t a large man, but he acted large in the way he talked and the way he moved his hands. His face was oversized, with big eyes, and nose, and ears. He had Hollywood hair, thick, curly, and dark. And not one of those hairs was out of place.
    “If it didn’t, you wouldn’t be seeing me now,” she said.
    The sheriff didn’t move, didn’t blink. Hardy adopted the same expression.
    “I want to be involved in your investigation,” Elizabeth said. “You’ve had two recent homicides. I understand they are being called the New Shame Murders. Your murderer is using Gray Parker’s MO.”
    Campbell’s face showed nothing. “Where did you get your information?”
    She shook her head. “The issue here isn’t sources.”
    “Well, I’m just curious as to where you heard this rather fantastic story.”
    “This isn’t a fishing expedition,” said Elizabeth. “Lita Jennings was the first victim. She died three weeks ago. She was strangled in Del Mar and transported out to the desert, where she was left propped up. Teresa Sanders was yesterday’s victim. She was found posed in her Rancho Santa Fe home.”
    Campbell looked at his fingers as if he were looking