Blood Stained (12 page)

Which probably translated to no more surviving victims. Not if he wanted to completely cover his tracks this time. So no more trophies.

The hairs at the back of her neck stood as she remembered what Lucy said about the killer using his own children as trophies. 

She dismissed the feeling. Just the draft as Bob opened the door and entered, checking on her.

"So, what do you think?" he asked as if assuming she'd take one look at the case file and be able to answer all the unresolved questions. She held up her coffee cup—well, actually it was his coffee cup—and he hustled to refresh it. 

Jenna leaned back. Technically, Lucy's old case had nothing to do with Jenna’s current one. Except… How totally awesome would it be if she could answer all those questions? Put to rest the speculations once and for all? Her supervisor would love it. The USPS riding to the rescue, succeeding where the FBI failed.

It all hinged on the partner, her guy, being able to kill the man Lucy saw without revealing himself. Could someone have been down there in the cave with the killer and Marion Caine without Lucy knowing it?

"Bob, how'd you like to go for a drive? Maybe show me this Echo Cavern, so I can see for myself?"

He leaned back on his heels, scrutinizing her. "Suppose I could walk you through what little we found there." He pulled a small MP3 player from his pocket. "I downloaded the victim's statement. The college girl found with Rachel. Wasn't sure if you wanted to hear it."

"Thanks. We can listen on the way." Again with the hackles on the back of her neck, warning her this was so not a good idea. But maybe she'd find something Lucy missed. The chance was too good to resist.

Chapter 11

Marion Caine's grave was as neglected as her house. Weeds and straggly long grass grew between the memorial stone and the trimmed grass along the footpath as if the caretaker couldn't be bothered to do more than swipe the lawnmower's blade across it. Dead leaves and pine needles clung to the stone, caught in the crevices in the granite marker.

It wasn't anything fancy. A cube shaped block of local granite. Her name. Date of birth. Date of death. That was all. Nothing to indicate how she died or even the fact that her body wasn't anywhere near this plot of dirt. Instead it was somewhere below the mountain, stolen by the underground river that cut through the limestone. Maybe someday bits and pieces of her skeleton would be washed up along a stream's bank or fished from a reservoir fed by underground springs. 

Four years ago, Lucy would have wished for that. If only to give Adam and Clinton Caine something to bury, to center their grief on. But now, kneeling in the damp earth, tugging weeds, and brushing away the detritus covering Marion's stone, she doubted retrieving any piece of Marion would help. 

From the police reports on Adam, it seemed as if Adam and Clint hadn't moved on so much as fallen apart.

The thought made her regret last night's argument with Nick. Crouched on her heels so the wet wouldn't seep through her slacks, she called Nick on her cell. The reception was weak, enough so his voice faded in and out, drowned by waves of static.

"Did you find him?" Nick's words fought through the crackle. "If you did, can you tell your people to go away? They're making my patients edgy."

Given that some of Nick's patients were former special ops and they all suffered from PTSD, that probably wasn't a good thing. "Sorry. Not yet."

"What? I can barely hear you."

She stood and paced between the graves, trying to find better reception. "I said, I haven't found him yet."

Nick's reply was a blur of static. "Megan wants to—party—Danny's—team—"

"You mean the soccer party tomorrow night? I already told her no. She'll be the youngest there and I don't—"

"I can't hear you—Lucy, you still there?"

The line went dead. Lucy glanced at her phone. No bars. Which also explained the nine missed calls. John Greally wondering why she hadn't shown for her psych eval. She pocketed the phone, reminding herself to call Nick from a landline when she had the chance. 

John and the shrink could wait. She already knew what they'd say. Words like accountability, inappropriate attitude, career suicide.

She spotted movement at the far side of the cemetery. A tall man, skinny, sandy colored hair, jeans, black leather coat. He walked as if instead of growing up being told to stand up straight, he'd learned to hunch over, curling his spine to make himself look small, unnoticeable. 

Adam. She moved forward to meet him, then stopped. Best to give him time alone with his mom first. 

He didn't act like he noticed her, yet she thought he did. His gait quickened a bit, and when he reached Marion's stone, he knelt in the mud and snow with his back to her. Even kneeling, he seemed taller than she remembered. Certainly taller than his father, Clint. Clint was maybe five-ten, brown hair, brown eyes, one of those average looking guys you'd never notice in a crowd. 

At fourteen, Adam was already beyond average. Not handsome, he was too lean and hungry looking for that. But he was almost Nick's height, six-one. Gave off the same kind of vibe she'd seen in prisoners doing hard time: as if their bodies were frozen in a never-ending state of apprehension, shying away from the danger surrounding them. Hard to believe this was the same boy she'd known four years ago.

His hands were naked in the cold. He pressed both palms flat against Marion's stone. Lucy was glad she'd cleared it off. His shoulders hunched even farther, head bowed so low she thought he might hit the top of the grave marker.

The wind rolled down off the mountain and swept through the cemetery, taking aim at Lucy's open parka, making her shiver and shove her hands deep into her pockets. She was tempted to zip it shut, there was no threat here, but she didn't want to risk disturbing Adam with the movement. 

Finally, just as her toes went numb with cold, he turned to her.

"Agent Guardino?"

Lucy looked up, surprised at his use of her title and surname. She'd always been Lucy to him. He stood, weight unevenly balanced as if torn between running away and staying put, hands clasped in front of his belly, holding something in. Scared. The kid looked scared.

She covered the distance between them in a few steps. As she moved, so did he, edging sideways to place Marion's stone between them. 

"Hello, Adam."

"You here alone?"

"Yes." His expression filled with despair and she knew it wasn't the answer he wanted. 

"Can I ask you a question?" His voice as tight as his hands were knotted. He didn't meet her eyes.

"Of course." No,
Hey, how ya been? Last time I saw you a monster killed my mom and we both almost died.
Lucy waited to see where he led.

"You told me once you have a little girl about my age?"

"Megan. She just turned thirteen." If he was the letter writer—and Lucy was now more convinced than ever he was—he already knew that.

The air between them stuttered with the force of his inhalation as he gathered his breath. "Go home, Agent Guardino. Be with her. Don't let anything bad happen to her. To you."

The last came out in a snuffling half-sob. Lucy couldn't help herself. Stepping around the stone, she gathered the almost-man into her arms and hugged him as fiercely as she would Megan. "It's okay, Adam. Everything is going to be okay."

Lucy never made promises she couldn't keep. Hell, she wasn't even sure what she was promising him. The words just flowed and she couldn't stop them. 

It was the wrong thing to say. Adam pulled away, knuckles swiping at his cheeks, gaze chiseling the memorial stone. "Please, leave. I need to find my dad. Go home, Lucy."

She wasn't family, couldn't take the place of a father. Still, it gnawed at her that she couldn't comfort or help him. Poor kid had been through so much. 

He stood there braced against the stone, fists clenched at his sides—still holding in whatever fourteen year old boys kept to themselves. Lucy wondered if Megan would be like that in a year. She hoped not.

"Goodbye, Lucy."

He said the words but didn't turn away. As if testing her. Daring her to leave—or stay. She removed the letter from her pocket. Extended it to him. He shook his head, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"I know you wrote it, Adam. Want to tell me why?"

<><><>

"One minute I was puking my guts out behind a frat house and the next I woke up in the dark…" The girl's voice trailed off. The recorder picked up a small, desperate snuffling sound. "Dark. It was so dark. I thought I'd gone blind."

The UNC student's voice wove its way into Jenna's mind as she listened while Bob drove them to the original crime scene. 

"I was naked. It was cold. Hard stone, floor I guess you'd call it. Too rough to be manmade. And the echoes. Every little sound ambushed you from twenty directions at once. He—he handcuffed my hands. Behind me, at first. Later he didn't bother. But when I first woke up, they were behind me and the collar… God, I hated that collar. More than the chains or the handcuffs. It was so heavy. Cold. Dead. Made me feel like I wasn't human. But I was. I kept trying to tell him that. Told him about my parents and my brother and sisters and what I dreamed of doing with my life."

A pause accompanied by the rustling of tissues and a few sobs. 

"He didn't say a word. Not at first. But I knew he was there. Felt him breathing, watching. I cried and screamed and pleaded. Until finally I just…stopped. Couldn't make another sound. I lay there on the cold stone and waited for what would happen next."

They turned off the paved road and bumped onto a narrow gravel one.

"That's when he threw water on me. He'd been behind me all that time. It was cold, so cold. Not as cold as his hands sliding over me, making sure I was wet all over. I begged—God, I don't even remember what I said—anything I thought might make him think twice. Nothing worked."

The murmur of a man's voice asking a question.

"What happened next? He—he laughed. Not a word to me. Just laughter that echoed and roared and hurt more than if he'd hit me. But then it got quiet. Except for this humming noise. God, how I hated that noise. But the first time, that first time, I didn't know what it was. But I knew it was bad. I tried to run. Ran as far as I could until the chain jerked me short and I slipped. He rolled me over, face up. Then he straddled me. I felt him getting hard. He kept rubbing himself against me. But all I could see was this tiny light. Buzz. It turned from red to green. Then it touched my breast and the world turned to fire."

The girl's voice shredded with pain. Jenna pulled the earbuds out, unable—unwilling—to listen further. She curled her arms around herself, pretending she was cold. Bob cranked up the heat and adjusted the vents to blow in her direction. Didn't help the real reason why her insides trembled.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah. Fine."

The gravel road wound into the woods, ending in a snow-covered clearing. Not much snow, not yet, but enough to create a pristine carpet of white over the fallen leaves. That, along with the flurries swooshing through the crisp midday air and the hushed noise, made Jenna feel as if they'd been magically transported inside one of the snow globes her grandmother collected.

As they sat in the car, the engine humming, she half expected a girl's palm to crash down on top of them and shake them, turning everything upside down.

"Where's the entrance?" she asked.

"Sealed off with concrete and stone." He pointed to the bare rock at the base of the mountain. If she squinted through the snowflakes melting against the windshield, she could make out a difference in color. As if someone sealed a crack with putty and tried to make it blend in. "Didn't want anyone to wander in. Not again."

She swallowed hard. Stared at the unnatural pale rock. The girl's voice echoed inside her head. "I need to see inside. Is there another way in?" 

He turned to give her a long, hard look. "After hearing that, you still want to go inside?"

Jenna nodded despite the shiver that shook her.

Without a word, Bob put the cruiser in drive, did a neat three point turn, and they left. Jenna had the sudden urge to cross herself like she would when leaving Mass. Been a long time since she'd been, not since her grandfather died. But her fingers lifted in the familiar movement with a primal reflex.

She watched Bob as they drove. He handled the cruiser easily, attending to the radio and computer terminal sitting between them as much as to the road. A single line creased his forehead and she wondered why he'd interrupt his day to take her on a tour of a crime scene four years old.

Sure, he smiled like he was attracted to her. Jenna expected that of men. But he had his own agenda.

"You think Adam might be there? Inside Echo Cavern?" she asked.

More trees, more dirt roads, then a two lane paved road—she wasn't sure if it was the same one they left town on, there were no signs—then another dirt road. This one was flat, gently curving behind a single story red brick school, into a forest, and coming out the other side with cornfields spreading out to the left and the foot of the mountain on their right. 

Finally he answered. "Doubt it. Not after what happened inside there. But if you're looking, I'd like to be the one to find him. Make sure he's okay."

She shrugged. What was with this Caine kid that both Lucy and Bob felt the need to protect him? Kid was a fugitive from the law, plain and simple. "Fine with me. But if he's my guy, he's federal property."

He focused on the road, not answering. 

A well-maintained wooden fence marked the property line until the road dead-ended at a stone barn. The barn backed up to the mountain, evergreens as tall as its hayloft on both sides, a paddock fenced in beyond the main doors. A small frame house, not dilapidated but obviously not occupied, stood a hundred feet away.

"Stolfultz used to keep his dairy cows here. Even used the caverns for storage—have for generations. Better than a refrigerator since the temperature is constant and you never worry about power running out. But now." Bob shrugged. "No one comes out here now. Not even the cows."