Chasing Darkness (24 page)

He
tucked the newspaper into his pocket and headed for the cemetery.

Gerry
entered the cemetery from Cloverdale Avenue and walked down the winding road
toward the spot where Becky Larson was to be buried. The rolling green hills
were a stark contrast to his tiny plaster-and-concrete apartment and the dirty
streets where he’d been lately. He felt the fresh air hit his lungs and
suddenly thought of the farmland where he’d grown up. He gazed at the single
road that wound like a gray snake through the green landscape with its
scattered tombstones.

He’d
planned his arrival so the ceremony would already be in progress. He would just
happen upon it. That way, if someone noticed him, he would say he was just
taking a walk. Plus, no one had ever said he couldn’t come to the cemetery.

He
paused at the top of the last hill and he squatted next to a concrete angel
statue, pretending to pull weeds. The angel’s wings were spread, its face
pointing to the sky, its hands holding a small plaque that read “Kristen L.
George, March 3, 1967–June 24, 1973.” Barely six years old. Six years old was
almost his favorite age. He pictured little Kristen in his mind.

Standing
up slowly, he looked down the hill at the small gathering at Becky’s funeral.
He wished he had a pair of binoculars. Then he could’ve sat right there and
seen every detail. But he could never afford anything like binoculars. He moved
twenty feet down the hill and sat down beside another tombstone.

This
one was for an old guy, but if he sat right beside it, he could see Becky’s
funeral perfectly between it and the tombstone next to it. A group of about
twenty were gathered around a tiny pine coffin. He figured it was about a
hundred feet, probably a safe distance. Several adults in the front were
dressed in black. There were a few children in the group, but most were hidden
behind adults.

Shifting,
he concealed himself behind the two tombstones. It would be hard for anyone at
the funeral to spot him. Peering between the two tombstones, he spotted Sam
Chase. He wanted to go and talk to her, but he knew he shouldn’t. Soon, but not
yet. He was starting to enjoy being out of prison and thought maybe he wasn’t ready
to get caught again.

Sam
was looking around, so he was careful to pretend to be looking down while he
watched her. She was wearing black pants and a black sweater, standing in the
sun. But she didn’t look hot.

He
liked to watch her. He’d seen her once at her house, and he’d followed her to
the office twice. He liked seeing her dressed up for work. The first time, he’d
even been able to get into the building. He loved the way she looked over her
shoulder, checking around like she was nervous. He wondered if she sensed him
and wished he could talk to her. He saw the kid in her when she was nervous,
and he liked it. Her skin had freckles like a little girl’s, and he longed to
touch it. Would she have soft skin like a little girl? Soft, he thought, wondering
if he’d ever get to find out. She straightened her back, looking confident.
Maybe he would go to her office again tomorrow.

He
wiped his brow and continued to pull weeds around the tombstone, making a
little pile on one side.

Sam
scanned the cemetery, and for a second he thought she saw him, but then she
turned her back. Gerry saw a little girl in a gray cotton dress standing at the
edge of the group. She had dark hair that hung down her back in snarled clumps.
He pictured her in his mind, lying still almost like she was sleeping. Poor
Becky.

Then
he went back to studying the little girl in the gray dress. Restless, she
shifted her weight from side to side. He felt himself grow hard watching her.

With
a quick look around to make sure he was alone, he continued to watch her. She
didn’t stop moving, swinging her arms as she danced around. She was about six,
he decided. Through his pants, he rubbed his hand against himself, pretending
it was her shifting against him. Vanessa, he called her. She looked like a Vanessa.

A
man grabbed Vanessa’s hand and pulled her to him, holding her to his leg and
shushing her. Gerry wished it was him shushing her, holding her to him. He
pushed himself up against one of the tombstones, rubbing his erection on the
hard, cold stone and pretending it was little Vanessa. For a second he felt
guilty. He stopped and looked around, but no one was there. He tried not to
look at Vanessa, to keep his eyes off her, but he couldn’t.

Unzipping
his pants, he gripped himself in his hand. He thought about leaving DNA
evidence, but he couldn’t stop. Seeing her wiggle like that was too much. He
kept his head down and pretended to be pulling weeds, watching Vanessa from the
corner of his eye. No one seemed interested in him. He pulled and pulled,
imagining it was little Vanessa’s hand instead of his own. Wrong, wrong, a
voice in the back of his head screamed. But he couldn’t help it.

Soon,
her face in his head, her little hands all over him in his mind, he released in
a wave of hot pleasure. Clamping his mouth shut, he held himself back from
screaming.

Then,
snapping back to reality, he looked around nervously and quickly zipped himself
back up.

He
had the urge to get up and run, but he made himself sit and pull more weeds. He
piled them on top of the spot he’d made, not allowing himself to look at
Vanessa anymore. He couldn’t be doing that.

Despite
his self-chastising, he felt more relaxed than he had in months. It was like a
vacation. He got to enjoy himself, and with the help of Sam Chase he could go
home whenever he was ready.

Nick
forced a smile for the camera as the photographer struggled to keep the boys
lined up on the infield. The sun burned their eyes and sweat pooled beneath the
polyester jerseys.

“Last
one, guys. Stay with me,” the nervous, gangly man said.

The
team ignored him.

“Hey,”
Nick yelled to Brooks and Jenkins, who were screwing around in the front row.
“You guys keep it up and it’ll be laps for both of you.”

The
boys groaned and settled down.

The
photographer gave him a grateful smile and snapped two more photos. “That’s
it.”

Nick
relaxed his mouth and rubbed his jaw. He hated pictures. He waited for Rob to
extract himself from his friends, anxious to be on his way. He hadn’t seen Sam
in four days, and he looked forward to having an excuse to stop by.

At
the sound of his name, he turned to see Mrs. Brooks coming toward him. He
waved. A divorcée, Ellen Brooks had tried more than once to get his attention
romantically. He’d done his best to spurn her advances in a friendly fashion,
but the last time he’d found it nearly impossible to dissuade her and he’d
stooped to lying about another relationship. He thought about Sam. Maybe it
wouldn’t be a lie this time.

“I
saw the bit about you in the paper this afternoon,” she said. “Sounds like a
dangerous case.”

Nick
frowned. “What bit?”

She
smiled and touched his shoulder, as though she was picking lint off his team
shirt. “You know, the copycat case: that woman up at Mt. Diablo, and the other
in Martinez. It was on the front page of the afternoon paper’s Metro section.”

Anger
twisted his gut. The media hadn’t been involved in any of the cases. The
victims had been low-profile women, the locations far enough apart to keep it
out of the news. How the hell . . . ?

“I’ve
still got the paper at my house, if you didn’t see it,” she offered.

Just
then Rob joined them. “Hi, Mrs. Brooks.”

Mrs.
Brooks patted Rob on the back. “Nice playing. Where’s Jay?”

Rob
pointed to the field. “I think he’s getting his mitt.”

“Your
mom see the paper today?” she asked Rob.

Rob
shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with Sam being called his mom.

Ellen
looked back at Nick. “She’s mentioned in the article too.”

Nick
nodded, ready to get out of there. He didn’t have his pager on, but there was
no doubt that if the case had hit the media, his captain would want to hear
from him. Damn reporters.

“What
article?” Rob asked.

“Just
something about this case we’re working on.”

Rob
looked confused. “What case?”

“It’s
nothing—”

Ellen
touched Nick’s chest again, and he could see Rob’s eyes on her. “I wouldn’t
call murder nothing.”

Nick
backed away without comment, though he didn’t miss the disappointment in her
gaze. “We should get going, Rob. ’Bye, Ellen.”

“ ’Bye,
Nick, Rob.”

Rob
followed him toward the car. “What’s up with her?”

Nick
shrugged.

“She
likes you. Are you going to go out with her?”

Nick
met Rob’s gaze. “No. I’m not interested in Mrs. Brooks.”

“Who
are you interested in?”

Nick
raised an eyebrow and put his arm around Rob as they started toward the car.
“What makes you think I’m interested in anyone?”

“Not
even Sam?”

“Has
she mentioned me?”

“Not
really. I asked her about it, though.”

Nick
pressed Rob for information. “And?”

Rob
shrugged.

“You’re
not going to tell me what she said?”

Rob
looked smug. “I think she likes you.”

Nick
exhaled. “How can you tell?”

Rob
shook his head. “It’s not easy.”

Nick
laughed and unlocked the car door. “I’ve got to stop and buy a paper. That
okay?”

“Sure.”

Using
his car phone, Nick dialed his captain’s number. Cintrello picked up on the
first ring.

“It’s
Thomas.”

“I’m
glad you called. All hell’s breaking loose.”

“You
see the article?” Nick asked.

“What
article?”

“The
afternoon paper—some article about the case. I haven’t seen it yet. I just
heard from someone here.” He paused and frowned. “What hell’s breaking loose?”

“Chase’s
fingerprints.”

Nick
looked at Rob from the corner of his eye. Though the boy was looking out the
window, Nick knew he was listening. “Say that again?”

“The
evidence I told you about—it’s confirmed. Her prints were on the batteries in a
flashlight found at Eva Larson’s home near the body.”

It
didn’t make sense. Sam had been the one to suggest they dust the batteries.
“What about the eyelids? I heard there were prints there.”

“Yeah,
there were. I haven’t figured that out yet.”

“Have
you matched them to anything else?”

“Yeah,
smart-ass—the print on Walters.”

“And
that doesn’t belong to the special agent, am I right?” he said, trying to keep
Rob from knowing he was talking about Sam.

“Doesn’t
matter, Thomas. The light came from her car—standard issue. She was there, and
the shit’s going to come down heavy on her.”

“Captain—”

“Not
a word to anyone, Thomas, especially Chase. I’m confiding in you because I need
you on this case. But if it gets out, I know who leaked it.”

“You’re
wrong, you know. You should be looking for whoever’s print was at both scenes.”

“We’ll
know for sure within twenty-four hours.”

“What
is that supposed to mean?”

“It
means she’s under surveillance, Thomas. For the next twenty-four hours while we
run the rest of the evidence, check and double-check. If you’re lucky, it’ll
all just go away. But I’m not holding my breath. The undersheriff doesn’t want
to chance another victim with no alibi for Agent Chase, so I want you on her,
too. Twenty-four hours. Stay inside, make something up. Or stay outside, I
don’t care. But you stay on her.”

“No
way. You’re asking me to—” He noticed Rob and shook his head again. “No.”

“Watch
it, Thomas. I’ll yank your badge faster than you can backpedal your ass out of
it. This is a direct order from the undersheriff. He gives it to me and I give
it to you. Spend the night with her, if you haven’t already.”

Nick
couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was disgusting. He also knew Cintrello
was about the most stubborn son of a bitch he had ever met. He didn’t respond.
He didn’t have anything to say that wouldn’t involve insulting his superior.

“Do
we understand each other, Thomas?”

Nick
slammed his fist against the steering wheel.

Rob
jumped, and Nick touched his shoulder and shook his head in silent apology. He
thought about the evening he and Sam were supposed to have with his family
tonight, trying to keep Cintrello’s insinuation from tainting it. “One night?”
he repeated.

“That’s
what I said. Our guys are around, but I want someone closer to make sure she
doesn’t slip. That someone’s you. Maybe you’ll even get a little something out
of it.”

Nick
forced himself not to respond. Antagonizing his captain wasn’t going to help
anything. It was a ridiculous request, but he’d do it. He’d have dinner with
her, bring her home, and then hang outside. “Fine.”

“I
thought you’d see it my way.” With that, the captain hung up.

“I
don’t see it your way, asshole,” Nick breathed into the dead phone. He hung up
and blew out a breath. Sam Chase—killer. He shook his head. No way.

“Everything
okay?”

Nick
shook it off and forced a smile. “Yeah, boss is being a pain in the
you-know-what, but it’s fine. We just don’t always agree on how to handle
things.”

“Is
it about Aunt Sam’s case?” Rob asked.

Nick
nodded and then focused on the road, not wanting to think anymore about the
fact that his captain had just ordered him to spy on the woman he wanted to be
dating.

He
stopped at a corner store and bought the paper. As soon as he was back in his
car, he pulled out the Metro section and found the article.

It
was worse than he’d thought. Somehow the media had gotten hold of nearly every
detail of the case and put it in print. The M.O.’s were there, including cause
of death. The eucalyptus behind the ears, the gum wrapper they’d found on
Walters’ foot, even the presence of seminal fluid. The same was true for Eva
Larson. Only the part about the number of leaves on each eucalyptus branch was
missing.