Cold Truth (12 page)

More than she’d bargained for when she first picked up the phone to call Chief Denver, more than she could have imagined when she called John Mancini. She was grateful that he’d sent someone to help her sort through all the information.

Grateful, too, she found herself thinking, that the someone he’d sent was Mitch Peyton. Their work styles were so similar, their focus equally complete, it seemed she’d been working with him forever.

She couldn’t help but wonder about him. He’d appealed to her the minute she’d opened the door and looked up into his face. Not the most handsome man she’d ever seen, to be sure. His eyes were an odd shade of blue, so pale as to almost be gray, and his nose looked as if it had met a fist or two sometime in the past. But his voice was deep and soothing, he smiled easily and often. It had been comforting to have someone to wade through the boxes and files with, reassuring to know that someone would work with her to find answers to the many questions her father had left behind. Answers that could possibly lead to finding a killer. Mitch had certainly seemed to think so.

In the past, it had been her father who had done all of the frontline investigations into the actual crimes, she who had put it all in order. This was gruesome work. Not for the faint of heart.

Would she prove to have a faint heart, she wondered. In the end, would she be capable of alone doing what needed to be done to write the kind of books she had worked on with her dad?

For years Josh sheltered her from the ugliest realities of their work. Now there was no one to stand between her and the horror, the madness she’d be stirring up. Was she smart enough to do this on her own? Was she strong enough?

Time would tell, one way or another. She stood up and took one last look at the heavens, hoping she was up to the challenge of following in Josh’s footsteps. Yes, it was difficult work. Yes, it was tiring, and at times the information she had made no sense at all. She’d never realized how like a giant, convoluted puzzle her father’s work was. Sometimes it seemed like a maze with no exit. A story written in a foreign language, one you didn’t know.

The work was interesting, absolutely. Intriguing, without question. And, too, just a little bit fun.

But there was always that bottom line, that behind every name there was a face and a story, a family waiting for closure.

And a killer waiting to be caught.

T
welve

Cass leaned over to touch her toes, then straightened up and flexed her shoulders. Placing one foot on the outside wall of the garage, she pushed forward slightly, knee bent, to stretch a different set of muscles.

Amazing what a good night’s sleep could do. She felt rested enough to crave a long run on the beach. It had been more than a week since she’d had a decent run, though it felt much longer.

She shook her head when she looked back on the past nine days, days that had held so much pain, so much horror for the families of those young women, in so short a time.

She took ten more minutes to properly stretch, then opened the back door and called in to Lucy.

“Luce! I’m going for a run. Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?”

“I don’t have running shoes,” Lucy called back.

“I told you I have an extra pair if you want to borrow them. They should fit you.”

“I’ll take a rain check.” Lucy appeared at the screen door. “I’m still greasy from the beach.”

She held out an arm slick with suntan oil.

“You missed an excellent beach day, sleeping beauty.”

“I needed the sleep more than I needed the sun.”

“While you’re gone, I’m going to shower all this stuff off and then I’ll start dinner. I think you need a really wholesome dinner tonight.”

“I thought last night’s dinner of crabs and French fries was just perfect.”

“Too much fat.” Lucy wrinkled her nose. “But what are crabs without a little butter and a big bowl of fries with Old Bay? Now, tonight, we’ll eat healthy.”

“What exactly did you have in mind?” Cass eyed her suspiciously.

“Something yummy. I’ll run to the fish market as soon as I get cleaned up. We’ll have something broiled, maybe sea bass or tuna or whatever they have that looks good and is today-fresh. And a big salad.”

“I think there are some fries left from last night.”

“I tossed them. We had our bad fats for the week. Tonight it’s healthy seafood and a salad.”

“Sounds good. Fat or no fat.” Cass leaned down to retie a shoe. “I’ll be back in forty-five minutes or so.”

“Do you have your key?”

“In my pocket. Why?”

“I want to lock the house while I shower and then when I go to the store.”

“Good idea.” Cass heard the click of the lock as she set off in the direction of the driveway.

Once on the sidewalk, she adjusted her sunglasses and began to jog slowly to the end of the street, five houses down. The house immediately to their right and the two houses nearest the corner were still vacant, the summer renters not having arrived yet. It was okay, Cass thought, she didn’t mind not having neighbors. It was enough she had someone sharing her house.

Though she had to admit she didn’t mind Lucy’s presence. If anything, she was beginning to enjoy it. She’d forgotten what it was like to share living space with someone else, she’d been on her own so long.

On the one hand, it was nice. On the other, it reminded her of those awful days, the ones after she had lost her family and had gone to live with Lucy and Aunt Kimmie and Uncle Pete. She and Lucy had shared a room for a few months, while Aunt Kimmie had the second floor finished off with two new bedrooms and one bath, so the girls could have their own rooms. It had been the worst time of Cass’s life. And yet, in Lucy she’d found a true friend, in spite of their differences.

Cass jogged up the narrow wooden boardwalk onto the beach, reflecting on some of those differences. Lucy was now, always had been, supremely girly. Even as a child, Lucy’s bathing suits had been pink, or pale blue, or white. She always wore ribbons in her hair, like her mother and her aunt, Cass’s mother, did. She jumped rope occasionally, but spent most of her time at home reading or with her dolls, so it was no real surprise when she married young and began a family right away.

The only time Cass had ever seen her cousin sweat was when she played basketball. Everyone assumed Lucy wanted to play only because Cass did, but then she’d played with surprising aggression.

They’d been very close in high school, Cass reflected as she ran along the water’s edge. They’d remained close until Lucy married that rat-bastard David. What had she seen in him, anyway? He wasn’t a good conversationalist, he wasn’t funny or particularly smart or even all that good-looking. What had Lucy seen in him?

Not that it mattered now, Cass thought as she ran a zigzag pattern around the towels of several sunbathers who lay on their blankets, wrapped in towels, the late-afternoon sun not nearly strong enough to ward off the chill.

“Hey! Cass!” someone called from behind.

She turned, to find Rick Cisco approaching.

“I thought that was you,” he said as he jogged up to join her.

“You’re a runner,” she said, judging his practiced gait.

“When I have time. Today seemed like a good day to take a break and get in a few miles.”

“It’s a good day for it. Not too hot, the humidity hasn’t kicked in yet.”

“How far are you going?” he asked.

“As far as the next jetty. About another half mile.”

“Mind if I tag along?”

“Suit yourself.”

She broke into a run and he matched her pace.

They ran in silence, their running shoes pounding softly against the sand, their breath coming in equal measure. When they reached the stone jetty, she stopped and looked out to sea.

“I usually walk out to the end,” she told him.

“I’m game, as long as you don’t mind the company.”

She did, but she shrugged it off.
You can’t always be alone,
she reminded herself.
Sometimes you have to share your space with other people. This week seems to be one of those times. Buck up and get used to it.

She looped her thumbs in the pockets of her running shorts and walked the length of the jetty, picking her way across the rocks. At the end, she searched for the flattest rock she could find, and sat on it. She glanced up at Rick, who had followed her, and patted the rock next to her.

“It’s not exactly cushy, but it’s about as flat as you’ll find.”

He looked down at the proffered seat uncertainly, then lowered himself carefully to the rock. His long legs hung over the side and his feet rested on the rocks below.

“This is nice,” he said. “Great view.”

She pointed off to the left. “The charter boats are starting to come in.”

“What do they fish for?”

“Tuna. Blues. Whatever is running. They have to go pretty far out for both, this time of year.”

“You do a lot of fishing?”

“None, actually. Not at all.”

“Oh. You sounded so knowledgeable.”

“My dad had a charter. He used to go out every day. He loved it. He was such a smart man, he could have done anything he wanted. All he ever wanted was to fish.” She smiled, remembering Bob Burke’s love of the sea.

“Does he still fish?”

“He died.”

“You lost both parents?” He turned to her. “I’m sorry.”

“On the same day,” she said softly.

“What?”

“They died on the same day.”

“I’m sorry, Cass. Was it an accident?”

“They were murdered. My parents and my little sister.”

“Jesus, that’s rough. I’m so sorry . . . I had no idea . . .” He flushed as if embarrassed to have heard it. “Did they find the person?”

“Yes. A transient, guy who’d been hanging around town for a few months. My dad used to give him fish when he had a really good catch. That always killed me, you know? That my dad was so nice to this guy and he repaid his kindness by . . .” She shook her head slightly and turned her face from him. “Anyway, he was tried and convicted and sent to prison. He died about . . . I think it was maybe ten years ago or so. Cancer.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I just don’t know what else to say.”

“It’s okay. You had no way of knowing. Thanks.” She stared out toward the horizon, not able to make eye contact with him. All of a sudden, he felt too close, though there was a space of almost three feet between them. She felt suffocated.

She stood abruptly.

“I need to get back to the house. Lucy’s making dinner,” she muttered, and turned toward the beach.

“Who’s Lucy?” He swung his legs up over the rock and stood up. “Roommate?”

“My cousin. She’s staying with me. Actually, she and I own the house together. It was our grandmother’s.”

Oh, shut up,
she told herself.
You’re starting to babble. Best to just go.

She was disconcerted to find him behind her when she jumped down from the jetty onto the wet sand.

“Running or walking?” he asked.

“Running.” She took off down the beach.

She figured he’d keep on going when she got to Brighton Avenue. He did not.

“This is where I came in, too,” he said.

“Oh. Where are you staying?”

She slowed to a walk as she approached the wooden boards.

“At the Brighton Inn.”

“Oh. Nice place.” She nodded and continued walking briskly. That meant he’d probably walk up Brighton, past her house, to Atlantic.

“It is nice. The rooms are a bit old-fashioned, but it’s homey and the food is terrific.”

“The restaurant is pretty well known. I’ve eaten there many times over the years, though not recently. They were always known for their seafood, which is to be expected, considering that it’s a block and a half from the ocean. Be grateful it isn’t July or August.”

“Why’s that?”

“The humidity can get pretty fierce down here. Last I heard, the Brighton still hadn’t installed central air.”

“Well, let’s hope we find our guy soon so that I’m long gone come the dog days.”

They paused at the corner for traffic, then crossed the street. At the third house from the corner, a large brown-and-black dog barked loudly when they passed. Rick stepped between the animal and Cass but never broke stride.

“It’s okay, June-bug, it’s okay,” Cass called to the dog, and it sauntered across the short patch of sand that served as its front yard, wagging its tail languidly. When it reached Cass, it sat in the middle of the sidewalk and she petted it affectionately.

“You’re a good girl, Junie,” she crooned as June-bug looked up at her with adoring eyes.

“Hey, Cassie.” The screen door opened and a woman in her seventies came down the steps slowly. “Grab her collar for me, would you?”

“I’ve got her, Madge. She’s not going anywhere.”

“Not even if she wanted to. Too much arthritis and not enough energy to chase cars these days.” Cass’s neighbor laughed dryly. “And I’m not just talking about the dog.”

The woman carried a leash and walked favoring one leg.

“This damn knee of mine . . .”

“I thought you had it replaced last year.”

“That was the right knee. Guess I’m going to have to break down and have the left one done now, too. I’d hoped I was done with all that. Anyone who tells you there’s nothing to it is flat-out lying to you.” Madge leaned over to grab hold of her dog. “Now, who’s this nice-looking young man?”

“Rick Cisco, ma’am.” He smiled and held out a hand for her. She took it and used it to hold on to while she snapped the leash onto the dog’s collar.

“You’re a tall one, aren’t you? Not too many young men around here taller than Cassie. She’s tall for a girl, isn’t she. But you’ve noticed that, I’m—”

“Ah, Madge, Rick is with the FBI.”

“Nothing wrong with that, honey.”

“I mean, he’s only here to work with our department.”

“Oh, on that serial killer? Evil business, that is.” Madge shook her head. “I lived through it the last time, back in, what was it, 1980?”

“Summer of 1979,” Cass told her, but Madge didn’t appear to have heard.

“Horrible that was, back then. God almighty, you were afraid to stick your head out the door, never knew where he was going to strike next.” The woman shivered. “Worst summer of my life. Never seen anything like it. I was hoping I’d never see the likes of it again, and here we are, that evil business just like before.”

She looked up at Rick.

“You think the FBI can catch him?”

“We’re working with your police department and we’ll do our best to track him down.”

“Good, ’cause they didn’t catch him the last time. Didn’t catch him and now he’s back.”

“Madge, we haven’t determined if this is the same killer. There’s a very good chance we’re dealing with a copycat.”

Madge shook her white head. “It’s the same. He’s back. I can feel him.” The older woman shivered. “Just like he was standing right next to me.”

“Well, the Bayside Strangler or a copycat, we’re doing our best to find him,” Rick assured her.

Cass took a step or two away, and Rick followed.

“In the meantime, Madge, you keep your doors and windows locked and keep that watchdog of yours,” Cass said.

“Oh, some watchdog Junie is. Say, is that Lucy Donovan? Not Donovan anymore, though. What’s the married name?”

“Webb.”

“Right, right. She married Lloyd Webb’s grandson. Summer people, as I remember. My stars, I haven’t seen her in a couple of summers. Are her boys with her? It’s been awful quiet, I haven’t heard kids.” Madge craned her neck to get a better look at the car that had just pulled into Cass’s driveway. “I heard the house next door here is rented for the summer, but no one’s been around yet. Don’t know if the people have kids or not.”

“Lucy’s boys are at camp for a few weeks. I’ll tell her you said hi.”

“You tell her I said for her to stop by and see me some morning. I always liked Lucy, she’s a fun girl. Always makes me laugh.” Madge waved in the direction of Cass’s house. “Yoo-hoo, Lucy . . .”

“Hi, Madge!” Lucy called back as she opened the trunk of the car and began unloading several bags of groceries.

“I’d better go and help her. See you later, Madge,” Cass said as she turned toward home.

“Nice meeting you,” Rick told the woman.

“Nice meeting you, too, FBI man.” Madge waved.

“What do you think of Madge’s theory that this is the old Bayside Strangler back again?” he whispered as they walked away.

“She could well be right about that. Though usually her theories are a bit more suspect. Like the one about the soul of Winston Churchill having entered Ronald Reagan’s body in 1967 and convinced him to run for president.”