Cold Truth (14 page)

F
ourteen

Too anxious to sit, Cass stood against the cinder-block wall in the emergency room of Bayshore Memorial Hospital and did something she had not done since she was nine years old. She chewed her fingernails to the quick.

“Here.” Rick handed her a can of soda. “I don’t know what you drink, but this is the only kind they had left in the machine, so I guess it doesn’t matter. It’s cold—almost cold, anyway—and it’s wet.”

She nodded her thanks and held the can close to her body. Rick took it back, popped the tab, and returned it to her.

“You’ll get more out of it if it’s open.”

“Thanks,” she whispered, then took a few small sips. “What do you suppose they’re doing to her?”

Trying to keep her alive
occurred to him.

Instead, he replied, “I’m sure they’re checking her out thoroughly.”

“I should know that. I do know that.” She swallowed hard. “It’s different when it’s you. When it’s someone you’re close to.”

Rick gave her shoulder a squeeze intended to reassure. He doubted that it did.

“Detective Burke?” a nurse called from the desk.

“Here.” Cass raised a hand and hurried over. “How is she? Will she be all right?”

The nurse looked puzzled, then looked at the clipboard in her hand.

“Are you here as part of an official investigation . . . or . . . ?”

“She’s my cousin. Lucy Webb.”

“Are you the next of kin?”

“Yes, yes . . .” Cass paused. “Oh. Actually, no. She’s married but—”

“I’ll need to speak with her husband.”

“They’re separated. They’re getting divorced. Right now she’s living with me.”

“If he’s still legally her husband, I’ll need to speak with him. Do you know how I can contact him?”

Cass tried to stare the woman down. It didn’t work.

“I have his number,” Cass finally acquiesced.

“Good.” The nurse handed Cass a small pad of white paper and a pen, and waited while Cass wrote the number.

“Please. Just tell me if she’s going to be all right.” Cass tried to soften her stance.

“She’s breathing on her own,” the nurse said.

Rick stepped up, his badge extended.

“Agent Cisco, FBI. Nurse . . .” His eyes scanned her name tag. “. . . Natale. The patient is a victim of a violent crime. I will need to speak with the doctor treating Ms. Webb at the earliest possible time.”

The nurse glanced first at Rick, then at his credentials, before looking back at Cass, who had not moved.

“I’ll ask Dr. Peterman to speak with you as soon as he’s finished.”

Rick nodded. “Thank you.”

“And thank you,” Cass said softly.

“Don’t mention it. Now come over and sit.” Rick took her arm. “We don’t know how long we’ll have to wait.”

“You don’t have to wait with me. I know you want to get back to Hasboro, to the scene of the crime,” she said, as if not realizing the scene of the most recent crime was her own house.

“I doubt they miss me.” He smiled gently. “Besides, I’d rather keep you company. It might be a long night. Try to relax a little. I know it’s hard, not knowing what’s going on.”

“They’re going to call that boneheaded husband of hers,” Cass said on an exhale. “I wonder if he’ll come.”

“He’ll come. He’d have to be made of stone not to care about what’s happened to her. She’s still his wife.”

“Hopefully not for much longer.”

“Sounds as if there’s a little conflict here.”

“No conflict. He’s just not the man for her.” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m waiting for you to tell me that that’s not my call.”

“I’m not going near it, Burke.”

“In case you think I’m being harsh on the guy, she doesn’t think he’s the man for her, either.”

“Her choice.”

“Right.” Cass nibbled on a nail. “He’s been cheating on her. He’s totally wiped out her self-confidence.”

“She seemed pretty self-confident to me.”

“Appearances can be deceiving.”

“I guess.” He looked down at her and saw a woman ready to pass out from fatigue. “Why don’t you try to get a little rest while you can? Here, lean on me.”

“You’re a pretty good guy, Rick Cisco.” She rested her head against his upper arm, then realized what she had done. Uncomfortable with such intimacy, she moved her head slightly so that it leaned against the wall instead of him.

“For an FBI agent.” He moved her head back to where it had been, telling her, “Relax. I don’t bite.”

“I’ve got no problem with the FBI.” She ignored what he’d done and closed her eyes, too tired to make an issue out of it, though still uneasy with the close proximity to this man who was still pretty much a stranger. “You’ve been . . . respectful. Kind.”

“Let’s see what the Hasboro cops are calling me in the morning,” he said, and she tried to smile at his attempt at humor.

A young boy with his arm in a cast came out from one of the treatment rooms, his face wet with tears, holding his mother’s hand tightly with his good hand.

A young mother walked her sobbing baby back and forth across the lobby in an effort to comfort her. The automatic doors to the emergency entrance opened silently and a woman with a bruised and swollen face came in, aided by an older woman who wore a gauzy wrap skirt over her bathing suit, and a worried expression on her face.

Cass quietly watched each drama unfold. After a long ten minutes, she asked, “Where did you come from?”

“Maryland.”

“No, no. Tonight. You dropped me off at the house and left. Why did you come back?”

“I never got off your street. I was almost to the stop sign when I saw your neighbor come out of her house . . . the older woman who lives up the street?”

“Madge.”

“Right. Well, she came out her front door and was moving about as fast as she could in the direction of the corner, so I stopped to see what was going on. She said her dog—”

“June-bug.”

“Right. Apparently there was a stray cat in their backyard all afternoon, giving old Junie fits. The first chance she got, she took off out the front door and chased the cat around the corner, Madge in pursuit, with her cane in one hand and the dog’s leash in the other. I parked the car and chased the dog. Found her a few houses up, the cat glaring smugly from the roof of someone’s car. I brought the dog back and was handing her over when I heard the gunshots.”

“Did you see him?” Cass sat up. “He took off out the back.”

“No. I didn’t see anyone. Honestly, I just ran toward the house and came inside.” His arm felt suddenly cooler without her head resting against it. “Tell me again what happened.”

Cass repeated the story, the third time she’d done so since arriving at the hospital. The first was for Chief Denver, who’d met her at the ER and stayed long enough to make certain Lucy was still alive before leaving to personally oversee the investigation at Cass’s house. The second had been to the officer assigned to take her official statement.

She’d just gotten to the part where Lucy’s attacker ran out the back door, when she looked up to see Tasha Welsh coming down the hall.

“Cass, I heard what happened. I’m so sorry. Is your cousin all right?” Tasha took the chair next to Cass’s and turned it so she could sit facing her.

“We haven’t heard a thing. She’s still with the doctors.”

“What a horror.” Tasha shook her head. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Was it our guy . . . our killer?”

“I have to think so, but at the same time . . .” Cass hesitated, as if thinking it through. “He’d already struck once tonight. He’s never hit two women in the same night before. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Well, here’s something else that won’t make sense.” Tasha leaned forward. “The other victim, the one in Hasboro? She wasn’t raped.”

“She wasn’t?” Cass frowned. “But all the others were.”

“Right. And something else. Remember I told you about the fibers?”

“The fibers you found in the hair of the other victims?”

Tasha nodded.

“Pink ribbon, did I tell you the lab reports came back? Pink satin ribbon. Real silk, not synthetic. Every one of the other victims had trace of it, and get this—the fibers matched perfectly.”

“Same kind of ribbon?”

“Same ribbon. We were able to trace it to the manufacturer. They stopped making that ribbon eighteen years ago.” Tasha tapped a finger on Cass’s knee for emphasis. “But this one tonight? Nada. No fibers.”

“You’re sure?”

“It was the first thing I looked for. There was something, I don’t know, awkward about the way he left this one. It looked different to me somehow.”

Cass nodded in agreement. “I thought the same thing. The legs weren’t really right.”

“Exactly. Similar, but not the same. A little haphazard. As if he was in a hurry and didn’t take the time to get it exactly right. Doesn’t make sense, does it?”

Cass looked at Rick.

“A copycat, maybe?” she suggested.

“Maybe he was in a hurry. We’ll need the report from the investigating officers to see what else they found,” he said.

“Well, don’t hold your breath until they offer to hand that over,” Cass reminded him.

“I can get it,” Tasha told them. “Might take me a few days . . .”

“Maybe your boss can get it sooner,” Cass said to Rick, who nodded.

“I’ll give him another call in the morning if I haven’t heard from him.”

“And another thing,” Tasha said. “In the past, the killer has made an effort to hide the bodies somewhat. This one over in Hasboro, he left her right out in plain view. Right there on the lower dock.”

“Like I said, maybe he was in a hurry,” Rick said. “Maybe he was afraid he’d be discovered if he took too long.”

“Not his style,” Tasha insisted. “If he was afraid of being seen, he would have left her someplace else. I think he wanted the body to be found, and fast.”

“How long had the body been there, you think?” Cass asked.

“I heard one of the detectives say that the family in the first house there off the bulkhead had gone out crabbing on their boat around three,” Tasha replied. “They found her when they came back, around five-thirty. So she’d been placed there somewhere within that time frame.”

“He was taking a chance, wasn’t he?” Cass said thoughtfully. “Broad daylight, the middle of the afternoon? It’s not like him to be that careless.”

“He wasn’t careless,” Rick said.

Cass looked up at him. “He wasn’t?”

“He didn’t get caught, did he? So far, no one’s come forward to say they saw someone there.”

“You could easily get away with it,” Tasha nodded, “if there were no other boats out at that end of the dock. And obviously, none were.”

“Plus, it’s early in the season. Not as many people around yet,” Cass said thoughtfully. “But still, why would he take such a chance?”

“I think Tasha’s right. He wanted her found,” Rick told them. “And he wanted her found today.”

“Why do you suppose that would be important to him?” Tasha asked.

“Maybe because he had another target in mind. Maybe this victim was incidental to him,” Cass thought aloud. “Or he could have wanted to draw our attention to her, and—”

“And away from someone else,” Rick finished her thought.

“Lucy,” Cass said flatly.

“Could be. He needed to get you out of the way, so he provided a diversion,” Rick suggested. “She fits the type exactly. Right age, right build. Pretty woman with lots of long dark hair. If he’s been watching her, he’d know she lives with a cop. He’d have had to lure you out of there to get to her. How best to lure a cop? With a dead body. Smart on his part.”

Cass winced at the thought of another innocent woman losing her life being considered nothing more than a means to an end.

“But not smart enough to realize that he went out of my jurisdiction, or that the Hasboro boys were so territorial they’d send me packing the minute I arrived.”

“You can thank those Hasboro boys and their petty mentality for saving Lucy’s life,” he pointed out.

Cass put her face in her hands.

“Oh, God,” she said, “if I’d stayed longer we’d probably be sitting in the morgue right now.”

The headlights illuminated the wooden gate and he left the car in gear when he went to push it aside. Then he drove through the opening, got back out, and closed the gate. No need for a well-meaning somebody to come along and wonder who might be wandering about this time of night.

He drove with only his fog lights on, lest some passing car see the reflection from the brighter beams and call the police. Not that he thought the police were merely sitting around this night, waiting for something to do. No, he’d seen to that, all right.

The dirt road wound about a quarter mile into the marsh before splitting off in two directions. He took the road to the left and followed it for about five hundred feet. Sensing he was near his destination, he slowed, then brought the car to a stop. He killed the lights and the engine, then opened the glove box and took out the first-aid kit he always carried with him. He got out of the car and went straight to the trunk, from which he took a suitcase. He walked along the path to the blind and carried the case with him up the steps to the shelter. It was awkward, because the case was heavy now after all these years, and one of the fingers on his left hand hurt like hell. He placed the case on the floor of the blind, then climbed in behind it.

He sat next to it and opened the first-aid kit. Taking the small flashlight from his pocket, he shined it into the case. He assembled a small bottle of peroxide and a roll of bandages in front of him; then, holding the flashlight between his teeth, he unwrapped the strip of his shirt he’d previously tied around the throbbing finger. He poured peroxide over the ragged wound to clean it, then wrapped it with the gauze.

It was a minor wound, and it wasn’t the first time he’d been shot. But it was the first time he’d been shot by a woman.

And that woman.
That woman . . .

He felt a terrible burning behind his eyes, and his hands began to shake. Hatred rolled through him, so strong and so fierce, he almost became nauseated.

If it weren’t for her, he and his love would be together right now. On their way to Cape May, to start their life together.