Cold Truth (17 page)

“The question is, what brings him back now? What brings this full circle?”

Denver and Cass exchanged a long, meaningful look.

“What?” Rick asked.

“The reunion,” Cass told them. “This week is reunion week. People have come from all over. They’re taking down the old high school and dedicating the new one. It’s an all-classes thing.”

“Maybe he came back for that,” Regan said.

“And once he got back here, the urge to kill—to repeat the past—was too strong,” Rick concluded.

“How many people do you think are in town for this reunion?” Mitch asked.

“It’s not only Bowers Inlet,” Cass told him. “It’s Tilden, it’s Dewey. Hasboro. Killion Point. All the little towns along the bay. It’s Bay Regional High. We all went to the same schools.”

“So we’re talking about how many people?” Rick asked.

“Couple hundred,” Denver replied.

“How do we narrow that down?” Regan frowned.

“Okay, look, we have to assume there’s an age range we can work with. He had to have been old enough in 1979 to have done to those women what he did, but still be young enough today to be physically strong enough to overcome healthy, strong young women.”

“Let’s say at the youngest, could he have been fourteen, fifteen, back then?” Cass suggested. “And the oldest he could be now? Mid-fifties, if he’s in really great shape?”

“We can use those as a starting point,” Denver agreed.

“And we can narrow that group even further,” Regan offered, “by figuring out who on the first list has been gone from the area and is here now.”

Mitch nodded. “And do an Internet search to track who’s been where in the intervening years.”

“We can do better than that.” Denver pushed a button on the intercom. “Phyl, I need you to call over to the high school and tell them I need a copy of every yearbook from 19 . . .” He paused and looked around the group. “What we say, fourteen or fifteen years old back in 1979? He would have graduated in, say, ’81 or maybe ’82. If he was older than that . . . let’s see, it’s 2005, say he could be at the oldest maybe fifty-five? He’d have graduated . . .” The chief did some mental calculations. “Say 1968? Let’s go back as far as 1960. I’d hate to have missed someone because we didn’t factor in some unknown element.”

He turned back to the intercom.

“Phyl, ask them for all the yearbooks between 1960 and 1985. Just to be on the safe side. Tell ’em we’ll send a patrol car over to pick them up.”

“Will do,” Phyl replied crisply.

“We can look them over.” Denver addressed Cass. “You, me, Phyl. We can at least get a head start on eliminating people we know never moved away or ever traveled around like we think this guy has done.”

“If you get me the list of names,” Mitch told him, “I’ll start tracking them through the bureau. If we can get social security numbers for them, we can track them that much faster.”

Denver shook his head. “Don’t think the school will hand those out.”

“Maybe you could ask for everyone on the list to give a DNA sample,” Regan suggested. The entire group turned to stare at her as if she had suddenly sprouted an extra head.

“What?” she asked.

“We’ll have the ACLU all over us if we try to pull something like that,” Denver told her.

“They’ve done it in several places over the past few years. I read about it. The police in Massachusetts did this earlier in the year,” Regan protested.

“Right, they did,” Mitch agreed. “And the ACLU was all over them. These DNA ‘sweeps’ have been used eighteen, nineteen times. Only turned up a suspect once, and that was within a very small community of possibilities. Besides, the police department you’re talking about in Massachusetts did that as a last resort. We’ve only begun to narrow this down. You wouldn’t be able to do that without a fight. And fighting with potential suspects will only waste time. I say we follow the plan the chief outlined—narrow down the list by year of graduation, then see if we can determine who’s been out of state, out of the country. Then maybe—just maybe—we’ll have a list of potential suspects.”

“Well, then, unless someone has something else to add?” Denver scanned the faces at the table. “No? Okay, then, Agent Cisco, you’ll follow up with the profiler?”

Rick nodded. “I’ll make the call today.”

Cass stood and stretched, then said, “If there’s nothing else, I want to get back to the hospital.”

“Rick told me on the phone about your cousin being attacked,” Mitch said. “How’s she doing?”

“She was the same this morning,” Cass told him. “The doctors said she would come out of it, but they can’t predict when. She apparently was oxygen deprived for a time, we don’t know how long—and then there’s the trauma, the shock. She could come out of it tonight, or not for another week or two. No one wants to predict.”

“I hope it’s soon,” Regan told her as she gathered her files. “I hope she recovers quickly from this.”

“Thank you.” Cass turned to Rick. “If you have another few minutes, I’ll stop back in my office and see if the lab reports on the victim they found on the dock have come back from Tasha yet.”

“Ahhh, Cass . . .” Denver remained seated. In his hands, he held his glasses, which he appeared to be toying with. “I’ll get the lab results from Tasha and pass them on to Agent Cisco.”

Cass stared at him blankly.

“I need to take you off the case, Cass.”

“Off the . . .” Cass dropped her bag. “What are you talking about, off the case? It’s my—”

“Cass. You’re too close to one of the victims. And beyond that, I don’t know that you might not be the next target.”

“That’s bullshit.” An angry Cass grabbed a section of her own hair. “No long dark tresses here, Chief. And we all agreed he’s only going after women with long dark hair.”

“He also hit two women in the same day. Something he hasn’t done before. I don’t think we can safely predict what he’s going to do.”

When she started to protest again, Denver cut her off. “You messed up his game plan, Cass, when you walked in on him with Lucy. He has to be pretty pissed at you right now.”

“All the more reason for me to stay involved. I can draw him out.”

“I’m not using you as bait, Detective. And I’m not asking for your opinion. I want you to take a few days’ leave. I want you out of sight for a while.”

“So you want me to just go home and sit on my butt while the rest of you chase after this guy?” Cass was wide-eyed.

“Actually, no. You’re going to have to find someplace else to stay. Your house is off-limits. Have you forgotten it’s a crime scene?”

Cass grabbed her bag and walked from the room, slamming the door behind her.

“I knew she would not go gentle,” Denver murmured.

To Rick, he said, “Can you keep an eye on her? She’s not going to want to stay put, and we can’t afford to lose her.”

Rick nodded, and with Regan and Mitch left the conference room. Denver went to the window, which opened onto the back of the building and the parking lot. Cass shot through the back door and stalked down the sidewalk to her car. Denver could almost see her fingers trembling with rage.

“Sorry, Cassie,” he said aloud.

He thought back to the attack she’d survived as a child, recalled the efforts he himself had made to breathe life into her small body.

He sighed, knowing that at that moment she hated him. Well, he could take that if it meant keeping her out of harm’s way. And he wasn’t even sure that it would.

All he knew at the moment was that evil was afoot in the bay towns, and the probability was that the face it hid behind was a face he’d looked on at some point over the years, possibly a face he knew well.

It could be someone he’d met at the Dockside Bar last night, where so many of the old gang had gathered. Or one of the guys who over the course of the evening had stood next to him at the bar and asked about his older brother, Dan, or his younger sister, Karen.

Dear God, it could be anyone.

Maybe one of his own classmates. Even one of his friends. Or one of Dan’s.

He thought back to Dan’s group of friends, the kids who used to hang on the Denvers’ front porch every night of every summer. Of the guys who used to call the house, hoping to get a date with Karen.

Pretty Karen, who back in the day wore her long black hair parted in the middle.

A chill crawled up his spine.

He buzzed Phyl.

“Phyl, how are we doing with those yearbooks?”

S
eventeen

“Cass!” Regan hurried across the parking lot to catch up with the angry detective before she could hop into a car and speed off.

“You don’t have to run, Regan,” Cass told her flatly when the two women were within twenty feet of each other. “I don’t have a car here. I came right from the hospital this morning with Rick.”

“Look, I know you’re upset . . .”

“Oh, please,” Cass muttered under her breath.

“This is a bad time for you, I understand that. With all that’s going on here in Bowers Inlet, your cousin being attacked, then you getting taken off your case—”

“I need to get to the hospital,” Cass cut her off. “Will you drive me?”

“Where is it you want to go?” Rick asked as he approached her.

“I need to check on Lucy.” Cass leaned against Rick’s car.

“You have a phone on you,” he pointed out. “Use it.”

“I want to see her.”

“If her condition hasn’t changed since this morning, there’s no point in spending another few hours sitting in that hospital room, glaring at Lucy’s husband, and having him glare back at you.” His tone softened. “You haven’t eaten since . . . when? When was your last meal?”

“Sunday sometime. Lunch, maybe. I don’t know.”

“And you last slept when?”

“Saturday night.”

“Look, you put a call in to the hospital. If Lucy is awake, I’ll drive you over. If not, you’ll come with us and get some lunch, and we’ll figure out where you’re going to stay.”

They stared at each other for a long moment before Cass took her phone from her bag and dialed the number for the hospital. She meandered around the car, speaking softly. When she completed the call, she dropped the phone back into her bag.

“She’s still not awake,” she told the three who waited by Rick’s car.

“We can grab some lunch . . . you have a favorite place?” Rick opened the passenger door for her.

She shook her head.

“Then let’s go back to the inn where I’m staying. The restaurant there is pretty good. I imagine Regan is ready for lunch, and I’ve yet to see Peyton here turn down good seafood. Or any food, now that I think about it.”

Mitch nodded as he unlocked his car. “Lead on. We’ll follow you.”

“Any chance I can go home and get a change of clothes and some things I’ll need?” Cass asked Rick as she got into the passenger seat.

“How about we stop after lunch and see what’s going on over there? I’m sure they have someone from the department at your house until the scene has been processed. Maybe by then they’ll be finished and you’ll be able to slip in and grab a few things.”

“All right.” She leaned back against the headrest and closed her eyes.

“You okay?”

“Yes. Just . . .” She sought the word.

“Tired? Overwhelmed? Pissed off?”

“All of the above.”

Rick eased onto the street and into the line of traffic.

“I know this has been hard on you. The attack on Lucy, in particular. And I know you have to be beyond pissed at your chief.” He checked the rearview mirror to ensure that Mitch was following. He was.

“You have no idea.”

“Of course I do. Don’t think you’re the only person who’s ever been plucked from a plum case in the middle of it.”

“This is my case.” Her jaw tightened. “I don’t appreciate being tossed off it. What am I supposed to do while you and everyone else is working on it?”

“Denver told you to take a few days off.”

“And do what?” She was beginning to steam again.

“He asked me to keep an eye on you.”

“What? That is the last straw,” she growled. “I can’t believe he did that. I do not need a baby-sitter. No offense, but I don’t need to be—”

“Of course you don’t. But if you’ll calm down for a second, I think you’ll see that this can work to your advantage.” He put on his right turn signal to alert Mitch to the upcoming turn into the parking lot.

“How do you figure?”

“I’m supposed to stick with you, but I’m also supposed to be working the case. Well, hell, I can’t be in two places at once. Our profiler will be here. She’ll want all the information on all of the victims. Who better to tell her about Lucy? And who better to tell her about the other crime scenes? You were there. You’ll have insights into this that no one else could have.”

“I don’t want to be off the case. I want to work.”

“I can appreciate that. But right now, this is what we have to work with. You can play a big part in this still. Just not on the clock.” He pulled into the lot and parked.

“He shouldn’t have taken me off the case.”

“Well, I have to disagree with you there.” Rick got out of the car and waved Mitch toward an empty parking space.

“You what?” Cass swung open her door, hopped out, then slammed the door for emphasis and glared at him over the roof.

“I think Denver has a point,” Rick said calmly. “I think the killer is highly pissed off right now, and the person who pissed him off is the person most likely to incur his most immediate wrath. And since that person is you, I think Denver was right to put you in the background for a while.”

“I thought you just said you knew what it was like to be yanked off a good case.”

“I did say that. And I do know what it feels like. It sucks. But in this case, it’s not unreasonable.” He rounded the car to her side. “This is one mean son of a bitch we’re after here, Cass. Now, I have no doubt that you can handle yourself damn well. You did an admirable job scaring him off last night. You saved Lucy’s life. And I’d be willing to bet real Yankee dollars that you gave him a damned good scare. But all of that does not change the fact that he’s mightily pissed at you. I think your department needs you. I think Lucy needs you. We cannot afford to let him get to you. And he will try, the first chance he gets. If I have to wear you in my back pocket until we get our hands on him, that’s where you’ll stay until this is over. I’d rather have you actively involved in the investigation, and I’ve already told you how you can do that. The choice is yours. You can work with me behind the scenes, or you can pout and go sit in a room someplace until this is over. Your choice.”

Cass stared at him, her expression unreadable.

“Like I said, Cass. Your choice,” he repeated.

They both turned at the sound of Mitch’s car doors slamming.

“This is lovely,” Regan was saying as she got out of the sedan. “What a beautiful old inn.”

“It’s a great place to stay. Nice room. Ocean view. Quiet.” Rick glanced at his watch. “If we hurry, we can make the end of the lunch hours. They stop serving at two.”

He turned to Cass.

“What’s it going to be?”

“I guess the crab cakes,” she told him, and without looking back, fell in step with Regan and Mitch.

“Which way is the dining room?” Mitch asked.

“Straight through the lobby,” Rick replied. But once they stepped inside, he paused in the doorway, then directed the others to go on in and get a table. “I’ll only be a minute.”

It was closer to five minutes, but Rick joined the others as the waitress was passing out menus. Mitch appeared to be on the verge of comment, but said nothing.

“I’m assuming all the seafood entrées are good,” Regan was saying.

“You can’t miss with any of them. I had the sea bass the other day, and have had the soft-shell crabs and one of the soups,” Rick told them. “All pretty terrific.”

“Nothing like what you get back home in Texas, eh?” Mitch closed his menu and placed it on the table.

“Nothing at all like Texas,” Rick agreed.

“That’s where you’re from, Texas?” Cass asked.

Rick nodded.

“You don’t seem to have much of an accent,” she noted.

“I’m from there, but I haven’t lived there for some time.”

“I see,” Cass said, but Rick doubted that she did. He just wasn’t up to talking about the years of New En-gland boarding schools. He wasn’t in all that good a mood to begin with.

The waitress reappeared, took their orders, and promised to be back in a flash with their iced teas.

“By the way, I spoke with Annie McCall,” Rick announced. “She’ll be joining us tomorrow afternoon.”

“That’s as soon as she can get here?” Mitch asked.

“She’s wrapping up something else today. Tomorrow is the best she can do.”

“Who’s Annie McCall?” Regan asked.

“Anne Marie McCall. Dr. McCall. She’s our favorite profiler,” Mitch explained. “Not to mention the best I’ve ever worked with.”

“What makes her the best?” Cass unfolded her napkin and rested it on her lap.

“She’s a psychologist, but besides being book smart, she’s a real master at understanding behavior. Especially aberrant behavior,” Rick told her. “She’s really good at putting the pieces together. You’ll see when you meet her.”

“I’d like to meet her, too.” Regan frowned. “I’m sorry I’m going to miss her.”

“We can always drive back tomorrow, if you’d like. I want to be part of the sit-down with her,” Mitch said. “You’re welcome to come along.”

“The sit-down?” Cass leaned back to permit the waitress to serve her drink.

“The preliminary meeting we have where we toss around whatever information we have. We’ll give her a chance to review the records, the interviews, the lab reports, all of that, but we like to discuss the cases informally. Some of our best insights come from those moments of idle chatter.”

“It hardly sounds idle,” Regan noted.

“I guess
unstructured
is probably a more accurate term,” Mitch said. “It’s sort of a brainstorming session.”

“Any chance I could be a part of that, too?” Cass asked.

Rick nodded. “Absolutely. You will be the star witness. We can’t have that powwow without you.”

Cass looked momentarily pleased, the guarded expression she’d been wearing lifting a little. Then she asked, “And after she leaves? Will I still be invited to the powwows?”

“You’ll know everything that’s going on when I do,” Rick promised.

“That wasn’t the question.”

“No, but that’s the answer.” He handed his menu to the waitress. “I think we’re all ready to order. Cass? Regan?”

Orders were placed and glasses replenished. The conversation drifted from the current investigation to the information Regan had found in her father’s files.

“That’s really interesting,” Cass said. “You write books about old cases and try to solve them at the same time? How many have you solved?”

“On my own, none.” Regan smiled. “But my dad had quite a record.”

“I’ve never read any of his books, but I will definitely look for them.”

“I’ll try to remember to bring you a few.”

“Thanks, Regan. That’s nice of you. And it does appear I’ll have some time on my hands, so maybe I’ll even get to read a couple of them.” Cass turned to Rick and asked, as if it had just occurred to her, “When do you suppose I can move back to my house?”

“I don’t know. We’ll look into that later. After we eat. You’re not the only one who missed out on dinner last night, you know.”

“I saw you nursing that bag of chips from the vending machine this morning, so don’t even pretend that you haven’t eaten in days.” Cass almost smiled.

“A snack-sized bag of potato chips doesn’t count for anything. It doesn’t even rate a true snack designation, and it sure as hell did not make up for the dinner and the breakfast I didn’t have.”

“Here.” Mitch passed the basket of soft rolls to Rick. “I realize they’re not organic stone-ground whole wheat, and God knows they probably aren’t as good as the ones you make in your little kitchen, but you can buck up, just this once, and eat what the rest of us eat.”

Rick grinned, and without comment buttered a roll, which he proceeded to devour.

“You make your own?” Cass pointed to the basket.

Rick nodded. “I have on occasion made my own bread. Not very often, but I have done it. Much to the amusement of some of my fellow agents, I might add.”

“You never should have mentioned it,” Mitch told him.

“What was I thinking?” Rick shook his head good-naturedly.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Cass asked.

“My grandmother baked every day. Cakes, cookies, breads—all from scratch. I often stayed with her when I was little. She said everyone should know how to bake their own bread and do their own taxes. So I learned both at an early age.”

The waitress brought salads, and Cass picked at hers, watching Rick out of the corner of her eye, and tried to envision those large hands kneading a mound of dough.

“So, what’s on the agenda this afternoon?” Mitch asked.

“Well, I’m going to get copies of everything we have and make a file up for Annie, then I’ll have it sent to her overnight. That way she’ll have a head start on the case before she gets here. I’ll check in with the lab.” Rick hesi-tated, then turned to Cass. “Do you think your friend Tasha would get copies of all the lab reports for us? We still don’t have the ME’s report from the victim on the dock.”

Cass nodded. “I’m sure she’ll give us whatever she has.”

“Even if you’re off the case?” he asked.

“Especially if I’m off the case.”

“Can you give her a call?”

“Now?”

“Yes. But the reception is poor in here. You’ll have to take the phone into the lobby.”

“I’ll be right back.” Cass picked up her bag and left the room.

“Is the reception in here really that bad, or were you trying to get rid of her for a few?” Mitch asked.

“Both, actually. While I was in the lobby, I switched rooms from a single to a two-bedroom suite with a sitting room between.”

“You move fast. I had no idea you were such a player,” Mitch said wryly.

“Hey, this is strictly in the interest of justice. She needs a place to stay, and she needs to stay where I can keep an eye on her. She won’t like it, but neither of us has much of a choice. I figure she’s got another twenty, thirty minutes in her, tops, before she just flat-out collapses. The woman is running on empty right now. I just wanted to make sure she was taken care of when she hits the wall.”

“Considerate of you.” Mitch still bore the slightest trace of a grin, which Rick chose to ignore.

“She’s going to want things from her house. Regan, can you go over with me later to pick out some clothes that you think she might need over the next few days? And some . . . stuff. Whatever stuff it is that women use.”