Cold Truth (26 page)

“With restrictions. One, you don’t go inside until we know for certain if he’s there . . .”

“How many officers do we have?” Rick asked before Cass could respond. “Besides the three of us.”

“I have three more meeting us at the scene and I’ve already requested backup from Tilden.”

“But we’re lead, right?” Cass paused in the doorway.

“I said you could come along with restrictions,” Denver reminded her. “I know the temptation to nail this guy is going to be overwhelming for you. But let someone else bring him down, you hear me? It’s in everyone’s best interest if you do not put your hands on him. If you can’t go along with that, you stay outside until it’s over. Are we understood?”

“Sure. I understand.” She nodded, her mouth a straight, grim line. “You want this clean.”

“It’s going to be clean. What I want is to avoid any complications in the future. I want this done professionally—not that you’re not professional, Cass—but for you, this is highly personal. You were one of his first victims. I don’t want your fingerprints on him when we take him down. And I want him alive to answer for every last victim.”

She nodded. She didn’t like it, but she understood. Someone else would have to bring him in. Which was okay, though not the way she wanted it to end.

What she wanted was to bring him down, alone. What she wanted was to look into the eyes of the man who had murdered her family, hold a pistol to his heart, and fire.

T
wenty-six

The bayside cottage that Jonathan Wainwright rented for the season—intending to buy, according to his brother’s wife—was unlocked, as if the occupant had just stepped out to the small patio off the dining area. The rooms were immaculate. Nothing cluttered the counters in the kitchen. No dishes had been left in the sink. The living room furniture was as smooth as if never sat upon. The bathrooms appeared to have been scrubbed down with Clorox.

The beds in both upstairs rooms were expertly made. The clothes in the closet were in perfect alignment, as were the socks and underwear in the dresser.

In the refrigerator, they found an orange, a bottle of seltzer, an unopened pound of butter. A dozen eggs sat in their box. A tub of cream cheese and a jar of salsa stood side by side with a six-pack of Coke on the top shelf.

There was nothing to suggest the identity of the person who lived there.

“You didn’t really expect him to be here, did you?” Cass asked softly.

“No. Would’ve been nice to waltz right in and snatch him up. But that rarely happens. Even on TV.” Chief Denver moved through the living room, back into the kitchen, his hands in his pockets. “I suspect he’s off disposing of his latest conquest. I only wish I knew where.”

A uniformed officer stuck his head through the doorway. “Chief, the crime scene tech is here.”

“Send her on back.”

“Before I get started, tell me just how far I can go,” Tasha Welsh asked as she came into the room, lugging the heavy black bag that accompanied her everywhere. “How broad was your warrant?”

“Broad enough.” Denver nodded solemnly. “What did you have in mind?”

“I’m thinking the traps from the bathroom sink, for one, since the place is so clean. We’ll roll for fibers, and we’ll bag the bed pillow, hoping for some hair samples, but if we have to go to skin cells for the DNA, the bathroom sink is always a good place to start.” Her gloved hand held up a disposable razor. “Chances are, he shed a few shaving.”

She popped the razor into the bag.

“Do whatever you have to do to get as much as you can,” Denver told her.

“Already bagged his shoes. Maybe we’ll get a trace of soil from the bottoms, and maybe we can link that to one of the places where the bodies were found.” She started back out of the room, then turned and said, “You never did find the actual crime scenes, did you? We don’t know where he’s been taking these women to kill them?”

Denver shook his head. “No. We don’t have a clue.”

“It’s someplace that means something to him,” Cass said aloud. “Someplace where he feels safe . . .”

“Well, he grew up around here. Maybe we should start with the house he grew up in,” Rick suggested. “Or that garage where the evidence was stored.”

“Not a bad idea,” the chief said. “Let me get someone over there to talk to the present owners.”

“Disappointed?” Rick asked Cass after Denver had left the room.

“I didn’t expect him to be here. He still has a victim, someplace. At least I’m assuming he does. The body hasn’t been found, and God knows, everyone’s been looking for her.” She paused. “Her name is Lilly Carson, had you heard? She lives with her widowed mother, she’s twenty-eight years old, the single mother of a six-year-old son, and she just got her master’s degree in education last month. She supported herself and her son and put herself through grad school by working as a bartender at Jelly’s down in Tilden. That’s where she was last seen. Leaving Jelly’s after her shift was over, two-forty in the morning.”

Cass went to the window and gazed out.

“Where did he take her?” she murmured. “Where does he feel safe?”

“Denver says he has a brother and sister-in-law in town. They gave us a description of the car he’s been driving, maybe they can give us an idea of where he might go. Someplace that’s important to him. Or one of his buddies might know where he’d go.”

“Let’s get started, then. You want to take the brother, I’ll start with the friends?” Cass asked.

“No. Just because we think he’s occupied with someone else isn’t a good enough reason to leave you exposed. We’ll go together. And we’ll stick together until we find him.”

She nodded halfheartedly and went off to tell the chief where they were going.

Jonathan Wainwright sat in the bird blind, his back against the wall, literally and figuratively. On the floor near his feet, Lilly Carson lay, bound and gagged and still unconscious. His mind went back and forth between killing her right then and there or holding on to her. His brother had called his cell phone, wanting to know what the fuck was going on, the police had been there, asking a lot of questions.

“You haven’t done anything stupid, have you, Jonny?” his older brother, Steve, had asked, a touch of derision in his voice. “You’re not still doing . . . you know, the stuff you used to get in trouble for, are you?”

“If you’re asking me if I’ve looked into anyone’s bedroom window lately, the answer is no,” Jon had replied calmly, then disconnected the call.

But he was far from calm. Somehow, they had put something together. The one who didn’t die, that’s who it must have been. She must have told them.

Jenny.

Or another Jenny wannabe?

He rubbed his eyes. He just didn’t know anymore. Sometimes he thought he knew. Sometimes he felt so sure . . .

The woman on the floor of the blind moaned softly.

What to do with you? What to do . . . ?

Killing her would be as mundane as tying his shoes at this point. The thrill was definitely gone. She held no appeal for him now. The moment had passed.

But alive . . . maybe she could serve a purpose.

He stood up and looked down on her. Lilly’s long dark hair spread around her and fell across her forehead in a silken wave.

What a shame,
he told himself.
What a waste.

He leaned over the side of the blind and looked around. The sanctuary was exactly that today. His sanctuary. A slight breeze blew through the trees and the marsh grasses, and a few birds called every once in a while. Other than that, it was quiet. Peaceful.

He rested his arms along the top rail and began to think.
Plan it out, son,
his father would have said,
for Christ’s sake.

He nodded a silent response.
Okay, Pop, I’ve got a plan for you. I only wish to God you were still around to see it all play out. You think I embarrassed you when I was a kid? You ain’t seen nothing, old man.

Resolved, he lifted the woman and opened the door to the blind. Carefully picking his way down the steps, he started across the marsh to the small rowboat he’d tied up at the edge of the bay. He dumped Lilly unceremoniously into the bottom of the boat, and she groaned when her head hit the seat. Ignoring her pain, he pushed out through the shallows. When the water was above his knees, he slid over the side of the boat and picked up the oars.

He looked straight ahead as he rowed, glancing down one time to see Lilly watching him through terrified eyes.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m not going to dump you over the side. Uh-uh. You’re much too valuable alive. Much more.”

He rowed quietly and kept as close to the shoreline as he could. When he reached his destination, he hopped out of the boat and dragged it up through the reeds. He lifted a frightened Lilly and hoisted her over his shoulder, pushing his way through the thick growth of cattails to the house that stood at the edge of the marsh—the house where it had all started, twenty-six long years ago.

T
wenty-seven

“Can you give me five minutes?” Cass asked Rick as he slowed down in front of her house.

“I can give you all the time you need,” he told her, “but I’m coming in with you.”

He turned off the engine and they got out of his car. She waved to a neighbor across the street, and stepped aside as a happy toddler drove his miniature car toward her on the sidewalk. The boy’s mother smiled apologetically as she kept pace with her son.

Cass pushed aside the crime scene tape that still draped her front porch, and unlocked the door with her key. She stepped inside tentatively.

“It seems like forever since I’ve been here,” she told Rick as he followed her into the front hall.

“Well, it’s been a pretty intense week.”

“It hasn’t even been a whole week,” she reminded him. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

“It seems like I’ve been here longer than that. I feel as if I’ve known you for more than a week.”

She paused at the stairwell, one foot on the bottom step, and studied his face. He was watching her watch him.

“I know what you mean. I feel the same way,” Cass told him.

“Good. That’s good.” He smiled.

“I’ll be right back.” She broke eye contact and ran up the steps to her room.

She grabbed her last clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt from her dresser—she really did need to get some laundry done—and stuffed them into a small tote, along with her running shoes, before going into her closet. From the top shelf, she took a small handgun already in an ankle holster and strapped it on. Around her waist she wore a belt with a clip that held her revolver. She reached up to the shelf again and felt around for the twenty-two she had, on occasion, concealed in the small of her back. Finding it, she slid it into place and tugged her shirt over her belt.

“You look as if you mean business,” Rick said from the doorway. “You really think you’re going to need all that?”

“One way or another, we’re getting him today.” She met his eyes in the mirror that hung on the closet door. “I’m not sure how, but this is ending today.”

“I’m all for that.”

“What do you say we pop in on Mr. Calhoun and see what he has to say. Maybe he’ll have some thoughts on where his good friend, Mr. Wainwright, might be spending a quiet day.”

“Well, neither of his other friends had much to say,” Rick reminded her. “I doubt he’ll be of much help, but let’s give him a try.”

“You think Wainwright knows that we know it’s him?” she asked as she turned to him. “Do you think he’s caught on?”

“If he’s tried to go home, he’s caught on. And there’s a damned good chance his brother has tipped him off. He sure seemed to have an attitude when it came to his little brother.”

“I felt that, too. As if he wasn’t at all surprised that the police wanted to talk to him. Almost as if he was expecting it.”

“You think his brother knows what he’s been doing?”

“No. If he had, he would have turned him in long ago. Steve seems like the type who’d carry his sibling rivalry into his middle age. I think if he had something on Jonathan, he’d have been more than happy to blow the whistle on him.” She reflected for a moment. “I feel pretty certain that Steve doesn’t have a clue as to what his brother has been up to all these years.”

“Still, I think we should stop back at Steve’s and see if he’s thought of anything else since we spoke with him. Let’s see, that was four hours ago, and—”

“Oh, shit.” Cass took a quick glance at her watch. “It’s almost seven. I told Khaliyah I’d meet her at six. Come on, Rick. I’m really late.”

Cass pushed past Rick and ran down the steps. She searched her bag for her cell phone and hit the
Speed Dial
key.

“Damn. She’s not picking up. We’re going to have to stop at the playground.”

“The playground?” He followed her outside. “Now?”

“Long story. I’ll tell you in the car.”

Khaliyah was practicing foul shots when Rick pulled into the parking lot next to the basketball court.

“I’ll be right back.”

Cass jogged to the court and reached for the ball Khaliyah lobbed in her direction. She caught it handily, but did not take a shot. Instead, she passed the ball back to Khaliyah.

“I’m so sorry, but we’re going to have to postpone our game tonight. I know I said I’d never bail on you, but—”

“You’re not bailing.” Khaliyah bounced the ball a few times before picking it up and holding it against her chest. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but I can’t stay.”

“It’s okay. I understand. You’re a cop, Cassie.” She began to bounce the ball again.

“Where’s Jameer? I thought he was going to drive you.”

“He’s here. He just walked over to the stand to buy us some water. He’ll be right back.”

“Stick with him, would you? Make sure he takes you home.”

“Sure.” Khaliyah turned and dribbled in the direction of the basket. She took a shot, missed, got the rebound.

Cass watched, hands on her hips. “You’re good, girl. But you need to practice if you think you’ll beat me next week.”

Khaliyah laughed. “Any week. I can—and have—beaten you. I’ll beat you again.”

Cass went to the girl and gave her a sisterly hug. “Be careful. I don’t like thinking about you being out while this man is still on the loose. He’s very dangerous. Very bad.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. You’re the one who needs to be careful.” A flash of concern crossed the girl’s face. “Please don’t let him hurt you.”

“I’m going to do my best to avoid that.”

“Well, you go on back to work now and catch this guy so you have plenty of time to rest up for next week.”

Cass grinned and waved to Jameer, who appeared at the opposite end of the court.

“You call me if you need me. I’ll have my phone with me. You have the number, right?” Cass called to Khaliyah as she headed toward the parking lot.

“You programmed it into my phone,” she called back to Cass and pointed to the gym bag that sat on the ground near the end of the bench, the cell phone Cass had given her resting on top.

“Don’t hesitate to use it.”

“I won’t.” Khaliyah waved good-bye to Cass, then challenged Jameer to a game of one-on-one by pitching the ball in his direction.

“That’s your buddy?” Rick was waiting at the end of the path.

“Yeah. She’s a terrific kid.”

“She’s a beauty. Looks like a good ballplayer, too.”

“Both true. We’ve got high hopes for her. We’re looking for a scholarship to a Division One school. She’s going to go places.” Cass paused to look back once, then patted Rick on the arm. “Now, let’s go see if Steve Wainwright has come up with anything new since we last spoke with him. Then we’ll move on to Billy Calhoun.”

Jonathan watched from the bleachers as Cass and Rick made their way back to the parking lot. He was sick to his stomach, just looking at her. At that moment, he ached to feel the skin of her neck under his hands. Ached to watch her die for all the pain, all the frustration she had caused him.

Ached to finish the job he’d left unfinished years ago.

He was sweating, his nervous system on overload.

He turned his attention to the young girl on the basketball court. Obviously, she was someone important to Cass.

His eyes followed her as she spun around the boy who attempted to block her shots. Beautiful, strong, and young. Too young, he reminded himself. Not much more than a child, really. He wouldn’t think of doing to her what he wanted to do to Cass. The very idea disgusted him.

After all, he did have his standards.

The action moved to the basket at the far end of the court, where several other young people had gathered, boys and girls. The game interrupted, the players stopped to chat with the newcomers. He eyed the gym bag on the ground near the bench, not twenty-five feet from him now.

“You programmed it into my phone,”
the girl had said when Cass had asked if she had her cell number.

Nonchalantly, he hopped off the bleachers and strolled by, his hands in his pockets. When he reached the bench, he bent down, as if tying a shoe, and reached over to grab the phone, which he tucked into his pocket. A glance at the group assured him that no one had paid any attention to him. He straightened up, and continued on his way.

Pulling his baseball cap down over his forehead, he pushed his dark glasses back, and with his hands in his pockets, he walked leisurely through the playground and into the park that led toward the bay. From there, he’d walk over the dunes and find a nice quiet place in which to sit and think about how best to fit this little unexpected bonus into his plan.