Cold Truth (7 page)

He stood upon the wooden boardwalk at the top of the dune and inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with as much of the bay as he could draw in with one breath. This, more than anything, this scent, meant he was home.

With one hand at his forehead acting as shade, he scanned the horizon. Far into the bay, fishing boats headed to the Atlantic. The sun hung over the water like a red-hot ball. The narrow beach was littered with the remains of a dozen horseshoe crabs and hanks of seaweed. The scents all blended together, and if he closed his eyes, he’d be a kid again, searching the sand for treasure.

Across the bay, Old Barney stood watch. As a child, he’d played at the base of the Barnegat Lighthouse, had fished with his brother from the rocks. At least the lighthouse remained, whatever else might have changed.

And change had come to the bay communities, there was no denying that. Over the past week, he’d driven through all the small towns that dotted the shore, one by one, reliving treasured moments here and there. He’d been stunned by the amount of development that had come to the area since he’d been away, townhouses and condos and single family homes all the way back to the Pines, some built over what had once been marsh. Shopping centers out on the highway, flanked by fast-food restaurants and discount stores. It had made his head spin.

Well, a lot can happen in twenty-six years, he reminded himself. A lot can change.

Now, me, I haven’t changed at all.

In his eyes, he was still the same guy who had left at the end of that summer, armed with new skills he’d developed over the course of three months. The need inside him, once awakened, had been a tough taskmaster, demanding ever more satisfaction. Over the course of the years, he had fed its desires hundreds of times.

As lately as last night.

He smiled, remembering. How could he have thought he’d come all this way and not feel that drive within him build to a scream?

Especially after having visited the scenes of his earliest escapades. He remembered—and relived—each one.

He had an uncanny memory for such things.

He walked the length of the beach, rehearsing what he’d say to his brother when he rang the doorbell of their old family home later this afternoon. Reminded himself to smile, to pretend to be happy to see his family again after all these years. Be gentle with his sister-in-law, who had—let’s face facts here—never cared much for him. Admire the children. Beam at them, as if delighted by their very existence. He needed to get used to them, since he planned to be around for a while. It wouldn’t do to be estranged from the only family he had left. Might it not appear odd somehow, if he and his brother lived in the same town and never socialized?

He sighed. It all sounded so dreary.

There were lots of ways for him to pass the time, now that he was back. There were more places for him to visit, places he remembered well, when he was ready. He’d know when the time was right. Some things weren’t meant to be rushed.

He raised the binoculars to his eyes and focused on an osprey that was circling overhead, and felt perfectly content.

He’d promised himself a place on the water, and having already put the house in Texas on the market, there was no time like the present to start looking for a new home. A permanent one.

Right here in Bowers Inlet.

S
ix

Cass dropped her bag on the kitchen counter and plunked herself into a chair, grateful to be home after near round-the-clock duty for the past three days. With Spencer gone, she was once again the sole detective for the department, which would, under normal circumstances, keep her moving from sunrise to sunset. Throw a serial killer into the mix, and the hours of sleep each night diminish in proportion to the number of bodies found.

And just that morning, there’d been another body.

Cass had felt a twinge of guilt when she realized her first response had been relief to learn the body had been found in nearby Dewey. Once she’d finished walking the crime scene with Dewey’s chief of police, at his request and with Denver’s blessing, her boss had sent her home with instructions to get some sleep. But she’d run into Tasha on the way to her car. The county crime scene tech had all but begged Cass to photograph the scene for her since Dewey didn’t have anyone who could line up a decent shot. So Cass had stayed, and stayed, telling herself she could sleep later.

Well, right about now, she could sleep right here, standing in the kitchen. Or she could drag her tired bones into the living room and just pass out on the sofa. Yeah, that sounded even better . . .

She’d just stretched out and closed her eyes when a thought popped into her brain.

It was Thursday.

Shit. Thursday.

With a groan, she forced herself to sit, went into the bathroom, and splashed cold water on her face. Then it was a quick fly through the bedroom, where she changed into sweat shorts and an old T-shirt and pulled on her sneakers. Grabbing a headband from a drawer, she wrapped it around her wrist and picked up her gym bag. Back to the kitchen, where she took two bottles of spring water from the cupboard and tossed them into the bag she’d dropped by the back door. Already late, she hurried outside and hopped into her car.

Four minutes later, she parked and got out. It was dusk, and the lights on the poles surrounding the small playground had just turned on. From across the asphalt she could hear the distinct tap-tap-tap of a ball being dribbled. As Cass jogged across the court, that ball sped toward her, thrown by the lone player, a tall young girl whose white shorts were a sharp contrast to her long brown legs. Cass tossed her bag aside, then caught the ball with one hand. She started toward the basket, dribbling methodically, her eyes on her opponent. She took her shot, which was skillfully blocked. Back and forth they went for twenty minutes, until Cass, totally winded, called a time-out.

“I thought maybe you weren’t coming this week,” the girl said as Cass handed her a bottle of water. “I thought maybe you were too busy, you know, with that killer.”

“It has been a tough week,” Cass admitted as she opened her own bottle and took a long drink, “but Khaliyah, you know that I’ll always be here. Some weeks later than others. It was close, though. I didn’t get home until late.”

Cass reached into her bag, searching the contents.

“I have something for you,” she told the girl.

Cass handed over a cell phone.

“For me? This is for me? Really?”

“I’m thinking that with all that’s going on, you should probably have one with you.”

“You mean those women getting killed?”

“Yes.”

“He’s only killing white women, though, right? Older white women?”

“So far.” Cass ignored the reference to age. All of the victims had been around Cass’s age of thirty-two.

“Well, in case you need a reminder, I’m black,” the girl whispered as if sharing a confidence. “And I’m not old. Those women who were killed were all in their thirties, right?”

“And they also all had long dark hair.” Cass tipped her bottle in the direction of the girl’s hair, which was tied back in a ponytail. “Long dark hair like yours. Black or white, young or old—and some other time, we’ll talk about what is
old
and what is not—you never know what he’s thinking, Khaliyah. Best to have it, if you need it.”

“So, do I have, like, so many minutes a month . . .”

“No. So you can call me anytime, day or night. I already programmed my numbers in. Home, office, cell. So you can always reach me if you need me. Here, let me show you . . .”

“I know how to use it. All my friends have them.” Khaliyah studied the phone for a minute, then touched a button.

Cass’s phone rang. She reached into her bag for it.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Detective Burke. This is Khaliyah Graves. I want to thank you for the new phone.”

“You are very welcome. Don’t lose it.”

“I won’t. I promise. It’s the best present I ever got.” Khaliyah’s eyes were shining. “Thank you, Cass.”

“You’re welcome.” Cass disconnected the call. “Now, tell me, how’d school go this week?”

“Well, it’s just summer school, and we only just started classes on Monday. At least I got the good Spanish teacher, but the trig teacher—so-so. We have our first test tomorrow. Jameer said this teacher gives the hardest tests.”

“So you’re still seeing Jameer?”

“Sort of. My aunt doesn’t really want me to have a boyfriend, you know.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Your aunt is a smart woman. As much as I like Jameer, I think you’re too young to be too involved with any one guy. And remember, at the end of the summer, he’ll be leaving for college.”

“Did I tell you he’s going to Georgetown to play basketball? Just like Allen Iverson?”

“Only about a hundred times.” Cass smiled.

“Maybe I’ll go to Georgetown, too,” Khaliyah said wistfully. “Maybe I could get a scholarship. My friend Tonya has a cousin who got a full ride there for track. Maybe I could get one for basketball. That’s what you did, right? At Cabrini?”

“Right. And I think your chances are great, if you keep the grades up and do as well on the court this season as you did last. We’ll talk to your coach and your guidance counselor over the summer and see what they think. I’m sure they’ll have some good ideas on where to apply and how to get the most financial aid.” Cass took a long pull of water. “Did you get your Advanced Placement scores back yet?”

“Yes.” Khaliyah smiled broadly. “All fours.”

“Excellent. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Khaliyah said softly.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping their water, watching the swallows swoop around the lights on the court.

“It’s getting late, I should get you back home so you can study for that test and maintain your perfect record.”

“Fifteen more minutes?” Khaliyah got up and began to bounce the basketball.

“Ten.” Cass stopped to set the alarm on her watch, then set about to steal the ball.

Twenty minutes later, Cass was dropping Khaliyah off in front of her aunt’s house.

“Thanks again for the phone.” Khaliyah’s eyes were shining. “I can’t wait to call Tonya. She’s had her own phone since middle school.”

Cass waved to Khaliyah’s aunt as the girl hopped out of the car, calling, “Aunt Sharona, look at what Detective Burke gave me . . .”

Cass grinned to herself and drove away, thinking how little it took to make Khaliyah’s brown eyes light with happiness.

It had not always been so.

Cass had met the girl after having been called to a grisly scene five years earlier. Khaliyah’s mother had been stabbed to death by her boyfriend, when she’d discovered that he’d raped her only child. Only twelve at the time, Khaliyah had endured more, had seen more, than any child should, but there was something in her spirit that had kept her strong enough to testify against the man who had attacked her and murdered her mother.

During the months leading up to the trial, Cass had spent a lot of time with Khaliyah, and the young girl had responded to the detective’s kindness and truthfulness at every step of the investigation and throughout the trial. Along the way, Cass had become a mentor to Khaliyah, who lived with her mother’s sister and her family. As much as Sharona loved her niece, the woman was already overworked with five children of her own and two jobs and had little time for the emotional needs of a damaged child. Cass had stepped in and become Khaliyah’s advocate, her best friend, and the big sister she’d never had.

It had been Cass who had made certain that Khaliyah got all the counseling she needed in the months and years after her mother’s death, Cass who had encouraged Khaliyah to ask to be tested for the top academic track when she reached high school, Cass who had paid for the summer school classes that had allowed her to catch up after having lagged behind in junior high. It had been Cass who had recognized Khaliyah’s athletic promise and enrolled her in basketball camp, and Cass who had helped Khaliyah get the part-time waitressing job at the diner where all the local officers stopped for meals during the day, and who had sat down with Khaliyah’s aunt and asked her to permit Khaliyah to take the PSATs this past year. Come the fall, it would be Cass who would work with the guidance counselors to look at the options for college, help her seek out the financial aid she would need, and take her on campus visits.

It was not lost on Cass that perhaps she was trying to replace one lost younger sister with another, but she’d shrugged off the thought. Khaliyah was smart and brave, brave enough to sit in open court and describe what had been done to her, what had been done to her mother. She had endured and survived, and was, in Cass’s mind, deserving of whatever advantages Cass could help her attain. She’d have done the same for Trish, if she’d had the chance. Now she’d do for Khaliyah. She knew what it was like to lose your mother, to have that core of strength and confidence taken from you. She, too, had been placed with relatives, and though she’d never doubted her aunt and uncle loved her, she’d never quite been able to completely settle there. Whatever she now did for Khaliyah, it was to help her through the toughest times and make certain that she knew there was someone who would stand behind her. Cass never regretted a minute of time she spent with her.

It was almost nine-thirty when Cass arrived home and crept into the stone driveway next to her bungalow. This year, she was going to get these stones replaced if she did nothing else. Macadam, maybe. Something nice and smooth . . .

Exhausted, she started to open the car door, then realized the lights were on inside her house. Had they been turned on when she left?

A shadow moved across the kitchen window.

Taking her bag from the front seat, she felt around for her gun. Holding it down, her finger on the safety, she exited the car but left the door ajar so as not to slam it. She crept up the back steps, and peered through the window. The shadow moved through the front hall into the living room.

Cass eased the door open and slid inside, lowering her bag to the floor silently as she proceeded toward the front of the house. She rounded the corner, her gun level in front of her.

“Don’t move,” she told the figure who stood in the middle of the living room floor.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Cassie, don’t you get enough of that cop drama during the day?”

“Lucy.” Cass exhaled loudly and lowered the gun. “Jesus, Lucy, I could have shot you.”

“A simple ‘Gee, it’s nice to see you’ would suffice.”

Muttering under her breath, Cass went outside and closed the car door.

“I brought dinner with me. Or have you eaten already?” Lucy said as she came into the kitchen. “And how ’bout a hug?”

“No, actually, I haven’t eaten.” Cass embraced her cousin lightly.

“Good. Chicken parm and pasta. I stopped at that place right as you come into town?” Lucy hustled to the refrigerator and opened it. “Get two plates, Cass, I was waiting for you.”

“Where are David and the twins?” Cass asked.

“The kids are both at sleepover camp this summer—they’ve gone before, but it never ceases to amaze me that they’re old enough for real
sleepover
camp.” Lucy shook her head. “I don’t know where the years have gone, Cass, I swear it.”

“And David?”

“You want a little wine with this, Cassie? I brought a bottle with me, it’s right there on the counter, by your elbow.”

Lucy fixed two plates and popped one into the microwave.

“Yay, a new microwave. The old one finally pooped out, eh? With any luck, the stove will follow suit and you’ll have to get a new one of those, too. Have you seen the kind that has two ovens? A little oven on the top and a full-sized one on the bottom? It’s super.”

Cass popped the cork on the wine bottle as Lucy found two glasses.

“Well, we could probably spring for a few real wineglasses, but I suppose it tastes just as good in these fat little tumblers.” Lucy smiled brightly and took a sip. “Yum. Cass, why don’t you sit down—you look like you’re about to pass out on your feet—and I’ll just find us some knives and forks . . .”

“The second drawer next to the sink.” Cass sank into a chair.

“Where they have been for the past, oh, thirty-five or so years.” Lucy turned and opened the drawer. “No one can ever accuse you of rocking the boat, Cassandra Burke.”

Cass stuck out her tongue at Lucy’s back.

“I saw that. I saw it in the window glass.” Lucy grinned and handed Cass the flatware just as the microwave beeped. In one motion, Lucy removed one plate, handed it to Cass, then slid the second plate into the microwave.

“I already moved my stuff into my room,” Lucy told her. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Why should I mind?” Cass shrugged. “The house is as much yours as it is mine.”

“Only because Gramma’s will left it that way. We both know it’s your home, Cassie. I don’t mind. I’m glad you decided to live here. It keeps the old place alive. I’m grateful for my little bit of time down here in the summer.”

The microwave beeped and Lucy took the plate out and placed it on the table, across from Cass.

“I may want to stay a little longer this year, if that’s okay.” Lucy pulled out a chair and sat down. Her eyes were on her plate. “I mean, if it’s not inconvenient for you . . .”

“My home is your home. Literally. Stay as long as you like.”

“Thanks. It might just be a few weeks. I’m not sure.”

“Luce, what’s going on?” Cass took another sip of wine. “Are you and David having problems?”