Death Notice (18 page)

“I’m going with you.”

It was Henry Goll, momentarily forgotten in the chaos of the past five minutes.

“I can’t let you do that,” Kat said before climbing into the car.

Henry responded by getting inside with her and buckling his seat belt, showing he had no intention of leaving.

“I’m grateful for what you’ve done,” Kat said. “You’ve been a huge help. But this is an official police matter. I won’t let you be a part of it.”

“I
am
a part of this. Whether I want to be or not, I’m involved.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“You think I’m already in danger,” Henry said. “Or don’t you remember the little present that was sent to me back in March?”

He had her there. The killer clearly had chosen him alone to be the recipient of the death notices. Kat didn’t know why, but there was no denying Henry had been made a part of the crimes.

Without saying a word, Kat got out, rushed to the trunk, and removed a black vest from its depths. Sliding behind the wheel again, she tossed the vest onto Henry’s lap.

“You can go if you wear this.”

Henry lifted the vest to his chest. “What is it?”

“Kevlar. It’s bulletproof. And it better be on you by the time we get to the high school.”

“What about you? What do you have for protection?”

Kat showed him the Glock she had also removed from the trunk. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve got this.”

As Henry put on the vest, she peeled the Crown Vic out of the parking lot. She had wasted too much time arguing with him. Now she had to get to the school as fast as possible. The obituary said Troy would die at six thirty. It was now quarter after, and the math was clear.

Troy Gunzelman had only fifteen minutes to live.

_______

Through a combination of driving skills, blind luck, and a disregard for traffic laws that only a police chief could get away with, Kat got them to the high school in five minutes. Henry admired her speed, even when she veered into the parking lot so hard it made his stomach lurch. If every second counted, then Kat’s NASCAR-worthy driving saved them minutes.

During the frantic drive, Henry also impressed himself by getting the bulletproof vest on just as they reached the school’s main entrance. The Kevlar was heavier than it looked. More solid, too. He felt guilty for being so armored when the chief was wearing nothing but a T-shirt over a sopping bathing suit. Her still-wet hair was stuck to her cheeks, sending rivulets of water running down her neck. But it didn’t slow her down. As they barreled toward the school, she grabbed the radio.

“Carl? Did you reach him yet?”

The deputy’s voice erupted with a crackle. “No. I’m only getting voice mail. Are you at the school yet?”

“We’re here,” Kat said. “We’re about to go in.”

The patrol car’s tires squealed as she steered it into the heart of the school’s parking lot. Rows of vacant spots slipped past the window. The entire lot was empty, except for a battered Mustang in the distance.

“That’s it!” Kat yelled when she saw it. “That’s Troy’s car. He still might be here.”

She swerved the patrol car past the Mustang on her way to the school itself. Once there, she brought her car to a gut-tugging halt.

“Ready?” she asked.

Henry nodded. As ready as he could be.

Kat was first out of the car, whipping out her Glock as she sprinted to a side entrance. She tried the door. It was unlocked. Before going inside, she hissed instructions at Henry.

“Stick behind me. Don’t touch anything. Don’t try to be a hero. And if something happens to me, run back to the patrol car and drive to the station as fast as you can.”

She pushed through the door, Henry right behind her. Just inside the school was a darkened gymnasium. Henry saw a polished floor, basketball hoops, and bleachers along the wall. What he didn’t see in the gym was a sign that anyone else was there. No one stirred in the corner shadows. No sound rose to the rafters.

The weight room’s entrance was on the other side of the gymnasium. Instead of crossing the open gym floor, Kat opted for the cover of the bleachers. Stumbling in the darkness, she and Henry dodged the metal grid work under the stands until they were on the other side, right next to the weight room.

Its door was open, and both Kat and Henry peered inside. The lights were off. The room was empty.

The door next to the weight room led to the lockers. If Kat felt any hesitation about entering a place marked
Boys Only
, she didn’t show it. She burst through the locker room door and immediately pivoted on her heels to see if anyone was behind it.

No one was.

“Clear,” she whispered.

Henry moved into the locker room, buffeted by the smell of steam, sweat, and urine. A small office sat to his right, its door closed and its lights off. The rest of the place was aglow, lit by fluorescent bulbs buzzing overhead.

Kat tried the door to the office. “It’s locked. Go check the shower.”

Henry crossed the room, running past rows of lockers until he reached the communal shower. It was empty, but remnants of steam warmed his face.

“Someone was just here,” he said.

Kat turned from the office’s front window, where her face had been pressed against the glass.

“But if it was Troy, where did he go?”

Henry didn’t have an answer. Troy Gunzelman’s car sat in the parking lot, but there was no sign of him inside. Not good odds for the quarterback.

While Kat poked through a closet filled with sporting equipment, Henry checked each row of lockers, looking for something amiss. He found it in the second to last row, where the door of one locker was ajar. A crumpled towel lay on the floor in front of it.

Henry moved to the locker, dropped to his knees, and touched the towel. It was still damp. Rising to his feet, he looked inside the locker.

A squirrel peered back at him.

The animal was dead. Motionless, it lay on a sweat-drenched T-shirt, its beady eyes pointed directly at him.

“I found something!”

“What is it?”

“You need to come see for yourself.”

Joining him, Kat looked in the locker and cursed. She grabbed the squirrel and examined its stomach. A thin line scarred the gray fur, closed up by a series of stitches. Kat drilled an index finger between two of the sutures. When she removed it, the tip was coated with a beige powder that emitted a slight pine scent.

“Sawdust,” she said. “The thing has been stuffed.”

Just like the cat in George Winnick’s barn. Henry knew with certainty that whoever abducted George had just done the same thing with Perry Hollow’s star quarterback, in the exact same manner. Which meant that not only was Troy Gunzelman missing. He was also most likely a dead man.

The first wave of backup, courtesy of the county sheriff, arrived at six forty-five. State troopers showed up five minutes after that. Together, they helped Kat seal up the locker room. Then the gymnasium. Then the school itself.

At seven, Kat contacted Carl and told him to remain at the station. They had enough manpower for the time being and she wanted someone there in case Troy turned up alive and well.

“Has word on the street leaked out yet?” she asked.

“Not yet, but Lisa Gunzelman’s been calling nonstop. I told her you’d tell her what’s going on.”

Kat did, at seven thirty. She was brief, telling Lisa only that Troy was missing, police were looking for him, and that she needed to stay home by the phone in case he called. She didn’t mention the death notice. Or George Winnick. Or how the town wasn’t as safe as she thought.

After that, Kat called Lou van Sickle and asked her to pick up James from Jeremy’s house and babysit until she got home. Dinner and fireworks were no longer on her schedule.

“Just tell him I have to work,” Kat said. “Feed him. Take him to the fireworks. Then tuck him in and tell him I love him.”

The first member of Nick Donnelly’s task force arrived just after eight. It was Tony Vasquez, who greeted Kat in the school’s parking lot with a fist bump. Upon seeing Henry Goll, he said, “You again. Are you a cop or a reporter?”

“Neither,” Henry said.

“Then what are you doing here?”

In truth, Henry was stuck with Kat for the moment. She
didn’t want to let him out of her sight, not with a killer still at large. The obituary writer might not have wanted police protection, but he needed it. And for the moment, being in the same spot with her was the best protection Kat could give.

“He’s with me,” she said.

The answer was good enough for Trooper Vasquez, who said, “I called Nick and told him what happened. He’s trying to get here now.”

“Where is he?”

“Upstate New York. With the Betsy Ross Killer.”

The Betsy Ross Killer, who, it turned out, wasn’t Perry Hollow’s killer, despite his confession. Kat should have been angry at Lieutenant Donnelly and his team for not knowing that sooner. But she didn’t have time for anger. Another resident of her town was missing and she needed to find him.

“What can I do to help?” Tony asked.

“Start a search party.”

“Where should we look?”

Kat had no idea. If Troy was still alive—which seemed less likely with each passing minute—then he was probably in the same place where the killer had dispatched George Winnick. If he was dead, then his body could be anywhere, perhaps even the exact spot where she had found George.

“Old Mill Road,” Kat said. “See if you can set up a checkpoint there, too. Tell them to stop every pickup truck they see.”

Soon after Tony left to round up volunteers, Rudy Taylor showed up to take his place. Dressed in a tuxedo, he looked like a high school freshman arriving for his first prom.

“I’m a backup violinist for the Philadelphia Orchestra,” he said, explaining the outfit. “We had an Independence Day concert at the art museum.”

Kat didn’t care where Rudy had come from or what he
was wearing. She just needed someone with a mind as keen as his examining the crime scene.

Inside the locker room, she led him to Troy’s locker. The dead squirrel was still inside.

“We found this. Stuffed. Just like the cat.”

Rudy loosened his bow tie and looked around the locker room. “There’s a mess of DNA in here. Sweat. Pubic hair. A thousand prints on every conceivable surface. This won’t be easy.”

As Rudy went to work, Kat retreated outside, where Henry still waited. He sat on the sidewalk, back pressed against the side of the school. The Kevlar vest had been removed and now sat next to him in a heap.

“I think I have time to take you home now,” Kat said. “So get in the car before I change my mind.”

Henry grabbed the vest and got to his feet without speaking. He climbed into the passenger seat of the Crown Vic. Kat slid behind the wheel. As soon as she started the car, Carl Bauersox’s voice squawked from the radio.

“Chief? You there?”

“I’m here,” Kat said. “What’s happening?”

“Bad news. I just got a call from someone out on Squall Lane.”

The lane was a pine-shaded road that ran parallel to Lake Squall’s western shore. A few million-dollar vacation homes dotted the area, built by wealthy Philadelphians looking for a taste of rustic living.

“What did he want?”

“He said he just saw a coffin floating in the middle of the lake.”

Kat noted the caller’s choice of words. Not box.
Coffin.
Just like the trucker who first spotted George Winnick.

“I’ll be right there. Meet me by the boat launch as soon as you can.”

_______

Kat and Henry beat the deputy to the police department’s boat by a minute. Once Carl arrived, the three of them hopped into the ancient ten-footer that was kept handy for the occasional water rescue. Despite its age, the boat got the job done, cutting quickly across the lake’s glassy surface.

Kat sat next to Henry at the front of the boat, their eyes scanning separate sides of the horizon.

“See anything?”