Find Me (9 page)

Youngstown Public Safety Office
, 9:00 P.M.

"You still at it, Chief?"

Ben Willard glanced up from the mound of reports on his desk. He didn't bother manufacturing a smile for his old friend. They knew each other well enough and had been friends long enough that social protocols weren't necessary. "Looks like I will be for a while yet." He leaned back and his chair squeaked. "Have a seat, Fritz." He motioned for the mayor to come on in.

Fritz Patterson settled into the only clutter-free spot in the office, an extra chair that one of Ben's deputies had rolled in for working with him on these damned reports. Between the evidence and interview reports, the faxes and photographs, not to mention old case files, that danged chair was the only space save for scattered sections of the floor that wasn't used as a holding place.

"Anything new from other agencies?" Fritz asked.

Ben had expected that question. He'd answered that same one ten or twelve times today. He shook his head. "We're still comparing MOs with homicides all over the country. So far we've got nothing." The process had been a waste of time. His gut clenched. As prepared as he'd thought he was… he hadn't been anywhere near ready for
this
.

This was far worse than he'd expected.

Fritz nodded thoughtfully. "Nothing new on the search for Alicia Appleton?"

Ben shook his head. "We've interviewed all her friends a second, some a third, time. Her family. The FBI has her name and face plastered all over the Internet and on billboards. And nothing. It's like she just vanished into the mist. The grandparents offered a reward today so we can hope that'll help." Even as he made the statement his mind whirled with all that could go wrong… yet, nothing about any of this was right. His gut twisted. God help him. There was no way to make it right.

"Can't hurt," Fritz agreed. "So far we seem to have been successful in keeping that… detail from the homicide scene out of the media." Fritz tugged at his tie. The man had worn one every day of his adult life. Didn't seem to matter to him that no one else bothered.

"So far." Ben was terrified that the single detail they had saved from the beginning of the investigation might get leaked. That was the one piece of evidence with the potential to end this nightmare. The only part that made it personal enough to connect to a suspected killer.

Images from the murder scene zoomed into horrifyingly vivid focus before his mind's eye.

God help me.

"Conner's going to bring the Newton woman over to meet with you in the morning, I hear," Fritz commented.

The chief pushed aside the agonizing thoughts and images. He had heard about
her
visit with Deputy Brighton. The way his deputy had gone on, it was clear Ms. Newton was already up to her usual theatrics. Sarah Newton was a loose cannon. He didn't need that right now. This case didn't need that right now. What he needed, what the folks of Youngstown needed, was for everything to fall into place so this nightmare would end.

He redirected his attention to the conversation. "She giving him any grief?"

Fritz shrugged. "Not so much. Conner says she has her own methods and he's doing all he can to cooperate with her wishes. If he gets in over his head he'll let me know. I think she gave your deputy more trouble than she's giving him."

Ben shifted in his chair, earning another squeak of protest. If he was lucky, Conner would keep that woman under control. That was all Ben could hope for at this point. Unless he got lucky and the news he had to pass along now helped her to see that she wasn't needed here.

Get on with it
. This part had to be done. Beating around the bush wasn't going to change this vital step. Ben wasn't looking forward to what he had to do. Had put it off a good two hours already. But it had to be done.

Only two people besides the killer knew this part. Ben and Carl Saxon, the medical examiner. Ben had ordered him to keep this quiet until they had more information. A couple of hours ago Carl had called with what he'd learned. Another pivotal step in reaching the end of this nightmare. It was time for Ben to share that information with Youngstown's mayor.

Ben pushed to his feet, stepped to the door and closed it. What he was about to say to his old friend was something he didn't dare let out, not even among his own deputies. Not until he'd run it by the FBI… not until the time was right.

"I'm relatively certain we're alone, Ben," Fritz offered, obviously puzzled at the covert behavior. "The only light on in the whole building is yours. I let myself in." He patted the ring of keys on his belt. "We can speak freely."

Fritz would understand when he'd heard what Ben had to say.

Dropping into his chair once more, Ben studied his lifelong friend before saying what would change everything for him as well as the citizens of Youngstown.

"You're making me more than a little nervous."

Ben dragged in a heavy breath. "This is not like twenty years ago, Fritz. For more reasons than we already knew."

The mayor's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

Those two young women had been murdered in a manner every bit as heinous as Valerie Gerard. Ben had made the initial discovery at the chapel that cold, January morning two decades ago. But he'd never told anyone. Not a single soul. Not even Fritz. If he had, how on earth would he have explained going out to the chapel at that hour of the morning?

If he'd known then…

Guilt congealed in his gut. But then, there were some things he couldn't make himself regret.

He'd told William Boggus, the chief at the time, that he'd gotten an anonymous tip on his ham radio at home. Back then there hadn't been any way to trace that kind of thing. At least none a small village like Youngstown knew about.

Not unlike the morning he and Conner had trekked up to that chapel, what Ben found had shaken him to the core. For months afterward he couldn't close his eyes without seeing that horrific scene. Those poor girls…

"Ben."

Fritz's urgent tone snapped him back to the present. "Sorry. I was thinking about… last time."

"What's going on, Ben?" Worry furrowed his friend's brow. "You said yourself that sometimes a killer changes his MO."

"We can only stretch that theory so far. This is… more personal. When Carl Saxon performed the autopsy on Valerie Gerard he found something…"

Fritz sat up a little straighter. "Why am I only hearing about this now? The autopsy was concluded yesterday."

Ben nodded as a new layer of guilt descended. "Just hear me out, Fritz." He should have told Fritz earlier, should have gotten this part over with. "There was a foreign object lodged in her throat."

"Good Lord, man. What sort of object?"

"At first Carl wasn't sure." Ben heaved a weary sigh. "I asked him not to divulge this information to anyone until he could determine exactly what we had."

Fritz gestured for him to get to the point.

"The object was round, like a large coin. There appeared to have been a cloth necklace attached to it. The medal was inscribed but the acid in the esophagus had made it difficult to make out. I wanted the state forensics lab to try and salvage the inscription if possible. The tech from the lab made the call a couple of hours ago." Ben felt sick at the thought of what had been crammed in that poor girl's throat before her mouth was sewn shut like a rag doll's. No telling how long after that before she surrendered to death. Long minutes of merciless suffering.

How could… Jesus, he didn't want to think about how anyone could do that. To go that far…

Ben cleared his throat. "It's a ten-year-old medal from a spelling bee. The year was engraved on the damned thing."

Fritz sat forward, his face arranged in bewilderment. "Did you say a medal?"

"Yeah." Ben scrubbed a hand over his face and met his friend's expectant gaze. "There's more."

Fritz Patterson had been Youngstown's mayor for five years. He'd done great things. Most considered him the best and the most popular mayor in the village's history. Before seeking political office he had served as the principal at Youngstown High School. He loved this community. Loved the kids. This next part was going to be especially hard for him to accept. Ben regretted being the one who had to tell him… but it was essential.

"The medal was presented by a fourth-grade teacher from Youngstown Elementary."

Realization of exactly what that meant sent a kaleidoscope of emotions across the other man's face.

Fritz shook his head. "That can't be right."

"I've considered this six ways to Sunday, Fritz, and it comes out the same every time."

The mayor's gaze locked with the chief's.

"The killer is one of our own."

11:31 P.M.

Sarah's eyes opened.

Her heart raced. The blood roared in her ears like a train.

She couldn't move.

Fear ignited, flaring along her helpless limbs.

Run
! Hide! She'll find you.

She always finds me.

Sarah stalled, stared down at her hands. Blood dripped from her fingers. Her gaze followed a big, fat droplet as it fell from her finger to splatter on the tile floor. She blinked. Three feet… her two and… another. She stared at the larger foot—the one that wasn't really hers. Red-painted toe-nails matched the blood draped like a crimson ankle bracelet around the top of it where it had been severed from a leg.

Her body started to shake. Urine slid down her thighs.

Don't look! Move!

Sarah lunged upward in bed, hugged her knees to her chest.

"Just a dream. Just a dream."

Breathe. Slow. Deep.

Just a dream.

She looked at the clock. Blinked. Then took a moment to get her bearings.

Maine.

The missing girl.

The
dead
girl.

Sarah was okay.

Safe.

And pissed off.

She threw back the covers and climbed out of bed.

She glared at her cell phone. "Yeah, I know. I should have taken the fucking medicine." And eaten the chowder. The bowl of now cold soup sat on the bedside table, untouched.

Her body shivered. She was soaked with sweat. Muttering profanities, mainly at herself, she peeled off her T-shirt and shed her sweatpants. She hated this shit. Nineteen years and she still fought the demons of her past every damned night in her sleep.

Three different shrinks or was it four; five… no, six separate drug trials. Nothing stopped the dreams unless it knocked her out cold. Then she couldn't function the next day.

A vicious cycle that sucked ass!

In the bathroom, she flipped on the light and reached for a towel. Midnight was a hell of a time to take a shower but she felt dirty. As much from her dreams as from the sweat.

Sarah stared at her reflection in the clouded-with-age mirror. She looked old. Dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep. Lines at the corners of those weary eyes. Maybe from all those years she'd spent trying to smoke herself to death. Twenty-nine. She looked forty. And felt fifty. Thanks to her amazing childhood.

And the lack of sleep.

She twisted the knob and set the water temperature. Shoving her panties down her thighs, she wondered if Kale Conner would mind getting an early start. Say at one in the morning?

Not very likely.

She stepped into the claw-foot tub; the hot water felt good against her skin. She yanked the curtain around the tub and dropped her head back to enjoy the heat. Despite her intention to relax, images from Valerie Gerard's crime scene flicked one after the other through her head. This was no random killing or sacrifice related to some curse. Valerie Gerard had been a target. The killer was someone who thought she was a liar. The stitched lips made it personal. The distinct message made it undeniable. A message specifically for Valerie.

At only nineteen, who had the girl pissed off that royally?

A freshman in college. Honor student. Award-winning high school student who had graduated valedictorian. President of the class. Et cetera, et cetera. No history of drug use or promiscuity.

Then there was Alicia Appleton. High school senior. Cheerleader. Miss Popular at school. Rich kid. Got a Range Rover for her sixteenth birthday. Had an iPhone and all the other cool gadgets teenagers loved. Won beauty pageants far and wide.

The kind of girl you loved to hate.

The two victims had nothing in common. Not friends. Not hobbies or goals. Not tax bracket. Nothing.

Same perp involved? Sarah's gut said yes.

Could be a copycat in Alicia's case. Since Alicia hadn't gone missing until after Valerie's body was found, it was possible someone had used the murder as an opportunity to get rid of someone he or she despised.

But, like Conner said, Youngstown was a small place where everyone knew everyone else. The likelihood that two killers could be lurking about was a stretch.

Not to mention that only two days separated the events.

Realistically, that element could shift Sarah's theory either way.

Too early to tell.

Sarah shoved the dripping shower curtain aside and stepped out of the tub. When she'd dried her skin and hair sufficiently, she went in search of clothes. Going back to bed would be a waste of time. Any possibility of sleep was long gone. She did much of her best theorizing and deducing in the middle of the night. For years now she had had one simple but firm motto, she could sleep when she was dead.

Jeans, heavy-duty wool socks, T-shirt, and hooded sweatshirt. Good to go. She shivered in spite of the thick clothing. Where was the thermostat in this joint?

She moved around the room, but didn't find one. Whatever. She pulled her ski cap on, figuring that would help since her hair was still a little damp.

The innkeeper evidently didn't have a crappy room to give her so he'd decided to freeze her out.

On the bed, she spread the notes and photos out around her. She hadn't been able to get anything on the autopsies from twenty years ago. The files weren't available she'd been told before coming, and according to Deputy Brighton they weren't only not available, they had been destroyed. Those details she would at some point have to get from Chief Willard.

Valerie had been a pretty girl. Blond hair, blue eyes. A little plump but not fat by any means. Astigmatism forced her to wear prescription eyeglasses. Smart, obviously. No history of trouble of any sort. Sarah wondered if the girl had stuck with the glasses rather than going with contacts as a way of hiding from the social world she didn't quite fit into.

Sarah considered the photo of the victim naked on that cold stone floor. Exposed, humiliated. Mouth sewn shut so she couldn't lie anymore.

Why would a good girl with seemingly nothing to hide lie?

Digging through the other documents, Sarah picked up the photo of Alicia Appleton. It was easy to get photos of just about anyone these days. Most had a MySpace or a Facebook page. Type the name in a search box and voila. All sorts of images and personal information. Far too many of these kids didn't set their profiles to private, allowing anyone who wanted to look to do so.

Sarah set the borrowed Facebook image of Alicia aside and studied the ones she had of Valerie. Sarah would bet her ass that Valerie's killer had known her personally. Maybe even gone to school with her at U-Mass.

It was possible that some psycho had focused his obsession on the girl. Picked her out of the crowd for no other reason than some aspect of her appearance.

But Sarah's honed instincts were screaming otherwise.

"Who hated you so much, Valerie?"

Sarah stared at the photo from the ME's office.

Wait.

If the victim bled out at the scene…

How was she restrained?

No drugs were mentioned in the preliminary toxicology screen, indicating she hadn't just lain there of her own free will.

Sarah hadn't been able to get a copy of the autopsy. When she'd asked the first time the stock answer had been that the report wasn't ready for release. Which meant the ME hadn't completed the report. Then, upon her second request, the contact who'd provided the crime-scene photo at significant personal gain had chickened out on her and refused her calls. The results of the tox screen had been given in a press conference late yesterday.

Sarah stared at the victim's wrists, then her hands. Those markings on her wrists could have been tape or rope burns. But how had the killer kept the victim's arms out of the way while doing his or her evil work? There was nothing to tie her arms to on either side of her torso or above her head. Unless ropes had been stretched from the center of the chapel floor to the support beams at the sides of the structure. Sounded like a lot of extra effort to Sarah and why would the restraints have been removed before the crime-scene photos were taken?

Not standard protocol.

What were the other markings on her hands? The tops of Valerie's hands appeared skinned or scraped. The tissue certainly looked torn. More patches of torn skin left a path up her forearms. All the way to the bends of her elbows.

Sarah studied the markings, then she knew.

"Son of a bitch."

She scrambled off the bed and pulled on her Converses.

Her theory couldn't be confirmed without a copy of the autopsy and that wasn't happening in the middle of the night. But there could be something at the scene. All she had to do was remember how to get there.

Sarah braked to a hard stop.

"Dammit."

She'd passed it again.

After dragging the gearshift into reverse once more, she hit the accelerator. The car lunged backward. She slammed on the brake. Jerked forward.

Puffing out a frustrated breath, she let off the brake and eased down on the accelerator with a little less force. The tires spun, then grabbed onto the icy dirt and propelled the car slowly backward. When she'd reached the halfway point along Chapel Trail, which she now recognized after passing it twice, she moved cautiously to the side of the road and slowed to a stop. Shutting off the engine, she peered through the darkness. With nothing but the aid of the moonlight she could barely see the cluster of broken trees she'd noted on her first visit. Yep. The chapel was close by.

She grabbed her shoulder bag and climbed out of the car. Once she'd fished out the flashlight, she slung the bag over her shoulder and headed into the woods.

The wind had died down, but it was still as cold as hell. She shrugged her coat up around her neck. Man, she'd give a hundred bucks for even a cheap scarf and pair of gloves right now. Back home, vendors dotted the streets of Manhattan. Forgot your umbrella? Not a problem. Check any street corner and you could buy a piece of crap for five bucks that would get you through the day.

If she'd had any sense she would have waited until daylight. But she'd never been accused of possessing any patience much less any common sense.

She hated waiting.

Maybe it was some kind of phobia related to all those nights she'd waited for her mother to come and find her.

Until that last time…

"Yeah, yeah. I'm totally screwed up."
Just like my daddy and mommy
. DNA was a bitch.

Once she spotted the yellow tape hanging from a tree branch she was good to go. If the wind had been blowing as it had earlier she would have spotted the tape fluttering midair from the road. As it was, the long strips flanking either side of the path up to the chapel lay impotently on the ground.

She accidentally veered off the path and stepped into ankle-deep snow, swore a couple of times and found her way back to the path Conner had used. If she stepped in the indentions others before her had made, the snow didn't rise above her Converses. The wind had blown the strands of tape wide apart, making it more difficult to stay on the path in the darkness. She didn't have the patience to take it slow and let the narrow beam of her flashlight do its work.