Fixing Perfect (13 page)

Cuffs might have been a better move on their part.

Foam curled past his wet sneakers and he moved farther up the beach.

Detective Macias grabbed his arm. “Not yet.” He motioned to the sergeant, and Klou angled himself ahead, going round a bend so Sam could see only the top of his head.

Three other officers gathered around what Sam knew would be a grisly, staged figure.

Another dead girl, and he was being forced to look at her body. He still had to fight down the images of Lehanie that wandered through his dreams. He didn't need this.

Robin would be worried about nightmares and this time, she'd have reason.
God, help us to find the killer.
He'd prayed this a million times and was sure God was answering. Just not on Sam's timetable.

The detective jerked his head for Sam to follow.

One thing about the monster, he loved beauty. The couple—because there were two—Simon Carson, the missing scout leader and the newly-missing Isabel Solis—were beautifully posed. Wire and twine did their ghoulish magic, held the two in a position that should have looked stilted, and yet seemed natural.

Isabel's hair had been dyed black, of course, and blue irises painted on her eyelids. The man's hair had been dyed as well, a rusty sort of brown that matched Sam's. The killer had foregone the crutches this time. Isabel lay across Simon's arms, one arm around his neck, the other flung out as though she were inviting the tide in to take them out to sea forever.

The beautiful, sickening sight made Sam's stomach clench. “Two,” he mumbled.

Macias glanced at him. Sam felt his jerk as he turned. “What's that?”

“There's two of them. He's not happy with just one at a time. He has to go after two. I guess that's what he wanted with the scouts.” Anger rose up, filled his chest. He wanted to smash something, crush it with his bare hands, and wasn't surprised to realize he wanted to do all that to the killer's throat.

“Yeah, well, who do they remind you of?” No one could mistake the sneer in Macias's voice.

“Robin and me. But you have to know I didn't do that. I would never—” He stopped. Protests would convince nobody. “Look, this had to have happened in the last eight hours or so. I've spent the last four searching.”

Macias planted one foot on a rock and pulled out his memo pad. “And before that?”

Sam slumped. “I was asleep. Eating breakfast. Getting ready to join the search.” And searching alone most of that time, which meant not much of an alibi.

“Not arranging your gruesome little tableau?” Macias shot a glance at Klou and back at Sam.

“No. That wasn't me.” Sam ran his hand through his hair. “But I'll tell you what. I carried Robin down to the water a few days ago. Donovan saw us. I told you that. The killer could have seen us, as well.”

“Right. You trying to set Haggart up for this?”

Sam heard the triumph in the man's voice. “No, of course not.” But a part of him jumped to claim that answer. Better than the police suspecting him of wanting to hurt Robin.

“He's got alibis. Keeps a notebook, I gather. He's very organized. He was either at the shop where Robin works, or with Kerry. In fact, that day he saved Kerry's life was one of the worst. It was the day the boy and his scout leader went missing, remember?”

“He didn't necessarily save Kerry's life—”

“What is with you, Albrecht? Kerry doesn't mean anything to you? I thought you were pretending to be his best friend. Of course, I could say the same thing about you and Robin.”

“I am not stalking her. I am not kidnapping children. I am not a murderer.”

Klou stepped between them.

Waves lapped their feet, coming close to the bodies. The cliffs rose behind them, and only a strip of sand still sat above the water level. “We've got to move them.”

Detective Macias slapped his notebook shut. “You got everything you need?”

Klou nodded.

“Get them out.”

 



 

Now, when he got confused, he could look at the pictures from the beach. They gave him purpose again. Her hair, her eyes, so very blue, he could stare into them forever. Someday, she'd have to let him.

He opened his photo viewer and scrolled through to his favorite picture. She looked so peaceful, like an angel had come to her and blessed her with peace. And she didn't know anything about him—yet.

She'd look even happier when she knew.

 



 

“They've found another couple of bodies,” Grace said. “That tourist girl and the scout leader. The two kids still haven't shown up.”

Robin jerked her head so her cell phone nearly went flying and pulled it back so she could answer Grace, who sounded much too thrilled. “When did you hear?” But she knew. Grace's cousin had a police scanner. She'd probably heard the gossip before Sam, as an ambulance driver, knew he had more bodies to pick up. “I have to go. I have to call Sam.”

“You do that. And let me know what he says, all right? He can give us some real insider info.”

Robin shuddered as she shut her cell. She could half understand Grace's fascination, but really, even if she didn't expect at least one of those bodies to have black hair and blue painted eyes, she'd find it all repulsive.

Sam's phone rang five times before she was directed to leave a message. “I suppose you're at work, or maybe out of range, searching. They found two of the missing people, Grace told me.” And she couldn't think how to end the message.
Hurry to me, because I need you? I need to know you're all right?
Instead, she pressed END and tucked her phone into her pocket. She shifted her crutches once again and headed home for a shower. The game was just a few hours away. If Sam was at work, she wasn't sure she wanted to play, but the team had dwindled so much in the last few weeks that she might not have a choice.

God, please, bring this to an end. I don't think I can stand much more.

 



 

They had to understand now. How could they look at his art, the best he'd done so far, and not see it? Not see Robin free of her crutches now, free to dance and play the way she was meant to, and not make the connection?

Still, he had plenty of story left to tell them.

The wedding.

Maybe a honeymoon. Perfect place to have one, on Catalina Island. The thought made him laugh.

Then the children. A boy and a girl, the perfect family. It would be nice to have that baby for the last one. Still, if he wanted to, he could find another one. Easy. If he wanted to.

He'd probably want to.

He could see it in his head already, as clear as he'd seen all the other pictures. Robin holding an infant, the little girl leaned against her knee, and that knee had no brace on it. The boy would be looking at his dad—at him—with that adoring look kids got when they were with their dads. He wouldn't have to dye Robin's hair or paint her eyes. She'd be perfect. The whole scene would be perfect.

He'd have to use the timer delay so he could put himself into the picture. They'd see, finally, when they looked through his portfolio, the careful attention he paid to every sweet detail, see his genius, read his story and understand.

 



 

In all the time he had worked for the county, Sam had never seen the inside of the jail from this perspective—that of criminal. He submitted his fingerprints to file, although they already had them, and his body to indignity, and his clothing for a jumpsuit. He tried to call Robin, got her grandmother, and asked her to set up a lawyer for him. He wanted to ask for prayers, as well. Nothing short of the Divine would help now, not after his mistakes.

The contempt of the people now in charge of his life stung. The fact that he was no longer considered a citizen of the world, but rather, a despoiler, an enemy, a
murderer
, stung. Worse than that, the knowledge that Robin would have to learn about this, destroyed him.

He sat on the edge of the metal bunk in the empty cell and held his head in his hands. He wasn't guilty. He hadn't kidnapped or killed a soul. Somehow, the accusations made him question his sanity, his truth. And if he, the only person other than the killer who knew that truth, doubted, what did that mean for every other person who knew him?

Robin.

What did it mean for Robin?

He pictured her on the beach, the last time he'd really seen her smile. He pictured her face dewed with ocean water, her hair damp and tangled. He felt again her body in his arms and his shoulders began to shake.

He did not want her faith in him destroyed, and yet, what choice would she have?

And the only prayer he could come up with was,
Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God…

Even then, he wasn't sure God heard.

 



 

Robin dressed as quickly as she could and tied her hair back. What she ought to do was dye it blonde. Bleach it, rather, since hair as black as hers needed the strongest chemicals to change its color. If she did that, what would the monster do? Leave off stalking her? Leave off the kids? Start buying a different color hair dye?

She slumped on the edge of her bed. She didn't know how she knew, but nothing would make him stop, nothing short of being caught.

Maybe she ought to put herself out there where he could catch her. And she'd catch him in return, right? Why hadn't anyone thought of that already? Dangle her out like bait and let him go after her, and they'd have him.

Who would do this? Robin couldn't believe it of anyone. The scenes she'd read about or had heard described weren't anything she could relate to reality. She couldn't picture anyone she knew, couldn't picture some sinister stranger, staging stiff bodies, playing his disturbing dress up games with them. Whoever had done that must be pure evil.

Couldn't picture it and didn't want to. When she thought of the murderer, he was a shadowy, inhuman demon, not someone she knew.

She pulled on her uniform and reached for her phone to call Sam again. With her fingers on speed dial, she stopped, and covered her lips with her fingers, remembering the warmth of his mouth over hers. It hadn't been a soft kiss or a gentle one. It had held a world of desperation that she wondered at—was it mostly based on the tension brought on by the murders, or did his feelings actually have something to do with her? And if not, what was the man doing kissing her? Much less, kissing her like
that
.

But what if he meant it? What if all the longing and dread Robin had felt in him had to do more with his feelings for her, his worry for her, because he cared—as more than just a friend.

She couldn't go there, didn't want to, and yet a part of her, much too large a part to be dismissed and shoved away into her subconscious—believed it. And as much as she didn't want to start to count on it, she wanted to believe with every cell in her body that he loved her.

Love did such crazy things to people.

“The bus is here.” Grams stopped at her door and looked in. “Are you all right, kiddo? You sure you don't want to sit this one out?” Worry lined her forehead, and her hands twisted together.

Robin raised her chin. “No. I have to be there for the team.” Even though she'd much rather shut the door on the outside world and live in her imagination for a few days. She could put it to good use and make more dolls. She'd slacked off on sewing the last week or so.

Grams couldn't read her mind, and so she helped Robin to her feet, helped her fit her crutches to her arms. Robin didn't need the help, not really, but she needed the comfort. Grams was good that way.

Robin straggled out to the bus and waited for the lift to carry her to the top step. Once inside, she clumped to the first open seat. Only two other teammates were there, along with one family member. There should have been more. The driver never varied his route, and he should have already picked up Kerry.

Robin fingered her cell in her pocket and debated calling Kerry's mother. Kerry might just be sick. He might have pulled a muscle. He might have told his mom he was too scared to go to the game. That wasn't likely, though.

She decided not to call. At the moment, she didn't want to know.

Halfway to the park, the driver answered a call and pulled to the side. He looked around, his voice bland. “Due to unforeseen circumstances, the game has been canceled.” The expression in his eyes didn't match his voice, and Robin's shoulders tensed.

They'd only picked up six players so far. Robin pulled herself to her feet and thumped toward the front of the bus. “What happened?”

The driver shook his head. “Danny didn't say. Just canceled the game and told me to take everyone home. Said to make sure all the kids get right inside before I leave each house.”

Robin sank into an empty seat and bowed her head.
Oh, God, not more kidnappings. Please don't let anyone else have gone missing. Please stop this person from hurting any more children, much less killing more adults.

She leaned forward. “Can you arrange to let me off last? I want to make sure—” She choked. “Make sure, too, OK?”

“That's all right.” The driver glanced over his shoulder as he pulled back onto the street and passed a golf cart. “I know just how you feel.”

They'd dropped the twins and their mother off when Robin's cell chirped. She dug it out of her pocket and checked the number. Grams.

“What's up?”

“You coming home?”

“How'd you know?” Robin had to cover her free ear to hear.

“Danny called.” Grams paused. “Oh, kiddo. You're not gonna like this.”