Killing Me Softly (12 page)

“Sure.”

“But she's known
all
of them.”

“Some better than others. First one was her roommate.”

That drew Dawn's attention away from her impending doom. She lifted her head and sucked in a breath. They hadn't gone back far enough in the case files yet to find that little detail.

“They were grad students, and they'd just moved into an apartment together off campus. Olivia came home to find her new roomie, Sara Quinlan, dead in her bed. Shot glass on the nightstand.” He looked at the envelope in his hand, the one that held an identical shot glass. “This must have brought that all back with a vengeance, I'll tell you that much. Poor woman.”

“But what if she did it?” Bryan asked. “What if she killed her roommate and has been killing ever since?”

“Not
ever
since,” Dawn said. “She took a sixteen-year break.”

Nick shook his head. “Her alibi for that night checked out. And besides, I saw her—I was the first cop on the scene back then. She was devastated. There's no faking that kind of shock.” He shrugged. “Recheck everything if you want to, Kendall. You have my blessings. But you're wasting your time.”

“Really? You don't mind?”

“Does it matter? You'll do it, anyway.”

“If I'm not sitting in jail, I will.”

“Well, you
will
be sitting in jail if you don't get the hell outta here, pal. 'Cause I've gotta call this in. I'm gonna say you took off on me. So take off. But on one condition.”

“What is it?” Bryan asked.

“Call me.” Nick dipped into his pocket, pulled out a cell phone, tossed it to Bryan. “It's clean, prepaid, untraceable. I've got one just like it in my pocket, and the number's already programmed into yours. So call me. I want to know where you're staying, what you're doing. And if I tell you it's time to come in, you come in. No questions asked. I'll work with you, Bryan, but only on those terms. I'm putting my ass on the line for you here. You'll do this for me?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Nick.”

“Get outta here. And keep that girl of yours safe, you hear me?”

Bryan nodded. Dawn felt his arm come around her shoulders as he propelled her toward the door, but she pulled free and went around behind the professor's desk.

“What are you doing, Dawnie?” Nick asked. “Don't touch—”

Pulling her sleeve over her hand, she opened the drawer, reached in and pulled out the whiskey bottle. And then she held it up. “I think you're writing her off as a suspect
way
too easily,” she said.

The label on the bottle was Glasgow Gold.

“You better bag this, too, Nick.” She set the bottle on the desk, then joined Bryan and headed out the door.

B
ryan didn't say a word all the way back to the car.

“Are you okay?” Dawn finally asked, as he maneuvered the vehicle onto the twisting campus roads and found his way to the main street beyond. “Bry?”

“Yeah. He just—sometimes he makes me feel like a rank amateur. So do you, for that matter. I didn't even notice the label.”

“You were looking elsewhere, and she was turned at an odd angle. I'm not sure you could've seen it. And Nick has been a cop a lot longer than you have.” She patted his hand on the steering wheel. “Besides, I'm not convinced he's right. Maybe if we dig into Olivia Dupree's background a bit, we'll find something he missed.”

“Waste of time. If Nick didn't find it, there's nothing to be found.”

“Yeah? Well, he didn't find
this
.” She reached into her pocket, then opened her hand.

Frowning, Bryan glanced down to the tiny folded paper in her hand. “What's that?”

“Don't know yet. Olivia slipped it to me when she shook my hand.”

Dawn unfolded the scrap, and unfolded it and unfolded it, until she finally saw what the professor had scribbled there.

“‘Please call me. Tell no one. It's important. Olivia,'” she read aloud.

“Is that all?”

“No, there's a phone number. And
that's
all.”

Bryan pulled the cell phone Nick had given him from his pocket and handed it to her.

“Let's give her time to get home first, okay?” Dawn suggested

“All right. We'll call her as soon as we get settled into the next motel.”

Two hours later Dawn wadded up a pile of fast-food wrappers and stuffed them into an undersize wastebasket in a new motel room that wasn't much different from the last one. She wondered how long they would be forced to stay on the road.

Without her asking for it, Bryan handed her the cell phone Nick had given him. “Go ahead. Call her. See what this is about.”

She nodded and took the phone from him, then quickly unfolded the scrap of paper she'd tucked back into her pocket and punched in the number.

Olivia Dupree answered on the second ring.

“I got your note,” Dawn said.

“Good. I, um, I need to talk to you. Face-to-face, if that's possible.”

Dawn met Bryan's curious gaze, but only nodded. “Sure it is. Can I ask what this is about?”

Olivia was quiet for a long moment. “Look, he's targeting you—according to Nick, anyway. Was he right about that?”

“I…wish I could say no, but I think he was.”

“I'm sorry. Believe me when I tell you I know how terrifying that is. Because despite Nick's assurances, I think he might be targeting me, too. Why else leave that glass in my desk?”

Or my locket with the latest victim,
Dawn thought.

“At the very least, he's tormenting me.”

“At the very least, same here,” Dawn said.

“Maybe we can help each other. I…I really want to meet with you. Privately. Please, please, say you'll see me.”

Dawn licked her lips. For all she knew, this woman might
be
the Nightcap Strangler. And yet, even though she'd pressed Nick to pursue the possibility, she doubted it on a gut level. “It'll have to be somewhere fairly public. So we're both safe.”

“I'm as afraid of you as you are of me,” Olivia said. “Yes, somewhere public. But not too public. There's a park about five miles south of the university on Beckham Boulevard.”

Dawn nodded. They'd driven past it on the way here. “The one with the swan pond and the little bridge?”

“Yeah. It's never deserted, but it's not crowded, either. Meet me there. One of the benches near the pond.”

“When?” Dawn asked, glancing at the digital clock on the motel-issue nightstand. It was 3:27 p.m. They'd intended to question at least one more suspect this afternoon. “I can be there by nine.”

“All right. I'll see you then. But come alone, or it's off.”

“I will.” Dawn cut off the call and handed the phone to Bryan.

“You can be where by nine?” Bryan asked, pocketing the cell phone.

“That park we passed, just south of the university. She wants me to meet her there—alone. I think I should go.”

“I think you're out of your mind.” He came out of the chair where he'd been sitting. “How do you know she's not the killer, or maybe the killer's girlfriend, or even, despite what Nick said, his next victim? You could get caught in the crossfire. You could be walking into a big trap, Dawn. And at
night…!
”

She licked her dry lips, loving that he was worried about her. That had to mean something, right?

“Bry, if Nightcap wants me—”

“Don't even say it.” He held up a hand. “I don't like this. If I could go with you, yeah, but—”

“She won't talk to me if you come with me. Look, we wanted to question another suspect today. Why don't you drop me off at the park, and then go do that? I can
tell Olivia to come meet me now, and you can go talk to Stokes's brother. Or Bette's Neanderthal ex, Jaycam.”

“Out of the question.”

“Bry, if she can help us clear your name, don't sabotage yourself trying to protect me.”

He held her gaze, then lowered his.

“What are you going to do when this is over, Dawn?”

She blinked, stunned by the question, because it was so off topic. “I…I don't know.”

He nodded. “Give it some thought, would you?”

“Sure.” She tipped her head to one side, wondering if he might be asking for the reasons she hoped to God he was. “Why?”

He pursed his lips, his eyes roaming her face before looking away again. “We'll spend the afternoon here, out of sight, and then I'll drop you at the park and find a spot where I can keep my eyes on you, in case you need help.”

“If she sees you…”

“I'm a cop. She's not gonna see me.” He waited for her answer; then, when she didn't give one, he shrugged. “It's my best offer, Dawn. Take it or leave it.”

Finally she nodded. “I guess I'll take it, then.”

“Good.” Then he looked down at himself and shrugged. “We should change. Just look slightly different than we did at the university today.”

“I agree. But aside from the discount drugstore we passed on the way here, I don't know where we're going to shop for disguises.”

“We'll make do.”

 

Dawn waited on the park bench, tossing bread crumbs to the swans, and feeling ridiculous with her burgundy-red hair and black plastic-framed eyeglasses. Thank goodness the shampoo-in hair color was labeled temporary and would wash right out, according to the instructions. She barely resembled herself, and she did not like the new look.

Bryan was in the distance, sitting on a rock, apparently absorbed in a paperback. He'd tied a red bandanna around his head to hide his hair completely, and donned a pair of sporty sunglasses, even though it was dark outside. With his tank top and shorts, he looked as if he was taking a break from a daily run. Not watching for a serial killer to spring out at his onetime girlfriend.

Onetime.

Dawn felt a spike in her heart as she thought about what she'd thrown away, and why. And how maybe it had all been for nothing.

Damn, she'd missed Bryan more than she had ever allowed herself to admit—or
feel
.

Now, though—God, now she was swimming in regret. And he wanted her to say something. She knew it. He wanted her to tell him for sure whether she was staying or going when this was over, and she didn't think that was a fair question. How could she decide, when she didn't even know if he
wanted
her to stay? Or wanted her, period? Or if he would end up in prison? Or if the ghosts would come back or stay gone forever?

The evening breeze picked up, whispering through
the nearby trees and rippling the formerly glasslike water.

She needed to know those things she hadn't yet figured out—she needed to know
all
those things—before she could possibly decide if she were staying or going. Because all those things would impact her decision.

It wasn't fair of him to ask her to decide now, with so many pieces of the puzzle still missing.

Shoes tapping concrete drew her attention, and Dawn lifted her head to see Olivia Dupree walking toward her along the sidewalk that encircled the swan pond. She glanced up at Dawn on the bench, then quickly lowered her head and quickened her pace.

“It's me,” Dawn said, realizing her disguise had thrown the other woman.

Olivia's head came up, and she frowned, then the frown eased. “God, I wouldn't have recognized you.”

Dawn rose, saying, “I'm sorry about the disguise, I just—”

“You just figure if Nightcap can't recognize you, you might be safer. Believe me, the thought has crossed my mind, too.” The other woman came closer and sank down onto the bench. “Do you think they arrested the wrong man? How horrible is that to think about? What if they killed an innocent man? I mean, that's what they did, really. He died in prison.”

“He was no innocent man, Olivia. According to his record, he was a wife beater. Had six arrests for domestic violence before she finally left him. My personal opinion, the world is a better place without him
in it, whether he was a serial killer or not. No harm, no foul.”

Olivia blinked. “I know some law professors who would disagree with you on that.” She paused, shaking her head slowly. “Do you think this could really be a copycat?”

“I don't know,” Dawn said. “I wish I did.”

“Part of me wonders if it might be—well, I guess it won't sound as stupid to you as it would to some. Part of me wonders if it could be a ghost. The ghost of Nightcap, returning to continue his work. Is that ridiculous?”

“I've thought the same thing,” Dawn admitted. “With the timing—the murders starting up again just a month after his death. It
is
creepy, if nothing else.”

Olivia nodded. “So, um, you're really psychic?”

Dawn lifted her head and met the woman's brown eyes. “I think medium is the technical term. I…I see dead people. Or I used to.”

“Used to?”

“Yeah. I ran away from Vermont, and from my…gift, thinking I could hide from it. I've been on a tranquilizer, even done a little drinking when that wasn't enough, just to keep the ghosts away from me. But now that I'm back, now that I have a reason to want to talk to them, they're gone.”

Olivia stared at her, searching her face. “Then…then you haven't been able to talk to any of the…the victims?”

“No. And I've tried, believe me. But no, it's like the ability just…evaporated.”

Shaking her head, Olivia said, “No, it hasn't. It's like any muscle—you stop using it, it gets weak. But you start working out a little, and it can come back again.” Then her eyes widened. “Though I don't recommend it. You ran away from this thing, and now it's gone. You've got your life back. Just let it be, so you can keep it that way.”

She sounded almost as if she wanted to take back her earlier words.

“How do you know about this stuff?” Dawn asked.

“I teach psychology. Things like psychism and mediumship and the sixth sense have fascinated me from day one. I kind of minored in those areas. You know, trying to find ways to make sense of both ends of the psychological spectrum. The normal and the so-called paranormal.”

“So-called?”

She nodded. “If it exists, it's normal. Natural.”

“And you believe it exists?”

“Absolutely. That's why I wanted to talk to you. To see if any of the victims had…told you anything.”

Dawn thinned her lips, wondering if she were imagining things, or if Olivia really was afraid of what one of the victims might have told her. It certainly seemed that way. The woman was fishing hard.

“Not a word,” she said. “I wish they would.”

Olivia nodded. “Then I guess this meeting was a waste of time.” She started to get up.

“No, wait. I came here, I answered your questions. The least you can do is answer mine.”

“All right.” Olivia sat down again. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell me about Sara Quinlan. She was your roommate, right?”

“Why do you want to know?”

It was an odd question. Dawn frowned, and wondered why that would be Olivia's first response. “She was the first victim,” she said, watching Olivia's face closely, because something was not right about her reaction. Her body language. She'd gone suddenly stiff and still, seemed guarded somehow. “I can't help but think the key to all of this is in her murder. So how well did you know her?”

“I didn't know her. Not at all.”

“But she was your roommate—”

“We'd barely met. I'd only moved in a few weeks before—”

“A few weeks living with someone? Come on, Olivia, you must have known something about her. Anything. Where she was from, who her family were, anything at all?”

Olivia got to her feet. “Sara had the right look—the same look as all the other victims. And that's all. There was no more to it than that. And I can't talk about her.” She hiked her bag higher on her shoulder. “I have to go.” And she started walking away.

“You're running away from this conversation,” Dawn said. “Why? Are you hiding something, Olivia?”

Olivia went still, her back to Dawn. “I don't want to talk about the woman I found dead in my home sixteen years ago, and you think I've got something to hide? It would be more suspicious, Dawn, if I
did
want to talk about her.” She glanced back over her shoulder then. “I hope you stay safe.”

“I hope you do, too,” Dawn said.

And this time, when Olivia started walking, she didn't stop. Dawn waited where she was until Olivia was out of sight, then looked around to be sure no one else seemed to be watching. Finally she rose from the bench and headed for the street where they'd left the borrowed car.