by Hanna Noble
“Naomi, I—”
“Don’t bother. I don’t want to hear it. Go to hell, Cole.”
She slammed the door in his face.
Owen looked at him. “That went well,” he said, his expression bland.
“Dammit.” Cole ran his hands through his hair, at a loss as to how to handle this situation. He needed to get back to neutral ground, to focus on the new evidence they’d uncovered.
“A few days ago, we found a body by the waterfront,” Cole called out, assuming Naomi was still by the door, hoping she would at least hear him out. “A woman, young, in her late twenties.”
Nothing from the other side.
“She was found in a blue suitcase, weighted with books. One of those hard-case ones. A jogger spotted it and reported it to the police. Forensics show she’s been dead about eight months and the cause of death was asphyxiation. We found a decayed flower on her nightstand consistent with the Phantom’s MO. We think it was a daisy.” He waited for any hints of a reaction.
After a long, silent moment, the door opened.
“Lily.” Naomi said, looking right at him, the chill in her eyes replaced by a haunting sadness. “Her name,” she clarified. “is Lily.” She seemed suddenly frail. The woman who minutes ago was slicing him with her disdain suddenly looked like she’d blow over at the slightest breeze.
She pinned him with her gaze. “If you ask me how I know that, I swear I will punch you in the face.”
Cole shut his mouth, knowing that was exactly what he was about to ask, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. They had only learned Lily’s name themselves a few days ago, and it hadn’t been released to the public. With Naomi nowhere near Boston, how had she known?
Owen cleared his throat, bringing her attention to him. “We’d really like to talk about this,” he said. “Can we please come in?”
Naomi expression was shuttered when she looked at Owen. “Did Michelle tell you I was here?” she asked instead, frowning.
“Michelle knew you were here?” Cole looked surprised. “She said she had no idea where you were.”
Naomi looked mollified, and Cole knew her friendship with Michelle meant she’d have a soft spot for Owen that would be hard to ignore. Owen seemed to know it, too.
“Please, Naomi?” Owen pressed his advantage. “For me?”
“You can come in, Owen,” she said. “He can wait in the car.”
“We both know he’s a stubborn ass,” Owen said, as Cole clenched his jaw. “And we both know he’s a hotheaded idiot.”
“I think she gets the idea,” Cole muttered, but Owen didn’t even pause. “But, he’s my partner. Do you think you could do me a big favor and tolerate him for a few minutes?”
Cole stepped up. “Naomi, I—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” she interrupted, disgust all over her face. “Especially from you.” She sighed and looked over at Owen, who was clearly struggling with what to do. Finally, she gestured for them to enter. “I’m only doing this for you, Owen. And for Lily,” she said, stepping back to let them in. She glared at Cole. “You have ten minutes, Detective.”
Chapter Three
Naomi gripped the kitchen countertop like a lifeline, waiting for the coffee to brew. Stay calm, she ordered herself. They would never suspect that she’d spent the last three hours pacing like a nervous wreck. That she’d raged and railed and cried before finally pulling herself together. Barely. It was probably why Lily had woken her up so early, to give her time to emotionally prepare for Cole and Owen’s arrival. Or maybe the dead knew it took a while for puffy red eyes to disappear.
Naomi could hear them talking quietly in her living room. God, they were in her house. She had barely invited them to sit down before bolting into the kitchen under the guise of preparing coffee.
The coffeemaker finally beeped, and Naomi loaded a small serving tray with three mugs. Her hands were shaking. But she had to keep it together a little while longer, keep the anger and fear she felt under control. She’d give them their ten minutes and then she’d conference call Gabi and Michelle and indulge in a good cry.
She walked back to the living room and set the tray on the coffee table, pushing the mugs over. Cole was seated next to Owen on the beige couch that had come with the furnished rental. She pulled over a plastic chair from the kitchen and sat down across from them.
She could see them taking in their surroundings, a mix of cop habit and curiosity, but there wasn’t much to look at. She hadn’t done anything to decorate the small house since she’d moved in.
There was nothing hanging on the walls and the small fireplace mantle in the corner of the room was devoid of any framed pictures or personal belongings. With the exception of a few paperback books that graced the wooden bookcase in the corner, there was no trace of Naomi anywhere, and she liked it that way. It was bare, her few personal belongings packed in boxes, ready to be shipped to San Diego.
“I heard you’re back to full duty,” Naomi said, ignoring Cole and focusing on Owen. “I’m so glad.” She was ashamed to admit she hadn’t had the courage to call him directly, and gotten her updates from Michelle. “I’m sorry I didn’t call.”
“I got your card and flowers,” Owen said. “Thanks for that.”
She couldn’t bear the silence so she turned her focus to Cole, who’d watched their exchange without comment.
“Well, Detective?” she prompted. “Clock’s ticking. What is it that you wanted to say to me?”
She watched as he squared his shoulders, as though bracing himself for a blow.
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” She was proud her voice sounded steady, that he couldn’t tell how unnerved she was by how she sounded.
“I’m sorry for the way I treated you before. I was an ass. And I’m sorry about what happened with the press.” He placed his mug on the table and leaned in, his gaze intense. “I was wrong about you.”
“Thank you for your apology,” she said, hiding her deep disappointment. It seemed so anticlimactic. She had spent days imagining this moment. Cole needing her help, apologizing and admitting he was wrong. She thought she would feel vindicated, that his admission of wrongdoing would change something, but all she felt now was more sadness. She could sense his genuine regret, and that somehow made it worse.
Her life was still in shambles, her reputation destroyed. She was still exiled from Boston, and Lily was still dead.
“Naomi.” Cole’s voice was quiet, serious. “I’m going to say this outright: I think your last vision was right.” She knew that those words cost him more than the apology, that her visions contradicted the very nature of his scientific belief system.
“I was right?” It came out accidentally as a question. She had repeated the words to herself over and over a few hours earlier, but now, saying them to another person made them more real. She put her mug on the table with a clatter. All those months of self-doubt, all the time she’d spent cursing herself and her gift had been for nothing.
She mentally braced herself. “Tell me.” Cole pulled a small digital tape recorder out of his pocket and placed in on the table. Without saying anything he pressed play.
“It’s Monday, July 12, 9:15 a.m.” Cole’s voice could be clearly heard on the recorder. “Naomi, what can you tell us? He’s struck again, hasn’t he?”
“Last night. It’s worse. Oh God, it’s worse. He’s escalated. Cole, he’s killed this time.”
Naomi stared at the tape recorder. She could hear the tremor in her voice, the fear. She remembered that day well, and the vision that had changed everything. She struggled to focus on the present.
“He hits her. Over and over again. There’s blood, so much blood, and he…he strangles her. He didn’t mean to do it, but it felt satisfying to him. He glances at his watch, it’s just past midnight. There’s a large suitcase in her closet. It’s blue. He... shoves her in it. He’s going to throw her in the Charles River. He sends her mother a text me
ssage. There are other things, too, but I can’t make sense of them, it’s just random images that jump into my head. A daisy? An elephant with a blue rope. A giant diamond tiara, and a red baseball cap.”
“That’s good, Naomi, that’s really good.” Cole’s voice was calm, a stark contrast to her emotional tone.
“Do you know where we should be looking?” Owen’s voice now, focusing on the practical. A rustle of paper, and Naomi remembered he had been looking over a map of the city.
“I’m not sure. Somewhere around here.”
“Fields Corner? That’s in Dorchester. Some areas are a little sketchy, but it’s being gentrified. It could be what we’re looking for.”
Naomi felt her heart squeeze at hearing Shauna’s voice, the grief a sharp pang. Leah’s voice would follow, she remembered, as they made plans to drive around.
They listened to the rest of the recording in silence. For a few minutes, no one spoke. Naomi could remember the sounds of shots being fired, the race to the hospital. The exact minute when Cole had looked at her with such loathing that she had wanted to curl up and die.
Now she watched him as he opened a file and started shuffling through the documents, removing a sheet of paper and placing it on the table. Naomi recognized the face of the man on it, though not from a vision, but from the news.
“Randall Carr. The Phantom,” she said, looking at a picture of the man responsible for ruining her life. He had an unremarkable face, plain, easy to forget if you thought about it. There was nothing about him that stood out. He was average height, average build, with brown eyes and dark brown hair.
“He’s currently serving a life sentence at Souza-Baranowski Correctional Center for killing Megan Collins and assaulting another woman,” Cole explained. “He confessed to everything.”
Naomi nodded. She had already heard this on the news. The tragic death of promising journalism student Megan Collins, the college student who had been murdered on the same night as Lily. The shocking capture and confession of Randall Carr.
“This is a missing person report for Lily Martin.” Cole removed a sheet of paper and slid it toward Naomi. “We’ve identified her as the female whose body we found in the suitcase.”
Naomi glanced at the picture, but didn’t pick up the sheet. She recognized the visitor from her dream this morning.
“Her family reported her missing July 14th. The last time anyone saw her alive was July 11th. Her mother had received a text message from her saying she was going on a trip and nothing else since.”
Naomi’s breath hitched. No one had seen Lily alive after Naomi’s vision. She’d seen the killer send a message from Lily’s phone. She looked at the two men sitting in her living room, unsure of what all of this meant.
“When you told us about Lily, you were sure her killer was the Phantom.” Owen edged toward her. “Do you still think that?”
“Yes. Each person’s mental signature is unique. I recognized him from the other vision.” She glanced at Cole, who was watching her, gaze intent. “But when I thought I was wrong, it turned everything upside down.” It had made her doubt everything she had ever thought she knew about her abilities and had shaken her belief in herself to the core.
“We found the suitcase washed up near a big billboard for an exhibition at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts.” Cole pulled out his phone and turned the screen so that she could see. “It’s a visiting exhibit of some of the Queen of England’s Crown Jewels, including ...”
“Her tiara.” Naomi felt a new wave of shock as she stared at the picture of glittering diamonds.
“The exhibit’s been here since July of last year. The billboard’s been the same since last summer. I checked. There’s more.” Cole glanced at Owen, who nodded and opened another folder, pulling out a map of the city. “Lily Martin lived here.” He pointed to Fields Corner on the map.
Naomi felt the blood draining from her face. It was blocks away from where Shauna had been shot, on the other side of the park.
“We were so close,” she whispered, shaking her head. “So damn close.” And they still had failed her. She picked up Lily’s missing person report off the table and stared at it. I’m sorry Lily. So very, very sorry.
“You said it was late when the Phantom attacked Lily,” Cole said.
Naomi nodded, trying to process everything. “Yes, it was definitely after midnight. He checked his watch.” There was no light coming from the windows when the killer had stood over Lily’s sleeping form.
“I checked police records,” Cole said. “The coroner estimates the time of death for Megan Collins was 11:45 p.m.”
“What are you saying?” Naomi was starting to get a bad feeling about where this was going.
“According to what you saw, the Phantom killed Lily Martin right after midnight. Randall Carr, who confessed to being the Phantom, killed Megan Collins. But Megan died at 11:45. There’s no way that Carr could have killed both Lily and Megan.” Cole shook his head. “This is going to sound crazy, but I don’t think Randal Carr is the Phantom.”
Chapter Four
“What?”
Cole watched as Naomi’s face mirrored the same cycle of disbelief he’d felt before it all sank in. “I don’t understand. I thought there was irrefutable evidence that Randall Carr was the Phantom.”
“There was irrefutable evidence,” Cole replied, unsurprised by her confusion. It had taken some time for him to wrap his head around this theory too. “He was convicted, and the case was closed.”
“And the attacks stopped,” Naomi added, breaking his gaze to stare at her lap. “There weren’t any more victims.”
“Yes.”
“The police caught a suspect and the attacks stopped. Yet you don’t think Carr is the Phantom?” She looked at Owen. “Am I missing something here?”
“You.” Cole said, bringing her attention back to him. “You’re the missing piece.”
At her blank stare, he picked up the picture of Lily.
“You saw Lily’s murder. You said she was killed by the Phantom.”
“I was wrong. The evidence proved that.” An echo of the words he’d thrown at her that day in the hospital.
“What if you weren’t?” Cole watched Naomi worry the pendant she wore around her neck. “If you were right about the tiara and the suitcase, you could be right about the identity of the killer.”
“Believe me,” Owen added from his seat. “We know how this sounds.”
“Randall confessed to killing Megan Collins. He confessed to being the Phantom. If the Phantom killed Lily, then who killed Megan? Why was there evidence that pointed to Carr? And why did the attacks stop after his arrest?”
“That’s what I want to find out,” Cole said, pleased that Naomi’s quick mind had picked up on the same questions that plagued him. “There’s something off about the whole thing. The confession, the evidence found, everything. Something’s not right.”
“You’re saying you’re basing this theory on a feeling?” Naomi asked, arching a brow. “How nice for you.”
He deserved the sarcasm, given the skepticism he’d heaped on her. By all accounts, Carr had an open and shut case with the evidence supporting his claim that he was the Phantom. The attacks had stopped. But then Lily’s body had emerged, and Cole couldn’t shake his instincts that there was more to this story.
“You were right about Lily,” Owen said, trying to diffuse the awkward silence. He stood, then added more pictures of crime scenes and women to the coffee table, the only macabre decorations in the sparse room.
“I used to think being wrong about this case was the worst thing that could have happened to me,” she said, leaning over to pick up a picture of a woman Cole recognized as the first victim. “Now, I think being right might actually be worse.” She sat back down, the photograph in her hand.
“Why?” Owen looked up, puzzled. “Aren’t you happy that you were right?”
“I was, for a minute.”
“And then?�
� Cole asked from his seat, curious to know more about abilities he had outright dismissed in the past. Abilities that he was now counting on.
“If I’m right, then this guy, The Phantom, has been out there, and who knows what he’s been doing.” She handed the picture back to Owen. “Who knows how many more women like her have suffered?”
“Have you had any more visions?” Owen reclaimed the picture and placed it back on the impromptu timeline he’d created. “About him or his victims?”
“No. I haven’t been using that particular talent as of late,” she replied, her expression unreadable. “But this morning, I did see something,” she continued. “Lily, she came to me, in a dream.”
“Came to you? In a dream?” Cole repeated, knowing he had to tread with caution. Talking about her abilities was like walking through a minefield of past mistakes. One wrong move and it would all blow up in his face.
“Yes.” She raised her chin, her expression filled with challenge. “I saw her in my dream. She was the one who told me that you were coming here. It’s how I knew to expect you.”
When she continued to stare at him, he narrowed his eyes.
“You weren’t surprised to see us,” he realized. No signs of shock had flashed across her face when she’d opened the door. She was waiting for him to react, Cole knew, and he stubbornly didn’t want to give her the satisfaction. “Ok, did she say anything else during your ... dream?”
This time around, he would play along, or, at least try.
“She said it wasn’t over. I didn’t understand at the time what that meant, but I’m starting to have an idea. You didn’t come all this way to update me on an old case, Cole. What do you want?”
She was asking him to put his cards on the table, and he once again wondered if they were making the right choice.
“We’re investigating Lily Martin’s homicide. Thanks to your intel, I think her death is related to the Phantom even though the police have already charged and convicted someone else for those crimes.”
“So, you two are the only ones who think this guy is still out there.” She looked at them.
