“I’ll be down in twenty minutes.”
“I’ll be up in fifteen to do your face.”
There were a surprising number of people still standing around the bar in the tent that had been erected in the Clarks’ backyard to celebrate the festivities surrounding the demolition of the old high school and the dedication of the new one. Beyond the tent, a wooden dock, weathered gray, separated the back of the property from the bay.
“Hey, Cass. Over here,” someone called when Cass and Lucy entered the tent.
Cass nudged Lucy with her elbow. “There’s Connie—remember her from basketball?”
“Sure.” Lucy nodded, then waved. “Hi, Connie!”
“Is that Lucy Donovan? For heaven’s sake, girl, come right on over here …”
Cass ordered a club soda and lime for herself and a beer for Lucy from the young bartender, and joined in the conversation with several old classmates.
“I can’t believe you’re a cop,” someone in the group teased. “Aren’t you the one who used to sneak beers from that refrigerator in your aunt’s basement and go sit out on the jetty and toss ’em back?”
“That was Lucy,” Cass denied with a straight face.
“Liar, liar, pants on fire.” Lucy laughed. “I heard that.”
Cass spent several long minutes admiring the photographs of old friends’ children, a few more catching up with classmates who had moved away and returned for the weeklong festivities. She hadn’t realized that so many people had gotten so involved with this old school–new school thing. To her, it was little more than one old building coming down, a newer one going up. But then again, she wasn’t as sentimental as some.
The recent killings were the main topic of conversation, much as she’d suspected they might be, but as the evening wound down, the chatter became lighter, less intense, more personal. Signaling Lucy by pointing to her watch, Cass made it clear it was past time to go. True to her word, Lucy said her good-byes and looped an arm through Cass’s.
“You are the best, you know that?” Lucy told her. “I had such a good time. It was fun to see everyone again, I don’t know why I didn’t keep in touch with those girls. Thanks, Cassie. I owe you.”
“Drive me home and we’ll call it even.” Cass tossed the car keys and Lucy caught them with one hand.
“Poor Cassie, hunting serial killers by day, being dragged around town by her selfish, loony cousin by night.” Lucy got behind the wheel of Cass’s car and slid the key into the ignition. “God will reward you for your good deed.”
“I hope it’s with a good night’s sleep.”
Here and there throughout the tent or around the bar, classmates had gathered to catch up with one another’s lives. Just inside the tent, a group of middle-aged men gathered at a round table. They’d spent most of the night talking about the old times, and doing a little catching up as well. Many of them had remained close enough to the shore towns to come back every summer with families of their own, often returning to the same houses in which they’d grown up. Some still lived in those towns. Others had left the Jersey coast to seek their fortunes elsewhere.
In groups of threes and fours, they struggled to be overheard above the music, which was loudest this close to the speakers.
“Howard, how’s your sister doing these days?”
“Hey, Ebberle, that your Corvette parked out there? You trying to recapture your youth, or what?”
“Did you see Debbie Ellis? Can we say face-lift?”
“Check out the rock old Paulie’s young wife is sporting. You know he never gave Patsy a rock that big …”
He was standing halfway between the table and the bar, listening to some idle chatter, when he saw her, and his heart stopped beating in his chest.
“… so I said, listen, Hal, you can give me a better deal than that on this boat. You know she’s been sitting in dry dock for— Hey, buddy, you all right?”
His companion tapped him on the back.
“You’ve gone white as a sheet, like you’ve seen a ghost.”
The friend followed his gaze across the bar.
“You’re looking at Bob Burke’s girl there? Yeah, she’s a cop here in Bowers Inlet now. And a damned fine one, too. I hear she’s won all kinds of commendations. She’s living in the old Marshall place on Brighton, old lady Marshall left the house to her and her cousin.”
“She’s beautiful. She looks so much like her mother.” He somehow managed to get the words out.
“Oh, no, no. You’re looking at the other girl. That’s the cousin, Kimmie Donovan’s daughter. You must remember Kimmie if you remember Jenny. The Marshall sisters? They were some ten years, maybe fifteen years or so ahead of us, I don’t recall exactly. Kimmie married Pete Donovan … used to race cars on Sunday nights down on Lagoon Lane?”
He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“But you’re right, man, it’s unbelievable how much Kimmie’s girl looks like Jenny. It’s all that dark hair. Boy, she was a looker, that Jenny Marshall. Damned shame, wasn’t it, about her and Bob … they had another daughter who was killed, too. Bastard. Wiped out that whole family, or tried to. Cassie was lucky to get out of there alive, that’s for sure. Damned shame. I hope that bastard Wayne Fulmer rots in hell for what he did to that family. I heard he died about ten years back, still in prison. Stomach cancer, I heard. I hope he suffered. I hope he suffered real bad. He got off easy, you ask me.” The companion took a long swig of his beer.
“They should have turned him over to us, you know? We would have known what to do with that bastard, after what he did to Jenny and Bob and that little girl of theirs. Boy, that was a summer to remember, wasn’t it? First that wacko Fulmer goes nuts and all but wipes out the Burkes, then all those women got themselves killed. Damned Bayside Strangler.” He took another sip of his beer. “Hell of a thing for the town to be remembered for, isn’t it? And now it’s déjà vu all over again, like they say. I told my kid she goes no place without three or four other girls and a couple’a guys while we’re down here. You never know what this bastard is thinking …”
He’d been murmuring agreement. Yes, yes, of course, the man who’d been convicted of murdering the Burke family got off easy. Yes, yes, dying of cancer was too good for him. He should rot in hell. Yes, it’s crazy that someone’s going around acting like the Strangler. Yes, you can’t be too careful …
He barely heard a word, hardly knew what he was saying.
He said his good nights, then hurried to the parking lot. The last he saw of her was the sweep of long hair as she got into the car.
He stood in the shadows and watched her drive away, his heart pounding and his knees shaking, wanting her.
The car turned right at the stop sign and disappeared into the night. But it was okay, he told himself.
She wouldn’t be hard to find.
Nine
Rick Cisco wasn’t certain what he expected to find when he arrived at the Bowers Inlet Police Department, but it wasn’t the welcome he’d been given. Fresh coffee, fresh Danish, and a warm handshake from Chief Denver had made him feel as if he’d stepped into the Twilight Zone. He wondered if there was something else going on in Bowers Inlet that he hadn’t been told about. Like Pod People taking over the identities of the locals. He couldn’t recall ever having been greeted as graciously by a local agency. Usually his entry into a case came by way of some pushing and shoving and was accompanied by grumbles and dirty looks. No one ever wanted the FBI involved in their cases.
He sat in the chair offered to him by the chief, and waited for the other shoe to drop.
A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door, and he turned to see a tall slender woman with chin-length cinnamon-colored hair and uneasy cops’ eyes. She wore jeans and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and he suspected she might be the other shoe.
Chief Denver made the introductions. “Detective Cassandra Burke, meet Special Agent Eric Cisco. Agent Cisco will be working with you on the re
cent homicides.”
“Great.” She flashed a smile.
“It’s Rick,” he told her, wondering if the smile was for his benefit or the chief’s. He figured he’d find out soon enough.
“Cass,” she replied, the smile still in place. “Hopefully, two heads will prove to be better than one.”
“Chief Denver was just telling me that you’ve recovered very little evidence.”
She nodded, all business now, the smile history. “This is one wily little bastard. He knows what he’s doing, no question about that. We figure he watches his victims for a few days before he strikes; he always seems to know when his target will be most vulnerable. He seems to be choosing women who have a pattern of being out at night. He knows exactly where they will be, and at what time.”
“He took one woman right out of her own driveway,” Denver interjected. “She did shift work at a fast-food place and apparently was picked up just as she arrived home. A co-worker dropped her off in front of her house, but she never made it inside.”
“You checked out the co-worker?”
“An eighteen-year-old girl who was home within ten minutes of dropping off the victim,” Cass said.
“No one heard anything, saw anything?” Rick asked.
“No one’s come forward if they have,” Cass told him, “and as frightened as everyone is right now, I have to think if anyone had information, we’d know about it.”
Rick turned to the chief. “I’m assuming you have extra men on the street at night.”
“I have all my cars on the street, twenty-four/seven. But I only have so many officers, Agent Cisco,” Denver explained. “We’re all working around the clock on this case, but he just hasn’t given us much to work with.”
“Would you like to go over the files?” Cass asked.
“Yes, thanks. That’s a good place to start.”
“Detective, you’ll show Agent Cisco where he can hang his hat while he’s here?” Chief Denver pushed back his chair and stood.
“Sure.” Cass stood as well. “If we’re done here, we can start right now.”
“Great.” Rick took the hand the chief extended. “Thank you. I don’t always get this pleasant a reception.”
“Women are dying in my town, Agent Cisco. I want it stopped. I’ll take whatever help I can get, wherever I can get it. I want this bastard brought in.”
“I’ll do my best.” Rick nodded and followed Cass from the room.
She led him down the hall and into a small room that was crowded with two old wooden desks, one of which looked naked except for the phone, a yellow legal pad, and a lone pen. She paused next to the other desk, which was piled high with files and papers.
“You’ll need a chair,” she murmured, mostly to herself, then went back out the door.
Moments later she returned, rolling an old leather number on shaky wheels.
“Sorry,” she told him, “but this was all I could find. If it wobbles too much, we can trade. It won’t bother me.”
“This will be fine.” He rolled the chair behind the desk and sat in it.
“Where would you like to start?”
“With the first victim.”
“Fine.” Cass shuffled through several files. “Linda Roman was our first vic. Here are the basics.”
She handed him a copy of the report she herself had filed. He skimmed it quickly.
“Early thirties … married … one child. No known enemies, no one stalking her …” He went on to the second page. “Found near a creek, apparently within hours of having been killed …”
“Here are the photos from the scene.”
Rick laid the report to one side of the desk and picked up the top photo.
“She looks as if she’s been posed,” he noted. “This isn’t a natural position, arms over the head just so. Legs bent at that angle.”
Cass handed him another stack of pictures.
“Victim number two. Lisa Montour.”
He studied it for a moment, then said, “Same age, same hair. Same pose.”
He looked up at her.
“Number three?”
“Toni DeMarco.” She slid one packet of crime-scene photos across the desk, then a second. “And this is Yvonne Hunt, number four.”
“So close they could be superimposed on one another,” he murmured. “He’s reliving something. Re-creating a scene. The women even look alike. Same age, same body type. And all that dark hair. Notice how in each picture the hair is sort of fanned out …”
“We noticed, Agent Cisco.” There was a touch of starch in her voice now, as if offended. He wondered if she’d been waiting to feel offended.
Well, he’d been waiting for that, that little bit of resentment, to come out eventually. He was going to nip it in the bud right now.
“I’m sure you did. And it’s Rick. If we’re going to be working together, let’s keep it casual, okay?”
“Sure,” she said dryly.
“Look, let’s get something straight. I’m not here to take your case away from you, or to try to make you look bad, or to steal your thunder. I was assigned to come up here and lend a hand. And that’s what I intend to do.”
“You don’t consider yourself the lead, now that you’re here? You don’t feel the need to be in charge?”
“No. Until I’m told otherwise, I’m considering us equal in this. Partners. But since you’ve been on this case since day one, I’m ready to follow your lead. Agreed?”
She studied him with brown eyes that were almost too big for her face.
“Agreed. Okay. I’ll take you at your word.” She sat in her chair, a wry smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. “Not that it makes any difference.”
“It makes a difference, Cass. I know that the Bureau has the reputation of sometimes coming in and strong-arming the locals. I don’t work that way. My unit doesn’t work that way. I’ll help as much as I can, I’ll do whatever I can to work with you. We have resources that you don’t have and we will use as many or all of them, whatever we need to get the job done. But I won’t take over your case, and I won’t try to screw you over to take the glory when we get this guy.” Rick sat back and studied her face. “And we will get him, you and I.”
“I hope you’re right.” She returned his stare for a long moment, then said, “Well, now that we’ve gotten all the obligatory territorial bullshit out of the way, let’s get back to work.”
“Getting back to our victims, then. Just give me a minute or two to read through the report from the medical examiner …” He scanned the information.
He turned the pages so quickly, she wondered if he actually read any of it.
“The autopsy reports reveal all the classic signs of asphyxiation. Petechia at the eyes, broken hyoid bone in the throat … and of course the telltale bruising around the neck.” He laid the photos of the four victims side by side across the middle of the desk. “Any other injuries?”
“Lisa Montour had a broken index finger on her right hand. Other than vaginal bruising, signs of the rape, no other injuries.” She rested her elbows on her desk. “And no, no semen, he must have used a condom each time. No bite marks, no saliva, no nothing. We’re trying to see if prints can be lifted off the victims’ skin, but we’re still waiting on that.”
“No other trace?”
“Some fibers on the clothing of each matched, some gray carpet fibers, probably from the trunk of the car he transported them in, but it’s so generic it’s of no help. We know it was from a GMC vehicle that was made between 1998 and 2003, but they haven’t gotten it down any more exactly than that.”
“Your lab person is good?”
“She’s very good. We can meet with her on Monday, if you like.”
“Great.” He glanced at the lab report again. “What’s this trace found in the hair of the first three victims?”
“The threads? We’re not sure. That’s something we’ll ask Tasha about on Monday. She was trying to analyze it, but with the finding
of another body, she had to put the fibers aside.”
“I’ll be interested in seeing what it is.” He slipped the files she’d made for him into his briefcase. “I’d like to see the crime scenes if I could. I realize it’s the weekend, if you have plans you can just direct me …”
“No. No plans. I don’t mind. Besides, it’s always good to walk a crime scene after the fact. Sometimes you see things you might have missed the first time around.”
It was almost one in the afternoon when Cass pulled off the side of Bay Lane and parked her car. They’d already walked the marsh where Linda Roman’s body was found, stood in the alley where Lisa Montour had been left, and visited the lonely stretch of beach where Toni DeMarco had been discovered.
“This is where the last victim was found,” she told Rick as she got out of the car. “We’ve already photographed everything, so you don’t have to watch where you walk.”
Rick opened the passenger door and stepped out onto the soft sandy shoulder.
“You probably got some good prints along here, as soft as the sand is,” he commented.
“Not as good as you might think. It’s soft now because it rained yesterday morning and it’s been cloudy ever since. The day we found her, it was hard-packed.”
He followed her along the side of the road.
“This road doesn’t appear to be heavily traveled. Is there more traffic along here during the week?”
“Not really. It leads to the remains of an old lighthouse. Hardly anyone comes this way anymore. You might get some people crabbing off the bulkhead, but not at night. The pier was taken down a few years ago—it was so badly deteriorated, it was an accident waiting to happen. There are no houses down here, it’s too swampy to build on. There’s no nice beach, the water comes right up to the marsh along here. So there’s not much reason to be down here, especially at night.” She stopped and pointed to the ground. “This is where we found her. You saw the photos, you know that she was posed right out in the open.”
Rick stared at the place where Yvonne Hunt’s body had been found.
“It would’ve taken a few minutes to have gotten the pose just so, wouldn’t you think?” he asked. “He must have felt pretty confident that no one would be coming along while he was doing it.”
Cold Truth Page 10
