“See, I’m saying the Burke homicides don’t fit the pattern, Dr. McCall. Jenny Burke was attacked along with her whole family. And Jenny Burke was not raped. All the other victims were attacked alone—every one of them raped and strangled—none of them in their homes.”
“It all falls into place when you realize that Jenny Burke was his first victim.” Annie turned to Cass. “Earlier you said your father always left the house very early in the morning. That he took charters out on a regular basis.”
“That’s right. He fished just about every day, took charters out at least five times a week in the warm months.”
“What time did he usually arrive home?”
“It must have been around four-thirty, most days. I don’t know that I could tell time when I was six, but I do remember my mother saying, ‘It’s time to clean up for dinner, Daddy will be home before the clock strikes five.’ Knowing now what I know about charters, I’d guess that by the time he got back to the marina and tied up the boat, cleaned it up from the trip so it was ready to go again the next day, four-thirty might be closer. If they had a really good morning, though, if the fish were running really strong and everyone in the party caught what they wanted, he’d have brought the boat back in early. There would have been no reason to stay out.”
“Which apparently was the case on that day.”
“According to Henry Stone—he worked for Bob—they were back to the dock by twelve-thirty, and left for home shortly before one,” Denver told her. “Actually, when Bob was attacked, he was standing at the kitchen sink, cleaning that morning’s catch. Had his back to the door.”
“And what time did the attack occur?” Annie asked.
“We got to the house around two-thirty or so, I think. So it had to be before that.”
“Earlier I said I thought our man was young. Disorganized. That maybe this had been his first kill. Now I’m convinced that was the case.” Annie lowered herself into her seat. “I don’t think he went to the Burke house intending to kill anyone. I think he went there to see Jenny—he knew her from someplace. I think he was totally fixated on her. Maybe he fancied himself in love with her. Maybe he fancied that she was in love with him.”
“Obsessed,” Rick offered.
“Exactly.” Her gaze returned to the photos. “See how Jenny’s body is positioned? She’s fallen onto her side, her arms are over her head. And every one of his subsequent victims is in the same position, the more recent ones more carefully staged. I think he’s carried that picture—that memory of Jenny—in his head for all these years.”
“You’re saying you think he’s killing her over and over?” Cass asked.
“I think it’s more accurate to say that each time he’s hoping it ends differently,” Annie murmured. “I think he attacks these women because they remind him of Jenny, but each time he’s thinking, ‘This time I’ll get it right. She won’t fight me, I won’t have to hurt her.’”
“How could he possibly think a woman isn’t going to fight being raped and strangled?” Cass asked.
“He doesn’t think of it as rape. He thinks his victim wants to be intimate with him. He only strangles her when she doesn’t cooperate,” Annie explained.
“Then you think that he believed that my mother wanted to have sex with him?” Cass asked, indignation on the rise.
“I think he did believe that, yes. Which is no reflection on your mother. Please keep in mind, we’re talking about a delusional personality here.” Annie opened the Styrofoam container that held her ice cream, and almost unconsciously began to swipe off small bites with the plastic spoon. “Assuming that we’ve discovered the why, we still need to discover the who.”
She licked at the spoon, a faraway look on her face.
“Who would she have been in contact with … someone young, inexperienced …”
“The department secretary and I have been going through yearbooks, trying to compile a list of who would have been around back then, who’s back in town now. Within a certain age limit, of course.” Denver explained to Annie that a large multiclass reunion was occurring that week. “We’re trying to pin down some likely suspects, but our list is only partially complete.”
“What criteria are you using to cut the list?”
“Well, since we got word that there were other identical killings, in different states—even different countries—over the years, we figured someone whose job required them to move around a lot. Or someone in the military, perhaps,” Denver said.
“Peyton is going to put the names into the Bureau’s computer, see what spills out, once the list is complete,” Rick said.
Denver remained skeptical. “I’m still not sold one hundred percent on your theory that the Burkes were killed by the same man, Dr. McCall. How do you explain the fact that Jenny wasn’t raped and all the others were?”
“Jenny Burke’s clothes were ripped, according to the report you sent me, Chief. He didn’t rape her, because he was interrupted. Which probably infuriated him. Bad enough that he hadn’t expected her husband to be there, bad enough that he had to kill him. Which must have rattled him big-time. He would have panicked when he found that she wasn’t alone in the house.” Annie appeared to be speaking to herself. “That would have thrown him off completely.”
Rick nodded. “I’m following you. He comes into the house, expecting it to be empty, except for Jenny, who he might even think is expecting him, that she wants him to come to her. He sees Bob in the kitchen, and maybe acts impulsively, sees the knife and uses it. Then he goes upstairs, probably covered in Bob’s blood …”
Rick stole a glance at Cass. She was white, but holding her own. Trying to be professional, even while the details of her parents’ deaths are being discussed, he thought.
Denver told them, “Jenny’s clothes had blots of Bob’s blood. We thought she was surprised upstairs, and tried to fight him off …”
“Which would have confused and incensed him,” Cass added a comment for the first time.
“It’s likely that you and your sister arrived home at right about that time,” Annie said. “And then he really panicked. Your mother would have tried to warn you.”
“So he panicked again and strangled her. When Trish came up the steps, he was probably in a rage.” Cass squeezed her eyes closed. “And when I came in …”
“He would have been completely out of control by then. Totally out of his league. He panicked and ran out of the house …” Rick paused. “Why didn’t anyone see him?”
“What?” Cass opened her eyes.
“Why didn’t anyone see him leave the house? Your aunt was out front, right? She would have seen him if he’d gone out the front door.” Rick started piecing it together. “Your aunt said that when she came into the house, she went right into the kitchen. That someone was there in the kitchen, covered in blood.”
“Wayne Fulmer,” Denver supplied the name.
“Did he ever say that he saw someone else in the house?” Rick asked the chief. “Did he say that someone ran past him?”
“No. He never said anything about seeing anyone else. He testified that he came up the back steps and knocked, and when no one answered, he peeked through the screen door and saw Bob on the floor, so he came in, thinking that maybe Bob had fallen, but then he saw all the blood on the floor. He said he tried to pick him up, claims that’s when he got Bob’s blood on his clothes, then he heard commotion, and the next thing he knew, Cass’s aunt was standing there screaming her head off.”
“I read the reports. His story never seems to have changed,” Rick noted.
“No, it never did.” Denver seemed pensive.
“So we’re back to the question of how this guy got out of the house if no one saw him,” Annie said. “If someone other than Fulmer committed the murders, why didn’t anyone see this second guy?”
“He could have gone out through the basement door,” Cass told them.
“Where is that, in relation to the rest of the house?�
�� Rick asked.
“The door to the basement is behind the main stairwell in the house,” she told him. “There’s a walk-out into the backyard from the basement.”
“Cass, you said you thought Lucy was in the backyard.”
“I thought … she said she was going …” Cass frowned. “But that would mean that she would have seen him.”
Cass looked up at the chief. “Did she say anything about seeing anyone come out of the basement?”
“We didn’t ask her what she saw,” he said softly. “It never occurred to us to ask.”
“She’s never said anything to you, all these years, about seeing someone in the yard?” Rick asked Cass.
“No. Not a word.”
“She may have blocked it out. She may not want to remember who—or what—she saw,” Rick told her.
Annie touched her arm. “Cass, do you think your cousin will agree to being hypnotized?”
“No. No way. You can’t ask her to do that.” Cass shook her head vehemently. “She is in no shape for that. She’s been through a lot this week, her larynx is damaged, she can barely speak … no, we can’t do that to her.”
“Cass, she may remember something, something that might help identify the man who was there that day. There wasn’t anyone else there,” Annie reminded her.
Cass shook her head. “Maybe if she wants to, when she gets out of the hospital, but not now.”
“Well, I guess that leaves us back to the yearbooks and at the mercy of Peyton’s computer skills. Excellent though they may be,” Annie said to Rick.
“Okay. Chief, could you check with Phyl and see if we can have whatever list she’s compiled so far? I think we should at least start with—”
“You’re wrong,” Cass said to Annie. “There was someone else there.”
Annie tilted her head slightly to the left.
“I was there. Maybe if Lucy’s buried something … well, maybe I have, too. Maybe there’s something I saw … something I don’t remember.” She frowned. “I don’t think I saw him, but I really don’t remember.”
“Are you sure you’re up to it?” Annie asked.
“Yes.” Cass nodded. “Absolutely. Let’s do it. Right here. Right now.”
“Are you sure? You may remember things you wished you hadn’t.”
“I’m sure,” Cass insisted.
“If you’re sure … first, let’s get you comfortable.” Annie stood.
“I’m fine,” Cass told her. “I’m okay right here.”
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you both to leave the room.” Annie looked apologetically from the chief to Rick, adding, “The fewer distractions, the better.”
“Okay. We’ll be looking over the list of names that Phyllis has been preparing,” Rick said as he left.
“I’ll call her into my office, we’ll work in there.” The chief paused on his way out of the room. “You sure about this, Cassie? You don’t have to …”
“I really do have to,” she told him. “But thanks.”
Denver nodded and closed the door behind him.
“Okay, what do we do first?”
“I want you to get as comfortable in that chair as you can.” Annie looked at the chair Cass was sitting in. “Is it possible to be comfortable in it?”
“I’m fine. Let’s just do it.”
“All right, then. I want you to close your eyes, and concentrate only on the sound of my voice. Don’t think about anything else. Only the sound of my voice. That’s all you hear, Cassie. All you want to hear …”
Annie’s voice dropped slightly lower, but Cass could hear her just fine.
“Let yourself relax, Cassie. Your mind is going to take you to a place where all is calm. My voice is going to take you there. And once you’re there, nothing will matter, except the sound of my voice …”
Cass closed her eyes, and focused on Annie’s words. When Annie told her to let herself drift on the sound, she drifted.
“I want you to start counting backwards from one hundred, very slowly, until you reach twenty-five.”
Cass did.
“You’re there now, Cass. It’s peaceful and you’re safe there. Nothing can hurt you in that place. You can see, but you can’t be seen, do you understand?” Annie’s voice dropped yet lower, her words soft, reassuring. “Cass, if you understand, tell me.”
“I understand.” The words seemed to float from her lips.
“Are you there, then, Cass? Are you feeling peaceful? Are you feeling safe?”
“I am. I’m safe here.”
“Good. Anytime you think you feel anything other than completely safe, you’re to tell me, all right?”
“All right.”
“We’re going to look in on your house, Cass. The house where you and your mother and father and sister lived when you were a little girl. Do you see the house, Cassie?”
She nodded. “I see it.” She did see it.
“What color is the house?”
“It’s brown.”
“Are there shutters at the windows?”
“White ones. With cutouts that look like birds.”
“Can you tell what kind of birds?”
“Seagulls. They’re flying …” She held her hands up, palms together, the fingers pointing outward.
“What else do you see?”
“Flowers. Pink ones by the front door. Mommy made Daddy put something on the wall so they would climb up to the second floor.” Her eyes moved rapidly behind closed lids. “They grew over the door.”
“Are they roses? Pink roses over the door and up the side of the house to the second floor?”
Cass nodded.
“Do you see the roses blooming?”
“Yes.”
“So it must be June, since roses bloom in June.” Annie leaned closer to Cass to continue to reassure her. “I want you to think back to a particular June, Cass. I want you to think about the last time you were in that house. It was June. School had ended. You went to summer camp that year. You and Trish and Lucy, you all went together.”
Cass’s eyelids began to flutter.
“Remember, Cass, you can see, but no one can see you. Do you remember? I promise, no one there can see you.”
Cass’s hands gripped the arms of the chair.
“Do you want to hold on to my hand while you visit there?” Annie held her hands out, but Cass neither opened her eyes nor reached for them.
“You can hold on to me anytime you feel you want to, Cass, remember that. I promise that you’re safe. I will keep you safe.”
Cass nodded.
“On that day, that last day, tell me what you remember about the morning.”
Cass related everything as she had earlier. Waking while it was still dark. Getting up for camp and being excited about the party she would be going to later that day. Everything, from following her mother down the steps to coming home after camp, and going into the house.
“What do you hear when you step inside the house?”
Cass shook her head.
“You don’t hear anything?”
“I don’t know what I hear.”
“What does it sound like?”
“Just …” She waved her hands around, her forehead wrinkled in concentration.
“Commotion?”
“But … quiet somehow … I didn’t know what it was, but the sound, it came from upstairs. I ran up the steps …”
“Were you calling anyone? Were you shouting?”
“I was calling my mommy, but she didn’t answer. Then I saw Trish … she was flying through the air. She hit the wall near Mommy’s bedroom. She wasn’t making any noise. I couldn’t figure out how she could fly.”
Sweat broke out on Cass’s upper lip.
“Then what happened?”
“I ran up the steps, I was calling to her. ‘How did you fly?’” A look of confusion came over her face. “But she was there on the floor …”
Cass swallowed hard.
“… and someone grabbed me around the neck, and picked me up …”
“Cass, when he picked you up, what could you see?”
She shook her head.
“Cassie, I’m going to ask you to pretend that you’re looking down on this, looking down from someplace up above as the man is grabbing you and picking you up.” She took Cass’s hand to reassure her. “What can you see? Can you see what he’s wearing?”
“Blue sleeves, rolled up.” She touched one elbow.
“He was wearing a blue shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows?”
“Yes.”
“Can you see his hands?”
Cass nodded slowly.
“Is he wearing any rings? A watch?”
“No.”
“Does he have anything in either of his hands?”
“He has a knife.” She began to shake.
“Don’t look at the knife, Cass. He’s dropped it, there’s no knife. I want you to concentrate on what I’m saying, all right?”
“All right,” Cass said, though her voice was shaky.
“I want you to tell me what he smells like.”
“Uncle Pete.”
“He smells like your Uncle Pete?” Annie started. “Is he your Uncle Pete?”
“No, he smells like him. Like the stuff he wears when he and Aunt Kimmie go out.”
The same cologne or aftershave her uncle wore. Easy enough to trace.
“Does he speak to you? Does he say anything?”
“He’s shouting, but I don’t understand.” Cass covers her ears with her hands.
“Listen to what he’s saying, Cass. Remember, he can’t see you. He can’t hear you. And we took the knife away from him, remember? He can’t hurt you.”
“I can’t understand him. He’s … shouting. Cursing. He’s angry at me. He’s angry …”
“Cass, is there anything else you see? Anything else you remember about him?”
Cass touched her right index finger to the back of her left hand.
“The bird mark.”
“What does it look like?” Annie asked, thinking Cass had said birthmark.
“Like the one on the letters Mommy sent out. The big bird with the …” Her hands made semi-fists, the fingers held out like claws.
Cold Truth Page 22
