Coffee-addiction guilt trip aside, Alyssa felt lighter as she sat at the table with her children, glad she’d chosen to take the morning off. She needed to regroup if she was going to be at her best. And Callie McCormick deserved her best. The names of the other women flashed in her mind. You don’t know they’re victims of a serial killer yet. She pushed the thought aside for later as Isaac rinsed his plate and placed it in the dishwasher. ‘Don’t forget I’m staying at Trevor’s tonight. They’re releasing Days of Doom at midnight, and Mrs. Lewis said she’d take us to wait in line.’
Holly chimed in. ‘And I’m staying at Sophie’s. After the dance tonight, we’re gonna grab some pizza and watch movies the rest of the night, okay?’
Possible serial killer was like a neon sign blinking on and off in her head, and Alyssa’s natural instinct was to tell both her kids to cancel their plans. ‘I remember. But you make sure you text me the minute you leave the dance and as soon as you get to Sophie’s. And you,’ she turned to her son, ‘don’t you forget you promised Dad you’d help him clean out the shed tomorrow. So, if you stay up all night playing video games, you’ve still got obligations here at home.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ he grumbled.
Shortly after Holly left and Isaac finished his shower, the front doorbell rang. It was Trevor. ‘Hi, Trevor,’ Alyssa said when she answered the door. ‘I thought you guys weren’t getting together until later.’
‘Hey, Mrs. Detective.’
Trevor’s mom insisted he call her missus, so Trevor compromised by calling her ‘Mrs. Detective.’
Her youngest offspring stumbled down the stairs five minutes later. ‘Mom, we’re going to hang here awhile first, okay?’
‘Sure. So, Trevor, how’s the new baby brother?’
‘Loud. And smelly. I don’t get how all the girls that come around are like Oh my gosh, I just love that new baby smell. I must be missing something. And, holy… sh… man, does that kid have a pair of lungs! I have to sleep with earplugs in.’
Isaac grabbed his friend’s arm. ‘Dude, let’s go play Before Doom.’
* * *
Later that evening, the house quiet with both kids at their sleepovers and Brock at a company baseball game, Alyssa brushed her hair back into a ponytail and yanked on her favorite comfort clothes – a pair of sweats and a Notre Dame sweatshirt – and went back downstairs.
In the kitchen, she poured herself a glass of wine, singing the famous Jimmy Buffet song ‘It’s Five O’clock Somewhere’ when the guilt seeped in. You spent seven hours at the precinct with your team poring over past case files, trying to connect the dots; you’re entitled to this, she thought. Then, grabbing her drink and the files she’d brought home with her, she went into the living room, shoved the furniture out of her way, spread everything out, and got lost in trying to find the missing piece to the puzzle. She read the interviews of the individuals questioned in Evelyn Martin’s disappearance. Al and Margaret Garcia, in their eighties, had owned the Old Country Feed Store for sixty years at the time. When Alyssa ran a search of their names, she discovered both had died of old age approximately one year after Martin’s mysterious disappearance. Their son Miles ran the place now, and though he’d helped out, he was in Bora Bora during that time period, an alibi verified by police.
Julia Vincente also had an airtight alibi as she’d been at the hospital visiting her newborn grandson. That left Robert Ortiz, Evan Bishop, Chris Peterson, and Benjamin Benton. According to the report, Ortiz, Peterson, and Benton had gone home early that evening since things were slow, leaving Evan Bishop to lock up on his own. On the surface, their interviews didn’t show any glaring irregularities, but she decided her team needed to visit the four men again, if for no other reason than to check them off the list of potential suspects. She wrote notes to herself as she went along.
She didn’t know how long she’d been hunched over studying the items sprawled all around her, but her back was beginning to protest, cracking as she stood to stretch her muscles. Arms raised high above her head, she went up on her tiptoes before bending at the waist, her ponytail tickling her nose, to let her fingers sweep the floor. Oh, that feels good, she thought. She stayed that way a few seconds before standing again.
After a few minutes of stretching, she grabbed the remote control off the end table, and ignoring the myriad of movie channels her family subscribed to – even though no one was ever home to watch them – she went straight to the music stations, picking an alternative rock station and turning the volume down low.
In the kitchen, she switched from wine to orange juice and grabbed a bag of pretzels before heading back to work. As she passed the front window, she got that niggling, itchy feeling people claimed to get when they thought someone was watching them.
She circled around to the sofa and nonchalantly peeked out the front window. Other than a few cars parked along the sidewalk, no one was in sight. She watched a few more minutes before letting the curtain drop back into place. Fifteen minutes later, she couldn’t shake the feeling, so she went outside, looking up and down the street, but saw nothing that would cause this certainty that she was being watched. She’d just gone back in when she heard the garage door.
‘How was the game?’ she asked when Brock was inside. He rarely got to attend due to his busy schedule, but anytime he could snatch the opportunity to watch Albuquerque’s minor league baseball team play, he jumped on it.
‘Fun. Isotopes won by two runs,’ he said as he hung his keys on the hook near the entrance to the garage, then kissed her. ‘Hmm. You taste like oranges. Did you relax at all, or have you spent all evening poring over your cases?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I think you spent the day pondering how you can finally leave me for Will Smith. Am I right?’
She laughed. ‘Yes, but after twenty years of marriage, I felt I owed it to you to break it to you in person first.’
‘Well, that’s awfully nice of you.’ He made a show of looking around the room before he tugged her into his arms, engulfing her in a hug. ‘Since we don’t seem to have any kids around to demand our attention, what do you say I try to convince you to stay with me a while longer, hmm?’
Alyssa closed her eyes and tipped her head to give Brock better access to her neck. ‘Mmmm… I think I owe it to us both. Will can wait,’ she murmured, her eyes shifting to the living room where her case was still sprawled out. Then she pushed aside her guilt and allowed her husband to lead her upstairs.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Saturday, March 30
For the second day in a row, Evan found himself outside Detective Alyssa Wyatt’s home. Friday night, he hadn’t known where he was going until he was parked across the street a couple of houses down from hers in front of a vacant home. Around six thirty, two teenage boys emerged with a soccer ball which they kicked back and forth as they walked. It was too dark to get a good look, and he couldn’t tell which one was the detective’s son. They hadn’t gone far when they stopped, and one of the boys pulled a phone out of his pocket, checking the screen before answering. After a short exchange, he said something to the other boy, and they turned around and headed back to the Wyatt residence.
A few minutes later, a young girl emerged, heading for a white Honda Civic parked in the driveway. He rolled down his window, straining to hear. ‘Just get in. Dad says Mom doesn’t want you walking right now,’ she barked out, obviously irritated at having to play chauffeur. The boy holding the soccer ball asked a question he couldn’t quite make out. ‘I don’t know. Probably something to do with the case she’s working on,’ the girl said, cutting off the boy’s reply by slamming the driver’s door. Ten seconds later, the three of them pulled away, the girl doing a double take when she spotted him sitting there. Heart thundering, he smiled and looked down, hoping he appeared busy. For an instant, he considered following. But it wasn’t them he was drawn to, so he stayed.
Nearly two hours later, he had just turned the ignition when h
eadlights lit up the interior of his car. He slid down in his front seat until she passed, recognizing the detective as she exited her car, the light from her garage acting as a temporary spotlight. As the garage door rumbled closed, he tried to cling to the image of the little boys, this time with a hulking shadow hovering over them. Fear, stark and real, vibrated off him in waves.
When her husband left shortly after Alyssa arrived home, he climbed out of his car and found himself partway up her walkway when he realized what he was doing. The magnetic pull to continue to the door was difficult to ignore, but he managed to break away. Knowing the urge would only grow the longer he sat here, he headed home.
This afternoon, knowing he was playing with fire, he’d driven over again, leaving his vehicle at the park one block away, then walking the rest of the way, just another man out for a stroll. From the shadows of the trees decorating the lawn of the vacant house, he observed the Wyatt residence. Was she home? He was tempted to cross the street and peek in the window… but he’d done that once, a long time ago, and he knew not to make that mistake again. Still, the urge for just a glimpse clawed at his insides.
And then the front door opened, and the detective stepped outside, looking around, as if she’d heard his wish and was granting it, looking for him as he was looking for her. His feet moved forward.
Ever heard the saying ‘curiosity killed the cat, boy’? That what you’re trying to do, huh? Get yourself killed?
His father’s voice brought a flash of memory that breached the edges of his mind, and he fell forward, almost tripping over an exposed tree root. He froze, immobile until he heard a car’s engine draw closer and then pull into Alyssa’s drive. As soon as she went back inside, he bolted.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Monday, April 1
Monday morning, Alyssa and Cord pulled up in front of the McCormick residence. Procedure dictated they check in on the surviving family members of violent crimes, and so they’d called ahead to let him know they were on their way, surprised when he agreed to see them, especially after his verbal assault at the hospital. While they waited for the door to be answered, she looked around. The yard that was immaculately taken care of one week ago was now unkempt, with unmown grass and weeds sprouting in the rose garden, as if they, too, mourned the loss of their caretaker.
The door opened to a shell of the man they’d first met. Dark circles colored the skin beneath Rafe’s eyes, scratches covered his arms, his hair hung in greasy clumps around his head, and he appeared to have lost even more weight since when they’d seen him on Friday. Without making eye contact, he waved his arm, ushering them inside, as if words would cost too much of the energy he didn’t have to spare. They followed him into the living room, the once bright room barely resembling the space they’d seen the first time they were here.
All the windows were covered with light-blocker shades, blocking the stunning views of the city and mountains, and except for the dim light shining in from the kitchen, the room was shrouded in darkness, giving it a tomblike feel.
Against her will, Alyssa was transported back to the time when her family home resembled this one, full yet empty and devoid of love or laughter when, at one time, that was all there was. A noise from outside drew her back in, and her gaze flew to the back door where the dogs pawed at the screen and whined to be let in. The shade on the sliding glass door was partially open, allowing Alyssa to get a glimpse of the animals.
Rafe barely lifted his head as if even that was too much for him to handle. ‘Excuse me,’ he said as he walked over to let the dogs in. Their slow, lumbering gait told her even they missed Callie.
‘When will I be able to get Ca – Callie’s body so I can plan…’ Unable to finish his question, his body sagged forward as if suddenly weighed down by a load of bricks.
The smaller dog – Sassy, she thought its name was – approached Alyssa and then stood on her hind legs as her front paws clawed at her pants. She reached down to pat the dog’s head.
‘I think you remind her of Callie,’ Rafe whispered. ‘Because you kind of look like her, except for your hair, of course.’ Tears pooled in his eyes as he said, ‘Callie was also… softer… than you. Her personality, I mean.’
Alyssa caught her partner’s eyes as Rafe’s knees buckled, and he collapsed into a nearby chair, his sobs bouncing off the walls. When Ranger nuzzled up to his master in an effort to comfort, he buried his face in the dog’s mane. A few seconds later, Sassy abandoned Alyssa and leaped into the chair with Rafe.
‘She wanted a baby so much, but I wouldn’t even discuss it.’ His words were muffled, and Alyssa had to strain to hear.
When he sat up again, his arms wrapped around his middle, eyes swollen, voice hoarse, he said, ‘I was afraid she’d leave me if we had a baby. My mom left my dad right after I was born, and my grandmother left my grandfather after my father was born. So, I shut her down every time she brought it up. Even though it wasn’t true, I let her believe it was because I’d be embarrassed if she got fat with a child,’ he choked out. Then, his voice grew quieter. ‘Terrie told me Callie talked about going off the pill behind my back. I guess she must’ve done it after all.’ Finally, he looked up, his eyes shifting to their wedding picture on the wall. ‘All those times I envisioned her leaving me if she was pregnant – none of them ended like this.’
A tightness squeezed her chest, and all Alyssa could think to say was, ‘I know it doesn’t mean much right now, but I promise we will catch the person who did this.’ She ignored the warning glance Cord shot her. She knew she shouldn’t make promises she may not be able to keep, but she couldn’t stop herself. Besides, she vowed she would not fail Rafe or Callie McCormick again. ‘And we’ll let you know when the medical examiner has finished with –’
‘With Callie,’ Cord interrupted, and she knew he was afraid she’d say ‘body.’ She shot him a look that could pass as irritation or thanks. Even she wasn’t sure which she meant.
‘What about her car? Will I be able to get that back?’
‘Our techs are processing it today.’ She avoided mentioning that they’d started on Friday, having moved it up the list due to Callie’s murder. He didn’t need to know that. He just needed to know they wouldn’t rest until his wife’s killer was found. And neither would Alyssa.
A few minutes later, Rafe walked them to the door, his gait halting and forced. Before stepping outside, Cord reached out and touched the man’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. ‘If you don’t mind, we’d like to know when you have Callie’s service. If it’s okay with you, we’d like to attend.’
What Cord didn’t say, Alyssa knew, was that not only did police officials attend funerals out of a sense of courtesy and duty, but also because it was well-known that perpetrators frequently attended gatherings conducted in honor of their victims.
Rafe’s head dropped forward in what they took as agreement.
* * *
Back at the precinct in the conference room, Alyssa snapped the hairband on her wrist, twisted her hair into a messy ponytail and yanked it out, just to turn around and whip it back up, lost in the black tunnel of this mystery. For the fifth time in as many minutes, she glared at the clock – 1:42. She’d been staring at the pieces of this puzzle for nearly three hours now, moving headlines, images, and files around the massive table, trying to fit them in with the Callie McCormick case. It was frustrating that not a single person who’d been interviewed in any of the cases showed up more than once. Because that would be too easy, giving us a place to start, she thought sarcastically. If there really was a serial killer, there had to be a link, aside from hair color and the relative youthfulness of each of the women. In fact, of all of them, Callie, at thirty-three, was the oldest by eight years.
The door banged against the wall, making her jump and reach for her gun. ‘We might have just caught a break,’ Cord said, out of breath.
‘Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, you scared the hell out of me.’
‘Did you h
ear what I said? We might have something.’ His phone rang, and he pulled it out to see who was calling. He sighed impatiently and answered. ‘I’ll call you right back,’ he said without so much as a hello to the person on the other end of the line.
His abrupt dismissal of the caller got her attention more than his words did, and her fingers gave her wrist a rest from the continuous snapping of the fabric-covered rubber band.
‘What’ve we got?’ she asked, locking her hands together to keep them still.
‘Our techs lifted a nice fingerprint off the McCormick vehicle. We’re running it now. Hedge should be calling us any minute.’
The balloon of hope in her chest deflated. ‘That print could belong to anyone, including but not limited to Manuel Gomez or his cousin. Or any number of people who’ve come into contact with the Jeep since it was discovered. In fact, it could belong to Callie herself, or even Rafe.’ She returned to snapping her hair band.
‘I knew you would say that because I thought the same thing. But call it intuition or gut instinct or whatever, but I think we just caught our first break.’
The look she shot him was a cross between annoyance and amusement.
‘Don’t look at me like that. I’ll concede your point. But, Alyssa, according to the techs, except for Gomez’s prints, that car was so clean, you could eat off the floor mats. Be doubtful if you want, but I think we’re closing in.’
‘Well, I guess we’ll find out soon, won’t we?’ She picked up her empty mug and refilled it with the last of the coffee, setting the carafe down with a dull thud.
‘I don’t know why you even bother using a cup,’ Cord said.
Without turning around, she flipped him off.
Five minutes later, they were still waiting for the call when Joe and Tony swung in, having finished up with the second interview with Mearl Leroy, the man who’d chatted with Callie at the service station.
All His Pretty Girls Page 15
