by Karen Rose
“So you’re saying not to tell, Noah?” Abbott asked.
“No, I’m saying she bought us a few days, but the clock is running out for these women. We’re no closer to finding this guy and he’s going to kill again.”
Carleton shrugged. “If women stop leaving their homes, they stop becoming victims. But you also may lose the opportunity to catch him. He’s likely to go somewhere else and start all over. It’s your call, Bruce.”
Abbott folded his hands and pressed them to his mouth, the picture of a man with a terrible choice to make.
“If it were me,” Noah said quietly, “I’d tell. He’s killed five times. I don’t want to find a sixth, and we can’t predict what he’s going to do.”
Abbott raised his brows. “Jack?”
“I agree. What if we’re late again? I have to live with Rachel Ward on my conscience for the rest of my life.” Jack swallowed hard. “No more.”
Abbott nodded. “I think so, too. I’ll get the word out. I hope these women hear it.”
“There are two women at high risk,” Noah said. “We should call them personally.”
“Get me their info,” Abbott said, then sighed when the phone on his desk rang. He hit the speakerphone. “Ian, you’re on speaker. We’re all here. What do you have?”
“The retained blood samples from Amy Millhouse’s autopsy showed ket. According to the autopsy report, the cause of death was strangulation, same as the others. There was something unusual, though. The victim’s fingernails were torn and there were abrasions all over her hands. Luckily the examiner took some photos for the file.”
“Defense wounds?” Jack asked.
“I don’t think so. Based on what I’ve seen before, Amy’s injuries were sustained clawing against something hard.”
“Her worst fear,” Carleton said. “A small space? Being closed in?”
“That makes sense,” Ian said. “That’s all I’ve got. I’ll call you if I get any more.”
Abbott turned off the speaker. “I’ll get a statement to the press. Noah, Jack, talk to Millhouse’s brother, then visit the couple that saw Martha leave the coffee shop.”
“What about Jeremy Lyons?” Noah asked. “We haven’t found him.”
“And his financials didn’t show anything irregular,” Abbott said. “Kane, Lyons is yours. Find him. Olivia, find out if anyone saw our reporter-guy come in or out of Kurt Buckland’s place. Have we notified his next of kin that he’s missing?”
“We did a canvass, but we’ll go back now that we have the sketch. Buckland’s not married, no kids. Sal may know somebody to call. I think the ring won’t be much help.”
“Unfortunately, I think you’re right. Kane, I also want you to go back to the bar Rachel Ward was at last night. Find out if anyone saw anyone loitering, waiting for her. Now I have a meeting upstairs.” Abbott looked grim. “Keep me informed of everything.”
Wednesday, February 24, 6:10 p.m.
Eve jumped in her waiting room chair when someone touched her shoulder. Hunched over her laptop, she jerked up her chin to see Carleton Pierce standing in front of her. She took the earbuds from her ears. “Dr. Pierce. You startled me.”
“I said your name, but you didn’t hear me.”
Eve gestured to her laptop. “I was listening to some music. Trying to pass the time.” In reality she’d been watching video from the local TV news online archive. Several of the crime beat entries were Noah’s cases. But so far, she’d found nothing.
“I understand your friend was hurt. I hope he’s all right.”
“He will be.” Rising, she studied him curiously. People from the bar often looked different when she saw them in another environment, but Pierce looked essentially the same. He wore another expensive suit, gold cufflinks winking at his wrists. “Thank you.”
He took a step back and met her eyes, smiling kindly. “You’ve had a rough few days, Eve. I was on my way home from the police station and thought I’d stop in to see how you are.”
“That’s nice of you.” Which made her suspicious. Which in turn made her ashamed at her paranoia. Get a grip, Eve. “I’m okay. I’ll be more okay when they catch this guy.”
“I got a call from Dean Jacoby today.”
Eve’s eyes narrowed. Jacoby was Donner’s boss. “Why?”
“Well, because he’s my friend,” he said with a tolerant smile. “And because we were talking about my teaching a class next term, because Donner’s retiring.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, then frowned when his words sank in. “Donner’s retiring?”
“Yes. Apparently he gave notice a few weeks ago, but that’s not for public consumption. I trust you’ll be discreet.”
A few weeks ago? “Of course,” Eve murmured.
“At any rate, I didn’t mention you to Jacoby, but he mentioned your study. The college got a request yesterday for all your project files and cooperated fully with the police. He knew I worked with the police and wanted an update. He wanted to know how the police had made the connection to Marshall’s psychology department.”
“And you said?” Eve said calmly.
“That I was not at liberty to disclose elements of an ongoing investigation. I wanted you to know that they’re asking questions. Jacoby asked me and my wife to join him for dinner tonight. If you’d like to join us, it would be an opportunity for you to explain your actions before you’re accused of anything. Once he files anything formal, you’re in the system.” His lips curved ruefully. “Plus, you’ll get to enjoy the best prime rib in the city. If I remember grad school correctly, I ate a lot of bologna sandwiches.”
She made herself smile back. “I appreciate everything you’ve done, sir, but I have to stay here tonight. My friend may need me. I have your card and almost called ten times. But things keep happening.” She gestured to the waiting room. “I’ve been a bit busy.”
“Are you sure, Eve?” he asked, serious now. “The police team just made the decision to take the Shadowland connection public, to warn potential victims. Soon any decisions on what, who, and when you tell will be out of your hands.”
Eve’s shoulders sagged. “I knew this was an eventuality. I—”
“Eve?” Tom had returned, Liza still in tow. Liza looked better but Tom was panicked. He gently pushed his friend into a chair and rushed over. “What’s wrong with David?”
She realized Tom had seen Pierce and gotten the wrong idea. “Nothing. David’s still getting scanned. This isn’t one of his doctors.” She hesitated. “Tom, this is Dr. Pierce. Dr. Pierce, my friend, Tom. Dr. Pierce’s here to talk to me about… school.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Tom said, warily.
Pierce gave Tom a polite nod, then turned back to Eve. “Don’t wait too long.”
“What the hell was that about?” Tom demanded when Pierce was gone.
Eve sank into her chair, her head now throbbing. “Long story.”
Tom sat next to Eve. “I’ve got time, Evie.”
“Your friend looks better,” Eve said.
“Yeah, and now you look like shit,” Tom shot back. “Who was that guy?”
“Tom, I… I’ve done something that could get me kicked out of school.”
He stared at her. “What the hell is this?”
“You know the women who’ve been murdered recently? The ones that looked like suicides? They were all participants in my Shadow-land study.”
“Shit. But how could they possibly blame you for that?”
“They can’t. But I know the victims’ identities because I looked at files I shouldn’t have. It’s cheating and I could get expelled.”
Tom’s face fell. “No way. You’ve worked so hard… Oh, Evie.”
She patted his hand. “I know. But if it makes it any easier, I’d do it again in a heartbeat. It’ll be all right, however it turns out. I’ll find my feet again.”
“You always find your feet,” he said quietly. “I’ve always admired that about you.”
Eve’s throat tightened. “Thank you. I needed that.”
He slid his arm around her in a hard, brotherly hug. “I always thought it would be Mom or Dana getting busted for breaking the rules. Never thought it would be you.”
Eve’s laugh was shaky. “Go bug David. He’s probably done getting scanned.”
“I wanna meet your date. Got to make sure he’s good enough for you.”
Too good for me, she thought sadly. “I’ll introduce you before I leave. Now be gone.”
She watched Tom go, shaken. Dean Jacoby asking questions… The Shadowland connection soon all over the news… Buckland missing and probably dead…
Don’t think about that. She tried to draw her mind away from the fear, pulling her computer to her lap out of habit. Think. Buckland was missing. She’d been searching articles on Noah, but Kurt Buckland had also been a victim. She’d been so unnerved last night that she hadn’t dug very deep into Buckland’s articles.
Kurt Buckland, she typed into the search screen, and started reading the results.
Wednesday, February 24, 6:10 p.m.
Millhouse’s lawyer stood up when Noah and Jack entered the interview room. “This is outrageous,” he began. “My client—”
“Is free to go,” Noah said. “But we’d appreciate answers to some questions first.”
“My sister committed suicide. I don’t understand why I’m here like a criminal.”
Noah sat next to him. “Your sister did not commit suicide, sir.”
Larry Millhouse’s mouth fell open. “Are you saying my sister was murdered?”
“Yes,” Jack said. “That’s exactly what we’re saying. We need you to tell us exactly how you found the scene, before you cut your sister down and changed her clothes.”
Millhouse looked away. “She was dressed like a whore, in a low-cut red dress, and this… makeup. Amy never dressed like that. And her eyes… they were open. Glued.”
“What about shoes?” Jack asked.
“High heels. Red. Amy never in a million years would wear shoes like that.”
“And the window?” Noah asked.
“Wide open.”
“Was there a note?” Jack finished and Millhouse shook his head.
“No,” he said miserably. “So I wrote one. My mother was so upset, I just wanted to make her see that Amy really had loved her.”
Jack looked at Millhouse sternly. “All of those elements are common to five murders. By altering the scene, you made it harder for us to realize what was going on before four more women lost their lives.”
Millhouse glanced nervously at his attorney. “Am I in trouble?”
“The powers that be say no,” Jack said. “So you’re free to go.”
But Millhouse didn’t move from his chair. His eyes had closed, his face still pale. “Somebody killed my sister,” he murmured, as if it was just sinking in. “Why?”
“We don’t know why,” Noah said, “but we do know that he’s targeted his victims through an online computer game. Shadowland.”
Larry Millhouse visibly flinched. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve heard of the game?” Jack asked.
Millhouse nodded, a bare movement. “I showed it to her. Then she was sucked in.”
“She played a lot?” Noah asked.
“She was making money at it, amazingly. I played for fun. Amy played for keeps.”
“How did she make money?” Noah asked.
“She gambled in the casino. Poker, blackjack, all the games. She won, a lot. Took her winnings, bought and sold real estate in the better neighborhoods. She converted the Shadowbucks into real-world money. She was about to quit her day job.”
“So she spent time in the casino. Did she mention meeting anyone there?”
“If she did, she didn’t tell me. We’d been arguing about her spending so much time in the online world. I was stunned, frankly. She’d become this wheeler-dealer, a person I didn’t know. When I found her hanging there…” His voice broke. “Like that…”
“So you took her down and changed her clothes,” Jack said quietly.
“Yes.” Millhouse dropped his head to his hands, his shoulders shaking as he cried. “She was my little sister, dammit. I showed her the game. It was my fault.”
His lawyer patted his shoulder. “Can he go now?”
“In a minute,” Noah said, as kindly as he could. “Mr. Millhouse, this killer has taken the computers of the other victims. Did you notice anything different about the computer at your sister’s apartment after her death?”
Millhouse scraped his hands down his face, struggling for control. “I don’t know. We were just in… autopilot, you know? My mother was having chest pains and I couldn’t stand the guilt. I… burned the dress. I told my wife to get rid of everything else.”
Of course. Not that this guy would have left anything behind anyway, Noah thought bitterly, then stood. “Thank you, Mr. Millhouse.”
“Do you have any leads?”
Not a one. “Yes,” Noah said. “We’ll call when we have news.”
Noah waited for Jack in the hallway, closing the door behind them. “We know one new thing,” Noah said. “Martha and Christy spent their time at Ninth Circle. Rachel divided her time between the bar and the casino. Amy Millhouse hung at the casino.”
“So we know two places he hunts his victims. So how does that help?”
“I don’t know yet.” But Noah knew who to ask. He checked his watch. “I’ve got plans for dinner. Let’s break and meet at the Bolyards’ house at 8:30.”
Jack put on his hat. “I had to cancel Katie. Maybe I can still catch up with her.”
“Good luck,” Noah said, and meant it.
Jack’s smile was flat. “You, too.”
Wednesday, February 24, 6:40 p.m.
“Eve?” Her chin jerked up when hands squeezed her knees and she met Noah’s eyes over her laptop. He was crouching, looking panicked. As well he should.
“I tried to call you a couple of times, but you didn’t answer.”
She fished her cell from her bag. “I had it on vibrate and forgot to change it. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you again.”
The panic had left his eyes, leaving concern and an anticipation that made her own skin tingle despite her own jumble of emotion. “How is David?”
“Better. Tom’s in with him now. Noah, I think I found him.”
“Who?”
“The man who hates you. Sit and look.” He did, sliding one arm across her back and leaning closer. Which put his face right next to hers, throwing her pulse into overdrive. Which, she suspected, was his intent. Keeping her eyes straight ahead she pointed to the picture she’d downloaded. The man had a dark beard threaded with silver, a hard mouth, and harder eyes. “Do you recognize him?” she asked, her voice a little huskier.
“No.” Then he turned his head, bringing his mouth inches from hers. “Should I?”
“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Pay attention, Noah.”
“I am.” But instead of backing away, he came closer and there was nothing hard about his mouth when he brushed it over hers. There was instead sweetness and heat. Her eyes slid closed and she leaned into him, lifting one hand to tentatively touch his face, deepening the kiss until it was slow and unhurried, making it all the more devastating. It was sumptuous, rich and full. And right.
That rightness would make it that much harder to lose later.
She pulled away, as slowly as they’d come together, her palm still cupping his cheek. His eyes searched hers while she fought the tears that rose in her throat. It had been a hell of a day. Anyone’s emotions would be on the edge.
“Sometimes,” he murmured, “when you’re behind the bar, you watch everyone and your eyes grow so sad. I always wondered what you saw. I’m wondering that right now.”
The tears rose a little higher and she swallowed them back. “Why didn’t you ask?”
Regret flickered in his eyes. “If you only knew ho
w many times I wanted to. But I watched you and knew you were… fragile. Vulnerable.”
“I’m not,” she protested.
“You are. So am I.” He hesitated. “Eve, my mother was an alcoholic when I was a kid, out of control. I never wanted to be like her. I craved discipline and prided myself on not being weak. I joined the army, did a tour, came back determined to be a cop like my dad. He died when I was five, line of duty. That started my mother drinking.”
“You got married,” she said and he nodded. “But she died,” she added. “How?”
“Car accident,” he said briefly. “Which… started me drinking.”
He hadn’t moved, his face still hovered inches from her own. “Who saved you?”
“My cousin, Brock, at first. I spent more time at his house than mine growing up because my mom was always drunk. When I hit rock bottom, I called him, begged him to help. He took me to my first AA meeting, stood by my side while I dried out. My mom had joined AA a million times, but always fell off the wagon. I was determined not to, but it was, it is hard. Mom saw me fighting the booze, she saw me following in her footsteps and that pushed her to change. We did AA together.”
“And she’s still sober?”
“Ten years later we both are. She’s down south now. Comes back for the summer.”
“You love her,” Eve said quietly, a little enviously. “I’m glad.” And she was.
“Me, too. Eve, I grew up with chaos. Discipline, or the illusion of it, is important to me. I sat in the bar, watched you, and was pretty damn proud of myself for not talking to you, not saddling you with my demons. But I think I was just afraid. That if I let you in, I’d lose what control I’ve managed to keep. So I kept my distance.”
“For a whole year?”
“You didn’t help,” he countered dryly. “You wouldn’t even look at me. Why?”
He’d been honest. She could be no less. “Because I wanted to,” she said. “I wanted you. And it scared me. It still does.”
“I know it does,” he said softly. “But we have time to deal with that.” He returned his attention to the man on her screen. “Why should I recognize him?”
