by Josh Lanyon
“Possibly.” Kennedy, back to his normal taciturn self, was sorting through the files quickly. He was obviously looking for something specific. Something he had not chosen to share with Jason.
“Possibly?” Jason repeated. “What are the other possibilities? Pink wasn’t acting alone?” We didn’t get the right guy?
No. He didn’t believe it. And, despite what Gervase had said at the crime scene, Jason didn’t think the chief believed it either. The evidence against Pink had been overwhelming.
Kennedy had paused in his search. He didn’t answer Jason.
“Okay.” Jason repeated, “What about the persisting rumor that Pink wasn’t acting alone? Is there any basis for it?”
Kennedy said absently, “I already told you there was no evidence to support that theory.”
“Hey,” Jason said.
Kennedy looked up, frowning.
“Remember me? We’re supposed to be working together.” As Kennedy’s eyes narrowed, Jason continued, “Was anyone besides Pink’s brother identified as a potential accomplice?”
“No. Dwayne Pink primarily came under suspicion because his brother used his van in the commission of his crimes. And because it was hard for anyone to believe that he never had any indication of what Martin was up to.”
Maybe. Unless you were a psychopath yourself it would be almost unimaginable that someone you knew, let alone someone you were related to, was a homicidal maniac.
“What did you think?” Jason asked.
Kennedy drawled, “I thought Dwayne did a lot of dope. Which might have been one reason he didn’t have an inkling. Or maybe he did a lot of dope because he did have an inkling. It’s immaterial because he died two years ago. He’s not involved in this case.”
“Pink didn’t have any other friends or associates who might have taken part in the murders?”
Kennedy had gone back to studying the photos in the file he held. He raised his head, and with an obvious effort at quashing his irritation with yet another interruption, said, “Do you remember Martin Pink at all?”
“A little. He used to fish at Holyoke Pond. Even as a kid I thought there was something not right about him.”
Not right. But not that wrong. Because that wrong was simply inconceivable. Or had been once upon a time.
“Right,” said Kennedy. “Not a popular guy. Not a busy social life. Not a wide circle of friends.”
Jason had to swallow his own annoyance. “Fair enough. Here’s my point. The people of Kingsfield already know that Martin Pink’s brother is dead. And yet the rumor that Pink had an accomplice—and that this accomplice is still out there—continues to circulate. How do you explain that?”
Kennedy stared at him, and Jason felt a jab of satisfaction.
“Charlotte Simpson was just a kid when you solved the original case. Yet she said to me ‘The Huntsman is back’ and ‘Everyone knows there was more than one Huntsman.’ She wasn’t quoting ancient history. She was telling me what she and others currently believe to be true.”
“All right,” Kennedy said. “Go on.”
“You don’t have that kind of rumor without suspicion falling on a specific person. There’s always going to be a particular suspect.”
“That’s debatable.” Even so Kennedy seemed to be mulling over Jason’s words. “This could easily be some kind of urban legend. It wouldn’t be at all surprising under the circumstances.”
“Something else,” Jason said. “When Charlotte was talking to me, her father came out of the back office and shut her up before she could say anything else. It wasn’t subtle.”
“Now that’s not at all surprising.” Kennedy’s tone was dry. “The only other person who came even briefly under suspicion as Pink’s possible accomplice was George Simpson.”
“George Simpson?” Jason repeated. “The George Simpson who went out to Rexford with us today?”
“The same.”
“The George Simpson who, according to Chief Gervase, knows these woods like the back of his hand?”
“That’s right.” Meeting Jason’s look, Kennedy smiled faintly. “No. Simpson was cleared of all suspicion.”
“Why was he under suspicion in the first place?”
“Because Simpson sold the mermaids to Pink.”
It was plain English, but the words didn’t make sense. Jason said, “You lost me. Sold what mermaids to Pink?”
“Ah. You wouldn’t know about that. We kept it out of the press.” Kennedy slid the photo he had been scrutinizing across the desktop.
Jason picked it up. It took a second or two to make sense of what he was seeing. A small talisman or charm carved out of what was probably wood and enlarged many times over so the details of the carving were clear. Tiny scales and fins on a small female form that was half human and half fish.
A mermaid.
“What is this?” His throat felt tight. He already knew what it was. Honey had carried one like it that summer. A small mermaid charm on her key ring.
“Nearly every one of Pink’s victims was found with one of those,” Kennedy said. “A carved mermaid charm. Each one distinct but similar.”
“Found with them?” Jason echoed. His stomach gave an unhappy lurch as he remembered Kennedy squatting beside Rebecca, taking his pen out, and leaning over her body.
“In their mouths,” Kennedy said. “Each girl had a mermaid in her mouth.”
Chapter Nine
“Who the hell has been erasing my notes off this board?” Chief Gervase glared at the weary officers seated in what was now being termed the Command Center of the Kingsfield Police Station. “Officer Courtney? How many times have I told you about taking it upon yourself to tidy up after me?”
Officer Courtney looked outraged. “I didn’t touch that board, Chief.”
No one else responded. Gervase, as tired as everyone else in the room after the long and arduous day that had followed the discovery of Rebecca’s body, seemed to give up. He released a long pent-up sigh and nodded at Kennedy, who was seated on the low, wide window sill.
“A couple of you have asked why I’m requesting the FBI to take point on this investigation when we’ve already got the State Police and other key resources. I’ll tell you why. Some of you remember Special Agent Sam Kennedy from ten years ago when he helped us bring Martin Pink to justice. Nobody knows the players in this case better than him. And that’s what we need right now. That kind of perspective and that kind of insight.”
Gervase sat down in a chair next to the whiteboard. Kennedy rose and took the chief’s place at the front of the room.
“First thing to keep in mind is we don’t yet know who the players are this time around,” Kennedy said.
“We know we’re dealing with a copycat,” Gervase said.
“It looks that way at this juncture of the investigation.” Somehow Kennedy’s concession hinted this didn’t mean a whole hell of a lot.
A slim, dark-haired woman put her hand up, and Jason recognized Officer Dale. Kennedy nodded at her.
“Is it possible we’re not dealing with a copycat so much as a previously unknown accomplice of Martin Pink?”
“We have a critical piece of evidence that would seem to suggest an accomplice,” Gervase agreed.
Jason could see Kennedy didn’t like the direction this was going, but ironically it was his own fault. He had been the one to show the mermaid charm to Gervase’s officers and George Simpson. It was inevitable word was going to spread. In fact, Jason realized, Kennedy must have been fairly shaken to have forgotten his normal inclination to hoard all possible information to himself.
No matter how certain Kennedy was that Martin Pink was the Huntsman, seeing that mermaid charm must have given him a very bad moment.
And on the topic of that critical piece of evidence, Kennedy’s antipathy for the idea the Huntsman might have had an accomplice seemed illogical given there was no way a copycat could have learned about the mermaid angle.
Or could he?
Or someone who had never appeared on the radar because their relationship with Pink was relatively recent.
Maybe not an accomplice. Maybe an apprentice?
Jason tuned back in. Chief Gervase was saying, “Dwayne Pink passed two years ago. He always maintained he knew nothing about what his baby brother was up to, but that’s bullshit. He had to have some idea.”
Kennedy heard this out before saying briskly, “There are notable similarities to the Huntsman case. But we’ve also got significant deviations from the previous MO. To begin with, the remains of all other victims were found within twenty-four hours and within ten miles of where they were abducted. Their bodies were left in the woods, and there was no attempt to hide the remains. In fact, Pink enjoyed the idea his victims would eventually be found. He wanted to inflict maximum horror and outrage on this community.”
“Just because it took awhile to find Rebecca’s body doesn’t mean the killer didn’t want her found.” Boxner had only just arrived. He leaned against the back wall of the room, arms folded.
“Choosing Rexford to dump the body is a definite break with the previous pattern,” Kennedy said. “There were significant logistical challenges to transporting her so far from home which indicates her killer either did not want her found or that Rexford itself has some meaning for him. Or both.”
“What meaning?” Officer Dale asked. “How would we figure that out?”
“We won’t know that until we begin to compile the profile of our unsub. We may not fully understand that piece of the puzzle until we apprehend him.”
“It is definitely a him?”
“Yes,” Kennedy said. “Our unsub is unquestionably male and in peak physical condition.”
“Do we have an actual profile yet?” Gervase asked.
“We’re working on it.”
“No hurry,” Gervase said acridly.
Jason understood the acridness, but until that mermaid charm had turned up, there had been a very good chance they were looking at a completely different crime, unconnected to the earlier killings. The charm changed everything. Now, yes, they were having to move fast to catch up.
Kennedy said, “Frankly, this crime doesn’t fit the classic pathology. While there are obvious indications of an organized and methodical offender, the crime itself is disorganized.”
“Like Pink,” Gervase said.
“Appearances to the contrary, Pink was not a disorganized offender.”
Boxner said, “Wouldn’t a copycat killer stick right to Pink’s playbook?”
“Not necessarily. This offender will want to add his own artistic touches. In fact, he’s probably unable to resist adding such touches.”
Gervase said, “What are some of these other deviations?”
Kennedy said, “The most obvious? Rebecca Madigan was taken from a crowded event in what amounts to full view of over fifty people.”
Jason said, “The initial attack is more bold and aggressive than Pink’s. But subsequently there’s a much more determined effort to conceal the crime?”
“That’s the way it appears,” Kennedy agreed.
“Is this his first kill?” Officer Courtney asked.
“Unknown. On the one hand, this was a bold and brutal crime efficiently carried out. On the other hand, the foolhardy nature of it would seem to indicate a neophyte.”
Jason said, “It’s got to be his first kill in Worcester County.”
Kennedy nodded. “Most likely.”
Gervase said reluctantly, “It won’t be his last. That’s for sure.”
“No,” Kennedy said. His expression was bleak.
“Which brings up another possibility. I don’t like it. None of us will like it, but I think we have to consider it. Maybe we’re not looking at a copycat. Maybe we never got the Huntsman.”
Shock rippled through the room.
“Martin Pink is the Huntsman,” Kennedy said. “We got the right guy.”
“We can’t be sure, not one hundred percent sure, Agent Kennedy. How can we be?” Gervase was regretful but stubborn.
“I’m one hundred percent sure. I’ll stake my career on it.”
Jason heard the words with a sinking feeling. Of course, Kennedy’s career was already at stake. He was just putting into words what everyone already knew.
Still. A guy like Kennedy made enemies. Why give them more ammunition? They were already loaded for bear.
Jason had the unmistakable feeling someone was staring at him. He glanced up, and sure enough, Boxner was regarding him with his usual pugnacious expression.
“Well, here’s another possibility.” Boxner continued to scowl, and for a confused instant Jason thought he was being personally addressed. “What if this accomplice of the Huntsman was someone young, someone who didn’t live here all the time, someone who didn’t come back after the first couple of murders. What if he isn’t an accomplice? What if he’s a disciple?”
Boxner’s fierce gaze never wavered. Jason, unable to believe what he was hearing, was so flabbergasted he nearly laughed. It wasn’t funny though. In fact, it was so far out of line…
No. Even Boxner couldn’t be that nuts.
Or could he?
“Did you have someone in mind?” Kennedy asked dryly.
Boxner pointed at Jason like the embodiment of J’accuse. Everyone in the room turned to look at Jason. Even Kennedy looked startled.
“You’re kidding, right?” Jason said. He tried to keep his voice even, but he was so angry he wanted to leap across the room and throttle Boxner. What the hell? What was his problem? He couldn’t really… Did he really…?
Boxner was glaring right back at Jason like yeah, he did really. Boxner said, “He was a suspect when Honey Corrigan was killed.”
“What?”
“Boyd, what the hell are you talking about?” Gervase demanded.
“Are you out of your mind?” Jason cried. “I wasn’t a suspect. I was never a suspect. Are you crazy?”
Boxner said to Gervase, “You gave him a lie-detector test.”
“I did what?” Gervase continued to look amazed and alarmed. “I did?”
Everyone else in the room looked like they were watching an exceptionally good show at the Coliseum. That would be Lions versus Christians, not Springsteen in concert.
Everyone but Kennedy, and even he looked slightly less impassive than usual. He was frowning as he met Jason’s appalled gaze.
“It’s right there in Honey’s file,” Boxner said. “The files they asked for today.”
“Who the hell are you?” Gervase asked Jason. And then to Boxner, “Who the hell is he?”
“He’s Jason West.”
“I know he’s Jason West!”
“His family used to spend summers here. You have to remember them. They used to own the old Harley place out on Amber Road.”
“The Harley place?” Gervase threw Jason a quick, uneasy look. “He’s a Harley?”
“Right,” Boxner said. “One of them. A bunch of rich snobs laughing at the rest of us. And he was there, he was a witness—he claimed to be a witness—when Honey disappeared. And now here he is again when another girl is murdered.”
It was beyond ridiculous. Boxner was leaving out all the essential parts of the story like how Jason had an ironclad alibi and zero motive for Honey’s death, like how he had passed his polygraph, like how after Honey’s death Jason’s family had never returned to Kingsfield, like how he was only here in an official capacity to investigate a murder that had already occurred two days earlier—it was ludicrous, laughable, and yet he could actually see the surprise on people’s faces turning to shock and suspicion. This was how rumors got started.
How people’s careers and lives were destroyed.
“You crazy sonofabitch,” Jason said, and this time he did start after Boxner—on
ly to find Kennedy in his way.
“No,” Kennedy said. He spoke with utter finality, like he was delivering a decree, and as Jason stared into Kennedy’s stern blue eyes, he realized Kennedy was right. He was about to give Boxner exactly what he wanted.
Which was still bewildering because why would Boxner—did Boxner genuinely hate him this much? Could he seriously suspect Jason of murdering his best friend?
Boxner said, “I don’t believe in coincidences. He’s here for a reason. He’s—”
Kennedy said, “Okay, we’re going to take this behind closed doors. Now.”
“You’re not in charge here,” Boxner began, but Gervase cut him off.
“Now, Boyd. My office.”
Kennedy led the way. Jason followed, numbly listening to Gervase adjourning the rest of the briefing until the following morning.
Gervase’s office was on the ground floor. Impressively mounted on the wall behind the desk was the head of a seven-point buck. The rest of the wall space was covered with framed commendations. Short bookshelves held binders and law books. Several family photos sat on a reasonably tidy desk.
“God almighty,” Kennedy muttered. “You’re just full of surprises.”
Jason opened his mouth to answer, but the next minute Gervase had entered the room followed by Boxner who fired a furious look at Jason, as though this was somehow Jason’s doing.
Gervase slammed the door shut and took his chair behind the desk.
“All right, let’s hear it,” he said to Jason.
Jason looked at Boxner. “Be my guest.”
This seemed to set Boxner off all over again, and he poured out his tale of damning circumstances that weren’t really all that damning once you laid them out end to end. Or at least Jason hoped not. Kennedy’s face was back to its normal granite state, and Gervase was getting redder by the minute.
“That’s it?” he demanded when Boxner had finally come to a sullen stop. “He was a suspect for few hours during the Corrigan investigation? That’s what this is about?”
“He was the prime suspect.”
“The hell I—!” Jason broke off, startled, as Kennedy placed a hand on his arm.
