by Josh Lanyon
“Good. Keep me informed.” Kennedy disconnected.
Keep me informed. Jason grimaced. Well, that would be one of them being kept informed.
Chapter Nineteen
The next time Kennedy phoned it was after two in the afternoon.
Jason was in their temporary office, eating a late lunch and once again poring over the crime scene photos from the original Huntsman investigation when his phone rang.
He swallowed a bite of dried-out turkey club and said, “West.”
“We’re on our way back to Kingsfield,” Kennedy said. “The Davies girl isn’t going to be able to tell us anything.”
“She hasn’t regained consciousness yet?”
“She regained consciousness. But she was hit from behind. Boston has a two-man protection detail on her hospital room until she’s released tomorrow. Then she’s flying out to stay with an aunt in Colorado.”
“Damn. She didn’t see anything? She didn’t hear anything? Nothing?”
“No. There’s a possibility a stun gun was used to—”
“A stun gun. You mean a taser—?”
Kennedy continued, “Before you rush out to read Boxner his rights, if she was tasered, it was through her swimsuit, and there are no discernible marks.”
“So somebody knew what he was doing when he zapped her. That’s all that means. What about Rebecca? Her swimsuit was skimpier. Marks might have shown on her body.”
“I’ve already checked with the medical examiner, and there were plenty of abrasions but nothing to indicate she was tasered.”
“Okay, but then that fits in because I don’t think the killer wanted Candy dead.”
“West—”
Jason rose and closed the door to the office. He kept his voice down as he said, “I think we were meant to find Candy. That’s why she was put back in the same place as Rebecca. Because Boxner was right about that. It didn’t make sense to use the same dumping ground twice.”
“Let’s discuss this when I get back.”
“All right. But I’ve been going over the crime scene photos again. And I agree with you. We’re not dealing with a copycat. I think Candy was taken to make it look like Rebecca was the victim of a copycat killer. This case is all about Rebecca. She’s the key.”
“West.” Kennedy sounded as cold as he had on the day of their first meeting. “We will discuss this when I get back.”
“Wait. Will you just hear me out? I know you don’t believe Boxner could be involved, but you can’t argue with the fact that he was on the scene. He was there. And he’s got access to those old files and the old evidence.”
Kennedy’s faraway voice said, “Can we pull over for a minute?” And then in Jason’s ear, a terse, “Hold on.”
Jason held on. He heard a door slam, heard what sounded like footsteps on gravel, and then Kennedy’s voice came on loud and clear.
“What part of leave it alone do you not get, West? Goddamn it. I am telling you leave it alone.”
“Leave what alone? The investigation we’re supposed to be working together? Aren’t you the guy who said we needed to keep open minds?”
“You’re not keeping an open mind! You’re obsessed with proving Boxner guilty.”
That stung. “The hell. I’m not obsessed. This isn’t personal.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. The hell it isn’t. You need to take a step back, Agent West. A big step back. Do you realize what’s going to happen to this investigation if you start accusing members of Kingsfield PD? Do you comprehend what’s going to happen to both of us if you make these allegations without—”
“What if I can find physical proof?”
“What physical proof?”
“Proof that the mermaid I found next to Candy originally belonged to Honey.”
Kennedy said very quietly, “What exactly are you saying?”
“When I picked up that charm, I recognized it.”
Why that would make Kennedy all the angrier, Jason wasn’t sure, but he could hear the effort he was making to keep his tone even. “How would that be possible?”
“It would be possible for someone who had access to the evidence room.”
“No. I mean how could you possibly, after sixteen years, remember a trinket from a keychain?”
“I…just do.”
“For the love of God. A hunch is not proo—”
“I’ll get proof,” Jason repeated.
“How?”
“I just told you. The evidence room. I can go through Honey’s effects. That mermaid charm should still be there. If it’s not, then someone took it to plant it on Candy’s body in order to make it look like either the Huntsman or an unidentified accomplice had returned. Or that Kingsfield had a copycat on its hands.”
There was a silence on the other end.
“Negative,” Kennedy said. “Do not request access to the evidence room.”
Jason heard it with disbelief. “Why?”
“Because every cop in Worcester County will hear about it within the hour. And every cop in Worcester County will put two and two together and conclude that we’re questioning the integrity of this investigation. That we suspect the involvement of local law enforcement.”
“That’s bullshit, Kennedy. And you know it. I could have any number of reasons for requesting access to the evidence room. No one is going to instantly assume—”
“You think Boxner isn’t going to wonder what the hell you’re up to? And if he is your guy, he’ll know immediately what you’re looking for. Right?”
“Well, according to you he isn’t my guy, so that shouldn’t be a worry.”
“Goddamn it, West. I am telling you to back off. You are to wait to do anything until I get back to Kingsfield, and then we’ll decide together on the best course of action. That is an order. The situation there is a lot more delicate than you understand.”
“An order?” Jason repeated politely.
“I’m the senior fucking officer on this case and yes, you’re goddamn right; I’m ordering you to back off. Do you understand?”
“Oh, I understand,” Jason said.
I understand that you think an order should be enough and you don’t have to explain yourself. I understand that you’ve treated me like your errand boy—when not a downright nuisance—throughout this entire investigation. I understand that you believe if you’re not here to tell me what to do and when to do it, I’ll jeopardize both the investigation and your job. I understand that you trust no one. Particularly not me. And, by the way, I understand you’re not my boss and can’t actually give me orders, you asshole.
“Defy me and I’ll break you.” Kennedy clicked off.
“And I’ll break you?” Jason stared at his phone in disbelief. “Did you just—? Did you—? Who the fuck do you think you are, Kennedy? You’ll break me?”
Jesus Christ. No wonder Manning wanted Kennedy’s head on a platter. The only surprise was that everyone Kennedy had ever met wasn’t ordering off that same menu.
It had been a long time since Jason had been this mad. So mad that he was standing in an empty office ranting to himself. In fact, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever been this angry in his entire life.
“You’ll break me. Wow. You are something else, Kennedy. Just be glad I’m not interested in breaking you, you asshole.”
He took a couple of calming breaths, plastered a pleasant smile on his face, and went to find Officer Courtney.
“Sorry to interrupt. What’s the protocol for the evidence room?”
“Oh! Well, biological samples are stored at State. We don’t have the facilities here. Guns, money, and narcotics are kept in a locker, and only the chief has the key. All other physical evidence is kept in the property room.”
“You don’t have a computer program for inventory control?”
“We’ve been talking about it, but we’re a small department and those programs are pretty expensive.”
“Sure,” Jason said. “It’s the same everywhere. And who has access to
the property room?”
She looked confused. “Any officer who needs access.”
“Is it procedure to return or purge adjudicated items?”
“Adjudicated? Oh! Well, it depends. We try to return valuable property when we can. We don’t really have a firm policy in place. Of course, you’re really asking about the physical evidence collected during the Huntsman case. That’s all upstairs. We won’t ever dispose of that. I think we all feel it would be a kind of…sacrilege.”
“Yes,” Jason said. “Can I get the keys to the property room?”
“Of course.” She opened a drawer and handed him a key on a ring. It was that easy. “We may not be computerized, but everything is organized and labeled. Older cases in the back, new cases in the front. Cases waiting to go to trial on the metal shelf to your left when you walk in.”
“Thank you.”
He took the stairs fast. He was not hiding what he was up to—and if he had been, hiding in plain sight would be the best way to go—but he was conscious that it was probably better to fly under the radar on this. He hadn’t needed Kennedy to tell him that much.
Jason reached the second floor and walked quietly down the empty hallway.
He was still very angry, his heart pounding hard, his hands a bit unsteady as he let himself into the property room, closed the door, and turned on the light.
If Kennedy had not been such a complete bastard, if he hadn’t threatened him, Jason probably would have waited till he got back to Kingsfield. He wouldn’t have liked it, would have continued to think Kennedy was paranoid, would have given Kennedy an earful, but he wouldn’t have deliberately launched himself on a collision course.
If Kennedy thought he was going to break Jason career-wise, he was in for a rude awakening. And if he was talking about physical assault, well, bring it on, old man. Bring it.
He needed to stop thinking about Kennedy and focus on the job at hand.
He studied the crowded shelves, boxes neatly labeled with case numbers and the last names of the victims. He had to give Kingsfield PD—or maybe Officer Courtney—credit. This was an exceptionally clean and well-organized property room, and Jason had been in a lot of property rooms over the years.
He moved down the aisle of shelves, scanning labels.
There it was. Corrigan.
He swallowed. Lifted the box gently down. He carried it to the table in the front.
If he was correct, if the charm he had found with Candy had originally belonged to Honey, someone had removed it from the property room. And even while security measures here were pretty lame, the cast of actors was relatively small.
Jason lifted the lid off the box.
The first thing he saw was Honey’s pink sweater, and that initial glimpse seemed to suck the air right out of his lungs. For an instant it was as though she stood right in front of him. He had not expected to remember…so much. Or be so moved by the memories. It took him a second or two to steel himself. He went swiftly, carefully, through the items one by one: sweater, scuffed sneakers, a copy of The Real Freshman Handbook, a Big Gulp cup, a yellow beach towel with purple sea horses.
Her swimsuit with her blood and other DNA evidence would be stored at State Police evidentiary lockup.
He tried not to think about what he was doing, tried not to remember.
But…
She had been pretty. Not beautiful, but cute. Rosy-cheeked, a little chubby, shorn golden curls, and big blue eyes. “Dancing eyes” was book talk, but yes, Honey’s eyes had sparkled with bright interest and lively curiosity.
They had laughed a lot. Told each other everything—almost everything.
All at once he was back there, back at Holyoke Pond…the smell of suntan oil and grass and water. Honey’s voice, both their voices—young and confident—ringing out across the water, bouncing back from the dark trees. He could see them sitting on their beach towels, talking, as though he was observing them from the woods.
Which was how Martin Pink had watched them.
“Maybe Boyd will ask you to the dance.”
Honey had said archly, “Me? Maybe you should ask Boyd.”
“Oh yeah, right! You think that Neanderthal can dance?” He had flushed hotly, laughing and looking away. Inside he had not been laughing. Inside he had been embarrassed and hopeful and longing. Young love was really hell. Especially when it was unreciprocated. And his was hopeless. He had known that much even then.
Honey had teased, “Oh, but he’s good enough for me!”
He had glanced sideways, caught her unguarded gaze, and realized with a pang that he was not the only one suffering—longing for what was never going to be.
He had looked away quickly, and both had pretended they had not seen too much.
No. No, this was not the time for remembrance. He could not afford to feel this right now.
Jason lifted out the last item in the box. An old first-aid kit.
He opened it.
For a minute he mistook a stray cotton ball for what he was looking for, and he felt a zap of…he wasn’t sure if it was relief or alarm.
In the end it didn’t matter. This white puff would change the course of no one’s life.
He went back and checked through every item again.
Nothing.
Her keys were there. The charm was not on the ring.
There was a knocking sensation in his stomach. He felt almost light-headed. Even though this was what he had been looking for—this absence of something that should be there—it was still a shock. Still unbelievable.
The mermaid charm was gone.
He sank down on the long table and tried to think.
Kennedy was right. They could not afford to make any mistakes at this juncture. Jason could not afford to make any mistakes. Having gone against Kennedy, and with so much at stake, he could not get anything wrong.
So think.
Boxner had access to the evidence room and to all the original case files. He was clearly not the only member of Kingsfield PD who had access, though. However, he was the only member who visited Rebecca’s home earlier in the evening.
Which, as Kennedy had pointed out numerous times, did not in itself mean anything. It was possible that Boxner could have arranged to meet Rebecca later. But there was absolutely no proof that such a thing had happened.
It was all circumstantial. Which was more than they had on anyone else at the moment.
What bothered Jason most was that none of this addressed the big problem of why. Why would Boxner kill Rebecca Madigan?
Why abduct Candy Davies?
Okay, that he could answer. To make it look like Rebecca’s murder was part of that larger and earlier pattern. Candy’s abduction helped foster the illusion that the Huntsman was back.
Except…if someone really wanted to make it look like the Huntsman was back, Candy should have been killed too.
So the real question was why had Candy not been killed?
No. Skip that for a second. If he was right about Candy’s abduction simply being smokescreen…it brought him full circle back to why kill Rebecca?
As much as Jason wanted Boxner for this, he knew Kennedy was right about Boxner not fitting the profile—any profile—of a serial killer. Asshole Kennedy might be, but he did know his stuff.
Therefore Rebecca’s was not the first death in a new series of copycat slayings.
Rebecca’s homicide was a unique and separate crime.
Opening up new avenues of investigation—and a much larger roster of potential suspects.
Rebecca’s character was key. Victimology became crucial once more.
So what did they have?
Not a lot really. Rebecca was the daughter of wealthy parents. Wealthy and demanding parents. She was sexually active. She was described by a number of people as smart, sassy, headstrong, spoiled, entitled, bratty…put it together, and they were left with a girl you didn’t want to mess with if you were a young ambitious cop on a small-town force.
>
A girl who could do your career a hell of a lot of damage.
Boxner.
Right?
As hard as it was to believe after the drive to Kyser’s that morning, it had to be Boxner.
Because if it wasn’t Boxner, who was left?
“Everything okay?” Officer Courtney asked when Jason returned the key to the property room.
“Yep.”
She studied him sympathetically. “It does get pretty warm up there in the summer, I know.”
Jason smiled. “A little. I’ve got to compliment you. That’s a well-organized property room.”
She smiled back.
Jason said, “That noise complaint at the Madigans’ on Friday night. Was Officer Boxner alone when he responded to that call?”
“Yes.”
“Small department, solo patrol?”
“Yes.” She gave him a rueful look.
“And that was the only call to the Madigans’ that night?”
“Yes.”
“Officer Boxner asked Rebecca to turn down the music, and she obeyed, and everything was peaceful and quiet for the rest of the night?”
Officer Courtney gave a dry little laugh. “I wouldn’t say that. There was a second noise complaint. The chief said he would look into it, but he ended up having to help a stranded motorist.”
Jason stared at her. “So Boxner went back to the Madigans’ a second time?”
“No. Officer Boxner was off-duty by then. Anyway, it would have taken a team of officers to break up that party. We knew they’d be winding down eventually.”
“Right.” Jason frowned, nodded, started to turn away—when her words fully sunk in.
“What time was that?”
“What time was what?”
“What time did the second noise complaint come in?”
Courtney said promptly, “Twelve thirty.”
“The chief was on his way to the Madigans’, but instead stopped to help a stranded motorist?”
She looked puzzled. “Yes. Actually, two girls with a flat tire. They didn’t know how to use their jack.”
Jason asked carefully, “What time did he call in?”
“Who?”
He didn’t need to look at her expression to realize he had to tread very carefully here. Kennedy had been right about that. “At what time did Chief Gervase let you know he was canceling the call to the Madigans’ because he was stopping to help the girls with the flat tire?”
