by Laura Scott
Soon it would be her turn. Once the deputies secured the premises she would take the crime scene photos. She wasn’t at all certain she could do it.
When Luke came back outside she forced herself to get out of the car to meet him halfway, searching his grim expression.
“Another young girl?” she asked, dreading the answer.
He nodded. “Young and blonde, just like Liza. I’ve seen her around, her name is Amy Schiller. She waitresses on the weekends at Rose’s Café.” He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “I need to get in touch with her parents.”
She remembered the young blonde who’d served her the veggie lasagna the night she’d met Jake. Was that the same girl? Her stomach clenched. She’d been so pretty. So young. Her whole life ahead of her.
She didn’t envy Luke’s conversation with her parents. She forced herself to think and act like a crime scene investigator. “How long has she been dead?”
Luke shook his head. “I’m not sure. I’m no expert, but from the smell I would have guessed a long time. Maybe even twenty-four hours. Yet it doesn’t seem like she’s been inside your house for that length of time. Maybe a couple of hours.”
Her heart stuttered in her chest. Her house. The killer had put the body of his latest victim, poor Amy Schiller, in her house.
Her knees threatened to give away, but she locked them in place with effort. The deputies had searched the immediate area without finding any trace of the killer. Yet he’d been inside her house, not just once when he’d left the message on her mirror, but again today.
And after everything that had happened, she couldn’t discount the probability that he was hiding somewhere, watching them with binoculars.
Isn’t that what a killer who enjoyed playing mind games would do?
The tiny hairs on the back of her neck rose, and she resisted the urge to glance over her shoulder. “Okay.” It took every iota of willpower she possessed to step around Luke to head inside her small cabin.
“Megan.” Luke’s low, husky voice stopped her. She turned to face him, her gaze questioning. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do.” This message left by the killer was even more blatant and bold than assaulting the first victim in her backyard. He wanted her to go inside, to find the body of young Amy, which he’d left in her house.
The killer wanted her to suffer as much as his victims.
Feeling like a mere puppet whose master was yanking on her strings, she slowly approached her front door and stepped inside.
The deputy posted just inside the doorway nodded at her as she walked in. She tore her eyes from his resigned gaze and forced herself to walk down the hall, knowing instinctively the body would be in her bedroom.
In her bed.
She tripped, stumbling against the wall. In some remote portion of her mind, she realized she’d never be able to live in this cabin again.
When she reached the doorway of her bedroom, she paused and swept an intent gaze over the area. She took her time, unwilling to miss any potential clue. She raised her camera, and looking through the viewfinder helped steady her. Work. Focus on work. She took several photos to document the scene.
She recognized the young waitress. As Luke had mentioned, Amy was slender and blonde. She looked young, far too young to have lost her life to violence. As she’d suspected, the body was positioned purposefully on her bed. The orange polyurethane hollow-braided rope he’d used to kill her was still lying across her neck.
She braced herself for a flashback, but this time her mind didn’t fail her. She remained firmly in the present. This wasn’t about Katie anymore.
It was about Amy. And Liza. The most recent victims, whose families deserved closure.
She dragged her gaze from the young girl to look at the rest of her room. All of her things seemed just as she’d left them. In fact, Amy’s body was lying on top of the thin blanket on her neatly made bed.
He hadn’t killed her here in her house. In some distant portion of her mind, she realized they’d need to search for the area where she’d died. Another struggle in the backyard? Or someplace else?
She stood there, knowing she needed to go farther inside the room to do her job. To see if Amy had DNA evidence of her killer anywhere on her body.
Lord, give me strength.
Luke came up behind her, startling her with his presence as he gently rested his broad hands on her shoulders. “I’m right here,” he murmured.
She was extremely grateful for his support, and it occurred to her that God had sent Luke to provide the strength she needed.
With renewed determination, she entered the room and began the painstaking, detailed job of collecting evidence. All the while she was hoping and praying she’d find something to use against the killer in court once Luke and his deputies had him in custody.
Megan and the deputy who’d dusted for prints finished with the crime scene a good two hours later. But the job had been far from satisfying.
She couldn’t help the sinking feeling that her efforts had been in vain.
There had been a glaring lack of clues. Nothing at all like the few things they’d found on Liza. Oh, there had been a couple of hairs on the floor of her bedroom and in her bathroom, but they were the same auburn color as hers, so she wasn’t getting her hopes up that the killer had made a mistake, leaving something incriminating behind. Amy’s fingernails appeared to be clear as well, even though they’d go through the formal testing process to make sure. And she would instruct the team to search for traces of Rohypnol and ether.
There hadn’t been a thread or a fiber out of place. The crime scene was clean.
Exceptionally clean.
“I don’t understand,” Luke murmured, frustration lining his face. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear this perp has some sort of police background. Otherwise we’d find something, wouldn’t we?”
The idea that the killer might be someone with a law-enforcement or criminal-investigation background made her feel sick to her stomach. But he was right. “This is very odd. Usually there is something left behind,” she admitted slowly.
The rest of her house looked untouched, even though they’d dusted every surface. The killer had jimmied the back door, carried Amy inside and then left again.
There was no denying she was still bothered by what Sherman had told them. Troubled, she turned to face Luke. “You know, there wasn’t anything left behind at the first two crime scenes either.”
Luke narrowed his gaze. “You mean the crime scenes of Sherman’s first two victims?”
She nodded. The similarities between Amy’s murder and the first two girls were downright eerie. They would have to wait for the autopsy, of course, but somehow she suspected that Amy had been given ether instead of Rohypnol, just like the first two victims.
Something vague tugged at her memory. She frowned and tried to concentrate on the previous crime scenes, knowing she was missing something important.
“Sheriff?” They were interrupted by one of the deputies, who approached Luke’s squad car where they both stood. “Amy Schiller’s parents have called the dispatcher to report her missing. They’re pretty hysterical.”
Of course they were. They had good reason to be hysterical.
“I’m on my way,” Luke assured the deputy.
She glanced at Luke with sympathy. “Do you want me to come with you?”
He hesitated and then shook his head. “No, it’s probably best if I go alone. What I really need is for you to go back to headquarters to keep working on this case. These crimes have to be related to Sherman’s victims. Maybe your initial theory was right and the copycat killer is re-creating the crimes of Sherman’s earlier victims. They’re related, but I need your help to figure out how they’re connected.”
“All right, I’ll do my best.” She watched Luke walk away, her heart going out to him and to Amy Schiller’s family.
As she slid into the passenger seat of the deputy�
��s vehicle, she could only hope Luke’s faith in her abilities wasn’t misplaced.
Luke pulled up into the Schillers’ driveway, his stomach knotted with dread.
This part of the job never got any easier.
Amy’s parents had obviously been watching for him, because they met him outside when he climbed from the squad car. “What do you want?” Greg Schiller asked in a tone that was clearly hostile.
Luke didn’t let their anger faze him. After all, they had every right to be upset.
He’d failed to protect their daughter. Failed to find Liza’s murderer in time to save Amy.
And nothing he was going to say today would change that fact.
He gazed at them solemnly. “Mr. and Mrs. Schiller, it might be best if we talk inside.”
“We’re fine right here,” Greg Schiller said harshly. “You’re not welcome in our home. In fact, I’d prefer to have someone else take our statement.”
Luke was a little surprised by Greg’s vehemence against him personally. After all, they were all members of the same church congregation. But he truly understood their anger. They clearly thought they were giving a statement about their missing daughter. They likely assumed he was slacking off in his job as interim sheriff.
The worst part of all was that they had no idea the bad news he’d come to deliver.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, wishing there was a kinder, gentler way to tell them. “I’m afraid I have bad news. We found Amy, she—”
“No,” Robin Schiller interrupted. “No, don’t say it.” Her face went pale and she clutched her husband’s arm tightly. “Amy is alive. She’s fine. She was staying overnight at a friend’s house and must have decided to walk home. She’ll be here any minute. Do you hear me?” her voice rose to a hysterical level. “She’s fine!”
He couldn’t imagine the pain of losing a child. “I’m sorry,” he said helplessly. “Let’s go inside…”
“No! What are you saying?” Greg asked harshly. “She’s dead? Our baby, our Amy, is dead?”
“I’m sorry,” Luke said again. “We found her just a couple of hours ago. She was strangled, just like Liza Campbell. We’ll need you to come down to formally identify her.”
Robin Schiller’s keening wail filled the air as she collapsed against her husband, sobbing uncontrollably. Helplessly, Luke wished he could give them something to ease their pain.
But they didn’t have a clue. Not one bit of evidence to give them any idea how and where to find this homicidal maniac.
How long before he killed again?
“Is there anything I can do for you? Someone you’d like me to call?” Luke finally asked.
“Haven’t you already done enough?” Greg demanded, glaring at him over his wife’s shoulder with grief-stricken eyes. “It’s obvious your son is responsible for this. Get off my property, Sheriff. Better yet, go back to Milwaukee and take that no-good son with you!”
Luke could only stand there and gape at them in shock as Greg Schiller dragged his wife back inside the house and slammed the door.
Reeling from Greg Schiller’s verbal assault, Luke drove back to the sheriff’s department headquarters.
He replayed the scene over and over in his mind, feeling as if he’d missed something. He’d seen many reactions to grief, but this personal attack was by far the worst. Very unexpected from a couple he often saw seated in the front row of church.
Was it possible other Crystal Lake residents felt the same way as the Schillers? But if so, why? Why on earth would they consider Sam a murder suspect? Granted, he’d been disturbed at how his son was the last one to see Liza alive and that he didn’t have an alibi for the time frame of Liza’s murder, but that didn’t mean Sam had killed the girl.
So why point the finger at his son?
Even as the thoughts whirled through his mind, he knew the answer. Because Sam was an outsider. Because his son looked and dressed differently from the other kids. Because Sam didn’t have a lot of friends.
His son was easy prey.
Abruptly, he slammed his foot on the brakes and spun around in an illegal U-turn to head back home.
He needed to talk to Sam. Now. Before news of his assumed guilt spread through the town like wildfire.
His heart was hammering in his chest when he pulled up into the driveway. Sam’s truck was still gone, and he could only assume Doug still had it.
He hoped and prayed Sam was at home. He wanted to talk to Sam before anyone else did. Thank God his son had been home last night.
But not the night before, a tiny voice in the back of his mind reminded him.
Not the night before.
Don’t think about it, he told himself sternly. They didn’t know the time frame of when Amy was killed. No need to automatically think the worst. The Schillers would have sounded the alarm much sooner if Amy had been missing for two days.
He parked the squad car in the driveway and practically ran inside the house.
“Sam? Are you home?” he called as he headed for his son’s room.
Empty. Sam wasn’t in his room or out on the deck or in the kitchen.
Reining in a flash of panic, he mentally smacked himself in the head. Of course Sam wasn’t home. Why hadn’t he remembered Sam was working the early shift at the diner?
Muttering under his breath, he went back outside and drove into town. Main Street was packed with tourists, so he parked down by Barry’s Pub and then walked the few blocks to Rose’s Café.
The place was filled with people, mostly tourists from the way they ignored him, but it didn’t take long for him to catch Josie’s attention behind the counter. “Can I talk to Sam?” he shouted over the din.
“Sorry, sweetie, but you already missed him,” Josie said, her gaze apologetic. “He left about fifteen or twenty minutes ago.”
“Thanks.” Fifteen or twenty minutes. Certainly plenty of time to get home, if that happened to be his son’s destination.
But since he’d just come from home, it obviously wasn’t.
Outside, he jogged down to the squad car. Okay, Sam wasn’t at home or at work. Which left Doug’s house. If his son wasn’t hanging out with his friend, then he’d really have reason to panic.
Thankfully the ride to Doug’s house wasn’t far. And when he saw Sam’s rusted black truck parked in the driveway, he felt an overwhelming sense of relief.
Sam was probably here. No doubt Doug had picked him up from work. He parked and then slowly peeled his clenched fingers from the steering wheel.
For a moment he sat in the squad car, trying to pull himself together and wiping the remnants of worry off his face. When he opened the car door and stepped out onto the blacktop driveway, the front door of Doug’s house slammed open and Sam came barreling out.
“Is it true?” his son demanded, his eyes wild and hands clenched into fists.
Luke winced at the raw agony in Sam’s voice. Obviously the news of Amy’s death and that Sam might be a suspect had already spread through the town faster than a highly contagious virus.
“Yes.” Luke reached out to put a calming hand on his son’s shoulder, but Sam violently shook him off as if he couldn’t stand to be touched. Helplessly he watched Sam’s body tremble with anger. “I’m sorry, son. I’m so sorry.”
“No!” Sam spun on his heel and slammed his fist onto the hood of the squad car with such force he left an unmistakable dent. “Not Amy!”
Luke frowned and took a step toward his son. Sam continued to pace in Doug’s front yard, his eyes welling up with tears.
“Not Amy, not Amy,” Sam repeated over and over, grasping his hair as if he were going to rip it out by the roots.
The tears and the writhing agony weren’t fake. Alarm bells clamored in his head. Something was wrong. Desperately wrong. Sam hadn’t reacted this way when he’d heard the news about Liza Campbell.
Apparently Amy was more to Sam than some stupid chick.
And suddenly the animosity of
Amy’s parents made sense. It wasn’t that he was there to deliver the bad news, but because he was Sam’s father. Amy’s parents didn’t like Luke because he was the town troublemaker’s father.
“You have to find this guy, Dad,” Sam shouted, whirling around to face him. “Do you hear me? Amy was innocent! She didn’t deserve this. She was the best thing that ever happened to me!”
The nagging suspicion couldn’t be denied. “Sam, what are you saying? Was Amy your girlfriend?” he asked hoarsely.
FOURTEEN
“Yeah. She and I—Amy.” Sam broke down again, this time full-out sobbing. His sorrow ripped at Luke. The last time he’d seen his son react like this had been at his mother’s funeral.
Helplessly, he tried to think of something to say. He was stunned beyond belief to discover his son had a girlfriend. Why hadn’t he said anything? Brought her over to meet him? Had they been seeing each other secretly?
Because Amy’s parents had disapproved of the relationship?
As much as the idea made him mad, he was forced to acknowledge the possibility that Amy’s parents weren’t thrilled with Sam. Even Megan had considered him trouble when she’d first seen him. His son hadn’t tried to fit in here at Crystal Lake.
Yet none of that mattered anymore, now that Amy was dead.
Murdered.
The chilling reality of the situation sank in. Amy’s parents suspected Sam of killing their daughter.
And once the news of their secret romance leaked out, everyone else in town would suspect his son too.
Panic compelled him forward. “Sam, listen to me. If you want to help Amy, you need to talk to me.”
Sam whirled on his father. “Help her? She’s dead! I should have protected her!”
“No, you listen to me.” Luke tightly grasped his son’s shoulders, forcing Sam to meet his gaze. “I need your help to find the man who did this. Do you understand? I need your help, Sam. You knew Amy better than anyone else.”
His words finally seemed to reach through the depths of Sam’s grief. Sam swiped his face against the sleeve of his T-shirt and pulled himself together. He pinned Luke with a fierce gaze. “All right. I’ll help you. What do you want to know?”
