by R. D. Brady
CHAPTER 56
Julie let herself through the front door and dropped her backpack on the table by the door. Behind her, the storm blew the door wide, ushering leaves and rain into the front foyer. She wrestled it closed and turned the deadbolt, then leaned against it, a puddle of water developing under her feet.
After leaving Steve’s, she’d been too restless to head straight home, so she’d driven around the island. Millners Kill was a disaster. A few roads had full-fledged rivers running through them, others had giant puddles, and electric lines were down all over the place. It didn’t take Julie long to realize she needed to get inside. Being out was pure suicide tonight. But even once she’d decided to head straight home, it still took her over an hour to get here. She’d had to backtrack at least five times due to road blockages, and she couldn’t chance driving any faster than ten miles per hour.
She stripped off all of her clothes—just the short walk from the car had soaked them—and dropped them next to the door. Wearing just her bra and underwear, she walked to the laundry room just off the kitchen, flipping on the lights as she went. The house felt less empty with the lights on.
She got out her sweatpants, an old t-shirt, and some socks from the dryer—like a college student, she’d brought her dirty laundry with her on this trip—and pulled them on. Luckily, she had done her laundry as soon as she'd arrived, before the power went out.
She headed into the kitchen and pulled a coffee mug from the almost empty cabinets. Her parents had cleaned out most things, but she guessed they’d left a few things behind for “staging”—buyers supposedly didn’t like to visit a completely empty house.
She hit the button of the Keurig for a large mug of coffee. Thank God they didn’t take you, my little friend. She poured in a little sugar and took a sip. She nearly swooned with happiness.
But as much as the coffee warmed her, it couldn’t distract from her worries. She’d tried to call her parents on the drive over, but she hadn’t been able to get a signal. She knew they’d be worried not being able to reach her. She sighed. Well, at least the power’s still on.
Two people had been murdered since Steve had come back to town. And she knew Steve hadn’t killed Mel; she was sure of that. If, that is, the time of death was right. Which meant, by Occam’s razor, he didn’t kill Elise either. And then there was Micah. Why would someone grab him?
Julie walked into the den and turned on the light next to the couch. It gave the room a soft warm glow. She walked to the window and watched the storm rage outside. It made the empty house feel even emptier. She wrapped her hands around the mug, wishing the warmth would seep into the rest of her body.
She winced as she pictured Steve’s face. She knew she should feel vindication. But she didn’t.
Dark clouds whirled by outside. Julie went to the couch in the den and placed her mug on the side table. She pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped it around her, then grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. She needed noise. She needed to feel like she wasn’t alone in this big old house.
For a while she watched an old sitcom, but her eyes kept drifting to the large bay window. She could feel eyes on her. The hair on the back of her neck began to stand up.
“Oh, enough,” she said after a few minutes. She strode over to the window and looked out. The streetlights and the moon were bright enough to illuminate the yard. And it was still empty. The only things moving were the tall evergreens blowing in the wind. No one’s there. You’re working yourself up over nothing.
Nevertheless, she pulled down the blinds. Then she walked the house, making sure all the doors and windows were shut and locked.
She stopped at her backpack by the front door and pulled out her Glock. She’d had it with her all day; she felt safer knowing it was nearby.
Back in the den, she placed the gun on the side table next to the couch, then curled up again. This time she really forced herself to focus on the show. She needed to stop creating fears where there was nothing.
CHAPTER 57
Hidden among the spruces in Julie’s yard, he watched Julie settle in on the couch. How many times had he stood out here and watched her when he was younger?
And tonight the show had been especially good: he had watched her pad through the house in just her black bra and panties. She still looked good.
Rain ran down his face. He didn’t care. The rain was irrelevant. Julie was the reason the game could continue. He’d worried after Steve’s arrest that it would be all over. Killing Mel could have turned into a mistake. He was too close. The connection too easily made. But the opportunity had presented itself and he just couldn’t resist. He should have been smarter, though, held back.
He frowned. He didn’t like thinking he wasn’t in control. Control was everything. A momentary glitch—that was all.
He’d been away from the blood for too long. And after Elise, and then Micah—well, it was understandable that he had wanted more than a taste. So he had plunged the knife into Mel—again, and again, and again. The rage had poured out of him. God, the release.
Psychologists would say that he got some sort of sexual release from the deaths. But they understood so little. Sex was physical and done. Blood, death… it was so much more. Dripping in it, bringing it to the surface, having that power over life and dead—it was beyond anything this life could offer. It was the fulfillment of a life’s purpose. He was at his best in that moment. He was perfection.
A shadow passed the den window again, drawing his attention. Ah, back in the den. Julie had wandered the house for a bit, but now she was back. He wanted to move closer, peer in the window. But that would unwise. He couldn’t risk being spotted.
He blew a kiss to the window as Julie closed the blinds. His angel. Because of her, the game would be his best yet. Until we meet again, my Julie.
CHAPTER 58
Declan sat in the faculty lounge of the elementary school, pushing through the Granger file. He’d run over to his sister’s house to check on his sister and dad, but he’d been too antsy to stay, so he’d headed back to the school again.
He was missing something. He knew it. He pushed back from the desk and rubbed his eyes. The power had shut off an hour ago, so he was forced to use a lantern, and it was straining his eyes. And despite all the time he was putting in, none of it seemed to be helping. So far he hadn’t figured out much of anything.
He kept coming back to the one detail about the case that had been bothering him for over ten years: the bloody clothes found in Steve’s closet. They were a big part of the reason why Steve was pursued as a suspect to begin with. But before Steve’s trial began, those clothes disappeared from lockup. They had never been recovered.
Declan was sure that someone had long since turned them to ash. But who had taken them? And why? It couldn’t have been Steve, because he was in custody when the items disappeared. So who else?
Keith, of course, had dismissed the disappearance as a mix-up—the clothes had been misplaced, or maybe taken by some crazy stalker obsessed with the case—but Declan had never bought that. That evidence could have nailed the coffin shut on Steve—or it could have set him free.
Declan pushed the papers away. There were no answers here. He stood up and walked to the window. Large ponds seemed to have popped up all over the island. Main Street was now a river. In the middle of it all was a killer. And Declan had no idea who it was.
Steve was alibied for both the attempted abduction of Micah and the death of Mel. For Elise’s as well, although he was wasn’t as confident on the time of death for that one. But he still didn’t think it was Steve. And the likelihood that there were two murderers in such a tiny town was so low it was laughable—which meant Steve wasn’t responsible for any of the recent killings. So who, then?
A squad car pulled into the lot. Declan watched Russ get out and duck into the front entrance. Good. Declan had appreciated the young cop’s help earlier, but then Russ had had to go back on duty, leavi
ng Declan to stare at the files alone. And to be honest, Declan could use the company right now.
Russ walked into the lounge looking a little worse for wear. He unzipped his raincoat to reveal a shirt that was splattered with mud.
“What happened?” Declan asked.
Russ pulled out a chair and slumped into it. “Flood waters are appearing all over town. Giant puddles, too. People aren’t realizing how deep the water is, and they’re driving in and getting stuck. I’ve pulled people out of at least five cars now.” He gestured to his shirt. “I’m out of clean shirts.”
Declan poured him a cup out of a silver thermos on the table.
Russ nodded his thanks and took a sip. He looked back at Declan, a smile on his face. “Hot cocoa?”
“I made some at my sister’s. I remembered you saying you didn’t like coffee.”
Russ took a big drink and then sighed. “Oh, this so hits the spot.”
“Did you get a chance to check on the fingerprint?”
They had decided to scan the fingerprint and send it over by email. The folks at the state didn’t like deviations from procedure, but under the circumstances, Declan figured they could make an exception.
Russ shook his head. “By the time I got back to the station, the power was out. We’ll have to wait until it comes back up.”
“Damn. That’s our best lead.”
Silence fell over the two men. Declan knew Russ was on the edge of exhaustion, and he wasn’t doing much better himself. But he had to keep trying. He needed to feel like he was making headway—or that he at least had a plan.
“You know,” Russ said slowly. “They still have the old fingerprint cards in the basement of the station.”
Declan looked over and raised his eyebrows. “You want to manually compare the print to every fingerprint in those files?”
Russ shuddered. “God, no. But we still have Steve’s from back then. We could at least compare his and rule him out.” The words Russ didn’t say hung in the air between them: Or prove it was actually him.
Declan knew matching fingerprints wasn’t as easy as most people thought. It took an expert or a computer program to properly examine the loops, whorls, and arches on a finger. Even then there was debate as to how many similarities were needed, although most experts agreed you needed at least twelve to declare a match.
Declan shrugged. “It’s worth a shot. We could try, but unless there’s something that really stands out in the fingerprint, I don’t see how that will…”
Russ’s head had fallen to his chest. He jerked his head back up and blinked his eyes repeatedly. He’s literally asleep on his feet, Declan thought.
“How about we check that out first thing in the morning?” Declan said.
Russ blinked his eyes a few more times. “I can get to it tonight.”
Declan shook his head. “No. I think you need some sleep, and I know I do. We’ll get to it first thing in the morning.”
Russ stood up. “Okay. You going back to your sister’s?”
Declan glanced outside, imagining the flood-covered streets. “No. I’ll just bunk down in the med center.”
“Okay. I’m going to head back to the station, bunk there. Just in case.” Russ headed out. Declan walked to the window, taking a sip of cocoa as he watched Russ’s squad car pull slowly out of the parking lot.
With a sigh, Declan headed back to the table. He looked over the boxes. Each one had the case identifying information printed neatly on it. The handwriting was neat—obviously a woman’s. Must be Dee. Nothing happens in that station without her.
He went still. Nothing in that station happens without her. I am so stupid.
She’d been questioned at the time about the missing evidence, but had said no one had been in the station. But now that years had passed, maybe she had a different story to tell. And maybe this one has more characters.
He grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. Apparently he’d lied to Russ. Because there was someplace he needed to go.
CHAPTER 59
Steve sat in his grandfather’s chair, every bone in his body aching. He was glad Jack was here to help with his grandmother. He hated seeing her face when she caught sight of him. It was like she aged a little more each time.
The picture of Mel lying on the diner floor flashed through his mind. He gripped the arms of the chair, the grief and anger pouring through him. Mel hadn’t deserved that. He was a good man. And as of right now, there were no leads. Jack had said that Declan didn’t have any evidence besides the time of death. And Keith, of course, was next to useless.
Steve shifted in his chair and forced himself to think of something else. Julie’s face floated through his mind. He felt he ghost of Julie’s hand on his skin. Her touch had been feather light, and more sensual than anything he’d ever felt. At one point during the afternoon, he’d woken up to find her sleeping in the chair next to him. He’d stayed quiet and just watched her. She’d looked so peaceful, so young. Her skin was flawless. She was stunning. And for some reason, she had stayed to make sure he was okay.
Stupid. She was just helping you out. There was nothing more to it than her being a good person. He knew that was true, but a part of him couldn’t help but wish there had been a little more to it.
She had left only after Jack had returned. The house felt a little emptier without her presence.
Steve’s gaze drifted to the stairs. Jack had looked so tired, so worn down when he’d come in. Steve might have been the one locked up, but each of the people touched by Simone’s death had done their own time in their own way, even Jack. Always having to be the good brother, always having people whisper about who Steve was and what he had done. Even though it wasn’t fair and there was nothing Steve could have done to prevent it, he still couldn’t help but feel guilty.
Steve let out a yawn and rubbed his eyes. I can’t believe I’m still tired. He knew he’d been asleep for hours, but apparently his body still wanted more. He’d slept most of the day.
Steve closed his eyes and let sleep take him. He worried that the image of Mel would haunt his dreams. But he shouldn’t have. He dreamed of Julie.
CHAPTER 60
Declan leaned forward, his chest all but pressed up against the steering wheel. The windshield wipers beat furiously but still he could barely make out the road.
“This is stupid,” he muttered.
He had barely gone faster than fifteen miles per hour the whole ride. Two of the roads he’d planned on taking were completely washed out. He’d had to backtrack, making his way through the rain-filled streets. A couple of times he’d held his breath going through a puddle the depth of which he wasn’t sure about.
Finally, though, he was heading uphill on Franklin Street. He spotted Dee’s small brick ranch on the right. Dee and her husband, Bud, had lived there for thirty years and raised three girls together. But Dee lived alone now; Bud had passed away just last fall from lung cancer after being on disability for years, and all the girls were grown and had moved away for better opportunities. Declan wondered why Dee stayed on. She didn’t have many friends. In fact, he couldn’t think of one. Her life had been Bud and her girls. Now she kept to herself, only socializing at church.
Declan pulled into the drive and turned off the headlights. The lights were on in the front living room. Declan knew Dee had a generator—most people on the island did. The clock on the dash read 9:18. He listened to the rain pound on his roof. He wanted to wait until the rain eased a little bit, but as that didn’t seem likely to happen anytime soon, and he hadn’t brought a sleeping bag or food, he probably should just suck it up.
Steeling himself, he pushed open the door.
The wind pushed back. He wrestled his way out of the car, wondering yet again why the hell he was doing this, tonight of all nights. Simone Granger had been gone for ten years. Steve was finally out of prison. Certainly this could wait a few more days, at least until the storm blew over. But something inside was pushing him to f
ind the answers as soon as possible. With the recent murders, the town had turned into a powder keg. And Declan couldn’t help but feel that these new murders were tied to Simone’s.
Running as fast as the weather would allow, he ducked into the carport next to Dee’s house. Shaking himself like a dog, he blew out a breath.
The light next to the carport entrance came on and the door opened. “Declan Reed, what the hell are you doing?”
A bead of water rolled from his hair, down the middle of his forehead, and off the end of his nose. “Hey, Dee. Uh, I just had a couple of questions for you.”
Dee looked pointedly outside. “And you thought tonight was the best night to ask them?”
He shrugged. “I’m like a dog with a bone.”
She held open the door. “Well, leave your jacket out there and come on in.”
Declan shrugged off his jacket and hung it on an exposed nail next to the door. He slipped off his shoes in the small mud room and then followed Dee into the kitchen. The kitchen was circa 1960, with a white-gray linoleum floor, dark wood cabinets, and a Corian countertop. It might not be fancy, but it was neat.
Dee gestured to the old wooden table tucked under the windows in the corner. “I just made some tea. Take a seat.”
Declan did and watched while Dee poured from a teapot into two mugs. She placed one in front of Declan before sitting across from him. He reached down and took a sip. “Chamomile?” he asked, surprised.
Dee nodded. “My daughter Lorraine got it for me and Bud. It helped him sleep. Helps me sleep too.”
“I’m sorry about his passing.”
She waved away his words. “It was his time. He was on borrowed time ever since the mill.”
Declan nodded, knowing what she meant. Bud had been in an accident at the lumber mill about twelve years ago. A stack of logs had come loose from their holdings, and Bud had been crushed. The bones in his legs were broken, but more critically, his spine had been damaged. He’d been confined to a wheelchair from that point on.
