Evidence of Marriage

by Ann Voss Peterson

  “Another thing.” Burnell pushed a folder across the table to Reed.

  Reed flipped open the cover. Inside were the crime-scene reports on the Copycat Killer’s third victim—a woman whose body had been so badly burned and mutilated, they were still searching for her identity. He looked up at Burnell, waiting to hear what he had to say.

  “Our copycat is deviating from Kane’s signature.”

  Reed nodded. A killer’s signature wasn’t just about the way he killed or who he chose as a victim, it showed why he killed. Kane had used each murder as a type of dress rehearsal, a way to hone his fantasies by killing women who resembled the woman he was obsessed with until he felt ready to go after the woman herself. The copycat had mimicked Kane’s signature faithfully with the first two murders. “You mean the copycat is now developing his own signature?”

  “It appears so,” Burnell said. “He’s evolving. Either he was trying to hide this woman’s identity, or he is developing his own tastes even as he continues to carry out Kane’s orders.”

  Reed stared at the photo of the body on top of the stack of reports. He didn’t know how this situation could get worse, but he had the feeling that was exactly what Burnell was trying to tell him. “What does that mean for us?”

  “It means you have two serial killers to worry about.”

  DIANA LOOKED UP AT THE CAMERA in the corner of the prison interview room. It stared back at her and Kane with its dark eye.

  She knew Reed was watching them, listening to every word. But it wasn’t enough. She needed to see him. She wanted to look into his warm eyes instead of the impersonal camera lens.

  He’d kept his word during the meeting with Trent Burnell. Even though she could tell every impulse in his body was screaming to intervene. Even when she’d walked into this interview room alone to face Kane, he’d merely told her good luck. But in his eyes, she could see how much those two little words had cost him.

  “The camera is on.”

  The low murmur of Kane’s voice ripped through her body like an electric charge. She met his emotionless eyes.

  “Your boyfriend is watching.”

  “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “Then you shouldn’t look at the camera that way or you will.”

  She sucked in a breath, trying to stem the flow of blood up her neck and into her cheeks. The last thing she needed was to broadcast to Kane her turmoil. She was supposed to be controlling her emotions and keeping Kane from manipulating her, and already she was off to a bad start. She focused on where the conversation had left off before she’d gotten herself off track with thoughts of Reed. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I’m sorry. I was too busy watching you.” His smile reached across the distance between their chairs and burrowed under her skin.

  She couldn’t let him get to her. She had to focus. “I asked how you met this copycat. Have you known him a long time?”

  Kane let out a sigh. “I’m here to talk about father-daughter things. Not sit through endless queries from the police.”

  “When I was here yesterday, you said you would tell me more. About the copycat. About the woman he kidnapped.”

  “But you’re not doing the asking. Your mouth might be moving, but Reed McCaskey’s questions are coming out.”

  She didn’t like hearing him say Reed’s name. She didn’t like him thinking about Reed at all. “They’re my questions, too.”

  “You really want to know about this Copycat Killer?”

  “Yes.”

  Kane arched his graying brows. “After what you went through with that professor, I would think hearing the details would be traumatic for you.”

  And he was right. But she sure as hell wasn’t going to admit that to him. “I want to know.”

  He offered another cold, knowing smile and nothing else.

  “You said he was like a son to you,” she prompted. “Is he your son?”

  “You mean, do you have a brother?”

  She leaned forward before she could stop herself. “Do I?”

  “Would you like that? To have a brother?”

  A brother who was a killer? A brother who was like Dryden Kane? The thought pressed down on her chest like a physical weight. She managed a weak nod.

  “Not sure?”

  She couldn’t lie. “I wouldn’t like to have a brother who kills people, no. But I’d like to know if I have a brother. Do I?”

  “Maybe.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “That’s all the answer I’m going to give. At least today.”

  He was keeping her on the hook, forcing her to come back. “I’m here now. I don’t know if I can make it tomorrow.”

  “You will. Now tell me about Sylvie’s wedding. What kind of music played when she marched down the aisle? Wagner?”

  He wanted her to react to the reference to “The Wedding March.” Wanted to see how she felt about the music boxes she and Sylvie had received.

  She forced herself not to raise her fingers to the heart-shaped pendant Sylvie had given her for being part of her wedding. Instead, she focused on breathing the stale prison air. She couldn’t let him see her vulnerability. She couldn’t let him get her off track. “Let’s say I do have a brother. Does he have the same mother as Sylvie and me?”

  “Back to that again.”

  “Humor me.”

  “Are you worried that I was—” he hesitated, as if searching for the word “—screwing around on your mother?”

  Screwing around? Here Kane had brutally murdered close to a dozen people, yet he’d avoided using foul language in front of her? She almost shook her head in disbelief. “Were you?”

  He tilted his head to the side, looking at her as if he suspected she was an idiot. “You realize your mother was a whore, don’t you?”

  She forced herself not to react. “Did you?”

  His eyes drove into her, piercing like ice picks. “Not once. Not a single time.”

  “Then how might I have a brother?”

  “Your mother wasn’t the first.”

  So it was someone in his past. Or at least it might be. She had to remember Kane couldn’t be trusted. Any word from his lips could be a lie. But at least Sylvie and Bryce wouldn’t be wasting their time in Oshishobee.

  “Now you answer a question for me.”

  The muscles in Diana’s back and legs tensed despite her efforts to relax. She didn’t want to answer his questions. She didn’t want him rummaging around in her mind, trying to control her, manipulate her. But she couldn’t very well refuse. She had to give answers in order to get them. “What do you want to know?”

  “What do you remember from your childhood?”

  “My childhood?”

  “Before you were three years old?”

  The time when she’d lived with him. The time before he’d murdered her mother. “I don’t know. Not much, really.”

  “Think.”

  A tremor started deep in her chest. “Just some images, really. Feelings.”

  “What images? What feelings?” He leaned forward, his handcuffs rattling on the chair arms.

  She knew he was looking for something. But what? If she gave the wrong answer, would he get angry? Would he decide he was disappointed in her? That she didn’t make him feel as good as she had as a child?

  “What do you remember, Diana?”

  The tremor moved into her legs, her arms, her hands. She gripped her thighs to stop from shaking. She would have to tell the truth. It was all she had. “I remember playing in a sandbox made from an old tractor tire.”

  He nodded, urging her to go on.

  “I remember a dachshund. It barked a lot. It frightened me.”

  “It bit you. Do you remember that?”

  She searched her mind, but the memory of being bitten wasn’t there. “No.”

  “It was found dead the next day. Slit down the middle and hanging in a tree.” His lips pulled back in a smile that left no doubt wh
o had killed it. “What else?”

  “I remember a story. Something about a rabbit that ran away. I remember listening to it and feeling very warm. And safe.”

  His face softened with an eerie look of pleasure. “I read you that story. Every night before I tucked you in bed.”

  Diana clutched her legs hard and swallowed into a dry throat. She’d always associated that story with her mother. It couldn’t be possible Kane had been the one reading to her. It couldn’t be possible he was responsible for those warm, safe feelings. The most normal feelings she’d experienced as a child.

  “What’s wrong, Diana?”

  Trent Burnell’s warnings rang in her ears. Kane could be lying. He could be using her childhood emotions to manipulate her. She had to regain control of herself. “Nothing’s wrong.”

  “You don’t believe that you could have loved a serial killer? You don’t believe I could have been a good father?”

  She didn’t. She couldn’t. The thought was abhorrent. He had to be lying, manipulating her. She had to hold on to that.

  She thought of what Kane had told Sylvie—of how she and her sister had made him feel. If he was using the only good feelings about her childhood to manipulate her, maybe she could return the favor. Maybe she could manipulate Kane right back. “I do remember the feelings I had as a child. Good feelings.”

  “I bought you presents. Little dresses. Music boxes. I did all the things a good father does.”

  She forced herself to nod.

  “You and Sylvie adored me. When you saw me, you would smile so hard your faces would glow. You would ask for me to give you your bath. You would sit on my lap when we watched TV.”

  “I remember.”

  He arched a brow. “Do you?”

  “To us, you were the most important man in the world. We worshipped you.”

  His smile faded. His expression grew as cold as his eyes. “You don’t remember, do you?”

  “Yes, I do. I remember the feelings. The impressions.”

  “Who told you to say that?”

  Her stomach seized. She wiped her palms on her jeans and gripped her thighs harder. “No one told me to say anything. What do you mean?”

  “The part about how I was the most important man in the world. That you worshipped me. Someone told you to play up to me. Who was it?”

  Oh, God, she shouldn’t have pushed it. She should have stuck to the truth and kept her mouth shut otherwise. Hadn’t Trent warned her about how intelligent Kane was? How well he could read people? Hadn’t she already witnessed that herself?

  “Were you talking to the FBI, Diana?”

  Her blood froze in her veins.

  “Who did they send? A profiler? Did he tell you what I dream about at night? Did he tell you what makes me tick?” He fired the words at her, staccato as bullets.

  Diana forced herself to remain in her chair. She forced herself to meet his eyes. “I remembered the story about the rabbit. I remembered the feelings.”

  “But you don’t remember the profiler’s name?”

  She dropped her gaze to the floor.

  “Was it Trent Burnell?” Kane’s voice was quiet and thick with hate.

  She tried to focus. She tried not to react.

  “I see how it is. It isn’t just McCaskey’s words you’re reciting. Burnell has made you into his puppet. Just like the puppet you played with as a child. The puppet I bought for you.” He jerked up on his arms. The cuffs clanged against the chair.

  Diana flinched. She half expected him to break free, to reach out and grab her by the throat.

  “No daughter of mine is going to be Burnell’s puppet. You wanted to know who the copycat is? You wanted to know where he took that woman? You’ll have to ask Burnell.”

  She shook her head, her hair whipping her cheeks. “It’s not like that. I only talked to him for a few minutes. He’s not even here anymore. He left this morning.”

  “Then you’re out of luck.”

  And so was Nadine Washburn. “No, please. Listen to me.”

  “I did. I didn’t like what I heard.” His lips pulled back in a cross between a smile and a snarl. “There was one part of being a father I didn’t like. Playing the disciplinarian. But sometimes it has to be done.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “That sometimes children need to be taught a lesson.”

  “A lesson?” Her head whirled. She could only imagine what kind of cruel lesson he would teach. The tremble enveloped her, closing over her head like water. Drowning her.

  “Learn it well, Diana. And the next time you come to see me, you’d better be on your knees.”

  Chapter Nine

  Head pounding with Kane’s quiet words, Reed followed Corrections Officer Nathan Seides’s broad shoulders out of the prison in silence, Diana by his side. It wasn’t until after he’d signed out, retrieved his pistol and settled into the driver’s seat of his sedan that he was able to convince his voice to function.

  “I’m so sorry, Diana. I never should have asked Burnell to come. I should have known Kane would sense you’d talked to someone.”

  Diana fastened her seat belt with shaking hands. Folding her arms across her chest, she stared through the bug-spattered windshield. “I was the one who blew it.”

  “You? You were great in there.”

  “No, I wasn’t. I tried too hard. I told him I remembered things I didn’t. I knew I had to be honest with him or he’d know I was lying. But I wasn’t.” She shook her head. “I only knew a few warm, safe feelings in my childhood. One was that story. That feeling I had when it was read to me. I just couldn’t stand the thought that he was responsible for that. Do you think he was?”

  He knew what she wanted to hear. And he wanted with all his heart to pronounce Kane a liar. But he’d promised last night he would give things to her straight. “I don’t know.”

  “I guess it doesn’t matter. We can’t change what happened. But I’m afraid for Nadine, Reed. I’m afraid the copycat is going to kill her because of me.”

  Reed wanted to reassure her, tell her they would find Nadine Washburn, that she would be okay. But he couldn’t do that. No more than he could make pronouncements he didn’t know to be true. “His intention was to kill her all along, Diana. Remember that.”

  She opened her mouth to protest.

  He held up a hand. “Serial killers don’t just kidnap, they kill. Our chances of finding Nadine alive might be slimmer after this, but they were almost nonexistent from the beginning.”

  He knew she didn’t want to believe it. Hell, he didn’t blame her. Even with all she’d been through in her twenty-three years, she hadn’t seen even a small fraction of life’s underbelly. He hoped she never had to experience more of it than she already had. “We need to be more covert about your involvement in the case. For your safety. There’s no point in egging Kane on.”

  “Covert? What does that mean? That I sit in my hotel room and knit?”

  And you don’t come out until this is over. He took a deep breath, trying to come up with a more tactful way of saying it. “Being seen riding around with me isn’t a good idea.”

  “But I can go to the district office, right? I can help there.”

  He shifted in his seat, trying to stave off the pain from another shot of acid to his burgeoning ulcer.

  “As long as I don’t go anywhere, Kane won’t know the difference, right?”

  “I suppose you’re right. And we could use your help. The paperwork that goes with coordinating a case like this is staggering. We never have enough civilian support staff.” Of course, with all Diana knew about Kane, she brought more to the table than the average civilian. And she’d certainly be safe sitting in the district office surrounded by police. The wheels in his mind started turning, thinking of ways she might be able to help.

  He started the car, the AC slapping him in the face with a bout of refreshingly cold air. He had to admit, he was more comfortable with the thought of Diana being wh
ere he could see her, watch over her. He wasn’t dumb enough to tell her that after their discussion last night, but he liked the idea all the same.

  Even though every hour with her made it harder and harder to remember she was no longer his.

  He focused on the case, turning things over in his mind as they made the hour drive back to Madison.

  They reached the shadow of the state capitol at about one o’clock and circled on the one-way street a block off the capitol square. Turning on Carroll Street, they approached the district office entrance.

  A crowd had gathered on the sidewalk. As television cameras turned to capture his and Diana’s images, ice descended into his gut. “Damn Perreth. He must have convinced the lieutenant to issue a press release. Or he just booked it. I’m going to choke the living—” He hit the gas, cruising right past the swarm of reporters and cameras. He turned right onto another one-way street and started winding his way around the block. “We’ll go in through the garage. Hopefully the buzzards don’t have that door staked out.”

  “So much for Kane not seeing us together.”

  “They haven’t gotten a clear shot yet.” He turned back onto Doty Street. If he was smart, he’d take Diana straight to the hotel, no matter what her protests.

  He glanced at her. Despite the determined set to her chin, fine lines rimmed her lips and dug between her eyebrows.

  What he wouldn’t give to smooth those lines away with his fingers. What he wouldn’t give to hit the highway and keep driving until she was far away from Dryden Kane.

  Maybe she was right. Maybe he would always try to take care of her, despite the odds, despite his failures. Maybe he would never change. Maybe, if he was honest with himself, he didn’t even want to.

  A weight settled in his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He swung onto Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard, passing the main entrance to the City County Building. A smattering of people stood at the entrance, waiting to pass through the metal detectors. Jurors and office personnel returning from lunch? Or reporters? He couldn’t tell. Taking the next turn onto Wilson Street, he braced himself.

  The block was nearly vacant except for a single man standing near the door to the police garage. “I should have known.”