by Lisa Jackson
Epilogue
“ Come on, come on ... we’re going to go caroling!”
Joelle, wearing ridiculous, red felt reindeer antlers was herding everyone into the lobby.
Pescoli looked up from her desk where she was studying the death certificates and newspaper reports on the two sisters of Cameron Johnson who had died young . . . in accidents. “I am not caroling! I’ve got work to do.”
“Oh, don’t be a Scrooge!” Joelle admonished before clipping off in her clear high heels that looked like something Barbie would wear . . . well, and Michelle. Yeah, Lucky’s young wife would love those heels.
It was only a week until Christmas and Joelle was really ramped up for the holiday. Christmas music and cookies and garlands and even the spinning tree with its fake presents stacked beneath it. What more could one woman do to a government office?
Not that Pescoli paid much attention. She’d had more than enough to deal with in her own life. For starters, Santana was pressuring her big-time. It turned out that Brady Long had left him part of his immense estate and Nate thought she and her children and the dog should move in with him.
As if it were just that easy.
Nope, she thought, clicking through the computer screens.
She wasn’t convinced, though a father figure for her kids certainly wouldn’t hurt. Jeremy, sick of her nagging and bored with his life, had finally agreed to go back to school come January and Pescoli was crossing her fingers that he wouldn’t change his mind again. As for his involvement with Heidi Brewster, it was still simmering, but the kids were somehow keeping it on the “down low,” which may or may not be a good thing, depending on how you looked at it.
Bianca, well enough to go back to school, had actually started talking to some other boy who’d stopped by a couple of times, some kid on the basketball team who actually called her Ms. Pescoli, rather than ignoring her. Chris was still hanging out, of course, but it definitely looked like that particular romance was dying on the vine.
And none too soon.
As for the entire Secret Santa debacle, Pescoli had decided to play along and give the undersheriff a bottle of wine with its own little knit stocking cap that Joelle, Pescoli was certain, would do backflips over. Pescoli, herself, found it kind of gaggy. But she couldn’t come up with anything else. The Oregon pinot noir had been on a special sale, keeping under the ten-dollar limit, and in Pescoli’s mind, the gift was a bit of an olive branch. At least that’s what she hoped.
After all, she had to work for the prick.
So life was looking up. Except for Alvarez who had sunk into her usual Christmas funk. There was something going on with her, just like every other holiday season. She never returned home to Oregon for Christmas and this year she’d said she planned to work over the holiday and let the people with families have the time off. When invited to Pescoli’s she’d declined, claiming she wanted to spend her free time with Jane Doe, her newly adopted cat.
Pescoli had tried to ask her partner about her avoidance of all things to do with the yuletide, but Alvarez, as ever, managed to evade the questions or change the subject.
Christmas, as far as Alvarez was concerned, was a taboo topic.
Pescoli glanced out the window, noticed it was still snowing. At least, though, the storms had slowed and the workload at the department was back to a more normal level. As for Cameron Johnson, a sicko serial killer if there ever had been one, the FBI had stepped in and taken all of the files, notes, and computer information from Johnson’s secret room in the basement of his house and were working the case.
It seemed Cameron had been hell-bent on eradicating the female offspring of Donor 727 for years. In his notes, the deputies had found reference to forty-two women, some who lived as far away as New England.
DNA tests had proven the victims around this part of Montana as well as others, including Shelly Bonaventure in LA, had, indeed, been Gerald Johnson’s offspring. Other “accident” victims, the “Unknowings” named in Johnson’s notes who were already dead, were being examined. If there were any DNA samples taken before they were buried, they were being compared, or the bodies were now being exhumed. They would probably never know about the few who had been cremated as there was no DNA left behind to be tested.
There was other physical evidence that tied Cameron Johnson to his crimes as well. The black paint on Kacey’s Ford and Elle Alexander’s minivan had matched the custommade spray-painted bumper guard that had been hidden in a shed and fit perfectly on Johnson’s truck. A cache of stolen plates had been located, which explained some of the difficulty they’d had in ID-ing the damned truck.
Pescoli leaned back in her chair until it squeaked in protest and she heard, muted softly, the sound of voices raised in song ...
“I heard the bells on Christmas Day . . .”
Pescoli checked her watch. It was almost showtime and the stage was set.
A few things about the case still bothered Pescoli and scraped at her brain, tickling her into believing there had to be more than they’d already unearthed, even though all leads pointed to Cameron Johnson. As Kacey Lambert had insisted, Pescoli believed that Johnson had been the man who had attacked her in the parking garage in Seattle years before. And now, rumor had it the good doctor might be moving in with Trace O’Halleran, just like that, when Pescoli couldn’t commit to a man she’d been in love with for years.
Now Pescoli closed her eyes for a moment and sighed, thinking hard, running over the loose ends. She was pretty sure she had it figured out. Cameron Johnson had been a whack job with a capital W. No doubt about that. Also, he’d definitely been unraveling, more and more taking risks, but that didn’t explain everything. How had he gotten all the information on the clinic and the victims? Had he really uncovered that information himself? She didn’t think so.
Another thing: it looked like Leanna O’Halleran had stolen the gun that she’d used that night, and that gun was Clarissa Werner’s. Pescoli had interviewed Clarissa and her husband and they both believed Leanna has specifically taken it as a kind of ‘up yours’ to the Johnson clan as a whole. And it looked like Leanna O’Halleran’s special touch of irony was that she drove a BMW, same make and model as Clarissa’s, to also point a finger in the Johnsons’ direction.
Maybe. Or, maybe not. But there were other issues about the case that needed to still be addressed ...
Glancing at her watch again, Pescoli made a sound of impatience. Alvarez looked up, her brows lifted.
Earlier in the day, while they were grabbing coffee at Jolt, she’d asked her, “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“Nope.” Pescoli had sprung for a triple chocolate mocha with a sprinkle of peppermint, just because it was the holidays.
Alvarez had ordered green tea.
Disgusting.
But Alvarez had been interested then, as she was now. “What are you planning?” she asked.
“I’ve already done it. Gerald Johnson is coming in, in about fifteen minutes, and I think he’s bringing his favorite attorney.”
“Judd?”
“Um-hmm. And I’ve got a surprise for him.”
“Can’t wait,” she said.
“C’mon, then,” Pescoli said, and Alvarez followed her to the front desk. Right on cue Gerald and Judd strode into the department. Judd was dressed as if he were going to try a case in court, Gerald in a sweater, ski jacket, jeans, and a world-weary expression.
“I don’t understand why you insisted on coming here,” Judd was saying to his father. He glanced at Pescoli and added, “I’ve told you everything I know about my brother.”
Pescoli led them into an interrogation room and Judd stiffened.
“What’s this about?” he demanded.
“The truth.” Pescoli turned on the recorder. “I’ve been doing some checking. A few things still don’t add up. Maybe you can clarify them.”
“Be glad to,” Gerald said.
Judd wasn’t as helpful. “Dad,” h
e warned his father, his expression brooking no argument, “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
Pescoli ignored him and waved them into the side chairs as Alvarez closed the door behind them. “When we were talking about Aggie’s accident, years ago, there was some discussion,” Pescoli began. “You said she got tangled in her blankets and tripped and fell down the stairs.”
“No,” Judd said, “I remember Cameron brushing up against her and she fell. No one could catch her.”
“You also said that she was pushed,” Pescoli reminded, from her chair across from them.
“Well, it was a little of both, I think.” Judd’s eyes narrowed and his shoulders stiffened slightly. “I don’t understand.”
“I do,” Gerald said. “I came home that night and Cameron was really upset. He said he didn’t mean to do it, that he didn’t want to push Aggie, but he couldn’t help himself. I didn’t understand it. Then Thane’s version was slightly different. He said that you, Judd, ran into Cameron and he fell against Aggie. And Colt said you pushed Cam into Aggie, but Cam was able to save himself.”
“We were kids . . .” Judd explained with a shrug. “It was a long time ago. You can’t expect any of us to recall exactly what happened.”
Pescoli walked to the door and opened it again. Clarissa Johnson Werner stepped inside. “They called me in,” she said as a kind of sideways apology to her brother, but nevertheless stated firmly, “You’re wrong. I remember. I was there.”
“What is this?” Judd demanded. “You’ve been listening in.”
“Watching on a monitor,” she said tersely. “And you’re lying. I saw what happened that day and you were behind it, Judd. You probably didn’t mean for Aggie to fall down the stairs, but you shoved Cameron hard and he fell against her. I was on the phone, coming out to check and ... you pushed him.”
“Where is this going?” Judd demanded tensely. “It was an accident. Kids roughhousing.” But he was beginning to sweat, a tiny bead drizzling down his temple.
“And then on the ski slopes when Kathleen died,” Clarissa went on determinedly, “you were there. Skiing with Cam and Kathy. I saw you talking to them and later Cam told me you dared him to race Kathy and to go off trail where the snow wasn’t groomed. You told him that Kathy, like Aggie, wasn’t normal. That she was crazy, when really, Cam was the one who wasn’t balanced.”
“What are you talking about?” Judd said, the sweat now collecting on his upper lip. “This is crazy. Nuts. Old news and I’m not going to listen to this a second longer.”
Pescoli was expecting his reaction. She said evenly, “My partner and I intend to get to the bottom of this. We know Cameron was the killer, and maybe he acted alone. But it seems to me he had some help and at first I thought it was his twin. Colt. What better alibi? But then I discovered that your father’s corporation, under the guise of several different companies, bought out the old fertility clinic. And guess whose name is all over the documents?”
Judd didn’t flinch. “We buy a lot of companies. Especially small medical facilities.”
Pescoli leaned back in her chair. “You want to tell us just what your relationship was with your brother, Cameron?”
“My brother was crazy.”
“And one sister was mentally challenged, another bipolar. Huh. Looks like mental problems aren’t just limited to the women your father sired. I think it only makes sense that Cameron had someone helping him along, giving him a little mental . . . ‘shove’ you might say.”
“You’re the one who’s out of her mind, detective!” Judd’s face flushed red, his one hand clenched into a fist.” He kicked out his chair and walked to the door. “This interview is over!”
“We’ll be seeing you, Mr. Johnson,” Pescoli said.
“The hell you will!” He slammed out of the room and Gerald, looking deeply concerned, followed a few moments later, with Clarissa taking up the rear.
When they were alone Pescoli turned to Alvarez and said, “Well?”
Alvarez half smiled. “Well. We’re going to nail him, aren’t we?”
“Count on it.”
They walked out of the room together and Alvarez glanced up at Pescoli as they reached the hallway. “Another Merry Christmas, partner.”
“Another Merry Christmas.”
THE WOODS ARE DARK
Some places earn their bad reputation through tall tales or chance. Grizzly Falls is different. Here, killers aren’t just the stuff of legends and campfire lore. Someone is in the nighttime shadows, watching the local teens play around in the moonlit woods. Waiting for the right moment, the right victim. Waiting to take away a life.
AND DEEP
Detective Regan Pescoli is counting the days until her maternity leave. Exhausted and emotional, the last thing she needs is another suspected serial killer. Especially when her daughter, Bianca, is swept up in the media storm. When a reality show arrives in town, the chaos only makes it harder for Pescoli and her partner, Selena Alvarez, to distinguish rumor from truth.
AND DEADLY
Another body is found…and another. And as the nightmare strikes closer to home, Pescoli races to find the terror lingering in the darkness, where there are too many places to hide…and countless places to die…
Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of
Lisa Jackson’s
Expecting To Die
coming soon wherever print and e-books are sold!
Click here to get your copy.
Chapter 1
This was a stupid idea.
Make that a really stupid idea.
Bianca ran through the darkened forest with only a weak shaft of moonlight as her guide. She’d been a fool to agree to come here, in the middle of the night, lying to her parents, for what? Some sick kind of game in the woods? Frowning, she slapped away a mosquito as the heat of the summer simmered through the Bitterroots and the sounds of crickets was a low hum. Faintly from a distance she thought she heard the sound of voices, but then there was silence. Just the crickets. She decided to stick as closely to the trail as possible, that way she wouldn’t get lost.
At least she hoped so.
Up, up, up, she loped, the path dusty, rocks poking through the dry soil, a canopy of pine branches nearly destroying what there was of the moonlight. Why had she agreed to this, she wondered for about the millionth time as her legs began to ache.
The idea had been Maddy’s. Make that Madison Leona Averill, Bianca’s here-to-fore best friend. Well, after tonight, maybe she’d change all that. Maddy’s status was about to go down. Big time.
A branch slapped her in the face and she let out a yelp, then bit back any more noise as she didn’t want to be heard. That was the whole point of the game, an idiotic teenage version of Hide-And-Seek, up here at Reservoir Point. Again, it was dumb. She rubbed her cheek where the pine limb had hit her and swore under her breath. Her calves ached, her lungs had started to burn with her run up the hill.
She should never have come, she knew that now, but it was too late to back out. A group of kids from school had come up with the brainstorm of meeting at midnight at the lower parking lot of the wilderness that butted up to the Long property where Bianca’s stepfather worked as a manager. That was another problem. If Nate Santana ever got wind of the fact that Bianca was one of the kids who trespassed across the Long property to get to this spot, he would have a fit and probably ground her for life or something, that was if her mother didn’t kill her first.
Yeah, a bad idea.
She was reaching the highest point on the trail, where the path jogged around several massive trees, and she slowed a bit, catching her breath, glancing over her shoulder to the darkness below. For a second she was certain someone was following her, chasing her up this ridge, and her nerves pulled tight. Even though that was the whole point, that a random boy would “catch” her, it was scary. She didn’t know who was behind her. Or what. Her pursuer could be a moron of a teenager or it could be a deer or an el
k. Maybe a mountain lion, even a bear. Crap, right now an innocent rabbit hopping through the underbrush was enough to scare her to death. Anything larger would give her a heart attack. Her nerves were strung that tight.
Get over yourself.
She swallowed hard and slowed, taking in deep breaths, feeling the forest close in on her. Cautiously, she looked over her shoulder, her gaze piercing the blackness. Was that a pair of eyes staring at her from beneath a nearby tree, or just her imagination?
Her insides went cold. She stopped breathing.
Don’t panic. Remember: this is just a game. You grew up in these woods.
The eyes disappeared as if swallowed in the malevolent darkness.
Oh. God.
A twig snapped in the summer night.
What was that?
She didn’t take the time to find out.
Bianca bolted.
Fear propelled her. Up the hillside, the sensation that she was being followed by something malevolent driving her upward. Her feet slipped a little and she pitched forward, caught her balance and kept moving. Ahead, the trail would crest on the ridge, then wind its way down the backside of the mountain. She’d end up in Desperation Flats, which wasn’t a lot better.
Did she hear footsteps? Heavy breathing?
Oh, Jesus.
She ran wildly, crazily, one foot in front of the other, panic gripping her, her breath coming in short gasps, her legs cramping, her damned lungs burning.
Go! Go! Go! Don’t stop.
Upward ever still she raced, driving forward until her lungs felt as if they might explode and she came to a narrow spot where the trail twisted between two huge boulders. She flung herself against one. Certain a bloodthirsty demon were on her tail ready to leap out at her she turned to face the creature or lunatic or creep of a teenager only to find nothing but the still black night.
