Morganstern shrugged. “I thought about coming by, after the funeral.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
“I know. You always liked to be alone with the hard stuff.” Morganstern shuffled cards again. “Your mom okay?”
“With the cancer or with Megan?” Lauren knew she sounded angry. She was angry, but she didn’t mean to take it out on Morganstern.
He didn’t flinch, though. He’d known her too long. “Both.”
Lauren let out a tense breath. She loved that she didn’t always have to be polite with Morganstern, and that he didn’t take it personally when she wasn’t. “She’s doing okay.”
“You asked about Gibson. I’m assuming we’re talking about the magician, not the guitar.” His eyes twinkled just a little.
“Yes.”
“Something on your mind?” The cards danced in Morganstern’s capable hands, flitting from palm to palm like flickering doves.
“I need some time off.”
Morganstern nodded. “Sure, sure, kiddo. Me and the missus expected that. That’s why I’m here this morning. Take all the time you need. We cleared our schedules, not that there’s much to clear these days. That’s what retirement is all about.” He smiled.
“I don’t know how much time that will be.”
Morganstern shot her a curious look. “It’s okay.” He paused. “You just do what you gotta do.”
Lauren paused, not knowing how much to tell him. Warren Morganstern was a good man. He’d looked out for her for years, another father figure, but this one had led her into a realm of make-believe possibilities and a way of forgetting so many of the bad memories.
“One of the last people Megan saw down in Jamaica was Gibson.”
Morganstern nodded and reshuffled the cards. He laid them on the table in a row, then made them dance from side to side. “How’d that happen?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Megan tell you about it?”
“No.”
“Seems like that’s something she would have told you about.”
“It is. I think she just didn’t get the chance to.”
Morganstern nodded and was somber and silent for a moment. “Something must have happened pretty quick for her not to tell you something like that.”
“I know.”
“So you’re wanting to talk to Gibson? See if he knows anything about...your sister?”
“Yes.”
Morganstern shrugged. “Gibson isn’t exactly a helpful man. As far as I know, he doesn’t have any friends. No one in the business here that I know, and I know a lot of people.”
“But he has a home down in Jamaica?”
“Rumor would suggest so. He spends a lot of time down there.”
“Why?”
Morganstern sighed. “I don’t know, kiddo. Most magicians like a place they can retreat to in order to design their illusions. Operate under the radar till they get the bugs worked out. I can make a few calls, see what I can find out.”
Lauren nodded, getting more comfortable with her course of action. She couldn’t sit back because the police weren’t obviously going to carry the investigation very far. “I need this to be kept quiet. I don’t want Gibson to know anyone from the magic community is looking into him.”
“All right.” Morganstern frowned. “I gotta say, I don’t like the idea of you going down there and talking to that guy. Especially not if you think you gotta do everything on stealth mode.”
Lauren looked at him and saw the worry in his face.
Morganstern hesitated a moment, then started talking. “Ten years ago, when Gibson was just starting out on the circuit, before he blew up and got network attention with those street magician YouTube spots, he had a reputation for being hard on female assistants.” He shrugged. “That doesn’t make him a killer, but I don’t think he’s a nice guy, either. You’ve seen what fame does to some people—makes them think they’re living in a whole different world than the rest of us.”
“You think that’s what Gibson believes?”
“I don’t know, kiddo, but I think it’s something you should keep in mind. And now that I think about it twice, this is probably something you should tell the police about and just walk away.”
“I’m not going to do that.” Lauren was silent for a moment, thinking about Heath Sawyer and his vendetta. “There’s a police detective from Atlanta. He lost a friend, another police officer, to the White Rabbit Killer.”
Morganstern’s eyes narrowed. “You’re saying Megan was murdered by that guy?”
“It hasn’t come out yet, but the local police handling the investigation in Kingston have received a White Rabbit card.”
Morganstern swore softly.
Lauren went on, divorcing her emotions and speaking mechanically. “Heath and his friend had worked the White Rabbit murders together, and they were narrowing the focus on Gibson. Everywhere one of those murders was committed, Gibson had been playing a venue.”
“Have the police questioned him?”
“No. They don’t have any evidence against him, nothing that ties him to the murders.”
“Then why are you so interested in Gibson?”
“Because he was one of the last people to see Megan alive. He could have seen something that will lead the police to the killer.”
“If that was the case, why doesn’t he come forward?”
“Maybe he doesn’t know he saw anything. Maybe he doesn’t want the publicity. Either way, he’s got enough lawyers to keep the police away from him.”
“What are you planning to do?”
“I want to ask him about that evening he spent with Megan. I want to know where they went, who they saw, anything that might help with this investigation.”
“You’re not an investigator, kiddo.”
“I know. But Heath Sawyer is, and he appears to be a dedicated police officer. He’s blinded himself, though, totally focused on Gibson.”
Morganstern shook his head. “You can’t do that. You focus on the magician, you miss the trick.”
Lauren reached across the table, took the deck of cards from Morganstern and shuffled them. “We know that. That’s why I want to go back down there and talk to Gibson, find out what he knows. I think if anyone can find out who hurt Megan, Heath Sawyer can do it. I just want Heath looking at everything.” She raised the cards in a tight stack in one hand, then made pulling motions with her other hand.
As if by magic, one of the cards levitated from the deck. The new card was one of a collector card series featuring magicians. This one was of Gibson, showing him in his patented black leather jacket and black turtleneck. A white dove nested in his cupped palms. He was stone-faced, mysterious, and no one could tell if he was going to release the dove or break its neck in the next moment. Lauren had never thought that before, but she did now, and the prospect chilled her.
Morganstern grinned in appreciation then clapped. “Good job, kiddo. I never saw you slip that card into the deck. Very smooth.”
“That’s because you were focusing on the magician.”
* * *
The next day, Lauren boarded a flight that was going to be the first leg of her return to Kingston. She stored her carry-on in an overhead bin and took her seat next to the window. She preferred sitting there because she got the most privacy.
She opened her iPad and brought up one of the books she’d bought on the subject of serial killers. After her meeting with Morganstern, she’d returned home, found her mother resting, and spent the evening getting familiar with the books available on the subject. If Heath Sawyer was right about Megan being murdered by a serial killer, Lauren wanted to know more about the murderer.
She’d read for hours last night, wishing sleep would come, then had been taken by surprise when she’d been awakened by her cell phone’s alarm chirping into her ear. After a hasty goodbye, she’d left her mother in the house with a promise to return soon and no word at all of where she was going.<
br />
Trying to go back home or to work was out of the question. Her mother believed it was that strong sense of responsibility that had propelled Lauren through life that had made her leave. If she’d known where her daughter was actually headed, Lauren knew her mother would have held on to her.
At least, there would have been a huge fight and lots of tears on both sides, because Lauren couldn’t let the issue go. The horrible death Megan had suffered wouldn’t leave her thoughts.
After takeoff, Lauren settled in and read as much as she could. The author reduced the sociopathic savagery inherent in most serial killers to a clinician’s report that held almost no emotion. According to the author, law enforcement personnel who chased serial killers had to learn to tune out their own feelings.
She couldn’t help wondering how police investigators could shut down emotionally like that. Heath Sawyer certainly hadn’t, and Lauren was willing to bet his ex-partner hadn’t, either.
Or maybe things were different when the killings were personal.
Lauren quickly negated that, as well. Heath Sawyer had been involved in the hunt for the White Rabbit Killer before his friend’s murder. Reading the newspaper reports of the murder last night had left Lauren shaken, but she’d also gained a greater understanding of Heath’s motivation.
The White Rabbit Killer hadn’t been satisfied with killing Detective Janet Hutchins. The murderer had ensured the funeral would be a closed casket service. Some of the photographs associated with the story had featured Heath Sawyer in them, as well.
One of the things that had surprised Lauren was the amount of dedication “organized” killers devoted to the craft. Those killers pursued, “trolled” for victims of a specific type and tended to repeat their crimes, doing them over and over again as if seeking perfection. In fact, according to the book, that need to reach a “perfect” murder compelled some of the murderers.
Lauren couldn’t help but think how similar that single-minded purpose was to a stage magician planning out the perfect performance. That thought disturbed her because she could see how someone like Gibson might fit the profile. She had made a list in the notes function on the iPad, then quietly ticked them off.
She rolled her neck and suddenly became aware of a familiar cologne. Her pulse sped up, and she felt self-conscious. Trying to remain casual, she glanced over her shoulder and caught Heath Sawyer leaning on the overhead bin and looking down at her.
He wore jeans and a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to midforearm. His hair looked as if he’d run his fingers through it with a little mousse and hoped for the best. Stubble gleamed on his chin. Fatigue showed in his face, but his gold eyes gleamed as the green flakes moved restlessly.
“That’s not exactly light reading there, Miss Cooper.” His voice was flat and carried an accusatory note.
Lauren pressed the home button and shut down the tablet. She didn’t have anything to say, and she wasn’t going to give him any ammunition to work with.
After a moment, when he realized she wasn’t going to answer him, Heath frowned. “Do you mind telling me where you’re headed?”
The trip had a flight change. “Yes.”
Heath waited, but she didn’t answer. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, I do mind. Very much.”
Heath dropped into the unoccupied seat.
“Happy?” Lauren tucked her iPad into the pouch of the seat in front of her.
“To see you? No. You’re not stupid, that’s why I can’t believe you’re acting that way.” Heath took in a breath and let it out. “Going back down there is the worst thing you can do.”
“Really? And where are you headed? I’m betting it’s not back to Atlanta.”
Heath took in a deep breath, and she knew he was holding back his instinctive response. “If you go after Gibson, you might get hurt.”
For a moment, Lauren almost softened. He was worried about her. Despite all the anger and frustration that he was feeling, she believed his concern was real. But she couldn’t back off. “According to you, no one can get close to Gibson. So why worry?”
“Your sister got close to the guy.”
A sharp stab of pain lanced through Lauren and momentarily took away her breath.
“Look.” Heath ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go there.” He sighed. “What I’m trying to say is that your mother has already lost one daughter. She shouldn’t lose both of them.”
“She won’t.” Lauren knew it was pride that made her say that, but she wasn’t going to be made afraid, either. She wasn’t going to take chances. Not like Megan had.
An older airline hostess with elegant makeup and a no-nonsense attitude parked herself in the aisle beside the seat Heath had taken. She folded her hands in front of her and gazed steadily at Heath. “Is this man bothering you, miss?”
“No, I’m not bothering her. I’m trying to save her life.”
The hostess glanced at Lauren. “She doesn’t appear to be in any jeopardy. We have an air marshal riding this flight with us. If you don’t return to your assigned seat, I’m going to get him.”
Growling inarticulately, Heath heaved himself up from the seat and walked to the rear of the plane.
The hostess peered at Lauren. “Will you be all right? Is there anything I can get you?”
“No. Thank you. I’m fine.”
The hostess hesitated for just a moment longer, then retreated.
Leaning back in her seat, Lauren concentrated on breathing and relaxing. But she kept thinking about Heath, his intensity and his desire to capture his friend’s killer. She hadn’t realized it before, but she knew then that she was afraid for him.
* * *
“She’s there?”
“Yeah, I’m looking at her now.” Heath stood in the middle of the crowd at baggage claim. The carousel whirled and displayed a seemingly endless supply of suitcases and bags for the travelers.
Lauren Cooper stood on the other side of the carousel and pointedly avoided looking at him. She looked small and alone in the press of people around her. Most everyone else in the crowd was paired up or part of a larger group. Overall, she appeared vulnerable, like the way he remembered her from the day they’d met in the morgue.
“What is she doing there?” Jackson Portman sounded as irritated as Heath felt.
“She’s not down here for the sand and surf.”
“You want to know what I think?”
“No.” Heath scanned the baggage for his suitcase.
“I’m gonna tell you anyway. I think things are crazy enough with you down there on your own. With Lauren Cooper there, too? Things are just gonna get crazier. That’s what I think.”
“Maybe while you’ve got your head clear from all that thinking you can find out where she’s going to be staying down here.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“Call her mother. Tell her you’re following up on some leads about her daughter’s murder and that an investigator needs to talk to Lauren.”
“You want me to lie to her mother?”
“Yes.”
“See, now this is when you carry this whole partnership thing too far. You don’t lie to mothers, man. They know stuff. Part of the stuff they know is when you’re lying. Santa Claus powers ain’t got nothing on mother powers.”
“I know stuff, too. If I don’t keep an eye on Lauren Cooper, she’s going to end up in a lot of trouble. And since I’m going to be watching Gibson, too, my life would be simpler if I knew where she was staying.” Heath reached down for his suitcase, caught the handle and took it from the treadmill. “Don’t make me do all the heavy lifting.”
“Couldn’t you just follow her? You being a detective and all?”
“I’m going to. Call the mother. Get back to me.” With his suitcase in one hand, Heath headed for the outer perimeter of the crowd. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Lauren had a skycap handling her bags. Bags. Evidently she was planning on staying f
or a while.
Heath’s gut clenched at the thought of the danger she was going to be in. She wasn’t thinking straight. She’d just lost her sister. And she wasn’t trained for anything like this.
She hadn’t seen him yet, so he headed straight for the exit doors, intending to get a cab so he could follow her. He could return later to pick up the rental he’d arranged. He stood in line waiting.
A moment later, Lauren walked through the doors with her luggage in tow. And she walked directly to a waiting private car. Realizing she had arranged for the pickup at the airport ahead of time, that she was about to get away, Heath tried to get through the crowd.
Unable to reach the car in time, Heath stepped out in front of the vehicle as it drove away. The driver barely acknowledged him and might even have run him down had he not stepped back. Frustrated and feeling a little panicked, almost the way he’d felt when he’d driven to the hospital after he’d been told Janet had been admitted, he watched helplessly as Lauren Cooper vanished.
Chapter 7
Baking in the midday tropical heat, relishing the cool breeze that streamed in from the ocean, Heath tried in vain to find a comfortable position in his rental car. After hours spent seated there, though, comfort seemed to be impossible. He’d parked near the public beach close to Gibson’s villa.
A stone wall ran around the perimeter of the estate, marking off a large chunk of private landscape filled with palm trees that stood up like a child’s pinwheels, bougainvillea and other flowers that Heath couldn’t identify. Although the stone wall was at least three hundred years old, maybe older, it was covered with the latest in high-tech security. There was also on-site security with at least nine guards that worked in rotation. Heath had figured that out on his previous visit and reconfirmed that during the two days since his return.
Between Heath’s vantage point under a copse of palm trees and the mansion three hundred yards away, people lounged on the beach. Most of them were tourists, pale skin showing pink from the sun. But there were a few fishermen on a short wooden pier who seemed more interested in telling stories and drinking beer than in catching anything. In the middle, a spirited volleyball game took place between what looked like college-age guys and girls. They called out encouragement and derision to each other, and that was punctuated by sharp barks of laughter. Out on the water, a few small sailboats with brightly colored sails glided toward the horizon.
No Escape Page 7
