“We’re going to have to shut down the search ‘til morning,” Sheriff Jeffries announced. “Too dark. We’ll get the dogs in at first light.”
“Did you see anything from the chopper?” Paul Markham, the local FBI agent, asked.
“Not a damn thing,” Tom Rausch replied. “Everyone travels near sixty on that road along the river. All the guy had to do was strip off his mask and join the traffic. If his car was on that road—and it probably was—we’d never know it was him.”
“I just got a report about your car, Miz Blue,” said the sheriff, turning to Claire. “Somebody put a hole in your gasline.”
Bill Jeffries glanced at Brad, received a grudging nod of consent. “You feel up to telling us what happened, Miz Blue?”
Briefly, Claire outlined the series of seemingly innocuous mishaps that led to her going back into the model. She tried to be concise, professional, calm. It wasn’t easy as she described her first sight of the grotesque figure standing by the pool, her attempts to use the model’s phone and then the cell phone, her mad dash to set off the alarm as the stalker broke into the greatroom; and, finally, locking herself in the bathroom. The waiting.
She did not mention the praying.
“Can you describe the man?” Sheriff Jeffries asked.
Claire frowned, shook her head.
“Was he as tall as I am?” Brad interjected.
“I saw him from above,” Claire said, “and then bent over at the window.” She paused for a moment, trying to picture something more concrete than terror. “I’d say he was tall, but not as tall as you. About your build, though.”
“What was he wearing, other than the stocking mask?” the sheriff asked.
Claire closed her eyes, pictured the figure standing by the pool. The mask was so terrifying she had taken in little else. “He was one color,” she said at last. “His clothes matched the mask. Tan. A safari look. Long sleeves, long pants. They were . . . stylish, expensive-looking. Not the usual casual look. Don’t ask me why I think so, I really couldn’t tell you. It was just an impression.”
“What about his feet?” Brad asked.
Claire grimaced, swallowed hard. That foot coming through the shattered window was so vivid it would be with her for the rest of her life. “Expensive sneakers. Like the stalker at the mall.”
A general murmur swept the room. Were Claire’s stalker and the murderer the same? One particularly versatile madman?
“Did the man at the mall wear a stocking mask?” Detective Guthrie asked.
“I never saw anything but his feet,” Claire replied. Guthrie groaned and subsided into his chair.
“Well, he sure as hell didn’t wear a mask for the Realtor killings, or the women would have done what Claire did, run for their lives,” Brad said. “For some reason he’s changed his MO.”
“And what makes you so damn sure it’s all the same person?” the sheriff growled.
“Well,” Brad drawled, “I have the advantage of knowing I didn’t kill Diane, though her death sure as hell gives me incentive to figure out who did.”
“Diane?” Phil cried. “Diane Lake?”
“Phil, I’m sorry,” Claire said swiftly. “I didn’t tell you why I wanted Garrett’s number because I was too upset to talk about it at the time.” Claire looked at Brad. “Will someone please tell her what’s been going on?”
When the various police officers in the room were silent, almost shame-faced—they were, after all, guests in Brad Blue’s home—Brad gave Phil a brief account of Diane’s death and his own unexpected trip to the Calusa County sheriff’s office. Wade Whitlaw contributed a few pithy comments along the way.
“Well, of all the stupid things I ever heard, that tops them all,” declared the sole owner of T & T Realty, eyeing Bill Jeffries with disgust. “You ask Brad to help you find a killer and then you drag him in for questioning. Do you really think he’d be stupid enough to copycat the killer? If Brad wanted that bitch dead, she would have turned up drowned without a mark on her. Or something equally clever.”
For the first time in hours, Claire smiled. Maybe she and Phil would end up friends, after all.
“I think just about everyone agrees with you on that,” said Doug Chalmers. His voice was mild, but there was steel behind the look he turned on Jeffries. The sheriff kept his mouth shut.
“Let’s talk about why the stalker wore a mask,” Brad tossed out. “Any ideas?”
“Easy. He didn’t want to be identified,” said Tom Rausch.
“Did it matter if he was going to kill her?” countered Special Agent Markham. “I think we agree the unsub in the Realtor deaths didn’t wear a mask.”
“She knows him,” Phil volunteered.
“I agree,” said Bob Guthrie. “It’s likely he’s someone Claire knows.”
“But why wear a mask if he planned to kill her?” Doug Chalmers prodded.
“Because he wanted to scare her first, make her suffer,” Brad offered thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s more personal than we think.”
“What do you mean personal?” Claire demanded.
“Are you talking about old business?’ Doug Chalmers interjected.
“I don’t think so,” Brad replied. “If it was that old matter—if someone feared Claire knows something she doesn’t really know—then a twenty-two could have solved the problem, professional hitman style. But stalking is a sickness. This guy’s nutty as a fruitcake.”
“Then my question is the same as Claire’s,” Chalmers said. “What do you mean by personal?”
“How could it be personal?” Claire demanded. “It doesn’t make sense. I haven’t been involved.”
“Oh, yes, you have,” Brad asserted. “For the sake of argument, let’s say that all the murders have been done by just one person . . .”
“Shit!” the sheriff exclaimed, albeit softly.
“Yeah, Bill, I know you don’t agree with me,” Brad said. “Just take it easy for a minute and let’s pretend.” Brad leaned forward, moving closer to his listeners, willing them to listen. “We have exactly one piece of hard evidence in this case. One thing that isn’t in a test tube or just words on the M.E.’s report.” Brad paused to let his words sink in.
“The cross?” Claire said, incredulous. “You’re kidding.”
“He killed dear old mom and buried her. He wasn’t pleased when we dug her up—I don’t imagine he was pleased that it was a dog who found her either. But somehow he could live with it until you found the cross that said MOM. Not only did it offend him for his mother’s sake, but it was actual evidence that he’d killed dear old mom and buried her under a pine tree in the middle of nowhere. Maybe mom found out he’d killed that Realtor in Manatee Bay. Maybe he simply lost it, but now he’s killed two people, he’s getting a taste for it. His need for body count is growing.”
Brad had everyone’s attention. Even Bill Jeffries had ceased to look completely skeptical. Behind him Garrett, returning from a beer run, was poised in the archway to the kitchen, openly fascinated.
“He was content with his MO,” Brad continued. “After all, it was working. Betty Siffert, Paula Marks, Jeannette Tyler. But one day, shortly after the cross was found, he happens to be in the mall when he sees Claire. He freaks, follows her into the bathroom, stalks up and down, rattles the door of her stall . . . and gets frightened off by two girls he hears coming down the hall. But now he’s got it fixed in his mind that Claire’s the enemy. She disturbed mommy’s grave. He may even be at the point where he thinks she did it all by herself.”
“Damn, boy, but that’s sick,” Wade Whitlaw breathed.
“Right.” Brad glanced at Claire. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, “but that’s the way I see it.”
“Go on,” Doug Chalmers urged, “you’re on a roll.”
“Then Claire and I got married,” Brad said flatly. “And that added another facet to the problem. I think this guy is someone we know, possibly someone we know well. Someone aware that I’m on the Specia
l Task Force. And because he knows me, that makes it personal. I’m the enemy. The guy who’s going to queer his game. That, compounded by his anger with Claire, could have made him decide on revenge.”
“You’re full of it, Blue, the sheriff snapped. “Revenge for what?”
“Revenge for what hasn’t happened yet.”
“You’re off the wall, Blue. I’m telling you, off the wall.”
“He believes I’m the one who’s going to get him,” Brad said, reining in his temper with some difficulty. “He could easily be someone who’s heard stories about what I used to do. He sees me as Nemesis, if you will. He believes he’s going down. Who knows, maybe he’s ready. Maybe he’s not so sick he doesn’t realize what he is. And if he’s going down, he figures he’ll take his revenge in advance. Hell, he’s even willing to change his MO to do it.” Brad let his gaze wander from one intent face to the next. “To him, it’s really quite simple. He’s going to take out my women. First Diane. Then Claire.”
Phil Tierney swallowed hard. Just where did that leave her? Up shit creek.
“Talk about sick, Blue!” Bill Jeffries exploded. “I think I’ll arrest you, after all.”
“There was something else,” Claire said suddenly, ignoring the sheriff’s outburst. “Something I didn’t think of until now. Do you remember, Brad, how I felt when we were at the gravesite in Pine Grove? There was an aura of evil. It was like a living thing. I could almost taste it. Well, I felt the same thing this afternoon. Not just when I saw him standing down there by the pool, but earlier when I was in the car. There was a . . . presence. Something truly horrible. I was terrified. And at the time I hadn’t seen a thing.”
“The mind surely does play tricks,” Sheriff Jeffries drawled.
“You want to be sheriff again, Bill, you just shut up,” Wade Whitlaw growled.
The doorbell sounded. Like the buzzer at the end of a boxing round, it seemed to signal Time Out. From the kitchen doorway Garrett announced, “As your duly elected County Commissioner, I declare everyone off duty.” He grinned. “Pizza time.”
Chapter Twenty-three
From the far side of the inlet where Brad docked his boat, he sat in his car and watched the house. The place was like a goddamn big-screen TV. They were all there, the fuckin’ lot of them. Eating pizza, guzzling beer. Didn’t they know he was out here? Didn’t they feel him watching?
Shit! He’d killed Diane, pretty Diane, his friend Diane, and the bastards were having a party!
He wanted, he needed . . .
It should have been over by now.
Nothing had gone as expected. When they took Brad away, he should have left. But the temptation was too much, Claire all alone like that. He’d been weak. Indulgent. He wanted Brad there when he killed his woman. But the sight of Claire—exposed, unprotected—dissolved his carefully laid plans into the white hot rapture of the hunt.
But she’d outsmarted him, the little bitch. Fucking klaxon damn near tore his head off. Maybe fate was trying to tell him something. Maybe there was time for an extra one. Claire and her macho hero could wait. What were a few days more in the overall scheme of things? October was Florida at its best. Bright starry nights followed by cloudless sunny days. So why not live the idyllic life of paradise just a short while longer? Just enough for one extra. Before the grand finale.
From some inner well of humor that bubbled up through her still shaky nerves, Claire wondered if such a prestigious group of law enforcement officers had ever before been served pizza and beer by a Calusa County Commissioner and the broker of Golden Beach’s most successful real estate agency. Nice of Garrett and Phil to help out so she could stay snuggled into Brad’s side. And how perfectly lovely to see further evidence Brad’s ex was well on her way to becoming Brad’s aunt. Yea, hurray!
With tempers mellowed by the satisfying crunch of pizza washed down by quantities of bottled bubbles, the men found themselves in agreement on at least one point—Claire needed a bodyguard and Brad was the obvious choice. The sheriff’s department would provide an officer if Brad was unavailable.
“What about Jamie and my grandmother?” Claire asked. “My parents flew back today, so they’re all alone out there.”
There was a significant moment of silence. Everyone looked at Brad.
“I don’t see a problem,” he said tersely. “Not our killer’s style.”
“He killed his mother,” Claire pointed out. “Shouldn’t I warn Ginny to be careful?”
“I’ll talk to her,” Brad conceded, “but I wouldn’t worry about either of them. It just doesn’t feel right. This guy’s not into kids and grandmothers.”
Reluctantly, Claire nodded. She’d have to accept Brad’s analysis because the alternative was madness.
After agreeing on a plan for Claire’s protection, the various law enforcement officers began to leave. Doug Chalmers, at the tail end of the line, paused to speak to Brad. “You shouldn’t have given it up, Blue. You have a gift. We could use you.”
Brad shook his head. “I can’t do it from behind a desk. It doesn’t work.”
“You haven’t been that hands-on with this case,” Chalmers pointed out. “You may know some of the people involved, but your analysis was basically done after the fact. You took a hell of a lot of strange pieces and fitted them all into the same puzzle. When this is over, I hope you’ll at least consider being a consultant from time to time.”
“Maybe you should wait and see if I’m even in the right ball park,” Brad said with a wry grin. “I may have missed it by a mile.”
“Maybe. But I don’t think so. If you need any help, by the way, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thanks.” The two men shook hand. On a professional level, they understood each other very well.
Later that night, as Phil started across her living room to answer the soft knock on her front door, she suddenly paused and stood stock still. Was this how it had been with Diane Lake? Answering the door late at night? Seeing . . . a friend? Who turned out to be a murderer?
But she knew who was at the door. Of course she did. Garrett had told her he would come over after driving Wade to the condo. But they’d left Palm Court only twenty minutes earlier. Was it too soon?
He’s going to take out my women. First Diane. Then Claire.
Then Phil?
For the first time in the six years since she moved into her small but charming bayfront home, Phil Tierney used the peephole in her door. With a sheepish but heartfelt sigh of relief, she turned the deadbolt and swept open the door.
Oblivious to Phil’s pounding heart, Garrett was shaking his head as he walked in. “All these years I’ve owned that condo and Wade’s never set foot in it before. I can’t believe I actually persuaded him not to drive back to the ranch tonight.”
“I think he’s mellowing,” Phil said. “Something about Brad getting married maybe. After all, no one ever said Wade didn’t have an eye for a good-looking woman and Claire is certainly that.”
“Um-m,” Garrett agreed, with an appreciative purr. “One thing I will say for my nephew, he definitely has good taste in women.” He pulled Phil into his arms and slowly nuzzled his way down her cheek until his lips fastened on hers. “Damn,” he murmured softly when he came up for air, “what a hell of a day. Got any brandy?”
Phil poured two snifters, then she sat beside Garrett who had collapsed onto the sofa’s soft French blue leather. He downed the liquor in one gulp, closed his eyes, leaned his head against the back of the couch, and breathed a long sigh of satisfaction. “I’m fifty-two years old, I’m a politician, I’m a Whitlaw, but nobody ever told me there could be days like this.” From slits beneath the sinfully long Whitlaw eyelashes, he regarded Phil with sincere approval. “Thanks for all your help tonight. I know Brad and Claire appreciated it.”
Garrett’s long fingers played with his empty glass. He stared, unseeing, across the room, taking no notice of Phil’s tasteful furnishings or her fine collection of watercolors by
local artists. “I just talked to Diane on Friday,” he said, his still-handsome face pale and somber. “I’d arranged a job interview for her, co-anchor at a station in Atlanta. She was ecstatic.”
“I couldn’t like her,” Phil admitted softly, “but on the job she was a class act. “I’m truly sorry.”
“It’s made me think,” Garrett said. “Somehow . . . because you and I have known each other so long, I thought we had plenty of time. Time to get used to the idea of being together, time to figure out how to combine our careers, time to get the family adjusted to us as a couple. But today showed me that we might not even have tomorrow. Life’s too damned uncertain.” Garrett looked ruefully at his empty glass, ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair. “Dammit, Phil, what I’m trying to say is, will you marry me? Right away. And to hell with what anybody thinks and however many adjustments we have to make in our lives?”
“Oh, God, yes!” Phil buried her face in his chest to hide the tears that rushed to her eyes. Brandy sloshed out of her snifter and oozed into the depths of the rug.
Garrett removed the glass from Phil’s hand, set it on the coffee table. “Come on,” he urged, lifting them both off the sofa, “I really don’t think Wade expects me back tonight. In fact, he told me he was going to turn the deadbolt and not let me back in until I’d made an honest woman of you.”
“And you always do what Wade says.”
“Absolutely,” Garrett affirmed. “Haven’t you heard? Father knows best.”
She had known worse days, Claire told herself as she stripped off her navy silk slacks. She had survived them, she would survive this. But the scars, unseen but not unfelt, stayed. They faded, but didn’t go away.
Claire jerked the designer-coordinated silk top over her head, her skin crawling as the clinging fabric fell away. With a shudder she tossed both pieces toward the bedroom’s pink marble fireplace. “He didn’t come within fifteen feet of me, and I still want to burn them,” she hissed between her teeth.
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