“Thanks.” She smiled wanly and turned her back, and prepared to return her charge to the cold drawer where she’d been kept.
10
“Here’s the copy of the file I promised you.” Beck handed the fat brown envelope to Mia. “There’s a copy of the tape that was found with Colleen Preston, copies of the photos of both victims, and copies of the statements. Everything you asked for.”
“Thanks. I’ll read it over tonight, bring myself up to speed.”
“Good.” He nodded.
“So.” She stood and hoisted the heavy file. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Right.” Beck nodded again.
“Any particular time?”
“We start early, so whenever you get here, someone will be here.”
“Okay, then. See you tomorrow.” She started toward the door, then stopped and dug into her pocket. “Here,” she said, “here’s one of my cards. In case something comes up and you need to get in touch with me.”
“Good idea.” He took a card from the supply on his desk and held it out to her. “Here’s mine. In case you have a flash of inspiration while you’re reading the file.”
Mia slipped it into her wallet. “Thanks.”
“I’ll see you in the morning then.”
She gave a small wave and left his office. Her heels clicked on the tiled hall and he heard her say something to Garland in passing. The heavy front door slammed shut and the sound echoed across the lobby. The municipal offices closed at five. It was now almost seven, and everyone had gone home. Everyone except the police.
Beck stretched to get the kinks out, and decided to take a walk into town to get some dinner. The rumbles from the direction of his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten all day. He could grab a quick bite at Lola’s up there on Charles Street and be back at his office by eight for the meeting with the town council. Everyone was stirred up-not that he blamed them-but making wild assumptions like some of the ones he’d heard that day would only serve to make the residents panic. No need for that. The situation was serious, he wasn’t going to downplay that. But they’d approach it in a professional manner and they’d catch this bastard, sooner or later.
It was the later that had Beck and everyone else in town nervous.
When he reached the corner of Charles and Kelly’s Point, he glanced across the street and saw movement in Vanessa’s shop. He crossed when the traffic moved on and pushed open the door to Bling, where he saw his sister waiting on a pair of customers. Vanessa looked up and smiled broadly when she saw him.
“I’ll be with you in a minute,” she told him.
“No hurry.”
He wandered around the shop, poking at this item and that, all the time wondering why women bothered with such things as beaded handbags with rows and rows of fringe hanging down in uneven strands, or necklaces made out of small pieces of colored stones that wound around and around the wearer’s neck.
“Make a good weapon,” he muttered under his breath.
“What was that?” Vanessa called to him from the cash register. “Are you talking to me?”
“No. Sorry. Just thinking out loud.”
When he heard the bell over the door jingle, he walked to the front counter.
“Boy, you’d think with all the buzz about St. Dennis on the news people would be staying away in flocks,” she told him as he approached. “But it looks as if this is going to be another busy weekend.”
“Well, it could be one of several things. Either they haven’t heard about the killer-”
“They have. No one’s talking about anything else.”
“Then maybe they figure if he’s going to strike again, it’s not going to happen to them, or else they’re a little excited about being here, tempting fate.”
He turned and looked out the window. “Maybe they’re thinking, it might even be someone right here in town. Maybe someone I passed on the street today. The guy who gave me change at the drugstore, or the guy who waited on me at lunch. Or maybe the guy who-”
“Stop it, Beck. That’s creepy.”
“This guy’s a creep, Ness. He could be anyone. If he’s here in St. Dennis, chances are he’s someone we know.”
“Don’t say things like that.” Vanessa visibly shivered. “I don’t know anyone who could do such terrible things.”
“Ah, but that’s the point,” Beck told her. “This guy doesn’t have the mark of the devil on his forehead. Shit, if he did, we’d have a lot easier time finding him. He looks just like anyone else. He fits in, and maybe has for a long time.”
“If he’s been here for a long time, why hasn’t he killed people around here sooner?”
“We don’t know that he hasn’t. We don’t know that every girl who comes to the Eastern Shore in the summer has made it home. We don’t know that he hasn’t been traveling around and killing somewhere else. The truth is, we don’t know jack-shit about this guy.”
He paused, thinking about what Mia’d said earlier.
“Except that maybe he has a thing about being in control of women.”
“Sounds like my ex-husband,” Vanessa said. “Come to think of it, it sounds like just about every guy I’ve met since I was fourteen.”
“Don’t joke about it.”
“Who’s joking?”
The bell on the door rang and a middle-aged woman poked her head inside the shop.
“Are you closed?” she asked.
“I’m open till nine,” Vanessa said brightly. “Come on in.”
Beck slapped a hand lightly on the glass counter. “I’ll be running over to Lola’s for dinner, then back up to the department for a meeting at eight. If I’m out by nine, I’ll stop by and see you home.”
“Not necessary,” she told him. “I’m grabbing a bite to eat with Rocky after I close up.”
“Rocky Simon who owns the art gallery two doors down?”
“Uh huh. He just got some really nice stained glass in and he said I could stop over and be the first to take a look.”
“Is that sort of like ‘Come on over and I’ll show you my etchings’?”
Vanessa rolled her eyes and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Rocky is gay, Beck, and even if he weren’t, he’s like, my best friend.”
Beck frowned. “Rocky Simon is gay?”
Vanessa rolled her eyes again and walked to the back of her shop to tend to her customers.
The man sitting at the table next to the front window of Lola’s Café watched as the chief of police went into Bling and closed the door behind him. From where he sat, he could see the counter where the cash register stood-he knew precisely where, because he’d been inside on several occasions-and he watched Vanessa moving behind it as she completed a sale for the two women who had just left the shop and now stood on the sidewalk. Debating where to go next, he figured. A little more shopping, or maybe a little dinner. Maybe just ice cream; maybe a stroll down to the docks and a plate heaped with crabs and a cold beer.
They turned and walked several storefronts down to Bookends and went inside.
Excellent choice, he told them silently. The new mysteries were put out today. He’d been in there himself around five, and chatted with Barbara, the owner, about the latest blockbuster thriller. He’d ended up buying the book-“A really scary serial-killer book,” Barbara told him as she’d handed a copy to him right out of the box-and they’d discussed the likelihood of there being a real serial killer right here in St. Dennis.
Barbara was adamant in denying that such evil could invade their town. “He has to be from someplace else,” she’d told him. “No one in St. Dennis is that depraved, that cruel…”
He’d agreed solemnly that surely the killer was from out of town. Perhaps Cameron, he’d suggested with concern, or maybe Baltimore. Maybe one of the summer people.
“That’s what we were thinking,” she told him. “Nita Perry and I had lunch today down at the Captain’s, and Rexana was saying that she’s watching everyone who co
mes and goes through their place. She and Walt get real busy on the weekends-let’s face it, it’s the crabs that bring so many people down here to the Chesapeake in the first place-but she’s keeping an eye on things. Watching for someone suspicious looking, you know?”
He’d nodded, but couldn’t help adding, “I don’t think you can really tell by looking at someone if they’re a killer or not, though, Barb.”
“That’s pretty much what Nita said. She said one time-this was years ago, when she had her first antique shop, back in Virginia-she had a guy come in and buy a couple of Oriental rugs. Before she could have them delivered, she found out he’d shot his next-door neighbor right through the head because the guy’s dog kept peeing on his wife’s roses and she’d been bitching about it day and night.”
“I wonder why he didn’t just shoot his wife.”
Barbara had looked momentarily shocked, then slapped his arm playfully and said, “Oh, you!”
He watched Beck exit the shop and walk directly across the street. He waved and greeted the chief when he came through the door into Lola’s and made some idle chitchat before the waiter interrupted by bringing him his check. He was still chatting with Beck as he took several bills from his wallet and placed them on the table, then stood to leave. They exchanged a few more friendly words, then he left, waving good-bye to the owner and leaving the chief of police to his dinner.
He walked outside and stretched, glancing over at Bling. Now there was a fancy piece. He smiled to himself. The thought of playing house with the chief’s sister was unbearably tempting.
Might be prudent to wait to see how Beck handles things these next few days, see how good he is. Him and that pretty little FBI agent. Talk about a fancy piece. He shook his head, remembering how her hips had swayed as she’d walked in those high heels across Charles Street earlier in the day. Oh, yeah, that back porch had a real pretty swing, as his grandfather used to say.
Right now, though, there was the matter of that little cutie from over in Cameron to deal with.
She’d been a real firecracker, hadn’t she? he thought fondly as he poked at one of his eye teeth with a wooden toothpick he’d grabbed on the way out of Lola’s.
Well, all good things must come to an end.
He waved to a pedestrian across the street as he walked around the corner to his car, where several rolls of plastic wrap and an eight-pack of audiotapes were tucked into the trunk of his car.
He took his time, enjoying the peace of a perfect summer night.
11
Salsa or cheese?
Mia stood in front of the open refrigerator and debated the meager dinner choices. She hadn’t eaten since she’d picked up a muffin and a cup of coffee on her way into St. Dennis that morning. It was a little after eight and she was too tired to cook and too lazy to go for takeout, so she was stuck with what she had on hand.
She decided to go with the salsa, having snacked on cheese last night. Besides, it would go nicely with the bottle of red wine she’d opened and taken out onto the screened porch, where she’d set up a sort of temporary camp. The file she’d brought home lay open on the wicker table and the lamps had been turned on and repositioned where they’d shed the most light for reading. She poured some of the salsa into a bowl, grabbed the box of crackers from the counter, and with her foot pushed open the door that led from the kitchen to the small porch. She moved the table closer to the loveseat and sat, placing what would serve as dinner to the right of the file and surrounding herself with the extra cushions.
She filled the wineglass, then raised it in a mock toast and said, “Here’s to you, all wildlife lurking outside the fence. The pool is all yours. I’ve work to do. Tonight, however, snacks are not included.”
The setting sun left streaks of color in the low clouds that hugged the horizon, so she sipped her wine and watched until the last bits of lavender faded into the darkness.
“Time to work.”
She opened the file and began to read, then looked around for her phone before remembering she’d left it in her bag on the counter.
Mia retrieved the bag, found the phone, and set it next to her. She wiggled a bit to find a comfortable spot, then tucked a few more pillows behind her. Leave it to Connor to find a sofa with seat cushions that felt like concrete.
Well, she reminded herself, he does spend most of his time in places where-let’s face it-even this uncomfortable thing would seem like a luxury.
She smiled, remembering how shocked everyone in the family had been when her cousin actually bought a house for himself.
“So, does it have indoor plumbing?” Connor’s brother, Aidan, had asked with a perfectly straight face.
“Are you going to buy a real bed,” Mia’s brother Andrew had chimed in, “or are you going to use that grass mat you used to take camping?”
“Indoor plumbing, real furniture, a kitchen with a real stove and refrigerator.” Connor had laughed good-naturedly. “Granted, it’s tucked away by itself on a dirt road, but since I spend so much time alone, I figured a little bit of isolation will make it really seem like home.”
Well, he got that part right. It’s isolated.
Mia shifted again on the sofa, lifted her glass to take another sip, and frowned when she found it empty. She hadn’t remembered draining it, but not a drop remained. She refilled it and went back to her reading.
An hour later, she’d gone through all the interviews connected to the Colleen Preston murder. From what Mia read, it seemed that Colleen had been a really special young woman, liked and respected by everyone who knew her. That a stranger had taken her from those who loved her…
Ah, she told herself, there’s the thing. It wasn’t a stranger. She knew it in her gut.
Her rumbling stomach reminded her to eat, so she dipped into the salsa with the crackers and ate for a minute or two, focusing on what she’d just read. She drank a little more wine, then went back over the interviews to track the victim’s movements on the day she disappeared.
8:45-left home for work at women’s clothing store in shopping center near Chestertown
9:30-arrived at work
1:00-left store for lunch with friend at restaurant in shopping center (coworker interviewed-nothing out of the ordinary discussed, no mention of anyone or anything bothering her. Looking forward to upcoming weekend in Ocean City, MD, with three friends)
3:15-took break in store
5:45-rang up last sale
5:58-left store through back door
Mia put down her pen and refilled her glass. She went back through the notes made by the officers who first investigated the case, but found no description of the area behind the store. Was it a private parking lot? Who had access to it? Was someone waiting there when Colleen left work?
She blew out a long breath. In her mind’s eye, she saw the young woman leave, saw the door close behind her. Saw her starting for her car…
She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to imagine what came next. Bastard. Had he taken her there, or had he followed her, taken her someplace else? Was he an acquaintance, or someone she knew well enough to trust?
She rubbed her temples. Sometimes the job just plain hurt.
Over the course of the two hours since she’d started reading, her muscles had cramped. She stood to stretch, reaching her arms over her head and bending from side to side, almost losing her balance as she leaned to the left. She caught herself on the arm of the loveseat and righted herself. Must have been sitting longer than I thought, she told herself.
She sat on the edge of the cushion and picked her bag off the floor, opened it and began to search through the contents. When she found the small tape player, she removed it and set it on the table, then slipped in the copy of the tape Beck had given her. She poured another glass of wine, then punched play.
“This is your chance, now, Colleen. If there’s anything you want to tell your parents, your brother, your sister, you’ll want to do it now.”
There
was a sound she couldn’t make out in the background, then, “That wasn’t nice. I’m giving you an opportunity to leave something behind that might comfort your family.”
“Momma, Daddy, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize…I never thought he’d…” Then sobs.
“Is that all? This is your last chance, Colleen. No words of wisdom for your sweet little sister?”
“Fry in hell, you disgusting degenerate psychopathic pig…”
Mia’s hands were shaking. She stopped the tape and sat in silence, tears welling.
Colleen Preston’s sobbing plea spoke directly to Mia’s own conscience. It spoke of that moment of recognition that there would be no second chance to make this right, no way to turn back the clock to that moment she’d somehow ended up in this nightmare. Mia knew that Colleen had wept not for herself, but for her parents, and the unspeakable pain her death would cause them. She’d wept because she knew that the loss of her life, her suffering, would bring infinite grief and sadness to those who loved her.
“It’s all about expectations,” Mia said softly. “Your parents expect certain things of you. In your case, your parents expected you to outlive them.”
Colleen must have felt that she had placed herself in harms way. I didn’t realize…I never thought he…
Realize what? That this person you maybe knew-this he you perhaps trusted, was a raging maniac? That by befriending this person or maybe by merely speaking to him, making eye contact with him, stopping to answer a question for him-somehow you left yourself open for him to abduct you? Torture you? Take your life?
If something bad happens because we don’t realize the consequences, are we just as culpable?
Momma, Daddy, I’m sorry…
Mia could relate. How many times over the past two years had she whispered those same words?
“You’re going to have to be the little mother now,” an uncle had told the seven-year-old Mia on the day her mother was buried. “You’re the only girl in the family, you’re going to have to keep your brothers in line, just like your mother did.”
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