“Oh, my God,” Finn murmured.
“Or did you just see it? You’re a watcher, right? Did you see who killed Laura? Because that’s what we need to know. We need to know what happened.”
“I don’t remember.”
Maggie leaned forward. “You remember Mary Biggs, though, don’t you? You remember what she looked like, right? Well, here’s what she looks like now.”
She spilled a stack of photographs onto the desk. Autopsy photos. She picked them up one by one and pressed them into Finn’s hands, watching him go blue, watching him swallow hard, watching his head bob back and forth like the ticking of a clock as he stared, unable to look away, at the swollen, lifeless remains of Mary Biggs, pulled from the water after she drowned.
“You killed her, Finn. You killed this wonderful girl.”
Finn squeezed his eyes shut.
“OPEN YOUR EYES!” Maggie bellowed at him. His eyelids sprang up in shock. She clutched a close-up photo of Mary’s face, her skin puffed and pale. She shoved the photo so close to Finn that Mary’s face was his whole world, and he couldn’t see anything else.
“Tell me why,” Maggie said. “Tell me why you did this to her.” Her voice softened. “Look, I know you didn’t mean to. Did you love her? Did you want a chance to tell her how you felt? But she didn’t understand. She was scared of you.”
Finn gulped air like a fish. He swallowed hard as if something were in his mouth that wouldn’t go down.
“Mary and Laura both deserved better,” Stride said quietly.
Finn was a rubber band that had been stretched until it was frayed and ready to snap. When Finn buried his face in his hands, Stride caught Maggie’s eye. They both thought the words would spill out now, like a dammed-up river seeping through sandbags and finally bursting free. He would talk. He would confess. He would throw off the anvil that had weighed on his conscience. He would seek absolution for the secrets that had made his life so miserable that he could only escape it into a numbed world of marijuana, cocaine, and alcohol.
“Let it go,” Maggie murmured.
Stride said, “It’s okay.”
Finn stared wildly at them. Tears ran from his eyes; mucus ran from his nose. He clapped a hand to his mouth, shoved them both aside with a stiff jerk of his arm, and bolted through the door, slamming it behind him. They heard the gasping, retching noise of his stomach spewing onto the marble floor of City Hall. When Stride opened the door again, the sweet stench of vomit made him cover his nose and look away.
Finn was gone.
Ten minutes later, the interrogation room still smelled of Finn’s body. Stride leaned back on the desk until his head banged against the wall. Maggie jumped off the desk, took the chair in which Finn had been sitting, and propped her feet up.
Her cell phone rang. She slid it out of her pocket and answered. Stride recognized the voice of Max Guppo, the overweight detective who had been leading the search team at Finn Mathisen’s house, along with cops from Superior. Maggie asked a few questions and then hung up. She didn’t look happy.
“Nothing,” she said.
“Come on.”
She shook her head. “They didn’t find a damn thing to link him to the peeping cases. His room looked as if it had been vacuum-cleaned of anything potentially incriminating. The computer had no hard drive, for God’s sake. Just a big hole in the tower. His shoes were all new. His clothes had been washed.”
“Rikke,” Stride said.
Maggie nodded. “She knows what he’s been doing. Maybe we can lean on her.”
“She’s been covering for Finn for thirty years. She’s not going to stop now. What about the car? The silver RAV?”
“Ditto. Cleaned and pressed. Even the tires had been hosed down.”
Stride sighed. “So where are we?”
“I think we’ll be able to make a charge of interference with privacy stick. If we can tie him to the other victims, a jury will make the leap.”
“If.”
“He had to find them somehow. We’ll track it down. Hell, he delivered to four out of the nine households where a girl was peeped. That’s a big coincidence right there.”
“Big, but still a coincidence,” Stride said. “If we can get six or seven, okay. Four’s not enough. Even with the silver RAV. He has no priors. We’ll never get the stuff from Minneapolis or his old janitorial job admitted in court. A defense lawyer can blow smoke and make a jury believe Finn is just a victim of circumstances.”
“And Mary’s murder?”
Stride shook his head. “You know that’s going nowhere. We’ll be lucky to pin the peeping charge on him. We can’t put him at the scene with Mary, and even if we could, we can’t establish what really happened.”
“At least we can charge multiple counts. He’s done it ten times that we know of. If we get the right judge, we can go for two years a count.”
Stride put a hand gently on Maggie’s leg. “I know this case means a lot to you, Mags, but you’re dreaming. With no priors? He’ll get a year for everything and be out in three months. If he sees the inside of a jail at all. That’s life.”
“That sucks.”
“I know it does.”
“What the hell do I tell Clark Biggs?”
“That we’re still working on the case. We’re not done yet. If we get the DNA test back and can prove that Finn was at the scene where Laura was murdered, we can take another run at him. Maybe he’ll confess. He might not go down for Mary’s death, but if we put him behind bars for Laura’s murder, that’s some justice.”
“If,” Maggie said, mocking him.
“Yeah, yeah.” Stride rubbed his hands over his face and felt a bone-deep tiredness throughout his body. “Think they’ve cleaned up the hallway yet?”
Maggie reached over and pushed the door open. “Nope.”
“Shit,” Stride said. “I have to wash my face.”
“Is that what guys say when they have to take a leak?”
“No, we say we have to take a leak.”
“Do most guys wash their hands after?” Maggie asked.
“You don’t want to know.”
“Yuck.”
Stride laughed. He left the interrogation room and covered his nose against the pungent aroma of puke. The hallways were empty. It was evening, and City Hall was mostly deserted. He found the frosted glass door that led to the men’s room, opened it with his shoulder, and started a stream of cold water running in the nearest sink on the long countertop. He bent over, splashed water on his face, and rubbed his skin hard. His fingers ran through his hair, leaving it wet and disheveled.
He smelled it before he saw it.
Blood.
His eyes were closed, and when he opened them, blinking, he saw the first toilet stall reflected in the mirror, its door ajar. Twin trails of fresh blood outlined the grout in the white floor tiles in ruby red squares. Stride ran for the stall and shoved the door open, where it bounced against the wall of the stall. Finn Mathisen was sprawled on the seat, his head lolling back, his mouth open and slack. His arms dangled uselessly at his sides, and a Swiss army knife lay on the floor where it had spilled from his hand.
The blood on the tiles dripped from two jagged, vertical gashes Finn had carved into the veins on both wrists.
PART FOUR. Act of Mercy
28
Serena spotted Peter Stanhope in the corner of the main room at Black Woods. His table overlooked the calm lake waters through floor-to-ceiling windows. It was one o’clock, and the restaurant was crowded with the lunch rush. Peter drank a glass of red wine and checked e-mail on his BlackBerry with his other hand as she took a seat opposite him. She stared at his lower lip, which was swollen and purple.
He followed her gaze and shrugged. “Tish.”
“I heard.”
“It was my own fault,” Peter said. He used his fork to separate a flaky piece of white fish, which he chewed gingerly. “Even so, I never expected her to do something so crazy.”
&
nbsp; “Not necessarily crazy,” Serena said.
Peter cocked his head with suspicion. “What do you mean by that?”
Serena said nothing. Peter thought about it, and then he glanced around the restaurant and lowered his voice. “This is about DNA? What the hell would Tish Verdure want with a sample of my DNA?”
“What do you think?”
Peter shook his head, as if scolding himself. “That was stupid of me. I didn’t know that Stride had any forensic evidence in Laura’s murder.”
“You mean you thought Ray Wallace made it all disappear?”
“I don’t like your tone, Serena. Not from someone who works for me. What sort of evidence do they have?”
“I can’t tell you.”
Peter frowned. “I could file a motion to stop the police from running any tests.”
“You could, but then it’s all out in the open. In the press. People will wonder what you’re trying to hide.”
“I already told you that I didn’t kill Laura.”
“Then you have nothing to fear.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that.”
Serena waited. Peter waved the waitress away from the table. He scowled and leaned back, folding his arms. “What did George Bush say? When I was young and stupid, I was young and stupid.”
“You sent Laura those stalking letters,” Serena concluded. “Didn’t you?”
“Okay, yes. You’re right.”
“Why?”
“Why? I went out with Laura, and she shut me down. I thought she was playing games, stringing me along. I was pissed off. So I started sending her those notes. It was a joke.”
“I saw one of the notes. This was no joke.”
“Give me a break, I was seventeen years old.”
“Don’t make excuses, Peter. You were terrorizing this girl.”
“Call it whatever you want. I didn’t kill her.”
“This isn’t just about sending ugly letters, is it? Finn was telling the truth. You attacked Laura that night in the softball field.”
Peter met Serena’s eyes. “I didn’t attack her. I went back to the field that night to get my baseball bat. I bumped into Laura coming out of the woods. Yes, I tried to kiss her, and yes, I may have pushed things too far. I thought she was playing hard to get. That’s all it was.”
“It sounds like rape to me,” Serena told him.
“I am not a rapist.”
“Yeah, rich boys never are.”
Peter’s face screwed up in anger. “I could have lied to you, and I didn’t.”
“Really? What choice do you have? You’ve painted yourself into a corner. You already told the police that you and Laura were making out in the field. You admitted the two of you were together that night.”
“The smart thing for me would be to say nothing at all. That’s what the lawyer in me says I should do.”
“Well, you’ve already started talking, so keep going. What happened after you accosted Laura?”
“The black guy broke it up. Knocked me out cold.”
“What happened after you woke up?”
“Laura was gone. So was the black guy. I had a splitting headache. I went home.”
“What about your bat?”
“I forgot all about it.”
“Was it still in the field?”
“I have no idea if it was or wasn’t. I didn’t look around for it. I didn’t even think about the bat. I just wanted to get out of there.”
“What else can you tell me about that night?”
“That’s it.”
“You don’t know what happened to Laura?”
“I don’t. As far as I know, the black guy killed her. That’s what I’ve thought all these years.”
“Did you see Finn Mathisen that night?”
“No.”
Serena shook her head. “As a cop, I wouldn’t believe your story, Peter. You were stalking Laura. You were obsessed with her. You attacked her the night she was killed. And then you just walked away? And someone else went after her with your bat? You must think I’m a sucker.”
“Serena, I was no angel back then, but killing a girl? Not me.”
Serena got up from the table. “I think we’re done here.”
“That sounds like you’re walking away from me. From the job.”
“I am.”
Peter reached into his wallet and dropped a fifty-dollar bill on the table. “Let me walk you out. I have something in my car that may change your mind. Call it a token of good faith.”
“What is it?”
“I have to show you.”
Serena shrugged and acquiesced. The two of them left the restaurant. In the parking lot, he pointed at a black Lexus near the rear of the lot. “That’s me.”
He took her arm as they walked.
“I heard about Finn’s suicide attempt last week,” Peter said. “Is he going to make it?”
“Assuming he doesn’t try again.”
“Finn should be Stride’s prime suspect, not me,” Peter said. “He admitted being in the park that night and following Laura. Now he tries to kill himself when he’s questioned.”
“Finn’s a suspect, but you just put yourself back in the game because of those letters.”
“There’s no game. Legally I don’t have any concerns about what’s going on. Pat Burns knows that. I’m sure Stride knows it, too. There are chain of custody issues, evidence issues, witness issues. No one’s ever going to charge me with a crime.”
“So what do you need me for?” Serena asked.
“My public persona is important to me. If this gets out in the press, and if suspicion continues to swirl around me, it will be extremely unpleasant for me and my business.”
They arrived at his Lexus. Peter ran his hand over the smooth finish.
“I don’t know who killed Laura,” he continued, “but if the media and the police are going to sink their teeth into anyone, I want it to be Finn. I want you to dig up everything you can about him. Find out about his background. Prove he’s the kind of man who could kill a young girl. You’re a detective. Investigate the suspect.”
“That’s Stride’s job,” Serena said.
“I’m not telling you to keep secrets from him. Whatever you find, you can share with Stride. But his hands are tied by police procedure and other cases. He also has Tish whispering in his ear that I’m guilty. I want someone on the playing field who’s working for me.”
“I don’t trust you.”
“I’m not asking you to trust me. If you find evidence that points to me, so be it. But you won’t, because I didn’t do it. Look, I know what kind of woman you are, Serena. Once a cop, always a cop. You want to be in on this investigation, and I’m offering you the chance to dive into it. And get paid handsomely for your time.”
Serena wanted to say no, but Peter was right.
“Why Finn?” she asked. “Why not ask me to take a look at the black guy? Dada?”
“Lawyers look for weaknesses. Finn’s the weak link.”
“In other words, you’d prefer that Dada remains a mystery.”
“Anyone who’s a suspect in this case wants Dada to stay a mystery,” Peter admitted. “He’s a get-out-of-jail-free card. As long as no one knows where he is, no one can prove beyond a reasonable doubt who really killed Laura.”
Serena shook her head. “I’d make a lousy defense lawyer. I’d always be wondering if my client was guilty.”
“Sometimes you don’t want to know.”
“I do. I want to know.”
Peter unlocked the trunk of the Lexus. “I told you I was going to take a leap of faith. This is how much I want you to believe me.” He reached inside the trunk and extracted a narrow box, about four feet long and six inches wide. The tape holding it closed was crusted and yellow. Serena saw a single word written on the box in black marker.
DESTROY.
“What is this?” she asked.
Peter handed her the box. It was solid a
nd heavy.
“You were right about Ray Wallace,” he said. “He conspired with my father to steer the case away from me. Randall wanted Ray to put it all on Dada.”
“What did Ray do?”
“He dropped the case. Later, he arranged for some of the key pieces of evidence to vanish from the police file. I think Randall figured someone might try to open up the case again someday, and he wanted a guarantee. So Ray destroyed most of the physical evidence. But not this. Randall insisted on keeping this himself. I think he knew it gave him leverage if Ray ever got a guilty conscience.”
“What is it?” Serena asked again.
“It’s the murder weapon,” Peter said. “It’s the baseball bat. The one that was used to kill Laura.”
29
The hospital ward was like a church, where every voice disturbed the silence. Even the noise of Stride’s heels echoing between the walls felt as loud as fireworks. The corridor was dim. Most of the patients were sleeping through the late evening hours. He stopped at the nurse’s station and was directed to a room near the end of the hallway.
He watched Finn Mathisen from the doorway but didn’t go inside. The man’s face, always pallid and yellow, looked like ash now. His eyes were closed. His forearms were bundled in white bandages up to his elbows. An intravenous line dripped fluid into the flesh of his right shoulder. He was stable now and almost ready to be discharged, but in Stride’s eyes, he still looked like death. People in hospital beds always did.
If Stride had not gone into that bathroom, or if he had arrived even five minutes later, Finn would already be dead. That didn’t stop him from feeling guilty that he and Maggie had hounded Finn with their questions until he chose to escape by attempting suicide.
The question was-escape from what? From the guilt of stalking Mary Biggs to her death? Or from the guilt of beating Laura to death?
Or both?
If Finn had succeeded, he would have taken the answers with him. Finn dying would have been exactly like Dada jumping on that train. The investigation would have shut down again, and suspicion would have landed like a bird of prey on Finn’s dead body. Rightly or wrongly.
In the Dark aka The Watcher Page 21
