by Rachel Grant
“And you didn’t tell me? You complain that I’m holding out on you!”
“He asked me out this morning. After you left us alone in the RV.”
“I knew it! I could tell by the way his eyes followed you that he’s interested. You did say yes, right?”
“I’m not a complete idiot.” Libby chose to leave out the fact that she’d almost refused. Simone would harangue her for that alone.
Simone laughed. “It’s about time you realized that.”
“We’re going out Wednesday. After the lecture.”
“Perfect! Okay, for the lecture I want you to wear red, it’s a power color…”
Libby knew her enthusiasm was genuine but suspected Simone had a reason to seize the change in subject. She didn’t want Libby to ask her anything more about why she was checking up on Aaron herself.
SIMONE AWOKE TO THE RING of her cell phone. She found her glasses on the nightstand and stared at the lighted clock face. It was two a.m. She checked the display on her cell phone. The call was from Libby. Simone flipped open the phone. “Libby, what’s going on?”
There was no sound.
“Libby?”
She heard an odd noise and then a loud shrill scream. The scream cut off abruptly, replaced by a gasp and a choking, gagging sound.
“Libby? Is that you? I’ll get help!”
The caller hung up.
She dialed 9-1-1 and told the operator what happened as she threw on clothes. With the phone clutched to her ear, she locked her apartment and hurried to her car, trying to remain calm. The scream hadn’t really sounded like Libby. She repeated that to herself and the 9-1-1 operator over and over.
She immediately heard the wail of a siren. She sped across the historic district and turned onto Libby’s street in time to see a patrol car pull up in front of the Shelby house. The officer ran up the front walkway as Simone parked behind the police vehicle. The operator insisted she remain in her vehicle while the officer secured the premises.
The lights on the patrol car spun in circles, flashing an ice-blue glow on the house at regular intervals. Each ice-blue second felt endless as a thousand awful scenarios flashed through her mind.
The officer pounded on the door. When no one answered, he pulled back a large baton, looking as if he intended to smash the adjacent window. But the porch light came on and he checked his swing. The door opened. Libby stood in the circle of light.
Simone told the operator Libby had answered the door and hung up. She jumped out of her car and ran up the walkway.
“Simone?” Libby said. “What the hell is going on?”
“He was in the house. With you. Just minutes ago.”
“What are you talking about?” Libby looked from Simone to the police officer.
Simone held up her cell phone. “I got a call a few minutes ago. Caller ID said it was from you. The Shelby house number, not your cell phone.”
Libby’s eyes widened with fear. “He was in the house?” She took a step forward, away from the open front door.
“I heard a scream. Then a choking sound—like what you described coming from the blackberry bushes.”
“I need to see your cell phone, ma’am,” the officer said.
She read his nameplate—Edelson—as she handed him her phone.
Officer Edelson checked the call log. “I’ll need you two to wait here while I search the house.”
They sat on the porch railing. “That was the scariest five minutes of my life,” Simone said, feeling rotten—infused with adrenaline and stomach knots. Relief that Libby was okay mixed with anxiety. She’d stirred up Aaron, and he’d made her pay. He’d scared the hell out of her.
Libby had wrapped her arms around herself as she stared at the front door. Simone hadn’t seen Libby this frightened since the last days of Aaron’s stalking. And it was her fault. “You were right,” she said finally. “Aaron is getting back at us because I went to that bar on Saturday.”
“It’s not your fault he’s psycho.”
“I shouldn’t have let him know I was checking up on him. I should have been more careful.”
They sat in silence, Simone stunned by the speed with which the situation had spiraled out of her control. Right now it didn’t matter that her intentions had been good. Her intentions had been good when she altered the photos to help Libby too, but now those photos would prevent her from ever getting another restraining order.
Officer Edelson stepped onto the porch. “The house is empty. The windows are all locked and the back door is bolted. Ms. Maitland, was the front door also bolted before you opened it for me?”
“Yes. And the chain was on.”
“You answered the door quickly. Were you awake?”
“The siren woke me. When it stopped right in front of the house, I got out of bed. I was almost downstairs when you pounded on the door.”
“You were asleep before you heard the siren?”
“Yes.”
“There’s something I need you to see. I’ve already radioed for a crime scene investigation unit.”
Curious, and more than a little worried, Simone slid off the porch rail. She followed Libby and the officer into the house. Upstairs, they stopped in the hallway between the two bedrooms. “Ms. Maitland, is this the room you were sleeping in?”
“Yes.”
He turned to the second bedroom across the hall from hers. “When was the last time you entered this room?”
“I was in there Sunday when the police chief searched the house.”
The officer pushed open the guest bedroom door.
Above the bed hung a carved Native American mask in a Northwest motif. A pickaxe had been hurled into the mask with enough force to embed the axe in the wall. Streaks of red spread from the wounded mask and dripped down the wall onto the white bedspread and pillows. The strong metallic scent told Simone that the streaks were blood.
Revulsion spread through her. This is my fault.
Libby staggered backward, as if hit in the gut. A noxious cocktail of guilt, anger, and dread mixed in Simone’s belly.
She ushered Libby to the kitchen. The crime scene unit arrived and set to work. Simone sat and stared into a mug of coffee she had no intention of drinking. “As soon as they’re done upstairs, you’re coming home with me.”
Officer Edelson entered the kitchen from the basement stairs. “I just found an unlocked basement window. The suspect could have climbed in and out through the window.”
“That’s a relief,” Libby said. “I was beginning to think whoever it was had keys to the house.”
“Who does have keys to this house?” Edelson asked.
“Simone. Myself. Jason. Probably Jack. You should ask them.”
The officer looked at Simone. “I need you to tell me exactly what you heard on the phone.”
“I think I heard a click before the scream. It could have been a recording.”
Libby set her coffee cup down. “I wonder if the choking sound I heard from the blackberry bushes was also a recording.”
“You’re referring to the report you made Friday evening?” the officer asked.
“Yes. I heard choking sounds then, too.”
“Using tape recordings is…different,” Simone said. “He wasn’t that methodical before.”
“Maybe Aaron’s not the one doing this,” Libby said.
“Of course it’s Aaron. Who else would it be?” Simone was surprised by Libby’s doubt.
“At this stage of the investigation, it’s unwise to make assumptions,” Officer Edelson said. “We will investigate every possibility, including Officer Brady, but we won’t limit the investigation to him.”
So, he knew exactly who Aaron was. Simone studied him, trying to decide from his tone and facial expression whether he’d already taken Aaron’s side. It was difficult to believe the investigation would be thorough. Cops had provided false alibis for Aaron before.
By car and ferry, Seattle was more than two hours from C
oho. Aaron would need large gaps in his schedule to harass Libby during his off hours. Ferry workers would see him, perhaps remember him. She would find a way to prove he was the stalker. The first step would be to get a copy of his work schedule. That would be easy enough. She’d done it before.
LIBBY AWOKE TO THE SOUND of knocking on the bedroom door. Disoriented, it took her a moment to remember that she slept in Simone’s guest bedroom.
Simone opened the door. “The police chief just called. He’s coming over.”
Libby glanced in the mirror. Tired eyes framed by hair that stuck out in all directions greeted her. A girlish shriek escaped as she fled to the bathroom, followed by the sound of Simone’s laughter.
Simone lived in a small apartment building built by Thorpe Log & Lumber in the early twentieth century to accommodate the growing workforce. Five apartments had been provided to Evergreen Archaeological Consultants to house the crew.
While Libby showered, thoughts of what happened the night before ran through her mind. What did it mean that both she and Simone heard choking sounds? She rubbed her neck, remembering the feel of Aaron’s hand closing around her throat. He’d been about to rape her, but with luck, she’d managed to get away. Physically, all she’d suffered was a few bruises.
Now someone used the sound of strangulation to terrify both her and Simone. She doubted she’d ever feel safe in the Shelby house again. But wasn’t that the point?
She shut off the water and stood dripping in the tub for a long moment, gathering her composure. She didn’t want Simone—or Mark—to know how rattled she was.
Dressed and in control of her emotions, she joined Simone in the small kitchen. “How long until Mark gets here?”
Simone glanced at the clock. “Any minute. There’s coffee.”
Libby poured herself a cup, sat and took a sip. She sighed. “I love you.”
“Me or the coffee?”
“I’m not really sure. Both, I guess.”
“You feeling okay?”
“Tired. Four hours’ sleep isn’t enough.”
“At least we’re not digging today,” Simone said. “You can sleep after the chief leaves.”
“I can’t. I’ve got interviews scheduled from noon on.”
“Are you going back to the Shelby house?”
She considered lying and saying she wasn’t afraid of the house but decided she could show Simone some reasonable fear. “Not today. My interviews are at people’s homes. I don’t need anything from the office today and frankly, I don’t want to go near the place right now.”
“You can stay with me as long as you want.”
“Thanks.”
“Of course, you’d be better off moving in with the hunky police chief.”
“Let me get through the first date before you start planning the wedding, okay?”
“For the bridesmaids, I was thinking of something froofy in a God-awful shade of purple,” Simone said.
“I’m thinking fuchsia, with lots of bows. Especially in your hair.”
“That’s beyond cruel.” Simone paused. “I like him, Libby. Don’t let the fact that he’s a cop scare you away. He’s nothing like Aaron.”
“I know. I’d be lying if I said his being a cop didn’t worry me. Then there’s the fact that it’s been too long since I’ve dated. I’ve been ignoring my libido for so long I forgot I had one. Now it’s awakened with a vengeance, and I’m worried the whole attraction thing is just resurrected libido.”
“You’re overanalyzing again. Enjoy it.”
“Easy for you to say. I’m no good at casual sex.”
“I had casual sex once,” Simone said. “It was great.”
“I’m pretty sure it was more than once.”
Simone smiled. “Yeah. So am I.” She poured another cup of coffee and leaned against the counter. “I received a voicemail from Dan Parker. He heard that we turned the burial over to the police. He sounded worried, like he believed there was still a chance the remains were prehistoric.”
“He’s probably having nightmares this will turn into another Kennewick Man controversy. I’ll call him.”
The doorbell rang. Simone slipped into her bedroom, leaving Libby alone as she opened the door.
Mark’s clear blue eyes scanned her from head to toe. “You should have called me last night.”
“I figured you should sleep.”
“If there’s a next time, let me make that choice.”
She moved closer, and his arms slid around her. She leaned her head on his solid chest. How odd that this embrace should feel as natural as breathing. She barely knew him. After several seconds she stepped back, feeling calm for the first time since seeing the blood-drenched mask. “Thanks. I needed that.”
He smiled. “So did I.” He took out his notebook. “The blood on the mask and wall was bovine. It could’ve come from supermarket meat.”
“The pickaxe came from the site,” she said. She began to pace. “We noticed it was missing yesterday when we took inventory after you shut us down. I figured it was buried in a backdirt pile, which happens all the time.” She paused and then decided share her main concern. “My pickaxe, a mask in my home, and blood I could have gotten at the supermarket.”
“Yes.”
She stopped and faced him. “Mark, am I a suspect?”
“I can’t rule anyone out without corroborating evidence.”
Disappointment filled her. “So you think it was me.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But what do you believe? And I don’t want an answer worthy of a politician.”
“I don’t date suspects.”
She stopped pacing. Was he going to cancel? Maybe it was for the best.
“And I’m still looking forward to tomorrow.”
She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d held. “So am I,” she admitted. “Does anyone else in the Coho Police Department believe me?”
“I haven’t asked.”
She resumed pacing.
He caught her hand and stopped her. “We’re checking Aaron’s alibi for last night.”
“What about the other incidents? Could he have been here on Thursday, Friday, or Sunday?”
“He could have been here on Thursday and Sunday, but he has an alibi on Friday.”
“Was his alibi one of the officers who vouched for him three years ago?”
He nodded, his face giving none of his thoughts away.
“You can’t trust the alibi. They all lied three years ago.”
“I need more to prove Brady is your stalker. If it comes down to your word against his, you’ll lose. You’ve admitted the photos were doctored last time. I’d have to tell the judge that under oath.”
“Great, I tell the truth and it’s just another nail in my coffin. I didn’t know the photos had been altered until after the fact.”
“It doesn’t matter. Your credibility is shot as far as building a case against Aaron.” His look was apologetic. “If he’s doing this, I need to catch him in the act.”
Again she remembered Aaron’s hand on her neck, cutting off her air as he worked his belt buckle with his other hand. She’d been alone, but she’d gotten away from him. She could face Aaron again if she knew someone would be there to protect her. “Then use me as bait.”
“Like hell I will. We’ll catch whoever is doing this with good old-fashioned police work.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
OVER THE LAST TWENTY-FOUR hours, Mark had gathered information on the disappearance of Angela Caruthers. On August 21, 1979, she told fellow graduate student and officemate, Dan Parker, she was going to Coho to gather research for her dissertation. She climbed into her Volkswagen Rabbit, drove away, and was never seen again.
Weeks later, hikers found her car on an old logging road in the North Cascades National Park. The car had been completely cleaned. No fingerprints were found anywhere—not even Angela’s. Jack had always been the prime suspect, but at the time of his wife’
s disappearance he’d been in Spokane with Jason, visiting his parents. The only way Jack could have killed her was if she lied to her officemate about her destination and drove to Spokane.
The Seattle Police Department, the US Park Police, and the Coho Police Department had investigated her disappearance, and Mark had leveraged Seattle’s past involvement in the case to get them to provide a medical examiner in Coho. He had no proof the remains in the pit were Angela, but finding remains on Jack’s property was enough for ME Rita Leavenworth, who now knelt in the excavation pit and used a small vacuum device to collect dirt from the abdominal area of the skeleton, while Mark made phone call after phone call, contacting the officers who’d investigated the 1979 disappearance.
After Kreegen’s bumbling yesterday, it was a relief to work with a professional crime scene investigator, and Rita was the best Seattle had to offer. Mark turned away, satisfied she had her task in hand, and dialed the next officer on his list, when Rita suddenly swore loudly.
“This is a waste of time,” she said. “For all of us. Come and look at this. You aren’t going to like it.”
Mark looked into the burial pit. The carefully cleaned skeletal fingers clutched an arrowhead.
“This isn’t a murder victim,” Rita said. “It’s an Indian grave, just like it’s supposed to be.”
LIBBY DROVE TO THE SITE immediately after receiving Mark’s urgent call. The two officers she’d met the day before stood by the excavation area with Mark, and she was relieved to see Doc Kreegen wasn’t present. Instead, she was introduced to a Seattle medical examiner, a petite dark-haired woman who greeted Libby coldly.
More disturbing was Mark’s manner, which reminded her of Friday night, when she answered questions about Aaron. The exciting sizzle that usually emanated from him was absent. “I’m hoping you can explain something,” he said.
She glanced into the excavation units. A bowl-shaped chunk was missing from the once vertical wall and the pit was a half-meter wider. “What happened?” she asked.
Mark answered. “The wall collapsed. Kreegen stepped too close to the edge, which is why he’s not here. But that’s not why you’re here. Look at her hands.”
