Cold Feet

by Brenda Novak

  Tears dripped off Madison’s chin as she imagined the scene—the guilt her father must have experienced for not loving Johnny better. The pain Johnny must have known when confronted with their father’s pure contempt.

  “So you did what?” Madison could barely say the words for fear of Johnny’s response because another, even more insidious thought had entered her mind. What if her father hadn’t killed himself at all?

  “I didn’t do anything,” Johnny insisted. “I told him he could go to hell if he didn’t believe me, and I left.”

  “Then where did that box come from?”

  “Dad said he found it buried in the woodpile. He figured I’d left it there, but I didn’t. I wasn’t lying—I’d never seen it before. Anyone could’ve hidden it there. Anyone!”

  His grip was lax enough now that Madison could have gotten away. She knew that. But something made her hesitate. Maybe the sleeping pills were interfering with her thinking. Or maybe compassion wouldn’t allow her to condemn her brother quite so soon. “Sharon overheard you and Tye—”

  “I know, but we weren’t talking about murder. We were talking about what I did the day I got out of prison. Tye was angry. He knew that since I’m on probation, they’d put me back in prison if anyone ever found out.”

  “Found out what?”

  She couldn’t see him, but she could imagine the tortured expression on his face. “That I…that I went to the cemetery.”

  His arms fell away from her, and he stepped back. But Madison didn’t run. She didn’t so much as flip on the light. Somehow she knew they both needed the darkness right now. “It was you who dug up Dad’s coffin?” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “Why?”

  “I was so angry, Madison. So…damn angry at him. Why wouldn’t he believe me? I told him I didn’t do it. For once, couldn’t he have listened to me?”

  She didn’t answer. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. The passion in his voice was so real.

  “I just wanted him to believe me,” he said. “I hate going to sleep at night and seeing that…that damn look on his face.” He drew a ragged breath that testified to the depth of his emotion. “I was high when I went to the cemetery. I wasn’t thinking straight. Or I would’ve known it was far too late.” His tone turned deadpan. “I couldn’t convince him even when he was alive.”

  Poor Johnny. He lived with so many demons. Even now drugs stood between him and any kind of recovery. But he was no killer. He just didn’t have it in him.

  Putting her arms around him, Madison tried to draw him close, to offer him some of the support and comfort he’d never had.

  At first he stiffened, tried to push her away. But then she said, “It’s okay, Johnny. I believe you.” And after a few moments, he was sobbing on her shoulder.

  CALEB SAT AT HIS kitchen table with a cup of coffee and watched the sun rise. He’d arrived home nearly three hours ago, but he hadn’t gone to bed. He had too much on his mind. Mostly Madison. And the investigation. Neither of which were going the way he’d hoped.

  Did you really help a friend move when you borrowed my father’s truck? Or did you make me walk into that garage and get that truck so you could search it?

  He’d done worse than that. He’d made her walk into that garage so he could search Ellis’s truck and have Gibbons check the tires. And it had all been for nothing.

  With a yawn, he rubbed his tired eyes. After spending most of the night thinking about Madison, he’d finally decided that what had happened between them yesterday was probably for the best. Their relationship couldn’t have gone anywhere. She wasn’t emotionally available; she’d told him that several times. And he was going back to San Francisco. Better to get over his fascination with her now and focus on what he needed to do before he could return home.

  Shoving his coffee away because the caffeine seemed to be making him sick, he called Gibbons.

  “Shit, Trovato, don’t you ever sleep?” Gibbons complained, picking up after the answering machine had come on.

  Caleb felt a pang of guilt for waking him. Gibbons had already put in far more than his share of overtime. But Caleb was impatient. If he wasn’t going to pursue a relationship with Madison, he wanted to get the hell out of Seattle. “I don’t think—”

  “Wait until the machine goes off.”

  They fell silent until Caleb heard a click, then it was Gibbons’ turn to yawn, which he did loudly. “What is it?”

  “I don’t think we should waste any time with Lance Perkins.”

  Gibbons snorted. “Hell, I hope you didn’t wake me up just to tell me that. I know Lance isn’t our man. He stood right in front of us, bare-chested. He didn’t have a scratch on him. And I know Susan left marks.”

  “So where do we go from here?” Caleb asked.

  “We get some sleep and recoup when we can think straight.”

  Caleb was too discouraged, too frustrated to sleep. But he didn’t have any right to demand superhuman hours from Gibbons. This was just another case to him. There’d been plenty of such cases before, and there’d be plenty after.

  “Call me when you get up,” Caleb said, and disconnected. Then he slouched back in his chair, scowling at the gray clouds already scudding across the sky outside.

  He’d wanted to search Madison’s mother’s house today, had hoped to find the contents of that box. He wasn’t sure it would relate to Susan’s disappearance in any way, but he knew it couldn’t hurt to have a look. Maybe it would help the police finally solve the old case, finally prove Madison right—or wrong—about her father. But he’d lost her cooperation.

  He’d lost a hell of a lot more than her cooperation….

  The case. He needed to move on. What was he missing? What small detail had the killer left behind that would eventually be his undoing? Surely there had to be something.

  According to the FBI profiler, the perpetrator was methodical, obsessive, manipulative. Like John Wayne Gacy, he probably managed to appear functional. Maybe he held a steady job, participated in community events. Which meant he could be one of a million different men living in Seattle.

  Except this killer was probably impotent, judging by the way his victims had been sexually assaulted. And the profiler had given them one limiting physical factor—she’d said the killer wasn’t very large. He was attacking small women to be sure he could physically overpower them, and he was using the date rape drug, Rohypnol, to improve his odds.

  Caleb drummed his fingers on the table, asking himself the same questions he’d been asking all along. Who knew enough about the case to set up the crime scene? And who had the cunning, the complete self-absorption required to commit such crimes?

  Johnny knew an awful lot about the case. He’d seen some of the crime-scene pictures. In an effort to get someone to talk, the police had shown the whole Purcell family those shocking photos. But Johnny’s thinking was simply too disorganized. He lacked the control to get away with something like this.

  Tye, on the other hand, appeared functional, even capable, and knew as much about the case as Johnny. But Caleb didn’t believe he was their man, either. For one thing, he couldn’t see Tye limiting his attacks to small women. Tye wasn’t particularly tall, but he was muscular. And from what Gibbons had said, Madison’s oldest brother had an explosive temper. An explosive temper would too easily tempt him beyond the veil of secrecy and premeditation required to commit the kind of murders they were dealing with.

  Caleb took the picture of Susan standing outside the pizza place out of his wallet and stared down at her blurry profile. He knew Gibbons would be contacting Tye Purcell to ask him about the contents of the box missing from under the house. But Caleb didn’t want to wait. Now that Madison knew who he really was, maybe the time had come to confront her brother face-to-face.

  TYE LIVED IN AN OLDER, rather depressed neighborhood of small, cookie-cutter houses, very few of which had a garage. Here and there, a carport had been finished off by homeowners seeking more living space. Tye’s
carport was still open, however, and housed a weight bench, which he happened to be using when Caleb arrived.

  Pausing when he heard the car, Tye rested the barbells in the stand over his head and sat up, letting his hands dangle between his legs. “What are you doing here?” he asked as he watched Caleb approach.

  It was nearly eight o’clock, which wasn’t too early for a workday. But this was Sunday. Caleb had expected to find Tye in bed, but had wanted to catch him before he went out. “I have a few questions for you,” he said.

  “What kind of questions?” Suddenly indifferent, Tye started bench-pressing another set. It was chilly out, gray, overcast and a little windy, but Tye wore only a pair of karate pants and a T-shirt with the sleeves cut out. He had a Chinese dragon tattooed on his right biceps, very similar to the one embroidered on the jacket in his father’s Ford, making Caleb wonder if he’d been wrong about the owner of that jacket. In any case, judging by the tattoo and the pants, Caleb guessed Tye was either taking or teaching karate. Which supported his gut feeling that if Tye wanted to hurt a woman, he wouldn’t feel the need to use drugs….

  Folding his arms, Caleb leaned against the corner of the house. He’d expected to see some sign of Tye’s wife and kids. His wife had provided his alibi, after all. But except for Tye, the place seemed deserted. The only vehicle was Tye’s Explorer parked out at the curb.

  “Where’s the wife and kids?” Caleb asked, noting the bikes, scooters and baseball gloves tossed against the shed that comprised the back wall of Tye’s carport.

  Tye paused with the barbell straight over his head. “Is that one of your questions?” he asked, his muscles straining. “Because it’s none of your damn business.” The barbell clanged as he shoved it roughly into the stand and sat up, his eyes narrower than before. “Why don’t you just tell me what the hell you’re doing out here?”

  “I know about the box of women’s underwear and trinkets under the house,” Caleb said.

  Tye’s eyebrows raised a notch. “So? What does that box mean to you?”

  “My sister-in-law was just murdered, strangled like the women your father was accused of killing. I think there might be some connection.”

  Tye’s face was devoid of emotion. “Was she killed before or after you moved in with Madison?”

  “Before.”

  Tye swore softly under his breath. “Did Madison know that when she let you move in?”

  “She knows it now.”

  “I hope she kicked your ass out,” Tye said.

  “Once I get the answers I need, I’m leaving anyway.”

  Tye stared at him for a moment. “Well, much as I’d like to help, that stuff belonged to my father. And if you know anything about the case, which I’m guessing you do, you know he’s dead. You’re wasting your time here.”

  “Humor me,” Caleb said.

  “How?”

  “Where’s the stuff in that box?”

  Tye scowled darkly. “You said yourself that it was under the house.”

  “Until a couple weeks ago. Now it’s gone.” Caleb couldn’t tell if Tye was surprised or not. He just kept stroking his goatee with his thumb and index finger.

  “Well, I don’t give a shit,” he said at last. “That box has nothing to do with me.”

  “Then why didn’t you take it to police?”

  “Kiss my ass.” Rolling back, he started yet another set, but Caleb didn’t leave as he was obviously expected to. He dug into his pocket and retrieved the picture of Susan outside the pizzeria.

  “Do you know this woman?” he asked, shoving the picture in front of Tye’s face.

  Tye grunted as he lifted the barbell for the twelfth time, arms shaking. When he put the weights away, he grabbed the photograph but only glanced at it briefly before handing it back. “What are you, a cop?”

  “I used to be.”

  “Then you’re a civilian just like me, which means you’re trespassing and you’ve got no right to be here.” Caleb didn’t respond because it was true.

  “I’ll tell you what I told the detectives who already came by,” Tye said in a disgruntled voice. “I’ve never seen her before.”

  “Is that the truth?”

  “What do you think?”

  Caleb thought he was lying. He’d never considered Tye a real suspect in the killings, but there was something suspicious about his belligerent attitude and his reluctance to really look at Caleb.

  “I have a woman who says she saw you there,” Caleb said, folding the picture neatly. He meant Jennifer, but he was bluffing. When Caleb had met with Jennifer, he’d shown her a picture of Tye and been told she’d never seen him before. But that didn’t prove Tye wasn’t at the pizza place. She’d admitted she hadn’t been able to tell who Susan was arguing with.

  A muscle jumped in Tye’s cheek. “What woman?”

  “Someone who was there that night, too.”

  A door shut discreetly over at the neighbor’s, but Caleb didn’t even look in that direction. He was too busy studying Tye’s face.

  “That’s bullshit, man,” Tye said.

  “Is it?”

  Silence. Tye stood, obviously agitated, but his mouth remained firmly closed.

  “Have you had possession of your father’s truck in the past few weeks, Tye?”

  Now Madison’s half brother looked positively furtive. He curled his fingers into fists, and Caleb straightened, preparing for anything…just in case. “No, I haven’t,” Tye muttered.

  “I have a witness who says you drove your father’s truck to the pizzeria that night,” Caleb said, taking it one step further.

  Tye’s chest rose as if he’d inhaled deeply. Caleb got the impression he was about to reveal…something. But he didn’t. “Get out of here,” he said instead. “Get out of here right now or you’ll be damn sorry you ever showed up.”

  Shit. Caleb’s bluff hadn’t paid off. He stared at Tye’s angry face another long moment, then turned to leave.

  He was only a few miles from Tye’s neighborhood when an old Dodge came screaming up behind him. A chubby, middle-aged man honked and yelled for him to pull over.

  Caleb rolled down his window. “What do you want?” he called above the wind as the man drove alongside him.

  “Are you a detective?”

  To keep things simple, Caleb nodded.

  “That’s what I thought.” The guy braked to avoid a collision with the car ahead, and Caleb slowed to stay even with him. “I live right next to Tye Purcell,” he hollered when it was safe to glance over again. “Pull off the road. I have some information for you.”

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Holly asked the moment Caleb answered his cell phone.

  Caleb grimaced at the sound of her voice and changed lanes so he could speed up. “Heading home.” Racing home…

  “Where have you been?”

  “Nowhere important,” he said. After her behavior at Lance’s last night, he was reluctant to share the grim information he’d just received. “Did you call for a reason?”

  The phone went silent for a few seconds, then she said, “I left my purse in your car.”

  “I haven’t seen it.”

  “It has to be there. I had it with me last night, and I haven’t gone anywhere since.”

  Keeping one hand on the wheel, Caleb reached over to feel around the passenger seat. He found a few gum wrappers and a quarter wedged next to the console, but no purse. “It’s not here, Holly.”

  “Then I must’ve left it at your house.”

  Wonderful. Another excuse to visit. “If it’s there, I’ll bring it over later, okay?” he said.

  “Caleb, I need it right now.”

  “Holly, I’m tired.” And he had to talk to Madison…. “Why—”

  “I won’t stay long,” she promised.

  He ground his teeth. He didn’t want to see his ex-wife; he wanted to deal with what he’d found out. But he thought he’d be able to get rid of Holly more quickly and easily if he just gave her t
he damn purse. “Okay,” he said. “But don’t come for an hour or so. I’m in south Seattle and the ferry to Whidbey always takes awhile.”

  MADISON SCRUBBED HER FACE with her hand and blinked, trying to clear the blurriness from her eyes. Once she’d finally gone to sleep, she hadn’t stirred for hours, thanks to the natural letdown of her emotions, combined with the effect of those sleeping pills. But then someone had knocked at the door, and she’d dragged herself out of bed to find the sun peeking through rain clouds and Caleb’s ex-wife standing on her stoop.

  “Can I help you?” Madison said, steadying herself with a hand on the lintel.

  Holly didn’t answer right away. Her gaze traveled slowly over Madison’s robe to her well-worn slippers before returning to her face. “I left my purse at Caleb’s house last night, but he isn’t home.”

  Madison waited for her to make some sort of request, but Holly didn’t add anything else. “I have an extra key,” Madison said, “but I’m afraid I can’t let you in without Caleb’s permission. Have you tried calling him?”

  Holly smiled. “Of course. He said he’d be here in a minute. I was just hoping you and I could have a little talk while I wait.”

  “A little talk about what?”

  “Just a few things I think you should be aware of.”

  There was something about Holly’s manner Madison didn’t like or trust. And she wasn’t eager to face any more unpleasant surprises. She felt sick every time she thought about her visit with Caleb at his parents’ house and how wonderful it had been compared to the confrontation that had occurred afterward.

  But basic good manners demanded she hear Holly out. She was certainly curious. “Come inside,” she said, because it was beginning to sprinkle.

  Feeling she needed a jolt of caffeine to help restore her faculties, Madison led the way to the kitchen so she could make a pot of coffee.