He worked the beads methodically through his fingers. Ritual. It had become his friend too, something he could hold on to. Something he could take comfort in. Something that gave him release.
The long string of beads passed from finger to thumb, and still he remained silent. Drew knew the rosary prayers by heart, but he did not pray. Instead, words from his favorite Tennyson poem ran through his head like a song.
Yet all things must die.
The stream will cease to flow;
The wind will cease to blow;
The clouds will cease to fleet;
The heart will cease to beat;
For all things must die.
All things must die.
Drew’s gaze remained fixed on the crucifix until his fingers reached the cross. Only then did he smile.
The soft sound of Alicia’s sniffling broke the spell, and he looked over. Dark smudges of mascara pooled underneath her eyes like slick, oily puddles on a blacktop road. He suppressed the grin and arranged his features into a concerned mask. The hand not holding the rosary reached across to pluck hers from her lap. Their fingers intertwined, and his thumb grazed the naked ring finger of her left hand. He’d place a new ring there. Soon.
His gaze paused on the polished coffin at the front of the church.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly.
Alicia dabbed at her eyes. Splotches of mascara stained the damp wad of tissues, like miniature inkblots from a Rorschach test. He heard the question posed by the state-appointed psychiatrist as clearly as if the man were standing here beside him.
What does this one look like, Andrew?
Drew stared at the mascara stains on the wadded tissue and said the answer without speaking.
Pain.
Alicia blew her nose softly and the choir sang “Nearer My God to Thee.” Drew looked up. A cherubic-looking priest appeared behind the pulpit. With a round fleshy nose and gin-blossomed cheeks, he looked like he’d been hitting the sacramental wine too hard.
“There are no words of comfort at a time like this. We’re gathered here today to say goodbye to Gretchen Lange, who was taken from us too young.”
All across the church, Drew could hear an elegy of muffled sobs. The priest turned his head toward the ebony casket at the front of the church. A spray of pink roses was draped across the coffin.
Alicia shuddered beside him, and Drew slid a comforting arm around her shoulders. He tuned out the vicar’s words. Instead he heard the snort of Gretchen’s bovine laughter.
After an agonizingly long funeral mass, the priest concluded the service, and the mourners lumbered like cattle toward the huge double doors at the back of the church. Drew shepherded Alicia through the crowded aisles of the church toward the exit. He couldn’t stomach another disingenuous eulogy from Gretchen’s family or friends. In life Gretchen had been a pathetic waste of oxygen. Everyone knew it. In death, though, her family and friends glorified her as some kind of saint. Saint Gretchen. Patron of broken-down souls everywhere.
He was halfway to the door when Alicia spoke. Her soft voice didn’t carry over the noise of the assembled crowd, so he bent his head closer.
“I can’t believe Gretchen would do something like this. I mean, I knew she was depressed, but I didn’t think she’d actually . . .” Alicia sniffled again. “You know? Kill herself. Why would she do something so desperate?”
Drew looked down into Alicia’s tearstained face.
Did you know she was on Prozac? Did you know she was fucking Liam?
Drew said neither of these things. Instead he squeezed her hand reassuringly and said what any good boyfriend would. “No one realized how depressed she was.”
“She should have opened up. I would have been there for her. We all would have helped her. If only we’d known.”
“Sometimes there’s nothing you can do,” Drew murmured into her ear. “Sometimes the world has gone so black you can’t imagine any other way out.”
He thought about his mother and how desperate she’d been at the end.
“Why didn’t I go to the bar that night?”
“You were sick.”
Up ahead he spotted a flock of Gretchen’s clucking friends. He was in no mood to hear another word about sweet Gretchen and what a waste it had all been. Alicia was so wrapped up in her own grief, she didn’t notice he was steering her away from them and toward the exit. Ten feet short of the door, he ran straight into the one person he least wanted to see.
Liam stood tall and solemn in his slim-cut Armani suit. His wavy blond hair was freshly cut. He looked fit and tan, like he’d just stepped off a ski slope in Aspen. There was no avoiding him. Liam blocked their path. Drew stiffened. Liam’s cold eyes took slow measure of Drew before his gaze turned toward Alicia. Only then did his glacial stare soften.
“Alicia,” he said in a strained, halting voice.
She stopped in midstride.
“I can’t believe you’d show your face here,” Alicia hissed.
“Please, Alicia, I had no idea what Gretchen was going through. I swear.”
“You expect me to believe that you weren’t using her? Poor Gretchen. She thought you were sincere. She thought you cared for her when, all along, you were only getting what you wanted. You don’t give a damn about anyone besides yourself. You never have.”
At a loss for words, Liam swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and a warm, pleasurable glow filled Drew.
Really. Could this day get any better?
Ignoring Drew, Liam took a step toward Alicia, a hand splayed across his chest.
“Alicia, you have to believe me. Until I heard about Gretchen’s suicide note, I had no idea she cared about me that way.”
Alicia’s face contorted. Outrage burned in her bloodshot eyes.
“You were hooking up with her, you sick fuck. Don’t try to deny it. She had pictures of you on her phone.”
Liam ignored the shocked stares from the people standing around him and kept his attention focused solely on Alicia. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter another syllable, she raised her hand, palm outward.
“Not another word, Liam. I don’t want to hear any more of your lies.”
“Why would I hurt Gretchen?”
“Because you’re a selfish douche. Because she was going to tell everyone what a shit you are. I will never forgive you for what you did to her. I never want to speak to you again.”
Liam’s face turned ashen. He fell back a step, and his gaze met Drew’s. In that moment he saw a flash of understanding flicker across Liam’s face and he knew one thing for certain.
They both knew Gretchen hadn’t written that note.
Chapter 23
The slick black streets reflected the harsh glare of the car’s headlights as Charles Sully sped south down I-5. Just past Boeing Field, he punched the accelerator down, and the car’s powerful engine emitted a deep and throaty growl, like the snarl of a Bengal tiger. He blew past the little flamer in the Beemer. Superior German engineering, my fucking ass. He’d take a good old American classic over some fancy piece of Eurotrash any day.
Sully knew where he was going. The car could almost drive itself. It was still early by the clock, not even nine in the evening yet, but business on the strip would be in full swing.
He needed it.
Since Lara had gotten fat, he’d been getting his rocks off elsewhere. Maybe he’d stick around long enough to see if she lost the baby weight. She’d been smoking hot when they first got together. All that Latin spit and fire. But that was before she got knocked up. Now she was passed out and snoring on the couch by eight thirty every night.
Bad enough he had to listen to her moan about her backaches, deal with her mood swings, and eat Mexican every night because that’s what she said the baby liked. If she stayed fat, he’d fucking dump her. He didn’t want to be saddled with some big heifer.
At first he’d pushed for an abortion, even offered to pay for the wh
ole thing himself, but Lara was dead set against it—said it was against her religion. He was pretty sure fucking was considered a sin too, but that didn’t stop her from spreading her legs any time he wanted.
Lately he’d been thinking that maybe the kid wasn’t such a bad thing after all. It might be nice to have a son. He could teach the kid about cars. Go hunting in the woods. All the things he hadn’t learned from his old man, who’d spent much of his miserable life behind bars.
Sully slowed down on the long strip of the Pacific Coast Highway. The rain had quit and the local wildlife had all crawled out of its hidey-holes. Sully took his time skimming down the streets. Window-shopping was half the fun.
This car was the shit. He liked the way heads turned as he cruised on by. He’d done much of the restoration work himself, right down to the custom paint job at his uncle’s shop.
The girl standing at the corner was cute, with wavy blonde hair hanging halfway to her ass. Tight jeans. White rabbit-fur coat. She looked hot. He skimmed the curb and rolled down the window.
She leaned in. She wasn’t a real blonde, but that was okay. Her mocha-colored skin was a shade dark for his taste. Good teeth. Freaky green eyes. Pretty enough. Too skinny to be a cop.
“Do you date?” he asked.
“What kind of girl were you looking for?”
“Someone who is up for a bit of everything.”
Sully didn’t like the way she eyed him, like he was a rotting piece of meat. Fucking women and their big fucking attitudes. Would it kill her to smile and act nice? She was the one out selling her wares. A little sugar from her might help sweeten the deal.
“Fifty,” she said, smacking her fat lips.
Sully’s hands clenched the steering wheel. Whore.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?”
He punched down on the accelerator and the tires squealed on the wet pavement. The girl jumped back just in time, and he merged back into traffic. Fifty bucks for her skinny ass? Jesus. Who the hell did she think she was? The Queen of fucking Sheba?
He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw her standing on the corner, one hand propped on a bony hip. Her other hand flipped him the bird.
Half a block away, he spied another blonde. Black skin. He hadn’t had someone like her in a while. He slowed down and she smiled. She was missing a tooth. Others had turned dark. Nasty little tweaker. He sped up and cruised on by.
Pickings were slim tonight. The lousy weather wasn’t helping. He might actually have to pay the bitch fifty bucks if he didn’t find something better soon. He’d wipe the smug look right off her face.
Then he spied her stepping out from the shadows toward the edge of the curb.
Blonde. Skinny. White. Nice rack. Not as pretty as the first girl, but hey, what the fuck? He wouldn’t be looking at her face.
He eased the car in beside her. She propped her pointy elbows on the window frame.
Up close she was young. Maybe sixteen or seventeen. Young was good. Smooth skin. Tight ass. He’d pay more for someone that young. And if she was really good, maybe he wouldn’t hurt her.
“Looking for some fun?” she asked.
He felt himself stir.
“Always.”
Sully pulled two twenty-dollar bills from the wad of cash in his pocket and set them on the dash. The girl stole a quick backward glance over her shoulder and climbed in.
Sully peeled off of the strip, heading east toward Military Road. Silver streetlights cut through the gloom. Houses and trees flashed by. There were a few places he liked to go—quiet, dark places where they could be alone.
The girl looked nervous. She sat staring out the windshield, digging around in her purse.
“You good?” he asked, shooting her a sidelong glance.
She nodded. Face pale. “Where are we going?”
She spoke well. Educated. Not like most of the girls around here.
Something wasn’t right. Sully could feel it deep in his bones. His gaze flicked to the rearview mirror, half expecting to see a cop cruiser tailing him, but the streets were empty. Good thing too. One more conviction and the only way he’d see his son was from behind bars.
“I said, where are we going?” she said, louder this time. More shrill. Like she was scared or something.
“There’s this place not far from here I like. You’ll see.”
Sully swerved onto a side road. One of those dead-end streets that overlooked the valley. There was a turnout a mile or so ahead. He and his high school buddies used to come out here to smoke dope. That had been before the shit was legal. He spied a break in the pine trees and took it. He slowed down, and the trees closed in around them. Tires rumbled along the gravel path. Lights twinkled in the valley below. Sully killed the engine.
Sully turned toward her. Her face was in shadow. All he could see was the soft glimmer of her blonde hair. He reached out to touch it. But it felt wrong. She felt wrong.
“Is this where you brought her?” the girl asked.
Sully frowned in the dark, sparks of anger igniting in his chest.
“What?”
“Is this where you brought her?” Louder now. Accusing.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Sully’s hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of blonde hair. It came away in his hand. His fingers popped open and the wig slid to the floor.
“What did you do with her, you sick fuck?”
Sully’s other hand shot out toward her, fingers grasping the thin fabric of her shirt. He yanked her toward him. Without the wig, he saw it. Green eyes. Short, spiky black hair. The lesbo from the bar. The one with all the attitude.
“You,” he growled between clenched teeth.
She wrenched free from his grasp and reared back, head smacking against the passenger’s window with a dull crack. The purse tumbled from her lap.
“What did you do with her?” she screamed at him.
“Who?”
“Brooke!”
“You’re fucking crazy, bitch.”
“I know what you did.”
“You don’t know shit.”
She’d pay for screwing with him.
The girl lunged for the door. He grabbed her and yanked her back by the hair. Her head twisted around. Hate spilled from her eyes. Sully cocked his fist. She knocked his arm away and Sully heard a hiss. He screamed, covered his face. His eyes were on fire.
The passenger’s door burst open and she spilled from the car. Sully screamed. He couldn’t let her get away, couldn’t let her go to the cops with some crazy story. They would think he was guilty.
He pushed open his door and stumbled after her. He slipped on the bed of wet leaves and landed hard on his knees. He lurched to his feet and lunged straight ahead. His fingers brushed the back of her jacket.
“Get away from me, you freak,” she yelled.
She was close. Sully staggered toward her, eyes burning, tears streaming down his face. He couldn’t see shit, but there was no fucking way he would let her go.
He grabbed her coat and jerked her back. She stumbled. Cursed. Sully grabbed hold of her. Her face was a small white blur. His fist closed, poised to strike. She’d learn to keep her fucking mouth shut.
Pain. A bright flash of pain bolted through Sully’s chest. His knees buckled and he tumbled to the ground.
Chapter 24
Seth sipped the cold coffee on his desk and dialed the number on the pink message slip. It was late and he knew the chances of actually catching Dr. Rahul Jain in person were slim. He was already composing a message in his head when someone picked up the receiver.
“Dr. Jain.”
“Hey, Rahul. It’s Seth Crawford.”
“Seth. Right. I got your message. Sorry, I was too busy to call you back. You wanted to talk about Charles Sully. What’s he done now?”
The unexpected greeting knocked Seth off stride, and he knew he wasn’t going to like what came next.
“I’m investigating the disappear
ance of a college student, and I’m wondering if Sully’s our guy.”
“A girlfriend?” Rahul asked.
Past behavior was the best indicator of future behavior, Seth knew, and Sully’s record spoke for itself.
“No, just a chance encounter at a bar. Sully hit on her, and she blew him off. Is he the type of guy to retaliate?”
Rahul paused, mulling the question over for a moment or two.
“Typically I see two kinds of abusers in my line of work. Both are violent. The first is an iceberg. Calm. Almost glacial. With guys like this, their pulse rate rarely spikes during an assault. They attack and move on. The second is a volcano ready to explode. They tend to pick victims close to them, like family members or partners. They are all emotion and violence. Sully is the second kind.”
“So this girl’s rejection could have triggered him?”
“Could have, but I see Sully as the kind of guy who, after getting rejected at the bar, goes home and beats the shit out of his girlfriend.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Most bullies are cowards, and the girlfriend is a safe target.”
“But he’s a violent guy. He could have snapped.”
“It’s always possible. Maybe he had a bad day—fought with his girlfriend or someone at work. Could be that he meets a girl in a bar who says the wrong thing and triggers his rage. There is no doubt in my mind he hates women. But here’s the kicker—if he’s that close to losing his shit, chances are good he’ll take it all the way.”
“And kill her,” Seth said, dreading the inevitable, bloody outcome.
“Could be. But Sully’s not a planner. He’s not a slow-burn kind of guy. If an attack occurred, it would likely be a spur-of-the-moment thing. You saw Sully’s record. His mother has a no-contact order in place. The girl he beat was messed up pretty bad. In both cases the bloody fingerprints led straight to him.”
“Is it possible he learned to cover his tracks in lockup?”
“Anything is possible. Just when I think I’ve got it all figured out, someone manages to surprise me.” Rahul paused. “So, what do you think? Are you dealing with an iceberg or a volcano?”
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