“What’s the problem?” Lindsay looked mystified. “I can save you some time by collecting prints and trace for you. I’m perfectly well qualified to do that. I’m trying to help out here.”
“What have you been doing?” Tom pushed past her into the kitchen. “What have you touched?”
“I haven’t touched a thing. I’m not an idiot. I am a criminal evidence professional, you know. Why do I have to keep reminding you of that?”
“Then act like one, for god’s sake. This is probably connected to your parents’ murders. Rachel and Holly are witnesses in that case. You’re the daughter of the victims. What the hell makes you think it’s acceptable for you to even come in here, much less collect evidence?”
Lindsay’s cheeks reddened at the rebuke. “Well, excuse me for trying to help. But I’m not leaving. If this is connected to Mom and Dad’s deaths, I want to know what happened here. I want to know what evidence you come up with, and I want to be damned sure nothing is overlooked.”
“You don’t think the Sheriff’s Department is competent to investigate a break-in?”
“I think you are, but I’ve got my doubts about those two little boys out there.”
Tom clenched his hands at his sides to keep himself from shaking her. “Those two little boys, as you put it, have been trained in evidence collection procedures, and since they probably heard what you said, I think you’ve just made a couple of enemies. Now get out of here, and don’t expect anybody to let you back in.”
Lindsay spun around and marched out. She shoved open the screen door and let it bang shut behind her. Tom followed to make sure she actually left.
The Blackwood twins watched her leave, then shot nervous looks at Tom. “Sorry, Captain,” Keith said.
“She showed up and said you sent her,” Kevin added. “Man, I feel dumb.”
“It won’t happen again,” Keith said.
“It sure as hell better not happen again. Keep her out of the house, her and anybody else who isn’t authorized to be here.” Tom noticed Lindsay’s car for the first time, parked on the road outside the circle of light around the house. She was headed toward it.
“Mrs. McKendrick’s upstairs with Dr. Goddard,” Keith said. “She didn’t touch anything or walk around downstairs. You want us to make her leave?”
“I’ll handle it.” Tom crossed the debris field in the living room again and took the steps two at a time.
He found Rachel sitting on her bed in robe and slippers, cradling Cicero in her arms. The parrot nuzzled her chin and neck, his small sounds of distress making Tom think of a frightened, whimpering puppy. The cat, Frank, pressed against Rachel’s thigh. Joanna sat beside her.
“Here’s Tom, honey,” Joanna said.
Rachel didn’t look up. She stared at the floor, her face drained of color, her auburn hair draped over one eye.
Tom sat beside Rachel, put an arm around her shoulders and kissed her forehead. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said. But her rigid body didn’t yield to his embrace.
“Is Cicero all right?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me what happened,” Tom said, “with as much detail as you can remember.”
In a monotone, sounding not at all like herself, Rachel described the events of the night. “Cicero saved our lives,” she concluded.
“Yeah, he probably did.” Without this scared bird, Rachel could be lying dead in her bed right now. A rush of nausea made Tom’s throat close up. He wanted to hold her, feel her warm and alive against him. He tried to pull her closer.
She shrugged off his arm, which surprised Tom and hurt more than a little. Was she still angry about their stupid argument over her visit to Lloyd Wilson? Tom knew he’d been right, but he wished he’d handled it differently.
“This is connected to Cam and Meredith’s murders, isn’t it?” Joanna said. “The killer’s trying to get rid of witnesses.”
“Probably. Nothing else makes sense.”
“Holly and I didn’t see anything,” Rachel said, her voice flat. “We don’t know anything. Why would anybody come after us?”
“Rumors get around,” Tom said. “Every time something’s repeated, the facts get changed, and before long the whole story’s a fabrication. Look, I want you and Holly out of here, at least for the rest of the night, maybe longer. You can stay at my place as long as you want to.”
“No. Thank you, but no.” Rachel sounded oddly formal and distant, as if he were a presumptuous acquaintance.
“You have to stay somewhere. This house is a crime scene, and we’ll be here for a while.”
“The crime scene is downstairs. We’ll stay up here. There’s no reason we have to leave.”
Tom raked his fingers through his hair. How could she be so stubborn under these circumstances? “It’s not safe for you to—”
“Tom,” Joanna broke in. “Go do your work. Let me talk to Rachel.”
He hesitated, but gave in. Maybe Joanna could get through to her. He wanted to touch Rachel, wanted to kiss her, but he held back. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”
He returned to the kitchen. Crouching at the back door, he examined the lock and the wood around it. Rachel had said the intruder left the door standing open. He’d undoubtedly left this way, probably entered this way too. But Tom saw no evidence of a break-in. No damage to the lock, no marks or chips in the wood.
He moved on to check the front door and the windows. They all stood open now to let the gas dissipate, but none of them showed any sign of being forced. Tom didn’t believe Rachel would go to bed leaving a door unlocked, but it was possible a window had inadvertently been left unsecured. It was also possible that somebody had gotten hold of extra keys to the house.
He didn’t want to interrupt if Joanna was persuading Rachel to leave, but Holly was available for questioning.
Out on the porch, Holly shook her head and told him, “No, sir, we don’t ever leave the doors or the windows unlocked at night. Everything was closed and locked up tight before we went to bed.”
“All right then.” Tom rubbed the tight muscles in the back of his neck. “Your visitor either picked the lock or used a key. Does anyone besides you and Rachel have a key?”
“Nobody but me,” Joanna said from the doorway. She stepped out onto the porch. “There’s a key to the back door and one to the front door, and only three copies of each. My copies are in my office at the house.”
“Then this had to be somebody who could pick locks.”
“Both doors have deadbolts that have to be opened with keys from inside and out.”
“Aw, hell,” Tom muttered. “That’s right.” Back during the winter, when he’d been concerned for Rachel and Holly’s safety, he’d checked out security at the cottage.
He looked to Holly, but she answered his question before he could ask it. “I told you, we locked the doors. With the keys.”
“Then we’re back where we started,” Tom said. “Somebody, somehow, got a key to the back door. As soon as you get back to your place, make sure your keys to this house are still where they’re supposed to be, and call and let me know.”
“I will,” Joanna said, “and I’ll get the locks changed tomorrow, if I can find a locksmith who’ll work on Sunday. Holly, honey, you go up and get what you need for the night so you can go home with me. I talked Rachel into coming too.”
“Now wait a minute,” Tom said. Rachel in the same house with Lindsay? “That’s not a good idea.”
Joanna’s eyes met his. “I know what you’re thinking, but it’s just for the rest of the night. If it doesn’t bother Rachel, it shouldn’t bother you. We’ll go back to my house and go straight to bed. First thing in the morning, Rachel and Holly can come home.”
“I don’t like it. I’m going to talk to Rachel again.”
“Tom, she was very firm about not wanting to stay at your place. Don’t be so bossy. Anyway, it looks lik
e my other guest doesn’t plan to go back to the house for a while. Give us time to get there and go to bed before you run her off.” Joanna nodded toward the road.
Tom looked around. In the shadows, barely visible, Lindsay sat cross-legged on the hood of her car, watching Rachel’s house.
Chapter Nineteen
Rachel stretched out on a strange bed in Joanna’s house, but when she closed her eyes the drumbeat of panic started in her chest, building to a roar that jolted her out of bed, onto her feet, ready to flee.
But she didn’t have to run. She was safe now, wasn’t she? She had nothing more to fear.
Frank meowed, the sound oddly muffled. Rachel switched on the bedside lamp and saw a squirming lump under the covers she’d thrown back when she jumped out of bed. She pulled away the top sheet and light blanket. Frank blinked up at her.
“I’m sorry, love,” Rachel whispered. She sat on the bed and petted him until he purred.
On the dresser, Cicero was quiet in a small cage, now draped with a towel. He hated that cage, which Rachel used only when moving him from place to place, and he hated being in unfamiliar surroundings, but he’d been unnaturally docile since coming out of his stupor. If the gas had harmed him, Rachel doubted she could reverse the effect. She had to hope he was suffering from stress that would pass once their lives returned to normal.
When would that be? Would life ever return to what it was a few days ago, before the Taylors were killed and their daughter showed up?
She shouldn’t have let Joanna talk her into coming here tonight. Joanna had been persuasive and logical, assuring Rachel that she probably wouldn’t cross paths with Lindsay in the house, and Rachel felt it would be childish to refuse to spend a few hours under the same roof with her. When she’d put Frank and Cicero in her SUV for the move to Joanna’s house, though, the sight of Lindsay in the shadows, perched on her car’s hood and watching, had sent a chill through Rachel. Lindsay hated her and wanted her out of Tom’s life.
A shocking thought invaded Rachel’s head: Maybe it wasn’t the Taylors’ killer who had tried to murder her and Holly. Maybe it was the Taylors’ daughter.
Paranoid. She could never voice such a suspicion out loud. Everybody, including Tom, would think she’d lost her mind. Rachel herself had trouble believing Lindsay would go that far.
I have to get some sleep. I’m not even thinking straight. Rachel switched off the lamp, but she didn’t lie down. Joanna’s house was silent except for the faint hum of central air conditioning. Joanna had gone back to bed, and Holly had settled on the sofa bed in the den downstairs. Lindsay hadn’t returned yet. Was she still at the cottage?
I’m wasting an opportunity, Rachel thought. She might find nothing of interest in Lindsay’s room, but then again she might learn whether Lindsay had been systematically collecting information about her.
She found her slippers with her toes and shoved her feet into them. Careful not to make a sound, she opened the bedroom door and peered into the hallway. A nightlight burned at the far end, outside the bathroom, accentuating the pool of darkness surrounding Rachel. Joanna slept in the room directly across the hall. Lindsay’s room was next to Rachel’s.
She crept into the hallway, holding her breath in anticipation of a creaking floorboard that might give her away. Paranoid, she chided herself again. In the unlikely event that Joanna might spring out of bed to demand where Rachel was going, she could always claim to be on her way to the bathroom. Still, she didn’t want Joanna to know she was awake and roaming around.
She expected Lindsay’s door to be locked and felt a pleasant little shock of surprise when the knob turned freely. In a second she stood inside with the door closed behind her. Lamps burned beside the bed and on the dresser. The bed was made up, the puffy blue comforter still covering it. In the middle of the bed lay a closed laptop computer. Rachel went straight for it.
She figured Lindsay had a password to prevent anyone else from using her computer, but it was worth a try. Prepared to be stymied, Rachel almost laughed aloud when she opened the laptop and found a bright, active screen. Like the rest of Mason County, Joanna’s house had only dial-up internet access through the cable TV company, and Lindsay’s laptop wasn’t plugged in at the moment. The browser history would reveal what sites she’d visited lately, though.
Rachel wasn’t surprised by what she learned. Lindsay had visited several law enforcement databases she could access because of her professional position, databases that would give her more information than public records would. She had also been reading old stories from the Washington Post archives. Rachel had no way of knowing, though, exactly what Lindsay had discovered.
Frustrated, Rachel pushed the computer closed. For the first time, a legal pad beside the laptop drew her attention.
Rachel’s birth date was scrawled on the pad—not the day she was actually born, but the day she’d celebrated as her birthday since she was a small child. The word MINNESOTA had been printed in block letters, with Minneapolis? St. Paul? scribbled under it. Below that, the names of her mother, father, and sister.
Damn her. The snooping, malicious little—Rachel caught herself, told herself that as long as Lindsay stuck to the most obvious aspects of Rachel’s background, her prying wouldn’t be a threat. Lindsay wasn’t the type to stop there, though. She would dig deeper and deeper, in the hope of finding something juicy. Something Rachel didn’t want anyone to know.
Outside, a car door slammed.
Rachel shot off the bed and out of the room, through the hallway and into her own room. Leaning against the closed door in the dark, she tried to catch her breath while her galloping heart banged against her ribs.
She heard the faint clicks of the front door opening and closing. A minute later, she heard movement in the hallway, drawing near. Then sudden quiet, and Rachel sensed—she knew—that Lindsay had paused outside her door, inches away. Rachel held her breath, waited. Lindsay walked on. Her door made no sound when it opened, but Rachel heard it close.
In the dark, Rachel found her bed and sank onto it. Had Lindsay already learned that no child named Rachel Goddard had been born in Minnesota on the date Rachel claimed as her birthday? What would Lindsay make of it if she discovered all the blank spaces, all the unexplained gaps, in Rachel’s past?
Chapter Twenty
The rising sun hadn’t yet burned the mist off the mountaintops when Tom parked in the Hogencamp driveway.
“I know you’re mad as hell, and so am I, ” he told Brandon, “but remember that losing control with a suspect won’t get us anywhere. All that does is give him control of the situation. Okay?”
Brandon nodded, his mouth a tight line. Tom had phoned him at five a.m., waking him to tell him what happened to Rachel and Holly so there would be no chance of him hearing a garbled account from other sources.
Tom was stepping from the car when Dave Hogencamp flew out the front door of the house and down the steps.
“What the hell do you want now?” Hogencamp yelled. He looked like he hadn’t been out of bed long, with his tee shirt hanging loose over his pants, his hair flattened on the left side from being slept on, brown and gray stubble darkening his chin.
“I want to know where you were last night,” Tom said.
Brandon slammed the passenger door and watched them across the cruiser’s roof.
“Where the hell do you think I was? Right where I am this morning, trying to take care of my wife. I look out the window and here you are again.”
“Did you go out at all during the—”
“Dad!” Angie called from the front door. She was still in her robe, and her dark hair spilled over her shoulders. “You’ve got to help me! She’s pulling everything out of the kitchen cabinets and dumping it all on the floor.”
From somewhere in the house, Tom heard an incoherent cry that might have been a plea, might have been a scream. Angie darted inside.
“You gonna let me take car
e of my family,” Hogencamp said, “or you gonna make me stand out here answering stupid questions?”
“We need to talk, Dave. Either here or at headquarters.”
“Go to hell.” Hogencamp hustled back to the house.
Tom took a step forward, then stopped. What good would it do to wade into a family crisis? “Come on,” he told Brandon. “We’ll catch up with him later.”
In the car as they drove away, Brandon asked, “What do you think? He’s got a solid motive—what Cam Taylor did to them. But why would he go after Holly and Dr. Goddard? They didn’t see anything. If they could I.D. the killer, we would have arrested him by now.”
“That makes sense to us,” Tom said, “but the rumor’s going around that they did see something, and the killer wouldn’t want to take chances. A man in Dave’s situation, with a wife who’s totally dependent, might do anything to make sure he can stay with her.”
“Or his daughter might do anything to protect her dad and make sure the family doesn’t get split apart.”
“Yeah.” Her father wasn’t the only man Angie wanted to protect, though. Her fierce defense of Ben Hern had betrayed feelings that went deeper than the loyalty of an employee. Was Angie capable of trying to kill Rachel and Holly to protect Hern? Tom didn’t even have to consider the question. He’d learned a long time ago that most people, if they had a compelling reason, were capable of anything.
***
Rachel rose at dawn, hoping to grab a cup of coffee and be out of Joanna’s house before Lindsay woke, but by the time she dressed and washed her face she was already too late. Halfway down the stairs, she caught the aroma of fresh coffee. She found Lindsay in the kitchen, fully dressed in jeans and tee shirt, leaning against a counter and sipping from a mug.
“Hey, good morning,” Lindsay said when she saw Rachel. She held up her cup. “Want some? Gotta warn you, I make it pretty strong.”
“I’ll get it.” Rachel would have preferred to turn around and walk out, but she didn’t want Lindsay to sense her apprehension. She wouldn’t sit down, though. After a couple of quick gulps for the caffeine jolt, she’d make her escape. She plucked a mug from a cabinet.
Broken Places Page 13
