Chapter 4
Friday, 9:55 a.m.
Lexie worked from home on Friday. She had a lot of digging to do, phone calls to make, and nowhere private to do any of it at the office. She’d already spoken with Walter to get his approval, and to see whether she could get any more out of him. His voice had been guarded. After their call, he’d e-mailed her to say he was doing some more investigating and would definitely fill her in on everything this evening.
She hoped Walter had a good password. Honestly, she wouldn’t put it past Stan to do a little e-mail spying. He was probably having a field day over her absence, and desperate to find out what she was up to. But she had a lot more to worry about than a petty coworker. One of those worries, a broody psychic, was foremost on her mind.
She hadn’t yet heard a word from Aidan McConnell.
“He said today, not first thing this morning,” she mumbled as she forced her attention back onto her computer screen. She’d been exchanging e- mails with the school secretary over at Hoover, who’d pretty much echoed everything the one from GHS had told her yesterday. Vonnie was a great kid, no enemies, extremely well liked by her teachers and fellow classmates. And everyone was just devastated that she’d disappeared.
“Everyone except the cops.”
She put her fingers on the keyboard to type a response, but was interrupted when her Instant Messenger box popped open with a ding. At first assuming it was Walter, she had to think for a second when she saw a strange ID: AidMcC.
Yes! Her AIM ID was on her business card, and Aidan had used it.
AidMcC: Are you there?
LexieWrts: Yes. Glad 2 hr from u! Have u bn reading?
AidMcC: Yes.
LexieWrts: Interesting, isn’t it?
AidMcC: So far.
LexieWrts: I’m right, aren’t I?
AidMcC: Are you always so cocky?
LexieWrts: R u always so cranky?
AidMcC: Touché. Have a ? for you.
LexieWrts: Yes?
AidMcC: Why include Jessie L as vic # 1? 6 mos before the others start?
Lexie stared at the question, not surprised he’d asked it. Jessie Leonard’s disappearance had been a long time before the others, which had come more frequently, one every two or three months, beginning six months later. But she’d had good reason—the victimology and the way she’d disappeared.
LexieWrts: Have u read her bio?
AidMcC: Yes. Very similar. That the only reason? She hesitated before answering. At the time, she had wondered if Jessie really was one of the victims of the same attacker. Remembering her initial investigation, she recalled one more thing that convinced her of that, beyond the fact that she was so much like the rest of the victims in every other way.
LexieWrts: The intervu w/ her mom.
She couldn’t remember the exact details, but she definitely remembered feeling Mrs. Leonard’s passion when she’d spoken about the disappearance of her only child, and how out of character it was. The woman had convinced her Jessie had been victim number one.
LexieWrts: Hello?
AidMcC: Yes. Already read transcript of that & others. Do you have actual recordings?
LexieWrts: Yes.
AidMcC: Would like to hear them. Can you burn them to cd for me?
LexieWrts: You got it. Offer me coffee & I’ll bring them over in 30.
AidMcC: Done.
LexieWrts: I take it w /cream & sugar.
But her message didn’t go through. McConnell had already signed off without another word. “Typical,” she groused, not offended at the abrupt end to their online conversation. The niceties didn’t matter as much as the fact that she’d gotten him to read the file. She just hoped that once he had finished reading it, and listening to the recordings, he’d be able to help.
Burning the audio files he’d asked for, she was in her car within ten minutes, the drive taking another ten. When she arrived at his house, she parked out front, right where she’d been the previous afternoon. Only this time, as she walked toward the house, it wasn’t with any sense of nervousness or worry about being rebuffed. The fact that he’d asked for these recordings meant he was interested in the case. Interested was one step from involved.
The door opened before she even reached the front steps. “That was fast.”
“I don’t live too far from here.”
He appeared puzzled. “Weren’t you at work?” “Not exactly.” Rolling her eyes, she added, “We have an in-house spy.”
“Ah. And he might tell someone you’re working on this story again.”
“Bingo.”
Stepping back, he gestured her into the house. “Coffee’s ready.”
“Thanks.”
“It was no trouble. I never start the day without brewing a gallon,” he said as he turned to lead her toward what she assumed was the kitchen. “I don’t sleep well at night.”
“Maybe because you drink a gallon of coffee during the day?”
He was walking ahead of her, so she couldn’t be sure, but she’d swear by the slight movement of his broad shoulders that he laughed.
The short hallway opened into a huge, modern kitchen that had obviously been recently renovated. Judging by the top-of-the-line appliances, marble countertops, and walnut cabinetry, the man obviously had a little money put by. Whatever he hadn’t updated about the rest of the house, he’d made up for with this fabulous room. “Wow. Very nice. You could cook an entire flock of Thanksgiving turkeys in that oven.”
“I can live with creaky floors, but not with forty-year-old appliances.”
Lexie leaned against a cabinet, watching as he poured her a cup of coffee, his movements smooth and easy. He seemed comfortable today, definitely less on guard, the handsome face not set in a permanent frown and those amazing eyes more blue than gray. Even the all-black ensemble didn’t seem so much dour as super-mysterious now.
By God, the man was something.
He pushed the cup across the countertop. “So I’ve lived up to my end of the bargain?”
Inhaling the strong, heady scent coming off the steaming cup, she could only nod in appreciation. She loved good coffee. The stuff at the office was about one step up from brown water. Helping herself to the cream and sugar he’d already put out, she replied, “More than.”
He held out his hand. “Okay. Have the CD?” Grabbing it from her purse, she handed the disc to him. “I took thorough notes for the transcripts.”
“I don’t doubt it. I just want to hear the voices, the tones. Catch the nuance.”
“That a psychic thing?”
He shook his head. “A cop thing.”
Her jaw fell open. Fortunately, she hadn’t just taken a sip of coffee; otherwise it would be all over her front. “You were a cop?”
“Well, not officially. I majored in criminology in college, then went through the police academy in Little Rock, but never put on a badge.”
She definitely hadn’t turned up that tidbit in her research, having spent much of her time reading about his recent cases. Ever blunt, she asked, “Why? Just couldn’t cut it?”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he said, his brow rising in amusement. “Actually, I was at the top of my class. I wasn’t interested. Did it for the experience but never wanted to wear the uniform.”
“Bet the police in Little Rock aren’t too fond of you.”
He grinned, that quick, sexy grin he’d flashed once or twice yesterday. “Not as unfond as the ones in Savannah.”
She only hoped he soon became the bane of the local police force, too. Because right now, it was her and Walter against the rest of the town. They could use some reinforcements. Especially reinforcements with investigative backgrounds and psychic powers—if such things really existed. Now that she’d heard Aidan had studied criminology, she had to wonder if his successful record was more a product of really good investigative skills and excellent intuition rather than any supernatural know-how. Either way, the man’s involvement could
be important.
Though she wanted to savor the excellent coffee, and also wanted to pick the brain of her host to see what he thought about everything he’d read so far, she knew better than to push. If he wanted to tell her, he’d have told her. She had only met him yesterday, but she already knew that. So she didn’t take her time, or even finish the coffee, before pushing the cup away.
“I’ve got to run. I’m heading over to Vonnie Jackson’s mother’s place.”
He crossed his arms over his big chest. “In the Boro?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe I should go with you.”
She chuckled, amused by his sudden worry for her. Yesterday he’d seemed ready to toss her off a high building. “I’ll be fine. I live in Granville and have been south of Woodsboro Avenue plenty of times. Heck, my favorite bakery is down there! You just stay here, read, and listen.” Flashing him a flirty grin, she added, “Maybe I’ll bring you back a peach pie. Theirs is amazing.”
“I don’t do sweets.”
She lifted a hand to her chest and gasped. “No!”
“ ’Fraid it’s true.”
“You just lost a lot of points, mister. There’s something wrong with a person who doesn’t like dessert.”
One of those sexy grins tilted the corners of his mouth up. “But you have to admit, I do make good coffee. Doesn’t that earn me a couple of brownie points?”
“Do you like brownies?”
He shook his head, appearing rueful.
She blew out a disgusted breath. “Well, then, no points for you. But you do make excellent coffee,” she conceded. “So I guess I’ll let you slide. Now go read.”
He held up the CD. “I want to listen first. I have a feeling there’s something important on here. Something I caught in the transcripts but can’t quite nail down.”
Following him to the door, she said, “I hope you’re right. Because that clock keeps on ticking.” Three and a half days since Vonnie had been taken. The thought made all humor slide right out of her.
“I’ll be in touch,” he said, opening the door and stepping back out of the way.
She’d noticed that before, of course, that he was careful not to get too close. Now, however, she wondered whether it affected every aspect of his life. Whether he ever allowed himself to touch anyone.
Any woman.
Sex had to be something he was very careful about. And if he never had it, well, that was just a crime against half of humanity. Not only incredibly hot, the man was also charming, intelligent, and had a good sense of humor lurking behind all that sternness.
So, no, an abstinent Aidan McConnell was unacceptable. It would be a complete travesty.
The very idea was also something she, personally, didn’t want to contemplate any longer.
Because combining Aidan McConnell and sex in the same thought was way too dangerous for her peace of mind.
Friday, 4:55 p.m.
As Chief Jack Dunston strolled out of the police station, he had high school football on his mind, the thirst for a cold beer in his mouth, and a pleasant couple of days to look forward to. At this time of year, Friday afternoons were all about taking off early and starting the weekend the all-American way.
The street was quiet, traffic through the small downtown area light. Lots of folks would be heading home to have an early supper so they could then go out to the stadium to cheer on the Granville Giants. Football was big in this town and he didn’t know a single person who wasn’t looking forward to this particular game.
After a short nap, he’d enjoy a cold one and a Manwich, then head over to the school. Sitting on his blue and gold cushion in the home-side bleachers, he’d wave his big foam finger and smile in self-satisfaction as the townspeople cheered and enjoyed the comforting pastime—a pleasant, old-fashioned benefit of living in a place as nice as Granville.
Other people were welcome to Savannah and Atlanta, crime ridden and fast moving, filled with people who didn’t give a damn about anything but getting ahead. He’d take this place with its neighborly outlook, family values, and laid-back lifestyle any day of the week.
He’d nearly reached his squad car, parked in a reserved spot out front, when he spotted the sheet of paper stuck under his windshield wiper. And suddenly he was no longer smiling.
“Some people got no respect,” he muttered, stalking over to remove the offending flyer. His blood pressure went even higher when he saw what it was, and he immediately tore it out, balling up the offending flyer in an angry fist.
“Hey, Chief, I saw one of those signs in the drugstore window earlier,” a voice said.
Jack clenched his teeth, wishing he hadn’t lost his temper in front of Harry Lawton, who managed the biggest bank in town. Lawton had probably been heading toward the Blue Duck Diner for the early bird dinner special. A widower, the man was a regular at the place, which specialized in the best country-fried steak in the county.
“Hey there, Mr. Lawton.”
“Have you been investigating?”
“Enough to know the girl’s eighteen and has a piece of garbage mother and a lot of reasons to leave home.”
Before Lawton could reply, another loud voice intruded. “Good afternoon, gentlemen!”
Damn. Mayor Bobby Cunningham, who had just parked his Lincoln Continental two spaces down, was getting out of his car to join the game of let’s-bother-the-chief-on-a-Friday-afternoon. What a hell of a way to start the weekend.
“What’s this I hear about another girl goin’ missin’?” Cunningham asked as he walked around the car and joined Jack and Lawton on the sidewalk.
Forcing away his instinctive reaction, which was to curse over the insult of coming out of the damned police station and finding that on his own squad car, he managed to shrug instead. “You know kids, Mayor. Just another Boro tramp taking her act on the road.”
Harry Lawton, who, Jack quickly recalled, sang the loudest every Sunday in the church choir, frowned at the description, the expression on his chubby face reproachful.
Always quick to smooth things over with the local businessmen, Jack added, “What I mean to say is, she probably got herself in trouble and left town to go have an abortion or something. These kids nowadays, it’s just shameful.”
The picture of a concerned, devout citizen, Lawton shook his head. “Poor child.” He stepped closer, looking nothing less than serene and pious, as if he was about to spout platitudes about loving thy neighbor. So the next quiet words to come out of his mouth definitely caught Jack by surprise. “Make sure that cunt from the newspaper doesn’t make a big thing out of this.”
Jack froze, stunned into silence for a second. “Uhh . . .”
The mayor jumped in, his heavy accent growing even thicker with his irritation. “This town’s finally settling down after that mess she caused last month. We don’t wanna draw any outside attention he’ah.” He patted Jack on the shoulder. “Gotta protect our way of life. Don’t you agree, gentlemen?”
“Yes, indeed we do,” said the banker. “Things are just about perfect in Granville and we want nothing changing about our little piece of Georgia heaven.”
“Little piece of heaven,” Jack repeated, trying to figure this out. Were Cunningham and Lawton merely concerned citizens, or more than that? Jack wasn’t stupid. He’d heard rumors about the secret goings-on of some of the more prominent townsmen. And he suddenly had to wonder if these two had been nominated to speak for that shadowy group. Honestly, he had no way of knowing. Nor did he want to. Some things weren’t worth finding out, and in the dark wasn’t such a bad place to be. Especially when the light shone garishly on things he’d rather not think about. As long as he kept opening the small beer fridge on his back porch and finding a small stack of twenties every weekend, he was more’n happy to not know any damn thing the rich folks in this town wanted to keep secret. They were welcome to keep their skeletons in their closets.
He shifted uncomfortably, not liking the direction his thoughts suddenly w
ent. To skeletons. Some strange things had been going on lately. It was getting harder to keep his eyes focused straight ahead and not glance at the strange occurrences taking place on the sidelines.
The money provided a nice blinder when it came to secret affairs and a little creative accounting. But murder? That was a whole different ball game. One he really didn’t want to think about playing.
“So y’all are gonna stay on top of this he’ah situation?” Cunningham asked.
“You bet. No worries about that reporter,” he said. “I already put a muzzle on her.” He waved the crumpled flyer. “I’ll have another talk with the girl’s trashy mother, too. I bet she’s the one stirring up this trouble. Woman’s got a record as long as my arm.”
“Not surprising,” Lawton said. “Trashy parents, trashy child. It’s the way of the world, isn’t it?” Not pausing, he turned to offer a gentlemanly little bow at two women who walked out of the nearby diner. “Evening, ladies.”
After they’d nodded their hellos and passed by, Cunningham smiled at Jack, wearing his politician’s face. “You gonna make it to the game tonight, Chief? Watch our North Granville boys whup on those Hoover hoodlums? I hear they’re dedicating the game to Coach White.”
“You bet your sweet ass I am,” he replied, thinking about the former Granville coach, who’d died in a car crash a few years ago.
Harry Lawton frowned and tsked, looking at the choir-singing banker again. “Cursin’s a crutch, son.” As if he hadn’t just called a local woman a cunt. It was like a switch went on and off in the man, light to dark and back again. Mayor Cunningham had the same ability.
They weren’t alone in having that ability. Jack had seen it in a few other high rollers in this town. They seemed to have hiding what they were really thinking down to an art form. It was a skill that came in handy for them, or so he suspected, since few people around Granville had any idea at all what really went on behind closed doors of their respected neighbors’ houses.
And as long as they never found out, and that fridge kept getting visits from the money fairy, that was okay with Jack Dunston. Because a neighborly outlook, family values, and an old- fashioned lifestyle were all well and good. But if the day ever came when he decided to stop bowing down to men he didn’t particularly like, and lost his job, nothing beat a whole lot of cash.
Cold Sight Page 8
