by Linda Berry
“Out of town. Visiting my mom in Ashland for the weekend.”
“Why did it take so long for you to know Satoshi was missing?”
“She sent me a text saying she was going out of town.”
“Unusual?”
“Not unusual, but abrupt. Usually, she notified me in advance. She worked hard, compulsively, and on occasion she needed to recharge. She enjoyed taking off and having a solitary adventure. When I didn’t hear from her after three days, I thought she went somewhere off the grid. Also not unusual.” Conner blinked away tears, struggling to compose herself. “But actually, she was being murdered. The killer had access to her phone. He must have read her texts and discovered we were planning to get together. He must have sent me that text about her leaving town.”
Sidney concurred. The killer had the foresight to clear Satoshi’s schedule. He wanted no interruption. “And her car was gone?”
“They found her Honda parked at the lighthouse behind the barn.” Conner swallowed. “He thought of every angle.”
Sidney agreed. “Can you take me up to her cottage?”
“Yeah. I still have a key, but the house has been emptied of her belongings.”
Sidney felt a surge of anger, thinking of the wealth of forensic material that was never processed. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
OFFICER CONNER TURNED down a side street and drove steadily toward the bluffs above the bay opposite the lighthouse, about a ten-minute drive. The cottage was isolated, the front facing the sea, the back surrounded by trees that obscured the small house from the road. No one would know the bungalow existed if not deliberately looking for it.
Conner parked in the driveway and the two got out and walked around the entire house, a small clapboard affair with a covered veranda encircling three sides. The studio was on the west side and appeared to be a recent addition. Constructed with large windows to take advantage of natural light and dramatic sunsets, the location was perfect for some voyeur to observe Satoshi from the cover of trees. An exterior door on the veranda was used to admit clients without taking them through her private living quarters.
The cottage had seen a few rainstorms since the crime took place two months ago. Nonetheless, Sidney carefully examined the yard close to the house. Weeds had invaded a bonsai garden in the backyard, and the stunted trees and ornamental shrubs were in need of care, but nothing looked disturbed other than by the hand of nature.
They mounted the wood planked veranda, and Sidney discovered a trail of boot prints leading to the studio door. The right boot must have stepped in mud, for the tread pattern was stamped clearly, as though stenciled. The prints did not retreat from the door. Sidney’s pulse quickened. The visitor entered the dwelling. “Someone has been here recently. Watch where you step.” She gestured to the prints.
Conner’s eyes widened, and she nodded.
“When did it rain last?”
“A few days ago. Friday."
“Who else had a key?”
“No one. Unless the killer took Satoshi’s key off her ring.” Conner sidestepped the footprints, pulled her keys from a pocket, opened the door and stood aside.
“Wait here.” Sidney wanted no distractions. No contamination. She removed her shoes, entered barefoot. The muddy footsteps continued inside on the hardwood floor.
The empty room was sunny, inviting, with stunning views of the bay. Sidney pictured Satoshi here, consumed by the work she loved, bowed head occasionally lifting to view the changing sky and sea. Tempting to be a recluse here, Sidney thought, far from the madding crowd. A link between the three victims suddenly clicked into place. All three women were gifted artists. She recalled Samantha’s tumultuous pastel, Satoshi’s butterflies, Mimi’s exceptional singing voice. The killer picked creative women. Why? A piercing sadness overwhelmed her. The lives of three talented women, who had so much to contribute, had been cut short by a narcissistic madman.
The footprints led to the far end of the room and became muddled, as though the intruder spent time there, perhaps contemplating memories of past visits. Another set of prints, more faint, led through the studio door into the interior of the house. Sidney followed them through the living room to a back room. The adjoining bath and impressions in the carpet made by the frame of a bed told Sidney this was Satoshi’s bedroom. The pattern of the last vacuuming was undisturbed, except for the flatter shapes made by the intruder. He went to the spot where the bed had stood and again spent time there, the indentation in the carpet long and thin, as though he lay on his side.
Sidney closed her eyes, trying to understand the man’s compulsion to visit this room. She could feel his presence—dark and malignant. Had he lain here with Satoshi? He could have come to the studio under the pretense of business, injected her, and carried her into this room. Whatever he did with her, hidden from the world, he was able to accomplish in a leisurely manner. Later, he could easily have transported her to the isolated lighthouse in the dark of night.
She opened her eyes and studied the room. When the man roused himself, he made a last set of prints leading to the window. There, they disappeared. Feeling a touch of nervous excitement, Sidney backtracked through the house to the porch. She fished her phone from her handbag and pulled up a photo of the cast made from the boot prints found at Samantha’s crime scene. She compared it to the prints on the porch. They appeared to be a perfect match. She turned to Conner. “Can we get a forensics expert up here? ASAP.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Conner walked out to the yard and spoke into her phone for a few minutes in clipped notes. Sidney joined her as she ended her call.
“A specialist is on his way.”
“Good. Got any latex?”
Conner hurriedly pulled a pair of latex gloves from a pocket on her duty belt.
With Conner trailing her, Sidney returned to the back of the house and searched the ground more carefully under the bedroom window. No prints, but upon close inspection, she saw someone had scuffed the ground with a branch or the heel of a boot. Sidney tried the window. It gave. Her scalp tingled. “My guess, the killer came back here to relive his crime, and wished to do so again in the future. He left the window open in the event the door locks were changed.”
Conner released a deep breath. The officer was quiet and Sidney could feel her tension, though she was trying to hide it. “What is it you’re not telling me, Chief Becker?”
Sidney met the officer’s expectant gaze as she stripped off her latex gloves. “Satoshi’s murder is similar to two we’ve had in Garnerville.”
“He’s killed before?”
She nodded. “One just four nights ago. Those boot prints on the porch appear to match our Garnerville killer.”
Conner’s expression was grave as Sidney filled in the details of Samantha’s murder. “He thought Satoshi’s case was put to rest,” Sidney said. “A suicide. He felt safe enough to come back here. He got sloppy, left his boot prints.”
“Maybe he left something else. Hair, fiber, prints.”
“We can only hope.”
Conner blew out her breath in frustration. “If Satoshi’s death was investigated more thoroughly, maybe they would have caught the killer. It might have prevented Samantha’s death.”
“Never second guess yourself in this business,” Sidney said. “We’re dealing with a highly intelligent killer.”
“Yeah. And he’s in control,” Conner said with bitterness. “Moving cops around like chess pieces.”
“Not for long. We’ll get him. We’re on a collision course.” Sidney spoke with a confidence she didn’t completely feel. An ominous mood descended on her that she was unable to shake. When a psychopathic killer felt cornered, unpredictable behavior could be triggered. To gain some measure of control, he might kill again, or flee, or strike out at law enforcement, escalating the danger to Sidney and her officers. She met Conner’s gaze. “Tell me more about the two men who came to Satoshi’s studio. What origami pieces did they or
der?”
“James ordered an octopus. Complicated design. She worked on it for weeks. The other customer ordered a winged horse. Also complicated.”
“Could anything have been stolen?”
She shrugged. “Like what?”
“Butterflies.”
“Her butterflies were popular.” She was lost in thought for a moment. “Come to think of it, her exhibit case was open, and the top shelf was empty. She had a few butterflies displayed there. I wondered about that, but I wasn’t supposed to be in the house. I certainly never reported it.”
“I need a copy of Satoshi’s files. I won’t reveal they came from you.”
Conner nodded. “I’ll get you a flash drive before you leave town.”
“Did Satoshi write messages inside her creations?”
“Always. She inscribed sayings from the I Ching.”
“What’s I Ching?”
“An ancient Chinese book of wisdom, dating back to the fourth century. I don’t really understand it, but for her, it was a form of spiritual practice.”
“Do you have the book?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t. She kept meticulous records of her work, with a photo of every origami piece and its hidden message, but all her belongings were shipped to relatives in Japan.”
“Damn.”
“The Miguel Angel Gallery here in town has photos of her collection. The owner worked closely with Satoshi. They were good friends. He sold her work internationally, and she trusted him. Maybe he documented the messages, too.” She bit her bottom lip. “After she died, he wouldn’t talk to me. He thought I was just a cop nosing around in Satoshi’s business.”
“Talking to Miguel is my second reason for coming to Sand Hill.”
Conner raised her brow. “I hope you have better luck than I did.”
Not wanting to disturb whatever evidence existed on the premises, they waited outside for a half-hour until a forensic expert from the County Sheriff department arrived. Middle-aged and balding, Tom Briggs wore field clothes and carried a forensic kit. After conferring with him for a few minutes, the man’s extensive knowledge won Sidney’s complete confidence.
“No point waiting around, Chief Becker,” Briggs said. “This will take time. If any fingerprints are found, I’ll be able to share that info by the end of the day. Most people have their prints in the database for one reason or another, so we might get a match. My other findings will be sent to the lab.”
“You’re going to find Officer Conner’s prints in the house. For the record, she’s not a suspect. I’m mostly interested in prints found on the bedroom window.”
“Got it.”
Sidney thanked him, gave him her card, and she and Conner headed back to the station. The clock on the dash read eleven forty-five. “The gallery doesn't open until one,” Sidney said. “I’ll go grab lunch. What’s good to eat around here?”
Conner smiled with a touch of amusement. “You’re in a fishing town, Chief. Eat fish. Try the Octopus Café on the pier. It’s a nice day to sit outside.”
“Sounds good.”
Conner disappeared into the station. Sidney called David, thinking it had been a mistake to invite him. She would be bad company.
He answered on the first ring, cheerful as usual. “David Kane, at your service.”
“Ready for lunch?”
“Been ready. I’m starving. The whole town smells like grilled fish.”
The heaviness in her chest would not allow her to match his light tone. “Good. Meet me at the Octopus Café.”
“On the pier. Good call. I have the town memorized. Especially the eateries.”
“See you in a few.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
SELENA STRUGGLED to contain her thoughts as she guided her students through the meditation at the end of her class. Random thoughts kept carrying her back to the public brawl with Randy, and Noah’s horrific assault on Ann.
She tugged her attention back to her students. “Open your eyes. Smile. Go out into the world and have a beautiful day. Be kind to all you meet.”
The students got to their feet, stretching and rolling up mats. After everyone left, Derek remained, as usual, browsing the gift shelves. Anxious to get back to Ann, Selena hoped he would make his selection quickly, and go.
“I heard you had a showdown with your ex and Allison Carter last night.”
The accusatory male voice made her flinch and was loud enough to make Derek turn and take notice. Jeff from the Daily Buzz had entered the studio so quietly, he caught her off guard.
The reporter acknowledged Derek with a friendly nod and turned back to Selena. “Sorry I left early and missed the show. It got ugly, I hear. Wrangling with a pregnant woman is never a good idea.”
Derek’s one good brow arched in surprise.
Selena’s mouth went dry. “It wasn’t a show, Jeff, and I don’t want to talk about it.”
“It’s public news.”
She crossed her arms, hugging her elbows. “It's not news. It’s gossip.”
“The Garnerville Chief of Police got slugged at a public function. How is that not news?”
“You’re not planning on printing that trash, are you?” Anger edged into her tone.
“Yes, I am.” He held out his phone and showed her a horrible moment frozen in time—Selena looming aggressively over a petite and very pregnant Allison. She looked like a monster.
“This comes courtesy of one of your spectators,” Jeff said with a smirk. “He thought it was relevant news.”
Selena glanced at Derek, who was watching with a confused expression on his face.
“You don’t know what we’re talking about, do you, Derek?” Jeff said.
“Not a clue.”
“Selena’s husband got little Allison Carter pregnant. Last night, all three had it out at the art gallery. Hair pulling. Name calling. I hear it was riveting. For the grand finale, Allison slugged Chief Becker in the mouth.” Jeff smiled with smug satisfaction. “That about sum it up, Selena?”
“It wasn’t like that,” Selena said. “Don’t you dare print those photos, Jeff.”
“Or what? You gonna have your sister arrest me? I don’t owe you any favors, Selena. You and the chief haven’t exactly been helpful to this struggling journalist. You’re withholding information about Sammy’s murder. The public deserves to be informed.”
“I don’t know anything.”
“Oh yes, you do. I know your sister talks to you.”
“Hold on, Jeff,” Derek interjected in a reasonable tone, approaching. “I agree with Selena. That story isn’t the high standard of reporting we expect from the Daily Buzz. And there could be blowback. Chief Becker is highly respected here in town. Show her in a bad light, and folks could get angry. Maybe suspend advertising dollars. That what you want?”
Jeff’s expression didn’t waver. His eyes locked on Selena. “I would reconsider, in exchange for information about Noah Matsui. He was booked last night for assaulting Ann Howard, your business partner. They transferred him to Jackson this morning, got him lawyered up. He won’t talk to me. Tell me about Noah, and I’ll stay mum about Ann.”
She could feel the slow burn of anger rising from the pit of her stomach. Jeff’s threat of using Ann’s attack as fodder for morning entertainment made her even more determined not to help him.
“Is Noah a suspect in the homicide investigation?” Jeff asked. “Did they find evidence when they searched his house?”
Selena’s mouth dropped open. “How did you know that?”
“I’m a reporter. I have my ways.”
“How about giving Selena some slack, Jeff?” Derek said in an assertive tone, inching closer to Selena and standing next to her like a bodyguard. “This is a lot to throw at her after everything she went through last night.”
Jeff studied Derek for a long moment and then he turned off his phone and stuffed it into his pocket. “Sure. I’ll grab breakfast and give her some breathing room. But I’ll b
e back.” With a sharp snort of breath, he turned and left.
“He can be such a bastard.” Tears pricked in Selena’s eyes. She bit down on the inside of her cheek and several moments of silence passed while she struggled with herself.
“Take a minute,” Derek said gently, guiding her to a row of chairs lining one wall.
Selena lowered her head and traced a design on the knee of her yoga pants, trying to pull herself together. It seemed all she did these days was cry. She was sick of herself. And sick of letting Randy control her life. Enough.
She pushed her back against the chair and said firmly, “Thank you for stepping in, Derek. You seem to have some sway with Jeff.”
“Jeff’s rough around the edges, but overall, he’s a decent guy. He wants to break this homicide story, badly. Guess he thinks it’ll put him on the map. He’s not going about it diplomatically, I agree.” He half smiled. “Reporters are a different breed of animal.”
“He certainly is.” Selena viewed the side of Derek’s face that was free of scars, admiring his handsome profile. “You two are friends?”
“Yeah, we’re friends. We don’t get tattoos and drink beer together, but we do respect each other. He’s been renting my guesthouse for the last four years. While I was rehabilitating in Sand Hill, he took care of my property. Fed my fish. I’m grateful for that.”
“You have pet fish?”
A glint of humor appeared in his eye. “Not exactly. I have several two-hundred-gallon marine aquariums.”
“Holy Hannah. They must take up your whole house.”
“They’re in my lab.”
“Lab?”
“A facility behind my house. Let me back up a little. I’m a marine biologist.” He ran his hand through his thick, dark hair, spiking it on top. “Before I moved to Garnerville, I worked for a research company in San Diego. Spent a lot of my free time diving, collecting specimens, doing studies on my own projects.”
She blinked, realizing she had never bothered to ask Derek about his life before Garnerville. “You study the ocean?”
“Understatement. Oceanography is my life’s work.”
