by Jenna Kernan
“We went to see his boxer puppy at doggy daycare. Who knew being slobbered on and having your shoes chewed could be so uplifting?”
Juliette laughed at that. Then her gaze turned serious. “How goes the homicide investigations?”
“Moving along. No suspects. Spouses have solid alibis. Seems like a stranger.”
“A serial killer.”
“Early for that moniker,” said Nadine.
“You’re not worried about a repeat?”
She was. The only thing that allowed her a moment’s peace was knowing there were six years between her mother’s first and second couples in the series.
“Always a worry.”
“Well, I know you guys will catch him.”
That optimism again. It was so pure. Nadine could almost believe that Juliette was a kindergarten teacher, surrounded by innocence and potential all day, instead of up to her elbows in the gore associated with death, violence and tragedy.
“I’m sorry about the autopsy. Glad Demko noticed and got you out.”
Nadine flushed, her pulse relaying the shame to her cheeks and neck.
“Was that your first one?” asked Juliette.
Admitting that seemed preferable to revealing the recollections seeing those bodies caused. She pondered sharing something about her past and then took a long swallow of her wine.
Think time was important, especially for liars. You had to keep track of what you had said.
“It’s complicated. I had some stuff happen when I was a kid. It’s why I went into this field.”
Juliette’s thin brows lifted, making her look like a puppy that didn’t quite understand her master.
“I wondered about that,” she said.
“I’ll tell you about it sometime.” That was the alcohol talking, because Nadine doubted she would ever tell anyone. Ever.
Juliette gave her a long stare over the rim of her Cantaloupe Cooler.
“You aren’t alone. I’m a good listener. If you want to talk about anything… beyond work.”
Nadine laid a hand on Juliette’s forearm. She was not a hugger. That much might be obvious. But this woman was so normal and such a godsend. Nadine had only ever intended that Juliette be an acquaintance, someone to talk work with. Now she wished she could open up to her. Tell her everything. But that would crush any chance at keeping even a casual friendship.
Wouldn’t it? She was so tempted to take a chance.
“Thanks, Juliette. I appreciate that.”
Nadine drew back and lifted her empty wineglass and gave Juliette’s a clink.
The restaurant had emptied as the after-work crowd departed following the early birds. The soundtrack switched to a mellow jazz. When the season wasn’t in full swing, even Thursdays could be quiet.
The high table they had was private, tucked behind the bar and against the wall. Juliette set her empty plate aside. The wine and food combined in Nadine’s bloodstream, bringing a quiet indolence.
“Oh, and to add to my wonderful week, Nathan Dun asked me out.”
Juliette barely managed not to spit the melon ball in her cheek across the table. She used her hand to cover her mouth, and once she got hold of herself, she said, “I saw that coming.”
“Did you? I should have. But I’ve never encouraged him. And what is he, forty?”
“I don’t think he’s that old. It’s the hairline, makes him look older. Did you let him down easy?”
“Not really. He got nasty, so I told him not to bother me again.”
“Ouch.”
Nadine debated telling her what she’d uncovered about Dun’s family history but stopped herself, as it was too like her own. The odd coincidence of that unsettled her again. The wine and food now turned heavy and foreign in her stomach.
“I feel sorry for him,” said Juliette.
“Then you go out with him.”
“No, I’m not ready for all that. Boyfriends tend to lead to husbands and kids.”
“Not for you? That’s fine. Not everyone wants a family.” She didn’t. Time for someone in her genetic tree to take an ax to it. Or better still, burn it down.
“Well, it’s more than that.” Juliette fiddled with her empty martini glass and glanced about for the server once more. “I think I’d better switch to seltzer.”
“Good idea,” said Nadine.
Juliette finally met her gaze. Her eyes were brimming with tears. Nadine braced for whatever bombshell was about to drop.
“I’m adopted.”
The psychologist inside her brain clicked into action. That was not a reason to be wary of matrimony. Having abusive parents would be, or divorced parents, but not adoption.
“I see,” Nadine said in what she hoped was a friendly, open tone.
“Listen, if I tell you something, can you keep it to yourself?”
Nadine’s immediate thought was I wish you wouldn’t. Instead, she said, “Sure.”
Juliette pressed her lips together, as if making up her mind on whether or not to say something.
Nadine tried to look safe, which was one of her fallback expressions. Her eyes shifted to the exit and back to Juliette as she resisted the urge to leave. The socially appropriate thing was to listen, but a warning buzzer was sounding in her head.
Across the table, Juliette nodded, reaching a decision. “My birth mother is Lola Gillerman.”
Juliette paused as if that name should mean something to Nadine. Was that a celebrity or something?
“Actress?” she guessed.
Juliette exhaled and squeezed her eyes shut. Nadine had guessed wrong. Whoever Gillerman was, Juliette was having difficulty getting it out. Time slowed as terrible possibilities filled Nadine’s mind.
“I’m sorry. I don’t recognize the name.”
Juliette looked around, checking that their conversation would remain private before leaning in.
“Right,” said Juliette. “You’re not from the Panhandle. Still, it was national news. So… my birth mother… she already had three children before me, all six and under. Her boyfriend told her that he didn’t want kids and broke up with her. I guess she was desperate to keep him.”
Nadine braced for a human tragedy. Was this the woman who drove her children into a lake and told police that some carjacker took her car with the kids in the backseat?
She could not swallow past the overwhelming horror.
Juliette continued. “They were all in the car, the backseat. She turned around and shot them, all three. My older brother, twice in the chest. My sisters in the stomach and neck. Then she drove them to the hospital emergency room.”
This revelation struck like a hammer to a bell, vibrating through her in waves. Nadine thumped back in her seat, bracing her hands on the table.
Juliette’s mother was a murderer. She had killed her own children. Nadine’s nostrils flared as she tried to catch her breath.
“She told police that some random guy shot them and that she sped to the ER to try to save her babies. But witnesses testified that they saw her driving below the speed limit. Taking her time while the kids all bled to death. My brother was alive when they got to the hospital. He didn’t make it through the night. My sisters were both DOA.”
Nadine could not disguise her horror. “Juliette, I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, well, as you can guess, my mother’s story didn’t hold up. Besides the witnesses, the bullet angles were all wrong. She was convicted of three murders.”
“Terrible.”
“Yup. She didn’t know she was already pregnant again, with me, until after her arrest. I was born in prison during the trial and seized—that’s what they call it, ‘seized,’ like I’m contraband. I didn’t know any of this until high school.”
“Have you ever contacted her?”
“My mother? No way. She murdered my family.”
Why did it take her until this moment to draw the correlation? Nadine had been so caught up in Juliette’s story that she had forgotten her own.
Was this what they had in common? Was this why she was drawn to Juliette?
Her next thought was even worse. The possibility of two daughters of convicted murderers sitting at the same table, working for the same county, was remote. Add to that Nathan Dun’s employment here and the chances dropped again. Now they were working a case on a serial killer who seemed to be imitating her mother’s murders. The panic grabbed her and squeezed the air from her lungs. She glanced around the bar, sure she was being watched.
Juliette’s eyes brimmed with tears once more as she continued, oblivious to Nadine’s rising panic.
“My mom murdered my brother and sisters because they’d become an inconvenience. The only reason I’m alive is that she couldn’t kill me without killing herself. But she would have, eventually. I’m certain. Anyway, I don’t talk about this. People I’ve told in the past, well, they get weird.”
Why hadn’t Nadine anticipated that a medical examiner might have a personal tragedy that led her to that profession?
“Anyway, I thought, wondered… I mean, you deal with survivors of brutal crimes as part of your job, you’re trained for it. If anyone could understand, it’d be you.”
Nadine didn’t answer, just stared at her, her mouth hanging open.
“That’s terrible, Juliette. I’m so sorry.”
Her brain was trying to tell her something past the shock.
If this was not coincidence, then what? A second possibility dawned, dropping like a 747 out of the sky. Juliette had been in Sarasota only a month. She might have tracked her down, followed Nadine here. This woman might be the one messing with her.
Suspicions burned like acid contacting bare skin. What was happening?
“Juliette, I’m sorry. I… My stomach is upset.”
“You’re sick?”
Nadine nodded, certain she had gone pale and likely looked ill. She needed time and distance to sort this out, see if her suspicions were just her narcissistic tendencies making Juliette’s tragedy about her or if there was something here.
“Did I say something wrong?” Juliette now looked befuddled.
“No. Not at all. My stomach is acting up.”
Nadine wobbled as she collected her purse. She didn’t know what to believe, so she followed her instincts.
“You’re going?” asked Juliette. Her mood was evolving from confusion to offense.
Nadine began tossing out excuses like beads at a Mardi Gras parade.
“I may be coming down with something. I don’t want to get you sick.”
“Do you want me to drive you home?”
“No. I can drive. I’m sorry to spoil our happy hour. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Belatedly she recalled the bill and drew a twenty out of her wallet and pressed it to the table beside her plate. She shouldn’t have looked at Juliette but did. She was crying.
“Nadine. What the hell?”
Clearly, Juliette was not buying her excuses. But Nadine hustled away, moving at a fast clip between the tables. She didn’t stop until she was home with the door locked and the dead bolt engaged.
Nine
Small world
On Friday morning, Nadine had just opened Demko’s updated report on the victims’ timeline. They hadn’t spoken since yesterday when he’d kissed her cheek and she’d challenged him. Had she done it to sabotage their relationship before it ever started? Her therapist told her she cut people out if they got too close. But really, wasn’t that wiser than letting them abandon her?
Like her father had done to her? Damn it, the therapist was right.
Her phone rang at the same moment a knock jolted her attention from the screen to the doorway.
“How’s the profile coming along?” asked Crean.
“Fair.” She ignored the call, sending it to voicemail.
Crean folded her arms and gave Nadine a critical stare. “You look tired.”
“Do I?”
She nodded and drew out her phone. “Did I show you the new litter?”
Her supervisor stepped into her office turning her phone toward Nadine. The screen showed nine wiggling, whining balls of fluff, with brown bodies and black snouts. Some pups had white stripes down the center of their adorable faces, many had white paws, and all had black button noses and wrinkly foreheads.
“Aww! Puppies,” she said, wishing she could pick one up and press it to her face.
“My husband raises them. These are three weeks old.”
“What breed?”
“Boxers.”
Boxers. That was the breed that Demko owned.
“I can hold one for you. If you like. They’ll be ready at eight weeks.”
This time her smile was genuine. “Maybe. Anyone else around here adopt one?”
“Yes, in fact. Clint Demko had the pick of the last litter, two patrolmen got others, and one of the assistants over in personnel wanted the runt. My husband is a very responsible breeder. The new kennels are cleaner than my house and he certifies all the puppies.”
“Hmm. Let me think about it.”
“Don’t think too long. They go quick.”
Crean left her to her work.
Nadine turned to her voicemail, and the one missed call. It was from Nathan Dun, who said that he’d spoken to Juliette and mentioned how she had treated him.
“Funny thing,” he said. “I saw you leaving your building yesterday with Detective Demko. Interesting that you’ll have lunch with him, but not with me. Would you like to talk about that? Call me.”
Was he watching her? Her coffee rolled over in her stomach, turning sour as old milk.
Her instinct was to erase the message. But something told her not to. If she decided to lodge a complaint with personnel, she would need that recording as evidence.
Nathan Dun didn’t look dangerous. But neither had Jeffrey Dahmer.
Think, Dee-Dee.
She could go see Crean and explain what had happened, or call Demko again, or she could visit Osterlund and file a complaint. She shelved that last idea. She wanted to call Juliette. But she’d abandoned her when Juliette needed her. That was either the wisest or cruelest thing she had ever done. She wished she knew which.
The hollow ache of isolation yawned. How could she protect herself if she reached out?
She held the phone a moment longer and then lowered it to the cradle. She’d keep the message, avoid Dun, and stay alert. For now, that would have to do.
As lunchtime approached, Nadine rejected the impulse to phone Juliette. There was something too coincidental about them working in the same county. The fluke raised all her internal alarms.
She wondered if their easy relationship resulted from Juliette’s optimistic personality, or because they were cut from the same genetically damaged cloth.
Should she tell Demko that Juliette had kayaked in Lido? No, because it was a coincidence. Hundreds of people kayaked all over the place here.
Nadine’s earlier web search revealed that Juliette’s birth mother, Lola Gillerman, was serving consecutive sentences for the three murders of her own children, in the same maximum-security facility as her mother. Same prison, different wing. Gillerman wasn’t on death row and might be released after another twenty-five years. Meanwhile, Nadine’s mom sought to avoid the death penalty by dangling the lure of identifying additional victims to authorities. According to Arlo, her attorney’s offer of Arleen’s cooperation in the resolution of an unspecified number of unsolved cases, in exchange for a reduction of Arleen’s sentence to life without parole, was still under consideration.
Nadine tried to refocus on her workload. She ate alone at her desk, then struggled through the day, thankful at 5 p.m. to switch off her desktop and leave the office.
Once at home, she scrolled to the Wiki page on her mom and the second pair in the series of her crimes. They found Louder and Henderson days apart, and the cases were not immediately connected. They were the only couple not killed together. Lacey died first and was discovered floating on a turn in the St. J
ohns River. They recovered Forest Ranger Henderson in his patrol jeep on Cows Bluff Road. They were not killed on the same day or the same place. How did they connect them?
Nadine compared the photos of Gail DeNato, her mother’s first female victim, to Debi Poletti, the young woman recently murdered. Then Charlie Rogers, Gail’s partner, to David Lowe, Debi’s lover. The women were similar in appearance. The men were not. Like all her mother’s female victims, Debi had medium-length brown hair and the same dark eyes. This killer seemed also to be targeting the women. Taking special pains to make them suffer most.
Nadine knew two things in that moment. First, that she would go visit her mother and, second, she would regret that decision.
After another web search, Nadine learned the procedure for visiting at Lowell Correctional Institution and that procedure scared the hell out of her. First, she had to fill out an application, and, the worst part, she must include all her personal contact information so the officials could return the form to her home address.
The corrections facility homepage directed her to request a form for visitation from the inmate.
Which brought Nadine to another problem. How inclined would her mother be to assist the daughter who had turned her in and testified against her?
Late in the evening, Nadine wrote her mother a short, clinical letter requesting an application for visitation.
On Saturday morning, she drove north and secured a postal box in Tampa. The larger city was over an hour up the coast, which was not far enough, but at least her mother would not learn where she lived from a Sarasota cancelation stamp.
After checking that her key worked to open her new box, she returned to the counter, holding the letter addressed to her mother. The older man behind the counter smiled.
“Key work all right?”
“Yes. Perfectly.”
“That’s fine.” He extended his hand for the stamped envelope. “You like me to mail that for you?”
Over the next week, Demko’s attentions diverted to two homicides, with a suspect in only one in custody. He and Detective Wernli began building a case against a convicted felon for the murder of her longtime boyfriend and simultaneously worked a homicide investigation of a man found in his vehicle with a fatal gunshot wound. On Wednesday, this last death investigation led to the arrest of two fourteen-year-old males. Nadine’s work evaluating these two suspects, and assessing a mentally disturbed woman prior to her sentencing for arson, occupied much of her time.