by Jenna Kernan
“I understand.”
“Do you? Because I had to defend you. We have no suspects in this case and you appear to be spending your time sleeping with the lead detective. Your behavior reflects on all of us.”
“I understand,” said Nadine again and hoisted her bag, glancing toward the door but waiting for Crean to release her.
Instead she folded her arms and lowered her chin. Nadine braced for a longer reprimand.
“Do you not believe you should have told me that your mother is Arleen Howler?”
Nadine tried to determine if her boss’s outrage and anger was real or artifice.
“I’m not required to tell you anything about my family.”
Crean huffed like a bear. “I’ll need a statement from you for the media.”
Nadine made no promises.
“You can go.”
She did, and remained in her office all morning, having lunch at her desk.
In the afternoon, Tina delivered a package. Inside was a pair of sandals, very like the ones Molly had gnawed, and in the correct size.
The note read:
Miss Molly is sorry for the damage and Clint is sorry for not protecting your footwear as promised.
Before leaving for the day, she got an email with attachment from the Miami Police Department, requested by Clint Demko. A copy of the findings of an internal investigation. Everything in the attachment backed up what he had told her. He’d reported tampering. His colleague had then pointed the finger at Demko. The investigation recommended no charges on Detective Clint Demko and that he returned to duty. She lifted the phone to call him and then replaced the handset to the cradle.
The first call from Demko since they’d made the front page came on Wednesday night, around 8 p.m. She left the sofa in the junior suite of the business hotel, where she’d stayed since Monday, and retrieved her phone from the charger.
“Hey there,” he said.
“Hi. I got the internal investigation report and the replacement sandals. Thank you.”
“The what? Oh, yeah. Good.” He sounded distracted. “Listen, just got a call from the Manatee Sheriff’s Office. They’ve got a body up there might be connected.”
“A body? It’s too soon. Way, way too soon,” she said.
Six years between the first and second couple, not a matter of weeks. Oh, God. Had this killer accelerated the timeline?
“Maybe not. Victim is a white female, Jane Doe for now, found floating in the Manatee River.”
“How long?” She heard the starting pistol sound in her mind, the race to find this victim’s lover before the killer.
“Unknown. Sheriff’s got the body beside his boat. No second body. Yet, at least.”
“There wouldn’t be. My mother’s second couple had been killed separately. Only the rope and their affair connected them.”
“That’s right.”
Accelerated timeline. Why hadn’t she considered that? Perhaps because to ignore that possibility gave her the luxury of time. But if this was their unsub, that was over.
“It might be a boat propeller, but he called because he thought I’d better see for myself.”
“Where are you?” she asked.
“En route to the scene. I’ll be there in twenty.”
“Call after you’ve seen the body.”
“Yup,” he said, and disconnected.
Nadine flipped through her duplicate of one of Bradley Robins’s binders, searching for the photo of Arleen’s only female victim found alone, Lacey Louder. She floated in brown water, tangled in tall grasses that lined the riverbank in Hontoon Island State Park. The file provided a close-up of her wrist and the rope with its end severed. The DA had added notes, questioning the meaning of the slashes on Lacey’s rump.
Nadine put her forehead in her hands and counted her breaths. Hyperventilating would not help her or the man who was connected to the victim up in Manatee.
Maybe it was a simple drowning. Please let it be a simple drowning.
But he’d said “boat propeller.” She grimaced.
If this were a copycat, the next body would be a man who was possibly still alive. Someone like the ranger, Drew Henderson, who would be found stabbed in his jeep. Police would testify that the rope on his wrist would be an exact match to the one on Lacey Louder.
In the transcript provided by Bradley, she read that her mother told detectives under interrogation that, after targeting the couple, she grew impatient waiting for them to be together and killed them separately. Was there already another victim out there?
Nadine’s thoughts flashed to Hontoon Island State Park and the fishing trip she had taken with her mom and brother when she was twelve. Arlo, then eighteen, had told her that they’d found a body in the water here. Much later, she discovered why her mother thought this park was a perfect spot for family outings. Arleen got a thrill from returning to the site of Louder’s death.
Nadine wrapped her arms about herself as she wondered, had her dad known what his wife was up to? Was that why he left?
Much of what she knew about Dennis Howler came from her aunt Donna, who remembered her brother mostly from the time before he took up with Arleen. Dennis was born into a family of musicians, played trumpet and had a full ride to college, but then he got mixed up with both drugs and her mother. He lost his band scholarship, dropped out and they’d been married before Arlo arrived. Then he’d joined the army to support his wife and newborn son, or get away from them, as Arleen contended.
After her father left, Nadine’s mother brought home a string of men. None stayed for long and, according to Arleen, that was her kids’ fault, too.
“No guy wants to raise another man’s brats.”
Nadine closed the binder.
“Enough for now,” she said, and headed to her room’s kitchenette to brew some tea because she’d drunk all the coffee. Chamomile or English breakfast. She growled and picked the black tea.
Demko called three hours later, at eleven-thirty, rousing Nadine from a doze.
“Okay, I’m here. Sheriff brought me out in one of their boats. About one hundred fifty yards from shore.” His voice muffled as he asked someone something and then returned to her. “Near the Desoto Memorial. I can see the lights on the cross. We’re bringing her in.”
“Is the ME up there?”
“Yes. On shore, waiting. It’s also District 12, so I’ve requested Dr. Hartfield. Have you spoken to her yet?”
“No. I’ve been… no. Not yet.”
“I know we discussed keeping it between us for now, to avoid leaks, but I’ve been thinking she should know about the four of us. Especially since the media might get ahold of it.”
“Yes.”
“Want me to do it?” he asked.
“No. I’ll tell her. I need to apologize, anyway. I’ll call her.”
“Fine.”
“Is there anything to link this death and the double homicide?” Nadine squeezed her eyes shut and prayed.
“Definitely multiple lacerations. Hands are bagged, so… wait a minute.”
Bagging the hands of murder victims was standard procedure, a way to preserve evidence, though the water might have removed or destroyed anything useful.
Another side conversation ensued. “Sheriff said he saw a cut on the ring finger and there is a red rope, nylon, diamond pattern on her wrist. Short, maybe a foot or so.”
“The rope was cut?”
“He says so.”
“Clint, you need to find out if this victim was having an affair. Whoever it is will be the second victim.”
“I hear you, but no ID on her yet.”
“You have to find him, now!”
“Yes. Working on it.”
“What does she look like?”
“Caucasian. Dark hair. Slim build.”
“The wounds?”
“Hold on.”
She did.
“Sent you a photo. Looks like multiple stab wounds.”
Her ph
one dinged and she opened the text, staring at the image of numerous punctures in a naked abdomen. She wrinkled her nose. Her stomach pitched and she wondered again if she was strong enough to do this.
She spoke into the phone. “They looked like stab wounds. That’s wrong, Clint.”
Nadine’s mother had broken Lacey Louder’s ribs, struck her repeatedly in the chest and neck until her trachea collapsed.
“She used a knife only to slice Louder’s throat, carve the ring and carved marks into her backside.”
Was this unrelated? But the rope…
“We’re coming in. Call you back.”
* * *
He didn’t. Not for four hours. Her phone rang, rousing Nadine from the small sofa in the junior suite. Her neck ached from the awkward position. She rolled and the binder slipped from her lap and thudded on the floor.
Demko continued the conversation where he’d left off.
“Yeah. Beyond multiple stab wounds in the abdominal cavity and two to the torso, right and left. Hartfield says those injuries likely collapsed her lungs, thinks that beyond the soft tissue damage and internal bleeding, there might be cracked ribs and a possible ruptured spleen. Marks on her torso indicate her killer used a Taser on her.”
“The Taser is right.”
Nadine had learned at her mother’s trial that this was a new toy that Arleen first used on Louder.
Demko continued his description of the victim. “She was repeatedly kicked in the midsection.”
“That matches,” said Nadine.
“There are tread marks on her skin, contusions from the footwear worn by the perpetrator. I’m running the prints through SICAR.”
“Through what?”
“Oh, sorry. Shoeprint Image Capture and Retrieval. It’s a national database of footwear prints.”
“No kidding?”
“Looks like boots to me,” he said. “From the extent of the internal bleeding, broken bones and contusions, I’d say she suffered the attack for several minutes.
“Also, on the nylon rope. It’s the same. Red, with a black-and-yellow diamond pattern. Unfortunately, they sell it at every home improvement center in the country.”
“Her left hand?”
“Same marks on the ring finger and gashes on her backside.”
Her heart now pounded at her temples and in her throat. This was the same. Their killer.
“Any identification on the victim?”
“Like the others, she was recovered naked. No water in her lungs this time,” he said.
“So dead before she went under.”
“Possibly. Or the punctures in her chest cavity made it impossible to draw a breath.”
Nadine knew she’d fixate on that later, wondering at the pain of needing air but being unable to bring it to her oxygen-starved body.
Her mom wanted the women to suffer, punishing them for their infidelity.
“Hold on, Sheriff wants to talk to me.”
She waited, retrieving the binder from the floor and thumping it on the coffee table.
“He said there are no abandoned vehicles in the lot.”
“What lot?”
“It’s… hold on.” She heard him shouting to someone. Then he resumed his answer in a calm voice. “Robinson Preserve. It’s a city park up here. Tidal marsh, mangroves… mosquitoes. Man, I hate outdoor crime scenes!”
Robinson Preserve. That was the park Juliette had once mentioned. She kayaked up there. Nadine wondered at the coincidence as suspicions niggled.
She suddenly wished it were another ME on scene. Juliette was in a unique position to remove evidence or simply fail to report it.
“Clint? Juliette told me she kayaks at that preserve. And Lido,” she added.
This was met with silence.
“It’s a coincidence. Right?”
“Lots of people use city parks.”
Yes. Of course they did.
“But they don’t all have a mother like ours.”
She gritted her teeth, unwilling to condemn Juliette on something so circumstantial and yet unable to shake the worry.
“Okay,” said Demko.
She wasn’t sure if he was speaking to her.
“Is it three in the morning?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry, Nadine. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Find the man she’s sleeping with, Clint. He’s in danger. Find him.”
Eighteen
Couple three
I have found the perfect pair. They work in the same restaurant and, at first, I thought they were married. Of course they are, just not to each other. They are so obvious, can’t keep their hands to themselves. I’ve been eating all my meals there and saw him push her up against the wall through the look-through into the kitchen. Nick knows how to put a smile on Carla’s face.
I’d like to get right to it, but first I have to finish with Hope’s side gig. Why she ever got divorced, I’ll never know. Clearly, that old flame never died.
He’s next, but his schedule is unpredictable. I missed him again today. I need to find him without leaving a digital footprint, which is turning out to be harder than I expected.
As for Carla and Nick, they leave work in separate cars and park at Phillippi Estate Park. He likes to fish, or that’s what he likely tells his wife, because I’ve never seen him use the fishing pole he totes around. Carla just tells her husband she’s covering for another girl. I’ve heard her on the phone.
“Hey, honey, Tammi is a no-show again. I’m on until eight. I know. They should fire her. Anyway, we could use the tips.”
I’ve got a tip for him, drop in at the restaurant and see if she’s where she says she is, because, news flash, she isn’t.
I follow them to the lot and wait as they park, side by side. She slips into his SUV via the rear. He follows her. The backseat is already stowed, giving them a nice flat, carpeted area. In a moment, the vehicle bounces on its shocks. He should get those checked.
I decide on an evening stroll and wander past the grand estate now on the National Registry of Historic Places, searching for cameras. I reach the fishing dock, thinking I am alone, but, no, I spy a likely candidate to invite to my place. But if she takes offense, she might remember me, and I don’t want to be connected to this place. The last thing I need is a sketch artist drawing my face.
So, I let her go, wishing her a great weekend. This is a test of my endurance and my restraint. I pass easily.
She smiles.
I’m smiling also, but for different reasons.
Nineteen
The devil you know
On Friday, Nadine both called and texted Juliette but received no reply. If she wanted to apologize, it seemed she needed to do so in person.
The Bradenton Police had still not identified the Jane Doe recovered from Robinson Preserve, though they’d asked the public’s help. Nadine grew more desperate and phoned Demko to see if there was anything they could do to find the man she was certain their killer had already targeted.
Demko was in contact with the sheriffs but told her that he couldn’t find a possible partner until they had an ID.
“No abandoned vehicle?” she asked.
“None.”
“Well, how’d she get out there? Boat?”
“We don’t know. Uber. Paddleboard. She could have come in from the Gulf or the Manatee River.”
“Clint, if she was having an affair—”
“I know. I know. We’re trying.”
“The tip line?”
“Nothing useful.”
“Dental records?” Was she actually telling him how to do his job?
“No national database. You have to know who it is to check those.”
She groaned.
“I’ll call you the minute we have anything.”
“Why doesn’t her family know she’s missing?”
“Great question,” he said. “I’ll call when we make an ID.”
“Will…�
�� She hesitated and then pushed on. “Will I see you this weekend?”
The pause seemed endless.
On Saturday morning, she was sick of leaving messages for Juliette, sick of staring at her psychological profile, sick of waiting for Demko to call and sick of making no contribution to the case. So, instead of moving back into her cottage, as planned, she drove to Tampa and the post box she’d rented, pulling into the lot a little after noon.
Nadine found twenty-two letters in the Tampa mailbox. She tossed them into a reusable shopping bag, telling herself that she would read them later, but, really, possibly never.
Then she continued north to Lowell Correctional, hopeful she could finesse something useful from Arleen. She reached the visitors’ parking area with only ninety minutes left in visiting hours.
She had developed a theory too dark to consider, and that was exactly why it clung. She needed to know the reason Arleen continued to bring the clothing of her victims home and disposed of them from there. It was an incredibly risky decision, and one that she was certain Arleen had not taken lightly. There was a reason and Nadine aimed to find out what it was.
She also wanted Arleen to tell her what she’d refused to tell the DA: why she made those ritualistic cuts on her victims and whether she had an accomplice.
The screening process was less upsetting this visit. She was becoming accustomed to the intake procedure. Routine was routine, even if it involved a pat down by an overweight matron wearing latex gloves.
Her mother relieved Nadine of the first twenty before they sat down.
“Didn’t expect you so soon,” said Arleen, and then turned toward the vending machines. Nadine waited for her mother to return with the food, none of which was for her daughter.
Arleen seemed to recognize this, only after sitting down.
“You can get this junk anytime you want.”
Nadine conceded the point and moved to the reason for her visit as Arleen tore open the chips.
“Why did you make me take out those bags?” Nadine asked.
“What bags?”