The ground was still being photographed as the corpse-dogs widened their search. There’d been teams dispatched up and down the banks of the Susquehanna since the second body had been discovered in the wee hours of the morning. They were now up to six.
Mason followed Billie.
The male body was on a gurney beside a pile of freshly turned dirt. They’d unzipped its black bag, and Billie was already bending over it. Mason didn’t need to get that close to see that the arms were gone at the shoulders, legs gone at the thighs, head gone about mid-neck. He was basically a chest, a belly, and a penis. But there were marks all over him. He frowned, leaning very slightly closer. “What do you think, Billie?”
“He’s been here way longer than Dwayne Clark,” she said. “There are similar ligature marks. However, this man was tortured before he was killed. There are punctures, cuts, burns… I think this mark here might’ve been electrocution.” She poked two small round, dark red craters. “These are Taser marks.” She gave the guys a nod, turning away and peeling off her gloves. “I’ll know more when I get him on my table. All of them.” She gave Mason a cheerful nod. “Looks like it’s gonna be an all-nighter.”
Standing in front of my T-bird, two feet from me, Gary Conklin said, “I know you said this wasn’t okay, but I was worried about you.”
My heart was beating so fast it seemed a little hard to catch my breath. It was a pretty spot. Big maple trees along the roadsides, just starting to turn a little pink and gold. I hoped I'd still be around when they achieved flaming red and neon yellow. “Gary, have you been following me?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Cause you’re messing around with murderers. I saw, about the bodies.”
“Bodies?”
“They found bodies this morning. By the river.”
“I hadn’t heard about that.” Part of me was relieved. If there were multiple bodies in the same place, then it wasn't Ivy. She was no serial killer. I could see her maybe offing a kindergartner's dad to keep him from raping his child. Barely. But multiple killings? No. That took a special kind of crazy. One I knew a little too well.
“I was sleeping down there, near the river. I saw. There are a bunch of ‘em. Someone said Mason Brown was on the case. That’s your husband.”
“He’s not my–”
“You were at the funeral, for that first one.”
“You followed us to the funeral?” And where else, I wondered. Had he been to the house again? Had he been near Joshua? Just how close had this disturbed young man been to my family while I’d had no clue?
My spine stiffened and my chin angled up. My heart rate steadied. If I’d had fur, it would’ve been bristling along my backbone.
“You could get hurt,” Gary went on. “Killed. And I need you.” He hit himself in the head with a cupped palm. “I need you to make it go away.”
“You need me to make what go away, Gary?”
“The bad thoughts. The awfulness. Evil’s what it is, I think. It’s in me and I can’t get it out. And the doctor can't get it out and the pills can't get it out."
“You aren’t evil,” I said. When what I wanted to do was kick him in the balls, and tell him if he got near my family again, I’d secure him a life sentence in a locked psych unit.
But I could feel his pain. He was in so much pain I didn’t know how he was even functioning. Then again, he wasn’t really, was he?
“You are inherently good, Gary. You’re a child of God.” It was, I figured, the terminology he might relate to most easily. “But there’s some medicine you need, that’s all.”
He hit his head again, then again, and again. I almost reached for his hand, but hesitated. I didn’t want to initiate physical contact, here.
Finally, he just cupped his forehead, pressing the heel of his hand into his eye, tears streaming, nose running. “I saw Dr. Guthrie again. But I can’t do it her way. She says I’m strong, but I’m weak. I’m worthless and weak and I can’t make it go away.”
“Did she give you any meds? Did you take them, Gary?”
His head came up, eyes wide and red. “WHAT DO YOU THINK THIS IS?” He lunged, grabbed my shoulders, shook me so hard I thought my neck would snap. A PILL CAN’T FIX THIS!” Spittle hit me in the face.
I honestly thought I might be about to die, and I wasn’t going to go down easy. I had too much to live for. So I brought my knee up hard, and he doubled over and staggered backwards. I was in my car with the doors locked before he even lifted his head. I shifted, laid rubber, and took off.
Myrtle was panting, trying to wriggle out of her harness, so she could get to me. No doubt I was emitting the invisible scent of fight-or-flight.
Did a little bit of both, back there, Inner Bitch said. Nice job.
I hurt a sick young man who was already in agony, and left him outside the home of a helpless old man with no one around to protect him.
I petted Myrtle calm while driving, glancing in the rearview mirror. Gary was standing back there staring after me, getting smaller as I drove away.
I grabbed my phone and told Siri to connect me to the Dilmun New York Chief of Police. She did.
“Chief O’Mally,” he said when he picked up.
“It’s Rachel de Luca. Um, I was leaving a message for Ivy, in her mailbox, when I was interrupted by a very disturbed young man who’s been sort of stalking me–”
“Stalking you?”
“Occupational hazard,” I said. “I had to hurt him a little bit.”
“Are you all right, Rachel?"
“Fine. I’m fine. Just shaken. And so is he. He’s in the road in front of the D’Voe mansion. I need you to pick him up so he doesn’t get any wild ideas about breaking in. The gate's locked, but still."
"Sure I will. Sure."
"And I need you take care with him, Chief. He’s not bad, he’s just sick. Very sick, I’m afraid."
“I’ll take care of it, Rachel. We’ll get him some help.”
“Thanks.” I almost asked him not to tell Mason, but I hesitated, because that was so unnatural, so downright wrong, that my mouth refused to speak it. And by the time I unlocked my jaw, he’d hung up.
8
Two Days Later...
Rachel was sitting on the dock in the dark when Mason came out of the house with a drink in each hand and crossed the front lawn. He didn’t go right over to join her. He stood there for a second, watching her. She was in the new two-person Adirondack chair with her feet up. He closed his eyes for a second to tune in. Rachel was always tuned in, but for him, it took a minute. Shut the mind down. Let go of the day. The job. The kids. The case.
His worries about the things she was keeping from him.
Vince O’Mally had called Wednesday morning to let him know that Gary Conklin was all right. He said to tell Rachel that he’d locked him up overnight, fed him, even had the local doctor check on him, and then he’d put him on a bus back to Binghamton. A social worker was supposed to meet him at the bus station. Gary had asked the chief to tell Rachel he was sorry for scaring her outside the D’Voe place.
So Rachel had gone back out there, to Dilmun, to Ivy Newman’s house for some reason. He still didn’t know any details, and was almost out of patience waiting for her to tell him. But he had to wait. He had to know whether she would. It was killing him, though.
To top all that off, he was dealing with another serial killer, way too close to home on way too many levels. The press was all over it. And why wouldn’t they be? Six bodies. All strangled to death, three of them intact, including Dwayne Clark. Three had been tortured for what Billie Carmichael said might have been a couple of days, then strangled to death, then mutilated. They had not one single clue or suspect, and the pressure was on. Most of it was directly on him.
It was damn strange that Rachel had only connected to the killer that one time, with the most recent victim.
But he was supposed to be letting go of all that and being in the moment.
A low bullfrog baritone kept the rhythm for a cricket symphony. A fish jumped; he heard the splash. In the distance an owl hooted twice.
He knew Rachel was listening to all that. He opened his eyes again. The sky was full of stars. No moon yet. She’d be admiring that, too. She loved being able to see. Her sheer enthusiasm for all things bright and beautiful made him appreciate them more himself. He’d never known anyone who used their senses the way Rachel did.
He had the ring in his pocket. He was waiting for the right time to pop the big question. He had to be ready when that time came. But this was not that time, because she was lying to him, and he didn’t know why.
“You coming over here or what?” she asked.
“Ears like a bat,” he said, and joined her on the dock. He handed her a drink. Vodka diet, her fave. Ice chinked in the glass. Water lapped against the moorings.
“How’s the new chair?” he asked.
“Needs cushions. Thank you for the drink.”
“Didn’t we order cushions?”
“We did. They shipped separately. They’ll be here next week.”
“That’s logical,” he said.
“Isn’t it?”
He sat down beside her in the Adirondak-chair-for-two. “It’s roomy.” There were four inches to spare on either side of him.
“Yeah, too roomy. Get over here.” Rachel tugged his shirt, and he slid closer, put his arm around her shoulders. “Yeah, that’s better,” she said, snuggling close. “Is Josh in bed?”
“Out cold. School’s messing with him. We should’ve made him get up early all summer.”
“Fuck that! Let the kid sleep in as often as possible. What they ought to do is start the school day at a decent hour. Nine, nine-thirty. Ten would be better.”
“It’s kicking his butt, though.”
“He’ll adjust in a few days. Better a week or two of being tired, than a whole summer of bed times and alarm clocks.”
“You’re a whole new kind of parent, you know that?”
She stopped talking, sipped her drink in silence. He thought the word “parent” was probably why. That’s what she was, though. She was parenting his guys. She was good for them. Potty mouth and all. Josh was making a killing off his swear jar. Sometimes she only pretended to slip, just so she could drop a few bucks in there.
“They love you,” he said.
“Well, duh.” She sipped again. “I love them, too, in copious amounts.”
She did, he knew that. And she loved him. This wasn’t about the two of them, it was something else.
She settled into her seat and seemed to fall into the night. So he tried to fall into it with her, putting his feet up, leaning back. Out beyond his toes was nothing but water. You could fool yourself into thinking you were floating on it, surrounded by it, if you tried. Baby waves lapped and splashed. Somewhere a deep, croak-like sound came. He wondered what it was.
“Blue heron,” Rachel said, like he’d asked out loud. She said she couldn’t read him. The truth was she read him so well she didn’t know she was doing it. He read her the same way. Sometimes it was like hive mind, just for two.
He didn’t know when he’d put his hand into his jacket pocket. He was holding the little box, turning it around and around, willing her to open up and tell him the truth.
Rachel took a deep breath, and without looking at him, said, “I went to Dilmun Tuesday. Reggie invited me for tea. I know I should’ve mentioned it before now.” She still wasn’t looking him in the eye.
“You went out there alone. To the home of a horror star who’s supposed to be dead. You put yourself at risk, you know.”
“He has it.”
His words tripped over hers. And they didn’t compute. “Has what?”
“It.” She finally looked at him, right into his eyes. “The same thing I have.”
“The stuff?”
She nodded slowly. “I thought I felt something when we were there together.”
“Something like…?”
“It felt like he was poking around inside my mind. I looked at him, and I saw him react. Like he felt me feeling him. Like he knew that I knew. You know?”
“I think I get what you mean.”
“So when he texted and invited me, he kind of let me know that’s what he wanted to talk about. And that it would be just the two of us.”
He opened his mouth, clamped it closed again, took a deep breath, reminded himself this was the woman he loved. The woman he wanted to marry. “The boys and I would be devastated if anything happened to you, Rache. I don’t know if you realize how much….and I know we’re not supposed to hang our well-being on your shoulders, but we love you a lot.”
“I wasn’t in danger. At least, not from Reggie.”
“You can’t be sure of that. It’s not always reliable, your stuff. Not a hundred percent.”
“Seventy-five, anyway.”
“I’m asking you to weigh all that next time you’re deciding whether to do something risky.”
“I weigh all that when deciding what to eat, Mason. And how fast to take a curve in my T-bird, and how far out to swim when there’s no one else nearby. I wouldn’t put the boys through another loss. You know that.”
He held her gaze for a long beat before he answered. “I do know that.”
“I wouldn’t have gone if I thought it was dangerous. I took Myrtle with me, for heaven’s sake. I wouldn’t put my dog in danger.”
“All right.” He sighed, because she wasn’t hearing him. And there was still that part about Gary. So he leaned back in his seat again. “All right. Just…all right.”
“All right.” She sighed, too. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, you know.”
“I know.” She was all prickly now. Defensive.
“You have one of the riskiest professions in the known universe.”
“I know.”
“The boys would be devastated if anything happened to you, too.”
“You’re right.”
“And so would I.” Her throat was tight, her voice thicker than before.
He turned sideways in his chair, pushed her hair up off her forehead.
She said, “It’s beyond stupid how much I love you. You know that, don’t you?”
“I do,” he said. She had tears. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel attacked.”
“Scolded,” she corrected. She snuggled up closer again, and they relaxed into their former position, his arm around her, her head pillowed on his chest and shoulder. She gazed out at the water.
“So what happened, during your high tea with the dead man?”
“Well, he told me he knew I had it and that he did, too. He calls his a heightened sense of empathy.”
“Do you think it fits?”
“When I feel people’s emotions, it fits. But it doesn’t fit when dead guys are talking to me, or when I take a ride-along inside some crazed killer's mind.”
She was breathing slow. He didn’t ask. Just waited. And eventually, she said, “Ivy’s everywhere in that house. I sat in the chair where she sits to have her breakfast every morning. I rinsed tea cups at her sink. I tapped into her, and I didn’t feel anything dark or evil.”
Her words felt absolutely genuine and true. Maybe he’d been wrong, before, when he’d–
“So, even though my stuff led me to her door, literally, I don’t think she had anything to do with the murder.”
There it was. There it was, that tightness underlying her words. That quiver just beyond the range of human hearing. He felt it. He was a cop. He knew what a lie sounded like, and he knew her. And that was a lie.
He could hardly wrap his head around the fact that his Rachel was lying to him. He couldn’t even move on yet, to what that meant. But he left it there, lying on the floor of his mind, waiting to be picked up. If she was lying when she said she didn’t believe Ivy had anything to
do with Dwayne Clark's murder, then that meant she believed the opposite. That Ivy had something to do with it.
“Anyway," she went on, "when I got out of my car to close the gate Gary came up behind me. He’d followed me. He kind of grabbed hold of me. Yelled in my face. Shook me. And I did feel I was in danger, then. But that wasn’t my fault. I mean he came to me here, at home, so that could’ve happened anywhere.”
“I know,” he said.
“I had to knee him in the balls. And I hated to. He’s already in so much pain.”
He nodded slow, seeing her anguish in her face. “Did he hurt you?”
“Just scared me. My neck’s been a little stiff, and he left some finger-bruises on my shoulders. Nothing too serious. I got back in my car and just left him there. But I called Chief O’Mally to go pick him up.”
He nodded slow. “I know you did.”
She blinked twice, then looked at him intently. “What do you mean, you know I did?”
“Vince called the next day. Said he wanted to let you know he did what you asked. Fed the kid, had the local MD check him out. He kept him overnight and put him on a bus to Binghamton the next morning. Someone from Social Services was supposed to meet him at the bus. I wanted to let you know he was okay, but….”
“But?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I was waiting for you to tell me.”
“To see if I would?”
He sensed he might’ve unwittingly walked into a mine field. “I…guess?”
“Don’t you think that’s just a little bit sneaky?”
He’d been sneaky? She’s suddenly keeping secrets and he’s the one who’s sneaky? How did she do that? Turn this whole thing around like that?
His phone vibrated. Probably work. It was past midnight. Nobody called about anything good after midnight. He pulled out the phone and looked at the screen.
Jeremy.
His heart jumped into jackhammer mode as he answered on speaker. “Jeremy, what’s wrong?”
“What’s going on?” Rachel leaned over the phone. “Jere? You okay?”
“I’m fine, don’t panic. I’ve just um…one of my professors is missing.”
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