But with no valid reason, no logic, no sense, she was just as certain that Sheila hadn’t returned as she was that someone had been in the room.
Staring out the back, straining to see, to hear, she almost missed the sound that came from the front of the house.
But she didn’t.
Subtle, soft, barely perceptible. But a sound. A clicking. A soft clicking. Like a door opening. With stealth and menace.
The front door. She had locked it.
Hadn’t she?
Had she imagined the sound? Worked herself into such a silly panic that she was imagining noises everywhere?
But no…once again, some form of sixth sense or instinct was kicking in.
She was not alone in the house.
The thumping had come from the back. The clicking had come from the front. If she had really heard either.
She realized that she was standing like a deer in the road, blinded by the lights of an oncoming car, standing still and simply awaiting the deadly impact.
In a single instant, she decided that she would rather take her chances outside than be trapped inside the house with a…
Killer.
In a whir of motion, she reached for the latch on the sliding door leading out to the porch, pool and yard. The door didn’t give. She pulled at it, then realized there was another latch closer to the floor. She bent down to unlock it.
And then she knew.
There really was someone in the house.
She could hear the swift quiet footsteps against the carpet. She could feel the displacement of the air, as someone was rushing toward her, out of the shadows, out of the darkness.
She gripped her candlestick tightly in her left hand and pulled at the sliding glass door once again with her left. She pulled hard, with an adrenaline-charged strength that sent the glass sliding with a vengeance across the runner.
But before Kelsey could catch her balance and go flying out, the phantom that had been only sound became real as a figure burst through the bedroom door and came barreling toward her.
With no choice, she turned rather than flee, ready to attack in self-defense.
In a split second, she lifted the candlestick.
And screamed.
There were no prints on the Polaroid.
Dane knew it. He hadn’t brought the photo into any lab; he just knew that he was dealing with someone who had carefully plotted every aspect of his crime.
He had once heard an FBI profiler give a lecture on the perfect crime. He’d claimed there was no such thing.
But sometimes, by accident, a killer could commit a perfect crime. When a woman was murdered, the husband, ex-husband, boyfriend or lover, immediately fell under suspicion. Except in the case of serial crime. Most of the time, serial killers committed their crimes against strangers. And when there was no one with whom to compare physical and trace evidence, the evidence, no matter how carefully collected, was of little use. Husbands, lovers and boyfriends were easy to track down; strangers were not so easy to find.
There were always clues.
But what had gone on here had been, at the least, orchestrated with extreme detail and careful planning. Accidents could create a perfect crime. This killer had planned on accidents of nature. There were so many tiny fragments with which forensic experts could now work. Prints and blood were huge by comparison; in a lab, a case could be made with a tuft of carpet, a broken strand of hair, a remnant of ash.
Could.
Nature could preserve. Insects could give time lines and tell a million tales.
But nature could also take away. And the whipping fury of a storm could wipe away any trace evidence.
So much for his own powers of observation, his training, his years in the military.
The killer had known when he was away. Had known when he would return. The killer had performed his savage act when Dane had been gone. He had delivered the photo when Dane had been gone.
But not before any evidence had been destroyed. He had planned his act to coincide with the storm. A violent storm, with whipping winds, a massive surge. Normally it would have made sense to go through the motions. To follow procedure. But Dane knew that he had been targeted, watched and used. He was intended to take the rap, to go to prison and possibly to meet his fate through lethal injection. The crime had almost been a challenge.
None of it made sense when brought beneath the scrutiny of everything he had ever learned. The Necktie Strangler was considered, by all the law enforcement agencies that were involved, to be a serial signature killer. Often a serial killer’s MO might change. He might target strippers who practiced prostitution on the side, then change to picking up women who were merely promiscuous. But the man’s signature had been in his acts against the bodies of his victims, the fact that he had left them stripped, with the weapon of their strangulation still around their necks. He didn’t leave the bodies in the open; he hid them in the water, knowing that time and the elements would take their toll on the corpses. Though this implied organization and planning, it didn’t fit with a body being left on his property—and a Polaroid picture of the body being taken, then shoved beneath his door.
There were, of course, killers who wanted to be caught. Killers who knew they couldn’t stop but still had enough conscience left to want to be.
Tonight, as he stared at the picture, stomach still churning at the sight, nerves raw, emotions burned and cold, he felt again the sorrow. And the tumult. If he brought this piece of evidence in, he would go to jail. He had owned the old Polaroid camera that had taken the shot.
He had owned the tie that was knotted around her neck.
Any evidence pointing to the real killer had been washed away in the fury of the elements.
Sheila had been with him. There might still be DNA evidence on the body that could prove it.
And yet…
Hiding the picture was withholding evidence. He loathed what he was doing. If his actions brought about another woman’s death…
He closed his eyes. If he was arrested, another woman might still be murdered. Because they would be holding the wrong man.
Kelsey was already convinced he was involved. She would be passionately determined on justice for Sheila.
He rose, ready to leave the house, a man with things to do, people to see, and a desperation to do them all before time closed in on him.
He returned the photo to the place beneath the floorboard in his bedroom and headed out. But before he was out the door, his phone rang. He let the machine pick up. He was surprised to hear Jesse Crane’s voice.
“Dane, call me. They’ve found another body in a canal.”
“Kelsey!” Larry yelled.
He said her name with barely enough time to prevent her from bringing the heavy pewter candlestick down on his head.
“Larry!”
The room was suddenly flooded with light. She and Larry were caught in a bizarre embrace. Nate and Cindy were standing in the doorway.
“I could have killed you!” Kelsey said furiously. “What were you doing, sneaking around in here?”
“Me? We came home and heard someone creeping around the house, and there were no lights and no sign of you,” Larry protested.
Shaking, Kelsey dropped the candlestick. Larry jumped away, watching it fall.
“We really thought someone had broken in,” Cindy said. “Kelsey, you didn’t have any lights on. I whispered your name, but I guess you didn’t hear me.”
“Why didn’t you just call my name loudly?” Kelsey asked.
“We couldn’t call your name loudly if there was a thief or a…or a thief,” Nate said lamely.
Kelsey exhaled a long breath. “I thought I heard someone sneaking around. And I heard a thumping sound out back.”
“There’s a mango tree out there. The fruit was probably falling,” Cindy said impatiently.
“Let’s take a walk out back and look around anyway,” Larry said.
He walked past Kelsey
. They all followed. The whole thing had been silly, she thought, with her sneaking around in the darkness and thinking someone was about to attack her, and the three of them certain that she was the intruder. And still, when they walked out back, they were all unnerved.
Larry laughed suddenly. “Nothing out here but a pool.”
“Grass and trees,” Cindy said, sounding almost giddy with relief.
Kelsey turned around, wanting to feel more relieved than she did. “Well, I have to admit, I’m glad you’re all back.”
“It’s getting late,” Nate murmured. He looked at Kelsey. “Maybe I’ll bunk out on the sofa.”
She was about to tell him that wasn’t necessary, since Larry was staying in the guest room, but then Cindy chimed in again. “You don’t need to sleep on the sofa here when there’s an extra bedroom in my half of the place. If any of us gets the heebie-jeebies in the middle of the night, we can just bang on the walls.”
“Doesn’t sound like such a bad idea,” Larry said.
“Okay, then, I’m off to bed,” Cindy said. She gave Kelsey a hug and started back into the house. They all turned and followed her.
“Wait,” Larry said, checking the glass doors to the back and assuring himself that the rear of the house was completely secured. He gave a satisfied nod to Kelsey. “I’ll lock the front once the crew is out.”
“Great. See everyone in the morning,” Kelsey said.
She closed the door to her room once they were all out but found herself standing still, listening intently until she had heard Larry lock and bolt the front.
The light was on in her room. Larry was out front, the house was full. She still felt that sensation of uneasiness.
She turned and leaned against the door, surveying the room, and she knew what was still bothering her. There wasn’t anything that was an exact giveaway, but she still felt as if someone had been there. Someone who hadn’t come to rob them, who hadn’t taken anything. Someone who had come to do something worse. To invade…
To invade what?
She didn’t know. But the pillow didn’t seem to be on the bed at quite the angle that she had left it. The spread seemed to be a bit off. The items on the dresser seemed to have been moved just a fraction of an inch.
Kelsey checked the door again, searched the closet and the bath. She was definitely alone now.
She hesitated, then looked under the pillow.
Sheila’s diary remained right where Sheila had left it.
Yet it, too, seemed to have been moved. Just a fraction of an inch…
Maybe she was simply losing her mind, so convinced that something terrible had befallen Sheila that she was making up evil ghosts in her mind.
Telling herself that she was crazy didn’t seem to help any. Kelsey took a long shower, a couple of Tylenol and went to bed.
And stared into the murky darkness of the room, eyes wide-open, listening…
Listening…
Andy Latham, who was as crazy as a loon, was convinced they had thrown dead fish in his yard. And then there was Dane, who was behaving so suspiciously. He’d slept with Sheila, then she had disappeared. He’d been the last one to see her, and now he was reading about the Necktie Strangler. But Dane couldn’t be guilty….
Why not?
Because she didn’t want him to be.
A branch tapped on her window. She almost screamed aloud, then realized it was just a branch and she was being ridiculous. She had been so frightened tonight over nothing; they had all been stalking one another, when there had been no one here, no one outside….
Logic didn’t matter.
In the night, in the dark, she was suddenly very afraid.
“Jesse,” Dane said, grabbing the phone.
“Dane, good, you’re there.”
“Is it…could it be…?”
“No, definitely not Sheila. Some fishermen pulled up a body today. Just bones. They’ve been taken to the morgue, but the medical examiner said the victim has definitely been dead nine months to a year. They’ll try to ID her as soon as possible, of course.”
“But it was the Necktie Strangler?”
“They aren’t even sure of the cause of death. But the preliminary investigation suggests it’s a young woman. And if they do connect her to the other murders, it means our guy started off long before any of us suspected. I don’t have much real information to give you yet, but I wanted to let you know. The bones were found just west of Shark Valley. And I wanted you to know that it wasn’t Sheila, so you wouldn’t worry when you saw it in the papers.”
“Thanks, Jesse.”
“Ready to tell me what’s going on yet?”
“Soon. I want to do a little more investigating first.”
“I’m here if you need me.”
“Thanks.”
Dane hung up, then left the house as he had intended. It was late, but there were some places in South Florida where the night was just beginning.
Morning was hell.
Sunlight made its way through the drapes, and, though muted, it seemed to pierce Kelsey’s eyes with a vengeance. She had barely slept.
Rising, she drew the drapes anyway, recoiling and blinking in pain as the light increased. Still, it was the best way to wake up.
She jumped in and out of the shower, dressed, then made coffee. With her first cup, she felt more awake. And then foolish. Larry was still asleep in the spare room, and the shadows of the previous night became benign trees, gently waving in the breeze. Fear faded. Determination returned.
She thought about turning on her computer and tracking down the stories Dane had been reading, but decided instead that if she was looking for Sheila, first she needed to delve more deeply into her friend’s life. She returned to her room, second cup of coffee in hand, and reached beneath the pillow for Sheila’s diary.
It still surprised Kelsey that Sheila had kept any kind of a diary. She had always seemed far too busy living life to take the time to put anything down on paper.
The diary began shortly after Sheila had moved back to the Keys. The first page was a simple entry.
Home again, home again, home again. Things change, and yet they don’t change at all.
Two days later, there was another entry.
The tourists are flocking. Busy little bees. Almost had to drag a lady out of a chair at the bar at Nate’s. I told him he needed reserved stools for the locals. Naturally, being Nate, he took me seriously and tried to explain that he couldn’t do that. And he had the nerve to say I wasn’t really a local anymore. Ah, men, how quickly they forget. But that’s okay.
Most of them are far too forgettable themselves.
The next few entries were basically just as mundane, yet typically Sheila.
How strange Dane has become. Somber. Not like him. Cool, though, that he’s come back now, too. Told him I might wind up needing his services. He gave me a really strange look. God knows what he’s heard about my past. I told him I wasn’t thinking about stud service, that I might want to use him as a private eye. He said I should hire someone better. Poor guy. Wonder what happened. He won’t talk about it. Thought he was just lying around drunk in a lounge chair, but he wasn’t drunk, since he was drinking soda water, or so Nate said. He was just lying around. Strange to see Dane so beat, yet when he looks at you, when you see his eyes…well, there’s life in there yet. Just have to reach him. Ah, well, I’m living in a piece of Paradise. Lots of pretty boys on the water. Better yet, lots of pretty rich boys on the water. Still, sometimes the old boys are the best boys. Time will tell. Meanwhile…
Saw Izzy.
Now there’s quite a high.
Good old Izzy. His stuff just gets better and better.
And old Izzy isn’t bad himself. He likes to bargain. Which is okay by me. Izzy has Latin rhythm down pat. Running his stuff keeps him in good shape. Another laugh. Officially he’s in the fishing trade. Some fish. He takes tourists out and makes them so happy they couldn’t care less if they get any fish.
Cindy says she sees him at the gym now and then, but he must be working hard at his craft—running! What do I care? I’m hardly the FBI or DEA. Not likely. No, I’m the down and dirty kind, but hell, what would you expect? Still, the way he flirts and bargains is pretty cool. Makes me feel…okay, not exactly Madonna-Like-A-Virgin-ish, but damn cool close.
Combine Izzy and the stuff…
Not a bad deal. And I really do have one hell of a good time. If I were a guy, no one would think a thing about it. The shrink said I’m looking for something I can’t have. He’s full of shit. I was married. I had the good-looking guy with money, and I was bored to death. Maybe he was just the wrong guy. But if so, I threw away being what the other guy was looking for years ago. Just reread this, and I’m not making sense, even to myself. But maybe I don’t want to make sense. Maybe I don’t want to see the truth, even if it’s just for my eyes only.
A knock on the bedroom door startled Kelsey so badly she might as well have been a guilty teenager. She jumped up and shoved the diary beneath the pillow.
“Hey, Kels? You awake in there, kid?”
“Yeah, yeah, Larry, I’m awake.”
She walked across the room, glancing at her watch. It was already one in the afternoon. She opened her door. Larry, somehow still looking like a GQ advertisement in shorts and a crew neck shirt, was smiling at her. “What do you think this is, vacation?” he teased. “Want to get some lunch?”
“Lunch?”
“Yeah, you know, the meal that’s typically eaten sometime around noon.”
“Lunch? No,” Kelsey said, making a sudden decision. “I’ve got a few errands to run. But I’d love to have dinner. Let’s meet at the new fish place just past Nate’s at seven. How’s that?”
She didn’t really care how it was. She brushed past him, already on her way out for her purse and keys.
“Wait a minute, Kelsey. First of all, we’ll probably hurt Nate’s feelings if we eat somewhere else. And second, where on earth are you going? Cindy is going to wake up and want to know where you are. We were all spooked last night. She’ll be worried, then she’ll be pissed at me for letting you go.”
Hurricane Bay Page 13