No body piercing, her mother had commanded. Maybe she’d break her down in another year or two.
At the moment she wasn’t going to whine to herself over what she couldn’t have. She liked the outfit so much she paid for it, and kept it on. She had friends working in some of the stores in the area—older brothers and sisters of schoolmates. She could try out the outfit. The clerk said she looked like a million bucks. She hoped it was true, and not just sales talk.
The killer cruised down the street, anxious for little more than a good dinner before heading home.
He was in no great hurry to kill again: he still felt remarkably sated from the last kill. And he was careful, he was fastidious. After all, he was not crazy, he was totally in possession of all his faculties; he could wait.
Then he saw her. Walking along the street, looking far older than her years. Tall, slim, budding, beautiful. Long blond hair down her back, belly bare. She was growing breasts, she was…
Ripe. Man, that was it, ripe for the picking. He gazed at the smooth length of her throat, and envisioned his fingers there. Smooth, oh, yeah, her flesh was so smooth. So young, so beautiful. He saw himself ripping off her clothing, saw the fear in her eyes as his hands went all over that perfect smooth young skin. He itched to touch her, ached…
And somewhere, in the back of his mind, he felt the rage growing, despite his determination that he was not a crazy, he was a smooth operator, invisible, because he was just so damned normal. But the rage was there. She was a tease. So young, so quick, she was a tease. Like her mother, like her mother’s friends, like all women. She was just a cunt.
And her time would come.
Tina saw him and nearly passed out. Darn! She’d had it all figured out, and now…
“Hey, gorgeous!” he called to her. He sounded angry. Was he going to tell? Order her home? Her mom would ground her for a month.
She smiled and hurried over to his car. “Hi!”
“What are you up to down here all by your lonesome?”
“Shopping.”
“All alone?”
“Yes, but don’t tell Mom, please, please, don’t tell her if you see her!”
He smiled. He knew it was a drop-dead gorgeous smile, and that she would be charmed. “It’s our secret, sweetie. We’ll never tell on one another.”
“Never,” she agreed.
“Want a ride?”
Tina hesitated. She should take the ride, get the hell home. Before she could get caught.
“Tina!”
She started and looked up. Bobby Sue was across the street, waving to her madly. Her friend had come to meet her after all, and that meant Bobby Sue’s mom would be coming to pick them up in an hour or so.
“No, but thanks! See ya!”
She moved away from the car, waving.
The killer sat still, watching her. Behind him, horns began to beep. He started to drive away.
His smile faded, and he was not gorgeous anymore.
He caught a glimpse of his own eyes in the mirror. They were pure evil, he thought, terrifying.
That thought cheered him.
And he smiled once again.
Gorgeous…
He could take any woman he wanted.
And he would. And they’d never catch him.
Everyone trusted him; he was smart as a whip. They’d never get him.
That thought made him laugh. And he laughed. And laughed.
9
That evening, Sean went back to the South Beach club with Ricky.
The bartender was a pretty woman of about thirty, a little world-weary, but still friendly, and unafraid of dealing with the police. She seemed glad that Ricky, point man on the homicide task force, had returned to ask questions again.
“You guys just can’t give up on this one,” she said, smoothing back a lock of medium brown hair. “I wish I could help you more. I remember the girl who was killed, I just can’t remember seeing her with anyone special… except for the German fellow, and you said that he’s in the clear?”
Ricky nodded. “He was with friends the rest of the night, in plain view at the News Cafe.”
The woman, Shelley, smiled at Sean. “I remember you.”
“Thanks.”
“Well, you’re the writer, right? A celebrity.”
“Only in his own mind,” Ricky teased.
Sean smiled. “He’s jealous.”
“Yeah, but I admit it,” Ricky said.
“Shelley,” Sean said, leaning forward, “Ellie’s friends and coworkers apparently thought that she was especially nice—that she would dance with most guys who asked her, that she had a kind word for most people. Still, you don’t need to be trying to remember a monster. If killers all had horns, we’d recognize them right away. Was there anybody you saw her especially interested in… someone she may have left with…?”
Shelley shrugged. “We had several good-looking guys in here that evening—we used to be busy,” she said glumly. “Honest to God, I’d help you if I could. She was here, she left. Her friends left, all about the same time. If I can think of anything, anything at all, I will let you know. Can I get you another drink?” she asked Ricky.
“No—he’s driving,” Sean answered for him. “Give him a soda. I’d love a beer.”
He smiled. She smiled back. Nice girl. Ricky frowned at him, laughed, and drank his soda.
Sean wanted to sleep, but he couldn’t. Ricky left him off after midnight. He lay on his bed in his hotel room. Alone.
Around one he dozed.
At three he was back up.
He walked over to the desk where he’d set up his computer. He was a writer, he was supposed to be here writing. The city was full of stories. Sad, tragic, frightening, amusing. The stuff of life.
He stared at the blank screen in the darkness of his room.
Then his fingers started moving over the keys.
He wrote about Ellie. About how beautiful she had been in life. Beautiful in her enthusiasm and kindness. They said she’d kept from bitterness, an accomplishment in itself, when the years began to go by, when fine lines began to move into the face, when the heart had begun to fill with the dreams that remained just out of reach.
And then he wrote of her death. Of seeing her on the autopsy table, the last terror she felt in life still somehow there within her once lovely eyes…
He hit the power key, deleting all he had written.
He pressed his head between his palms, plagued by a sudden unease that seemed to make no sense.
He showered. Dressed, prowled his room.
At six, he called an old friend.
“Sean?” Arnie Harris said, hearing his voice. Arnie was up, sipping his coffee. Sean could see him seated at the table on the porch of his hilltop retreat. Arnie had been retired for five years. He still woke promptly at five-thirty, and sat with his coffee by six, watching the day begin over his Virginia farmland.
“Yeah, how are you, Arnie?”
“Waiting for your call.”
Sean arched a brow, staring at the phone.
“Hear there’s been some trouble down there.”
“How’d you know I was in Miami?”
“The dates of your tour were listed in PW. Maggie told me what you were up to. My wife is always careful to watch for your comings and goings. She considers you a personal victory.”
Sean laughed. He did give Maggie Harris credit for getting his writing career going. He had been with Arnie, describing a theorized death scenario after studying a cache of bones, and Maggie had suggested he turn his imagination toward paper. “And fiction! Make it fiction. You don’t want to get sued by anyone, and since you have been involved with so many real people… well, people who were once real…”
“So what’s up?” Arnie asked. “Have the local police allowed you in on this sensational murder case? One corpse, and they’re shouting serial killer.”
“Yes, some of the cops are old friends.”
Arnie snor
ted over the phone wires. “Where were they way back when?”
“Arnie, I knew the girl.”
“Yes, I know,” Arnie said after a moment.
“You do?” Sean inquired.
“Well, I’m retired, not dead. And I still have access to information from all over the country. I pulled the files on Eleanor Metz, found out that she’d gone to school with you, and studied the old newspaper articles from there.”
“She was Mandy’s best friend when Mandy died,” Sean said.
“Interesting.”
“Mandy drowned. I was there when it happened. And I was at the autopsy for Eleanor Metz, Arnie. It was different. Ellie was butchered.”
“Completely different.”
“Yes.”
“But… you think that you’re seeing a connection between something that happened nearly fifteen years ago and this murder?”
“I don’t know. Am I just spooked being back here? Talk to me, Arnie. How can there be a connection? So many years have gone by. The M.O. is nothing at all alike. But something bothers me terribly here. You were with the first profilers, you studied psychos, you know what makes them tick, how they’ll act. What’s a killer like who shreds a woman the way this guy killed Ellie. She was knocked out, but not killed by the blow to her head. Her throat was severed. After she’d been beaten and stabbed. The body was found without clothing or identification. Half buried in the mud. She might never have been discovered except that you know what Florida’s like heading from spring toward summer. Thunderstorms almost daily. Rain might have washed her up.”
“The killer sounds very organized,” Arnie said. “He was careful not to let her be identified too easily, and he was probably careful when he disposed of her body. I’d need to see more on the victim and study her habits, see the autopsy report itself, and find out what else the police know to give you a really educated opinion on this. But if you’ve got a victim who was totally savaged, this probably isn’t the killer’s first victim. Was the girl raped?”
“Yes.”
“He might have started out as a rapist, then moved on to rape and torture, and then to the ultimate thrill—the kill. He needs to be in control, needs to feel powerful. I would imagine, though, that he performed some pretty wicked deeds before this murder; he probably worked up to it over many years.”
“Right,” Sean said. He’d listened to Arnie’s lectures, heard his friend’s advice to law enforcement officers desperately looking for any clue with which to help nab a killer.
“What you’re really asking me,” Arnie said, “is whether someone might have drowned a girl fifteen years ago, and come back to slay another one of your friends. While you just happen to be in the city. You do sound spooked. And a more frightening thought is this—if there is such a connection, people might be thinking that it’s you.”
Sean gritted his teeth together. “I didn’t kill Mandy, and I sure as hell didn’t kill Ellie.”
“I know you didn’t. I know you.”
Sean let out a sigh, disturbed to realize just how deeply the old wounds still cut. Why had he been the scapegoat way back then? He’d been the outsider. The others had drawn together, leaving him on the outside looking in…
“You there, Sean?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” he said softly. “Thanks, Arnie.”
“You don’t need to thank a friend for being a friend, Sean,” he said gruffly. “Why don’t you take a few days and come up and see us? Maybe get the hell out of there for a while. Might do you good.”
“Maybe I will, but not right now. I’ve got a few things here I’ve got to settle.”
“Anytime you need some help, call. I like retirement, mostly. But every once in a while, I feel about as useful as a potted plant. If the soup gets any thicker, bring me what you’ve got. Maybe I can help.”
“Thanks. I may take you up on that.” Sean said good-bye and hung up. Still restless, he looked at the clock.
What the hell. It was creeping toward real morning. He just couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling. He felt like a caged tiger.
Time, he thought, to move.
Lori had just poured her first cup of coffee when she heard the horn beeping. She ignored it, thinking someone was picking up a neighbor for work, but then she heard the pounding on her own door and hurried toward it. She checked her watch. Seven-thirty.
Sean was on her doorstep. She hated the way her heart seemed to leap at the simple sight of him; the way her palms felt clammy, and adrenaline seemed to race through her. This wasn’t good, it wasn’t healthy.
“Sean. Do you know how early it is?”
“Yes. Michael said he asked you down to the Keys yesterday, and you said yes.”
She stared at him. She was holding a coffee cup, wearing a terry robe. Her hair was half up on her head; she had no makeup on.
He, in contrast, looked good. Cutoffs, T-shirt, sandals, dark RayBans, baseball cap. He was freshly shaved; his hair remained slightly damp from a shower.
“The Keys? Now?”
“Yeah. Why waste the day? He said that you wanted to come down.”
“I—I—” she stuttered, then waved her coffee cup in a circular motion. “I didn’t say that I wanted to come at seven-thirty this morning! Michael told me about working with dolphins and manatees and I said I’d love to see the facility—he didn’t say when—”
“Well, why not go before you have to start work?” he asked.
“Yes, but—”
“Today looks like a good day to me,” he said. “Brendan home? Maybe if you’re not up to it, he’d like to come along with me?”
She took a step back, somewhat outraged. But then, they had been best friends years ago, so there wasn’t a thing in the world wrong with him suggesting he take her son for a drive. Not if she honestly believed in his innocence.
“Brendan’s got to go to school soon, right?”
“Yes, I decided to give him a few days to adjust.”
“So?”
“He’s adjusting.”
“Let him adjust in the Keys. He’ll fall in love with Florida.”
“We don’t have to be in such a hurry—the world does still recognize weekends, doesn’t it?”
Sean smiled. “Cop out. What’s the matter with today? Make up for that Friday night dinner you’re getting out of.”
“I’ve had no warning, that’s what’s wrong. You just came barging in here—”
“Mom? Who’s here?” Brendan called. He came into the living room, shirtless, barefoot, wearing just his jeans. “Hey!” he said with pleasure, seeing Sean. “Hey, great. Want some coffee, Mr. Black?”
Lori cast her son an evil glare. He didn’t notice. Sean did, but he chose to ignore her. “I’d love coffee.”
He stepped past Lori, following Brendan into the kitchen. Lori swore, slammed the door, and fumed.
“I’m going to shower!” she called to them.
“Dress in a bathing suit,” Sean called after her.
“Why?” Brendan asked, his eyes widening.
“I’m taking you two down to the Keys with me,” Sean explained.
“Wow. Great. Cool!” Brendan said happily.
“Lori?” Sean’s brow arched, but his tone remained polite.
She could protest, she knew. But it would just make her look bad in the eyes of her son. A drive down to the Keys would be nice for Brendan. It was a beautiful day. They did have to get going with life soon, and Michael’s work had sounded fascinating.
“Sure, what the hell?” she muttered.
Thirty minutes later she was in the front passenger seat of Sean’s rental car, and they were heading south on the turnpike. Brendan had come up with the idea to call Jan and beg her to let Tina play hooky. To Lori’s amazement, Jan had agreed. She was going to drive down later and meet them at a restaurant called Marker 88—fittingly, since it was at mile marker 88 along U.S. 1, the ribbon of road running from Miami to Key West.
It wasn’t hard to keep convers
ation flowing on the way down—the kids never shut up. Tina was thrilled to be out of school, and Brendan was thrilled to have Tina with them. They talked about the latest movies, music—who was coming to what arena next—books, birds, plants, and crocodiles.
They stopped in Key Largo at a mom-and-pop place for breakfast; it was rustic, pleasant, and right on the water with a little spit of beach. While Sean paid the tab and the kids wandered back toward the car, Lori found herself doffing her shoes and strolling out toward the water. It was glorious. With a clear blue sky above her, the bay was at its most beautiful, true turquoise in color, the waves rolling in with a gentle, beguiling motion.
She closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun as it touched her flesh. The sweet, deceptive coolness of the breeze swept over her. She loved the feeling. She had missed it. New York had water, and the world’s most spectacular skyline. But this was home, this tropical balm, her flesh being kissed by a soft spray of salt, the radiant fingers of the sun, the caress of the breeze.
She opened her eyes, aware that Sean stood just slightly behind her, watching her. He’d stripped off his shirt, and was barefoot. He might not have been living in the intense heat of South Florida, but he’d spent some good time in the sun. His muscled shoulders and chest were deeply bronzed, glistening in the heat of the day. Hands on his hips, he surveyed her thoughtfully. She caught his eyes, flushed. “Great day, isn’t it?” she said.
He nodded. “I’ve missed it.”
“You’ve been away for years.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, then shrugged, looking across the water, eyes reflecting the blue of ocean and sky. “The Pacific is quite different, of course. So much time has gone by… so why did you hesitate when I asked you to come with me today?”
“You—you surprised me,” Lori said.
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