“You’re thinking that he must be local.”
“Would an outsider know that this is a road to nowhere? Would a stranger to the area risk being seen by taking the time he’d need to lay her out the way he did?”
“I wondered, too. As a matter of fact, I mentioned it to the chief. But before you start thinking that this narrows the field, you should know a couple of things. First of all, during the season, our population increases greatly. Remember that we’re a resort town. We get a lot of renters starting Memorial Day weekend. Renters and summer people who move down in June and stay right on through September. And keep in mind, a lot of folks have rented here for years. Add to all that the fact that there’s a big high school reunion next week, and you have a lot of people who are well acquainted with the traffic patterns.”
“What year reunion is it?” he asked.
“All years. They just built a new high school, and they’re taking down the old one. So we have people coming down from the 1930s classes clear on through to last year’s class.”
“Swell,” he muttered. “Not much chance of narrowing it down, is there?”
“We can maybe eliminate certain years. I mean, I doubt anyone past the age of, say, sixty-five or so would have been strong enough to overcome our last victim. She’d been taking karate lessons for about four months, so she had some basic skills in self-defense. Someone too much older would have had a tough time with her. I’d have expected to see more defensive wounds on her. As you know, there were none.”
“Maybe we should bring in one of our profilers, get a little insight into this guy, get some ideas as to why he’s doing what he’s doing.”
Cass shrugged. “Fine with me.”
“I’ll call and see what we can arrange. Maybe we can get someone here early in the week. Hopefully by then we’ll know what that trace fiber is, the threads that were found in the vics’ hair.”
“You think that might be important to the profiler?”
“I think whatever it is, it’s part of what he needs to do to make this thing work for him.”
“His signature.”
“Yes. I think whatever it is, it has to do with his signature.”
“Did you want to look around a little more?” She gestured vaguely.
“What’s back this way?” Rick tilted his head to the right.
“It’s a bird sanctuary.”
Rick parted the rushes that grew almost to the roadway and walked farther into the marsh. Cass leaned back against the car, waiting for him to return. Two days ago she’d walked the entire length of the fence that enclosed the bird sanctuary. She knew he’d find nothing of interest there.
“Any other way in?” he asked as he walked toward her.
“There’s a dirt road about a half mile up toward the highway. It winds through the marsh, sort of a loop, then out again on the opposite side.”
“What’s the main attraction?”
“In the sanctuary?” She thought it over, then replied, “I guess the blinds are pretty popular during the migration times—we’re just coming to the end of one of those. Heavy bird migrations mid-to late-April through mid-June, then again in the early fall. There’s a big bird count on New Year’s Day every year. And there’s a cabin where you can buy bird books, bird calls, that sort of thing. You can ride through in your car, follow the loop around, or you can stop at the observation posts. There are several of those. Places where you can get out of your car and walk a sort of wooden boardwalk farther into the marsh.”
“Sounds as if you’re well acquainted.”
“My mother was part of the group that petitioned the state to set up the sanctuary. It was her favorite place. She spent a lot of her spare time here, training guides, walking the wetlands to look for injured birds, tracking rare birds and photographing them. She even worked in the gift shop when they got shorthanded, though she much preferred being outside.”
“She sounds like quite the nature girl.”
“Yes, she was.”
“Was?”
“She died when I was six.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So was I. Anything else you want to see?”
Rick looked around, his glance returning to the bird sanctuary.
“I think I’d like to drive that loop on the way back, if you can spare a few more minutes.”
“Sure.”
Cass got into the car and started it up, waiting while Rick fastened his seat belt before making a U-turn in the middle of the road. She drove the half mile, then took a right on the rutted dirt road.
“It would be nice if the county or the state could get around to paving this one of these days,” she said as she stopped in front of the long wooden gate that stretched across the roadway.
“Is it locked?” Rick asked.
“No, I’m sure it’s just closed. Lots of people come out here. You can see by the tire marks there’s been a lot of activity over the past few days since the rain.”
Rick got out of the car and walked to the gate. He lifted it and moved it to one side. Cass pulled the car up and he got back in.
They drove in silence for a few minutes, the road winding slowly, dividing the preserved area in two, the salt flats on one side and the more solid ground of the marsh on the other.
“There’s one of the blinds.” She pointed to a wooden structure that sat surrounded by tall rushes and cattails. “That one looks out over the marsh, so if it’s marsh birds you’re interested in, you might spend some time there.”
She pointed out several more blinds along the way.
“This one was named for my mother,” she told him when she stopped at the top of the loop. “It looks out into the bay. One time during the migrations in the spring—when the birds fly from South America to the Arctic?—she brought me with her to watch the birds gobble up the horseshoe crab eggs on the beach down there. It’s not as dramatic as it is on the Delaware Bay, but it was certainly something to see. At least for a six-year-old. All those birds swooping around, calling and scolding …”
She sat for a silent moment, then drove on, but not before he saw the sign on the side of the road. Dedicated to the memory of Jenny Burke, whose tireless work helped turn a swamp into a sanctuary.
“Seen enough?” she asked.
He nodded. “I think so.”
She accelerated, heading for the exit, then paused to wave on an incoming car, then drove out through the gate.
The driver of the other car slowed to a stop as Cass passed, watching in his rearview mirror from behind dark glasses as she negotiated the bumpy dirt road.
She had no way of knowing he would sit and stare after her until her car had long since disappeared.
Ten
“Hey, I thought you weren’t going to work all day.”
Lucy, who was sitting on the top step of the front porch, painting her toenails a deep red, called to Cass even before she had the car door closed behind her.
“I got tied up.”
“I hope he was cute.” Lucy raised one foot and wiggled her toes. “What do you think? Is it too dark? Would it look better if I were tanner?”
“It looks fine,” Cass said without looking. The color of her cousin’s toenails was the last thing on her mind.
“So, was he?”
“Was who what?”
“Was he cute?” Lucy grinned. “You were meeting with that FBI guy this morning, right?”
Cass paused on her way up the stairs.
“Actually, he was, I guess.”
“You guess?” Lucy laughed out loud.
“Yeah, I guess he was okay.”
“What did he look like? Tall, dark, and handsome?”
“That fits.” Cass stepped around Lucy and went into the house.
“Hey, come back here!” Lucy got up awkwardly and followed Cass inside, walking on her heels to avoid smearing the polish. “You can do better than that. And what’s his name? Was he nice?”
“Lucy, this wasn’t a
blind date. He’s with the FBI. He’s only here to help us out with these killings.”
Lucy pulled two chairs out from under the kitchen table, sat in one, and propped her feet up on the other.
“But you must have had an impression of him. You spent all day in his company.”
“Okay, my impression is that he’s very smart, very professional. He wasn’t what I expected at all.” Cass rummaged in the refrigerator, which was filled to near-capacity, thanks to Lucy’s trip to the local market. She brought out a block of cheddar cheese and set it on the counter while she looked for a knife.
“I bought a cheese slicer,” Lucy told her. “It’s in the drawer with the flatware.”
“This?” Cass held up the slicer and Lucy nodded.
“There are crackers in the cupboard next to the cereal, but don’t eat too much. I bought crabs for dinner.” Lucy shook the bottle of nail polish, then opened it and began to paint the fingernails on her left hand to match her toes. “It was for myself because I didn’t hear from the kids this morning. They’re supposed to call on Saturdays, right? I figured they probably called home and talked to their dad and he probably didn’t remind them to call me on my cell phone, so I went food shopping and stopped at the Crab Shack, thinking we could pig out later. Well, there I was, in line, waiting for our crabs to be cooked to order, and doesn’t my cell phone ring?”
Lucy paused to beam.
“And there were my babies, both of them. They did call home, and they had forgotten my number, so David gave it to them and told them to charge the call to the house phone—I should thank him, I guess—so I got to talk to both of the boys. I almost cried, I was so happy to hear from them.”
“How are they doing?”
“Having the time of their lives, and no injuries so far.” She knocked on the wooden cabinet. “They want to stay for an extra session. You’d think two weeks of football, two weeks of lacrosse would be enough, but nooooo. They want two weeks of ice hockey as well.”
“What did you tell them?”
“I told them to take it up with their father. I guess I’d rather have them at camp having fun than home dodging bullets between David and me.” Lucy looked as if she was about to cry. “The longer they stay at camp, the longer I can put distance between me and David. The longer I have to think about what I want to do, where I want to go …”
She stared out the window for a time.
“Anyway, it was so good to hear their voices. I miss them every day. They’ve never been away from me for more than a long weekend.”
“They’re eleven this year?”
Lucy nodded.
“I guess that’s old enough.”
“Old enough for what?”
“Old enough to go a few weeks without seeing their momma.”
“Oh, you.” Lucy laughed. “I’ll see them next weekend. I can’t wait. I know it’s not even been a week, but I miss them. Parents can go for visits after the second week, so I’ll drive up on Saturday for a while. You’re welcome to come with me if you like.”
“We’ll see. As much as I’d like to see Kyle and Kevin again, I hate to commit to anything. With the investigation and all.”
“I understand.” Lucy bit the inside of her lip. “I guess I need to find out when David is going to be there. So I can go at a different time.”
“The boys won’t think that’s odd? That you don’t go together?”
“I’ll just tell them that I’ve come up from the beach, which would be the absolute truth.” She waved a hand at Cass. “Now, go on. You were talking about how … what’s his name? The FBI guy?”
“Rick Cisco.”
“Cisco? Like the Cisco Kid?”
“I can’t imagine anyone calling him that and living to tell about it,” Cass mused, “but yes, like the Cisco Kid.”
“So you were telling me how he wasn’t what you’d expected.”
“I’ve never worked directly with the FBI before, but from everything I’ve heard, they’re a pain in the ass to deal with. Like, once they come into an investigation, they take over. They like to be in charge. Their way or the highway. And that once the case has been solved, they take the credit. If the case goes bad, they put the blame on the locals.”
“You think that’s the way this guy, Cisco, is going to do it?”
“Well, we’ll see. He says we’ll be working together, equally. He’s not going to take over the case, he’s not going to claim credit once we catch this guy, yada yada yada. The jury’s still out on him.” She paused to reflect. “And he was adamant that we would catch this guy.”
“Well, that’s a good thing, right? You want to work with someone who has that kind of confidence, right?”
Cass nodded.
“I want so badly to catch this bastard. And soon. It’s been over a week.” She shook her head. “Every day he’s out there, some other poor woman is at risk.”
“You think the Cisco Kid can make a difference?”
“He’s another pair of experienced hands. That alone makes a difference.” Cass cut off a paper-thin slice of cheese. “Want one?”
“No, thanks. Not right now.” Lucy bent close to the table as she applied polish to a fingernail. “So what did you do with him today?”
“Gave him a copy of each of the victims’ files. Took him to all four crime scenes.” Cass went back to the fridge for a beer. “Last one. Want half?”
“Actually, I’d love half. Thanks.”
Cass got two glasses out of the cupboard and split the beer equally between them. She set one on the table in front of Lucy, who was still absorbed in polishing her nails, and took a thoughtful sip from the other.
“He wanted to go through the bird sanctuary,” she said.
“Why?”
“He just wanted to see what was there, behind the fence, since our last victim was found right outside there, on Bay Lane.”
“I haven’t been out there in …” Lucy tried to remember. “I don’t even know how long it’s been since I was there. Maybe not since I was a kid.”
“I hadn’t gone in years.”
“Remember when your mom used to take us there?”
“Yes.” Cass took another sip, then said softly, “They put a memorial up, near one of the blinds. A plaque with her name on it.”
“That’s really nice, Cass.” Lucy put the brush into the polish bottle. “Hadn’t you seen it before?”
Cass shook her head. “I sort of remember someone sending me a letter some years ago, that they were going to dedicate something, but I think I was still in college at the time and missed it completely.”
“I’d like to see it. Can we go?”
“I’d be happy to take you tomorrow,” Cass told her, “but right now, I’m so tired, I just want to sleep. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Nope. Not at all.”
“No parties you can’t miss tonight?”
“Actually, someone at the clambake did mention something about a party tonight, but since you were such a sport, going out with me last night when you were so beat, I wasn’t even going to mention it.”
“You could go alone, you know. You really don’t need me to tag along.”
“I’m just not ready to go places alone.” Lucy held up one hand against the argument she knew would be forthcoming. “Don’t say it. I know how old I am. I know all that. It’s just that, after so many years of being married, I’m not used to going places alone, not social places, anyway. I know that must sound silly to you, but you’ve always been so independent, Cass, you’ve never needed to lean on anyone. If I ever had any real confidence in myself, I must have lost it somewhere along the way. I guess I need to work myself into my new life gradually.” She tightened the lid on the polish and set it aside, then picked up her glass and drank from it. “Besides, I don’t mind hanging out with you. I like your company.”
“Thanks, Luce.”
“Why don’t you take a nap, and I’ll run out and pick up a DVD or two, and we
can do beer and popcorn and movies tonight?”
“Beer and pretzels?” Cass asked.
“Sure.”
“That would be great. Thanks.” Cass rose and started toward the steps. “And there’s nothing I want more right now than a nap. I can barely keep my eyes open.”
“Do it. I’ll go now. Can you think of anything else you might want?”
“Right now I can’t think, period. But thanks.” Cass was almost to the top step. “Nothing that a little sleep won’t cure …”
He was in the video store, playing nice uncle to his nephews, when she walked through the door. Even the air around him seemed to change, seemed to charge with something vital and alive.
She was beautiful. Her body, her face. Her long dark hair.
“Can we get this one? Can we?” His five-year-old nephew tugged at his sleeve.
“Sure.” He nodded without taking his eyes from her. “Get whatever you want.”
“Can I get a big box of Raisinets?”
“Sure.”
“Can I get one, too?” The older of the two boys asked.
“Sure. Whatever you want. Go ahead. I’ll wait here.”
He watched her move through the stacks of movies, and without thinking, followed as if drawn to her by an invisible force.
This one. This one. This one …
The closer he got, the more perfect she appeared to be.
He walked toward her, then behind her. She glanced up when he brushed against her.
“Sorry,” he said. “These narrow aisles …”
She smiled and stepped aside to allow him to pass. He looked at the movie in her hands. Sister Act.
“That’s a fun one,” he said, smiling in his warmest, most casual manner. “My nephews liked it a lot.”
“Whoopi Goldberg and some singing nuns.” She smiled back. “What’s not to like?”
“Hey, we’re ready to go now.”
One of the little bastards was at his elbow.
The other appeared right behind him. “Can we go home now?”
“Sure, boys.” He tried to beam affectionately at them, wasn’t sure he’d gotten it right, but she didn’t seem to notice. She’d already moved on. “Sure …”
Cold Truth Page 11