"Arrogant, jerk,” she fumed, pushing out the door of the police station and heading up the street.
Her step faltered as she ranted, immune to the stares of a few passers-by. Who cared if she talked to herself? It was a free country. She slowed her pace and concentrated on her breathing.
"Find your center. Relax.” She fingered the smooth stones in her pocket—blue sapphire to promote mental toughness, sugilite for courage of conviction and uncomfortable situations like the one she'd just had, and citrine to prevent her from stifling her feelings. “Closed-minded Neanderthal."
Her temper gradually subsided so she could think clearly again. His superior attitude had distracted her, and she needed to focus. Her skin, juiced by the electricity Jake Austin put off, still tingled.
It happened before. The words of the killer were loud and clear. What did it mean? She had to find her quiet place and recall every word he'd spoken. It meant something and she needed to find out what.
With the top down on her sleek convertible, Allison headed out of town on Interstate 95 to go check out some of her competitors’ work. The black leather seats glistened in the sun and her favorite CD blared tunes on the open road. Focusing on lush scenery and her next window design, colors of cloth and Egyptian props danced through her head. She'd use earth tones, bold crimson with royal blue woven in, symbolizing the blood of life in hot desolation. A sarcophagus and various idols placed in strategic positions, so as not to distract from the gowns which would be on display. She continued her calculations, dashing from place to place all afternoon.
Allison went immediately to the high school upon her return to Gloucester. She sat in her parked car, bathed by the sun, her reason for doing so unknown. She watched the boats in the Blynman Channel.
Fifteen minutes passed.
"This is ridiculous, Allison. What are you doing?"
She turned the ignition and shifted to drive. The oddest feeling of being watched slithered across her neck, so she sped away. Exasperated and unsure of where this all would lead, Allison rounded the last leg of her tree-covered drive to find Paul Kincaid casually leaning against his silver luxury car. Although surprised, she greeted him with a friendly smile.
"Hello, Paul. To what do I owe the house call?"
"I'm not on the clock, Allison,” he said, straightening. “Just on my way home and thought I'd come by to see how you're doing."
"This isn't on your way home.” She laughed. “Come on in."
He followed her into the house, but she still felt an itch between her shoulder blades, like eyes in the middle of her back. She led the way into the kitchen and motioned him to the bar, where gingham-covered stools hid. “Have a seat."
She filled the teapot, put it on the stove and turned to face her visitor. “Why are you really here, Paul?"
Paul pulled out a stool to sit, laying his keys on the speckled counter. “I've been concerned since you came to my office. I know you haven't been sleeping well ... it shows. I thought perhaps I could give you a prescription to help you sleep."
The smile she managed was weak, a tentative lift at the corners. “I thought you were off the clock.” She leaned against the stove, wanting to keep up the doctor/patient distance.
"I'm asking as a friend, Allison.” Paul sounded more than a little frustrated, and she felt a flicker of guilt.
"Thanks, but no thanks,” she said, turning off the burner as the kettle whistled. “I don't want any more drugs."
"Eventually your body will crumble from exhaustion. Your nerves are shot, and I didn't even need an M.D. to diagnose that,” he said with a grim smile. “How much longer can you expect to go on like this?"
"As long as I need to,” she answered, pouring hot water into two cups.
"It's not healthy. That, I am saying as your doctor."
She handed him his cup, then turned away to get the honey. “I'll be fine, Paul. Really."
He leveled his gaze on her face while he drank. Those were doctor's eyes he watched her with, scanning, noticing every weakness.
"Your concern is duly noted. If I think I need anything, I'll call.” She cradled her cup between her hands welcoming the warmth, and looking deeply into the thick brown liquid. “Right now, I just want to be alone."
[Back to Table of Contents]
CHAPTER NINE
Something nagged at Jake. He'd felt a change the minute Allison Brody had walked into the room, energy so strong his skin tingled and the hairs on his neck stirred. Her shining dark hair shimmered with auburn and those deep brown eyes were like warm chocolate. For an instant, he fell into a scene where her firm body held tight against him and his fingers teased those curly locks, while his tongue explored her mouth. “Hell,” he murmured.
"What do you think?” Lancaster, who obviously hadn't been affected by her, asked.
Running his hand across his stubbled jaw-line, Jake wrestled with his thoughts before saying, “I'm not sure.” He looked at the other man. “Check her out, would you?"
"Sure."
* * * *
"Caprizzi's already been in here twice this morning,” Linc Anderson told Jake over the phone. “It won't be long before he puts this together, and then both our asses are grass. He'll probably send me to do customs in Panama."
Jake laughed. He imagined Linc at Quantico, hidden behind a door, speaking in whispers. Their boss, Vittorio Caprizzi, had that effect on just about everyone who came into contact with him. “He won't send you to Panama. Besides, I'm the one he'll focus on. You can slip quietly away."
Linc snickered. “Yeah, that'll work.” His tone sobered. “Seriously, Jake, the detective from Schenectady and the team confirmed the facts."
Jake tried to keep the desperation out of his voice. “I'm close, Linc, but it's different now."
"Different how?"
"He didn't leave a clue this time. I've been to the latest victim's house, but I found nothing.” Jake took a deep breath, and added, “Then there's this woman."
"Woman?” Linc's interest reached clearly through the phone.
Jake shook his head and said, “Forget it. It's not important."
"Okay. The team will be there soon."
"Thanks."
Six scenes, six verses, but only five clues. Allison Brody threw another variable into the mix. Her claims of seeing through the killer's eyes disturbed him. He wouldn't believe it, but she knew things, like the description of the women and when she said ‘sixth time lucky.'
How did she know this was the sixth murder? Could she be involved with the killer? He dismissed the thought because he knew this particular killer worked alone.
"Shit,” he muttered. He didn't need another kink in this already screwed up situation. Luck had a way of messing with him, so he knew he'd be seeing Allison Brody again. Jake didn't deny the magnetic pull. He chalked it up to his ongoing celibacy, but deep down, he felt a stronger attraction.
Lancaster entered the room with, from the smell of it, a cup of very strong coffee in one hand and some papers in the other. Jake drew his thoughts away from the case to look at the detective.
"Rough day?"
Lancaster grunted. “Meeting with the Chief, who'd had a meeting with the Mayor. Not the best kind of day."
Jake grinned. “Been there."
"So, have you come up with anything?” Lancaster looked hopeful.
"Nope."
The other man snorted. “Nope? Is that your official answer?"
"Unfortunately, it is. To be honest, I'm at a loss,” Jake said, running a hand through his mussed hair. “This goes against his usual MO. Something happened to change his routine."
"What do you think it could be?"
Jake leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “As much as I don't buy into the whole psychic bullshit, I'm sorry to say that maybe Witchy Woman might have something to do with it."
"You mean Ms. Brody?” Lancaster asked in disbelief.
"I'm just trying to keep all possibi
lities open at this point."
The seasoned cop set his cup down with a thump, sloshing some of the dark liquid on the table. “Gotcha. Open mind. Be the ball."
Jake laughed at the reference from an old movie. “We'll have to keep it quiet, but we might need to talk to her again. Did you dig up any information on her?"
Lancaster shuffled the papers he carried in before saying, “Her father was CEO of GTT Industries, a family business. Her parents were big into charities, always hosting events to raise money for one thing or another."
He paused to rub his eyes and sip his java. “About ten years ago, Michael and Christine Brody were killed in a car crash. They were survived by three children—Allison, Nicholas, and Lucy. A Gloucester Daily Times story said that Allison saw their deaths in a vision.” He looked up at Jake and then went back to reading.
"She's twenty-eight years old and is a window designer for R&N's Department Store, a local business. Her family comes from money, but she works anyway."
Jake digested the information as he gazed out the window. The pressure in his head increased with every word. “Interesting.” That explained her aversion to the police.
"The paper ran a small bit about the huge memorial service. Michael and Christine Brody were well-liked and how tragic for their kids."
Jake pulled the copy of the article toward him. A black and white picture of the three children standing next to the graveside lay on top. The boy, about sixteen, stood in the middle with his arms around both sisters. On his right stood a puffy-eyed little girl, Lucy, who clung to her brother, but Jake's gaze rested on the other daughter, just a hair taller than her brother, tense and unapproachable. Even with her brother's arm around her waist, she distanced herself. An unusual reaction, Jake thought, at the funeral of her parents. Sorrow-filled eyes sucked Jake in.
"You're scowling."
"Am I?” Jake consciously smoothed the lines from his forehead.
"Mmmm. So any more thoughts on the Brody woman?"
"A little.” Nothing he wanted to say out loud. Not yet.
"Slender, but kind of pretty, if you get past the pallor,” the older man chuckled.
"Too slim, nervous, very pale and I think more unusually beautiful,” Jake said. Haunted, that would more accurately describe Allison Brody.
"Beautiful, huh?” Lancaster's brow quirked. “So you were paying more attention than you seemed to be? Hmm,” he repeated with an amused grin on his face.
Turning Lancaster's focus away from Allison Brody, Jake said, “Have we heard anything about the autopsy on the vic?"
Lancaster shook his head. “How long has it been since you've relaxed, Austin?"
The corner of Jake's mouth rose. “Too damn long.” He breathed deep and rolled his eyes in Lancaster's direction. “The autopsy?"
The detective chuckled and shifted a little uncomfortably. “Okay, okay. Let's take a drive over to the morgue."
* * * *
"Hello, Bill,” a tall lanky man called as Lancaster came through the swinging doors.
"Hi ya, Steve. How's Elizabeth?"
"Fine, fine,” the elderly man replied. “She's just fine. We have the grandchildren visiting, so she's keeping busy."
He reached out his hand, and they shook companionably. Lancaster turned and motioned Jake to step forward.
"Steve, this is Special Agent Jake Austin. Jake, this is Steve Hallowell, the medical examiner."
"Agent,” the medical examiner nodded, shaking Jake's hand.
"Jake's helping on this recent homicide."
"Serial killer?” The sixty-something man raised an eyebrow.
"Perhaps."
"Well, let's go check with our most recent guest."
They headed toward the cold room, while Lancaster and Hallowell shared pleasantries. A line of sweat formed on Jake's top lip.
"We were wondering what you found in the autopsy."
The brightly lit morgue held little more than two tables, a wooden desk, and a chair. Jake hated this part of his job. Morgues always felt the same, cold and dead, hopeless.
Dreams ended here. Lives and hope ended here.
He casually palmed a small blue container and put some vaporub on his sweaty upper lip to combat the smell.
The dim gray walls and white ceiling painted a bleak picture, like some surreal horror movie. One florescent light flickered occasionally, warning it might desert them at any moment. But it was the smell he could never get used to, the smell of death. Along the back wall were rows of closed steel drawers housing who knew how many bodies.
One little, two little, three little dead ones, echoed in Jake's mind.
Suddenly, back in the barn on his parents’ ranch, he heard the chant and followed the sound. He came upon a small bale of hay with seven dead mouse corpses strewn across it, their bodies exhibited in a neat row, having been tortured in some fashion. Laughter taunted him, someone calling him.
"Austin."
The sound of his name jerked Jake back to his current surroundings. He realized the two men had spoken to him.
"Sorry.” He hurried over to the table where they stood. A sheet-draped body lay before them.
"You all right?” Bill Lancaster asked, eyebrows raised.
"Yeah, I just remembered something.” Jake tried to shake it off, to focus on the task at hand.
"You're not squeamish, are you?” Hallowell frowned.
"No,” Jake stated flatly.
"Ok, let's get started.” Hallowell opened the file. “Patricia Gardner, twenty-five years old, very good health."
He removed the sheet to reveal the woman's body. Bill Lancaster looked away for a moment, then turned his weary eyes back to the brutalized corpse.
"The bruises around the neck and collapsed trachea show she was strangled.” Hallowell pointed with a pencil.
"He's hands-on.” Jake related the fact in a dry monotone.
"With what was left of her insides,” the doctor continued, “I could tell she had eaten shortly before being killed."
Lancaster said, “Her husband told me she went out to dinner with girlfriends while he went to a game with some people from work. He claims they do it once a week."
Jake asked, “Same night every week?"
"Yep. Every Tuesday night,” Lancaster answered. After a moment, he added, “You don't think he just happened to find her, do you?"
"No. This UNSUB is very particular about his victims. They have to have a certain criteria.” Jake's mind engaged now.
"You'll see here,” Hallowell said, pointing to the disemboweled body, “whoever it is, knew what he was doing."
"According to what you've told me, this guy works with precision.” A little green around the gills Lancaster turned away from the corpse to face Jake.
"He does,” Jake affirmed.
"So there's no doubt this is your man?"
"No.” Jake was sure of it, certain there would be more.
"Well, we're checking out the husband's story anyway."
"I'd expect you would.” Jake looked up. “Thank you, Doctor, we'll be in touch."
"You know where I am,” Hallowell replied nodding. “I'll have the full report done by tomorrow."
"Thanks, Steve. Give my best to Elizabeth."
Hallowell waved his hands dismissively as he leaned over Patricia Gardner's remains.
Jake slid into the passenger seat and rested his head back. “All your ducks in a row,” he muttered to himself. “Bastard."
* * * *
The hours of day stretched on and the sun hung low. Allison wandered out her back door and down toward the cove. She loved this time of day more than any other. A slight breeze ruffled her hair and she pulled a shawl up over her shoulders. Everyone, including Dr. Lomax, insisted her problems wouldn't disappear just because she chose to be alone. Nick often told her to find a man, but she laughed it off. More than anyone, she knew her needs, and a man never made it on the list.
"Loneliness helps you gather strength.”
The small voice defied its owner, her dead grandmother, Yanni.
"This isn't going to be easy.” Allison didn't look at her when she said it.
"Did you think it would be little one?” Yanni's voice held exasperation.
"I'm not sure. The Feds are involved."
"No,” Yanni answered. “Just one for the time being."
"You know more than you're telling.” Allison hugged the shawl tighter.
"No, child. I only see small pieces of the puzzle. But I do know this is a path."
"A path?” God, she'd heard that more times than she could count, and still Allison had no idea what it meant.
"Yes. One that is yours. It has been here waiting for you to arrive."
Allison turned slightly, giving her grandmother a glare.
Yanni shrugged. “It is the way of things."
"And where does this path go?"
"I cannot see it,” she said. “'Tis cloudy and uncertain. The force beyond what I see is dark and ominous."
Allison shuddered. She'd felt that presence and he knew she had.
[Back to Table of Contents]
CHAPTER TEN
Allison felt stupid but didn't have any other ideas at the moment. She pulled up to St. Joseph's Chapel, which was the other location she had recognized in the vision. This time, she parked a block away and strolled up the street smiling at tourists who were starting their planned day. Casually, she went to the end of the street, walked around the side of the church, then back toward her car. Against her better judgment, but unwilling to sit idly by, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes and sent invisible feelers out. If she could sense something, find anything to lead the police in the right direction, it would be worth the sacrifice of her solitude.
Please, let me feel something. After several minutes, she gave up. He was nowhere around, at least not within her limited range. Dejected, she left to meet Kat.
* * * *
At the station, a young reporter waited anxiously for his first opportunity to get some good information on a breaking story.
"Detective.” The reporter ran up. “I'm Rory White, Gloucester Daily Times. I'd like to ask you some questions about the murder."
Together in Darkness Page 5