The cop sat back. Benji nodded slowly, then raised his hand and waved at a gray-haired waitress, who in turn nodded and headed for the cash register. Benji wrapped one large arm around his tiny sister’s shoulders. A totally unconvincing smile slid across her face.
“Sorry, I should be doing introductions. Jack Brooks, I’d like you to meet Officer Stephen Burne and my brother, Benjamin Duff, the dastardly dog thief. Watch out, Benji—Jack’s a reporter from Torchlight News in Toronto.”
Was she actually making fun of him? No, she was probably just frightened and trying to break the tension. The least he could not was not make things harder for her.
“Nice to meet you.” Jack shook hands around the table.
Benji smiled widely. He pumped Jack’s hand. “I didn’t steal Harry. He just showed up at the sports store this morning and wanted to hang out. I hopped in the truck to come meet the ferry and see if you wanted to grab some food, Meg, and Harry jumped in for the ride. After I parked the car, Officer Burne came over and told me Bert McCarthy called the police accusing me of dognapping.”
Burne rolled his eyes. “Your brother’s agreed to return the dog to McCarthy tonight. Old coot is lucky we don’t charge him for letting his dog run around town without a collar on.”
The waitress raised a bill in their direction. The officer opened his wallet, but Benji waved him off. “No, this one’s on me. Harry ate most of the donuts anyway.”
The reporter watched as Benji went over to the counter and settled the bill. Normally Jack could get a lot out of watching someone do the simplest things, which was what made meeting Benji so perplexing. There was just something so easygoing, cheerful and transparent about the large, bearded man. Most people, including Officer Burne, tended to flinch a little when he said he was a reporter. But Benji had just grabbed his hand like a man who had nothing to hide.
Jack’s every instinct had flared when that drunken kid blurted out that Meg’s little brother might have a history with the law. But now? No, he couldn’t believe it was true. While he’d still do a criminal background check on Benji, just to be thorough, somehow he already knew it would come up empty.
“You remember my son, Malcolm?” Burne said. “He and my daughter-in-law, Alyssa, came in on the ferry. He’s a rookie cop in Toronto, but he’s thinking of moving up here to join his old man. Alyssa’s hoping to start her own wedding business. Might give you some competition.”
Benji returned to the table with a pair of bright pink flip-flops for Meg, which Jack could only assume he’d managed to borrow from someone while sorting the bill. The four of them headed out of the diner for the relative privacy of Burne’s police car. They’d barely gone five steps along the sidewalk before Meg bumped into a young couple, whom she introduced as the bride and groom she’d been escorting on the ferry.
Jack’s inner reporter sized them up. The young bride, Rachel, was stunning but in a rather generic way—blond, with a slender, athletic frame and a plastic beauty-pageant smile, which she’d plastered onto her face in an apparent attempt to hide the obvious irritation in her eyes. The groom, Wesley, was skinny and twitchy, with a mop of chestnut curls and small horn-rimmed glasses. Nervous because Meg introduced Jack as a reporter? Because Burne was a cop in uniform? Or simply because he was getting married in two days? It was impossible to tell. But Jack couldn’t help noticing how Rachel’s fingers clutched her fiancé’s arm, and that while everyone smiled politely, a thin tremor of tension ran through the small talk they exchanged. The bride was preoccupied with the reception details and seemed oblivious of Meg’s state. No wonder Meg had wanted to get away from them on the ferry. Just five seconds in the company of these two and already he was eager to go.
He also noticed that when the bride asked why Meg hadn’t met them at the docks, Meg didn’t say a word about being attacked, let alone thrown overboard. She’d only smiled professionally, apologized and promised yet again to call them later.
For some reason that bothered him. Could he really expect her to just spill the story out to this young couple, sharing her troubles and fears two days before what was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives? Even if she was willing to burden them like that, would it really be professionally appropriate? No. Not quite. Yet his whole career was based on knowing that keeping the wrong things to yourself only put other people at risk. At risk of what, though? Did he really think the Raincoat Killer was about to infiltrate their wedding? The bride was young and rather beautiful, after all.
He didn’t know. That was the problem. It wasn’t as if he’d expected the killer to attack Meg on the ferry either. How could anyone possibly defend herself against an unknown, unseen threat?
Ten minutes later, they were sitting in Burne’s police cruiser with the windows up. Not quite the private room Jack would have hoped for, but with the closest police station half an island away, it would have to do. Meg and the officer sat in the front seat. Jack, Benji and Harry the dog were crowded in the back. Burne had called his supervisor into the conversation and was taking copious, conscientious notes as first Meg and then Jack relayed what had happened on the ferry.
“We’re going to be calling an emergency meeting in with the various island police services.” Burne turned to Jack. “The island actually has more than one police service, including both Aboriginal and provincial forces. It’s important that everyone get up to speed. We’ll have you two tell your stories and then strategize a response. If there is a serial killer on our island, we’ll take every precaution to make sure that people are aware, alert and safe.” Then the cop turned back to Meg. “In the meantime, why don’t we head back to the ferry and get your car and belongings?”
Jack glanced up through the window toward the overcast sky. Thunder rumbled in the dark and distant clouds. Thank You, Lord! After everything he’d gone through in Toronto, the police here looked as though they were taking the threat seriously.
* * *
Meg walked slowly through the bowels of the ferry’s parking deck. The slap of borrowed flip-flops echoed loudly in an empty room, as dark and silent as catacombs. Something about the claustrophobic space always gave her the creeps. The sight of it now, totally bare except for her car sitting alone in the back row, didn’t help matters. Officer Burne walked silently beside her. Everything about the cop radiated how seriously he was taking matters—which somehow didn’t help the tight knots of nerves in her chest. What she needed right now was someone to help lighten the mood, not to remind her with every concerned glance of just how terrified she’d been above-deck, not that much more than a couple of hours earlier. But her brother would have been the one most likely to cheer her up, and she’d insisted that Benji return Harry the dog to McCarthy’s farm before the cranky old man had a heart attack. Meanwhile, Jack had gone above-deck with a member of the ferry’s crew to get his bag.
The backseat of her small blue hatchback was down, and crammed with bags from her shopping trip to the mainland. Burne opened the door for her. “Drive down the ramp and wait for me in the parking lot. I will go check with Mr. Brooks, and then we’ll head over to the police station in tandem. Okay?”
“Absolutely. No problem.”
He closed the door for her, then patted the roof of her car, as if giving it his stamp of approval. She hid a smile. As jittery as she was, she was sure she could handle driving down a ramp and parking her car just fine. She locked the doors anyway.
Meg started the engine and began inching the car slowly through the ferry. She glanced up to the rearview mirror. Burne was watching. She refused to believe that what had happened on the ferry had been anything other than a random attack. Brutal, terrifying, life-shaking—and yet not the slightest bit personal. Now she would have to focus on healing her frightened heart and trusting it to God so that the killer didn’t steal away the peace in her soul. And it would be in the hands of the authorities to protect all of t
he women on the island by making sure he never struck again. Dear Lord, help them. Help me.
She reached the end of the deck and gently pressed the brakes as she eased her car down the ramp. Something rustled behind her seat. Shopping bags fell over, spilling their contents around the car. A dark shadow rose to fill the rearview mirror.
She looked up, and into the deep, menacing hood of an orange raincoat.
FIVE
Jack was halfway down to the car deck when he heard Meg scream. He leapt down the stairs and burst through the door, just in time to see Meg’s car lurch forward. The hatchback shot down the ramp and clipped the railing. Dear Lord, protect her from... From whatever was making her screams shake the air and tear holes through his heart.
The car hit the bottom of the ramp, spun sideways on the wet pier and plowed into the deck’s guardrail. Jack ran toward it. The unmistakable silhouette of a hooded raincoat filled the window. His fear spurred him faster, even as he heard Officer Burne pounding through the ferry behind him. The car door fell open and Meg tumbled out onto the ground.
Her eyes met his, wild with panic. “He’s in the car!”
The hooded form disappeared from the back window. Was he crouching? Hiding? Searching for something? Had he hoped she’d drive somewhere secluded where he could secretly and cruelly end her life?
Meg was running toward Jack now. But his eyes were focused on the car.
“Jack!” Meg grabbed his arm.
He pulled away and brushed past her.
“Jack! Stop! What are you doing?”
But he’d already reached the car. No movement from the mess of fallen bags in the back. He lunged into the open driver door. “Get out! Now!”
Nothing. Jack yanked the trunk release lever. The hatchback popped open, spilling packages over the ground.
“Get away from the car, Mr. Brooks!” Officer Burne had arrived behind him now, and Jack was just about to turn when something inside the car caught his eye, sending his pulse pounding in frustration.
“Please,” the cop said, “step back and let me do my job!” There was the click of a gun’s safety pulling back. “Please, do not make me arrest you.”
“There’s no one here! There never was.” Jack yanked something out from between the seats. Then he turned around, holding it and both hands above his head. It was an empty orange raincoat.
* * *
Forty minutes later Jack was sitting at a round table in a small room crowded with a handful of representatives of the various police services. Meg sat across the table. Her eyes bored holes in the surface in front of her. The damage to her car had been nothing more than surface dents. Jack had offered to drive it to the station for her, while Meg went on ahead with Burne.
She hadn’t looked his way once since he arrived. Was she upset with him for running past her to the car like that? Surely she realized the danger had been minimal and the potential break in the case had been huge. It wasn’t as if he’d put her life in danger. Especially as it turned out there hadn’t actually been anyone in the back of her car.
“The raincoat was looped through a worn piece of molding on the sunroof, with a paper clip and a piece of clear fishing line,” Jack said. “All things the killer could have found in the back of the car. He then ran the wire under the seat and attached it to the brake so that whenever Ms. Duff hit the brake hard enough the coat would pop up.” Terribly simple, but probably terrifying to witness. “It’s a cruel trick, which marks a distinct change of behavior from what we already know about the so-called Raincoat Killer.”
Heads nodded around the table. These cops weren’t just listening; they were taking him seriously. Big change from how his journalistic research had been treated by law enforcement in Toronto. A very nice change. Then again, the cops in Toronto had been investigating the deaths of three seemingly unconnected women in a city of millions. Considering everything even he’d seen and heard in his years as a reporter, it was no surprise the Toronto police got a bit jaded sometimes.
Thankfully, life in a small town was a whole world away from that.
“Mr. Brooks, do you know why a serial killer from Toronto would possibly come all the way up here?” Burne asked.
The island police had apparently contacted investigators in Toronto, who’d promised to send up their records tomorrow. Until then, Jack found himself in the unlikely position of being the closest thing police services had to an expert on the deadly killer now stalking their remote, idyllic island.
“No, sir.” Jack leaned his forearms on the table. “I don’t know for certain. I can tell you there were Manitoulin Island ferry schedules in all three of the crime scenes. One had today’s afternoon ferry circled.” He glanced toward Meg, willing her to meet his eyes. She didn’t. “That same crime scene also had a flyer for Ms. Duff’s business.”
Big blue eyes looked up and met his, winsome and fringed with dark lashes. His arms ached to give her the hug he’d neglected to give her after she crashed her car. She’d reached out for him. She’d wanted his support. But then there’d been the police, and questions to be answered, and he’d wanted to figure out exactly what the killer had done to her car....
“So you decided to hop on that specific ferry and come all the way up here, just in case there was a connection?” The question came from a female officer in the corner, whose name he hadn’t quite caught. He couldn’t tell whether she was impressed or amused. “Your editor must have a lot of faith in you.”
There was an unsettled feeling in his stomach. “Actually, Officer, my boss gave me a few days off and told me to let him know how the hunch panned out.” The cop was still staring at him. “I’ve already had it pointed out to me that I could have just phoned around, instead of making the trip. But it’s one thing to see a picture of an island on a flyer or to hear a stranger’s voice on the phone. It’s a whole different thing to walk around a place, see it for yourself and get a feel for it.”
Meg rubbed her eyes. Officer Burne said something to her that Jack couldn’t quite hear.
Then the officer held up his hand. “Sorry to interject, but Ms. Duff’s had quite the ordeal today, and it seems like everyone’s done questioning her for now. So if no one has any objections, maybe we can thank her for her time and let her go home?”
There was a general nod and murmur around the table. Then Burne walked Meg out.
“Excuse me.” Jack glanced around the table. “I need a moment.” There was an interminable pause, some hushed conferring and then somebody called a fifteen-minute break. Jack forced himself not to run after her.
He found Meg standing outside. Her face was lit in the faint glow of the sun setting behind dark orange clouds. Her arms were wrapped around herself. Her eyes were turned toward the dying light and filled with a look so haunted that Jack’s every impulse was to sweep her up into his arms.
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You leaving?”
She nodded. “Officer Burne is just checking on something and then he’s going to follow me home.” She let out a long breath. “I’m still in the clothes I was wearing when I fell overboard. While they were dry enough to give a statement in, they hardly feel clean. And anyway, I need to check in with Rachel, and she’s hardly an easy bride to deal with.” Her shoulders fell. “Plus, I’m starving. I haven’t had anything to eat since lunch, which now feels like a day ago.”
Jack glanced at his watch. It was after seven. He still needed to call his editor, Vince, fill him in on what had happened and tell him that he was about to deliver one hefty knockout of a story, which had the potential to change everything.
Even though the beautiful, extraordinary woman standing next to him now was probably going to hate him for it.
His chest ached. Everything he knew about her, everything he’d seen since meeting her, told him that Meg was a strong, confident woman wh
o was more than capable of rising above any fallout or negative attention, which might possibly come from being named as the sole survivor of a serial killer. Sure, his story might raise a few uncomfortable questions from her prospective clients or send some press headed her way for a while. But it wasn’t as if it would ruin her. Why couldn’t she see that the story of what had happened today needed to be made public?
Besides, it wasn’t as if he had much of a choice.
“Meg?” She turned toward him, standing so close the tips of her flip-flops nearly brushed against his toes. “What would you say if, when I was done here, we met up for dinner somewhere? To talk through everything that’s happened.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “As two people? Or as a reporter and the person he’s trying to interview?”
“Can’t it be both?”
Meg’s eyes searched his face for a long moment. She shook her head. “No.”
“No to dinner or no to the interview?”
“No to both.” Her voice was firm. “Like I told you before, I will be extremely thankful every day of my life that you were there and jumped overboard to save me. But I will not help you wreck my life by writing about it.”
He could feel the tension rising in the back of his neck. She had to know how the press worked. She couldn’t be that naive. “You do realize that I have to tell my editor what happened here today, and he will expect me to write about it. I don’t need your permission. I saw a madman in an orange raincoat throw you off that ferry with my very own eyes.”
Her arms crossed. “Trust me, I know all about what reporters can and can’t do. Like too many people, I guess, I learned the hard way. But it means I know that any editor worth his ink is going to want to make sure that someone is willing to back up your story. I’ve already asked the police not to leak my name to the press, which leaves me as your only corroborating source. If I make it clear that I will not confirm the facts of your story, would your editor still run it?”
Deadline (Love Inspired Suspense) Page 4