“But to be fair, they have their reasons. Every single murder was committed in a drastically different way, which is practically unheard of in serial killings. Raincoats are hardly rare in Canada this time of year. Plus, there were completely conflicting accounts on how big the killer was. Witness from one crime said he was small, another said he was big.”
The road curved sharply to the right. Trees filed past the window on one side, water on the other. Jack stared into his cup. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed my editor into running that story. But I was frustrated. Really frustrated. Women were dying. I guess I thought if I published the story, then it would force the police to do something. That if I stuck my neck out, investigators would take a harder look at the cases and find a connection that could lead to the killer, or politicians would put pressure on the police to dig deeper. I don’t know. I thought I was fighting for justice. Instead the chief of police himself denounces me and my publisher wants to fire me. My editor is trying to protect me, but there’s only so much he can do. He told me to use up some vacation days and take a break while things died down.”
“But you didn’t do that,” Benji said.
Jack barked out a laugh. “Of course not. There were Manitoulin Island ferry schedules near all three crime scenes. The final one had yesterday afternoon’s ferry circled. There was a flyer for your sister’s wedding business at the last crime scene too. So I woke up yesterday morning with no job to go to and decided to hop a bus up here to check out the ferry. Then I decided I might as well catch the ferry and visit the island for a couple of days. I saw your sister on the boat and decided to go over and talk to her.” He crumpled the cup and then shoved it back in the cup holder. “Guess you could say I haven’t exactly been planning all this through thoughtfully. I’m not like Meg with her meticulous spreadsheets. Instead I’ve just been running around like a headless chicken, chasing my instincts.”
The truck stopped. Jack looked up. They were in a small parking lot behind a row of shops.
Benji was looking at him. “So, what are you going to do to change that?”
“I don’t know if there’s anything I can do,” Jack said. “Everything in my gut says the serial killer was one of the hundreds of people on that ferry. But the ferry doesn’t keep a passenger list, and I have no idea how many people on that ferry even came from Toronto. In fact, there are only three men who I know for certain came up from southern Ontario yesterday, and Meg seems fully convinced none of them could possibly have committed the Toronto murders.”
Benji turned off the engine. “I didn’t ask what you could or couldn’t do. I asked what you were going to do. Sounds like your priority now is getting a story, right? How you going about that?”
Good question. Jack stared at the ceiling. “Well, if I was back at my desk I’d start by checking to see if Meg was right about that one guy she mentioned having an alibi for the murders. Duncan Kitts—the best man for the wedding she’s planning. She didn’t say anything directly against him, but I could tell from her expression that she doesn’t like him, and that’s good enough for me. I’d also try to see what I could find out about the groom, Wesley. Meg said he’s related to the young man who was driving the snowmobile during your accident?” Benji nodded. “Plus, I know for sure of one other man from Toronto who was on that ferry and who thinks I’m telling fairy tales—Officer Burne’s son, Malcolm. But Meg seems pretty convinced he can’t possibly be guilty, so I guess you’d feel the same.”
Benji grinned and got out of the truck. “It’s like this. A guy comes into my shop last week, convinced a bear shred his campsite. Black bear, he tells me. Or maybe a brown bear. Big, huge bear anyway. Now, I know a thing or two about where he went camping, and honestly, I’m pretty sure he just got spooked by a really fat raccoon.” He opened a door and walked through into the back of the sports shop. “But I wasn’t there. I don’t know for sure. So all I said to him is the exact same thing I’m going to say to you right now, ‘How can I help you fix the problem?’”
Jack followed him into the store. It was the most amazingly organized clutter he had ever seen. Canoes and paddles hung from the ceiling. Life jackets covered the far wall. Lawn chairs sat in front of a tent that had been set up in the middle of the store. Harry lay on a putting green. Benji nodded to a slim blond behind the counter, then headed for his office. “Now, I’ve got a place here for you to plug in your laptop, a phone you can use, a fax machine and an internet connection. Help yourself.”
“Thank you,” Jack said, feeling he was at risk of wearing out the words. There was a clutter of newspaper cutouts taped to the glass wall that divided the office from the rest of the store. Local Youths in Critical Condition After Snowmobile Crash. Snowmobile Safety Questioned After Fatal Accident. His eyes ran over the newsprint images of Benji’s and Chris’s young, wide-eyed faces. “I’m kind of surprised you’d want to be reminded of this every day.”
Benji shrugged. “It’s like this. I’m going to remember the accident my whole life. I gain nothing by fighting against what happened. All I can do is learn from it and move on. I’ve got nothing to hide. It was a terrible thing. I got physical therapy, emotional therapy, spiritual therapy and if I rolled up my pant leg right now, you’d see I’ve still got the scars. But let me guess, you tried to talk to Meg about it and she shot you down?”
“Yeah. She won’t even talk to me about what’s happened these past couple of days.”
“I’m not surprised. Talking about things frightens her now. I’ve practically begged Meg to talk to our pastor, a therapist, a doctor, a friend, me.” He shrugged. “She won’t. And if you try to push her too hard, she’ll cut you out completely.”
* * *
Late-afternoon sunlight spread through the store’s front windows and cast long shadows over the floor. The front door chimes jangled. Jack didn’t look up. So many people had gone in and out all afternoon that he’d long stopped noticing. When he was sunk deep into research, the rest of the world just faded into the background. Jack ran his hand over the back of his neck. How long had he been at this? Hours. Long enough to call in every favor he could get with every cop on the Toronto force who still believed in him, not to mention every friendly researcher at Torchlight. Long enough to have confirmed that even if Duncan, the best man, gave Meg the creeps his Arctic alibi was so solid there was no way he could have killed Krista or Eliza. He’d also discovered that Rachel, the bride, and Fiona, her maid of honor, were in arts programs similar to Krista’s, and had even auditioned for some of the same shows—along with hundreds of other women. He couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary on Wesley, except a leave of absence from school after the death of his parents. He even looked into Officer Burne’s son, Malcolm Burne, who seemed to be a good cop, though with a reputation for being a bit louder and more controlling than situations called for. Jack tried to avoid the temptation of reading what the Toronto press outlets were saying about him, and only partially succeeded. He’d just have to hope that when the investigator arrived from Toronto he’d actually be willing to take the case seriously.
Come on. There had to be something somewhere he was missing. A thread he could pull on. A lead he could chase. Yet every hunch he’d had was coming up dry.
At least he’d been able to get through to his friend Simon, who’d prayed with him on the phone for a good fifteen minutes, before asking Jack to email him any pictures he had of the people connected to the story. Simon had promised to show them around downtown just in case it turned up anything. You didn’t survive as a social worker in some of Toronto’s roughest neighborhoods without making a few trusted contacts.
Jack rolled his shoulders back and looked up through the clipping-covered office glass, out into the store. That’s when he saw her, standing by the front door. Meg had her back to him. Her face was turned toward the dark blue waters outside. The rays of the late afternoon sun
silhouetted her slender frame. Her arms slid around her body, fingers brushing the back of her neck. He felt his mouth go dry.
How could someone manage to look so strong and yet so fragile at the same time? She was carrying too many burdens already. He hated the thought of adding even more to her load.
Yet the bottom line was simple. His other research had turned up nothing. He was back to square one, with no other story and nothing else to offer Vince. If he didn’t write an article about Meg, he could kiss both his career and reputation goodbye. Which somehow meant convincing her to give him the very thing she was determined not to let him have.
Benji rapped on the divider. “Hey. You still awake in there?”
“Yeah.” Jack pressed his fingertips into his temples. “Thanks again for this.”
“Any time. I just hope it turned up something helpful.” Benji spun a thick key chain around on his fingers. “I’m just about to close up for the day. Meg brought her wedding group by, to get some supplies for their honeymoon yacht. So I’m going to help them run the supplies over and give the boat a quick checkup. As you know, the groom is the cousin of Chris Quay, and Meg thinks it might help if he and I have a chat. Maybe make him feel less nervous about getting married tomorrow.”
Jack nodded, even though he felt he was only catching half of what Benji was saying. He glanced past Benji. He couldn’t see the women, but Wesley was by the counter, clutching a mass of bags. A large, bald man was standing in the corner near the life jackets, typing on a phone and scowling. Guess that would be Duncan.
“So, you’re going to be okay if I leave you here alone for a bit?” Benji asked. “If you want to leave, just pull the door behind you. I’ve already put the lights on a timer, set the locks and switched on the security cameras.”
“Sure thing. Thanks.”
“Catch you later.” Benji clasped him on the shoulder. Then he disappeared back onto the sales floor. There was a rustle of bags. Muted conversation. A bark. Lights switched. A door slammed. Silence.
Jack unfolded his legs out from under the desk and stood. His whole body ached. The laptop and notes went back into his bag. Then he stepped out of the office and into the empty shop. For a moment he just let himself wander aimlessly, up and down aisles, drinking in the climbing equipment, hiking gear, harnesses and rafts. If it wasn’t for the threat of getting the ax on Monday, he could probably have spent hundreds in any one of the aisles without even noticing. He headed into the maze of artificial trees that was the camping section.
“Hey, Jack.” He jumped. Meg was sitting in a lawn chair in front of the tent. Lights glowed gently in a fire pit in by her feet.
“Hey.” He dropped into the chair beside her. “I thought you’d gone to the yacht with your brother and the others.”
She smiled gently. “Benji offered to take them off my hands for a while. I think he could tell I was finding them a bit much.” Her ankles crossed gently on the plastic fire pit. She leaned back and looked up. A rainbow parachute stretched across the ceiling above them. “It’s an amazing store, isn’t it?” She sighed. “I’m so proud of him for building this. Even if it’s not always easy.”
Jack tried to copy her posture, only to be nearly tossed backward onto the floor. Why most camp-chair makers seemed to think no one over six foot ever went camping was beyond him. “I saw your brother covered his office window with stories about the accident.”
“Yeah, he’s sort of made it part of his business. He goes everywhere—schools, camps, churches—and talks about sports safety. He’s really respected for it. Benji Duff, the sports-safety guru, who nearly died. I’m...I’m the only one who seems to want to forget it.”
He watched as she pressed her lips together to hide their trembling. Both his brain and heart were so full of words he could practically feel them fighting inside him to get out. What would happen if he just laid it all out on the line and told her that if she didn’t agree to the interview he’d lose his job? She wasn’t made of stone. Surely she’d understand. And yet how was that fair of him? How could he possibly ask her to open up her own wounds and pain, just to save him from the mess he’d gotten himself into? Help me, Lord. If only she knew how much he understood what she was going through.
He swiveled to face her. “I want to tell you a story. Okay? A story that isn’t that easy to tell, and one that I don’t tell a lot of people. But I think it might help. All right?” When she nodded, he took a deep breath and let it out again. Where to start? The worst part. Always start at the very worst part. “Years ago, I was suspended from college. Put on academic probation, in fact. I lost editorship of the college paper too.”
The smile faded from her face. “What?” Her fingers slid over his arm.
He pulled her hand into his and held it tightly. “I always knew I liked both writing and talking to people. But I couldn’t decide between a career in journalism and one in counseling. By my second year, I was editor of the college newspaper and volunteering in student services. I grew really close to this one fellow student. A young woman. I felt sorry for her, because she’d had a rough background. We were never romantically involved.” He shook his head. “But if I’m honest, part of me hoped one day we would be.”
He loosened his grip on her hand, half expecting her to pull away. But instead she linked her fingers through his. He looked down at the tender, slender hand, wrapped around his calloused one. “She was arrested for stealing and selling student papers. I didn’t want to believe she was guilty. So I tried to use my job at the paper to clear her name. I was too close to her. It clouded my judgment. I overlooked information that didn’t fit my theory. I tweaked quotes. I let her look at my notes. I leaked off-the-record information that impeded the police investigation.” He pulled his hand away from her and stood.
“I told myself that I was doing the right thing and helping her. But basically I was just being young and foolish, not to mention arrogant. I lost my job at the paper and was suspended. By then, I had no choice but to see the truth, and I realized just how badly I’d messed up. I waited out my suspension, went on and graduated. But my reputation never recovered. And if you search my name on the internet today, that will still come up somewhere on the first page. Not the years of respected journalism I did afterward. Not the thousands of good, solid, professional stories I’ve written. No, as far as the internet is concerned, I’m living forever online as a guy who broke his principles and acted unprofessionally when he was barely more than a teenager in order to protect a girl he had a crush on.”
Winsome eyes met his, and a peculiar pain filled his rib cage as he saw the glimmer of tears floating in the depth of blue. And this is the story that plays in my head every time I see that look in your eyes and want to wrap my arms around you. Because I like you more than I should. I’m feeling far more drawn to you than I’ve ever been to another human being. And I can’t let an emotional connection to anyone cloud my professional judgment. I can’t even let myself admit any of that out loud to you.
“I’m sorry.” Meg’s voice was as soft as a whisper. Her words tickled at the base of his spine. Then she stood, slowly, and he felt the space between them shrink as she stepped into his chest. Every muscle in his body ached for the comfort of feeling her curled inside his arms.
Which made telling her what he needed to tell her next so much harder.
He took a step back. His hands clenched into fists. “Yeah. Me too. It’s not a story I like telling, as you can imagine. But after everything the media put you and your family through, I wanted you to know.” His knuckles cracked. “Anyway, there’s something more I need to tell you, about the Raincoat Killer story specifically, and my reporting on it. When I told you that the Toronto police weren’t thrilled with my story, I didn’t fill you in about just how far and deep that resentment went, or what it means for me now. But first, I should probably go find some food. I haven’t eaten
since breakfast. What’s next on your schedule?”
“There’s a quick wedding rehearsal for Rachel and Wesley, followed by a small buffet-style rehearsal dinner. It should be done by nine o’clock and I have nothing on after that. But I should head over there in about fifteen minutes to make sure everything’s going smoothly.”
Hardly enough time to tell her everything he wanted her to know, but enough for a start.
“Okay. How about I go grab my stuff and then I’ll walk you over? I’ll give you the nutshell version on the way. Then maybe we can meet up afterward.” If you’re still willing to talk to me.
She nodded. “Okay. I’m going to go check out life jackets. See you in a second.”
Then she disappeared behind a rack of paddles, before he thought to ask where the life jackets were. Oh well, if he got lost she was bound to come find him. He headed back through the store toward the office. Motion-sensor lights flickered on and off behind him. The tastefully cluttered store gave the customer the overall impression of having just wandered into a woodland outpost. Walk five steps away from the big front windows, and you might as well be actually lost in the woods. He turned down an aisle, expecting to see the office door, and instead almost walked into a wall of fishing gear. He turned down another aisle and practically yelped in shock.
A figure stood in the shadows at the end of the aisle, next to the open office door, shrouded in a black rain slicker. Jack chuckled as he shook off the rush of adrenaline. He hadn’t noticed a mannequin there earlier. Ironically, he’d probably been working feet away from it all afternoon and not even noticed. The hood was crooked. He reached up to straighten it.
Deadline (Love Inspired Suspense) Page 10