Gone ,but not forgotten

by Philip Margolin

  Turner read off the names of the other missing women and their spouses, including the Lakes. As he read the names, Turner placed photographs of the victims and their husbands faceup on Escalante's desk.

  "Do you or your wife know any of these people in any capacity whatsoever, Doctor?" Turner asked.

  Escalante studied the photographs carefully. He picked up one of them.

  "This is Simon and Samantha Reardon, isn't it?"

  Turner nodded.

  "He's a neurosurgeon. I've seen the Reardons at a few Medical Association functions. A few years ago, he spoke at a seminar I attended. I don't recall the topic."

  "That's good. Were you friendly with the Reardons?"

  Escalante laughed harshly. "People with my skin color don't travel in the same social circles as the Reardons, Detective. I don't suppose you were permitted to interview the esteemed doctor at the Delmar Country Club."

  Wayne nodded.

  "Yeah. Well, that's the type of guy Simon Reardon is…"

  Escalante suddenly remembered why Turner was interested in Samantha Reardon and his wife.

  "I'm sorry. I should be more charitable. Simon is probably going through the same hell I am."

  "Probably. Any of the others ring a bell?"

  Escalante started to shake his head, then stopped.

  "This one is a lawyer, isn't he?" he asked, pointing at Peter Lake's photograph.

  "Yes, he is," Turner answered, trying to hide his excitement.

  "it didn't hit me until now. What a coincidence."

  "What's that?"

  "Gloria was chosen for jury duty six months ago. She sat on one of Lake's cases. I remember because she said she was glad it wasn't a medical malpractice or she would have been excused. It didn't matter though. The lawyers settled the case halfway through, so she didn't vote on it."

  "You're certain it was Peter Lake's case?"

  "I met her after court. We were going to dinner. I saw him."

  "Okay. That's a big help. Anyone else look familiar?" Turner asked, although, at this point, he really didn't care.

  "It's lake, Chief," Frank Grimsbo told O'Malley. "We're certain."

  "Are we talking hard evidence?" — O'Malley asked.

  "Not yet. But there's too much circumstantial to look the other way,"

  Wayne Turner answered.

  "How do you two feel about this?" O'Malley asked Glen Michaels and Nancy Gordon.

  "It makes sense, Michaels responded. "I'm going back over the evidence in all of the cases tomorrow to see if I have anything I can tie to Lake."

  O'Malley turned toward Nancy. She looked grim.

  "I'd reached the same conclusion for other reasons, Chief I don't know how we can nail him, but I'm certain he's our man. I talked to Dr. Klien this morning and ran Lake's profile by him. He said it's possible. A lot of sociopaths aren't serial killers. They're successful businessmen or politicians or lawyers. Think of the advantage you have in those professions if you don't have a conscience to slow you down. In the past few days, I've been talking to people who know lake. They all say he's charming, but none of them would turn their back on him. He's supposed to have the ethics of a shark and enough savvy to stay just this side of the line. There have been several Bar complaints, but none that was successful. A few malpractice suits. I talked to the lawyers who represented the plaintiffs. He skated on every one of them."

  "There's a big difference between being a sleazy lawyer and killing six people, including your own daughter," O'Malley said. "Why would he endanger himself by getting so close to the investigation?"

  "So he can see what we've got," Grimsbo said.

  "I think there's more to it, Chief," Nancy said. "He's up to something."

  Nancy told O'Malley about Lake's stakeout.

  "That doesn't make sense," Turner said. "Waters isn't really a suspect.

  He just happened to be around the Escalante house the day she disappeared. There's no connection between Waters and any other victim."

  "But there is a connection between Lake and every victim," Grimsbo cut in.

  "Let's hear it," O'Malley said.

  "Okay. We have Gloria Escalante sitting on one of his juries. He and the Reardons belong to the Delmar Country Club. Patricia Cross and Sandra Lake were in the junior League. Anne Hazelton's husband is an attorney.

  He says they've been to Bar Association functions the Lakes attended."

  "Some of those connections are pretty tenuous."

  "What are the odds on one person being linked to all six victims?"

  "Turner asked.

  "Hunter's Point isn't that big a place."

  "Chief," Nancy said, "he's been coming on to me."

  "What?"

  "It's sexual. He's interested. He's let me know." Nancy recounted the way Lake acted during their two meetings at Chang's.

  O'Malley frowned. "I don't know, Nancy."

  "His wife died less than a month ago. It's not normal."

  "You're attractive. He's trying to get over his grief Maybe he and Mrs. lake didn't get — along that well. Did you find any of that when you talked to the neighbors?"

  Grimsbo shook his head. "No gossip about the Lakes. They were a normal couple according to the people I talked to."

  "Same here," Turner said.

  "Doesn't that undercut your theory?"

  "Dr. Klien said a serial killer can have a wife and family, or a non-normal relationship with a girlfriend," Nancy answered.

  "Look at the lake murders," Turner offered. "We know from one of his associates, who was working late, that Lake was at his office until shortly before seven. The neighbor sees him driving toward his house at seven-twenty, maybe a little after. There's no 911 call until forty-five minutes later. What's he doing inside with the dead bodies? If they're dead, that is."

  "We think he came in and his wife confronted him with something she'd found that connected him to the disappearances."

  "But they weren't news. No one knew about them," O'Malley said.

  "Oh, shit," Michaels swore.

  "What?"

  "The note. It was the only one with prints on it."

  "So?" Grimsbo asked.

  "The other notes had no fingerprints on them, but the note next to Sandra Lake's body had her prints on it.

  According to the autopsy report, Sandra Lake died instantly or, at least, she was unconscious as soon as she was hit on the back of the head. When did she touch the note?"

  I still don't "She finds the note or the rose or both. She asks Lake what they are. He knows the story will break in the paper eventually. No matter what he tells her now, she'll know he's the rose killer. So he panics, kills her and leaves the rose and the note next to the body to make us think the same person who's taken the other women also killed his wife. And that explains why only Lake's note has a print and why it's Sandra Lake's print," Michaels said. "She was holding it before she was killed."

  "That also explains why no one saw any strange vehicles going in or out of The Meadows."

  O'Malley leaned back in his chair. He looked troubled.

  "You've got me believing this," he said. "But theories aren't proof. If it's Lake, how do we prove it with evidence that's admissible in court?"

  Before anyone could answer, the door to O'Malley's office opened.

  "Sorry to interrupt, Chief, but we just got a 911 that's connected to those women who disappeared. Do you have a suspect named Waters?"

  "What's up?" Grimsbo asked.

  "The caller said he talked with a guy named Henry Waters at the One Way Inn and Waters said he had a woman in his basement."

  "Did the caller give a name?"

  The officer shook his head. "Said he didn't want to get involved, but he kept thinking about the little kid who was murdered and his conscience wouldn't leave him alone."

  "When did this conversation at the bar take place?" Nancy asked.

  "A few days ago."

  "Did Waters describe the woman or give any deta
ils?"

  "Waters told him the woman had red hair."

  "Patricia Cross," Turner said.

  "This is Lake's doing," Nancy said. "It's too much of a coincidence."

  "I'm with Nancy," Turner said. "Waters just doesn't figure."

  "Can we take the chance?" Michaels asked. "With Lake, all we have is some deductive reasoning. We know Waters was around the Escalante residence near the time she disappeared and he has a sex offender record."

  "I want you four out there pronto," O'Malley ordered. "I'd rather be wrong than sit here talking when we might be able to save one of those women."

  Henry Waters lived in an older section of Hunter's Point.

  Oak trees shaded the wide streets. High hedges gave the residents privacy. Most of the homes and lawns were well kept up, but Waters's house, a corner plot, was starting to come apart. The gutters were clogged. One of the steps leading up to the shaded front porch was broken. The lawn was overgrown and full of weeds.

  The sun was starting to set when Nancy Gordon followed Wayne Turner and Frank Grimsbo along the slate walk toward Henry Waters's front door.

  Michaels waited in the car in case he was needed to process a crime scene. Three uniformed officers were stationed behind the house in an alley that divided the large block. Two officers preceded the detectives up the walk and positioned themselves, guns drawn but concealed, on either side of the front door.

  "We take it easy and we are polite," Turner cautioned. "I want his consent or the search and seizure issues could get sticky."

  Everyone nodded. No one cracked a joke about Turner and law school, as they might have under other circumstances. Nancy looked back at the high grass in the front yard. The house was weather-beaten. The brown paint was chipping. A window screen was banging by one screw outside the front window. Nancy peeked through a crack between a drawn shade and the windowsill. No one was in the front room. They could hear a television playing somewhere toward the back of the house.

  "He'll be less fearful if he sees a woman," Nancy said. Grimsbo nodded and Nancy pressed the doorbell.

  She wore a jacket to conceal her holster. There had been some respite from the heat during the day, but it was still warm. She could feel a trickle of sweat work its way down her side.

  Nancy rang the bell a second time and the volume of the TV lowered. She saw a vague shape moving down the hall through the semi-opaque curtain that covered the glassed upper half of the front door. When the door opened, Nancy pulled back the screen door and smiled.

  The gangly, loose-limbed man did not smile back. He was dressed in jeans and a stained T-shirt. His long, greasy hair was unkempt. Waters's dull eyes fixed first on Nancy, then on the uniformed officers. His brow furrowed, as if he were working on a calculus problem. Nancy flashed her badge.

  "Mr. Waters, I'm Nancy Gordon, a detective with the Hunter's Point P.D."

  "I didn't do nothin'," Waters said defensively.

  "I'm certain that's true," Nancy answered in a firm but friendly tone,

  "but we received some information we'd like to check out. Would you mind if we came in?"

  "Who is it?" a frail female voice called from the rear of the house.

  "That's my mom," Waters explained. "She's sick."

  "I'm sorry. We'll try not to disturb her."

  "Why do you have to upset her? She's sick," Waters said, his anxiety growing.

  "You misunderstood me, Mr. Waters. We are not going to bother your mother. We only want to look around.

  May we do that? We won't be long."

  "I ain't done nothin'," Waters repeated, his eyes shifting anxiously from Grimsbo to Turner, then to the uniformed officers. "Talk to Miss.

  Cummings. She's my p.o. She'll tell you."

  "We did talk to your probation officer and she gave you a very good report. She said you cooperated with her completely. We'd like your cooperation too. You don't want us to have to wait here while one of the officers gets a search warrant, do you?"

  "Why do you have to search my house?" Waters asked angrily. The officers tensed. "Why the hell can't you leave me be? I ain't looked at that girl no more. I'm workin' steady. Miss. Cummings can tell you."

  "There's no need to get upset," Nancy answered calmly. "The sooner we look around, the sooner we'll be out of your hair."

  Waters thought this over. "What do you want to see?" he asked.

  "The basement."

  "There ain't nothin' in the basement," Waters said, seeming genuinely puzzled. '-Then we won't be here long," Nancy assured him.

  Waters snorted. "The basement. You can see — all the basement you want.

  Ain't nothin' but spiders in the basement."

  Waters pointed down a dark hall that led past the stairs toward the rear of the house.

  "Why don't you come with us, Mr. Waters. YOU Can show us around."

  The hall was dark, but there was a light in the kitchen. Nancy saw a sink filled with dirty dishes and the remains of two TV dinners on a Formica-topped table.

  The kitchen floor was stained and dirty. There was a solid wood door under the staircase next to the entrance to the kitchen. Waters opened it. Then his eyes widened and he stepped back. Nancy pushed past him.

  The smell was so strong it knocked her back a step.

  "Stay with Mr. Waters," Nancy told the officers. She took a deep breath and flicked the switch at the head of the stairs. There was nothing unusual at the bottom of the wooden steps. Nancy held her gun with one hand and the rickety railing with the other The smell of death grew stronger as she descended the stairs. Grimsbo and Turner followed. No one spoke.

  Halfway down, Nancy crouched and scanned the basement. The only light came from a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. She could see a furnace in one corner.

  Odd pieces Of furniture, most with a broken look, were stashed against a wall surrounded by cartons of newspapers and old magazines. A back door opened into a concrete well at the back of the house near the alley.

  Most of the corner near the door was in shadow, but Nancy could make out a human foot and a pool of blood.

  "Fuck," she whispered, sucking air.

  Grimsbo edged past her. Nancy followed close behind. She knew nothing in the basement could hurt her, but she was having trouble catching her breath. Turner aimed a flashlight at the corner and flicked it on.

  "Jesus," he managed in a strangled voice.

  The naked woman was sprawled on the cold concrete, swimming in blood and surrounded by an overpowering fecal smell. She had not been "killed" or murdered." She had been defiled and dehumanized.

  Nancy could see patches of charred flesh where the skin was not stained with blood or feces. The woman's intestines had burst through a gaping hole in her abdomen.

  They reminded Nancy of a string of bloated sausages. She turned her head aside.

  "Bring Waters down here, Grimsbo bellowed.

  Nancy could see the tendons in his neck stretching. His eyes bulged.

  "You don't lay one hand on him, Frank, Turner managed between gasps.

  Nancy grabbed Grimsbo's massive forearm.

  "Wayne's right. I'm handling this. Back off."

  A uniform bustled Waters down the steps. When Waters saw the body, he turned white and fell to his knees. He was mouthing words, but no sound came out.

  Nancy closed her eyes and gathered herself The body wasn't there. The smell wasn't in the air. She knelt next to Waters.

  "why, Henry?" she asked softly.

  Waters looked at her. His face crumpled and he bleated like a wounded animal.

  "Why?" Nancy repeated.

  "Oh, no. Oh, no," Waters cried, holding his head in his hands. The head snapped back and forth with each denial, his long hair trailing behind.

  "Then who did this? She's here, Henry. In your basement."

  Waters gaped at Nancy, his mouth wide open.

  "I'm going to give you your rights. You've heard them before, haven't you?" Nancy asked, but it was clear Waters was in
no condition to discuss constitutional rights. His head hung backward and he was making an inhuman baying noise.

  "Take him to the station," she ordered the officer who was standing behind Waters. "If you, or anyone else, asks this man one question, you'll be scrubbing toilet bowls in public rest rooms. Is that understood? He hasn't been Mirandized. I want him in an interrogation room with a two-man guard inside and another man outside.

  No one, including the chief, is to talk to him. I'll call from here to brief o'malley. And send Michaels in. Tell him to call for a full forensic team. Post a guard on the stairs. No one else comes down here unless Glen says it's okay. I don't want this crime scene fucked up."

  Grimsbo and Turner had drawn closer to the body, making certain to stay outside the circle of blood that surrounded it. Grimsbo was taking short, deep breaths.

  Turner willed himself to look at the woman's face. It was Patricia Cross, but barely. The killer's savage attack had not been limited to the victim's body.

  The young uniformed officer was also riveted on the body. That is why he was slow to react when Waters leaped up. Nancy was half-turned and saw the action from the corner of her eye. By the time she turned back, the cop was sprawled on the floor and Waters was bolting up the stairs, screaming for his mother.

  The officer who was watching the cellar door heard Waters's scream. He stepped in front of the entrance to the basement, gun drawn, as Waters barreled into him.

  "Don't shoot!" Nancy screamed just as the gun exploded. The officer stumbled backward, crashing into the wall opposite the cellar door. The shot plowed through Waters's heart and he tumbled down the stairs, cracking his head on the cement floor. Waters never felt the impact. He was dead by then.

  "It was on the late news. I can't believe you caught him," Nancy Gordon heard Peter Lake say. She was alone in the task force office, writing reports. Nancy swiveled her chair. Lake stood in the doorway of the office. He wore pressed jeans and a maroon and blue rugby shirt. His styled hair was neatly combed. He looked happy and excited. There was no indication that he was thinking of Sandra or Melody Lake. No sign of grief.

  "How did you crack it?" Lake asked, sitting in the chair opposite Nancy.

  "An anonymous tip, Peter. Nothing fancy."

  "That's terrific."