by Chelsea Cain
Henry’s eyes were still on Archie. His face was impenetrable. “What time did you see her?” Henry asked.
Archie thought about it, piecing together the sequence of events. “A little after midnight,” he said. “About fifteen minutes before I ran into Leo.” The rest was implied. A few minutes after running into Leo, Archie was unconscious. Archie’s head ached. He had no idea what went on after that.
Green lifted her chin back toward the faux–Cape Cod. “The man of the house let his dog out the back door this afternoon,” she said. “Heard Lassie barking its head off. Came down to investigate and found our girl here dead on his dock. Called the cops. He doesn’t know how long she was out here. But it looks to me like she’s been out of the water for at least a few hours.”
“She didn’t drown,” Archie said.
“Doesn’t look like it,” Green agreed.
“How much would she have bled out from the wounds?” Henry asked.
Archie knew what he was thinking. The wounds looked deep. They might cause the sort of arterial spray that Leo was washing off in the bathroom. But Archie had seen the girl alive moments before Star came downstairs with the bag, blood already in her hair. Whoever Leo had killed, it hadn’t been this girl. The timing didn’t fit.
“If they were premortem, she would have bled a lot,” Green said. “Maybe enough to kill her. Of course, I can’t say for sure one way or another at this point, but if I had to guess, she was cut up before she went into the water. She’s not a floater. She’s too fresh. But she spent some time in the lake. Probably after she died. I’ll know more at autopsy.”
Henry ran his hand over the back of his head. “What’s to say she didn’t have a few too many, decide to go for a swim, or fall in, get cut up in the fall, and then pull herself out here? Where she collapsed and died. Dry-drowning. That’s a thing, right? We don’t even know that this is a homicide.”
Green peeled the wet fabric of the dead girl’s dress up over the girl’s hips. She wasn’t wearing underwear and her genitals were waxed. Exposed like that, she looked so bare and vulnerable that Archie had to resist the urge to take his jacket off and cover her. Green indicated the girl’s waist. Archie and Henry peered forward to look. Above her bony hips, carved into her cold pale flesh, a purple line encircled her midsection like a belt. A ligature mark. Like she had been bound. “My guess is she was weighed down with something tied around her midsection,” Green said. “Thrown in the lake. Then maybe came loose, or someone had a change of heart.” She pulled the blue fabric back down over the girl’s legs.
“Was she sexually assaulted?” Henry asked.
Green looked at him hard. “What do you think?”
Archie glanced over at Henry. Major Case had a lot of discretion. The task force could claim almost any case they wanted. That had been the deal. Archie had given up his health and his sanity in pursuit of the Beauty Killer, and in exchange his team got the pick of the litter moving forward. “I want this one,” Archie said.
Henry looked neither especially surprised nor especially enthusiastic. “You think that’s a good idea?” he asked.
Green’s eyes widened at something behind them, and Archie turned to see Raul Sanchez heading down the dock. He had changed out of the safari jacket into an FBI windbreaker and FBI cap, the white lettering bright against blue.
“Oh, goodie, more cops,” Green said grudgingly.
Sanchez had his badge out, which seemed redundant considering what he was wearing. “Raul Sanchez,” he announced to Green, as he stepped between Archie and Henry. “FBI.”
“I can see that,” she said. She didn’t sound impressed.
“So?” Sanchez asked Archie. “What do we have here?”
Henry gave Archie a look.
“One of the party guests from last night turned up dead,” Archie said. “Major Case is taking over the investigation. We’re going to need any surveillance footage you have of guests arriving or leaving last night.”
Sanchez squinted. Archie could see him considering his options. If they had footage of the girl coming onto the island, and no footage of her leaving, that was probable cause. They could get a warrant to search the entire island.
Sanchez groped for a phone that was clipped to the waistband of his pants. “I’m going to have to make some calls,” he said. He turned and took a step on the dock, almost lost his footing, recovered, and then continued gingerly toward the yard.
Green stood up. “I better go tell the others what we’re dealing with. Get some crime scene techs out here.”
“We’ve got this,” Henry told her. “We’ll have her transferred to our morgue.”
Green gave Archie and Henry a long look. “You have kids?” she asked.
“I do,” Archie said, knowing where she was going. “A boy and a girl.”
Green pulled off a blue latex glove with a snap. “Good,” she said. Archie got the subtext: Don’t fuck this up.
“How old is she?” Archie asked the ME.
Green looked down at the dead girl, pulling off her other glove. “Early twenties,” she said.
The girl hadn’t lied to Archie after all.
“She’s all yours, gentlemen,” Green said, hoisting up her ME’s kit. Then, with a nod, she headed up the dock back toward the house, passing Sanchez, who was still on the phone.
A breeze blew over the lake, rippling the water. Leaves blew off the trees and settled on the lake’s bleak surface, floating for a few moments, and then silently slipping beneath the surface.
Archie stared at the island. If he squinted, he could just make out the boathouse near where he had spent much of the night unconscious. Maybe his blonde hadn’t been Gretchen after all.
“Where did you say you found that blond hair?” Henry asked.
“Let’s just say I had clear chain of custody,” Archie said.
CHAPTER
27
Jack Reynolds answered the door dressed like he was going yachting—white pants, a white V-neck sweater with navy piping at the neck, and white canvas deck shoes, no socks.
Archie threw a glance at Henry, who was dressed entirely in black, and hoped this would go better than he was anticipating.
The island was tranquil and muted. The stacks of rented chairs and piles of torches were gone. The bars had been disassembled and loaded into trucks and carted off. The propane heaters that Archie had seen collected together in the yard that morning were now just faint impressions in the grass. It hadn’t taken them long to get rid of any evidence that the bacchanalia had occurred. Even the dead leaves had been bagged and hauled away. This was how it went if you had a hundred people working for you. The last time Archie could remember having a party, it had taken Debbie and him three days to do the dishes.
Jack didn’t invite them in.
“Nice outfit, skipper,” Henry said.
“Did you come to return my Ralph Lauren?” Jack asked Archie.
Just three hundred yards away, back on the mainland, Archie’s Major Case team was working the crime scene at the Cape Cod. The dock had been cordoned off with crime tape. Crime scene techs were combing the yard. He had divers looking in the lake around the dock. The road was lined with law enforcement vehicles. There was no way that Jack didn’t know that. This was a man who employed men with earpieces. He had surveillance cameras in trees.
Archie nodded at Henry and Henry dialed up a crime scene photograph on his phone. They’d downloaded it before they’d crossed the bridge, anticipating the reception issue, so all he had to do was tap the screen. The picture filled the screen—an image of the dead girl’s face and shoulders. Henry handed Archie the phone and Archie showed it to Jack. “I need to know who this girl is,” Archie said.
Jack barely glanced at the photo. “I don’t know her,” Jack said.
“She was at your party last night,” Archie insisted. “I saw her, right inside there.” Archie indicated the foyer behind Jack.
“As established by your presence,”
Jack said pointedly, “I was less than familiar with the guest list.”
“She’s dead,” Henry said.
Jack smiled thinly. “I got that.”
“We think she was murdered,” Archie said. “Possibly here on your property.” Jack was a lot of things, but he was also the father of two murdered children, and that counted for something. Archie could use it. It was his way in.
“I don’t know who she is,” Jack said, his tone softening. “I’d tell you if I did. Maybe she came with someone.”
“Who would know?” Archie asked.
“We used a private security company last night,” Jack said. “Echo Corp.”
“They’re military contractors,” Henry said.
“Heavy security for a garden party,” Archie said to Jack.
“I like my guests to feel secure,” Jack said with a sharklike smile.
“They’re not exactly local,” Henry said.
“They have some local contractors,” Jack said. “We flew in a few others.”
“Those guys are all ex-military,” Henry said to Archie. “They would have had a command hierarchy.”
“Who was in charge?” Archie asked Jack.
“He goes by Ronin,” Jack said. “Charming, right? I’m guessing that’s not his real name.”
“He’s one of the guys you flew in?” Henry asked.
“Yes,” Jack said.
“Where is he?” Archie asked.
“The guesthouse,” Jack said. “For all I know, he’s still asleep.”
Archie stepped closer to Jack. He could smell him—his black soap, his expensive cologne. “Let’s wake him up, shall we?” Archie said.
* * *
The guesthouse was locked, but Jack produced a heavy ring of keys, sorted through it, and opened the door. The air in the house was thick with the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Three well-muscled men with thick necks and buzz cuts were sitting at the round kitchen table, along with Karim, whose thicket of black hair and slight build left him looking a little out of place. There was a large serving bowl of scrambled eggs on the table and another bowl of sausage links and plates that the men had just begun to heap with food. It was early evening. But this fact seemed to escape everyone at the table.
Jack jabbed a thumb toward the living room. “Karim and Ronin stay,” he said. “The rest of you give us a minute.”
Two of the buzz cuts looked to a third for permission before they followed Jack’s orders. When Ronin nodded, they stood up and carried their plates into the living room.
Karim stayed where he was. Whereas the buzz cuts were all wearing varying versions of exercise pants or shorts paired with tank tops, Karim was impeccably dressed in a well-cut gray suit and a canary-yellow bow tie. Not a clip-on, Archie noticed—this bow tie was the real deal. It had been complexly knotted and was only very slightly askew. Karim picked up a cherry red electric kettle in front of his plate and poured hot water into a dainty cup with a tea bag in it. Steam rose from the cup.
Ronin lifted a forkful of eggs to his mouth and chewed, his eyes darting around the room. His close-cropped hair was a shadow of dark stubble and his eyes were a light brown that looked almost gold. His features and skin color were so multiethnic as to be difficult to pinpoint. He looked like he was from everywhere, and nowhere.
Archie recognized him from last night. He’d been the one with the headset and the clipboard.
“I want you to tell him who the girl is,” Jack instructed Ronin. There were empty chairs at the table, but Jack didn’t sit. He stood with his arms crossed, behind Karim, like a captain on the bridge of his ship.
Henry held his phone in front of Ronin and Ronin studied the image of the dead girl. He didn’t react at all to the fact that he was looking at a corpse. His meaty face didn’t change. He did not appear disturbed. But he also did not appear overly cavalier or self-conscious, the way he might if he had something to prove or was overcompensating. It took looking at a lot of dead bodies before you could look at the face of a dead young girl like that without showing even a flicker of emotion. Archie knew that from experience.
“I don’t know her name,” Ronin said finally, shoveling another bite of eggs into his mouth. “She wasn’t on the list.”
“Nice,” Jack said. “She wasn’t on the list, but apparently she was at the party. Excellent security. Clearly I’m getting my money’s worth.”
Archie slipped into one of the empty wooden chairs next to Ronin.
Ronin didn’t know her name. She wasn’t on the list. But that didn’t mean Ronin hadn’t seen her.
“You remember her?” Archie asked quietly.
Karim stirred his tea with a spoon, and the spoon knocked against the side of the porcelain cup as he circled it. He was wearing square silver cuff links, each with a small blue gem at its center that matched the fine blue stripes on his white shirt.
Ronin was wearing a black tank top, and shorts that had an elastic waist. His legs were smooth and hairless. He swallowed some eggs and nodded. “She showed up by herself,” Ronin said. “Said she’d grown up around here, that she’d always wanted to see the island up close. She looked hot. I figured an attractive woman at the party alone—that was good. She promised not to eat much.” He slurped the eggs down with some coffee.
“You hire class acts,” Henry said to Jack.
Archie stayed focused on Ronin, tripped up by something he’d said. She showed up by herself. But that wasn’t right. She hadn’t been by herself. “What about her friend?” Archie asked him.
“She didn’t have a friend,” Ronin said, shoveling some more eggs in his mouth. “She was alone.”
“She was with another woman,” Archie insisted. “I saw them later in the evening. They’d been drinking.” A young woman crashing a party by herself? It seemed unlikely to Archie. But two women together, that he could buy.
Ronin thought for a minute. It looked like it hurt. Bright yellow bits of egg clung to the corner of his mouth. His tongue was stained brown with coffee. “What did she look like?” Ronin asked. “Hot?”
Archie mentally stumbled. He hadn’t actually seen the friend. She was in the bathroom. He’d heard her throwing up. Or at least what sounded like someone throwing up. “I don’t know,” he admitted.
Ronin shrugged. “Maybe she met someone at the party, but I’m telling you, she arrived solo. And she was the only person we let in who wasn’t on the list.” He glanced at Archie. “I mean, besides you.”
Karim lifted the spoon out of his cup, tapped it on the cup’s lip, then licked the spoon and laid it carefully on the saucer. There was something about him that Archie found unsettling. He was too calm. Too controlled. His cuff links sparkled. The gems were probably sapphires.
Archie turned his attention back to Ronin. Ronin took care of himself—he shaved his legs, for Christ’s sake. He considered himself a player. He would have flirted with a pretty girl. And when men flirted with women, they asked their names. It was instant intimacy. Use the first name as often as possible. It was the same technique Archie used in interrogations. Ronin would have asked her name. Which meant that he was lying.
“What was her name, Ronin?” Archie asked.
Ronin’s mouth fell open. Archie could see chewed-up egg inside.
Karim lifted his teacup to his mouth. The teacup was a fragile little thing, bone china. A blue stamp on the bottom of the cup claimed it had been made in England. Archie watched as Ronin gave Karim a questioning look, and Karim responded with an almost imperceptible nod.
The command hierarchy.
Ronin’s shoulders sagged and he scratched at a ruddy patch on his cheek. “Lisa,” he said. “Said she grew up here. Said she graduated from Lake Oswego High. Said she’d always wanted to get on the island.” He leaned forward a little and lowered his voice. “But if you ask me, I think she was just interested in hooking up with someone important. Some girls? You can smell their desperation.”
“I paid to have the list vetted,” Ja
ck said, shaking his head in disgust. “I paid for the headsets, the earpieces. And you let her in because she batted her eyelashes at you?” He looked down at Karim. “Did you know about this?”
Karim returned his cup soundlessly to its saucer. “No,” he said.
Archie studied Ronin. Ronin wasn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, and yet he’d managed to gather a lot about the victim from a very brief encounter. Archie wasn’t convinced that Ronin’s powers of observation were that potent.
“You’d met her before last night,” Archie said.
Ronin’s mouth twitched. “Outside the grocery store, in town,” he said. “We talked a little. She was a flirt. I told her I was in town for a job on the island. She said that thing about always wanting to see the place.”
Archie felt a stab of pain, as a father. “You invited her to the party,” he said, shaking his head.
Ronin drew his head back defensively. “Hey, I didn’t think she’d show up.”
“And when she did?” Archie asked.
“I had a job to do,” Ronin said, glancing at Karim. “She thought it was some kind of date.” He grunted and flashed a world-class asshole smirk. “That little bitch was lucky she got into the party at all.”
Archie could imagine Ronin’s surprise when the girl he’d talked up in town had shown up in her pretty dress, flush with excitement at the prospective evening. She would have wanted to avoid the humiliation of him sending her away. She would have seen the dazzling guests streaming up the path, the torches lighting their way, seen the tuxedos, the magical landscape, the Tudor mansion, straight from a storybook. It was the kind of party little girls dreamed of. At that point, she would have done anything to get past the metaphorical velvet rope. Archie had seen enough to know what that meant. “You made her pay for her ticket, though, didn’t you?” Archie asked Ronin.