by Karen Rose
“Yes. One in particular.” He pulled out the pewter button and held it up. “Recognize it?”
Thatcher’s eyes flashed. “The tattoo. Where did you find that?”
“The Templetons’ cat had a stash of buttons under a chair in a spare room. The pattern on this button is the emblem of a prep school outside Seattle.”
Thatcher pulled on his own gloves and held out his hand. An intensity buzzed around the man. Carefully Neil dropped the button into Thatcher’s palm.
“I take it William Parker attended this prep school,” Thatcher said evenly, staring at the button as if inspecting a diamond.
“He did.”
“And did his brother go there too?” Thatcher asked. Dangerously, Neil thought.
“Yes, he did, but—”
“Don’t tell me he was slow,” Thatcher snapped. “It’s the brother, Neil,” he said, his voice biting. “Under our noses the whole fucking time.”
Neil felt his pulse stutter. “No. He was never even a suspect.”
“He is now,” Thatcher said acidly, and pointed to the table, where two DNA prints lay edge to edge. One from Seattle, one from the Clary clearing. And next to them Kent Thompson’s neatly typed conclusion. Not the same. Blood relatives.
Not the same. Not Parker. Not William Parker. Blood relatives. Josh Parker.
Neil looked down and his heart ...just... sank. “Oh, my God,” he heard himself whisper.
“And Nancy says the rosters show Josh as absent the day of the Clary clearing. We were after the wrong brother the whole time,” Thatcher said, barely controlled fury in his voice. “Dammit!”
Neil couldn’t take his eyes off the prints. He’d been chasing the wrong man. All this time.
“Steven.”
Neil didn’t look up at the voice at the door. Couldn’t. He was frozen.
“Lucas,” Steven said. “What a coincidence.”
Lucas Bondioli, the high school guidance counselor. Neil made his body move, his brain function. Bondioli stood in the doorway, his face pale, holding a blue folder in his shaking hands.
“Steven, I found something today you need to see. Casey’s substitute was going through all the themes Casey’s class had written on Crime and Punishment. This one was written by Josh Lutz.” He held out the folder, which shook like a leaf on a tree in a high wind. “Casey gave him an A.”
Thatcher reached for the folder, his face still grim. “Pretty damn good for a kid with an eighty-five IQ, huh?” He skimmed the first few pages, then tossed the theme on the table in disgust. “Under our damn noses all along,” he muttered. He marched to the bulletin board where all the girls’ pictures were mounted side to side, Kelly Templeton’s the newest. “Interesting point of view young Josh has of the killer in the book,” Thatcher added, his voice tight. “That the killer was right. That those with superhuman intelligence are above the laws that bind normal men.”
A picture flashed in Neil’s mind from the night before. Josh Parker, standing over Jenna, then turning. Neil closed his eyes and his stomach seemed to implode. “He was missing a button last night,” he said hoarsely.
“Who?” Steven asked, not turning from the board.
“Josh. He was with Jenna. He was there before I was, chasing off those boys before I got to her. I held my weapon on him, made him turn around. And he was missing a button.”
Thatcher had gone pale. “Josh was there last night? With Jenna?”
Neil made himself nod. “He slipped away before the police came. Jenna said to let him go, that he’d helped her and she didn’t want him scared by the police.”
“Why was he there?” Thatcher asked, his voice now raspy, choking.
“He said he didn’t want them to hurt her.”
“But why was he there? At that particular moment?” Thatcher demanded, his voice shaking. Then he stilled. “Oh, dear God,” he murmured. “Neil, look at these girls.”
Neil moved on legs shakier than Thatcher’s voice. Then he looked at their happy smiling faces. At their long dark hair. And with the exception of Alev Rahrooh, their big dark blue eyes.
“No,” Neil whispered as their likeness sank in. He’d dreamed of Jenna and thought he’d escaped the dreams that haunted him. But he’d still been dreaming about the dead girls. He hadn’t found peace. Dammit. He’d overlooked the vital link right in front of his eyes, awake and asleep. “No.”
Steven barely heard Neil’s denial. His own heart was pounding so hard it filled his brain.
“They all look like Jenna,” Steven whispered, remembering thinking that little Serena Eggleston could have been Jenna’s daughter. Panic filled his throat. “Where’s Kent?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, just started running for Kent’s office in the lab, barely conscious of Davies and Bondioli behind him. He found Kent hunched over his microscope, taking neat notes.
“Kent, where’s the DNA print from the samples from Jenna’s apartment?”
Kent looked up and blinked behind his thick lenses. “It isn’t finished yet.” He slid off his stool uncertainly. “I can call and see when it’ll be back.”
“Do that,” Steven gritted, then grabbed one phone as Kent grabbed another. Kent called the lab and Steven called Liz to find out where the hell was his warrant. His next call would be to Jenna at the Llewellyn house to tell her not to move. Not to leave that house under any circumstances.
Friday, October 14, 5:00 P.M.
“Get in the car, Jen, we’re going for a ride,” Seth said.
Jenna turned from the window where she’d stood since Brad had driven away. She’d been thinking about Steven and Brad and Nicky. And Helen and the Serengeti, whatever the hell that had to do with anything. And Steven. And Nicky. And Steven. “Dad, please.”
Seth shook his head. “Don’t ‘Dad, please’ me. I said get in the car, we’re going for a ride.” He put her jacket around her shoulders and gave her a gentle shove out the door. “Go.”
THIRTY-THREE
Friday, October 14, 5:30 P.M.
“HERE IT IS,” KENT SAID, BREATHING HARD. “We got lucky.
They’d just finished it.” He pulled the newest DNA print from the envelope and held it side by side with the print from the Clary clearing. He swallowed and looked up and before he said a word Steven knew the truth.
“They’re a match, aren’t they, Kent?”
Kent nodded. “Whoever was in the Clary clearing was in Jenna’s apartment that night.”
Steven thought of the girls, all pretty, long-haired brunettes with eyes almost the shade of Jenna’s. “She was his target all along,” he whispered.
“Did she call back yet?” Davies asked.
Steven shook his head, worry and panic eating him up inside. “Allison says she and Seth left a half hour ago. Seth didn’t say where they were going.”
“Please tell me the man has a cell phone,” Davies said grimly.
Steven felt a hysterical laugh bubbling up from his gut. “Oh, yes, he does, but he’s got it turned off. Allison said he and Jenna were going to have a talk and he didn’t want any interruptions.”
Davies clenched his jaw. “If she’s with Seth, she’s all right. Try not to worry.”
Steven’s own cell phone jingled. “Thatcher . . . Thanks, Liz.” He disconnected and looked at his team, now gathered around him. “We have a warrant. Let’s go pay the Parkers a visit.”
Friday, October 14, 5:45 P.M.
Seth stopped the car next to the grave Jenna hadn’t seen in two years. “Get out, Jenna.”
She glared at Seth from the corner of her eye, her temper simmering. “I will not. I will not sit on that little iron bench and talk to someone who’s dead. Dead, Dad. D-e-a-d, dead.”
Seth got out of the car and opened her door, then bent forward until they were nose to nose, and said firmly, “Then sit on the little iron bench and talk to me.” He pulled her out of the car and onto the bench, looking at the marble gravestone.
“It’s pretty,” she said softly. Adam N
athaniel Llewellyn, Beloved. Followed by the date of his death, which until recently she’d considered the worst day of her life. There were things almost as bad as dying, she was coming to realize. Hurting a little boy so that he stayed up all night crying was almost as bad. Leaving your husband and children with a surly note was worse. Not trusting the woman you claimed to love and leaving her to be beaten . . . On that one she wasn’t sure.
Seth sighed. “So what are you going to do, girl?” He was on his knees next to Adam’s grave, straightening the flowers someone had planted there. Most likely Seth or Allison.
“About what?”
He fussed with a hearty orange chrysanthemum. “Well, about your living quarters for starters.”
Jenna lifted a brow, found it hurt to do so, and let it drop back down. “Are you evicting me?”
He glanced up at her, a twinkle in his eye. “Well, there is Wednesdays. I don’t think I want to be at the table when you sit down to Allie’s meat loaf again.”
Jenna laughed, then surprised at the sound, let it trail away. “I love you, Dad.”
“Of course you do. I also heard you tell that young man you love his father.”
“You were listening!”
“Of course I was. You never tell me anything. I have to get creative if I want to know what’s happening in your life. Evelyn’s doing much better by the way,” he added, jerking the thunder from her ire. “The doctor says she can come home tomorrow.”
“Well... good,” she mumbled. “Glad to hear it.” “Thought you would be.” He sat back on his heels and surveyed his work. “Not bad.”
Jenna looked at him, her heart softening. “It’s the most beautiful grave in the cemetery, Dad.”
He smiled. “Thank you. But this place still creeps you out, doesn’t it?”
She choked on a chuckle. “Creeps me out? You been listening to Charlie’s conversations, too?”
“Gotta know what’s going on with my girls. So what will you do about Steven, Jenna? He hurt you and for that I want to make his face look worse than yours, but he didn’t mean to, I could see it in his eyes. Will you throw away happiness for the pleasure of holding on to a grudge?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “It’s no pleasure, Dad.” He shook his head at that. “Sure it is. Not the same kind of pleasure as a gallon of Rocky Road or a night of really good sex—”
“Dad!”
“But it’s a pleasure all the same,” he went on as if she hadn’t interrupted. “It’s control, or the appearance of it, anyway. You, my dear, are a control freak.”
She opened her mouth to utter a denial, then closed it. It was a fair cop. “So?”
“So you can’t control everything. You, Jenna, really, really try, but you can’t. You try to control your grief over my son here.” He patted the headstone. “You’ve never really let him go.”
“What? I’m not the one who visits his grave every weekend or serves his favorite dinner on his death day. I’ve let him go. You’re the ones holding on. And that’s what creeps me out.”
“I have to admit, I don’t like the memorial dinners either,” Seth said, propping his chin atop the headstone. “My wife started them and Allie just kept it up. But those aren’t because we can’t let him go, Jen. We’re just remembering him. You’re the one still wearing his ring on your finger.”
“I am not,” she said, holding out her bare left hand, then realized she’d fisted her right. Her right hand where she still wore Adam’s ring on her thumb. She held out her right hand and shifted it side to side, watching the waning light play on the Celtic curves. “I guess I am.”
Seth lifted a white brow, then held out his hand, palm up. “So take it off.” When she didn’t move he dropped his hand. “I can imagine loving a woman with another man’s ring on her finger would be pretty hard. Might even make him wonder down deep if she really cared about him or if she was still holding a torch for her lost love. Which are you, Jenna?”
“I...” She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“Fair enough.”
“But, Dad, it’s not the same thing. Adam never would have thought the worst of me.”
“Sure he would, and he did,” Seth said firmly and stood up, brushing grass from his knees. “Why do you think he took up karate? He hated karate. I’ll tell you why. He was jealous of Mark.”
“Mark?” Jenna asked incredulously. “That’s ridiculous. Mark was Adam’s best friend. Mark and I were only friends.”
“He knew that. He also knew you’d be true to him, but he wanted to be there, just be certain.”
“That’s just ridiculous,” she repeated, then thought back. It made sense. It really did. Adam did hate karate, but he went, every single week. “Maybe it isn’t so ridiculous,” she amended.
“My son wasn’t perfect, Jenna, but he loved you more than his own life. When he passed it was like losing the best part of me. But he left you behind and I love you like you were my own daughter. If you could make meat loaf worth a damn I might even love you more.”
Jenna snickered, as he’d wanted her to.
“I never wanted you to come to Adam’s grave and pine for him. I wanted you to go on and find someone who could make you even one-tenth as happy as my son would have.” He cleared his throat gruffly. “So say good-bye to my son and get on with the job of living. If it’s with Steven, then put your grudge aside, because your excuse is a terrible one. If it’s not him, then make it somebody else real soon. Dammit, girl, I want more grandchildren and I’m not getting any younger.”
Jenna stood up and put her arms around him. “I love you, Dad.”
“I know you do,” he barked, then quieted. “Do you love Steven, Jenna?”
Jenna considered very hard, but the answer was amazingly simple. “Yes, yes I do.”
“Then go to him and tell him so.”
“I will, but I need to say something here, first. Would you give me a minute?”
He smiled. “I’ll check the graves over there. Their families don’t come often as they should.”
And as Jenna watched him hike over the hill, she knew Seth Llewellyn did what he did out of respect and love, not out of a morbid eccentricity. She stared at Adam’s headstone. “But Allison is eccentric, Adam. The memorial dinners creep me out and her meat loaf is like slimy cardboard. But they love you and they miss you.” She tugged a stray weed Seth had missed. “And they’ve gone on, mostly. So now, I guess I will, too.” She pulled off his ring and set it on top of the head-stone. “Seth can keep this or maybe give this to Charlie when she’s older. I’ll always love you and you were never store-brand vanilla. Maybe Heavenly Hash.” She chuckled at the whimsical thought. “And Steven is rightly classified as Rocky Road.” She ran her hand across the letters of his name lovingly. “We’ll smooth out the rocks. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I’m really fine.”
“I don’t think I’d go that far.”
Jenna whirled around and held on to the headstone when the world kept spinning. She blinked hard and brought a face into focus. And narrowed her eyes in confusion.
“Josh, what are you doing here?”
Friday, October 14, 6:15 P.M.
“You can’t come in here!” Mrs. Lutz stood at her front door, clutching her collar to her throat.
“We can, ma’am, and we will. We have a warrant.” Steven pulled it from his pocket and handed it to her. He pushed past her, looking around, knowing he had uniforms covering every exit of the house in case any of the Lutzes decided to bolt. “Where is Josh?”
She clutched her collar tighter around her throat. “He’s not here.”
“And Rudy?”
“He’s not here either. I’m going to call my husband.” “You do that, ma’am,” said Sandra, right behind Steven. “Any limits to the warrant, Steven?”
“None,” Steven said with satisfaction. Liz had done an exemplary job.
“Good old Liz,” Sandra said affectionately. “I’ll take Rudy’s room.”
> “And I’ll take Josh’s,” Steven said, then turned when Mrs. Lutz screeched bloody murder. He was just in time to see the woman leap against Davies and pound her fists on his chest. Two uniforms pulled her away, wringing her hands. Probably hurt her fists on Davies’s Kevlar vest, Steven thought, again with satisfaction.
“You!” Mrs. Lutz screamed. “You ruined our lives by setting my son up in Seattle!” She leapt again and the uniforms pulled her back as Davies just stood there, impassively.
“I never set up your son,” Davies said calmly. “I simply targeted the wrong one.”
She went white at that and tugged at the restraining hands of the officers. “You’re lying. My Joshua would never do anything wrong. It’s all that bitch teacher’s fault. She’s to blame.”
“For what, Mrs. Parker?” Davies asked.
She spluttered, then seemed to calm before their eyes. “For failing my Rudy. Neither of my boys touched her. She’s a conniving liar if she says they did.”
“We’re not investigating the school vandalism,” Steven said mildly, his hand on the banister. “We’re investigating serial murder.” He had the unmitigated joy of watching Mrs. Lutz swoon.
Steven trotted up the stairs, Davies close behind him. “Do you always make such devoted friends?” Steven asked.
Davies shrugged. “What can I say? I’m unforgettable.” They found Josh’s room impeccably neat and clean. Davies walked right over to the nightstand and pulled a thick volume from the drawer.
“Please tell me that’s not a Gideon Bible,” Steven said dryly and Davies smiled.
“No, it’s I, Claudius. You ever read it?”
Steven riffled through a drawer of socks. “Does it have comics like Captain Underpants?”
“No,” said Davies. “Claudius was about twentieth in line for emperor of Rome. Everybody around him was being killed, so he played dumb so he wouldn’t be perceived as a threat.” He opened the book and flipped through the pages, then set it aside. “He outlived them all and became emperor. Ruler of the world.”
Steven pulled a sketch pad from beneath neatly folded shirts and held it up so Davies could see the pages of sketches of the prep school emblem Josh had tattooed on his victims’ heads. “Look.”