Declan was the oldest of the Finnegan clan. He had taken on the responsibility of the pub. The others all pitched in, but Kieran’s brother Danny was a tour guide and her other brother, Kevin, was an actor. The workload fell to Declan.
Kieran grabbed her hand. Declan, a handsome hunk of a man with broad shoulders, a quick smile and dark red hair, assured her that she was more than welcome to the computer, to his office and the run of the pub if need be.
Sarah found herself led down the hall to the office; Kieran signed on to the computer there.
“Knock yourself out,” she told her cheerfully once Sarah was set. “I’ll be wherever for the moment. When Craig and Tyler get back, you can tie up, we’ll have roast and we’ll see you locked in for the night.”
Sarah frowned; she didn’t want to be afraid. She was a New Yorker! She had never feared the subway, though she did carry pepper spray. If she’d been afraid of every perceived threat, she’d never have made it in the city.
But Kieran was gone. And Sarah didn’t know where to begin—other than to key in the name “Archibald Lemming.”
His crimes—even his initial crimes—had been horrendous. He’d received the death sentence, but under pressure by right-to-life groups after his sentencing, the death penalty had been altered to “life and ninety-five years.” To make sure that he never got out.
But of course, he had gotten out.
Lemming’s first known victim had been a kindergarten teacher. She’d been found in her home, her head almost severed from her body. He’d managed to get his second victim’s head off. It had been left on a buffet table in the dining room while she’d been seated in her favorite chair. He hadn’t discriminated by sex—his third victim had been a man, a plumber, who’d been found with his fingers wrapped around a beer, his torso in a recliner in the living room, his head atop the TV.
Lemming had been interviewed by the police, since he had hired the plumber to do some work in his home. It was also discovered that he’d had a flirtation going with the first victim, who had lived in his building. He’d been let go—there had been no evidence against him. Then the body and head of his landlord had been found—set up much the same as the others. And despite his “charming” protests, he’d been connected to the crimes via DNA—he’d cut himself during the last murder, and his own blood had given him away. He’d been incarcerated, where, according to prison officials, he’d been a model prisoner. Until, with Perry Knowlton—another murderer who used a knife—he’d escaped via the infirmary.
And gone on to kill and kill again in a frenzy in the “haunted” house.
Sarah sat back and breathed for a minute.
This was crazy.
She had seen the man die. He had no children—none known, at any rate. And if he’d had any offspring, it was unlikely that they knew he was their father. He’d been a loner: no wife, no girlfriend. He’d gone to work every day on Wall Street—and he’d killed by night.
She scanned the information on the page again. He was, by pure definition, the perfect psychopath. No emotion whatsoever. No regret. He was cold and brutal. He’d even murdered the man with whom he’d escaped.
Sarah frowned and started reading again.
Yes, she’d seen Archibald Lemming die.
But...
She sat back, still staring at the screen. And to her own amazement, she thought she had a theory.
Chapter Three
Being escorted back to the office by Danny Finnegan, Tyler found himself grateful that Sarah had found such a supportive group of friends.
Just going through the pub, he’d heard people call out to Danny and to one another.
“Regulars?” he asked. “They all know each other?”
Danny, a leaner, slightly younger version of his brother Declan, shrugged and grinned. “Our folks—and theirs before them—wanted it to be a real Irish pub. Well, back in the day, men had a room, and women and families had a separate one, if they were allowed in at all. But hey, progress is a good thing, right? Yeah, we like to be an Irish American Cheers, and we want everyone to feel welcome.”
“I do,” Tyler assured him.
Danny pushed open a door in the long hallway. “Tyler and Craig are back, Sarah!”
She had been very seriously staring at the computer screen and looked up quickly, a question in her eyes.
Tyler wished he could tell her that yes, simply going to the morgue had solved the whole thing.
He prayed that eventually, and sooner rather than later, they would have answers.
It wasn’t going to be easy; they had nothing to go on.
“Kieran will have roast out for you all in a few minutes. We’ve got you at a back booth,” Danny said, and left.
Tyler dropped into a chair in front of the desk.
Sarah stared at him. “It was...horrible, wasn’t it?” she whispered.
He nodded. “I can’t help but remember—we all had such promise.”
“But did you learn anything?”
“I’m heading to the bar where she was last seen, Time and Time Again, around eight or so. If they get some of the same clientele nightly, someone might know or remember something.” He hesitated a moment. “She wasn’t working at the strip club anymore—she hadn’t been for about two weeks. From what I understand, it was a pretty decent place. I’ve heard it’s easy for strippers to become involved in drugs—helps them through. But there are a number of clubs run fairly well, professionally—no touching for real, and no drugs. Anyway, Hannah was fired about a week ago. Craig and I dropped by the club after we visited the sites where she was found.”
“So...wow. I feel worse and worse.”
“Don’t. Something happened that night ten years ago. We were incredibly lucky. Thanks to Davey, we weren’t killed. But we all changed. We became introverted. And when we got over it, time had passed. This was in no way your fault—you have to know that. You couldn’t have stopped what happened in Cemetery Mansion, any more than you could have saved Hannah now. You have to accept that.”
“I know.”
“The thing is...I do think this is random. The first suspects in a murder are always those closest to the victim. Except in a case like this. There’s no one really to look at—her last boyfriend was in Chicago when it happened.”
“Random...” Sarah paused and took a breath. “I know this may seem far-fetched, but I have an idea who we’re looking for.”
Tyler couldn’t have been more surprised. “Who?”
“Perry Knowlton!”
He was still for a minute. “Perry Knowlton is dead. Archibald Lemming killed him, too. Police found the ashes in a veterinary clinic before they even caught up with Lemming.”
She shook her head firmly. “They never proved it!”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been reading up on Archibald Lemming and Perry Knowlton all day. I’ve studied every newspaper article, every piece of video. They found a body so badly burned there were no DNA samples—maybe there might have been today, but not back then. They found his prison uniform. They found trinkets he carried. But they never proved without doubt that the bone fragments and ash they discovered were the remains of Perry Knowlton.”
Tyler had read up on the killers, too.
And she was right.
Before, Knowlton hadn’t been someone to consider. He hadn’t made any appearances over the years and had been assumed dead. He was a killer, too. A serial killer. Like his prison buddy, Archibald Lemming, he had loved to kill with knives. He hadn’t been known for decapitating his victims, but for slashing them, the kill strokes being at the jugular vein.
“Maybe,” Tyler said.
“But how, and where has he been? Those are the things I’ve been wondering. I mean, he’d be in the system. If he’d been arrested for any crime in the past ten years, his pr
ints would be on record. They’d have known it was him. What? Did he find a distant farm somewhere and hide out for ten years? Kieran said serial killers don’t stop, unless they are dead or incarcerated somewhere.” She flushed, her beautiful blue eyes wide. “I know I just write science fiction novels, but I am good at research.”
“Sarah, your theory is just as sound as anything else we have at the moment, that’s for sure,” Tyler told her. “I—I don’t know. We can look.”
There was a tap at the door and Kieran stuck her head in. “Roast!” she said. “You need to keep your strength up if you’re going to continue working on this thing. That means actually having a meal. Craig says you’re going to the bar later. Nothing to do until then except fuel up!”
“Sounds good to me,” Tyler said. He rose. Sarah still had a bit of a shell-shocked look about her. He walked around the desk and reached for her hand. “Let’s eat,” he said.
“Dinner,” she agreed.
She stood. Her palm rested in his. He couldn’t believe ten years had passed and it was still incredibly good just to hold her hand.
And then she smiled at him.
And he knew. He’d waited forever to be back with her. He sure as hell hadn’t wanted it to be like this... But he had never managed to fall out of love with her. And that was why nothing else in his life had ever been more than a fleeting moment in time, sex between consenting adults, panacea to ease a pain he’d refused to admit existed.
Maybe it was true that there was one person in the world who was simply everything, one person you were meant to love for a lifetime. Still, neither of them had fallen apart; they had created good lives. Responsible lives.
So why had he left?
Because she had pushed him away. And that would never lead to a lifetime of happiness. And, of course, he was still afraid she would push him away again. But at least not in the middle of a murder investigation. Not this one.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
There was something soft in her eyes. Something that made him think of years gone by.
It hurt.
And it was good, too. Oddly good.
“You’re welcome,” he murmured.
They made their way back down the charmingly paneled old hallway and out to the restaurant section of the pub. As promised, Kieran had a back booth for them, out of the way of the now very busy crowd. Sunday roast was apparently extremely popular.
Although Craig was careful about what he said, Tyler learned the FBI agent had been working on an organized crime case that included bodies found as the result of a rather old-fashioned but very efficient form of retribution murder—they had their feet stuck in concrete and had been dropped in the East River. “My partner, Mike, has been doing some cleanup paperwork for me, but we still have a few arrests to make. I’ll be as much help as I can.”
“You’ve opened doors for me. I’m grateful,” Tyler said. “And Sarah might have a very good idea for us to pursue.”
She hiked her brows in surprise and flushed again. “I hope you’re not going to think I have an overactive imagination,” she said.
“We definitely think you have an overactive imagination,” Kieran told her. “But that’s a good thing. It pays. On this, however, what do you think?”
“Tell them,” Tyler urged.
And so she did.
Neither Kieran nor her boyfriend looked at her as if she were crazy.
“That’s true?” Craig asked. “I remember the case—when Archibald Lemming died here on that table leg. Of course, the entire country talked about it. But I never studied anything on Perry Knowlton. As far as the public was concerned—as far as everyone was concerned, really—the man was dead, a victim of the man he had befriended. Now that is something I can look into for you.”
“That would be great.”
“Excuse me,” Kieran said. “Drinks, anyone?”
They opted for iced tea all around and she disappeared to get it. Another smiling waitress arrived with their plates.
The food was really good.
The conversation became lighter. They learned that Kieran and Craig had met during a diamond heist. Because of Kieran’s employers, Dr. Fuller and Dr. Miro, she was able to help Craig with a number of cases—recently one that had involved the deconsecrated old church right behind the pub. “My brother was affected by that one... He’d been in love with a victim,” Kieran said softly. “That’s Kevin. You haven’t met him yet, Tyler. But I’m sure you will!”
Tyler told them he was living on Beacon Hill. He described his daily work. “I take on a lot of missing-children cases,” he said. “When I’m lucky, I find them—most often, they’re runaways. When they’re not...I have a great relationship with the Boston PD, which is very important. I won’t work possible-cheating-spouse cases—too sordid. I have worked murder cases—a number of cold cases. It wasn’t always that way, of course, but working the cheating spouse thing just seems nasty—and finding justice for someone feels really good.”
“Have you ever considered coming back to New York, Tyler?” Kieran asked.
“It’s home. One never knows,” he said.
“Boston, New York...so many great cities!” she said. And then she looked at her watch. “Whoa. Well, dinner with you two was great. I wish we were heading to a play or a movie now, but I know you want to stay focused. It’s eight o’clock.”
“Time to go,” Tyler said, rising.
“Are you going with him?” Kieran asked Craig.
“I have to head to the office for at least an hour or so,” he replied. “Hey, this man is a good investigator. He’ll do fine.”
Sarah had risen, as well. “I’m going with you,” she said.
“Sarah,” Tyler protested. “That’s not a great idea.”
“I can help.”
“How?”
“I can make you look human and sweet—better than looking like a linebacker out to tackle someone!”
* * *
TIME AND TIME AGAIN was off Forty-Second Street and the Times Square area, but far enough away from the theater district on Ninth Avenue to just miss most of the theater-going crowd.
It would best be described, Sarah thought, as a nice dive bar.
She definitely wanted all her facilities about her, but deeply disappointed the bartender by ordering a soda with lime.
“Don’t you want a Ninth Avenue Special, a Dive-Bar Exotic or a Yes, It’s Time Again?” he asked her.
He was a young man of maybe twenty-five. Cheerful and flirty.
Sarah was sitting at the bar; Tyler was meeting with the night manager in his office.
“No, thanks. Just the soda water.”
“Your friend a cop?” he asked her.
She shook her head, smiling though, and looked around. The place was decorated with old posters that depicted the city during different eras. They helped cover the fact that the bar really needed to be painted.
“No, Tyler isn’t a cop.”
“But he’s in there asking about that girl,” the bartender said. He had a neatly trimmed beard and mustache combo, and she wondered if he was a student at one of the city’s colleges.
“Yes, he’s asking about Hannah Levine,” she told him softly.
“I’m Luke,” he said, looking down the bar to see if he was needed. He wasn’t. He leaned on it. “The cops have already been all over us. She was carrying one of our promo matchboxes—that’s how they knew she’d been here.” He grimaced. “They have raised lettering—really swank matches for this place, but we get a mixed clientele. We cater to the local music scene.”
“Nice,” she replied. He was friendly, and she decided she might be able to help the investigation. She could ask questions, too, and maybe in a different way. “Are you from New York?”
“Nope. Akron, Ohio. Loving being here. D
on’t be deceived by appearances. This is actually a great place. Yes, we have a few lowlifes hanging around. But it’s honest work for me and helps pay the bills.”
“Hannah was my friend,” she said softly.
“Oh?” He seemed surprised. He leaned closer to her. “You don’t look like a junkie.”
“Hannah wasn’t on heroin,” she said defensively.
“No, just everything else. She came in here frequently. The owner had barred her for a while, but...people liked her. She just—well, she looked for tricks here, you know.”
Sarah winced.
“Hey, I’m so sorry. I guess you hadn’t seen her in a while.”
“No, I hadn’t. But...”
“I can see you care.” He straightened and said, “Excuse me,” and hurried down the length of the bar, speaking to customers seated on stools along the way. He refilled a few drinks, whispered to someone and then headed back to speak with Sarah.
“I don’t know what it was with her!” Luke said. He lowered his voice. “We dated a few times, but then...I found out she was hooking. I...well, that didn’t work for me. I want to have a wife I’ll grow old with, kids. Hannah said she’d never settle down. But we didn’t part badly. We were friends. I tried to help out, give her food—pay her bar tab when she walked out. She was her own worst enemy. Sometimes I thought she was committing slow suicide. Even when she had people trying to help her, she’d laugh them off. She said she loved the danger of hooking, you know?”
Sarah did know. Hannah had wanted to be on the edge—she’d wanted to skydive, ride the fastest coaster, speed on the FDR.
“I don’t care what she was doing. What happened shouldn’t have happened to her or to anyone!” Sarah said passionately.
“No! Of course not! I didn’t mean that. Just that...I don’t know who she might have met, who could have done such a terrible thing...”
His voice trailed off as he realized he obviously didn’t need to remind Sarah what had happened.
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