Midnight Fear

by Leslie Tentler

  “The truth is, I wasn’t.” The lines bracketing his mouth deepened. “Her mother’s having some issues. Turns out she’s got a new boyfriend, and it doesn’t look like Maria’s too wanted in the picture right now. In fact, Selma asked if I’d let her stay with me for a while.”

  Caitlyn wondered if Maria knew her mother had wanted a break. “For how long?”

  “She says a few weeks or a month. But I’m guessing longer.”

  “Then she should probably be registered for school.”

  “I’m figuring that, too. I just didn’t want to overwhelm her with too much all at once. I was also wondering if her mother might change her mind. Start missin’ her, you know?”

  “How does Maria feel about all this?”

  “I’m surprised she agreed to come back with me,” he admitted. “She barely knows me, and the things she’s probably heard about me from her mother can’t be good. It makes me wonder if things are still that bad for her with Selma.”

  He shook his head. “I’d hoped Selma had grown up, started thinkin’ of her child first instead of just herself. But I guess not. It’s funny that seven years ago she had me put in jail for taking Maria away. Now she wants me to take her off her hands. I’m glad to have her—it gives me a chance to get to know my little girl again. But I’m worried about her.”

  “If there’s anything I can do, Manny.”

  He seemed to consider her offer. “If I enroll her in school, I might need your help gettin’ her some clothes. It’s warm back in Texas and the weather’s already turning cold here. I don’t know much about fashion, never mind what teenage girls like to wear.”

  “I’d be happy to help.” Caitlyn thought it might be fun to take Maria shopping. “I also have a few things here she might like—some jackets and sweaters?”

  “That’d be nice.”

  “Let’s take one day at a time,” she suggested. “But if it looks like Maria might be more of a…permanent addition, we might want to consider moving the two of you to an apartment in Middleburg. It would be closer to the school and you’d have more room. If you’re worried about rent, we can discuss an increase in your pay.”

  “Caitlyn.” Manny laid his sun-weathered hand over hers on the table. Gratitude shone in his dark eyes. “I want you to know how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Hiring me and giving me another chance, even when you had good reason not to. I’m sorry about your friend. And I’m prayin’ they catch this psycho so your life can get back to normal.”

  “Thank you,” she said softly.

  “So…you and this Agent Novak?”

  Surprised, Caitlyn’s eyes flew to Manny’s. His were filled with quiet amusement.

  “I didn’t mean to make you blush, Caitlyn.” He regarded her over the rim of his cup. “It’s just that the two of you seem…close. If I overstepped my bounds—”

  “You haven’t, Manny. But Reid and I…” Words failed her, and Caitlyn shook her head, unsure of what to say. They were friends, definitely, quite possibly something more. The care between them was clear, as was the deep physical attraction. But she truly didn’t know where she stood with him. Once the investigation was closed, she wondered if Reid would fade from her life again.

  “He’s a good man. Even if he did interrogate me like a son of a bitch.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at Manny’s comment. Caitlyn clasped her coffee cup in both hands, feeling its heat seep into her palms.

  “It’s just that the timing isn’t right for us.” Her eyes grew serious. “Maybe it never will be.”

  “Timing is overrated. You ask me, you don’t let it stand in the way of being happy with someone.” Manny stood, placing his hand on her shoulder. Then he rinsed his cup in the sink and set it upside down in the dish drainer. Picking up the shotgun, he bid her good-night. Momentarily, she heard his heavy footsteps climbing the stairs.

  Caitlyn wondered what Reid was doing now. Whether the FBI was even one step closer to finding Bliss’s killer. She had hoped he would call her that evening to update her, but she knew about the task force meeting and suspected he had his hands full.

  Getting up from the table, she peered through the kitchen window into the darkness and glimpsed a vehicle pulling away outside. But it wasn’t a Middleburg Police squad car. Instead, it was the Treadwells’ station wagon that disappeared into the copse of trees as it headed back down to the main road. She had spoken to Sophie earlier by phone and she hadn’t mentioned coming over. Caitlyn’s guess was that it was Rob, dropping in again to check on her. He must have noted Manny’s truck in the driveway and decided not to come inside.

  She thought of his recent overfamiliarity with her and felt glad he’d changed his mind.

  Reid stood with Mitch a few feet from the stainless steel counter that held Bliss Harper’s corpse. Dr. Ketel, one of a half-dozen medical examiners for the District of Columbia, was conducting the external review of the body. Bespectacled, with thinning gray hair, he spoke into the recorder that hung over the table. “Three lacerations found on the right breast, two on the left, the latter including a near excise of the nipple.”

  His gloved hands explored the lacerations. “Incisions are two to three inches in length, approximately one-half inch deep…”

  The verbal description continued. A body block had already been used to position the corpse for autopsy. Reid knew what would come next—the Y-incision that would open the body cavity in order to observe any irregularities or indicators as to cause of death. Not that it was necessary, he thought grimly. The blackened ligature marks encircling the throat made it clear she’d been strangled. Still, all deaths where homicide was evident or suspected required that an autopsy be performed.

  “…the body bears a series of marks, approximately one-fourth inch in diameter, traveling up the inside of the right forearm. They appear to be cigarette burns,” Dr. Ketel observed in an unemotional monotone. “Similar, additional marks are present on the torso and thighs…”

  Despite the low temperature inside the suite, Reid felt hot in his suit, his dress shirt and tie confining. Anger and repulsion churned inside him and he looked briefly away. The body was a mess, telling the story of the agony the woman had endured. Cuts, burns and bruises covered her pale skin, as offensive as graffiti on a church wall. Whoever their killer was, he was starting to take the abuse further.

  “He’s escalating,” Reid murmured to Mitch, who gave a focused nod of agreement.

  “…multiple ligature marks indicate the victim was choked repeatedly prior to a full asphyxiation and crushing of the trachea…”

  The antiseptic-laced air, combined with the faint scent of Mitch’s musky aftershave, made him feel slightly nauseous. He left the room, needing a moment to pull himself together.

  Toughen up, he thought critically, pacing the windowless basement corridor. But the realization that the body on the table was a friend of Caitlyn’s—that she’d been abducted from a place Caitlyn still visited—made the autopsy harder to take than if it had just been a random victim. He didn’t want to feel that way; all victims mattered. But Bliss Harper had affected him in particular, made it seem all too real how easily Caitlyn could be the one lying on that table instead.

  He had been gone a few minutes when the door to the autopsy room opened and Mitch stepped outside. “Jesus, Novak. You’re acting greener than Morehouse.”

  Reid rubbed his forehead with the second and third fingers of his right hand. “Sorry. I guess I’ve been away longer than I realized. Did I miss anything?”

  “The external’s over. Victim was raped, but no semen. Vaginal bruising indicates he got rough. Ketel also thinks there was penetration with a foreign object.”

  Reid nodded. He expected Mitch to give him hell, but to his surprise he let the opportunity pass.

  “You all right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Take your time, okay? After this is over, maybe you and I should go have that beer. I can bring you up to speed,
give you more detail than we were able to cover in the briefing.”

  A high-pitched, electronic buzzing noise came from inside the autopsy suite. Reid knew from experience it was the bone saw Dr. Ketel was using to open the chest cavity. Mitch gave him a last, concerned look and returned to the room.

  A persistent thought ran through his mind. If the killer was escalating, he’d also want the thrill with increasing frequency.

  He would abduct another woman soon.

  36

  The medication wasn’t helping this time.

  Reid slid down his bathroom wall, feeling the cold chill of the ceramic tile against his bare back. Reaching the floor, he rested his head in his hands. The throb was insistent—a deep, repeated knife-jab inside his skull, like some kind of animal trying to claw its way out.

  Only a few hours had passed since he had left Mitch at the bar. He’d woken in bed, aware of the faint auras around the furniture and door frame as he stumbled to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before vomiting. Dizzy, he decided to stay put until the pain subsided. If it did this time. The pain was worse, its duration longer than two nights ago when Caitlyn had discovered him.

  Another pulsating stab blurred his vision, squeezing his lungs and stealing his breath. He scrubbed angrily at the tear that slipped down his face.

  If the tumor had returned…

  Megan and Cooper, his father, Isabelle and Maddie—if he were ill again, all their lives would be turned upside down, put on hold as they cared for him just as they had six months ago. He would have to take another medical leave of absence and he wasn’t sure his career would survive it a second time. But even more important, the unsub would still be out there, inflicting violence and death. And Caitlyn would still be in his sights. The killer had already gotten to her once—he couldn’t let it happen again.

  Keeping his eyes closed, he battled the pain.

  At the same time, Reid knew he was playing a dangerous game. He understood that with a growing certainty. He had been in denial, continuing to ignore the repeated messages from the neurologist’s office. Leaning his head back against the tiles, he bargained with God for just a little more time.

  But he would have to make a decision soon.

  The Wednesday afternoon was rainy and gray, befitting the somber occasion. Caitlyn stood at the edge of mourners with Reid beside her. Rain dripped from the rim of the umbrella he held over their heads, and their combined breath fogged in the biting cold.

  Wet-eyed, Caitlyn listened as the minister spoke from behind the carved-wood, pewter-trimmed coffin, a massive spray of red roses on its top. He talked of Bliss, her zest for life and the people she loved, as well as the tragic circumstances of her death. Caitlyn felt the gazes of the other mourners shift to her from time to time, and she heard their faint whispers that drifted in the chilled air around her. She clung to Reid’s forearm, absorbing his strength. At times she thought he was the only thing keeping her upright.

  Elaborate mausoleums and gravestones dotted the hillside in Saint John Cemetery, some of them more than two hundred years old. Stone angels, cherubs and Madonnas commingled among whitewashed, Gothic crosses. The freshly dug hole where Bliss would be laid to rest seemed in stark contrast to their ancient beauty.

  “Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” the minister intoned. “In sure and certain hope of the resurrection into eternal life…”

  Caitlyn’s heart tore as a sob came from the front row where the family sat in folding chairs, protected from the rain by a funeral home tarp. Bliss’s mother, Meredith, was crying, her head bowed. Judge Harper was beside her, his arm encircling her shoulders.

  The minister gave a signal and the casket slowly lowered into the ground. Then one by one, each family member rose and threw a symbolic handful of dirt over the coffin while a woman sang “The Lord’s Prayer” in a soaring a cappella soprano. As Felicity, the youngest of the Harper siblings, reclaimed her seat, her eyes met Caitlyn’s through the crowd. A mix of grief and hatred shone on her face. Caitlyn felt new tears threaten, and then Reid’s hand against the small of her back. She wanted to press her face against the lapels of his dark trench coat, gather it in her hands to anchor herself to him. But instead, she squared her shoulders and looked straight ahead.

  The crowd began to disperse. Still holding the umbrella over her head, Reid turned Caitlyn in the direction of his SUV, which was parked under the orange burst of an oak along the road leading into the cemetery. The rain had increased, the late afternoon fog growing thicker, and the mourners began moving like a swelling tide toward their cars. Caitlyn glanced around, seeing Agents Tierney and Morehouse as they surveyed the masses. Reid had told her the FBI would have a presence at the service, since oftentimes the perpetrator would attend such an event in order to witness the suffering of those impacted by his crime. It was yet another way for him to enjoy the pain of others.

  She felt a shiver rise inside her that had nothing to do with the cold.

  As they neared the vehicle, Caitlyn heard a male voice call her name. Judge William Harper approached. He was an imposing man, tall, with silver hair and shoulders as broad as a linebacker. His black suit was streaked with rain.

  “Judge Harper—”

  “How dare you come here,” he spat.

  Caitlyn felt as if the ground were crumbling beneath her. “Bliss was my friend. I—I just wanted to—”

  “You got her killed!” He shoved a finger under her nose, his wild, grief-stricken eyes narrowing under bushy eyebrows. “It should have been you! The newspaper said the killer was looking for you in that house.”

  “That’s enough. Walk away,” Reid warned, his voice low and controlled. He subtly indicated the Department of Justice shield he wore on his belt.

  The judge sneered. “You think I give a damn about that, son? Do you know who I am?”

  “You’re grieving, Judge Harper. I’m sorry for your loss. But the last thing you want to do is make a scene here.”

  He glared at Reid, then cut his gaze back to Caitlyn. The words were thick in his throat. “I told my Bliss not to take the listing—that place, your family—they’re cursed. It should have been you, Caitlyn. I hope you live with that knowledge every day.”

  As he pivoted on his heel and strode back toward his family, Caitlyn remained frozen. Her lungs felt like stone. She couldn’t breathe. The faces that passed her held looks of curiosity, accusation, or both. From under the funeral tarp she could hear Meredith Harper’s high-pitched wail of grief.

  “We’re going,” Reid murmured. His face was flushed. Caitlyn realized his hands were on her, coaxing her to move forward. She was only now aware of the tears flowing from her eyes.

  As he helped her into the SUV, a starburst of light exploded in front of her face.

  “Get out of here,” Reid snapped at the photographer. The media had been instructed not to go beyond the cemetery gates, to give the family and mourners some respect. But at least one of them had dared to venture inside.

  “Does it feel like déjà vu, Ms. Cahill?” the man called, his camera concealing the upper portion of his face. “The first Capital Killer was your brother—do you know this one personally, too?”

  Caitlyn stood openmouthed as Agent Morehouse appeared, grabbing the photographer by the arm and ushering him away. Once she was situated inside the vehicle, Reid closed the passenger door, then jogged around to the other side. But he stopped as Agent Tierney approached. She waited, rain streaking the SUV’s windshield and beating on its roof as Reid and his partner spoke. She couldn’t hear their words through the onslaught.

  Her recuperating hand ached in the damp cold.

  “What’s going on?” Caitlyn asked when Reid finally entered the vehicle.

  “Agent Tierney received a tip on David Hunter’s whereabouts.” Reid started the engine, but he was unable to pull from the curb due to the mourners still leaving the graveside. The SUV’s heater blew out lukewarm air. He looked at her, sympathy ref
lected on his even features. Even with the protection of the umbrella, his dark hair had gotten damp, and his pale blue dress shirt and silk tie under his trench coat were splotched with water. His intense gray eyes were the same color as the darkening late afternoon.

  “You’re shaking.” He turned the heater up a notch.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “We’re going to check it out.” He gazed into his rearview mirror, and Caitlyn knew he was looking at Agent Tierney’s dark sedan, which was parked behind them with its lights on.

  “My father lives a few miles from here,” Reid told her. “I’m going to drop you off at his place for a while. You can’t be safer than with a retired cop.”

  Caitlyn wanted to protest, but she knew Reid wouldn’t leave her alone. At his instruction, Manny had driven her to the District earlier that day, handing her over to Reid so he could get back to the stables and farm. After escorting her to the funeral, the plan was that Reid would drive her back home. She was being treated like a captive, and it was a feeling she didn’t like.

  “I don’t want to intrude on your father,” she said quietly.

  “Don’t worry about it. He’ll probably make you have a beer with him and play cards.”

  As the flow of mourners passing in front of the SUV finally subsided, Reid pulled onto the road. Caitlyn dropped the sun visor and used its lighted mirror to examine herself. Her hair hung in limp strands around her face, framing her teary eyes. The bruise on her temple had faded somewhat, but it was still an ugly patch of pale yellow and green.

  “Do you really think David Hunter is the copycat?”

  Reid didn’t look at her. He was concentrating on avoiding the cameramen and reporters who were outside Saint John Cemetery. They stood in the pouring rain, wearing slickers and setting up their equipment in preparation for the five o’clock news.

  “My gut says no,” he said. “But we’d be remiss not to bring him in if we can.”