Carolyn acquiesced, and they drove twenty minutes to get to Marcus’s Spanish-style home on the outskirts of Ventura. Once inside, he gave her a quick tour. The house was charming, spacious but not pretentious. Marcus told her that he’d sold his condo in Los Angeles and turned one of his offices into a bedroom for whenever he needed to stay in town. He loved the unique privacy his new home afforded him. The house was surrounded by two acres of land, half planted in avocados and the other half in oranges.
“Makes me feel like a farmer,” he joked, standing next to her on the back porch. “Of course, unless there’s fruit on them, I can’t tell one tree from another. In a few years, I’m going to subdivide it and build houses. If my business doesn’t pick up, that’s the only way I’ll be able to afford the payments. My alimony and child-support payments are huge. My wife and kids don’t have much use for me, but they have plenty of use for my money.”
Although the main house had been recently renovated, the other buildings were not in good condition. The barn, where the previous owners kept their horses, needed paint and a new roof. “Would you like a glass of wine?” Marcus asked when they’d entered the kitchen.
“Sounds great,” Carolyn told him.
“I have to go down to the cellar. Be right back.”
Carolyn wandered into the living room. It was dark, so it was hard to make out the furnishings. She started to turn on a light when she heard Marcus calling to her from the other room.
“Here you go,” he said, handing her a glass of merlot. “John’s going to be fine, they’ll catch Holden, and before you know it, I’ll be whisking you away to Paris.”
Carolyn had kids and responsibilities. She’d be lucky if she could find the time to go to Palm Springs, let alone Paris. It was a pleasant thought, though, and lately there hadn’t been enough of those to go around. “I’ll drink to that,” she said, clicking the wineglass against his before she took a sip. “This is terrific,” she added, the delightful aroma of the fine wine waking up her senses. She started to take another drink when he reached out and took her glass from her.
“First, we need to get some food into you. I don’t want you passing out on me.”
Carolyn smiled. “You cook?”
“Heavens, no,” Marcus said, opening the refrigerator and removing a glass container. “My housekeeper is Italian. She tries to mother me, so she always makes three times more than I can eat. This is one of her specialties, lobster in white wine and capers over linguini. All I have to do is pop it in the microwave. If that doesn’t sound good, I have a roast chicken from yesterday that I never got around to eating.”
Carolyn smiled. “The lobster dish sounds delicious.”
He leaned back against the counter while he waited for their food to cook. “Your friend Hank seems awfully intense. Is he always that way?”
“Hank and I’ve been having a lot of arguments lately.”
“Not uncommon when you work with people,” Marcus said, the microwave beeping behind him. He removed two plates from the cabinet and collected some silverware, carrying it to the table. “Disagreement can be good now and then. Lets off steam, gives people a chance to come up with new ideas, or improve on existing ones. I like my employees to voice their opinions.”
“You own the company, then?” Carolyn said, surprised. “I was under the impression that you only worked there.”
“It’s not a big company,” Marcus explained. “I’d be able to sleep better at night if I was just an employee. There’s a lot of responsibility when you own your own business. Most of the defense contracts for software go to giants like Microsoft. I was fortunate in that I developed a unique program. There’s better stuff out there now, and we’re working ourselves to death trying to compete. The entire future of my company rests in the hands of a few brilliant geeks. I can’t afford to pay a fortune, so I have to rely on new talent. Some of the smartest programmers around are coming out of the gaming field. I’ve got one kid working for me who just turned eighteen. His starting pay was over a hundred grand, and already other companies are trying to steal him.”
Marcus set the wine bottle in the middle of the table, then spooned their food onto their plates. “What have you and Hank been arguing about? You going to Holden’s house without backup, I presume.”
“That among other things.” Carolyn took a seat beside him at the round mahogany table. She explained what had transpired between her and the detective at Lisa Sheppard’s gravesite at the Alessandro Lagoon. “I was shocked Hank had forgotten the glove we found on the first victim. They were made by different companies, though, so it didn’t take us anywhere.”
“What significance does the glove have?”
“I believe the killer left it intentionally,” she said. “Sort of like a calling card.”
He pointed at her plate. “Eat your food before it gets cold.”
Carolyn laughed. “Look who’s acting like a mother hen.” Falling serious, she said, “I shouldn’t have criticized Hank in front of the other officers. Mary Stevens did the same thing. Neither one of us gave a lot of thought to what we were saying that day.” She took a bite of her pasta, then washed it down with her wine.
“Who’s Mary Stevens?”
“A homicide detective, and a good one, too,” she told him. “She let Rebecca stay at her house the night John was shot. We’re practically neighbors, but we seldom socialize outside the office.”
‘So the killer’s a golfer?” Marcus asked, hungrily attacking his food.
“No,” she said. “I doubt if Holden has ever played golf in his life, not even miniature golf. Leaving the glove was his way to taunt us. He’s probably angry that we didn’t notice the first glove, the one he left on Tracy Anderson’s body. This isn’t an ordinary murder case, Marcus. There’s no telling how many women Holden has killed over the years.”
He stopped eating and stared at her. “Why didn’t he get the death penalty? How can they turn these murderers loose like that? The system stinks, Carolyn. I don’t know how you put up with it. Just because some lab guy screwed up doesn’t mean they have to release all these violent criminals.”
“Not every case where Abernathy processed evidence was overturned, just the ones that couldn’t be proven without DNA or some other type of forensic evidence. And the people who handle forensics these days aren’t referred to as ‘lab guys,’ Marcus. They’re experts, and their skills are vital to the system.”
“They’re not that highly trained,” Marcus commented, dabbing at his lips with a napkin. “After I met you, I did some research. Only three states require DNA labs to be certified. They don’t even have a Ph.D. program in forensic science. Yet these people are dealing with human lives.”
He was an intelligent, thoughtful man. Carolyn became animated. “You’re right, Marcus. Everything outside of forensic science, particularly DNA, is considered circumstantial, and juries today don’t want to convict on circumstantial evidence. They want to sleep at night, leave the burden of deciding someone’s fate to the experts. What they want is unimpeachable proof that the defendant is guilty. We’ve convinced them that forensic evidence is infallible. But it’s only as good as the people who process it. And human beings make mistakes.”
Finished with his food, Marcus leaned back in his chair. “You think Holden’s turned into a serial killer?”
“It looks that way,” Carolyn told him. The police hated to bring the FBI in on a case, but she knew it was something they should consider here. What difference did it make if someone stepped on your toes as long as they got the job done? Leaving the glove was a ritualistic gesture, typical behavior among many serial killers. It was also a way to attract media attention, something most of them desired.
“What makes you think Holden has killed other women?”
“Only a fraction of an offender’s crimes ever come to light,” she said. “If Holden killed women he’d never met, as was the case with Tracy Anderson, the chances of catching him decrease dramat
ically.” She then filled him in on her original interview with Holden, when he had alluded to other victims.
“Well,” Marcus said, “when they catch him this time, maybe the murdering bastard will end up on death row.”
“From your mouth to God’s ears.” Carolyn pushed her plate aside. “There is something else about Hank you should know. According to Mary, he’s infatuated with me. That’s probably why he’s not wild about you appearing on the scene.”
Marcus scowled. “How many guys do I have to compete with? What’s the deal with the race-car driver? He isn’t still around, is he?”
If he only knew, Carolyn thought, standing and looking around. Brad had told her relationships were only exciting when they were new. When had she started to bore him? After a few weeks? A month? No wonder they’d been continually breaking up and getting back together. “I need to call and check on John.”
“No problem,” Marcus said. “Walk past the living room and turn right.”
She wondered why he was sending her so far away when there was a phone sitting on the kitchen counter. “Go on,” he told her, “you’ll get a kick out of it. I had it installed as a way to protest the lack of privacy we have these days. Well, specifically, people forcing me to listen to their idiotic conversations in public places.”
Carolyn followed his directions, laughing when she saw an old-fashioned red phone booth. The hallway was dark, but when she opened the folding door to the booth, a light came on. First, she called Veronica and made arrangements for her to pick up her mother and Rebecca at the hospital.
“I’ll keep the brat over here tonight,” her friend said. “Once everything settles down, you’re going to have to set that girl straight. She could have got all of you killed the other night. What kind of a kid smarts off to a murderer holding a gun to her mother’s head?”
“Rebecca and I are making some headway,” Carolyn said, thinking of the night her daughter had fixed her hair. “And she was very brave to do what she did, even if it didn’t work out that well. At least she tried to do something. Most kids her age would have been paralyzed with fear.”
“Where are you, by the way?” Veronica asked. “I tried to call you at home about fifteen minutes ago and no one answered. Were you asleep?”
“Not exactly,” Carolyn said trailing her finger around the dial phone that Marcus had converted into a pushbutton. “I had dinner with a friend.”
“What friend? You don’t have any friends outside of me, unless you count Brad, Hank, and that detective, Mary Stevens.”
“I’m with Marcus,” Carolyn whispered, although she knew he couldn’t hear her from inside the booth.
“The Bentley guy?”
“The nice guy. The extremely heroic and handsome guy, who just might turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“Whatever you say. I was around for the early Brad days, in case you’ve forgotten. You know—best lover you’ve ever had, gonna get married and live happily ever after, nothing could ever go wrong between you. You don’t fall often, Carolyn, but when you do, you land right on that thick head of yours, and it knocks you silly.”
When her friend started ranting, it was time to end the conversation. Carolyn called and spoke to John. He tried to talk his mother out of returning to the hospital until the next day. When she protested, he put Neil on the phone.
“You’ve been through hell, sis,” Neil told her. “I brought some sketch pads in my van. I’m going to work while John sleeps. I’ll be a better watch guard than you—I stay up until dawn all the time. That’s when I do my best work.”
“Call the police if you notice anything even slightly suspicious,” his sister instructed. “Promise me, Neil.”
“I promise, okay, but why would Holden come here? He’s got to know you handed the key over to the police, and John certainly doesn’t have anything he might want.”
When Carolyn stepped out of the phone booth, it was pitch dark. She had an eerie feeling that someone was right beside her. Then she felt his warm breath on the back of her neck.
“Is everything okay?” Marcus asked, massaging the tense muscles between her shoulders.
Carolyn wasn’t sure how to react. “Why don’t you turn some lights on?”
“It’s easier to relax when it’s dark.”
She closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. She had to put the events involving Holden out of her mind. She turned around and faced him. His fingers trembled on the buttons on her blouse. When he pulled her to him, she realized he wasn’t wearing his shirt.
“I wanted to feel your skin against mine,” he said. “I know it sounds strange, but I’m shy. I’ve always been shy around women. I’m sorry. This probably isn’t the right time.”
“Why?” she said. “I want you to touch me.”
“I think I’m falling in love with you, Carolyn. I really wanted it dark because I didn’t want to see the expression on your face when I told you. I was afraid you’d reject me.”
“I feel the same way,” she said, reaching behind and undoing her bra. For a long time, they just stood there, touching each other. Then the pent-up emotions of the past two days surfaced. Carolyn placed her head against his chest and sobbed. “I’m fine,” she told him, sniffling.
“You cried that first night, on the beach,” Marcus said, disturbed. “Is there something I’m doing wrong?” Now that their eyes were adjusted to the dark, they could see each other from the light coming from the bathroom at the other end of the hall. “Please, Carolyn, tell me. I don’t want to make you unhappy.”
“It just feels so good to be held, to know someone cares about you.”
“I can do better than that,” Marcus said, releasing her and taking her hand. He led her down the dark corridor into a large room with high ceilings. It took Carolyn a while before she realized it was his bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he kicked off his shoes, then reached out to her. “Don’t worry,” he said once she was stretched out on the bed. “I can wait to make love to you. Shut your eyes, get some sleep. No one will hurt you. I’ll be right here beside you.”
How did he know? Carolyn thought. Terrifying thoughts and images kept passing through her mind. Being trapped in that awful house with Holden, the disgusting feel of his rough hands groping her vagina, the gun pressed against her temple. Then the terrible moment when he’d started shooting, and she saw her son bleeding on the floor. She pressed her fingers against her eyes, willing the images to go away.
Marcus gently took her hand and brought it down to her side. Softly, he stroked her forehead, her nose, her cheeks, her eyelids. She remembered putting her children to sleep that way when they were babies. Her body relaxed, and she drifted off into a peaceful slumber.
CHAPTER 27
Saturday, September 23—5:00 A.M.
Carolyn awoke, refreshed and excited. She had no idea how long she’d been asleep, but it was dark in the room. She was curled up tightly, snuggled against Marcus’s chest. Why did she feel so comfortable with this man, and how did he manage to extract her carefully controlled emotions? One of his arms was flung over her shoulder, his long fingers brushing against her bare breast. She pressed her nose against his arm and inhaled. The smell of his skin was intoxicating.
Images flashed in her mind—sandy beaches and suntan lotion, happy days from her past, her first boyfriend, Randy Ketchum. They used to park and neck for hours, thrashing around in the backseat of his father’s station wagon. The big moment occurred when they took their shirts off and pressed their bare chests together, similar to what she’d done earlier with Marcus. There was something about Marcus, the way he’d courted her, the tentative way he touched her, that reminded her of that first experience with Randy. Marcus wasn’t pushy like most men, nor did he make sexual innuendoes. Perhaps he really was shy, although most men who owned their own businesses didn’t fit that image. But business wasn’t intimacy, and Marcus seemed to know what most men failed to comprehend: making love was n
ot something to take lightly.
A sliver of light entered the room from the bathroom. Carolyn rolled over, wanting to look at him. Sleep had transformed him. His face was a picture of contentment and innocence. She ran her hands lightly over his chest, marveling at the sinewy muscles and the smoothness of his skin. Careful not to wake him, she extricated herself and slipped out of bed, taking a shower in the spare bedroom.
When she crawled back in bed, she wiggled inch by inch until she was pressed flush against his body. Taking a deep breath, she reached down and unzipped his slacks. Even though his upper body was asleep, what rested inside his jockey shorts was awake and aroused. She grasped the edge of his undershorts and was about to tug them down when his eyes opened.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” he asked, yawning.
“Yes,” Carolyn said, smothering him with kisses. “I don’t want to wait. The way things have been going, I could be dead tomorrow. Make love to me.”
He did, and it was fantastic—tender, erotic, romantic, and completely satisfying. She discovered they had something in common. They were quiet lovers, moving into the moment without the need for words or sounds. No acrobatics were required, just spontaneously synchronized movements, sensuous kisses, coupled with considerate exploration of each other’s bodies.
“So this is how it’s supposed to be,” Carolyn said, curling up next to him. His skin was slick with perspiration. She slid out of bed to go to the bathroom. When she saw the sun streaking in through the windows, she yelled at Marcus, “How can it be morning? I thought it was still night. I have to go to the hospital. Everyone’s probably panicked that something has happened to me.”
When Carolyn saw her almost forty-year-old body bathed in the harsh morning light, she darted back in the bedroom and tugged at the tangled mess of sheets. They didn’t budge. She realized he was lying on top of them. She tried to find her clothes, but it was too dark.
Sullivan’s Evidence Page 26