The theme music started up.
Anna grabbed the remote and switched off the TV. If the rest of the show had been like this, Anna was glad she’d missed it. She probably wouldn’t even bother setting her DVR for the eleven-thirty rerun—unless she was feeling masochistic.
She looked down at her copy of The Defective Squad, open to the acknowledgments page. She told herself that if she was looking for suspects in Courtney’s disappearance, this was as good a place as any to start.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Tuesday, July 14—12:59 A.M.
Isn’t this practically right next door 2 U? read the text from her friend Kristin.
Megan Jameson clicked on the attachment. It was a photo of a dimly lit room—or at least, a portion of a room—with a sleek designer chair, a plush shag rug, and a bookcase full of tasteful objets d’art. The Architectural Digest–like setting seemed to be illuminated in black light. The mass of bluish splotches on the dark wood floor gave off a strange glow.
A woman’s voice came over the image. Megan quickly muted the TV and turned up the volume on her phone: “This is Courtney Knoll’s living room in her beautiful floating home on Seattle’s Lake Union. Now it’s a crime scene.”
“Oh, that skank,” said Megan’s friend Josie. Squeezed against Megan on the sofa, she was looking at the phone as well. “Kristin’s totally trying to scare us. She’s just mad you didn’t invite her over tonight. Don’t even reply!”
Megan recognized the photo and the voice on her phone from The Sally Justice Show earlier tonight.
She and Josie were both sixteen years old. Thin and pretty with shoulder-length brown hair, the two of them looked like twins—or so people said, except that Josie had braces.
Megan hardly ever watched Sally Justice—or the news. Everything that mattered to her and her friends came through social media on their phones. But tonight was different.
Megan’s parents were in San Francisco, visiting her married sister, Kerry. They’d left on Friday and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow afternoon. This was the first time Megan had been by herself for more than one night in their Lake Union floating home. Her folks had given her permission to have Josie over. So Josie had spent the night Friday. She’d also been there all night on Saturday for a slumber party, which Megan’s parents hadn’t known about—at least, not until four in the morning on Sunday, when one of the neighbors had called Mr. Jameson to complain about all the noise. Things had gotten out of hand with Megan’s five friends—Kristin among them. Two guys had crashed the party, which had extended out to the back deck with swimming, diving, loud music, drinking, and laughing.
Megan’s parents had gone ballistic on her. They’d said she was grounded for two weeks. The only reason they’d allowed her to have Josie sleep over tonight was because Megan was so nervous about the disappearance of Courtney Knoll, just one dock down from them. Throughout the day, Megan had been following the macabre story on the news. They’d said that Courtney Knoll might have been murdered in her living room. Sally Justice claimed that Courtney’s doctor husband and his girlfriend were the main suspects.
Megan had seen a few of Anna Malone’s videos on YouTube and always kind of liked her. But now that she knew Anna had been screwing this beautiful deaf author’s husband, Megan thought she was a total sleaze. And Anna might have even killed the poor woman—to hear Sally Justice talk.
But there was also a chance the murderer was some drifter—or maybe a killer targeting the residents of floating homes and houseboats in the neighborhood. The police still hadn’t found Courtney Knoll’s body. Earlier in the day, Megan had stood at the end of her dock and watched the police search still in progress. A patrol boat was nearby while two men stood on the next dock down, working with a net and an extension pole.
Fortunately, Josie’s parents were oblivious to the fact that Megan lived so close to the crime scene. And they had no idea about the party that had gotten out of hand on Saturday night. So they’d allowed Josie to sleep over again tonight. She’d come armed with pepper spray in her overnight bag. A lot of help that would be, Megan had pointed out: the expiration date stamped on the little canister was over a year ago.
But, Megan figured there was strength in numbers with the two of them there. Plus one advantage to having busybody neighbors was, if she and Josie started screaming, someone on the dock would probably call the cops.
They’d ordered pizza—for the third time in four nights—and watched a documentary about the Jonas Brothers on Prime. And, of course, they’d texted back and forth with their girlfriends most of the night. But nearly all of their pals had gone to bed about an hour ago. Kristin was the only one still up—at least, the only one they knew about.
They hadn’t stepped out since it had gotten dark around nine-thirty. All the outside lights were on, illuminating the Jamesons’ floating home. The doors and windows were shut and locked, and the air-conditioning was on. Every time the cooling system restarted, it would catch Megan and Josie off guard, and they’d momentarily panic at the sudden humming noise. A half hour ago, when it had started up again, Josie had shrieked and nearly given Megan a heart attack. Then they’d gotten a case of the giggles.
But it wasn’t funny now. And Megan didn’t appreciate the text from Kristin.
She decided to take Josie’s advice and not reply.
But Kristin immediately followed up her text with another: Look what I found . . . this day in history! There was a link below the message.
“God, I hate her,” Josie murmured. “Click on it.”
Megan clicked on the link:
JULY 14, 1966—CHICAGO, ILL.—Eight student nurses were strangled and stabbed in their dormitory town house by Richard Speck in what was then called “The Crime of the Century.”
“That’s such a lie,” Josie said.
“No, it isn’t,” Megan replied, frowning. “Kerry told me about it a while back. It really happened. There was an episode about it on that old show, Mad Men.”
“I’m looking it up,” Josie said, working her thumbs over the keyboard of her own phone.
“No, I don’t want to look it up,” Megan said. “It’s just going to scare me even more. Please, let’s just forget about it.”
She fired off a quick text to Kristin: U R not funny. Stop it.
Tossing the phone on the sofa cushion, Megan got to her feet and headed into the bathroom. It was past one in the morning, and they still hadn’t changed into their pajamas. She knew the two of them were too wired and too scared to sleep. Plus, Megan figured if they needed to run out of the house all of a sudden, they didn’t want to do it in their pajamas.
It wasn’t just the air conditioner restarting that unhinged them. Every little sound, every noise outside, every time they heard a splash in the water, it filled her and Josie with dread.
She’d left the TV muted. She would crank it up when she returned to the living room—if for nothing else than to drown out all those scary, incidental little noises.
She hoped Kristin was finished sending those stupid texts. Kristin was tight with Dan and John, who had crashed the slumber party on Saturday night. Megan kept thinking that her sometime friend might send the guys over to scare them. Both Dan and John were really cute, but at the moment, Megan didn’t need somebody trying to spook her.
She secretly wished Josie would just calm down and stop thinking of tonight as this fun, scary adventure. Megan was genuinely terrified. Someone had been murdered in her floating home—just one dock away. And Megan really didn’t feel like talking about it—or about those horrible murders in Chicago fifty or sixty years ago.
She kept imagining the news tomorrow and people discussing how she and Josie had disappeared tonight. She could almost see the eerie photos of the sofa they’d just been sitting on—covered with all those glow-in-the-dark blue splotches.
Or would they be murdered in her bedroom? Megan figured she wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight. She moved over to the sink to wash her hands.<
br />
“No . . . please!” Josie yelped.
Megan froze.
She heard a thud. Her friend let out a scream. But it was cut short.
With a shaky hand, Megan turned off the water at the sink. She heard footsteps, someone stomping toward the kitchen. Then all at once, the footsteps stopped, and there was just silence.
Megan felt her heart racing. She could hardly breathe. She hesitated and then opened the bathroom door. “Josie?” she called out, her voice quavering. “Josie, you’re not funny.”
She couldn’t make herself walk out there. Instead, she stood in the bathroom doorway for a few moments. Megan kept thinking she’d hear her friend start to giggle—and then this would all be one big joke. But all she could hear was water lapping against the pilings outside.
“Josie? Quit clowning around, okay?”
She forced herself to creep toward the living room. The only light in the room was from the flickering, muted TV. The standing lamp that had been on when she’d gone to the bathroom a few minutes ago was now off—and lying on the living room floor, the shade askew.
“Oh my God,” Megan murmured. Then she raised her voice: “I’m calling the police!”
If Josie had set this whole thing up, she’d come clean now. Her friend wouldn’t let her call the cops. Josie wouldn’t take the joke that far.
“I mean it!” Megan yelled. “I’m calling 911!”
She turned toward the sofa to grab her phone, but it wasn’t there.
Megan froze. “JOSIE!” she screamed.
She thought about running out of the house and down the dock, where she’d pound on the neighbor’s door. But she was paralyzed.
She heard a strange tapping noise. It seemed to come from the outside deck—off the living room. They’d shut the window blinds, but the blind slats were open on the tall window in the door onto the back deck. She couldn’t see any movement out there. They’d locked the door earlier. Was it still locked?
The tap, tap, tap continued.
Megan swallowed hard and took a few steps toward the door. She had tears in her eyes, but she could see the dead bolt was still in place. Through the slats, she noticed her own reflection in the darkened glass.
A shadowy figure crept up behind her.
Megan swiveled around and screamed.
Startled, Josie shrieked back.
As soon as she realized Josie was all right, Megan punched her in the arm. “You’re not funny!” she cried.
Josie recoiled. “Ouch! God, that hurt!” She rubbed her arm.
Megan couldn’t help it. She broke down and started sobbing.
“God, Meg, I’m sorry!” Josie said, hovering near her. She touched her shoulder. “I thought you’d think it was funny.”
Megan jerked away from her. “I hate you right now! It wasn’t funny at all! Did I sound like I was having fun? Couldn’t you hear how scared I was? And I swear, if you broke my mother’s lamp, I’m going to kill you!”
“Relax! I just switched it off and laid it on its side.”
“Where’s my phone?”
“In the kitchen. Would you please stop snapping at me? God, can’t you take a joke?”
“No, I can’t, okay?” Megan shot back. She brushed past her, bent down, and set the lamp upright again. Switching it on, she marched into the kitchen, where she ripped off a square of paper towel and wiped her eyes and nose. She grabbed her phone off the counter, slipped it in the pocket of her summer shorts, and headed back into the living room.
Josie was at the windowed door, staring through the blind’s slats at the deck. She turned to look at Megan. “Listen, I’m sorry, okay?” she said. “That was really dumb. I didn’t realize you were so scared.”
“You didn’t realize . . .” Megan repeated, rolling her eyes. “You know I’ve been a nervous wreck all night . . .” She trailed off. She heard the tapping again. It was back.
“What is that?” Josie asked.
“I heard it earlier,” Megan murmured. “I thought it was you.”
Josie shook her head and turned toward the door again. She reached for the dead bolt.
“What are you doing?” Megan whispered. “Are you nuts? Somebody could be out there! It could be a trap.”
Biting her lip, Josie hurried past her to the easy chair, where she’d left her purse. She sifted through it and pulled out the little canister of pepper spray.
All the while, the strange, intermittent tapping continued. Megan noticed the noise had a metallic resonance—and it definitely came from the deck area outside.
She didn’t have much faith in Josie’s pepper spray. So she headed into the kitchen and took a butcher knife from the drawer. She couldn’t stop shaking. In the back of her mind, she wondered if Dan and John had come over and somehow snuck onto the deck; and now they were trying to lure them out there by making that noise. Some joke.
Then again, maybe someone else—a drifter or a serial killer—was the one trying to lure them out there.
Still trembling, Megan returned to the living room. She nodded at Josie, who stood by the door. Josie unlocked the dead bolt and cautiously opened the door. Megan stood behind her. After so many hours in the air-conditioned house, it was strange to feel the tepid night air creeping in through the doorway. She heard the water wash against the pilings—and that tap, tap, tap.
She didn’t see anybody on the deck. The wicker patio furniture, her mother’s potted plants, and the gas grill were just where they should be. Nothing was different from when Megan had cleaned out here on Sunday morning after the party. But she could still hear the tapping; the sound was very distinct now. It seemed to come from somewhere by the corner of the deck, near a potted Japanese maple.
With trepidation, she and Josie crept toward the corner and peeked over the deck’s edge. Megan reached into her pocket and took out her phone. She shined the flashlight beam into the dark water.
“What is that?” Josie muttered.
It took Megan a moment to make out the olive-colored hard-shell suitcase. It looked slightly bigger than a carry-on. Trapped amid the pilings by the deck, it floated on the lake’s surface. With every ripple in the water, one of the suitcase’s wheels tapped against a rusty cleat on the side of the deck.
“It’s a suitcase,” Josie said, answering her own question. “Oh my God, we’ve got to see what’s inside! Maybe it’s full of money.”
“Yeah, right,” Megan snorted. “It’s probably empty—or it’s full of rags that have lice or something. I’m sure a homeless person lost it.”
Megan’s hand was still shaking, and Josie helped her steady it—so the light beam was directed on the suitcase label. “Samsonite,” Josie said. “It looks expensive. No homeless person lost this. Have you got something we can use to fish this out?”
With a sigh, Megan reluctantly nodded toward another corner of the deck, where a boat hook leaned against the house.
Shoving the pepper spray in her pocket, Josie fetched the pole. Then she returned to the edge of the deck and moved the hook end of the pole down to the water. Her mouth scrunched up in concentration as she tried to snag the suitcase handle.
Megan had a bad feeling about this. She nervously glanced around. She didn’t see any activity out on the water. There was no one standing on any of the other docks nearby, no strange silhouettes. Yet she felt as if someone was watching them.
She heard splashing and turned toward her friend.
“Shit! This is heavy! Help me!” Josie struggled with the boat hook and staggered back a few steps. She was like an amateur fisherman trying to reel in a big game fish. She anxiously nodded toward the edge of the deck. “Grab it!”
The suitcase was half out of the water, bobbing up and down as Josie tugged at it with the boat hook. Megan moved toward the bag. But it banged against the edge of the deck, splashing her with water. Megan balked.
“Grab it!” Josie screamed. “I can’t hold on! It weighs a ton!”
Megan reached out and took
hold of the suitcase handle, avoiding the hook. The leather grip felt cold and slimy. She realized Josie wasn’t kidding about how heavy it was. The suitcase might as well have been full of bricks.
Josie kept the hook lodged in the handle and backed up a few more steps. They hauled the case onto the deck and let it drop on its side. A pool of water bloomed beneath it on the deck.
Megan stopped to catch her breath. Josie dropped the pole, and it made a clatter that seemed to echo. They both stared at the wet suitcase in the moonlight.
Megan thought about Courtney Knoll, missing since early Friday morning. No way could anyone fit a body in that case. But maybe it was part of a body—perhaps a couple of arms, maybe the legs, or even her torso. The suitcase had certainly been heavy enough. This close to it, Megan detected a slightly putrid smell. She didn’t want to get any closer. She didn’t want to touch it again.
But Josie had no such qualms. Getting down on her knees, she started to struggle with the latches.
“Maybe it’s locked,” Megan said.
“No, just stuck,” Josie replied, hovering over the bag.
Then Megan heard the latches snap.
Josie opened the case, and some water spilled over the sides. “Oh shit,” she moaned. “It’s just some old rust-stained pink towels.”
Megan stared down at the wet towels crammed into the suitcase. She moved the flashlight beam over them. The water was pink, not the towels. They must have been white originally. And the stains weren’t rust stains. That was blood.
With her finger and thumb, Josie pulled at the corner of one towel and started to pull it out.
That was when Megan saw the monogram: CMK.
“I know what they mean by deadweight. She looked so petite, but dragging that lifeless thing across the floor out to their dock was awkward and exhausting. I had the trash bags wrapped around her, but they started to tear, and blood leaked out . . . Like I said, I’d already loaded the suitcase in the dinghy. When I got her out there to the edge of the dock, I sort of rolled her into the boat. It almost tipped over. The goddamn suitcase fell into the lake. I saw it start to float away, but I couldn’t get to it. By the time I cleaned and locked up the house, then got back into the boat, I couldn’t find the suitcase anywhere on the water.”
The Night She Disappeared Page 17