“A huge chunk.”
“You bet. One is too many, especially when they’re here one day and…gone the next. I won’t lie. Those are the cases that drive me crazy. They still can’t locate all the victims of the Green River killer.”
“And what about all the remains that are found but aren’t identified?”
“Those are tough because there are probably forty thousand remains that no one is able to put a name to.”
“Sad but true. That’s a lot of families without answers.”
“Look, you okay with having dinner at Lena’s tonight?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“No reason. Unless you count the crush Zoe has on you.”
“Not me. Not anymore. Zoe’s transferred whatever she felt for me and is now fully locked into the hero worship stage. Haven’t you heard? She wants to be just like Skye Cree.”
The look on Skye’s face said it all. Her forehead wrinkled in concentration. “When did that happen?”
“I don’t know. Could be after you kicked Frank De Palo’s ass. Could be after we tied the knot and she saw how beautiful you looked at the wedding. Either way, Zoe’s moved on from me and that’s a relief.”
Hearing Josh was uncomfortable as Zoe’s heartthrob made her laugh. “She’s waiting for you to make that job in testing a reality. Teenagers and games, they just seem to go together.”
“And she’ll get her chance come summer. I want to see how she does in her first full year of eighth grade first with no distractions. I told her that at the reception because she had some major catching up to do in school.”
“That she did. But she seems to be doing so much better living with Lena than we ever thought possible.”
“No question Lena’s provided the stability Zoe needed. Taking in a kid like that, Lena Bowers is my hero.”
“Yeah. Mine, too.”
In her fifty years Lena Bowers had known loss. Ten years earlier her husband of eighteen years had succumbed to pancreatic cancer. Upon high school graduation, her oldest son, Jason, had joined the military and was promptly shipped to Afghanistan to serve his country. He never made it back.
Her youngest son, Jarod, had his own life in California attending San Jose State—which meant she rarely saw him mostly during holidays—the last time, four days at Christmas. At the time, Jarod hadn’t been overjoyed about his mother taking on a former runaway, a street kid by the name of Zoe Hollister. But Zoe had filled a void in Lena’s life. And now that the courts had let Lena become Zoe’s foster mother, the bond between the two had only gotten stronger.
She had experience raising boys. Zoe, however, came with a different zeal for life that made Lena grateful she’d offered her home to the young teen.
For one thing, despite the girl’s protests about going to school, the fourteen-year-old eighth grader had discovered she actually enjoyed learning. Zoe especially loved English class. Her love for reading rivaled Lena’s. They spent hours discussing the suspense of Hunger Games, all the while dealing with the knowledge District 13 hadn’t been destroyed in the first rebellion—or rehashing Harry Potter plot lines in detail.
For months now, Zoe had settled comfortably into Lena’s life, at home in the Victorian near Capitol Hill. Tonight the two of them looked forward to welcoming the honeymooners, Josh and Skye, back from St. Kitts. Zoe couldn’t wait to hear all about the trip from the source.
Lena already knew her charge had a major case of hero worship when it came to Skye. The girl had even written a composition for English class about who she most admired. The subject, Skye Cree. Zoe hadn’t even considered calling her Ander yet. When Zoe had mentioned that very topic to Skye, the woman had assured Zoe that she had no intentions of changing her name. That was all right by Zoe.
Zoe had already decided she wanted to be exactly like Skye, Native American to boot. That’s why she’d dyed her hair to match Skye’s. She’d even taken to using feathered earrings as accessories and wearing faux black leather.
But lately Lena had been concerned more about Zoe preparing for college than how she accessorized her wardrobe. Getting the girl to keep her grades up had become a priority.
“It’s never too early to start thinking about getting into a good school.”
“But Skye didn’t,” Zoe tossed back. “She’s done fine.”
“That’s not the point,” Lena argued.
“Yeah, well, the newspapers write stories about how she catches the bad guys. I want to do that.”
“If you want to catch the bad guys like Skye, then go to college, get an education, to do it.”
The teen’s response was a big harrumph.
“If you want your opinion to be taken seriously, lose the attitude,” Lena said.
“Okay, okay.”
When the doorbell chimed, Zoe took off to answer it.
“Look through the peephole, Zoe,” Lena warned, her voice rising to the teenager’s back. “Just in case it might not be Skye.”
Zoe skidded on the hardwood floor all the way across the entryway. At the last minute she decided to heed Lena’s advice. “It’s them,” Zoe shouted staring through the security slit.
“Lena and I baked double fudge brownies for dessert,” Zoe announced, stepping back to let Skye and Josh inside.
“Good, I haven’t had my chocolate fix today,” Josh replied, noticing Zoe was all but bouncing on her toes. “As if you needed any more sugar in your system,” he teased.
“Oh that, I’m just excited to see you guys.”
“Did you find a house?” Lena asked from the doorway, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
“Not yet. But we did take the tour on a couple of open houses. We even went all the way over to Bainbridge Island for one.” Skye went to wrap her arms around her friend and sensed tension in Lena. Eyeing the two, she finally turned to Lena. “This one giving you much trouble?”
“Just the usual stubborn streak a fourteen-year-old tends to have, a lot like someone else I know. Maybe you two could emphasize the importance of a college education to Zoe while you’re here.”
“Never got one of those myself, but I hear they come in handy for things like, oh I don’t know, getting a terrific job.”
Zoe rolled her eyes at the two women and flashed her eyes on the only man in the room. “Josh didn’t get one of those and he runs his own company.”
“Yeah, but a lot of days I wish I’d bothered, especially in negotiations.”
“You guys are ganging up on me. Not fair,” Zoe whined. “I’m still young. I’ve got four years yet to decide about stupid college.”
“And getting ready to turn fifteen in two months,” Skye pointed out as she tousled the girl’s hair. She eyed Zoe’s recent dye job. “What’s with the all-black look?”
“That’s easy,” Lena said. “She’s emulating her hero. You. Ask her about the composition she wrote for English class. It was five pages of Skye Cree this, Skye Cree that, the person she admires the most.”
“Me? Really? I don’t believe anyone’s ever done that before.”
“Sure they have,” Zoe said. “They write about you on the Internet all the time. They say you make a difference. I should know. You got me off the streets.”
Skye let out a heavy breath. “But what I do is dangerous, Zoe. Very. I wouldn’t recommend doing it for a living.”
“You’re just saying that because you’re siding with Lena in this thing. College isn’t for everyone,” Zoe argued, her face sporting the pout of a typical teen.
“I’m not defending Lena. You are right about one thing though. You’re fourteen with plenty of time to settle on what you want to do in life before making a decision right now.”
“You having a hard time at school, Zoe?” Josh wanted to know. “Because I’ve been told that college is nothing like middle school.”
“Nah, things are okay. I told everyone that I’m getting a job at Ander All Games this summer.”
Skye grinned at Josh and put he
r arm around Zoe. “By the way, any chance I could get a look at that essay? I’d like to see for myself what you really think about me.”
Zoe elbowed her playfully in the ribs. “Sure. I was gonna write about Pink but the teacher said I had to actually know the person.”
Lena shook her head. “You two go on. Josh and I will set the table.”
Skye followed Zoe into the hallway and upstairs to her room. Once inside Skye asked, “What about Lena? She would’ve been my first choice.”
“I thought about it,” Zoe muttered. “But I needed action in my story. I couldn’t write about Lena because she stays home most of the time.” Zoe opened a drawer and took out a sheet of paper. “This is the one I started on Lena. But I ran out of things to say.”
Skye read the words on the page. It warmed her heart to know the girl had waxed poetic about her foster mother. “You should have turned this one in, Zoe. Why don’t you show it to her? I’m sure it would mean a lot, especially since you two are at odds over this college thing.”
“She’ll think it’s silly.”
“Not at all. I know Lena. She needs to know how you feel. This’ll do it.” Skye held up the paper, looped her arm through Zoe’s. “Come on. Let’s show her this one. Lena will be off-the-map ecstatic.”
It was after dinner when Skye’s cell phone dinged. Harry Drummond’s number popped up on the digital readout.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“I thought you and Josh might want to know. Shawna Langley woke up about three hours ago. She started talking.”
“And?”
“She confirmed her stepfather followed her to school that morning, parked across the street from the bus. She remembered he honked his horn to get her attention as she stepped off. When Shawna went over to the car to see what he wanted, he convinced her to cut her first period math class and go with him to a diner nearby to get breakfast, which she’d apparently skipped. Once he got her into the car, he drove to a nearby park where he raped her.”
“Then where was she for a week? Let me guess. The bastard panicked after the rape—”
“Not sure if he panicked or not but Shawna said he went crazy after the sexual assault, screaming at her that she’d better not tell anyone. But then while she was getting dressed, he started trying to strangle her from behind. I guess he decided he couldn’t chance her keeping her mouth shut. She remembered them fighting, rolling around on the ground. She doesn’t recall what happened after that. At some point she must have hit her head.”
“Or maybe the stepfather thought he’d killed her and left her for dead. Somehow she managed to regain consciousness and walked off. Tell me Bob Houston’s in custody.”
“He is. Got an arrest warrant as soon as I heard Shawna’s story, went out to the house and put the cuffs on him myself. I’ll be doing paperwork for the rest of the night but it’s worth it. I wanted you to know the outcome. You did it again, Skye. You got us the bad guy.”
“Not me. All I did was locate the girl. Shawna Langley did the rest.”
Chapter Seven
He sat on the ground among tall evergreens bounded by mountain violet that hadn’t yet bloomed, looking up at a slender thread of stars in the night sky. With his hands resting on his knees, he breathed in the crisp, cool air and the peacefulness he found here.
That was because this stretch of clearing overlooking the soggy marshland below was his special place. For almost a quarter of a century he’d been coming here to find solace—a peace from the pressure and grind at work.
He dropped his head so he could look over at the recently turned earth, mopped his brow. He surveyed his boneyard. He liked to take this time alone to relive what he’d done, to picture in his head those buried here. If only he’d been allowed to keep his collection in one place. But he hadn’t always had the foresight to do so. What was it the Roman philosopher Cicero said? Ah yes, rashness belongs to youth; prudence to old age. He could attest to that. He was careful these days, maybe too over-cautious for his own good. But all that would change soon. He’d already put the wheels in motion.
What stayed the same inside him was his difficulty in letting go. Putting them in the ground seemed almost too final. But it had to be done. The bodies, dismembered in chunks and pieces, wouldn’t keep forever. No way around that, he thought now. Yes, a shame he couldn’t keep them all here, he decided. But he hadn’t always owned this piece of land. Because of that he didn’t have access to all his early treasures. That’s the way he thought of those he’d taken in his youth—his very own personal collection of treasures. At least, he was able to go visit them. It’s one reason he’d never considered moving out of his home state.
He knew he wasn’t as young as he used to be, nor as spry, not as agile or as quick. His looks were fading, too. It took him longer to coax his quarry into the car. He’d have to come up with a much more original ruse than relying on his charm. Unless of course, opportunity knocked, then he would take the opening and make the most of it.
Lately, he’d resorted to other methods, because in order to subdue them, he needed to get as close as possible. That he would need to work on, to perfect his methods. After all, when he’d first started out, there had been no such thing as text messages or instant messaging.
And like tonight, he found it took him longer to dig up the earth—not like it did in his youth when there was joy in each spade of dirt. Now, when he finally did let go, it took him twice as long to put them in the ground.
Not a good sign at all.
All that considered, it added up. He was slower to recover from each kill. One of the reasons he had to take the time to get his second wind, so to speak. If he intended to play Skye Cree’s game, he had to be in tip-top shape. After all, look what she’d done to De Palo. The poor bastard had been laid up in the hospital for a week before ending up in county.
He didn’t intend to end up like De Palo.
That’s one reason he’d dropped fifteen pounds since Thanksgiving. He’d lowered his cholesterol. His last lab test showed it was down to one-ninety-two. He’d cut back on his meat consumption, avoided eggs, and stuck to eating oatmeal in the mornings.
The same week he’d begun his new diet, he’d started hitting the gym twice a week. That’s when he’d gotten his inspiration, his most brilliant idea ever. While lifting weights he’d been watching the local news station do a story about some female who’d beat the crap out of a serial killer, some small-time punk who considered himself God’s gift to women.
He’d sat there dumbfounded in stunning realization that this De Palo guy had been small potatoes in body count compared to him. He’d been at this far longer, and been far more successful than the rat bastard Skye Cree had beaten to a bloody pulp.
Then why had the son of a bitch gotten the spotlight? It wasn’t fair. Back in December, he’d been sick and tired of listening to the reporters go on and on about the brilliant serial killer who had defied authorities for years. He was fed up with not getting noticed, tired of other people like Frank De Palo getting all the press. Didn’t he work just as hard as De Palo? Didn’t he deserve a little of that limelight coming his way for a change?
He was in a rut and he needed to get out of it. If not now, then when? If he planned to string Skye Cree along and lead her down the path he wanted her to go, then he needed to follow up in a big way. It was time to get her attention and keep it.
Red-haired Maggie Bennett’s life had taken an upswing in recent months. Her third year at UDub was turning out to be better than she’d hoped, certainly better than sophomore year.
And she’d recently met a cute guy at the part-time job she’d found. Earning a few extra bucks toward her rent every month would surely keep her parents off her back about grades, especially her dad. The hours were flexible, which meant she could devote more time to her courses. Besides, the new guy seemed to be more than happy to help her out with advanced chemistry and calculus.
They’d slept together half a dozen times
even though they’d only known each other since Christmas. Earlier that day the two had spent an awesome Saturday together—all day long beginning at ten that morning. He’d taken her to breakfast for omelets. From there, they’d caught an early matinee and then got a burger afterward. But then he’d ruined it all by getting testy because she’d suggested they make it an early evening. Saturday nights were meant for dates, he’d said—and sex. But she still had a pile of laundry to do and a paper to write for her environmental class that was due on Monday.
Since they worked together and saw each other five times a week, she hoped it didn’t start getting awkward between them. She wasn’t ready for a serious relationship. How was she supposed to tell him that he was crowding her? Wasn’t spending her Saturday with him enough?
As Maggie collected the laundry to take downstairs she remembered she’d run out of detergent ten days ago. She’d been meaning to pick some up but kept forgetting. If she didn’t do it now, she’d just keep putting it off.
The convenience store was a block over. It would take her less than ten minutes to walk there. She wouldn’t even need to move her car and risk losing her parking space. In her neighborhood everyone knew street parking was at a minimum.
Digging in her purse, she took out a ten dollar bill and stuffed it into her jeans pocket. No reason to lug her bag with her either, she thought.
With that, Maggie dashed out the door, planning to be gone no longer than twenty minutes. She was in such a hurry she didn’t even remember to grab her phone.
Two nights later, pretty waitress Willa Dover wound her way through the restaurant bussing tables as she went. The twenty-two-year-old server, with long flaxen hair, was about to end her shift at Country Kitchen, a job she’d had for less than three months. It was just shy of midnight and she’d been on her feet for eight hours straight taking care of the dinner crowd. Tuesday nights were usually slow—tonight had been anything but.
Skye Cree 03: The Bones Will Tell Page 7