Unseen

by Nancy Bush

  Macie looked over at Gemma with amusement. Gemma just shook her head, called herself ten kinds of a fool, then glanced at the clock. Nine-thirty. She wondered when Will Tanninger planned on showing up.

  “…Thanks, Mac,” Will said into his cell phone. He swiveled his desk chair and saw Barb give him a what gives? look. He’d been scribbling on a pad and she came around to look over his shoulder as she cruised by. “Doesn’t sound like any of ’em is our guy, but I’ll pass the information on to Enders.” He hung up and said to Barb, “Mac canvassed the bars where Inga Selbourne liked to party. She hooked up with a few different guys, but wasn’t really attached to any of them. Apparently the last one she was interested in was a real estate guy named Daniel Sommers. He’s since moved on to another party girl who’s alive and well, and no one knows anything.”

  “Maybe he’s lying. Could be a great cover.”

  “Mac doesn’t think so. Our doer seems more antisocial. This group parties together.”

  “He could fit himself in,” Barb said stubbornly. “Act like he’s one of them.” She loved playing devil’s advocate.

  “I don’t think he could fit himself in,” Will disagreed. “He’s leaving his DNA all over the place like he doesn’t know or care. He’s got some major cuts he needs to hide, courtesy of Inga. He’s compelled to burn the bodies and mark them with cigarettes. And it seems like he’s escalating. If he burned a first one that we haven’t found yet, that one was awhile ago. These two, Selbourne and Markum, were killed in the space of a couple weeks.”

  “If there is a first one,” Barb repeated.

  “We’ve sent out enough information that if she exists, we could get a hit,” Will said.

  “The cigarette burns could be random.”

  “Could be.”

  She finally acknowledged, “But they’re so deliberate they look like he’s doing it on purpose. You think it’s a message for us?” Then, pissed: “Not us. The feds. They’re taking all our information and giving us nothing.”

  “Their case. Doesn’t mean we can’t have our own theories.”

  Barb asked, “What’re yours?”

  “Our guy doesn’t seem like the kind who wants to dance the dance. He doesn’t care about publicity, or that we’re all trying to find him. He only seems interested in finding his targets and killing them.”

  “Burning them,” Barb said. “Maybe he just hasn’t gotten around to dancing the dance.”

  “Does it feel that way to you?” he asked. “Like he’s engaging us in a game?”

  “No,” she admitted. “But I’m no expert.”

  “There’s some reason he’s targeting his victims. Something cues him to his next one. And it doesn’t seem like he has a check-off list. He’s not methodically marking them off. His victims are all over the place, as if they cross his path somehow and he tags ’em.”

  “His path is from Laurelton to outside Seaside and maybe beyond.”

  “Serial killers can cover a lot of distance. Bundy went from Washington to Florida and back with lots of places in between.”

  Barb said, “This guy’s no Bundy.”

  Will nodded. “He’s too local.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Laurelton airstrip. You gotta know how many people work there and that you can get away with leaving a body there. That’s not something you’re going to just run across. He’s been around the area enough to know that.”

  “You think he’s from Laurelton?”

  Will shook his head. “Maybe he was just at the hospital. Maybe that’s how he found Inga. I think he’s from the coast somewhere. He found Jamie Markum by some means. Maybe he was at the bar, but then wouldn’t he have seen her with the guy?”

  “Phil…” Barb glanced down at some of her notes. “Herrington.”

  “I don’t think he followed her from the bar.”

  “So, where’d he pick her up?”

  “Her route? She works for To You Today.”

  Barb smiled. “You gonna share that with the feds?”

  “They’ve probably already thought of it.”

  “I’ll take that as a no.”

  Will said, “I’m going to call Don Enders at Clatsop County and talk some more. Jamie’s homicide is in his jurisdiction.”

  “So, what about victim one, if she exists? Where’s she?”

  “Somewhere between here and Seaside, or along the coast? Not toward Portland and denser population. Our guy’s more small town.”

  “A lot of theory without a lot of fact,” Barb observed, but she wasn’t trying to criticize him. As Will shut down his computer, then shoved his chair back from his desk, she asked, “Where are you going?”

  “To Quarry to talk to Gemma LaPorte.”

  Her brows arched. “Business or pleasure?”

  “Pleasure.”

  She’d been about to needle him with another question, but his answer stopped her short.

  “She promised me a piece of peach cobbler from the diner where she works.”

  “Oh, right. Bet that’s not all she promised.”

  “So far, that’s it.”

  “Watch yourself, Tanninger.”

  “I’ll take it under advisement.”

  “I mean it. There’s something about her that you like, but she’s a mystery. She’s hiding something.”

  “You’re starting to sound a little like Burl,” he said as he headed out the door. It was too bad their working relationship seemed to always spiral down to this.

  “Better than being a sucker,” she called after him.

  Charlotte tried to think of a way to escape, but she could feel the teachers and administration staring at her, like they’d all banded together to keep her on the school grounds. She was never alone with just kids. There was always some adult hanging around, looking kind of stupid and out of place. She knew it was because of her. They were all focused on keeping her at school.

  Shit.

  And Robbie Bereth, who wasn’t in any of her classes, thank the Lord, was a real pain in the butt. Glaring at her across the playground. Talking with his friends, one of whom was a big, fat bully and who’d yelled something at Charlotte she hadn’t really understood. One of those bad words that you only hear on HBO or Showtime or in the movies.

  Didn’t matter. They could say what they wanted. Charlotte had something on Robbie, something really big. Too big to fall into a pissing match over. In fact, she felt sorry for him and that had kept her temper in check when he acted like such a moron with his buddies.

  What she had was that Robbie’s dad was the guy Gemma had chased from the diner. The one who’d looked at Charlotte all strange and icky-like. She had the distinct feeling he’d be the kind who would try to lure you into his car with one of those lies, like he was looking for a lost puppy and could she help him. He was a bad dude, for sure.

  “Ass-wipe,” she muttered aloud.

  Mrs. Ondine gazed at her fiercely. “What did you say, Charlotte?”

  “She said ass-wipe,” Davey Corulo piped up, the traitor.

  The teacher held a finger up to Davey, annoyed with him but still fixed on Charlotte. “Should I send you to the principal’s office?”

  Are you asking me? Charlotte almost said, but lowered her eyes and shook her head. Sometimes you just had to act like you were beaten.

  “Have you finished your Halloween story?”

  Charlotte nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

  “You haven’t turned it in.”

  Charlotte flipped open her notebook and handed over the paper to Mrs. Ondine, who glanced at it and frowned. For a moment, Charlotte worried that she’d forgotten to remove “shit” from her final draft, but then Mrs. Ondine said, “Did you get help with this?”

  Charlotte was outraged. More because other kids got all kinds of help from their parents and she hardly ever asked Macie to step in. “No,” she stated flatly.

  “In my experience, most kids don’t hate Halloween,” she said
. “Just the opposite.”

  “I don’t hate Halloween. I was picking the other side. You said there are two sides to every issue.”

  Mrs. Ondine inhaled noisily through her nose. She wasn’t completely old. She maybe was younger than Mom, but she had this way of being that made her seem ancient. “Not sure you really developed an ending,” she said, turning away.

  Charlotte could tell that there was an issue developing between them and they were going to be on opposite sides. Inwardly sighing, she wondered how—how—she was going to get out of here and find Gemma.

  She felt Davey’s eyes on her and slid him a cold glare.

  Don’t mess with me, ass-wipe, she thought, but she didn’t say it.

  When Will Tanninger walked into LuLu’s, heads turned. He was with the sheriff’s department. He was tall and broad-shouldered. His hair was a tad longish and added a rakish touch to his chiseled face, and the wind that had kicked up outside had tossed a brown lock nearly into one eye. Gemma felt heat rush through her as she watched him brush it back. She pretended to not even notice him as she snapped an order up and pushed the wheel around so the page was in front of Milo’s nose.

  Macie was finishing an order and she glanced over, her brows lifting, and Denise automatically reached a hand up to smooth her own wild, brown curls. Gemma called herself an idiot for caring, noticing, wanting something she couldn’t have. Yes, she knew he wasn’t immune to her; he’d said he didn’t want her to be guilty. But that could mean anything. Didn’t count for anything in the man/woman arena.

  Will had spied Gemma, so there was no hiding from him. She stepped briskly up as Denise asked, “Would you like a table?”

  “I’m actually here to see Ms. LaPorte,” he said, greeting Gemma with a faint smile.

  “Oh.” Denise gave Gemma a long look before she turned away.

  “Would you like a table?” Gemma repeated.

  “Although I definitely want to try the peach cobbler, I’ve got some other appointments, so I’d better pass.” His gaze traveled down her lemon yellow uniform. “Can we talk somewhere?”

  Gemma turned back and caught Macie’s eye. Macie sidled up, giving Will the elevator eyes. “You can leave right now, hon. We’ve got it covered. Heather swears she’ll be in at one, but even if she flakes on me again, we’ve still got it covered.”

  “Sure?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Gemma grabbed her coat from the back room, then Will held the front door and they walked onto LuLu’s porch. The wind snatched at her hair and felt cold against the fingers that held her coat closed at her throat. Rain blew fitfully, a sideways flurry. Also cold. “Hello, winter,” Gemma murmured.

  “I didn’t mean to take you from work,” he said.

  “No, I know. I’ve been tired all day, so Macie told me to leave. I’m just filling in while I figure things out.”

  “You want to go to my car?” He glanced around dubiously. There was nowhere to be safe from the elements outside, and nowhere to be free from eavesdroppers inside.

  “Sure.”

  Together they hurried, heads bent, through the fitful, wind-driven slaps of rain. Will quickly unlocked the door to his department-issued vehicle, a tan-and-brown sedan with Sheriff’s Department slanted in letters across the doors. Gemma got in the passenger side and slammed the door, and as Will climbed in the driver’s side she caught a whiff of spicy men’s cologne, understated. Not too much, just enough to make her want to inhale deep into her lungs.

  He looked at her and she looked at him. She said, “You want to kiss me.”

  Surprised, he yanked his gaze away. “What makes you say that?”

  “Because it’s true.”

  “You called me with some information?” he reminded her, seeking to get the conversation back on track.

  Gemma nodded. “I want to tell you something about myself first. I can read people’s emotions. I mean, really read them, sometimes. It helps if I can see the color red at the same time, but it’s not mandatory.”

  Will half-smiled. “What?”

  “I know what it sounds like, but I’m not crazy. No matter what the Dunleavys say.”

  “You know about them?”

  It was her turn to look surprised. “How do you?”

  “The feud between your family and the Dunleavys was brought up by a retired deputy who lives in Woodbine,” Will explained. “A friend of the Dunleavys.”

  “And he told you they think I’m crazy?”

  “All LaPortes are crazy,” he said, straight-faced.

  “Damn, I’m sick of this small town. I don’t know why I came back!” Gemma declared. Then she held up her hand. “Yes, I do.”

  Will said, “Don’t worry. He hasn’t tainted my view of you.”

  “But hearing that I can read minds, how’s that working for you?”

  “I thought you said you read emotions.”

  “Okay.” Gemma inhaled a deep breath. “Let me start over. Reading emotions is like reading minds. I feel the emotion and know why it’s there. Simple in some cases. Not as obvious in others.”

  “You can read my emotions?”

  She shot him a sideways look. She was close enough to see that his eyes weren’t as dark brown as she’d initially thought. There were striations of gray in the irises. “Yes.”

  “Okay.”

  “You don’t want to ask me what you’re feeling?”

  “I know what I’m feeling. Frustration.”

  “You wanted to kiss me the other night. You still want to.”

  He broke eye contact, glanced away, then met her gaze again blandly. “What if I said you’re wrong.”

  “You’d be a liar.”

  “I want you to be straight with me, and I want you to be innocent of all charges. That’s what I want.”

  “I’m not trying to put you on the spot, detective. I’m just proving a point.”

  “Okay.”

  There was silence for a moment, then Gemma said, “I went to see a psychologist yesterday, Dr. Tremaine Rainfield. I thought he could help me, but now I’m not so sure. He wants me to go under hypnosis to recover some of my repressed memories. But not about what happened with Edward Letton’s accident; that’s secondary. He wants me to go way back to my childhood, to those pieces of my past that are a complete washout, memory-wise.

  “But what he really wants is for me to be his test case. He wants to make a name for himself by using my case. He’s known me for years, peripherally, because I used to see his father, Dr. Bernard Rainfield, throughout my childhood. Apparently I’ve had memory lapses for years.”

  “So, he’s going to cure you and hold you up as an example?”

  “Do you know what DID is, detective?”

  “I’ve heard of it before—”

  “It’s Dissociative Identity Disorder. Which means Tremaine thinks I have multiple personalities.” She shook her head. “I don’t even know where he gets that. Something in my past maybe…I didn’t ask. But that’s not what my memory lapses are about. That’s not it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?” she repeated suspiciously.

  “I’m waiting to see where this is going. I don’t have your ability to read minds.”

  She made a sound of frustration, then stated flatly, “I know where my mother’s car is.”

  That got his attention. “Where?”

  “I got a call from a farmer near Elsie. His grandson was the one who found my car. In a ditch with me in it. The Camry’s in their barn. Wrecked pretty badly. It was the grandson who took me to the hospital.”

  “It—wasn’t the car that brought you to the hospital.”

  “Nope.”

  Will could tell he’d really pissed her off, but what had she expected? He didn’t believe for a minute that she had extra abilities. And it really chafed him that she thought she could read him so well. Even if she was right. “When did you get the call?”

  A pause. “A couple of days ago.”

  “S
o, okay. Let’s go see it.”

  “I already have.”

  “Then let’s go see it again,” he said. “That’s why you called me, isn’t it?”

  Gemma said, “After it’s examined you’ll be able to tell if it ran down Letton, won’t you?”

  He nodded. “If there’s forensic evidence.”

  “I didn’t do it,” she said. “I would know if I had.”

  “See…” He exhaled slowly. “It’s that kind of comment that leaves me wondering. I would know if I had isn’t the same as I know I didn’t.” When she didn’t respond, he twisted the key in the ignition and asked, “What’s the address?”

  Gemma told him, then added, “I went to see it for myself. As soon as Patrick Johnson called. His grandson, Andy, works at a lumber mill but he’s off work by three. He’s not around in the evenings much, but we could catch him this afternoon, I suppose.”

  Will saw his trip to Clatsop County and a meeting with Detective Don Enders disappearing. The burn psycho wasn’t really his case anyway. He’d just wanted to meet with Phil Herrington personally, to get a feel for what had happened the night Jamie Markum was killed. But if he went, Will’s actions would undoubtedly rile up the feds, and though a part of him kind of liked the idea of poking a stick at them, another part knew it wouldn’t do anything to progress the case.

  Better to just do his own thinking and see what cropped up.

  And besides, the revelation of the car took precedence.

  And he was scared of what those results might end up being.

  He glanced over at Gemma, who’d gone quiet, the frown on her face revealing she might be regretting being so frank with him.

  When he switched off the ignition, she asked, “What are you doing?”

  “We’ve got time to kill before the grandson gets off work. Looks like I’m gonna get that peach cobbler after all.”

  The wolf slowly, deliberately removed the spare tire from the ten-year-old Volvo wagon and slowly, deliberately replaced it with the original tire, which he’d patched after removing a bolt from the center of its tread. Construction sites were dropping stuff everywhere and drivers were picking it up.

  “Hey, dummy!”

  He didn’t look up from his task, just rolled the tire to the rear of the vehicle and flipped up the rear hatch. The spare fit under a section in the floor of the wagon.