“Some planning has to go into the killings, though, right?”
“To a certain degree. She may not start out with murder on her mind, but it ends that way. It could be as innocent as her stopping at a bar for a beer. If a married man propositions her, it’ll set her off.”
“That’s the trigger.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It fits with my thoughts. Initially, I thought it might be the wife. Notwithstanding her alibi, DNA confirms she wasn’t the woman her husband had sex with before he was murdered.”
“One more thing. Serial killers, and I’m not saying you have one here, usually begin slow. They relive the murder, savoring the thrill and satisfaction for weeks, maybe months sometimes, before they kill again. Sometimes there’s a pattern to when the murders happen. It’s not the case here, which takes us back to the trigger. I think it’s safe to assume she can be set off at any time anywhere with the right stimulus.”
“The right stimulus being any man who runs around on his wife.” Simon inhaled deeply. “Unfortunately, there’s an abundance of those.”
“Do you have someone who looks good for these murders?”
“No. No one.”
“You’ve got your work cut out for you, bud.”
“Well, thanks, Jeff, for your help.”
“I owed you one.”
“Consider the debt repaid.” Simon disconnected the call, feeling no more informed and no less weary.
You’re looking for someone, probably a woman, who has some background in law enforcement and knows how the system works, or at least some insight into the legal profession. Constance had insight into the legal profession with her father being a former judge. She would know enough not to leave prints and trace evidence. What about the DNA left behind? The right stimulus being any man who runs around on his wife. Constance, a woman scorned, might want to seek retribution against all men who cheated on their wives. Her husband cheating on her could have sent her over the edge. It fit. Women sometimes did crazy things for crazy reasons, not that he would voice that wisdom. If it wasn’t her, who was it? The right stimulus. The right stimulus. Something in the back of his mind crept to the forefront and shone like a marquee on the backs of his eyelids. Oh God, no. It couldn’t be, not her. Oh, please, God, no. Evie wouldn’t…couldn’t kill. The part of him in love with her argued with the cop in him. Just because men who ran around on their wives disgusted her didn’t mean she’d go to such horrendous lengths to show her contempt. He stood, walked to the window and leaned a shoulder against the frame. With one hand jammed in a pant pocket, the other hanging limply at his side, he stared into the darkness, thinking. What did the two murder victims have in common? Both were married and womanizers. What did that tell him? What it always told him. That the murderer had something against adulterous men. He clamped his jaw, not liking where his mind led him. No. It wasn’t possible. He straightened, placed a hand on the back of his head, turned and stared at the legal pad on his desk, refusing to admit to the possibility. Mentally reviewing the facts, he had to admit everything pointed to her. She had the means. Her repugnance for men who cheated on their wives set the motive. Opportunity would not pose a problem for her, not a beautiful woman like Evie. Means, motive and opportunity. Goddamnit.
He sat, slammed his hand on the top of his desk, huffed a sigh and thought back to when it all began. The night of Miller’s murder, he reached her at home, but Miller had been killed two hours earlier, giving her time to return home to answer her telephone, should he call. She would expect him to call. On the other hand, he had not been able to reach her the entire weekend of Coulton’s murder in Sibbett. When he asked her whereabouts that weekend, she answered evasively. The odor of cigarettes clung to both victims clothing. Neither men smoked, nor did their wives. All public establishments prohibited smoking, which meant both victims were in the company of a smoker sometime prior to their deaths. That didn’t mean, though, the killer was a smoker, but it seemed a sensible conclusion to draw. Evie stopped smoking six months ago—a flimsy argument at best. If she had taken up the habit again, the smell would linger on her clothes, on her and in her cottage. A nonsmoker himself, he would have noticed the odor. The night someone ransacked her place he didn’t remember seeing any pointed-toed boots in her closets, but that didn’t mean anything. She knew enough to dispose of them and the prudent Evie would have. The report hadn’t come back yet, but he’d bet the boot prints found at the scene of Miller’s murder matched the prints found in the flour on Evie’s kitchen floor. Who was responsible for the break-ins and the vandalism? Constance? Maybe, in reflection, she thought Evie got off too easy. He could see that. If that was the case, then he would have his murderer, as well. On the other hand, Evie could have staged the break-ins to set up Constance. Why? For retribution for being forced to resign her position on the Concord PD, the psychiatric counseling and the humiliation she suffered as a result? Constance questioned by the police would give Evie some satisfaction for what she had done to her. He could believe that scenario, as well. Her reaction to seeing Constance seemed plausible. In fact, all of her reactions appeared characteristic of someone who suffered embarrassment and guilt for their mistakes. If she held a grudge or hated Constance, he would have seen it. He remembered his reaction to Constance. The resemblance between the two women was uncanny.
Darius seemed genuine in his fondness and respect for Evie. He had little time to spare, yet he agreed to see them at a moment’s notice. That should account for something. He thought back to their trip to Concord. Her pressing need to come with him caused him to think she was afraid he might uncover something about her, something she hadn’t told him, something she didn’t want him to know. That was not the case at all. Her only motivation, he believed, was to ensure he didn’t do anything stupid and get into trouble on her account. That sounded more like Evie than considering her a suspect.
Maybe he should step down and appoint someone to take over the investigation. Who would he appoint? Aubrey, who not too long ago tried to ticket someone for speeding down his driveway? No, no one on his staff had the experience or capability to handle a murder investigation. Calling in assistance from the mainland would tell the town folk he couldn’t do his job. How could he uphold the law after that? If it wasn’t Constance, that left Evie. He brooded the conclusion. He had to be wrong. Thinking back to the moment when the cop told Darius about the dead body at the Delkeith, a chill swept his body. Thank God it turned out to be a natural death, otherwise…
This was getting him nowhere. He massaged his face. Goddamnit. Needing to talk to someone about this, only one person came to mind.
It neared ten o’clock when Simon stood on the stoop at his parents’ house. Before he had a chance to grab the knob, the door opened. He stared into his father’s face. “I know it’s late, Pa, but can we talk?” He breathed a half-breath. “I really need your advice.”
“It’s never too late for you, son.” Dan placed a hand on Simon’s shoulder and ushered him into the living room.”
“Where’s Mom?”
“Upstairs.”
Good. What he had to say, he didn’t want his mother to hear. Simon nodded and sat on the couch next to Dan in the recliner. His father’s eyes narrowed, and Simon saw the wheels turning in his mind.
“Judging by the look on your face, I’d guess someone’s got your balls in a wringer.”
“Funny you should say that. You remember me telling you I had no leads in Miller’s murder.”
“I may be old, son, but I’m not senile.”
Deep grooves appeared at the corners of his eyes, reminding Simon how much his father had aged since his retirement. “I have a suspect.” He exhaled a long breath. “It’s Evie.” Dan jerked to an upright position so fast, it startled Simon.
“Are you out of your mind? Evie wouldn’t kill anyone.”
“I’m having a hard time believing it myself, but that’s what the facts tell me.” Simon related what he knew, how he arri
ved at the conclusion and his talk with Jeff. Dan hung on every word, listening intently and obviously curtailing questions and arguments for later. “Everything points to Evie as the killer.”
A gasp came from the doorway.
Both men turned.
“No!” Keertana said, moving toward them. “Evie did not kill anyone.”
“Mother, I’m sorry. I know how much she means to you. She means a lot to me, too, but—”
“Evie did not kill anyone. I am sure.” She jutted her chin.
“You’re sure?” When his mother took a stand like this, it could only mean one thing. “You had a vision.”
“Yes. Tonight. The Great Spirit came to me.”
“What did you see?”
“I saw a naked woman ...” she looked at him directly in his eyes, “a woman who I have never seen before, holding a hunter’s knife dripping with blood. Evie does not have a tattoo on her buttocks.”
“None we know of anyway.”
“Evie…does…not…have…a…tattoo.”
Simon wouldn’t argue. Once his mother made up her mind, there was no changing it. Constance Hanson entering Bubba’s Tattoo Parlor flashed before his eyes just as his cell phone rang. “Wolfe.”
“Simon, it’s Evie. Someone’s outside my cottage!”
“Stay inside. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Remembering how she questioned his prompt response when her cottage had been ransacked, he said, “I’m at my parents.” He disconnected the call. “I’ve got to go,” he said over his shoulder. “Evie has a prowler.”
“Be careful, son, and God speed,” Dan said.
Simon was out the door two seconds later.
The highway was deserted this time of night. The leafless birch and maple trees stood like sentinels on either side of the road. Ground fog separated in his approach. Overhead, clouds shrouded the moon. He blew past the marker for the town limits and took the sharp turn one mile before her cottage, tires screaming.
Two things played over and over in his mind: Evie was innocent and he needed to keep her safe. Could he get so lucky to catch Constance Hanson in action?
The jeep shuddered when he took the turn to the lane too fast. Leaves scattered to the safety of the ditches as the truck flew over the gravel. He braced himself for the impact from larger potholes, while seemingly grazing the smaller ones. Braking hard, he came to a thundering stop at the rear of the cottage.
The door burst open and Evie stepped onto the porch. His heart jolted at the sight of her standing there in a fluffy pink robe, bare feet and cradling Bear in her arms. He was out of the truck and standing next to her in an instant. “I…I heard scratching at my bedroom window. When I looked out, a face stared back at me.”
“Go back inside and lock the door. Whoever it was is probably long gone, but I’ll have a look around.” He waited for her to bolt the door, then stepped onto the grass, shining his flashlight into the trees. Except for the song of a Bicknell’s Thrush, “Ch-ch-zree p-zreew pp-zreeee”, the area was still. He walked around the cottage. Satisfied no one lurked on the premises, he retraced his steps. Something glinted on the ground near the steps in the beam of the flashlight. It looked like a gold figure. He gathered it in his hankie, walked onto the porch, expecting the door to swing open at any moment. It didn’t. He knocked. “Evie, it’s Simon. Evie?” He experienced a moment of apprehension. A moment later, the sound of rapid footsteps came from within. He breathed relief when she stood before him. “Where were you?”
“The bathroom.”
“The bathroom?” He moved into the kitchen and shut the door.
“I would have wet myself if I hadn’t.”
That was more than he needed to know.
“Don’t look at me like that. You asked.” She pointed to his hand. “What you got there?”
“I found this outside.” He parted the cloth and showed her.
Careful not to touch it, she turned it over in his hand with the edge of the hankie. “It looks like an astrological sign. A bull. Taurus, I think.”
“It’s not yours?”
“I don’t own anything like it. Besides my sign is Scorpio. A scorpion. Passionate, sensitive, anxious.” She looked at him. “Do you think it belongs to the prowler?”
“It’s possible. Maybe we’ll get lucky enough to get a print. Can you describe who you saw?”
She shook her head. “It happened so fast, and I didn’t expect anyone to be staring back at me. I thought it was branches of a tree or something.”
For the first time since he arrived there, he spotted droplets of tears on her cheeks. He noticed her hands shook and pulled her to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck. Instinctively, his arms went around her. Her hair smelled of vanilla and peaches. Her breasts crushed against his chest. He heard a sob, then felt her tense.
She came out of his arms and ran a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually a damsel in distress, as you know.”
True. The Evie he knew wouldn’t frazzle in any situation. “I know.”
She waved her hand in the air. “My life’s been hell lately. It’s getting to be too much.” She hurtled against him and sobbed into his shirt. The sound of her cries tugged at his heart.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”
She turned her face upward and stared at him, her eyes sad, her lashes damp with tears. “You will?”
“Of course, I will. Your blood flows with mine and mine with yours. Remember?”
She opened her palm and looked at the scar—an Indian ritual as old as time. “Together forever, we promised.”
“Together forever.” He lost all composure and kissed her.
She sighed, opened her mouth and responded, kissing him with such desire his head pounded. Jesus, Simon, what are you doing? Evie is still a suspect. Your mother might be wrong. His hands strayed to the pit of her back. He pressed her closer. His breath came in ragged gasps. He wanted her like he never wanted any woman before. A groan passed his lips. Give your head a mental shake, Simon. Evie virtually left you standing at the altar. She trampled your heart, then asked you to understand. Remember? Why did that enter his thoughts? He didn’t harbor grudges, but did he unconsciously want to get even? No. Maybe not always never, but definitely never where it concerned Evie.
He swallowed the lump in his throat and nuzzled her neck, his mind consumed with memories of making love with her the first time, sweat slickening his body, her blue eyes mirroring his love. It isn’t too late, Simon. You can still stop. He opened the belt holding her robe closed, slid his hand around her waist and walked her backward to her bedroom.
They fell onto the mattress, touching, kissing, tugging at clothes. Her skin rubbed like silk against his. Her lips tasted of kiwi. Barely breathing, he kissed the hollow of her throat, her breasts. Think about what you’re doing, Simon. It’s a mistake. A mistake you won’t be able to undo. Do you want to risk your career and everything you worked hard for? We’re back to that again, are we? Yes. Evie was worth it. There’s still time. You can still stop. He didn’t want to. God help him. He wanted this moment with her. The desire to make her his pounded through him. He ran his hand down her thighs. Unable to think, barely able to breathe, he kissed her. The room swayed. Sweat rolled down his back and his heart beat like a jackhammer. Now, he wanted more than this night. He wanted a lifetime of these nights.
“I love you, Evie. Love me like today is your last.”
She parted her legs.
He slid inside her. She felt hot and wet against him.
She captured his face between his hands and looked deeply into his eyes. “Welcome home, Simon.”
He grinned. She said the damndest things at the damndest times. This was the Evie he knew.
“I love you. I have always loved you.”
Her whisper soft voice caressed him, making him feel helpless. Dear God in Heaven, if she was guilty, how could he ever turn her in? He forced the thought to
the attic of his mind, there but momentarily inaccessible. He kissed her like he might never have another opportunity. This night belonged to him … to them.
***
Evie raised her hips and moved to his rhythm. The world seemed a distant place, merely a reflection on the horizon of her mind. No troubles. No regrets. No guilt. Whatever the future brought for her didn’t matter. All that mattered was this moment, this wonderful, wonderful moment. If tomorrow brought heartache and pain for her, the memory of this night would get her through it.
She cried out. “Simon, my God.” Her body pulsated with desire. She gasped for a whole breath and stared at him looking at her. Tears rolled from his eyes. Words failed her. She felt such sadness that his love for her affected him so deeply. She clung to him, wanting never to let go. Calling his name, she jolted with the orgasm. “Sweet God in Heaven.”
He kissed her, a tender kiss filled with monumental love.
She melted inside. “I love you, Simon. No one has ever made me feel the way you do. You make me feel so loved, so appreciated, so special.”
“I’ll never stop loving you.” He hugged her close.
If this was the start of a second chance for her, she’d embrace it. What they felt for one another was special and came about rarely. She wouldn’t let anyone or anything come between them again. Their hearts and souls were bound for eternity. She nestled in the crook of his arm, wishing to remain there forever. Her breathing slowed and she drifted off to sleep, knowing there would be no bad dreams. Not tonight. Not ever again.
***
The morning sun filtered through the lace curtains. Simon opened his eyes and turned to Evie, surprised to find her staring at him. “How long have you been awake?”
“Not long. What’s this about a tattoo?”
“What?”
“In your sleep, you smiled and muttered, ‘No tattoo. She has no tattoo.’”
Wolfe, She Cried Page 13