“This could be it,” Smitty said.
Zach grunted an agreement, but the adrenaline rush that had seized him at first seeing Williams’s picture had fled. Something about this seemed too easy or maybe directed. Why the sudden appearance of the photo right after they’d come up with their own sketch? Something told him they wouldn’t find what they expected on the other side of Williams’s door.
Craig gave the command, and ESU swarmed inside. They’d secured a no-knock warrant for Williams’s arrest, which meant they’d just ram his door down and go in. They wanted him contained in the apartment without a chance to hit the fire escape before they got to him. It only took a few minutes for them to get the all-clear sign. Had they taken Williams by surprise or had he gone down without a fight? Zach wouldn’t know until he got up there to see for himself.
Williams’s apartment was on the third floor in the corner directly across from the stairs. The door was open, hanging on its hinges. Several members of the ESU team were standing about. The only other person in the room seemed to be an old man in a wheelchair, breathing heavily as if a heart attack were imminent.
“Where the hell is Williams?” Zach heard Craig say behind him.
“I’m Virgil Williams,” the old man said. “You can check my wallet.” He extended it toward Craig with shaky hands. “What do you officers want?”
Craig took the wallet and surveyed its contents before passing it to Zack. “Do you have a son, Mr. Williams?”
“He’s in Iraq. Has been for the past year and a half.”
Zack surveyed the contents of the wallet. Not a single credit card, only a few bucks and a driver’s license that expired in 1972, long before pictures were required. Zach passed the wallet to Smitty, who surveyed it quickly and snapped it shut.
Craig pulled out a copy of the sketch and handed it to Williams. “Do you recognize this man?”
Williams pulled a pair of glasses from his pocket and looked down at the photograph. “He’s the one on the TV.” Williams glanced up at Craig, new lines of worry creasing his forehead. “You thought I was him?”
An expression of displeased annoyance came over the captain’s face. “We’re sorry to have troubled you, Mr. Williams. We can see we’ve made a mistake.”
Williams harrumphed. “Where were you a year ago when my apartment was broken into? Nobody ever showed up to take the complaint.”
“Was anything taken?”
“Just the TV, but they left the place a mess.”
“I apologize for that, too,” Craig said. He turned and nodded to Zach and the detectives for them to follow.
Once they were outside, Zach leaned his back against one of the patrol cars waiting for whatever Craig had to say. But it was Smitty who spoke first. “How long do you think it will take for him to file a lawsuit against the city?”
Craig’s frown deepened. “We’ll keep a car on this place in case the fake Williams shows up. We’ll check on the son. That guy isn’t going anywhere.”
Zach had noticed too that the man’s legs were shriveled inside his pants legs. He couldn’t have killed anybody if he wanted to.
“Anyone else have any brilliant suggestions?”
Zach had only one, which meant he and Alex would have to leave early the next morning.
Zach got out of his car in front of his house, relieved to find the two officers in the unmarked car still outside his house. That meant she was all right. He hadn’t spoken to her much that day, except to tell her he would be home late. She hadn’t asked what he was working on and he hadn’t volunteered it, not wanting to get her hopes up about catching Williams. Now he was glad he hadn’t since the whole thing had been a bust.
She opened the door to him as he headed up the walk. Had she been waiting for him? He hoped so, and for a better reason than she wanted to hear what he’d been up to on the case. He’d missed her and hoped she’d felt a tinge of that emotion herself. Though with Alex it was difficult to tell what she was feeling unless she told him.
He opened the screen door and pulled her into his arms, unheedful of the two cops parked across the street. He doubted either of them would believe he hadn’t touched her until last night anyway. He buried his nose against her neck as her arms closed around his neck. With his hands at her waist he lifted her and carried her inside, kicking the door closed behind them.
He brought them to the sofa, sat, and pulled her onto his lap. She leaned back to survey his face. Her fingers, cool and gentle, brushed his forehead and cheek. “I guess I don’t have to ask you how your day went.”
No, she didn’t have to ask. He was sure it was there on his face, but he wanted to tell her anyway. “We thought we had him tonight. Turns out he used an old man’s Social Security number to get a driver’s license and credit cards.”
“How is that possible? Wouldn’t the old man keep getting the bills?”
“Not necessarily. Once the first one showed up, he could have switched the mailing address to a PO box, which he did. Williams didn’t remember seeing this guy, but a couple of the other neighbors remember him hanging around the lobby a while ago. All he’d have to do is pry open the one mailbox or wait for the mailman to deliver and claim he was from that apartment. We’ll check with the post office tomorrow.”
“Where does that leave you?”
He stroked his hand over her hair. “It looks like you get your wish. I want to leave at six for Thorpe’s sister’s house.”
She nodded. “I saved you some dinner.”
He smiled, pleased that she’d thought of him, but he wasn’t hungry, not for food anyway. He wanted her, but he needed to move slow. In his bed, she’d given him everything, held nothing back. Outside it, he knew she withheld part of herself from him. Not that he didn’t expect that. Only two days ago they were barely speaking. But, perhaps selfishly, he wanted all of her, and not just for the present. He never should have walked out on her in the first place and never would again, if he could help it.
Despite the cautions ringing in his ears, he pulled her closer and brought her mouth down to his. God, she tasted sweet, but the kiss they shared was nothing but wicked. Her hands went to his tie, loosening it so that she could undo the buttons on his shirt. Then her fingertips touched down on his bare flesh. Her thumbs strummed his nipples and her tongue mated with his. He felt as he always did with her: as if he were being consumed by fire. His heartbeat picked up and his breathing shallowed.
He leaned over and laid her down on the sofa, wanting to rid himself of his clothing. He stood to do so, his eyes riveted to her as she rasped down the zipper on her shorts. She pushed them down her body to reveal she wore nothing underneath. His breath came out on a ragged groan.
Next came her T-shirt. She pulled it over her head and tossed it to the carpet. Her hands captured her own breasts, squeezing them in a way that she seemed to be offering them to him. They skimmed lower, over her rib cage, down her belly, to between her parted thighs.
All the while he fumbled with his clothing, his fingers not seeming to work properly. He trembled with the need to be inside her, a part of her. Then finally he was free. He got the condom from his wallet and rolled it on. He knelt on the floor and pushed her legs wider apart and lowered his head. Rather than push her hands away, he used his tongue to delve between her fingers, to delve inside her, lapping at the sweet juices that flowed between her thighs.
He could feel the tension mounting in her. Her legs trembled and her breathing became shallow. She wrapped her legs around his shoulders and her hips rocked against him. She called his name as her body contracted with the force of her climax.
She called his name again. Something in that one word made him look up at her. Her hands reached for him and he didn’t hesitate. He covered her with his own body and thrust into her. His body shivered and a grunt of pure pleasure tightened his jaw.
He lifted himself up on his elbows to look down at her. The rapturous expression on her face enflamed him. He leaned down to clai
m her mouth for a wild kiss as he thrust into her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, taking him deeper, deeper.
He was sinking into a fiery abyss. Perspiration coated his skin and it was an effort to drag in the slightest bit of air. She broke the kiss and pulled him down to her with her arms around his neck. She whispered in his ear, “Come for me, Zach.”
It was too much. He lost it then, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm. He pumped into her, his control forgotten, his mind and body consumed with the wash of pure pleasure that flooded through him.
After a moment he rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him, wishing he had something with which to cover them. He stroked his hands over her back to warm her as their bodies cooled. He could have stayed like that forever with her snuggled up to him, her body still restless with the aftermath of sex, but she started to shiver. He found her T-shirt and helped her put it on. She settled back against him with a sigh.
Again, he was tempted to question her as to what they were doing together. She’d brushed his concern aside before, but it hadn’t gone away. Was sex all she really wanted from him? If so, it wouldn’t be the first time, nor would it be the first time that’s all he wanted from a woman.
He couldn’t believe that, though. She’d greeted him at the door with genuine concern in her eyes. She’d stroked his face with a tenderness he hadn’t experienced in a long time, if ever. No, she felt something for him, maybe not what she once had, but still something. He hadn’t killed every gentler feeling she had toward him. He had to be thankful for that.
The first rule was that you didn’t tell. No matter what she did, you didn’t tell, not even the old lady, though the old lady already knew. The Mirror knew that, but he had been ready to break the rule. He had been about to tell, and that couldn’t be allowed.
Even though she was dead, she still whispered to him sometimes. She reminded him of how useless The Mirror had been. If it had been olden times they could have left him on a mountain to rot, but as things were they had to keep him.
After all they’d been through, The Mirror had been ready to tell every sordid little secret. He regretted killing him, not because he was dead, but because the connection was gone. Even all those years they’d been separated, he’d still felt the bond, frail and tenuous, but there. Once he’d killed The Mirror, he was alone, all alone for the first time in his life, and he hated it. He couldn’t live like this, so totally unconnected.
He’d known what he was going to do almost immediately. He was almost at the end of it now. He was going to tell now, himself, but it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t live long enough to pass it on. But she’d been good to him and deserved to know why she was about to die.
He looked at her and smiled—all that dark delicious hair and a slender body, not sloppy, neat. She surveyed the photos on the wall, all of them pictures from his youth. He and his brother, tumbling around the backyard like two puppies. There were others, but these seemed to fascinate her.
She pointed to the girl in one photograph. “Is that your sister?”
He smiled, his lips drawn back, feral. “No.”
She looked puzzled, what he expected.
“Mother always wanted a girl. Walter couldn’t do it. He was too weak. He nearly died. No use to anyone. There was only me.”
She took a step back from him, incredulity and indignation on her face. “You’re telling me your mother used to dress you like a girl?”
“It wasn’t so bad really. Except for the men. She’d give me to them sometimes. Sometimes it didn’t matter, but sometimes when they found out I wasn’t what they thought I was they’d kick both our asses.”
He saw it in her eyes now—revulsion, disgust, and a burgeoning sense of fear. “Why are you telling me this?”
“So that you understand. Life tricked her. All she asked for was that the baby she carried would be a girl. God gave her two boys instead. Me and The Mirror.” That’s how he’d come to think of them. She used to say they were a reflection of each other: The Mirror weak and him strong, The Mirror useless and him mommy’s little helper. They were the same, yet different. Opposites. Although she’d trained him otherwise, he’d started in the world left-handed, sinestre. Sinister.
To her he said, “She couldn’t stand for that.”
He’d thought he would be able to tell her all of it, but he’d miscalculated. She wouldn’t be able to accept it. He wanted to tell her how powerful he was, what he’d done. But all that was left was to show her. Such a waste, but it couldn’t be helped. If he hadn’t gotten her away before the news hit she would have known. She would have told. And that might have ruined everything. He was in the process of telling himself, in the biggest way he knew how. Then it would be over. But not yet.
He reached for her, wanting it over quick, but she fought him, striking him, using her feet and elbows to wound him. She was strong and her blows hurt, but he was beyond that now. He managed to knock her to the floor, and then he was on her, unfurling the cord he’d kept in his pocket for this purpose. She wouldn’t die like the others. If she cooperated, it would be quick. He owed her that. She fought him as the cord tightened around her neck, choking her. Six minutes, that’s all it would take for her brain to shut down and die. He had a special place picked out for her, in the center of the orchard outside, waiting. He would put her there and go back to the city in the morning. He still had work to do.
Her body went slack, but he kept the cord tight, mentally counting off the minutes until it was done. He let her body slide bonelessly to the floor and stood.
Twenty-two
The three-hour drive up to Granville, New York, proved uneventful, mostly because Alex spent most of that time drifting in and out of sleep. They’d left the highway a bit ago, traveling a backwoods route. He had to admit this was beautiful country, though the trees hadn’t yet started to bud and grass still showed winter pallor. It was the sort of place families came for apple and pumpkin picking in the fall.
Alex stirred beside him. She wore her hair in a single braid down her back, but several wisps had escaped to frame her face. She brushed them back as she sat up. “Are we there yet?”
He chuckled. “We should make town in a couple of minutes. I’ll need directions out to Thorpe’s sister’s place.”
He’d stop by the sheriff’s office in town, partly as a professional courtesy since he had no jurisdiction here and partly to find out what he knew about the sister. The sheriff’s office was in the center of town, a one-story office building that looked freshly painted.
Zach parked in front of the building. It was barely nine thirty, but the street was busy in a small-town sort of way. Very peaceful. Living here would drive him stir-crazy in a week. He collected Alex from the other side of the car and went inside.
Sheriff Harrold Bates was standing at the front desk when they walked in. Agewise, Zach would put him in his midforties. He had a full head of dark hair that had started to go white at the temples and a belly that had started to strain against the dark blue fabric of his uniform. But his blue eyes assessed them with a shrewdness Zach wouldn’t have expected in a small-town cop. “What can I help you people with?”
Zach introduced himself and Alex, but he had the feeling such introductions were unnecessary. “We were heading out to Ginnie Thorpe’s place and needed directions.”
“I’ll take you people, if you don’t mind. Ms. Thorpe appreciates her privacy.”
In other words, he didn’t mind them going out there but wanted to be along in case the big city people started some trouble. “That’s not a problem.”
“Linda, I’m going out for a while,” Bates called. A pretty blonde came to take over his spot at the desk. Bates gestured for them to precede him out the door. “The regular girl’s on maternity leave, so we’re all taking turns,” he said.
Outside they climbed into the sheriff’s car, Zach in front with Bates, Alex in back. As they drove he looked back at her. She’d been uncharacteristi
cally silent since they got to the sheriff’s office. True, there hadn’t been much for her to say, but she seemed pensive in a way that bothered him. He wondered what he was thinking, but Bates spoke, claiming his attention.
“What do you folks want with Ginnie Thorpe, anyway? I was just out there yesterday afternoon to let her know about her brother.”
Zach focused on Bates. Wasn’t that a question better asked before he’d agreed to bring them out here? “How did she react when you told her?”
“She wasn’t there. That’s not unusual. She doesn’t stay up here too much, except in the winter.”
So now Zach understood. Bates would give the city slickers the chance to do the dirty work. “Where is she the rest of the time?”
Bates shrugged. “Don’t know. She’s not the friendliest girl, if you know what I mean. Likes to be by herself. She comes into town every so often wearing one of those smocks. She’s a painter, you know.”
Zach nodded for want of a better reaction. “But you think she’s there now?”
“One of the deputies noticed her car in the drive this morning. Here’s the road to her place.”
The sheriff made a left turn onto a dirt road. Soon two buildings came into view, a large clapboard house and another building that was either a garage or a storage shed. What struck Zach was how isolated these two buildings looked, how drab, without even a garden to brighten up the gray of the house. Then again, it was a bit early for any flowers to have bloomed, but there didn’t seem to be any beds in which said flowers might grow. Wouldn’t an artist appreciate color?
Bates pulled to a stop in front of the house behind what Zach presumed was Ginnie’s car, a black Ford Taurus, and got out. He walked up to the house, leaving Zach to let Alex out of the car. He did, noticing how Bates approached the house, calling Ginnie Thorpe’s name.
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