Mercy (Beartooth, Montana)

by B. J Daniels

  “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

  He nodded as if he understood. Not likely. “Can I buy you breakfast? We could go down to the café—”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to see Caligrace Westfield.”

  “She isn’t working today.”

  “Really?” Laura wondered where she was, then. She could have just gone into Big Timber or Bozeman shopping. Or maybe she was meeting her co-killer. Rourke didn’t seem to know any more than she did. “Also, I don’t want anyone overhearing what I have to tell you.”

  “Laura, I appreciate your help, but you don’t need to be doing this now with everything...”

  “All the arrangements for my mother have been taken care of. Can we please talk about something else?”

  “How about some coffee?” He set about making a pot, allowing Laura time, she knew, to pull herself together. She looked around the cabin, too anxious to sit until he insisted.

  “I know you haven’t had time to do the profiles—”

  “I did,” she said. “If these murders are being committed by a male associated with the woman, then the two of them could be luring these men in. She seduces them. He kills them.”

  “I suspect he is more like a protective male in her life who thinks he is saving her,” Rourke said. “Maybe he is. Maybe these men did something to her that makes him feel they need to be punished.”

  “Or it could be a case of sexual dominance by one or both of them.” Laura took a folder from her purse. “We have a lot of information on male serial killers. These are things that they often share in common.” She ticked them off on her fingers, seeing that he already knew them.

  “Multiple problems at home, instability in the family unit, the father often gone or a disruptive influence because of alcohol, drugs or sexual abuse. Most moved a lot, had no attachment to people or the community where they lived for a short time.”

  “Thus reducing the child’s chances for finding opportunities to develop positive relationships,” he said, nodding.

  “Most offenders didn’t have a satisfactory relationship with their fathers. Either the father was gone entirely or on drugs or alcohol, so not there as a parent. Often their mothers were unavailable emotionally. A lack of justice was another factor, feeling like they got a raw deal. Many complained that their parents were preoccupied with their own problems, leading to the offender coming up with a fantasy life to escape. Often that fantasy life involved violence and began to dominate their thoughts.”

  “Dominance through aggression,” Rourke said with a nod. “Murder gives them a feeling of being in control.”

  “This is Caligrace Westfield’s background, from what you’ve told me. What does it tell you?”

  “That not every child who grows up under these types of conditions turns into a serial killer.”

  * * *

  ROURKE COULD SEE that Laura was upset with him. “I know what you’re saying,” he agreed, getting up from the table to refill their coffee cups. “My gut tells me that Callie is somehow connected to these murders. But that she isn’t the killer.”

  “Then who is?”

  “That’s what I hope to find out tonight.”

  Laura lifted a brow.

  “I’m taking her out to dinner.” He saw her expression as he poured her more coffee. “Don’t worry. I’ll be careful. I have to take it slow. She’s jumpy.”

  “That should tell you something. You still think there is someone in the shadows doing the killing.”

  He nodded.

  “She knows he’s there?”

  Rourke frowned. “That part is what bothers me. She’s aware of the murders on some level....”

  Laura sighed. “Do I need to remind you that some women are capable of killing their own children?”

  He had a sudden image of a woman filling a bathtub, smiling to her children, just before she held each struggling child under.

  “I’m not one of her children,” he said, hating that he sounded defensive.

  “No, but if she’s a black widow, you’re already caught in her web.”

  He returned the coffeepot to the stove. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.”

  She laughed. “Just trying to keep you alive.”

  When he turned, he caught a glimpse of her pain. “I’m so sorry about your mother.”

  “I told you. We weren’t close.”

  “Still—”

  “You can’t possibly understand. You had a...family.”

  “And you didn’t? You’ve never talked about them. I thought you said once that you had a sister—”

  “Catherine. She shows up when she feels like it.”

  “That would explain why I’ve never met her.”

  “Catherine makes an appearance every year or so just to remind me that I can’t get her out of my life no matter how hard I try.”

  She could feel Rourke studying her in shocked surprise. “I’m sorry you’re not close.”

  “We’re too close for comfort,” she said with a laugh. “Sometimes I’m too much like her. She is a lot meaner than I am.”

  Rourke laughed. “So you’re the good sister?”

  She met his gaze and nodded solemnly. The cabin suddenly felt too small. “Stop trying to change the subject. It’s October. Your killer is going to strike again—and soon, according to her pattern.”

  He didn’t tell her that he’d seen a change in Callie.

  Laura sighed as if she could see she wasn’t getting anywhere with him. “Here are the profiles,” she said, sliding them across the table to him. “I also did some research on Carson Grant and Johnny Franks. Carson Grant was a suspect in the death of a local girl, Jenny West.”

  “West?” Rourke said. “Carson’s sister, Destry, is married to a West. Rylan West, I believe.”

  Laura nodded. “Jenny was his sister. Carson took off right after the murder and didn’t come back for years. When he did, he was deep in debt, gambling debts following him. He’s been clean now for almost two years. He works for his sister after his father cut him out of the will.”

  “That explains a lot,” Rourke said, nodding. “The cowboy has a chip on his shoulder.”

  “Johnny Franks is a drifter. He hooked up with Carson about the time Callie came to town. He has a rap sheet for assault.”

  “Any tie between him and Callie?”

  “Not that I could find. Any more from your P.I.?” Laura took a sip of her coffee, cupping the mug in her hands as she looked over the rising steam.

  Rourke knew what he had to tell her would only make Callie look more guilty. “The murder at Westfield was committed on October five.”

  She put down her mug. “So there is a connection.”

  “There’s more,” he admitted. “According to the deputy up there, Callie witnessed the murder at Westfield. She was five, so there is no way she was involved. But apparently, she was found in the room. The girl suffered at least temporary trauma from the ordeal.”

  Laura stared at him. “So she not only saw what happened...”

  “There is a good chance she also saw the killer.”

  * * *

  LAURA GOT UP and moved around the small cabin. “Well, if Callie saw the killer, then why hasn’t she come forward with a name?” she demanded, feeling a little light-headed.

  “I don’t know. Maybe because of the trauma, she doesn’t remember.”

  “Or that killer doesn’t play into these murders. Maybe it was a onetime thing and not relevant to these cases.” She turned to look at him. “Surely you’ve considered that Callie is acting out what she saw that night at such a young age.”

  “Of course I have,” he said. “But I’m not convinced the original murder is relevant to these cas
es. What if this is a case of co-killers, just as I originally thought, but both of them are women?”

  Laura raised a brow in surprise. “You have someone in mind?”

  “At first I thought it might be Gladys McCormick. If it’s true and one of her daughters was raped by the man, she would be the most obvious person to exact justice.”

  “And now?”

  “I think it might have been one of the girls.”

  “How about Callie’s own mother?” Laura said. “Wouldn’t that account for Callie not telling who committed the murder?”

  “Yes, but her mother is dead. I think it stands to reason that the man was killed by someone in that house.”

  “You’re back to one of the girls who lived there?” She continued to move around the cabin, too nervous to sit.

  “I’m thinking it could have been one of Gladys McCormick’s daughters.”

  “Vengeance against the man who raped her sister?”

  “Maybe. Or the sister who was allegedly raped could have done it. That would explain why Callie didn’t tell. She would have been fearful of Gladys McCormick, because I would imagine her mother was. That fear would probably also encompass the woman’s daughters.”

  “How old were these daughters?”

  “Twelve or thirteen,” he said, nodding at her point. “I know they were young.”

  “If Callie really was in the room and saw the murder...a child put in that kind of horrendous circumstance...” Her voice broke. “I can’t imagine what that kind of trauma could have done to her.”

  “It would have been even worse for the girl who was raped,” Rourke pointed out. “Then if she killed the man...”

  “I would imagine your killer sees men as a threat. Not all men, maybe only men who get too close or men who hurt her in some way.” She met his gaze. “I don’t think you realize how dangerous this woman is.” She could see that he still wanted to believe his precious Callie was innocent. “So these co-killers...if one of them is Callie... You’re actually going on a date with her tonight? At best, she will set you up. At worst, she will cut your heart out herself.”

  She hadn’t meant to say it with such anger.

  Rourke looked at her in surprise as she picked up her purse to leave. “Laura, why are you making this so personal?”

  “I’m making it personal?” She slung her purse strap over her shoulder. “You were half in love with Callie before you even met her. I see you getting more caught up in her web every day.”

  Rourke sighed. “Just because I don’t think she’s guilty—”

  “I see you falling for her, and it breaks my heart because I can’t see this ending but one way.”

  “I like her. I’ll admit it. But you’re wrong. I haven’t forgotten that she’s a suspect.”

  “Haven’t you?” She blurted it out. “I saw you with her last night, Rourke.”

  He had the good sense to look chagrined. “I’m trying to get close to her, remember? She’s...she’s hiding something.”

  The admission took Laura by surprise. So maybe he wasn’t so sure Callie was innocent.

  “And that doesn’t make you nervous?” she demanded.

  “It makes me nervous as hell. Laura, I know what I’m doing.”

  She could have argued that. “So, you think she just can’t remember or doesn’t want to? You know, either way there might be a way to find out. Maybe if she returned to Westfield, to the place where this all started... Never mind. It’s a crazy idea.”

  “No, it’s not,” Rourke said. “If the killings are a manifestation of that earlier trauma, then maybe she would remember the killer.”

  “It’s a long shot.” She could see that he was taken with the idea.

  “Somewhere in her memory is the real killer. If she can access it—”

  “Then you will have solved your case,” Laura said. “That’s all this is, right? Just another case? How would you get her to go with you, though?”

  Rourke didn’t seem to hear her. “I can’t do anything until I hear from the P.I. I hired. He found out that Gladys McCormick had two daughters, identical twins. He’s trying to find them. He left a message earlier that he thinks he knows where at least one of them is. He’s going to call tonight.”

  Laura felt all the blood rush from her head as she continued to move around the room. “Why are you interested in them?” she asked, her back to him.

  “It makes sense that one of them could have been involved in the murder at Westfield, given what Edwin learned about them. After the alleged rape and the murder, the deputy said he was told that one of the sisters pushed the other one down the stairs. Originally, it was believed that the girl had died or was badly hurt. Apparently, that wasn’t true, but these girls are at the heart of what happened in that place. If anyone knows who the killer is, I’m betting one of them does.”

  She felt a cold chill move through her as she found herself standing by the kitchen counter and saw what Rourke had written on his notebook next to his plugged-in cell phone. “Edwin. Billings Imperial Hotel, room 1112. Call tonight.”

  “There’s something I need to tell you,” she said, turning to face him. Her voice broke. She feared she would burst into tears. After her earlier breakdown, he would think she was losing her mind. She wasn’t all that sure she wasn’t.

  “What is it?” Rourke asked in concern.

  “I’ve been meaning to tell you for some time. I just didn’t know how.” She looked at him. He was the most handsome man she’d ever known, but that wasn’t why she’d fallen in love with him. Rourke wanted justice in a world where there was too little. But he was also kind and compassionate. He felt things deeply. He cared.

  “I’m not surprised that you don’t want to believe Caligrace is the killer,” she said. “You see that innocent face of hers and you want to believe the best. I understand that.”

  “Laura, what is this really about? Your mother?”

  She wanted to scream that it was about her mother, about sister Catherine, about her. Catherine was close by; she could feel it. Her sister could be showing up any day. Catherine couldn’t stand seeing her happy. She had a way of making her feel bad about everything, especially Rourke. Her sister knew how she felt about the man and taunted her about it.

  “You and Rourke are never going to happen. You’re only kidding yourself. You keep thinking that one day he will just miraculously fall in love with you? Never going to happen. Now, Rourke and me... Well, I think I might be more his type.”

  “Stay away from him,” Laura had pleaded with her sister. She knew how Catherine was when she wanted something. Her sister destroyed things. Laura had spent years keeping the two of them apart, even though Rourke had often mentioned that he’d like to meet her sister.

  Laura looked at Rourke now, wanting to warn him. Catherine could show up anytime out of the blue as she’d done for years.

  “What would Mother say if she knew how you treated me?” Catherine would whine. “Didn’t she tell you to be nice to me?”

  Catherine had always been their mother’s favorite and they both knew it. “Try being nicer to Catherine” was her mother’s mantra for years.

  She’d always been nice to her sister. It was Catherine who wasn’t nice to her. It was Catherine who always got her into trouble. Catherine who, if she let her, would ruin her life.

  Laura took a breath, let it out and, clasping her hands together tightly, said, “You’re right. I am taking this personally because...I’m in love with you.”

  A heavy silence filled the cabin, colder than the approaching snowstorm outside.

  Rourke cleared his voice. “Laura—”

  “You don’t have to say anything.” Why had she blurted it out like that? Why had she listened to her psychiatrist? She didn’t feel better. She felt horrible. Sh
e wanted to die. She wanted to launch herself at Rourke and beat her fists against his chest.

  She turned away, unable to bear the sympathy she saw in his dark eyes. From behind her, she heard him rise and move toward her. Closing her eyes, she braced herself for his touch. If only he would take her in his arms and hold her and tell her he felt the same way.

  He took her shoulders in his hands and turned her around to face him. “Laura, I had no idea.”

  She laughed through the sudden tears. “I know.”

  “How long have you—”

  “Almost since I met you, but it doesn’t matter. I just had to tell you.”

  “You know I care about you.”

  “I also know you’ve always thought of me only as your partner....”

  “And a good friend,” he said.

  “Yes.” It felt like a lie, though. If they had been good friends, he would already know what she wasn’t telling him. “There’s more.”

  His eyes widened a little. He glanced at his watch. He needed to get ready for his date.

  She could feel her heart hammering against her ribs. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. He was right. This wasn’t the time.

  “I just wanted to tell you that I have a job interview back in Seattle. I need to get going. I wanted you to know that I was leaving.”

  “A job interview? That’s great.” He looked relieved. He certainly didn’t look sorry to see her go. “You’ll call me, won’t you? We can talk once you get back home, after the interview.”

  She nodded and wiped hastily at her tears.

  He seemed not to know how to say goodbye to her, so he walked her to the door.

  “Goodbye, Rourke,” she said as they parted company. “Enjoy your date.”

  As she walked down the hillside to where she’d parked her car, she told herself that maybe things would have been different if he had loved her. Or if he had let her tell him about the old trunk. But she knew she was just fooling herself. Once she told him about her and sister Catherine... Well, no matter what she did now, she didn’t see how there would be a way to save Rourke.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CALLIE STOOD IN front of the mirror, hating how nervous she felt. “It’s just a date.” That made her laugh since she didn’t date. She’d tried it a number of times, but knowing what your date was thinking ruined it.