by Vella Day
Seeing the two act so normal together eased her fear a bit. Kerry stepped to the fridge and poured a glass of diet Coke from the near empty quart bottle. Her hand shook so much, she spilled some of the drink onto the floor. Get a grip. She grabbed a rag and cleaned up the mess.
“I thought you were going to call,” Grandpa said. Now he sounded annoyed.
“I am.”
Why had this stranger bothered to call and tell her she’d done a bad job? Was he taunting her or angry she had a few details wrong?
Her breath came out in short bursts. Her hand stilled as a slow trickle of fear drained into her belly. Her throat turned dry and she took a sip of her cola. Could he have been... She couldn’t finish her thought.
After carefully placing the tumbler on the counter so she wouldn’t knock it over, she raced into the living room to find her purse.
“Kerry?” Grandpa called.
“Be right back.” After she searched her bag to locate the detective’s card, she scrambled back into the kitchen. She refused to believe the caller might be the killer—a killer who knew her name, knew her number.
She dialed Detective Markum and tapped her fingers on the handset, waiting for him to answer.
“Markum.”
The breath whooshed from her lungs. “It’s Kerry Herlihy.”
“What’s wrong?”
Was the fear in her voice that evident? “I received a call a few minutes ago at my grandfather’s house about the news broadcast.”
“From someone you know?”
“No. I don’t know who it was. He wouldn’t give me a name.”
“Tell me what he said.”
She detailed the one-sided conversation as precisely as she could. “Do you think it could be the creep who killed these women?”
“It’s possible. I’ll be right over. What’s your address?”
She told him, and he hung up. Damn him.
Kerry downed her soda before she told Grandpa the detective was on the way. She pressed her palm over her chest, hoping to calm the pounding, but it didn’t work. “Why wouldn’t he tell me the woman’s name,” she mumbled to herself.
“Some people don’t like to be involved.”
She slid over to the seat across from him. “I don’t buy it. This guy was angry and mean. He didn’t want me to be involved, not the other way around. If he knew our number, he might know where I live.” Fear choked off her air.
“True.”
“Oh, that helps. You could have lied.”
“It won’t do any good to hide your head in the sand.”
She didn’t need anymore of Grandpa’s sayings. Kerry dropped her head in her hands and didn’t move for the next twenty-five minutes until the doorbell rang.
She raced to answer, but not before looking through the peephole first to make sure it wasn’t some stranger at her door, or the stranger. It was Hunter, face drawn with worry. She unlatched the door and opened it. “Come in.”
He stepped into the foyer, grabbed her shoulders and ran a gaze down the length of her. “Are you okay?”
His strong hands reassured her. “Physically, yes. Mentally, no. I can’t help but wonder how the man found my number.”
Buster came skidding into the living room from the kitchen, nails slipping on the hard wood floor, and whimpered.
“Buster, it’s okay.” She picked him up, and he calmed down immediately.
Hunter moved past her into the living room, his gaze scanning the room. “Right after you called, I had one of the men attempt to trace the number. He just contacted me on my cell as I was heading down your street. No luck. The guy probably used a burner phone.” He spun back to face her. “They’re impossible to trace.”
Damn. “But he knew me, called me by name.”
He was by her side in a second and lifted her chin. “Kerry, it’s not hard to find someone’s number. And as for knowing you, you were on television.”
She swallowed hard. “But I don’t live here. It’s Grandpa’s house.” She turned her back to him, not wanting him to see the tears in her eyes. “It isn’t as though he could have looked up my name in the phonebook.”
“There are ways to find your number. Trust me.”
She turned back around. Trust. Ha. The last time someone had said, “Trust me”, her sister had run off and left her alone to fend for her seven-year-old self. Susan, her mom, her dad all had done the disappearing act at one time or another.
Her grandfather, the one person who’d always been there for her, padded out of the kitchen.
“Saw you on the news tonight. I’m Kerry’s grandfather, Tom Hardy.” He stuck out his hand.
“Hunter Markum.”
Grandpa waved a hand toward the sofa. Kerry and Grandpa took the loveseat while Hunter dropped down on the chair opposite them. He looked more confident than comfortable, which was a good thing.
“I’d like to tap your phone,” Hunter said looking from her to her grandfather.
Kerry glanced at Grandpa. “No problem,” he said.
“I’d also like to have an officer patrol your street. If the caller is dangerous, we can’t take any chances.”
An avalanche of anxiety slammed into her. “You think he’d harm me? In the house?”
Hunter propped his elbows on his knees and clasped his fingers together. “We don’t know anything about him, so it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
“I’ll watch out for her,” Grandpa said. “I still have a revolver someplace around here. My eyesight’s not so good anymore, but if some guy came in here, I could take care of him.”
A hint of a smile lifted Hunter’s lips. “I’m sure you could.”
Kerry felt the need to explain. “Grandpa was with the Tampa Police Department many moons ago.”
“That makes me feel a whole lot better,” Hunter said.
Kerry respected Hunter for making her grandfather feel important, though they all knew if someone with a gun burst through the door, her grandfather, at his age, wouldn’t be able to stop the attacker.
“However,” Hunter went on, “I’d be a lot happier if someone stayed with Kerry, twenty-four seven.” Hunter looked around. “Is your husband here?”
The look of anticipation almost made her laugh. Too bad the seriousness of the situation weighed too heavy on her mind to experience amusement. “No. I don’t have a husband.”
“Oh.” He coughed as though he needed a moment to regroup. “I’ll have to see what the department can do then.”
“Are we talking bodyguard here? If you are, I think you’re overreacting. A police presence outside the house at night should be sufficient to scare someone away. I don’t need round the clock protection. It was only a phone call.”
“Kerry, I’m sure you’ve seen a lot in your line of business, but your skeletons have a look of death removed from their eyes. I know what evil lurks out there. You need protection. If anything happened to you, I’d never forgive myself.”
She was surprised at his concern. “Then I guess a bodyguard it is, but where would he stay? Here?” Surely, Hunter wasn’t volunteering?
“Once I figure out the logistics, I’ll let you know.” He tapped his knee. “On a different note, I did follow up on the photo you gave me of the ship tattoo on the woman’s ankle.” He pulled a piece a paper out of his top pocket. It was the fax she’d sent.
“Did you find the boat?”
“I searched Harbor Island, Davis Island, and the St. Petersburg marinas, but came up empty. Then my luck turned. There’s a boat at the Tampa Yacht Club named ‘Brandywine.’”
She mentally pictured the letters. “That could be it!” Finally, a ray of hope.
“We haven’t turned the corner yet. I found the owner of the sailboat, but he doesn’t have a daughter.”
“What about a wife, or an ex-wife?” she asked.
“I asked him. His current wife is alive and well. All other female relatives are accounted for. However, he told me he purchased the boa
t six months ago.”
The usual ramping up of adrenaline dragged her out of her misery. She did the math. “We need to find the former owner.”
“I’m one step ahead of you.”
“You found him?” Her stomach fluttered.
He smiled as if they were a team. “Yes, only he wasn’t home. The maid, who’s English wasn’t the best, said he’d call me back. When is anybody’s guess.”
“That’s great. Do you have his address? Maybe we can go over there and wait for him to return.”
He held up a hand. “Not so fast. I’ll stop by soon if I don’t hear from him.”
She wanted action now. She needed a diversion to take her mind off the phone call.
Detective Markum slapped his thighs and stood. “From now on, Dr. Herlihy—”
“Kerry, please.”
He nodded. “Kerry. Until I figure out how to protect you, please don’t go out alone. When you’re in the house, don’t answer the door unless you—”
“Look in the peephole,” she finished. “I know.” Her mom had drilled in that particular life lesson. “What about driving to work?”
“I can take her,” Grandpa said.
“With all due respect, I’d feel more comfortable driving her.” Hunter’s cell phone rang and he held up a finger. “Markum.” After a moment, he mouthed, “Sailboat owner.”
She leaned forward, searching his face for a clue.
“I see... I’d still like you to take a look at something that might belong to your daughter...Yes, I can come over now if that would be convenient.” He patted his empty top pocket. He looked up and drew letters in the air.
She pulled open the drawer of the coffee table and handed him a pen. He sat back down and scribbled an address on the back of the fax she’d given him. “Thank you, sir.” Hunter tapped the phone to disconnect.
“That was Chris Norwood. He said he hasn’t heard from his daughter for over a year, but added they’d been estranged for as long. I’m going to interview him.”
“I need to come with you,” she said.
Her grandfather coughed. “You’re a civilian, sweetheart. You can’t go.”
“Your grandfather’s right.”
“I’m not about to sit home while a maniac is on the loose. I can help. If the man has a photo of his daughter, I might be able to identify her. I’m the only one who’s memorized her facial features.”
Much to her surprise, she didn’t want this time with Hunter to end. Like a warm, fleece blanket on a cold night, being with him made her feel safe—something she’d longed for, but had never found.
The detective stabbed a hand through his hair. His gaze bounced from left to right, obviously trying to weigh the odds of taking her.
“Fine. It’s not like we’re talking to a criminal. At least I hope we’re not.”
“I don’t like it,” Grandpa grumbled.
Hunter’s lips pressed together. “I’ll make certain nothing happens to her, sir. By working at the city morgue, indirectly, Kerry works for us.”
“That’s a stretch, but I know Kerry. She doesn’t understand the word no.”
Kerry’s shoulders sagged. He made her sound like an inflexible person, an image she didn’t like.
Hunter’s cell rang again. He looked at the display. “Excuse me. It’s my daughter.” He stepped toward the foyer.
Daughter? So he was married. She refused to address the churning in her stomach.
She turned to Grandpa and kept her voice low. “Don’t forget to lock all the doors, including the back door.” After he took Buster for a walk, he often left it open. “And find that revolver. No telling what the maniac might do.”
His spine stiffened, acting as though she’d tossed an insult at him. “I can take care of myself.”
“Not at eighty-one, you can’t.”
“You don’t know what I can do. I’m not so old I can’t hit what I aim at. I’ll do anything to protect you.”
Now who was the stubborn one? “Fine.”
She straightened the magazines on the coffee table and strained to hear what Hunter was saying on the phone, and how he said it.
“This detective is something else, isn’t he?” Grandpa said, interrupting her eavesdropping. She turned. He had a gleam in his eye Kerry didn’t care for.
She held a finger to her lips. “He’ll hear you!” Grandpa’s hearing wasn’t the best, and he talked louder than most. “Besides he’s married.”
She returned her attention back to Hunter’s conversation.
“Do what Aunt Jen says, okay, sweetheart? I’ll be home soon...Love you too.”
Her eyes widened. Aunt Jen? Did that mean Hunter didn’t have a wife?
9
Kerry shifted on the sofa. From what she’d told him, she’d spent most of her time in the lab, not interviewing people.
Mr. Norwood sat ramrod straight, his white knuckles gripping the sofa arm. His jaw clenched. “How can you be sure the girl you found is my daughter?”
Hunter handed him the photo of the woman’s ankle tattoo. “Sir, I’d like you to take a look at this. For confirmation.”
“Oh my God. No.” Mr. Norwood clasped the photo to his chest and squeezed his eyes shut. His breaths turned rapid and his lower lip trembled. A sob escaped as tears streaked down his cheeks. “I can’t believe this is happening. My little girl can’t be gone.”
Hunter leaned forward. “Are you certain the image belongs to Janet?”
“Yes. My daughter had that tattoo done after the two of us took a two-week voyage together on my boat, the Brandywine.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
He swiped a handkerchief over his eyes. “Over a year ago, maybe? She and I, um, had a falling out.”
“About what?”
He shook his head over and over again, clenched his teeth and inhaled. “I can’t believe I never had the chance to say goodbye.” He dropped his head into his hands and sobbed.
Hunter shot Kerry a glance. The man was hiding something.
Hunter’s shoulders hunched and his lips pulled into a thin line. “Mr. Norwood, do you have a photo of your daughter?”
Norwood swallowed hard, dried his tears and stood. “Yes. I’ll get one.”
Head down, the man with the sleek silver hair and tailor-fitted suit lumbered down the long corridor lined with photographs. He slipped into one of the rooms and returned a moment later stroking his thumb on the frame.
He handed Hunter the photo. “This was the last picture I have of her. She’d been divorced for about two years from Stanton Grayson when I took it. She was twenty-five at the time.”
“She’s lovely.” The daughter was balancing on the bow, holding onto the mast, the blue ocean sparkling behind her.
“Thank you. She was happy in that picture. She’d finally found another man to marry—David Kopetski.”
Hunter handed the picture to Kerry. The girl’s long hair flowed in the wind, and her bronzed skin and broad smile seemed to take Kerry’s breath away. It was such a shame.
“I know this is a difficult time for you,” Hunter said, “but what can you tell us about her physical abuse?”
Mr. Norwood’s body went rigid. “I can’t talk about it. I don’t want to remember Janet in that way.”
Hunter leaned forward. “I know this is hard for you, but your daughter wasn’t the only body we found, sir.”
Mr. Norwood’s eyes widened. “There were more?”
“Three others. If we can understand what happened to her, perhaps we can help with the identities of the other victims and catch the person who did this to your daughter.”
Norwood stared across the room before his gaze slowly reached the ground. “How am I going to tell my wife our daughter is dead? Sharon’s in Europe right now. Oh, God. This will kill her.”
“Please, Mr. Norwood. Anything you can tell us would be a great help,” Hunter said.
He sniffled. “My wife knew more about Janet’s firs
t husband than I did. Stanton hit out daughter. Once my wife returns from her trip, she can give you more of the details.” His lower jaw trembled. “Seems the women of the family liked to keep me out of the loop.”
Kerry caught Hunter’s eye. With raised brows and a nod in Norwood’s direction, she silently signaled she wanted to ask a question. As if they’d known each other for years, he lifted his hand in a go ahead motion.
“When I looked at her bones, I noticed she’d had jaw reconstructive surgery. What can you tell us about that?”
Mr. Norwood tugged on his tie, and then swiped a handkerchief across his mouth. Poor man. Confirming a loved one had died was always the hardest part of her job. However, telling the family she’d identified their family member often brought them needed comfort, but apparently not in this case.
He took a deep breath. “We thought Stanton was the perfect man for Janet. Successful and part of a good family, he seemed to adore her. She married him when she was only twenty and still in school.” He licked his lips and dragged a hand over his mouth. “Stanton was heading up the corporate ladder. They were happy at first, until she announced she didn’t want children. Janet told her mom Stetson had gone berserk. She implied he’d gotten rough with her, though she refused to tell us much more.”
Kerry guessed the getting rough part involved breaking her jaw. “Did she live nearby?”
“No. She and Stanton lived in Connecticut. You have to understand, my daughter was the independent sort. She attended Yale and graduated at the top of her class. Stanton needed to control everything around him, including my daughter.”
“How did Janet react to her husband’s demands?” Hunter said.
“React? Hell, she fought back against the constraint.” Norwood shook his head. “After being pushed around too many times to count, she left him, left his money, and came home.”
“I bet that pissed off Mr. Grayson,” Hunter said.
“That’s putting it mildly. Nobody makes a fool of Stanton Grayson III. The bastard followed her here and attacked her one night when Sharon and I were attending the symphony. That’s when he broke her jaw.”
Just as Kerry was about to ask a question, Hunter placed a hand on her knee, indicating he wanted to continue. His touch jerked her out of the conversation for a minute. Stop reacting to his every contact.