Friday, 6:30 p.m.
Walter Kirby and his family lived in a pretty, woodsy subdivision just north of town, filled with huge lawns and dozens of modern-looking houses. The place had sprung up prerecession, when people were looking to upgrade to McMansions. It had yet to recover from the downturn, which had seen a third of the homes in the neighborhood go to foreclosure. A few of the yards were overgrown, old, swollen newspapers rotting on the curb like big dead rats.
There weren’t quite as many For Sale signs as a year ago, though. Apparently a few upwardly mobile locals and newcomers to town were taking advantage of the bargains. Still, it didn’t look great.
Lexie wondered if Walter had thought about getting out. With Ann-Marie’s cancer treatments going on for well over a year, he had to have considered looking for a job elsewhere, where he wouldn’t have to commute an hour to get to and from the best hospitals.
But when she turned her car onto his block and saw the teenagers hanging out in his driveway, she knew he wouldn’t have done it. He’d never have made the girls change schools, not with the twins being in their senior year. He’d just done his good-dad-good-husband thing and made that drive, trying to keep everyone happy and the balls of his family life up in the air.
“Hey, Lexie!” one of the kids called when she pulled up in front of the house, parking at the curb. There were already four cars in the driveway. She expected a couple of those, Taylor’s VW Beetle and Jenny’s PT Cruiser, to be pulling out soon. It was almost game time.
“Hey, girls,” she said, nodding to Walt’s younger daughters as she exited the car. The other two were probably inside donning their makeup, uniforms, and their school spirit. Rah-rah.
Cheerleaders had never been among her favorite people, not even when she’d been in high school herself. But somehow the Kirby twins managed to be okay despite their perkiness. Probably had something to do with the good parents who were raising them.
“Seen any serial killers lately?” asked one of the smirking boys from the neighborhood.
“Only the one hiding under your bed, waiting for you to go to sleep tonight,” Lexie immediately replied, used to the snark. Hell, at least the kids would say such things to her face.
“Dad said for you to go on around back. He’s firing up the grill,” said Christy, Walter’s youngest child, who was still snorting over the way her male friend’s face had gone a little pale.
Lexie smiled at all the teens as she worked her way through them, holding a brown bag containing a six-pack in one arm, and a bunch of flowers in the other. She emerged into the backyard just in time to hear Walter muttering something about his propane. “What’s that, boss?”
He glared down at the grill. “Might as well be in the kitchen. Damned gas grill doesn’t taste much different than the stove. But they say it’s healthier than charcoal.”
“Ugh. Grunt. Caveman must cook meat over flame,” she teased, handing him a beer.
He twisted off the cap and took a long pull. “So,” he asked when he was finished, “how did you spend your day today, other than pretending to be sick?”
She tilted her head in confusion.
“Stan. He came in to tell me he felt sure you weren’t ill and I should talk to you about the importance of not calling off work on a Friday just because you don’t feel like coming in.”
“Frigging tattletale. Did you tell him I hadn’t called in sick?”
“Actually, no. More fun to let him stew about my lack of interest.”
“Evil man. I like it.”
“Any luck today?” he asked.
Shoving her unpleasant coworker out of her mind, she admitted, “I saw our local psychic again. He had more questions and promised to read everything I left for him.”
“I still can’t believe he even talked to you.”
“Yep. He wasn’t happy about it at first, but he eventually even let me in his house.” She grinned. “Not a shrunken head, voodoo doll, or crystal ball anywhere in sight.”
“You haven’t really told me what you think of him.”
She considered the question, going over the time she had spent at McConnell’s house again. “I think he’s very interesting,” she mused, knowing that was putting it way too mildly. But she didn’t necessarily want her boss to know her thoughts about their local psychic were as much personal as professional. “He’s also incredibly smart.”
“His record proves that. You look at some of the cases he’s worked, and you can see a lot of what he comes up with is pretty remarkable.”
“That’s why you wanted me to go talk to him,” she said, understanding why her boss had put that note in her hands. “It had nothing to do with the weird stuff.”
“He’s an experienced investigator and brilliant to boot. Hell, I don’t care if he claims he can put on thick glasses and channel Buddy Holly’s ghost, we could use his help.”
She agreed. After meeting him, she had gone back and studied all those reports about the cases he’d helped solve. How sad that it appeared one hugely unsuccessful one had completely overshadowed all the ones on which his aid had proved instrumental. “One thing—he is adamant that his involvement remain completely off the record, during and after this investigation.”
He waved an unconcerned hand. “Done.” Casting a quick look toward the house, he added, “Ann- Marie will be out in a few minutes.”
She knew what he meant and didn’t waste any time. “Tell me why you brought me here.”
Sitting down on a cushioned outdoor chair, he gestured toward an empty one opposite it. “I heard a rumor that some human remains turned up out on Old Terrytown Road.”
She shook her head, hard, sure she’d heard him wrong. “What?”
“You heard me. Human remains.”
Stunned, she whispered, “How have I not heard about this? Why aren’t we covering it?”
Walter simply stared, waiting for her to figure it out.
“They’re not reporting it? A body?” She leapt to her feet. “This is unbelievable.”
“Not a body. Some bone fragments.” He glanced toward the still-closed sliding-glass door, and gestured her back to her seat. “An old friend of mine, wishing to remain anonymous, said he was out walking his dog and found some strange-looking bones. Called the chief, who said he felt sure they were—are you ready for this?—from a bear.”
Lexie dropped back into the chair. “Oh, now he’s a freaking mammalogist?”
“My friend said he got a really good look at what he was sure was a human jawbone. Said if he was wrong about that, he would give away his entire collection of CSI DVDs.”
She closed her eyes, the idea of a human jawbone being discovered by the side of a local road a little sickening. Especially if that bone belonged to one of the missing teens.
She’d speculated about it, written about it, and she’d firmly believed she was onto something, but hearing about actual remains made everything that much more real, more tragic. Theorizing on paper that a serial killer was murdering young women right here in Granville was one thing. But she’d been so caught up in the investigation, in the story, she hadn’t really let herself think of things like shallow graves and bodies.
Finally, once she felt sure she could speak calmly again, she asked, “So what happened?”
“Dunston took the remains,” Walter said. “He didn’t bother setting up any kind of crime scene, showed no care in collecting evidence. He threw the fragments in a plastic grocery-store bag and said he’d have the coroner take a look to ‘confirm’ his theory that they were from an old dead bear.”
Muttering an obscenity, she wondered if she’d be able to eat dinner at all. She had lost her appetite. “It’s like living in a comedy where the bumbling cops couldn’t find a wall if they ran into it.”
Walter’s bushy brow pulled down over narrowed eyes. Again, though, he didn’t tell her what was on his mind, he let her figure it out for herself.
It didn’t take long. “You’re thinking i
t’s more than stupidity,” she whispered.
“I made a few calls today, including one to the coroner’s office, asking if they’d been asked to examine the bones.” Walter paused long enough to sip his beer—or to get control of his own anger. “They had no idea what I was talking about. Hadn’t heard a word about it.”
She let out a long, slow exhalation, her heart thudding so hard she almost felt her rib cage shake. “My God, what if he’s not being careless? Are we talking about a deliberate cover-up?”
“I don’t know,” Walter said, shaking his head. “I always thought Jack was weak, but still basically a decent man. I have to wonder whether he really has got himself convinced there’s nothing to this, so he doesn’t want to see anything that contradicts his story.”
That was certainly possible. She’d spent the past month thinking Chief Dunston had reacted so badly to her articles because he’d been embarrassed, caught with his pants down. Men like him excelled at ass-covering. She’d believed his response had come purely out of anger and self-protection, that he wasn’t willing to see the truth being dropped into his lap.
Now, though, she had to wonder if there was more to it. If he knew what he’d found—knew enough to intentionally take the evidence and not let the coroner see it—something much deeper was at work here. Would the police chief really ignore a crime like murder just to avoid embarrassment? It seemed crazy, completely irrational.
“We have a very serious problem,” she said, talking as much to herself as to Walter.
“I know.”
They stared at each other. She had no doubt her boss was thinking the same thoughts, and wondering, like Lexie, what to do about this whole ugly mess. For her part, she wanted to throw a spotlight on the situation. A front-page article asking, “Where’s Vonnie?” for starters.
Walter, however, would want to proceed more cautiously, quietly. With a family to protect, and insurance to maintain on his sick wife, he had more at stake here. He could not afford to be pushed out of the editor’s chair.
“So are y’all out here talking about the way you’re gonna make the dickweed chief, the mayor, and everyone else sit up and pay attention to what’s going on in this mean little town?”
Lexie jerked her attention toward the door, seeing Taylor. The sarcastic tone would have told her which twin it was, even if she didn’t know to look for the girl’s small birthmark.
Taylor bounced down the outside steps, her brown ponytail swinging, her short cheerleader skirt fluttering in the strong breeze. She was the strong-willed one, the one who tested her parents every single day and had from the time she had taken her first step.
She was also, Lexie suspected, secretly the absolute apple of her daddy’s eye, even though he was now casting a reproving glance her way. “Language.”
The teen shrugged, confident in her ability to wrap her dad around her little finger. “Call ’em what you want, somebody has to wake up around here.”
“What do you mean?” Walter asked.
“Everybody at school’s talking about it.” Taylor sat on the arm of her father’s chair. “About your articles, the serial killer. Wondering if the Ghoul’s got Vonnie Jackson.”
“Do you know her?” Lexie asked, forcing herself to ignore the stupid nickname.
Taylor nodded. “Not well, but she seems nice. She’s in Jenny’s AP Chem class.”
“She hadn’t been acting strangely at school?” Lexie asked.
“No. She was fine and excited at the National Honors Society meeting Monday night.”
Walter raised a brow. “How do you know? Got something to tell me about your grades?”
The girl frowned and looked away. “No, Dad, sorry, I’m still the dumb one. Jenny’s your honors kid. She said Vonnie seemed fine that night. They walked out together afterward. Jen offered her a ride, but Vonnie said her mom was picking her up.” Taylor shook her head, her pretty face set in an unusual deep frown. Sounding grieved, she added, “Jenny feels like shit.”
This time her father didn’t correct her language. His face had grown pale, as if he’d finally put together the fact that his own child had been the last to see Vonnie before her disappearance. Her path may have come within minutes of crossing a monster’s.
Taylor continued. “How can somebody just vanish off the planet? It’s so scary.”
Walter reached out and grabbed his daughter’s hand. “Yes, it is. Which is why I don’t want you going anywhere alone for the time being. Stick with your sister or your friends. And don’t forget, midnight curfew.”
“I’ll be fine, Daddy. I’m a big girl.”
Lexie cleared her throat. “I’m sure that’s what every one of those other girls said.”
Nodding, Taylor kissed her father’s cheek, promising, “I’ll be careful!”
She headed for the door as her sister came out of it. The twins touched as they passed on the walkway, lightly, just a brush of hand on hand. It was always that way. From the outside, they appeared physically identical but different in every other way—from personality, to brains, to dreams. But there was always that connection that made them reach out to each other. Not having a sister, and never having been close to her brother, Lexie could only wonder about that kind of relationship. They were incredibly lucky to have it. Having spent a lot of time with the girls, even spending weekends with them occasionally so Walter could stay close to Ann-Marie in the hospital, she suspected there wasn’t much the Kirby twins wouldn’t do for each other.
“Hi, Lexie,” Jenny murmured as she joined them.
The older twin was always quieter, more bookish, though she still wore her uniform like she meant serious cheering business. Now, however, with her genuinely adult brush with tragedy, she appeared even more subdued. When asked, she confirmed what Taylor had said about Vonnie, appearing on the verge of tears.
Well, who wouldn’t be? The north side of Granville had been pretty well insulated from what had been going on here for the past few years since none of the other missing girls had gone to GHS. But now things were different. Even though Vonnie Jackson lived in the Boro, she’d been grabbed walking home from the “good” school. It had changed the whole ball game.
Jenny was saying good-bye to her father, making the same promises to be careful her sister had, when Lexie heard the trill of her cell phone. She tugged it out of her pocket, glanced at the screen, and immediately began to put it away. People who blocked their phone numbers from caller ID deserved to have to leave a message and be called back whenever she felt like it.
Then she hesitated. It had been hours since she’d heard from Aidan, time enough for him to finish reading through the folder and listen to the recordings. Plus, he seemed like the type who would protect the privacy of his number. So she answered. “Hello?”
“Ms. Nolan?”
Smiling, she replied, “Hello, Mr. McConnell.”
Walter, who had been watching his daughter walk pensively back into the house, jerked his attention to her, mouthing, “It’s him?”
She nodded.
“I’d like to talk to you again,” the psychic said. “I’ve finished reading through all this information and I have a few questions.”
Her reply was sardonic, but true. “A few? That’s about a hundred less than I’ve got regarding this case.”
“Is there any chance of me getting copies of the police reports on these other missing teenagers?”
This time she actually laughed. “You must be kidding. If he wrote up any reports, I assure you Chief Dunston isn’t going to let you, me, or anybody else near them.”
Silence; then he asked, “How wired is the police station?”
“Wired?”
“I mean, the town’s pretty small. Is the station’s computer system up-to-date?”
Understanding, she asked, “Are you a hacker as well as a mind reader?”
“Sometimes to the first, a definite no to the second. Do you know?”
“Well, I know they’re computeri
zed.” She put her hand over the mouthpiece and asked Walter, “How good’s the IT guy who handles the police department?”
Walter sneered.
“Okay,” she said into the phone, “security’s probably not great. Are you really going to hack into Chief Dunce’s files?”
He was silent for a moment, then smoothly said, “Of course not, Ms. Nolan. That would be illegal. If I do come up with any information that’s in those reports, you’re just going to have to assume I used my super-psychic brain to get it.”
She heard another hint of that dry humor in his voice, like she’d noticed once or twice yesterday afternoon. It suited him, somehow, and she imagined that when he was in a good mood, the under- the-breath one-liners were probably wickedly funny.
“How soon can you come back over here?” he asked.
“I’m at my boss’s right now, and I was thinking of going over to the high school after dinner.” She’d been thinking about Taylor’s passion regarding Vonnie’s disappearance, and Jenny’s obvious sadness. Considering their school was playing against Vonnie’s old one tonight, she had to wonder if it might be worth going to the field, seeing if anything happened when Granville’s two worlds collided.
“Isn’t the school closed by now?”
She explained her thinking, noting Walter’s nod as he silently approved the plan.
“If you want me to, I can come by later, after the game. Might be a little late.” Suddenly realizing he might be of some help, she added, “Or else you could meet me there.”
“I don’t think so,” he immediately replied. “I don’t do well in crowds.”
“I get it. It would be like walking into an all-you-can-eat psychic buffet, right? Too many minds to read?”
He sighed, not amused by her poor jest. “Maybe you should get out your notebook and write this down since you keep forgetting. I am not a mind reader.”
Cold Sight Page 9