by Sandra Brown
“Seems forever.”
“And you won’t stop until you catch him, will you?”
“Never doubt it.”
She gestured at the file lying on the tabletop between them. “And if Jasper proves not to be him?”
“He is, Talia. He is.”
His tone left no doubt of that, either.
Chapter 25
Talia, when you left the airport where did you go?” Drex asked.
“I came home.”
“At ten o’clock.”
“Was it?”
Mike said, “Ten oh-three to be exact.”
“How can you be exact?” she asked.
“I was about to board a flight.”
Drex took up the explanation. “Mike was in Atlanta, waiting on you and Jasper to show up at The Lotus.”
“So he could spy on us?”
“Yes,” he replied without apology. “But when we learned that you and Jasper never got on the flight, and that a body had washed ashore, plans changed quickly. Gif and I went straight to the marina. We got there in time to see Elaine’s body taken away. From the marina, we came to the apartment and were on the phone with Mike giving him an update when you drove into your driveway.”
“At ten oh-three,” the large man repeated.
She ignored him. “When I got home, there weren’t any lights on inside the garage apartment. But then, if you were spying on me, there wouldn’t have been, would there?”
“No. Spying is easier with the lights off.”
“Don’t make fun of me.”
“I’m not. None of this is fun or funny, Talia. Do you want to hear the rest?”
Tamping down her humiliation and anger, she bobbed her head.
“Gif and I were debating what to do about you when Locke and Menundez showed up. The transmitter was too far away to pick up what they were saying until you moved into the kitchen. For all we knew, they’d come to arrest you. We know now they asked you to make an ID.”
“If you already know all that, why are you bringing it up?”
“The time gap. Surveillance cameras show you leaving the airport at four forty-seven.”
“Eight,” Mike said.
Drex gave him a frown but corrected himself. “Four forty-eight. Talia, where were you between then and ten o’clock?”
“Does it matter?”
“It’ll matter to Locke, Menundez, and every other investigator on this case, county, state, and federal, including our own Bill Rudkowski.”
Mike said, “It’ll matter a lot if, during that five hours, you hooked back up with your husband, say on the beach, where you were flashing a light so he would know where to make landfall after ensuring that Elaine Conner was no longer breathing.”
Talia was developing a tremendous dislike for this man, and hoped that the drop-dead look she gave him conveyed as much. She went back Drex. “From the airport I drove downtown.”
“And did what?”
“Walked around.”
“Such a nice night for a stroll,” Mike said. “In the drizzle and rain and all.”
“I was unmindful of the weather.”
None of the men took issue, but they were regarding her with patent doubt.
“Where did you walk?” Drex asked.
“Along Bay Street. I went into a restaurant and lingered.”
“Lingered, why?”
“There was no rush to get home. I believed Jasper had gone to Atlanta.”
The men looked at one another and seemed to conclude that her answer was at least credible, if not truthful.
“Where did you park downtown?” Gif asked.
“I got lucky and found an empty parallel spot on one of the side streets.”
“Fucking lucky, I’d say,” Mike muttered.
Her temper snapped. “I’ve had it with you and your snide editorials. If you want to accuse me of lying, do it. If not, stop with the mumbling, all right?”
Drex patted the air in a calm down gesture and suggested that Mike dispense with his remarks unless they were pertinent. He asked Talia for the name of the restaurant. She told him.
“The waiter will remember me. I had two glasses of wine and ordered dinner. But I didn’t have an appetite and never touched the plate. The waiter noticed and asked if the food wasn’t to my liking. He offered to bring me something else. I declined, tipped him well, and left.”
“Did you pay with a credit card?”
“Yes.”
Drex turned to Gif. “Relay all that to Locke. Their guys can do the fact-checking.”
Gif left the room to make the call. Drex glanced at the clock. “Menundez texted that Rudkowski is going to interview you downtown at police headquarters.” He looked her over, taking in her dishabille. “You’ll need to be ready in twenty minutes or so in order for Mike and Gif to get you there by ten o’clock.” He pushed back his chair and stood.
“Aren’t you coming with us?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I’ve got other things to do.”
She stood up. “Such as?”
“Such as going after your husband without being hamstrung by red tape. Good luck.”
“Wait. What’s going to happen with this Rudkowski?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Guess,” she said tartly.
“Well, if I were to guess, he’ll spend most of today taking turns grilling you hard, then leaving you alone for long stretches of time to search your conscience, to ruminate on and perhaps reassess your position. Don’t say a word unless a lawyer is with you.”
“You’re worried about my welfare?”
“No, I’m worried about testimony being tossed out because it was obtained without counsel present. Rudkowski may claim you as the feds’ own, but if Locke is also allowed to interrogate you, he’ll be the good cop. Menundez is young and yet to prove himself, so you can probably count on him to be tougher. But you probably won’t see anyone familiar. Except your lawyer. I hope you have a good one.”
“What about them?” She indicated Mike, who was inspecting what was left of the doughnut selection, and Gif, who’d just returned and announced that Rudkowski’s plane had landed.
In answer to her question, Drex said, “The three of us are out of Rudkowski’s favor and unsure what form his payback will take. Could be a slap on the wrist, or much harsher discipline. Mike and Gif have volunteered to face his wrath and that of the bureau, giving me a head start tracking down your lawfully wedded husband.”
“Who could be dead!”
“He isn’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do. Furthermore, so do you, Talia.”
“I know no such thing.”
“Come on. You don’t believe for a second that he’s foundering out there in the ocean, praying for rescue. Know how we know? Tell her, Gif.”
The other man said, “If you thought that your husband was in a struggle to survive a watery grave, you would be hysterical.”
Drex rounded the table and bore down on her so that she had to grab hold of the back of her chair to maintain her balance. “Hysterical. As in out of your mind. Frantic. You’d be tearing at your hair and raising hell with the Coast Guard, with every damn body, to find him, save my husband.” He leaned in closer, and added softly, “You haven’t.”
She angled away from him, but he only made a countermove to keep his face within inches of hers. “When you were told there was a man at the helm of Elaine’s boat, and I was ruled out, it was no mystery to you who it was. Which leaves Mike, Gif, and me, and all the other cops working this case, with only two possible conclusions.
“One, you knew who the man was all along because you two conspired to kill Elaine. Or,” he said, slapping his palm against the file lying on the table, “you believe Jasper Ford is the latest incarnation of our man. You believe he harmed these eight women. Now nine. He befriended them, robbed them, killed them, and disposed of them.”
She hi
ccupped a sob. “I don’t want to believe it.”
“But you do, don’t you?”
Drex was stirring her long-held, secret fear that she didn’t really know her husband. Ambiguities and uncertainties, which she had staved off, rationalized, chalked up to an illicit affair, and even taken blame for, were now closing in on her. They were so cruel and frightening, she tried to keep them at bay. “What evidence do you have against him?”
“Not a frigging bit.”
“Then—”
“But answer me this. Do you honestly believe they’re going to find Jasper or his body? In a dire emergency, would your water-savvy husband have left a vessel as tricked out as that yacht? Even if their phones weren’t working, even if all fail-safe systems had failed, he wouldn’t have swapped that yacht for a damn dinghy.
“Do you actually expect him to come staggering through that door battered and bruised, embrace you, and give you an account of a harrowing experience? No. You don’t. You strike none of us as a lady who’s waiting in desperation for her missing and feared-dead husband to return.”
He jabbed the space between them with his index finger. “He took Elaine on that excursion with the intention of killing her. And he did. Deny it till hell freezes, but you know it, and so do we.”
Pressured by her own doubt, feeling the weight of their vile allegations, she hugged her elbows and sank into the chair.
Her failure to respond immediately, along with her self-protective body language, spoke volumes to Drex. Now was the time to apply the thumbscrews. He said to Gif, “Call the PD. Stall them.”
“How?”
“Shit, I don’t know. Try to get Locke. He’s tenderhearted. Tell him she’s not feeling well, that we can’t get her out of the bathroom, something. Ask him to pacify Rudkowski. Say that we’ll have her there soon. Ish. An hour at the outside.”
“Will it be an hour at the outside?”
“Remains to be seen.” Gif left the kitchen to do as instructed. Drex motioned at the box of doughnuts and said to Mike, “Take those to the officers posted outside.”
“I already took them a box of their own when I brought these.”
“Then ask them if they need a bathroom break. Water. Sodas. Tell them Mrs. Ford is currently indisposed, but we’re working on her.”
“Rudkowski won’t hold out forever.”
“Neither will Mrs. Ford if she knows what’s good for her.”
That roused her. She straightened her hunched shoulders and looked up at him. He said, “They’re champing at the bit to interrogate you. And make no mistake, that’s what today will be. One long, grueling interrogation. I suggest you be thinking of what you’re going to say.”
“I need time to—”
“You’ve had time, Talia. I gave you time last night. You’re out of time.”
“Allow me to absorb all this. Please.”
Drex considered, then said to Mike, “Buy me a few minutes with those guys outside.”
Mike limited his opinion to a harrumph and a scowl then left through the door connecting to the garage. They heard the automated door going up. Drex resumed his seat at the table. He stared at her until she squirmed and asked, “What?”
“You’re using up your minutes.”
She raised her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “It’s all so much.” She looked at the file. “So horrendous. I don’t know where to start.”
He got up from his chair and dragged it over near to hers. He straddled it backward so they were facing each other. He met her gaze directly and waited. Waited longer. Then said, “This will come as no surprise. I’ve wanted you since I first laid eyes on you.”
Her lips separated, but she didn’t say anything.
“When we were alone on the deck of Elaine’s yacht, I was staring at you, all right. Engaging in polite conversation, but in my mind all your layers of white clothing were dissolving, and I was seeing you naked and on your back in an unmade bed. During your surprise visit to the garage apartment, I honestly don’t know how I kept my hands off you. Touching your face was all I allowed myself, and it was torture. I still taste that kiss, your mouth. I want to taste you all over. I want to—”
He broke off, dropped his head forward, and finished in a rough voice. “I want to do it all.” Then he raised his head, and, in a soft but insistent voice, said, “But if you fucking lie to me now, I’ll see to it that you go to prison for a long, long time.”
She swallowed. Faintly, she said, “Everything I’ve told you is the truth. I swear it. How Jasper—that’s the only name I’ve known him by. How we met, all of it, true, Drex. Elaine was my friend. Marian. How you could think that I would…”
She had to swallow again, then recovered and faced him with a small measure of defiance. “I have fibbed to you about inconsequential things. But I am not a criminal. I never conspired to hurt anyone.”
“Okay. Okay. That still leaves us with this. The man you’re married to is a serial killer. I’ve been after him for years. I’ve crawled inside his twisted brain, put myself in his place, and it’s a hellish, diabolical place to be. I loathe it. I detest it. I don’t want to live the rest of my life inside his fucked-up head.
“Until I moved next door and met him face-to-face, he was a phantom. Vapor. No more tangible than fog and just as impossible to capture. I feared I never would. But now I know he’s human.”
He raised his hand and squeezed it into a fist. “He’s flesh and blood. He eats and drinks. He puts on his pants one leg at a time. He sweats. He’s real, and he lives among us. I can touch him, and I’m going to catch him.” He paused and inhaled deeply. “Where could he be, Talia?”
“I don’t know. I swear I don’t.”
“Hometown?”
“He claimed none. He told me his parents were itinerant workers.”
“Where?”
“I got the impression of southern California. But I don’t know if he told me that, or if that was conjecture on my part.”
“His parents’ names?”
“He wouldn’t talk about them. He said he’d risen above his roots, and didn’t want to revisit the past. Ever. And, anyway, they were both deceased.”
“No family?”
“None.”
“Old friends?”
“No.”
“Convenient.” He had expected as much. “Did he mention past relationships, former marriages?”
“He was married once, a long time ago. She died.”
“She didn’t die. He killed her. Her name was Lyndsay Cummings.”
Talia glanced at the file. “She was the first of the eight?”
“First that we know of.” He wiped his damp upper lip with the side of his index finger. “Did he ever talk about her and their marriage?”
“He said the memories were too painful.”
“No doubt.”
She rested her hand on top of the file, staring at it. “No bodies were ever discovered, Drex.”
“Which doesn’t mean they weren’t killed. What it does mean is that we haven’t had forensic evidence that could connect the disappearance of one woman to another, and then to another, establishing a pattern that would ultimately point us to an individual. Not until Marian Harris, that is.”
She pressed her fingertips to her lips. “He couldn’t have done that.”
He didn’t argue with her, but she gained some breathing room when Gif returned. “A message from Rudkowski. He says we either deliver the material witness within half an hour or he’s coming here after her, and woe be to us.”
“Shit!”
“Locke’s patting his hand, but you know Rudkowski. Where’s Mike?”
“Hand-patting the patrolmen outside.”
“How long are you willing to wait, Drex?”
“Five more minutes.”
Gif divided a look between him and Talia, took in the seating arrangement, and must have concluded that Drex was putting on the full court press. He said, “I’ll check to see if th
ere’s anything I can do to further Mike’s cause.” He left by way of the garage door.
“You heard,” Drex said. “You’ve got five. So think and talk fast. What did Jasper bring into the marriage?”
“Sorry?”
“Possessions, Talia.”
“I don’t understand what you’re asking.”
“The guys I profile are sociopaths, and they share characteristics. No conscience. Above the rules. They’re smug and have overblown egos.”
“I overheard you describing that to the detectives last night.”
He nodded. “They’re also compulsive collectors.”
“Collectors?”
“They take souvenirs.”
He watched her face as she reasoned out what he was saying. Her gaze dropped to the file. “What were they missing?”
“We don’t know, and that’s been damn frustrating. None of the women had the same body type, no common feature like blue eyes, crooked teeth, long hair, short hair, a beauty mark. They were physically different, and lived different lifestyles. No common hobby.
“Nothing alike except healthy bank accounts that were emptied within days of their disappearances. He could collect safe deposit box keys, ballpoint pens, locks of hair, fingernails. We don’t know. But I would bet my career that there’s something he takes from them. And saves. And takes out on occasion and fondles. Possibly masturbates.”
She looked nauseated at the thought.
“Does he have a safe, sealed packing box, tool box, tackle box, anything that he asked you not to open?”
She was shaking her head before he finished. “He told me he had sold everything when he moved to Savannah.”
“From Florida.”
“He said Minnesota. He told me he no longer needed heavy clothing and cold weather gear, so he had disposed of everything.”
“A logical lie. But didn’t he have any personal items? Photographs? Memorabilia? Stamp collection? Coins? A cigar box of postcards?”
“Nothing, Drex.”
He looked at his wristwatch. “Think, Talia.”
“He had his car, his clothes, some cookbooks.”
He shot to his feet. “Where are they?”
“They’re cookbooks.”
“Where are they?”
But by the time he had repeated the question, he had remembered the shelf above the stove. He went over to it and picked one of the books at random. It was a two-year-old edition with a glossy cover. The spine was unbent. The pages were so new and unused, some stuck together. He remarked on its newness.