“Ma’am, can I get you another?”
Lori looked down. She’d inhaled her drink. She shook her head. “Water, if I could, please?” He brought her water. The anchor continued speaking, telling more details about the ghastly murder.
Andrew had known Muffy well, worked with Muffy, was rude to her. Oh, God, Andrew…
Brad.
Brad had used her to fulfill his fantasy. Had that fantasy been much, much more than Jan had ever imagined?
“No,” she whispered anxiously aloud.
“Excuse me?” the bartender said.
She shook her head.
It seemed that he was back immediately. “Sorry, is your friend coming back?”
“What?”
“Your friend. Her drink has melted. Did she leave, or is she coming back? I’ll fix it up for her.”
“Oh… uh, she just went to the rest room.”
“She okay? She’s been gone a long time.”
“Has she?” Lori asked.
“About twenty minutes.”
Lori jumped up, worried that Jan might have been really sick. “Hold the seats, please.” She started for the rest room, but the bartender called her back, lifting the phone receiver to her. “Are you Lori Kelly?”
“Corcoran,” she said. “I mean, yes, sorry. I’m Lori. My maiden name was Kelly.” God, she was absolutely babbling.
“Phone call.”
“Jan?”
“Your friend? Does she usually call you from the ladies’ room?” he teased her, but she looked at him blankly. The young man shrugged. “Sounds like a man. You might want to move down to the corner there… less noise.”
“Thanks.”
Phone and receiver in hand, Lori moved down the length of the bar.
“Hello?”
“Lori.”
The voice was a whisper with a rasping sound to it.
“Yes?”
“Take care, Lori Kelly, take care from this moment onward. I’m watching you. I can see your every move.”
The voice itself was enough to send a wave of cold dread sweeping into her.
“Who are you? What do you want?” she demanded.
“First, just listen, Lori Kelly. You’re wearing black slacks and a navy knit top with a scalloped neckline, smart little Timberland hiking boots. Your hair is down. Nice. I always liked it that way.”
“I don’t need a fashion assessment,” she snapped, her wits suddenly completely restored. “Who are you, what do you want?”
“The assertive female! Don’t try that bravado with me, Lori Kelly. I just want you to know that I can really see you, that I’m watching every move you make… ah, there you go, looking around, but you won’t find me.”
“Who are you, and what do you want?”
“What I have already is very important,” he told her. There was sibilant hissing mid-sentence, making his words rasp against her nerves as if she were listening to sharp nails snake down the length of a blackboard.
“What do you have?”
“Your son.”
She stood dead still, a feeling of dread and terror unlike anything she had known in all her life crawling over her.
“My son? Why?”
“Why? If I have your son, I have you, don’t I, Lori Kelly? That is… unless you simply want me to kill him now?”
Her mind began to race. Was she talking to the killer, the real killer? Was this a hoax, someone out to taunt her, hurt her, tease her, someone who knew she was associated with Sean, someone mean and cruel, just playing with her?
No. She felt it in her bones.
This was the real killer, the same killer who had drowned Mandy Olin, who had robbed them all of their youth and innocence. The same killer who had so viciously attacked Ellie, Muffy, and probably Susan, and maybe many more.
And he had Brendan.
“Where’s Jan?” she asked, suddenly knowing he had her, too.
“Sick. She won’t wake up for a while. It was really her turn. She’ll have to wait a bit now.”
“Tina?”
“Tina. Tina is luscious, delicious. Oh, am I going to enjoy her. Anticipation is sweet. But it was always you, first, Lori Kelly. Oh, yes, Lori. Always.”
“What do you want?”
“It’s time to play again. Remember how we all used to play? Well, it’s time to play again.”
“Who are you? Tell me? Then, I’ll know if we used to play.”
“Lori, please, don’t take me for such a fool. I’m growing impatient. I don’t want to have to finish this too soon. It will be fun, you thinking that you have a chance. Hope is such a charming quality. I’ll get to see it die in your eyes. But you do have hope, and I do have your son. So listen. And don’t forget, I’m watching you. I’m close. When we hang up, you pay your tab, walk out the door, head east, and then into the parking lot across the street. Don’t pick up a phone, and don’t ask the bartender or anyone else for help, and don’t try to leave any cute little notes with SOS messages on them or anything. I can see you. You make the slightest mistake, and I’ll start cutting your boy’s fingers off, one by one, then his ears, tip of his nose… You get my drift?”
“Yes.”
“Fine. I’m waiting for you, Lori Kelly. I’ve been waiting for a long time.”
“If I come, will you let Brendan go?”
“Maybe. But if you don’t come, I’ll definitely kill him. Slowly. I’ve already been fairly descriptive on that point, I believe.”
The phone went dead in her hand. Lori tried desperately to think of some means of finding help, but she knew that he was watching. She didn’t dare try to dial the operator, hit 911, or speak with the bartender, except to pay her tab. Was the killer close enough to hear her as well? She didn’t know. If only she could call Ricky…
How did she know that Ricky wasn’t the killer?
Didn’t matter, she had no choice, he had Brendan, oh, God no, God no…
“All done?” the bartender asked cheerfully. He was about thirty, bearded, pleasant.
She nodded, staring at him, trying to convey something in her eyes.
“You all right?”
She jerked her head up and down. “What do I owe you?”
“Ten even.”
She groped in her bag for a twenty, hoping he would remember the exorbitant tip if anyone came looking for her.
Who would come looking? Did anyone even know where she was? Yes, of course. They’d find Jan, and Tina, hopefully. He’d said that Jan was sick, so he must have snatched her from the bathroom through a back entrance. He also said that he anticipated having Tina…
How had the killer gotten Brendan away from Tina, or was Tina with him had she seen anything, was she all right?
Sean, where are you? she wondered desperately.
A strange fear, unbidden, taunted her. Perhaps he was closer than she thought. Perhaps…
He could not be the killer, he couldn’t possibly want to kill his own son!
Sean had left angry. He didn’t trust her anymore. He felt that she had betrayed him.
But he loved her, he had said that he loved her…
He could not be the killer.
“No, change, thanks,” she said, setting the twenty on the bill for the bartender.
He was putting a glass back on the rack; he didn’t see what she had left. “Thanks. Have a good night.”
Lori exited the restaurant, walked down the street, and crossed over to the parking lot.
There were dozens of cars in it. She saw that someone in the parking lot might have a clean view of the restaurant; then again, whoever had called her might have walked out, and walked back.
Her body seemed frozen. She moved with long, jerky steps along the rows of vehicles. Many of them were vans and trucks, vehicles too large to park in any of the mall garages.
Night was falling. Dusk filled the lot. She suddenly felt that there were shadows everywhere.
She heard a noise behind her. She tried to turn.
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A foul-smelling blanket was thrown over her. She struggled against it, trying to scream. A powerful arm shot out, knocking her in the head and slamming her down to the pavement. Her head rang; the blanket smelled sweet.
Oh, God, Brendan, I wanted to save you! she thought.
And lost consciousness.
Sand… a gritty kind of sand had been found under Muffy’s nails.
Sean thought that it should mean something to him, but he couldn’t put his finger on the nagging thing that sat in the back of his mind, refusing to come forward.
While they were at the morgue, Bill Crowley and Alex Hanson, the two homicide cops Sean had previously met with Ricky, arrived. They were determined to study the corpse themselves in search of any small detail that might help in their investigation.
While Ricky Garcia, Crowley, and Hanson were in with Gillespie, Sean bought bad coffee from a machine. Lieutenant Joseph Trent, Dr. Gillespie’s ex-husband and homicide official, came up behind him.
“My wife is right, wouldn’t you say? We’ve a really sick killer out there.”
Sean sipped from the styrofoam cup, then turned to Trent, shaking his head. “Your ex-wife thinks that I can solve this, if I can create a scenario for the last living moments of the victims.”
“My ex-wife thinks that you’re smart, and that you’re a catalyst.”
He arched a brow. “This guy was going nuts down here long before I came back.”
Joseph Trent nodded. “Yes. But he chose one of your old friends when you came back, someone involved with what happened at the rock pit. And now… well, it appears that he’s losing control. Typical of such a killer. And frightening. He’ll become careless, and perhaps greedy. And want to kill more quickly. The killer has already speeded up, as if he’s running too fast. I think he’ll trip himself soon. But it may not be soon enough.”
“Well, I think there’s something you and your team should do without wasting any more time.”
“What’s that?”
“Start with us. Ricky—me—all of us. The group from high school.”
Ricky had come up while he was speaking. His dark eyes showed a flash of anger, but it quickly faded.
He stared from Trent to Sean. “What’s this about? Back to the rock pit again? Sean, we were all there, remember? It was the cops at the time, not any of us, who thought that Mandy had been murdered. Jesus, you went to jail, you went to trial, you were all but nailed on a cross—”
“And I didn’t do it. But I do believe now that Mandy was murdered. And it’s the same killer we’re looking for now.”
Ricky smiled. “So we start with you—and me?”
“Every one of us should be suspect.”
“Maybe he’s right,” Trent said.
Ricky lifted his hands in disgust. “So grill me, Lieutenant. Make my friend here happy.”
“I will. And there’s a task force meeting later. I’ll be taking over control of this investigation. We’ll do some research into the whereabouts of your entire high school crew for the last fifteen years. Check out when everyone involved did so much as sneeze.”
Ricky lowered his head, then slowly raised his dark eyes to Sean’s. “Bye, buddy,” he said heatedly.
Sean nodded. “Yeah. Bye.”
“You suspect me. I’ll suspect you!” Ricky said angrily.
“Ricky, you know, I don’t think you’re—” Sean began, but Lieutenant Trent interrupted. “Leave it alone. I’ll handle this.” Ricky turned around and walked away. Trent sighed softly.
“You think he’s guilty?” Sean asked.
Trent stared at him grimly. “No. But I think that you’re right. One of your group is. We have to find out who. Fast.”
When Sean finally left the morgue, he called Arnie. They compromised on the distance between Palm Beach and Miami, meeting at a diner in Ft. Lauderdale.
“It will be on the news soon enough,” Sean said. “They’ve found another body. I knew her, too. So did the rest of my friends, to the best of my knowledge. She was a fluffer, part-time call girl.”
Arnie had mused over the information. “How did they find this woman so quickly?” Arnie asked speculatively. “He’s buried them pretty well before. Was she found in town?”
“No, she was in the swamp, same as before.”
“No, not the same. She couldn’t have been deep, well hidden. I think the murderer wanted her found.”
“Why?”
“He’s growing bolder. Cocky. Maybe he’s having a little mental schism, too, getting too confident, and maybe a little more desperate. Scary, very scary. He also seems convinced of his own invincibility. He’s starting to think that he’s just too clever to be caught. In the end this could be good for the police. The killer might take some real chances now, and that…”
“What?”
“That makes him more dangerous than ever.”
“Thank you, Arnie, I needed that. Trent seems to think so, too.”
“Sorry, I can only tell you what I think. And you know enough about criminal psychology to know that it’s true.”
“Yeah, I know.”
When they parted, Sean started the drive back down I-95. As he swore while stuck in a traffic jam, he started thinking about Lori, and Brendan. It made him shake to realize that he had a child, a son, a kid like Brendan.
And because of it, he’d gone off half-cocked. Angry. And sitting in the traffic, with nothing to do but think, he realized just how self-righteous he’d been. How judgmental he’d been with Lori. He hadn’t been able to help himself. Maybe, if Brendan hadn’t been such a great kid…
He hadn’t used the car phone yet in his rental, and it took him a minute to find the damned thing. It was located in the glove compartment between the seats. He dialed Lori’s number. He’d walked out in a rage—with one of those chips she’d told him about on his shoulder—and even though he’d gone back, she wouldn’t feel that he’d been back for her—but for Brendan. He’d been angry, stunned, and he’d felt a loss he couldn’t begin to explain to her or anyone else, but now time was whittling away at him, and strangely enough, what he felt was guilt. He realized that they had to talk. He’d been out of line, not giving her a chance. Yeah, he’d been hurt. But so had she. She’d been alone, with no way to reach him.
He could suddenly see it all from her side. And it was just a damned sad situation for them both, but one they could still change. Understanding didn’t erase all the time that he had lost. Jail had been awful, Mandy’s death so tragic, his dad’s death so painful, but…
He loved Lori. Always had, always would. Now that he’d been with her, he couldn’t imagine a life without her. He’d been hurt, and maybe he’d even been a royal ass, but hell, he’d been in shock, and surely, she would understand. He’d realized once again this morning looking into Muffy’s cold dead eyes just how uncertain, unpredictable, and cruel life could be. He wasn’t going to waste any more of it. He was going to talk to Lori. Make her listen even if she didn’t want to.
But the phone kept ringing. Lori didn’t answer.
He drummed his fingers, then tried Jan’s house. There was no answer there, but finally a machine picked up. Jan’s cheerful voice left a beeper number for herself, an office number, and a cell phone for Brad.
He had to call the machine twice and dig around in the compartment for a pen to write down the numbers. Thankfully, traffic continued to crawl at that point, so he had no problem taking the time. He tried Jan’s beeper as he neared downtown Miami. After a few minutes he tried Brad’s office number, and when another machine picked up, he tried Brad’s cell phone.
Brad answered. “Hello?” He sounded curt, upset.
“Brad, it’s Sean. Do you know where Lori is?”
“Yeah, in the Grove, with Jan and the kids. Sean, did you hear? Muffy is dead!”
He frowned at the familiar address. “Had you seen her recently?”
Brad groaned. “Yesterday.”
“What?”
“I hired her, Sean.”
“The threesome thing?”
“Yeah. And now… she’s dead.”
“Brad, sorry to change the subject, but do you happen to know if everything went all right with Lori getting her alarm in?”
“Yeah, yeah, it went fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, I talked to both Andrew and Ted earlier. Jeff’s crew showed up and they did a great job, so I was told.”
“Do you know exactly where Lori, Jan, and the kids are?”
“Not exactly. Why?”
“I think we should find them.”
“Beep Jan. She’s always got her beeper on her—”
“I did. She hasn’t called back.”
“Maybe she doesn’t recognize your number, and can’t figure out who you are. Jan is conscientious about that beeper. God, though, I just keep thinking about Muffy—”
“So do I. I really can’t help it. I was at the autopsy, and it scared the hell out of me. I want to find Lori, Jan, and the kids.”
“All right.”
“Where are you?”
He thought that Brad hesitated. Maybe there was just a little static in the cell phone. Brad said, “I’m not far from the Grove myself. I’ll meet you. Where?”
“Main Street, at the light by the mall.”
Sean couldn’t seem to make his way through the streets quickly enough. He tried to tell himself that Lori and Jan were shopping. Together. With the kids. Safe. Jan would be spilling out her heart, relaying her encounter with Muffy. Lori, in turn, might be explaining some of her own past while feeling sorry for the poor woman who met such a horrible end. They were probably both afraid. Once again, the killer had struck strangely near.
Maybe Lori and Jan wouldn’t tarry long, they’d come home.
Maybe they hadn’t heard about Muffy… Brad was there, on Main in the Grove, before him. “I haven’t seen them yet, but I think they probably went for a drink. I’m sure they’d want to talk today. You know how women are.”
“All right, we try the bars first—wait, not like a real bar, right? A restaurant with a bar, because the kids are with them.”
“Yeah, you’re right. We’ll try Jan’s favorite Italian first, then the place on the corner…”
Jan and Lori hadn’t been in the Italian restaurant, nor in the next two places they tried, but then they came to the restaurant on the first floor of the Mayfair. When they described Jan and Lori, the bartender nodded.