"Mabel?"
"No. Not to me, either."
"And she didn't come in yesterday?"
"No."
"Didn't that strike you as odd? If you knew she'd been seen with Richard, I mean?"
"Of course we were worried, but you have to understand Andrea," Mabel offered. "It wasn't the first time she hadn't shown up for work. She's like that."
"Didn't she usually call, though?"
"Sometimes. Not all the time."
Jennifer turned to Julie again. "Why didn't you say anything about Andrea and Richard last night when Officer Gandy and I came over?"
"I didn't think about it. I was too upset about the locket, and then, after what Pete said . . ."
Jennifer nodded, knowing exactly what Julie was talking about. "Would it be possible for Emma to come down here? I'd like to hear what she has to say."
"No problem," Henry said. "Let me give her a call."
Wanting to be certain she had everything straight, Jennifer went through the sequence of events again, then moved on to the more general questions-where Andrea liked to socialize, who her friends were, any other possibilities as to who might be involved. It was standard procedure, because she knew the lack of investigation into other possible suspects could be used by the defense to claim police bias in court.
Julie found it hard to concentrate as Jennifer ran through the remaining questions. As upset as she was by what had happened to Andrea, she couldn't escape the thought that Richard had been following her for weeks. That he'd been in her house. And that she might be next.
Emma finally arrived, her eyes red from crying. Jennifer went through the same questions with her.
Emma didn't know anything other than what Julie and Mabel had already told them, though she did mention where she'd seen them-outside a bar called Mosquito Grove, just off the waterfront.
After questioning Emma, Jennifer glanced off to the side. "Do you mind if I check Andrea's station?" she asked. "She might have left something that'll give us an idea of when she started seeing Richard or if this was the first time."
"No, go ahead," Mabel offered.
Jennifer spent a minute opening drawers and sorting through them. She closed the drawers and spotted a picture of Andrea tucked into the mirror.
"Can I borrow this? In case we need it?"
"Sure." Mabel nodded.
Jennifer studied the photograph of Andrea before looking up. "Okay," she said, "that's it for now."
Everyone seemed to nod in unison. Jennifer knew she should probably leave, but instead she moved toward Mike and Julie. After the hours she'd spent in their kitchen, she'd come to regard them almost as friends.
"I want you both to know," she said, "that if it is Richard who did this, then he's capable of anything. It's the worst beating I've ever seen. It's almost beyond words. He's psychotic. I just wanted to make sure you understand that."
Mike swallowed through the thickness in his throat.
"Do what you have to do to stay safe," Jennifer said. "Both of you."
On the way out, Jennifer walked alongside Pete, neither of them saying anything. She had to give him credit, not only for letting her handle the questioning inside, but because of the new resolve she noted in his grim expression.
After getting into the car, he slipped the keys into the ignition but leaned back in his seat without starting the engine. He stared through the windshield.
"She cuts my hair," Pete finally offered.
"Andrea?"
"Yeah. That's how I knew who it was last night."
Jennifer stayed silent, watching as Pete closed his eyes.
"She didn't deserve what happened to her," he said. "No one deserves that."
Jennifer put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said.
He nodded, as if trying to forget what he'd seen the night before. He started the engine.
"I think it's time that we pay Richard Franklin a little visit at work," he said quietly. "I'd rather catch him off guard if I can. I don't want to give him time to make up a story. If he's the one, then I want him to pay. Bad."
Jennifer brought her hands together in her lap. Outside the window, trees and buildings were blurry as the car headed toward the bridge.
"He's not going to be there," she said. "He quit a month back."
Pete looked at her. There were dark circles under his eyes; in the shadowed interior of the car, he looked as worn as she felt.
"How do you know that?"
"I called the personnel department at J. D. Blanchard."
Pete continued to look at her. "You've been investigating him?"
"Not officially."
Pete turned his eyes to the road again and pulled over, bringing the car to a halt in the shade of a towering magnolia. "Why don't you start from the beginning and let me know what you've been doing." He reached for the cup of coffee he'd brought earlier that morning. "And don't worry about getting in trouble-this will be just between you and me."
Jennifer took a deep breath and began.
In the salon, Henry was staring vacantly, Mike was pale, and Mabel was dabbing at her tears. Emma looked faint as she sat curled beneath Henry's arm. Julie crossed her arms and rocked slowly back and forth on the couch.
"I can't believe it," Emma whispered. "I just can't believe it. How could he have done this to her?"
None of them said anything; Mabel looked down. "I think I'm going to head down and see her today. I don't know what else to do."
"It's my fault," Julie said. "I should have warned her to stay away from him after she cut his hair. I could see she was attracted to him."
"It's not your fault," Mike protested. "You couldn't have done anything to stop this. If it wasn't her, it would have been someone else."
Like me.
Mike moved closer to her. "She's going to be okay."
Julie shook her head. "You don't know that, Mike. You can't promise something like that."
She sounded more impatient than she intended, and Mike turned away. No, he thought, I can't.
"I just don't understand it," Julie said. "Why here? Why did he have to come here, of all places? And why her? She didn't do anything to him."
"He's crazy," Mabel said. "When they catch him, I hope they lock him up for a long, long time."
If they catch him, Julie thought.
In the silence, Henry glanced out the window, then back to Julie.
"The police are right about doing what you have to do," he said. "But you can't stay here."
Julie looked up.
"Not after what happened to Andrea," Henry went on. "Not with the fact that he's been in your house. It's not safe here anymore, for either of you."
"Where should we go?"
"Anywhere. Just get out of town. Stay out of sight until they catch this guy." He paused. "You can use the beach house if you want. He won't find you there."
"He's right," Emma added. "You've got to get out of here."
"What if you're wrong?" Julie asked. "What if he does find me?"
"He won't. The house isn't even registered in our names. It's held in trust, and he can't trace the fact that we own it. No one's been there for a couple of months, so there's no way he even knows it exists. He wouldn't even know where to look."
"The thought of going there gives me the creeps," she said. "It's too quiet."
"Do you want to stay at my place instead?" Mike offered.
"No," she said. "I'm sure he knows where you live, too."
"Just go," Mabel said. "Henry's right. It's too dangerous here."
"What if he follows us? What if he's watching me right now?"
Five pairs of eyes instinctively flicked to the window.
"Take my car," Henry said. "No, take Emma's. And leave right away. Mike and I will go check outside to see if he's around. If he isn't, just get to the highway and stay on it. It's a straight shot, and you'll know if someone's following you. Once you get to Jacksonville, make a lot of crazy turns to make sure n
o one's behind you. The important thing is that you get away before Richard even realizes you're gone."
"What about the police? Shouldn't I tell them?"
"I'll handle that. Just go. And whatever you do, don't go home first."
Moments later, Mike and Julie were gone.
It took about ten minutes for Jennifer to cover everything she'd learned-the strange credit history, the new corporation in Ohio to replace the one in Colorado, Richard's seeming desire to keep a low profile, Jake Blansen's comments about Richard being dangerous, and the fact that he no longer worked for J. D. Blanchard. Pete was tapping the steering wheel and nodding when she finished, looking as if everything she said made perfect sense.
"I knew there was something fishy about that guy," he said. "Even in the gym, he seemed a little too slick, you know?"
Jennifer stared at him, speechless. Despite her relief that he seemed to have seen the light-finally-and her chagrin that he needed to be pretty much smacked on the head with the obvious, at least he was on her side now.
"So I've heard," she said finally.
Pete missed the sarcasm in her tone and tapped the steering wheel again.
"So if he's not working, where is he?" he asked.
"I don't know. We could try him at home."
Pete nodded. "Let's do it."
Fifteen minutes later, Pete and Jennifer were pulling into the drive of the rented Victorian. Once out of the car, both of them unsnapped their holsters as they surveyed the area.
Up close, Jennifer thought the house looked seedier than it had from the road. Shades were drawn in the front windows. There was no sign of a car, though a weed-strewn drive led around to the back of the house.
The engine of their squad car ticked as it cooled. A flock of starlings broke, chirping and squawking as they exploded from the trees. A squirrel raced past, seeking safety in the upper reaches of a pine tree. Nothing else, no other sounds. No sign of movement through the windows.
"Looks like our suspect might have run," Pete whispered.
No, Jennifer thought with sudden certainty, he's still here.
Richard watched them from behind the trees. He'd been out back, wiping down the interior of the car-he'd already scoured the house in an attempt to eliminate the most obvious signs of what had transpired the other night-when he'd heard them coming up the drive.
He'd expected them, of course, just not so soon.
Pete and Jennifer made their way carefully to the front door, the porch creaking beneath them. Standing before the peeling door, they glanced at each other before Pete knocked. Jennifer stood off to the side, hand on her holster. Her eyes flashed to the window, watching.
Then, instinctively, she drew her gun.
Richard watched the officers.
He took a long, deep breath, then quietly backed farther into the trees, wondering how they'd been able to connect Andrea to him so quickly.
DNA? No, he thought, that takes time, a week at least. Andrea must have said something to someone, even though he'd told her to keep her mouth shut. Either that or someone saw them together. At the bar, maybe. Or in Morehead City.
No matter. He'd already known that his time as Richard Franklin had come to an end. The situation with Andrea had only accelerated the inevitable. Despite his earlier cleaning, he knew it would be impossible to eliminate all the evidence of what he'd done to Andrea in the house. Modern forensics had improved to the point where experts could identify minute traces of blood or strands from her hair, and that was the reason he hadn't bothered to hide Andrea's body in the first place. If they somehow obtained a search warrant-which was only a matter of time, really-they would find what they needed to convict him.
Still, he wished he could have had another hour to collect his things. His cameras and lenses were inside the house, and he regretted having to part with them. And the photographs, too, especially the ones of Jessica in his briefcase. He knew that it was unlikely the police would be able to use them to find out more about Jessica-he'd been careful to destroy any photograph that even hinted of where they'd lived-but he wouldn't be able to replace them.
He'd miss the ones of Julie as well, but he wasn't as concerned about those. They'd have the rest of their lives to make up for the ones he'd left behind.
He wondered if Julie knew about Andrea yet. Yes, probably, he thought. More than likely the police had just left her. So what would she do?
She'd run, he immediately thought. As she'd run from her mother. She'd try to hide and probably bring the fool with her. In fact, she was probably gone already.
Another reason to get away from here.
He considered the option. If they went around to check out the back of the house . . .
A gamble, but what other choice did he have? Quietly, he began moving toward the squad car.
"Let's head around back," Jennifer whispered. The gun felt strangely light in her hand. "I've got a funny feeling that he's still here."
Pete nodded, and they left the porch. Pete headed toward the gravel drive, but when he saw Jennifer go the other way, he hesitated only briefly before following her. On this side, they had to navigate between the trees, twigs snapping beneath their feet. Tall grasses and weeds brushed their uniforms, making a scraping sound. Near the rear of the house, they paused. Jennifer was in front and, flattened against the house, she peeked around the corner.
Richard's car was parked there, the door on the passenger side open.
She held the gun to her chest, barrel raised, and nodded in that direction. Slowly Pete drew his gun.
She peeked again, scanning the yard for a glimpse of him, then nodded for Pete to follow. They crept around the back, trying to be as silent as possible.
They passed the corner windows.
Listening . . .
The birds had gone silent, Jennifer noticed.
Past the porch. The rear door to the house, they saw, stood open. She motioned in that direction, and Pete nodded before moving toward the house.
The car was close now. From the interior, she could hear the tinny sound of the radio, an oldies station out of Jacksonville.
Jennifer paused, looking from side to side. He's out there, she thought. And he's watching us now.
Stalking us. The way he stalked Julie.
In her mind, she saw what had been left of Andrea's face. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Pete on the back porch, approaching the open door.
It was then that they heard the scream.
It was a piercing wail, agonizing and shrill, and Jennifer nearly pulled the trigger of her gun. She hesitated only momentarily before locking eyes with Pete.
It was coming from the front of the house.
Pete scrambled down from the porch and began running back the way they'd come. Jennifer turned to follow him. They rounded the corner and pushed through the branches, leaves and twigs slapping against them as they made their way to the front.
But when they reached the front, they saw nothing.
Everything was exactly as it had been before.
They split up then, Pete approaching the front of the house, Jennifer moving forward into the yard.
Her mouth was dry and she was breathing hard, trying to stay calm. A short distance away, she eyed a grove of low-growing trees surrounded by bushes, reminding her of a duck blind hidden for maximum effect.
She looked away, then back. She could feel the gun in her hand growing slick with perspiration.
That's where he is, she thought. He's hiding, and he wants me to come get him. Behind her, she could hear Pete moving across the gravel.
Jennifer raised the gun in front of her, just as her dad had taught her.
"Mr. Franklin, this is Officer Jennifer Romanello, and my gun is drawn," she called out slowly. "Identify yourself and come out with your hands in the air."
Pete turned at the sound of her voice and, seeing what she was doing, started toward her, crossing the driveway. Like her, he had drawn his gun.
F
rom the back of the house came the sound of a car engine turning over. The engine whined as the accelerator was slammed to the floor, rocks spitting out from behind the tires. It was racing toward them from the other side of the house.
Pete stood frozen in the middle of the drive; he saw the car a moment before Jennifer did.
It wasn't slowing down.
For a moment, Pete was immobilized. He pointed the gun at the car but hesitated, and by then even Jennifer could see what was going to happen.
In the last possible second, Pete dove out of the way as the car ripped past him. He landed on his chest, like a baseball player sliding into home, and the gun flew from his grasp.
Jennifer had only a split second to take the shot, but because of Pete's dive and the broken view through the trees, she opted against it.
The car roared down the highway, veered around the curve, and vanished from sight, leaving a trail of flying gravel in its wake.
Jennifer ran toward Pete. He was already getting up and had begun searching for his gun by the time she reached him.
Seconds passed before they found it, and they ran to the squad car without a word. Jennifer reached the passenger side and jumped in; their doors slammed simultaneously. Instinctively, Pete reached for the ignition keys.
They were gone.
It was then that Jennifer registered that the wires connecting the radio had been torn from the dash.
The sound of Richard's car had already faded.
"Damn!" Pete shouted, slamming the wheel hard.
Jennifer grabbed for her cell phone and called the station. Because it was a small town and there were only a few officers on duty, she didn't hold out much hope that they would be able to catch Richard in time. When she hung up, Pete looked at her.
"Now what do we do?"
"I'm going inside."
"Without a warrant?"
Jennifer opened the door and stepped out. "He tried to run you down and he's probably on his way to harm someone else. I think that qualifies as a legitimate reason for entry. Don't you?"
A moment later, Pete Gandy was behind her.
Through the rush of adrenaline and frustration, he couldn't help but notice that as far as learning the ropes, Jennifer Romanello seemed to be a rather quick study.
Jennifer was struck by the normalcy of the setting as soon as she entered.
This could be anyone's house, she observed.
The kitchen was miraculously clean, the kitchen sink gleaming in the sunlight, a washrag folded neatly over the sink. There wasn't a single pot on the stove or a used dish on the counter. Had she taken a photograph, no one would have noticed anything amiss. Though obviously old-the refrigerator looked like the models advertised in the Sears catalog right after World War II, and there was neither a dishwasher nor a microwave oven-the kitchen seemed almost homey, the kind that children remember when thinking of their grandparents.