Читать книгу Lawman-in-Charge - Laura Scott - Страница 11

Megan decided to eat breakfast at Rose’s Café before meeting Luke and the rest of his deputies to begin the search. She wasn’t really hungry, but her brain needed nourishment in order to remain sharp enough to find any clues as to where Liza might have been killed.

The similarities between Liza’s death and the victims of the St. Patrick’s Strangler, as the press had dubbed Paul Sherman, bothered her. She wanted to talk to the sheriff about her suspicions, but he hadn’t been at the office when she’d stopped by on her way back to the café.

Josie was behind the counter again. Megan ordered an omelet for breakfast and then asked Josie if she’d seen the sheriff recently.

“He’s out back, sweetie, talking to his son.”

“His son?” She couldn’t hide her shock. “He’s married?”

“Widowed.” Josie grinned, enjoying the gossip. “His boy runs a little wild, though, if you know what I mean.”

Widowed. Why the tragic news made her feel a mixture of sadness and relief she had no idea. Megan slid off her stool and walked outside, circling the corner of the diner. She stopped abruptly, remaining semi-hidden behind the Dumpster, when she caught a glimpse of Sheriff Luke Torretti facing down his son.

“How long have you been drinking?” Luke asked in a low furious voice.

“What do you care?” The boy was the same one she’d noticed the day before, the tall, lanky kid with the long, dark tangled hair, only today his hair was pulled back in a stubby ponytail, partially hidden by the paper hat the boy wore. Dressed in scruffy jeans and a long apron tied around his narrow waist, he looked to be the café dishwasher.

She should leave, go back inside rather than stand here eavesdropping, but investigative instincts she’d thought long dead came to life, preventing her from leaving.

“You’re right, Sam. Why should I care? So what if you go to jail? So what if you’re convicted of strangling Liza Campbell? Why would I care about what happens to you, when you don’t?”

The boy, Sam, blanched, and Megan thought he looked ready to throw up. Maybe it was a hangover from the drinking Luke mentioned or the blunt description of Liza’s death. “Doug will vouch for me. I slept on the floor of his bedroom.”

“And what time was that exactly?” Luke didn’t give his son an inch. “Because from what I’m hearing, you were the last one to see her alive, and your only alibi during the time of Liza’s murder is your best friend Doug.”

“That’s really great, Dad. Thanks a lot.” The familiar sneer was back on Sam’s face. “It’s really nice to know my own father suspects me of killing some stupid chick.”

“Stupid chick?” Luke’s voice had gone dangerously soft. “Is that what you think of her? What’s the matter, Sam? Did she turn you down when you asked her out? Did she look down her nose at you? Make you mad? Did you have a fight? Tell me what happened between the two of you. If you come clean and tell me everything now, it will be better for you in the long run.”

Something in Luke’s tone must have warned Sam not to push it. Instead of hiding behind sarcasm, he responded to his father’s questions. “I didn’t fight with her. I never asked her out. She wouldn’t have gone with me anyway, she’s still hung up on Sean Mathews.”

“Is Sean her boyfriend? Was he with you guys last night?”

Sam shook his head. “No, Sean left two weeks ago to join the army. He’s in basic training down in Kentucky somewhere. Liza was mad he broke up with her.”

“So your story is that Zach, Doug, Teagan and Patrice left first, but you stayed behind a little while longer to talk with Liza. At midnight, you left Liza and went back to Doug’s house. There were six of you at the bonfire and you split a case of beer. After you and Doug went to his house, you sat around and finished off a bottle of Jack Daniels while playing video games.”

“Yeah.” Sam stared down at his feet for a long minute. “That’s what happened. Liza was fine when I left.”

“You let her go home alone?” Luke pressed.

Sam flushed with guilt. “I offered to take her home, but she said she’d be fine. She gave me the impression she wasn’t going straight home. I figured she might be meeting someone else. None of my business what she does in her free time.”

There was a long pause, as Luke digested that information. “How often do you drink?” Luke finally asked.

“Not that often.” The way Sam avoided his father’s gaze made Megan believe he wasn’t being honest.

“And you didn’t bother to come home last night, or to call to let me know you were planning to spend the night at Doug’s.” Luke’s sarcastic tone made her wince in sympathy for Sam, although it sounded as if the kid deserved it. She would have been just as upset if Katie had pulled such a stunt. “And where were Doug’s parents while you were drinking?”

“His parents are divorced. His mom works nights as a nurse at Hope County Hospital.” Sam hunched his shoulders. “This is the first time we got drunk on hard liquor. Normally we just drink a few beers. Doug’s mom is a nice lady, it’s not her fault we were stupid.”

“You’re right about that,” Luke agreed, his tone slightly bitter. “You and Doug were stupid. Really stupid. Drinking isn’t going to help, Sam. Don’t you realize by now that drinking is only going to make things worse?”

A heavy silence fell, and Megan wondered if she should choose that moment to interrupt. But then Luke dismissed his son. “Get back to work. One of the deputies might need to ask you some questions later.”

Sam looked as if he wanted to say something more, but he clamped his mouth shut and spun on his heel, walking back into the back door of the café. Luke turned and saw her, his eyebrows pulling together in a small frown when he realized she’d heard at least a portion of his conversation with his son. “You were right,” he said with a grimace. “He is trouble.”

She bit her lip, a twinge of sympathy making her regret her rash statement. She took several steps, closing the gap between them. “I’m sorry,” she said in a low tone. “I didn’t realize he was your son.”

Luke shrugged. “Not your fault.” His shoulders drooped, as if the interaction with his son had worn him out. He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “Was there something you wanted?”

“Yes.” She had to pull her thoughts together, having been distracted by the emotionally charged interaction between father and son. “It’s about the murder.”

He lifted a brow. “Yeah?”

She let out a breath in a soft sigh. “I’m sure you noticed the similarity between this most recent murder and the series of strangulations I worked on last year. Specifically, the choice of murder weapon.”

“The hollow-braided rope?” Luke asked.

She nodded. The rope disturbed her. Granted, the previous victims were all killed with a bright orange, brand-new rope, but still, could this really be a coincidence?

“You think we have some sort of copycat killer?” Luke guessed.

“It’s a possibility.” Megan glanced around, making sure they were alone. “Polyurethane hollow-braided rope is very common, especially here on a lake where there are lots of boats. And they come in all different colors. Why did the killer pick one that looks like it might be faded orange?”

“I don’t know.” Luke was frowning again. “We’re going to verify the color, since it was hard to tell for sure if it had been orange or not. But regardless, the details of the St. Patrick’s Strangler aren’t a secret. Not anymore.”

“I know.” She shivered, in spite of the warmth of the sun. “Paul Sherman is serving a life sentence in prison for killing my sister, and even though he denied killing any of them, he doesn’t have a chance at parole. I’m sure you would have heard about it if he’d have escaped from prison, right?”

“Yes,” he assured her. “I already checked. He’s still in custody.”

She felt light-headed with relief. “Okay, so if Paul Sherman is in prison, the person who killed Liza might have tried to imitate parts of his crimes.”

“But not all the details,” Luke argued. “He tossed Liza’s body into the lake. From what I remember, none of the other girls had been dumped in the water.”

“True. Sherman stalked his victims at Irish pubs and killed them after closing. All three of them were blonde, all three were strangled with a brand-new orange polyurethane rope, and their bodies were left within a stone’s throw of whichever Irish pub he met them at.”

There was a small pause. “I’m sorry about your sister.”

Her throat swelled with guilt and sorrow and she couldn’t speak, but she nodded. Seeing Katie’s dead body had been the worst thing she’d ever gone through, worse than losing their parents to a car crash four years earlier. The only good thing was that she’d helped find evidence linking Paul Sherman to the murder of her sister. Katie had clawed at his hands, not knocked out by the drug concoction he’d put in her drink. She’d found skin cells buried beneath her sister’s fingernails. The DNA evidence had helped convict him. He claimed to be innocent, but the jury had found him guilty of all three murders.

“I’ll have to review the trial transcripts,” Luke said in a low tone. “See if there are other similarities.”

“Good idea.” She was grateful he wasn’t ignoring her concerns. She couldn’t say why the faded hollow-braided rope bothered her so much. She couldn’t help wondering if the killer’s choice was significant.

Unless she was simply becoming obsessed, because of Katie. For all she knew, this was simply a crime of opportunity and nothing more.

If the killer was a copycat murderer, why not match all the details? Brand-new bright orange hollow-braided rope instead of old, faded stuff? Leaving the body at the crime scene?

Maybe she was making more out of the similarities than she should be.

“When do you want to start searching?” Luke asked.

She remembered the omelet she’d ordered. “Soon. I have food waiting for me inside. Give me twenty minutes.”

“All right, I’ll have my deputies waiting at the south shore where we found Liza’s body. You can let us know how to proceed from there.”

The way he deferred to her expertise impressed her. The sheriff was obviously a man who didn’t mind getting help when he needed it. And as far as she was concerned, they’d need all the help they could get to catch this guy. “Sounds good.”

He nodded and walked away, so she headed back inside the café.

Her food was cold, but she ate it anyway. She couldn’t help thinking about Luke. And his son, Sam. Despite what she’d overheard, especially the part where Sam had been the last one to see the victim alive, she really didn’t want to believe Sam was guilty of murdering Liza. As angry as the teen was, it was difficult to imagine him capable of murder.

Because he was the sheriff’s son? Maybe. Because she wanted to believe the best of him? Probably. Although she was forced to admit Sam seemed just as aloof and alone as his father.

Not that the ruggedly attractive sheriff was any of her concern. When her fiancé, Jake, had dumped her after Katie’s death, right when she’d needed him the most, she’d decided she was better off without men. Including tall, dark, handsome cops. Her main concern right now was to find the spot where Liza had been murdered.

There was always a clue. Sometimes the clues didn’t mean much by themselves, but in the end, the truth prevailed.

When she finished breakfast, Megan drove back to the south shore of the lake where Liza’s body had been found. True to his word, the sheriff had well over a dozen men waiting.

Since they all looked at her, she fell into the role of leading the investigation.

“We’ll split into groups of two,” she announced. “That way we can take our time and really search for clues. I’d rather have you pick up every small clue that might be evidence than overlook something important.”

Luke stepped up. “The victim was wearing a light blue tank top and denim cutoff shorts. She had long blond hair. A hard, clay-like substance was found embedded in the heel of her right shoe.”

The group of deputies and retired deputies, mostly men except for two younger women, all nodded solemnly, filing away the bits of potential evidence, and then split up as directed.

She and Luke split up. She paired herself with one of the deputies, named Adam. They started at the shore and then fanned out in opposite directions. The work was slow. She moved at a snail’s pace for fear of rushing over some minute piece of evidence. She found a long dark hair that reminded her of Luke’s son, Sam. She bagged it for evidence and marked the spot. She also found a thread, possibly a piece of denim, and followed the same routine. There were several empty bottles of Point beer, evidence of the partying she’d heard Sam talk about. She placed her third marker there before continuing her search.

Mostly, she found a lot of nothing. But she didn’t give up. Sheer determination kept her moving forward.

Her radio crackled a few hours later and she heard a female voice. “We found something! A large area where an obvious altercation took place. A small footprint that looks like it may belong to the victim and a piece of blue thread.”

Exhilaration filled her lungs. They must have found the scene of the crime. She swiped a sweaty arm over her brow and pressed the button on her radio. “Excellent work. Where are you?”

“We’re on the north shore. The suspected crime scene is about fifty feet from a tiny log cabin. There’s a red canoe tied to the dock on the lake.”

Megan’s radio slipped from her fingers, hitting the ground at her feet with a soft thud. Tiny log cabin with a red canoe. Her house. A wave of nausea dropped her to her knees.

Liza Campbell had been murdered fifty feet from her back door.

Luke stood beside Megan, both of them watching as the deputies took several photographs and bagged the evidence from the area where they believed Liza had died.

A stone’s throw from Megan’s backyard.

He slid a glance at Megan, who stared straight ahead, as if completely lost in her thoughts. She was pale, deep circles cutting a groove beneath her eyes. With her arms crossed over her chest, she seemed to be holding herself upright. He suspected a stiff breeze would have blown her over.

“You didn’t hear anything?” Luke finally asked, breaking the heavy silence. She didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge in any way that she’d heard him, so he repeated the question. “Megan? You didn’t hear anything last night?”

She shook her head slowly, turning to face him. “Not really. I had a nightmare, about Katie’s murder, and in my dream, Katie cried out in pain, fought her attacker—” Her voice broke, and she drew a deep, steadying breath. “Maybe it was Liza I heard and not Katie. I wish I knew for sure.”

“Do you have a time estimate?” He hated asking, hated the need to push her to relive the horror, but he suspected she had heard Liza, and it was her subconscious that put Katie in the role of the victim.

Her sister’s death obviously still haunted her.

He understood, considering he had a few problems of his own. Although he was much better now that he’d found his way back to God. He found himself wondering if Megan had the same spiritual support.

She rubbed a hand over her eyes. “Twelve-thirty, when I woke up and looked at the clock. But it seemed as if I heard Katie much earlier than that. Her struggle with the attacker lasted forever.”

He wasn’t so sure. Dreams had a way of seeming like hours, when in reality they were only a few minutes. Twelve-thirty was probably right on. If Sam was telling the truth, he’d left Liza about midnight. Liza must have been accosted as she headed for home.

But that didn’t explain how the killer had gotten Liza so quickly from the south shore, where the kids were partying, to the north shore, where the crime actually occurred. Or why. Why had he chosen this place, so close to Megan’s house, to kill Liza? Why hadn’t he picked something more remote? There was plenty of deserted lakeshore around.

Unless the killer hadn’t seen the house in the dark? Was he a stranger to the area? Would be a bit of a coincidence if the killer tossed the body in the water where it just happened to drift from the north shore to the south shore, right where the kids had partied around the bonfire.

Luke frowned. In his line of work, he didn’t believe in coincidences.

Had the killer watched them during the bonfire? Struck out at Liza at just the right time? He could imagine how that might have played out.

The guy hadn’t picked Liza by accident. No, he believed she’d been chosen on purpose. Either because this was personal, against her in particular, or because her long blond hair fit his profile. Especially if he was indeed a copycat killer.

He stood by Megan, silently supporting her, as his deputies finished with the crime scene.

The hour was close to dinnertime and he wanted to talk to Sam, yet hesitated to leave Megan alone. “Are you going to be all right here?”

“Sure.” The response came automatically.

“Megan.” He couldn’t leave her, not like this. He lightly touched her arm, feeling strangely concerned about her. “Is there somewhere else you can go? I don’t like you being here alone in this remote cabin fifty feet from where a murderer killed a young girl.”

She shivered beneath his touch, and he knew she was struggling to remain calm. “I’ll be fine. I don’t know anyone in the area to stay with.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to offer his place, but he knew that would be inappropriate. Besides, he still needed to talk to Sam, and he wouldn’t welcome an audience during his lousy attempt at being a father. Bad enough she’d heard him lose his temper this morning.

“How about the motel?” he suggested instead. “It’s located in the middle of town. Plenty of people will be nearby if anything happens. I can have the deputies cruise by on a regular basis.” The more he thought about the idea, the more he liked it. “Please? I’d feel better if you were someplace safe.”

“All right,” she finally agreed. And the flash of relief in her gaze proved she was as loath to stay in this remote cabin as he was to leave her there. “I’ll go to the motel, at least for tonight.”

“Good.” He couldn’t hide his satisfaction. “Thank you.”

“I—uh—need to pack an overnight bag.” She headed toward her front door. On the steps she paused, and then turned back to him. “Sheriff?”

“Luke,” he interjected quickly. “Call me Luke.”

She gave an almost imperceptible nod, her gaze serious. “Luke. The way Liza was killed right next to my cabin—do you think it’s possible the killer has specifically targeted me?”