Читать книгу Killing Me Softly - Maggie Shayne - Страница 8

Nick Di Marco was a big man. And it wasn’t entirely a physical thing. He was tall enough at five foot eleven, and his shoulders were wide and solid, even though he was lugging around some extra belly fat these days. His once raven-black hair was streaked with silver, his intense brown eyes lined with crow’s-feet that made his smiles more infectious, and his frowns downright scary. Beneath all of that, he was the best cop Bryan had ever had the honor to know. Retired or not.

And he wasn’t the only one who felt that way. Di Marco was a hero cop, and everyone in Shadow Falls knew it.

So Bryan felt a little lighter when he saw Nick get out of his black, big-as-a-boat, old Crown Victoria and come striding toward him. Bryan got out of his own car, whose payments were as much as his rent, and tried to hide the fact that his knees were shaking. It was warm outside, the summer sun already beating down on them.

Nick threw his arms around Bryan, and it was no pat-on-the-back “guy” hug; this was a full-blown, real thing that squeezed the air right out of his lungs. “You okay, kid? You okay?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.” Nick clapped a big palm to the back of Bryan’s head and crushed it to his shoulder for a second, then released him and backed off enough to search his face. “You call your dad?”

“Yeah. He’s on his way.”

“Good. That’s real good, Kendall.” Nick turned his head as another vehicle came skidding to a halt along the roadside. Chief MacNamara had driven the Bronco with the Shadow Falls Police Department logo—a black waterfall inside a circle made up of the words themselves—on the front doors, and the bubblegum lights on the roof. At least those lights weren’t flashing.

Chief Mac got out, thick shocks of unruly white hair sticking up all over. His face showed all the ruddy puffiness of a lifelong drinker, and his belly backed up the story. He was fat enough that he sort of swayed heavily from side to side when he tried to walk fast, which was what he was doing now.

“Somebody want to tell me just what the hell is going on here?” he demanded a little breathlessly.

Nick nodded. “Tell him, Kendall. Tell us both.”

Bryan took a deep breath and nodded once. “I had a party last night. To celebrate getting the okay to go back on the job Monday.” He nodded at Nick. “You were there—you can vouch for that part.”

Nick nodded and glanced at the chief. “It was no big deal. A few twelve-packs and some chips. Mostly cops, a few faces I didn’t know. A dozen, maybe eighteen, people at most.”

“You left early,” Bryan said, eyes lowered, gaze turned inward. “A few more people showed up later on. I think I remember most of them—I don’t know. I must have drunk way more than I thought. I woke up on the bathroom floor. Everyone had gone. I headed to the bedroom, wanted to get a few more hours of sleep—and Bette was there. And…” He lifted his head, looking the men in the eyes, first Nick and then Chief Mac. “She was dead,” Bryan said. He had to force out that final word, and his voice broke when he said it. “She was already cold. And there are ligature marks around her neck.”

The chief gaped, his jaw dropping as if its spring had broken. He took a step back, turned to stare at the house and pushed a hand through his crazy white hair. Then, swearing a blue streak, he started forward, hurrying toward the house with that swinging gait of his.

Nick clapped Bryan on the shoulder to get him moving, and in spite of his resistance to the notion, Bryan fell into step, the two of them following close behind the chief.

“You didn’t hear anything?” Chief Mac asked without looking back.

“No.”

“Careful, don’t touch a damn thing,” the chief went on as he stomped through the house and into the bedroom. Just inside the bedroom door he stopped, and his voice, when he spoke again, was lowered. Maybe out of respect for the dead. “In fact,” he added, “stay out of this room, Kendall. Di Marco, get in here. But be careful.”

Nick went into the bedroom with the chief, while Bryan stood in the doorway, his eyes riveted to the blue-tinted skin of Bette’s face, those sightless red eyes, the grotesquely twisted mouth.

The chief looked closely, not touching anything. “Strangled. Sure as shit. And she— Holy fuck.”

“What?” Bryan asked from the doorway, even while the chief gripped Nick Di Marco’s wrist and nodded at the nightstand.

Bryan followed their gazes and saw what was sitting there. A shot glass with a black scythe painted on it, a red rosebud above, severed from its stem by the blade and trailing tiny red droplets.

It was a design the three men had seen before.

“That can’t be,” Di Marco whispered. “There’s no way.” And despite the whisper, his voice trembled. “Sniff the glass, Chief. Check—”

“Whiskey,” the chief said after leaning over and in haling. He turned to Nick. “Check her mouth.”

Nick nodded and leaned close to the dead woman, his face so near hers it might have seemed to an outsider that he was about to kiss her. Without touching the body at all, Nick sniffed, and then he jerked upright again. “Whiskey,” he said. “God, this can’t be happening.”

“What?” Bryan asked. “What…what the hell is going on, Nick?” But he had a sinking feeling that he knew.

“Is that your shot glass, Bryan?” Nick asked.

“No.”

“It’s a trademark, Kendall,” the chief said. He came out of the room, flipping open his phone as he did and hitting buttons. “Calling card of the Nightcap Strangler.”

Bryan blinked in shock, processing that, along with all that he knew about the old case—which was probably a lot more than either of these two men realized, considering that all the files and all the evidence was currently taking up space in a storage bin in his garage. The three of them walked out of the house and stood in the driveway again, and the chief ordered up a crime-scene investigation unit and an ambulance.

When he hung up, Bryan faced him. “Chief, how can this be? The Nightcap Strangler was caught, what? Sixteen years ago? Nick, you caught him. You put him away. You solved it. It was the biggest case of your entire career. He’s in prison.”

“Not anymore, kid,” Nick said softly.

Bryan blinked, puzzled for one terrifying moment before he remembered that the convicted serial killer had died in prison three weeks ago.

“He bought it in a fight,” the chief said. “Didn’t you see it in the papers? So there’s no way this was him. Unless…” He looked at Nick, not finishing the thought.

“No way did I bust the wrong guy, Chief. No way in hell.”

“You’re confident about that?”

Nick was offended by the question. He looked mad enough to punch something, Bryan thought. “He was guilty as hell. And you know that, Mac. You know it as well as I do!”

The chief nodded, keeping his trademark calm. “I also know that we never released certain details to the public. No one knew what the design on the glasses was, Di Marco. Or the specifics about the kind of whiskey he used. No one but you and me. Unless you told your protégé here,” he added with a look at Bryan.

“I never discussed the details of the Nightcap case with the rookie, Chief.”

“Right. You’re his mentor, and you never talked to him about the case that made your career? He never asked? You wrote a book, Di Marco. They made a freaking movie. You telling me you never talked about it with Kendall here?”

“That’s what I’m telling you.” Nick braced himself, getting in the chief’s space, his chest thrust out, chin up, challenging. “Now why don’t we get to what you’re telling me? Are you saying a rookie cop turned into a copycat killer just ’cause he took a couple of classes from the retired cop who solved the case? ’Cause I think that’s a stretch, even for you, Mac.”

“He shot a guy last month, Nick.”

“In the line of fucking duty!” Di Marco shouted. “He was cleared of any wrongdoing. It was a clean kill.

You know that.”

“It was a clean kill and it left him a basket case,”

Chief Mac argued.

“According to you.” Nick jabbed a finger in the chief’s direction, and for a moment Bryan thought he was going to actually poke him in the chest with it. He only barely missed doing so. “The department shrink says he’s fine.”

“Now,” the chief said.

Because he hadn’t seemed fine right after the shooting, Bryan thought. Then again, who would have? Bryan had never shot a man before. He’d had no choice, though. The guy had his girlfriend in a headlock, a knife at her throat, and he was getting ready to use it. There had been no question. Hell, she’d been bleeding already when Bryan had taken the shot. He was the only one with a clear line. He’d had no choice. But he damn well didn’t like it.

“Yeah, now,” Nick repeated. “And now is when this killing went down. The kid didn’t do it, Chief. Come on. You know the kid didn’t do it.”

“Quit talking about me like I’m not in the room, you two,” Bryan said. He kept his tone level, his voice low. “I’m standing right here. And I didn’t do it. I’ll tell you both, I didn’t fucking do this. I had no reason. I liked Bette.”

“Liked her?” The chief bit back whatever else he’d been about to say, sighed, compressed his lips. “All right, Kendall. You liked her. You were, uh, seeing this Bette—”

“Bettina Wright,” Bryan filled in.

The chief pulled out a pad and jotted the name down. “You were seeing her pretty regularly?”

“We were friends.”

Chief MacNamara looked at Nick. “If he’s gonna start lying already, about something so obvious…”

“I’m not lying,” Bryan said.

“She was in your bed, son.”

Di Marco drew a breath, released it. “Come on, Kendall, be straight with the chief. It’s pretty clear there was more between you than just…friendship.”

“There really wasn’t. We were friends. We got along great, but neither of us wanted anything serious.”

The chief blinked, looking blank. Di Marco rolled his eyes. “I think this is some of that shit the kids over at the university call ‘friends with benefits,’ Mac.

“I’m old, not dead, Di Marco. I’ve heard the term. I just never thought anyone really lived that way.”

Di Marco shrugged and turned his attention back to Bryan. “So you two never fought? Didn’t argue? There was no jealousy?”

“I knew from the beginning she was still gun-shy after her ex-boyfriend—and that’s where we oughtta start, right there. That bastard was jealous. Didn’t want her for himself, but it sure as hell drove him crazy to see her with anyone else. Even me, even though we were just—”

“Just friends,” the chief muttered.

Bryan nodded, knowing how lame it sounded.

“Okay,” the chief said with an exasperated sigh. “Look, we have a lot more to go over, Kendall. We need to take you in, get your statement, get a list of every other person who was at the party, get the name of this ex-boyfriend of hers, and anyone else you can think of who might have had a motive, notify her family—”

“Hell,” Nick muttered. “Worst part of this freakin’ job.”

“What freakin’ job?” MacNamara blurted. “You’ve gotta be real clear about something, Di Marco. You’re retired. You teach criminal justice now—you don’t practice it.”

“I teach criminal profiling,” Nick corrected. “And I just decided to unretire.”

“That’s not—”

“Don’t say it, Mac. Don’t say it’s not possible when we both know it is.”

“You’re the kid’s mentor, practically a father figure. You don’t call that a conflict of interest?”

“It’s my case.”

Chief MacNamara met Nick’s steady gaze.

“If it’s anything to do with the Nightcap Strangler, Chief, even a copycat who somehow had inside information, then it’s my case. Always has been. Nobody knows more about it than me. Nobody else is gonna have the foundation of information and knowledge that I have. And if it turns out I fucked up and sent an innocent man—”

“You didn’t,” MacNamara said.

“If I did, then I’m damn well gonna be the one to make it right.”

The chief nodded. “I might be able to pull some strings.”

“Then pull them. Cut through the red tape. Call me a consultant or some bullshit like that if you have to, but get me in on this—officially in on this.” Then he turned to Bryan. “You said your dad’s on his way?”

“Yeah.”

“Call him and tell him to meet us at the station, okay? While you do that, I’ll call you a lawyer and your union rep, have them meet us there, as well.”

“Come on, Nick. I don’t need a lawyer.”

Bryan saw the grim look that flew between Nick Di Marco and Chief Mac, and for just a second his heart seemed to freeze in between beats. “Damn, is it really that bad?”

Nick met his gaze, but his wasn’t steady, and his smile was clearly forced. “Probably not, kid. But we might as well prepare for the worst, just in case. Don’t you think?”

“Nick…” Bryan could hardly ask the question, but he had to know. He had to. “Nick, tell me you don’t think I did this.”

“No, kid. I don’t think you did this.”

Bryan looked at the chief, hoping and maybe even half expecting him to say, “Neither do I.” But Chief MacNamara only lowered his eyes, shook his head and led the way to his waiting SUV.

Bryan thought he was going to throw up again before he got in.

Dawn pulled the pillow over her head and hugged it around her ears, but the damned phone kept right on ringing. It was set to go to voice mail after four rings, because four rings was more than she ever wanted to hear. But this caller had just hung up and dialed back when that had happened. And then had done it again.

At ten rings total, Dawn peered out from beneath the pillow. She could see, from the Caller ID feature on her television—which had been left on all night long, just as it was every night—that the call was coming from her mother. Her birth mother, not the one who’d raised her. Blackberry Inn, the screen announced.

She reminded herself that she was lucky to have found her birth mother at all, after fifteen years with each of them believing the other to be dead. She adored Beth, and had been raised beautifully by the woman she considered her mother, Julie Jones. But even though she loved Beth dearly, Dawn wasn’t ready for another conversation where every other sentence revolved around the life and times of Bryan Kendall.

Bryan, the son of Beth’s husband, Josh, had been Dawn’s first love. And she’d broken his heart when she’d left him behind in Vermont five years ago.

Hell. It didn’t seem as if Beth was going to give up until she answered, and it would be rude to just yank the line out of the jack.

Sighing, she rolled onto her side, grabbed the phone and brought it to her ear. “Hi, Beth.”

“Dawn. God, I thought I’d never get you. Are you all right? You don’t sound well.”

Dawn rolled her eyes, and reached for the water glass on the nightstand, but it was empty, and the one half full of diet cola was also half full of vodka. And it was too early in the morning for vodka.

She hadn’t needed to resort to vodka in quite a long time. But last night she’d had that feeling—that creeping, pins-and-needles-in-her-spine feeling—that told her something was coming. And that her normal bedtime dose of Ativan wasn’t going to be enough to keep it at bay this time.

She’d thought, at the time, she’d been sensing that the dead were going to start talking to her again—asking for her help, pestering her, the way they had before she’d run away from her life and her gift and her family. And Bryan, her first love.

Now she thought maybe all she’d been sensing was the approach of this phone call. Which was, after all, likely to be almost as unpleasant as the “gift” she’d turned her back on. “I’m fine,” she said. “Why so urgent?”

“You’ve got to come home, Dawnie. You’ve got to come home right now.”

Dawn blinked and looked at the clock on her cluttered nightstand. It, and the framed photo of her and Bryan, arm in arm, in happy teenage puppy love, were the only two things there that really belonged. Beside those were the empty water glass, the partially ingested vodka diet, a box of tissues, an empty prescription bottle and another one that wasn’t empty, the bowl of Chinese noodles she’d had for dinner and an open package of peanut M&M’s.

She had to shove some of the junk aside to see what time it was, and as soon as she did, she felt a lot less guilty for her reluctance to answer the phone. “It’s first thing on a Saturday. Is someone dead?”

She was kidding, being sarcastic and snotty, and feeling totally justified in both, until Beth said, “Yes. Someone is dead.”

Dawn sat up straight and blurted his name as everything inside her turned to ice. “Bryan—”

“Bryan’s…he’s fine. No. He’s not fine. His dad is with him, and he’s physically fine. At least, I think he is.”

“Good God, Beth, will you just tell me who’s dead already? I’m having heart failure here!”

“A girl. Her name is Bette—Bettina something or other. She was…she was murdered last night. Apparently in Bryan’s house. In his…in his bed.”

“What?”

“He had a party last night. Had too much to drink. Woke up this morning to find this girl dead in his bed.”

“Drugs? God, that’s going to mess up Bryan’s career big-time. Or was it…?”

“She was murdered.”

Dawn swore in a way she’d never before done in front of either one of her mothers.

“Dawn, they’ve taken Bryan in for questioning. Josh just called from the station, and he says it doesn’t look good.”

“Doesn’t look good?” Dawn frowned at the phone as if it were deliberately being vague. “Doesn’t look good? As in, they actually think he did it?”

“I don’t know. I guess…I guess so.”

“Well, they can’t! That just doesn’t make any sense,” Dawn said. “Bry’s a cop, for crying out loud.”

“Yes, a cop who’s been suspended for the past month.”

“What, still? All because he shot that guy?”

“He’s been cleared of any wrongdoing, but he was required to meet with the department psychiatrist to be sure he wasn’t suffering from post-traumatic stress. She just gave him the all clear, and he was scheduled to return to work on Monday. Hence, the party last night.”

“He was celebrating,” Dawn said.

“Apparently.”

Dawn closed her eyes, shook her head, offering a token argument, because she couldn’t seem to stop her self. Force of habit, she presumed. “I don’t know what good my coming back would do, Beth.”

“Yes, you do,” Beth whispered. “You know you do.”

“Did he…ask for me?”

“He needs you, Dawn. If they don’t arrest him—”

“Arrest him?”

“If they don’t arrest him, Josh is going to bring him home. Dawnie, you know you can help. Even without the…the ability you inherited from your father—”

“There is no ability.” She didn’t bother reminding Beth that any mention of Dawn’s long-dead father was strictly off-limits. The man had been a powerful medium—as well as a murderer. His gift and his mental illness, so twisted up in his mind that he couldn’t tell the real voices from the imaginary ones. The ones that told him to kill. With his dying breath, he’d passed his gift on to his teenage daughter, promising to return to her. A promise he’d kept, and one that had sent her running across the continent to escape.

And she had escaped.

“The dead don’t talk to me anymore, Beth. It’s…it’s gone.” Thanks to AA—Absolut and Ativan in her case.

“I don’t believe that,” Beth said softly. “I know it drove your father insane—and I know that scares you, Dawn. So I hope, for your sake, it’s true. But even without that, Dawn, you can help. You and Bryan were like—you were like Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys.”

“One Hardy Boy.”

“The way you figured out what was going on in Blackberry five years ago when your father found me here—when he thought God was telling him to kill me… If it hadn’t been for you and Bryan…”

“That was five years ago, Beth. A lot of water has gone under the bridge since then. Bryan’s the one who went on to become a cop. I just fix cars—”

“You restore classic cars for collectors. Don’t undersell yourself.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a far cry from crime solving.”

“He needs you, Dawn. And I need you. I’m scared. Josh sounded awful on the phone. Bryan’s his son, and this is going to be hell on him, no matter how it comes out. I need to be there for him, Dawn, but I’m scared, too. I need you. The family needs to face this together. Please, baby, please. It’s time you came home.”

“There are just…so many ghosts.”

“Yeah. Well, now there’s one more.”

“Beth—”

“Dawn,” Beth said, and her tone had changed from pleading to the voice of absolute authority. “I didn’t raise you—didn’t even get to know you until you were practically grown. But I am your mother and I’m speaking to you as a mother right now. There’s a ticket waiting for you at the airport. Your flight leaves at 1:16 p.m., your time. Get up, pack a bag, call your boss and get your ass home. I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.”

Dawn closed her eyes. “I’m a grown-up now, Beth. You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I just did, kiddo. I’ve put up with your hiding and your wallowing and your—well, to be blunt, your cowardice, for five long years, but I’m done with it now. You’re tougher than this. Stronger. Your family needs you, and I hate to say it, Dawn, but if you let me down again, I’m just not going to forgive you. Not this time.”

Dawn blinked and stared at the phone, but Beth was gone. She’d disconnected. So Dawn replaced the receiver on its cradle and peeled back her covers. Her birth mother had just called her a coward. She had never once even hinted that she felt that way. Dawn had thought Beth understood why she had to run away, had to stay away, from that place where so much had happened. Where her murderous maniac of a father had died at long last after a string of murders and assaults. From that instant when he’d spoken his dying words to her, told her his so-called gift was hers from then on.

Gift. Who the hell called insanity a gift?

Oh, there was more to it than just madness. The dead really did talk to Mordecai. But he couldn’t tell the voices of the dead from the voices of his own in sanity, and in the end, he’d nearly destroyed everyone he’d ever loved. Even her.

His “gift” was nothing she wanted. Nothing she would ever want.

She flung back the covers, shuffled into the bathroom and cranked on the shower taps. Shrugging out of her robe and letting it fall to the floor, Dawn stepped into the spray. Then she stood there with her head hanging down, and Bryan’s face front and center in her mind’s eye. He must hate her for walking away without a word five years ago. He must hate her for ignoring every effort he’d made to get her to talk to him, to at least tell him why. He must hate her by now. He ought to hate her. And she couldn’t blame him for it, but God, she didn’t want to see that hatred in his eyes. Not face-to-face, up close and personal. She didn’t think she could take that. It would hurt too much.

They’d been so in love. It had been new and fresh, and fun. She’d met him when his father had fallen for Beth, and it had felt as if they were meant for each other. So young and inexperienced, that when they finally made love for the first and only time, it had barely lasted five minutes.

She smiled softly when she thought of that completely unsatisfying, awkward night when they’d lost their virginity to each other. It was the sexiest memory of her entire life.

Damn, she didn’t want to go home. She really didn’t. But there was no point in arguing about it. She was going. Today. And deep down inside, now that she had no choice in the matter, she couldn’t wait to see Bryan again.