Читать книгу The Man from Gossamer Ridge - Paula Graves - Страница 11

She heard footsteps on the front porch.

Alicia looked up from the files spread out in front of her, reaching for the aluminum softball bat she’d fetched from the bedroom. Unlike the previous time, these steps were swift and strong. Two sets, moving at a determined pace.

She rose, her heart pounding. She tightened her grip on the bat until her fingers ached.

The steps were almost at her door.

Stop. Just stop. You live in an apartment building, you hyper-excitable idiot. This isn’t where he does his work.

She put the bat down beside the sofa and forced her feet toward the front door, looking through the security peephole. Her body buzzed with relief at the sight of Gabe Cooper’s impossibly broad shoulders and stubborn chin distorted by the fish-eye lens.

She waited for his knock before opening the door. He blinked, as if surprised by her quick response.

“Is it all right that we’re back?” he asked, not bothering with any sort of customary greeting.

They weren’t friends, she reminded herself, nor likely to be. This was business.

“Of course.” She backed up, letting him and Cissy inside.

Gabe crossed to the sofa and stopped, looking down at the bat and back up at her. “Worried about intruders?”

Alicia grabbed the bat. “Just seeing if I still have my home run swing,” she joked, not wanting him to know how spooked she’d been only moments earlier.

“Cissy told me about the two new murders.” Gabe sat on the sofa and gave her a look of pure, stubborn-male challenge. “I’d like to know why you think they’re connected to Brenda’s.”

Alicia felt her own bulldog side snapping inside her head, but she held the beast back as she set the bat carefully aside and sat on the ottoman. Cissy stayed a little apart from the fray, her arms crossed and her gaze watchful. She’d done her part, getting Gabe here to talk to Alicia. But she clearly wasn’t going to take Alicia’s side against her uncle.

Like Gabe before her, Alicia didn’t bother with a preamble. “On January 22nd of this year, a coed named Meredith Linden was working at a television repair shop in Blicksville, about ten miles from here. She did their books, reconciled receipts, that sort of thing, and because she was attending college during the day, she worked at night. She lived off campus in an apartment by herself, so nobody noticed she didn’t come home. The owners of the repair shop found her body the next morning. She’d been raped, then stabbed several times, laid on her back and left to die. No fingerprints left, no DNA from the rape.”

Gabe met her gaze, unflinching. “Next?”

She felt herself grinding her back teeth. Forcing her jaw to relax, she continued. “On March 12th, Addison Moore was cleaning a small office in Pekoe, out near the railroad tracks. Also a college student, also going to school by day and cleaning at night after the business closed and her classes ended. Her roommate got worried when she didn’t show up at ten, as she usually did. She found Addison’s body in the first floor lobby, stabbed several times and positioned on her back.”

Alicia sat back, glancing from Gabe to Cissy, who gave a small shrug. She looked back at Gabe, who was watching her with slightly narrowed eyes.

“Two dead coeds in similar crime scenes and similar circumstances in the same town is possibly a sign you have a serial killer working here,” Gabe conceded, his jaw set in concrete. Alicia could see a spark of triumph in his eyes, as if he’d just proved to himself that his instincts were right, that these recent murders weren’t connected to Brenda Cooper’s death or the slayings of the other women chronicled in Victor Logan’s barbecued scrapbook.

She was pretty sure she knew why Gabe had dismissed her presentation as irrelevant, but she pressed him on the question anyway. “What about the similarities in the killer’s M.O.?”

“Ms. Solano, your two coeds have to be a good four or five years younger than any of Victor Logan’s victims. Victims in their mid-to late twenties are clearly part of Logan’s signature. M.O.s change. Signatures don’t. I’d think someone doing her dissertation on serial killers would know that already.”

She ignored the mild condescension, because she had him exactly where she wanted him. “They weren’t four or five years younger. Meredith Linden was twenty-eight. Addison Moore was twenty-nine. Both brunettes, just like the other victims. Curvy women, like the others.”

Gabe’s eyes shifted, his gaze dropping to her body as if searching for her own curves. They were camouflaged by the plain skirt and loose-fitting blouse she’d chosen from her closet this morning, but she could tell he was seeing beyond the shapeless clothing and picturing what lay below.

“Now do you understand?” Cissy asked her uncle.

He looked at her, his brow wrinkled. “There’s never been any evidence in Brenda’s murder that would suggest a second killer, Cissy. Evidence matters, too.”

“There aren’t two killers,” Alicia said. “Just one.”

Gabe swung his puzzled gaze her way. “You said you thought Victor was one of the killers.”

“He’s not one of the killers. Just one of the people involved.” Alicia could see his skepticism growing. “Look, Cissy says you’re a deputy, so I know you probably know this—sometimes there are serial killer pairs. Some of the time they both kill, but sometimes, the weaker of the two—the beta—only aids the killer by doing things like taking care of his kit or acting as a lookout. And sometimes, they just help the killer stalk the victims to pick the right time to strike. I think that was the case for Victor Logan. And I think now our killer has a new wingman.”

“Interesting theory.” He cut his eyes toward his niece. “Not one I find particularly plausible, but—”

“I don’t need you to believe it,” Alicia conceded grudgingly, although a little openness to hearing her theories would have been nice. “I just need—”

“Yeah, that’s another thing I’ve been wondering,” Gabe interrupted. “What do you need me for? Cissy probably knows everything I know about the murders. Maybe more, since she’s apparently been making them a subject of study.”

Alicia looked up at Cissy, an apology in her eyes. “Cissy doesn’t know what it was like to find Brenda’s body. You do. And that’s why I need to talk to you.”

Gabe shook his head quickly. “I’m not rehashing all of that with you. Certainly not with Cissy here.”

“I’ve read your statement to the Chickasaw County deputies,” Cissy said.

He looked up at his niece, his expression wary. “It’s not the same as hearing it.”

“Actually, what I’m hoping we can do is go a step beyond your statement,” Alicia said, her stomach tightening into a fist-sized knot. What she was going to suggest was invasive under the best of circumstances, and this definitely wasn’t the best of circumstances. “I think we should try hypnotic regression.”

Gabe’s hard gaze whipped around to flood her with molten fury. “You’re nuts.”

“Uncle Gabe—” Cissy warned.

Gabe pushed to his feet. “You want to play some sort of mind game with me so you can make a nice score on your paper? Too bad. I’m not playing. I’m done here.” He moved around the coffee table and strode angrily toward the door.

Cissy caught up with him before Alicia. “I know it’s a lot to ask, and I know it’s not something a lot of people are comfortable taking part in—”

Gabe interrupted with a hard laugh. “I hope you and Ms. Solano find what you’re looking for. I really do. But you’re going to have to count me out.”

Alicia caught Cissy’s arm when she was about to argue further. “Thank you for hearing me out,” she said sincerely. It was more than she’d had a right to hope for. “I’m sure Cissy will be in touch if we find anything new your brother needs to know about. And if you think of anything, here’s my card.” She pulled one of her business cards from the desk near the door, handing it to Gabe.

He tucked it into his pocket.

Alicia unlocked the front door and opened it for him. “Thank you,” she said again.

“I’ll walk you to the truck,” Cissy suggested.

Gabe turned to look at her, his brow furrowed. “No. You go home, lock the doors and be safe. I may not think your mother’s killer is still at work around here, but someone is. You be careful.” To Alicia’s surprise, Gabe’s blistering blue gaze turned to meet hers, softening as he dropped his voice a tone. “You, too.” His eyes dropped, taking in her well-camouflaged figure as if he could see right through her clothes.

Heat rose in her cheeks. “Will do.”

Then he was gone, broad shoulders and long legs disappearing into the darkening night.

“I’m sorry,” Cissy murmured. “I guess I knew it would be a long shot.”

Alicia gave the taller girl a hug. “He’s right, though. Go home. Get some sleep. Lock your doors.”

She watched until Cissy was safely inside the apartment two doors down, then stepped back into her own place and locked the doors behind her.

Gabe Cooper had looked her over. More than once. So he’d seen it, too. The obvious.

She walked slowly into her bedroom and unbuttoned her blouse, letting the garment slide to her feet. Next came the skirt, left where it lay as she crossed to her closet door and looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror bolted to the door. Her dark eyes stared back, wide with the anxiety she tried to hide from the world.

The woman in the mirror had full breasts and wide hips that even her shapeless clothing couldn’t completely hide, courtesy of her father’s side of the family. Three times a week at the gym gave her muscles beneath the flesh, but it couldn’t change her DNA. She was a curvy woman.

And she perfectly fit the killer’s profile.

GABE TURNED UP THE RADIO as Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Simple Man” came on. Like a lot of classic rock stations in the South, on this station, southern fried rock got a lot of air-play, and Skynyrd was one of Gabe’s favorites.

He sang along under his breath as he navigated the winding curves of Route 7. The two-lane county road undulated northeast, away from downtown Millbridge and the Mill Valley University campus and out toward the rural wilds that encroached the town on all sides.

He’d taken a room at a small budget motel situated on the county road near the delineation between town and country, somehow leery of staying closer to campus, where the relentless beat of a college town’s energy might pose too dark a reminder of his own youthful follies.

But after the night he’d just spent dealing with his stubborn niece and her even more bullheaded teacher, he sort of regretted the miles still standing between him and a long, hot shower and a good night’s sleep.

He should have known Cissy was up to something. His niece was a sweet girl, but she had taken to college life like a hound dog to a ’possum chase, reveling in her freedom and the responsibilities that came with being on her own. No way she’d have invited a visit from her uncle unless she wanted something more than just a friendly ear and a free dinner.

Not that it mattered. He’d do anything his niece asked. It was the least he owed her. His selfish inattention had led to Cissy and her brother Mike spending the last twelve years motherless. If Gabe had arrived at the trucking company on time, he might have stopped Victor Logan. Then, not only would Brenda be alive, but God knew how many other women Logan had killed might be with their families as well.

All because he’d wanted to have a beer and a game of pool with an old high school friend.

As the song on the radio changed to something slow and bluesy, Gabe’s cell phone buzzed. He glanced at the display. It was Cissy.

He turned down the radio and answered. “Hey, Cissy. What’s up?”

“I just wanted to talk to you before I go to bed. I know you’re mad at me—”

“I’m not mad.”

“You should be. I should have told you everything up front instead of dragging you here for the ambush.”

“I wouldn’t have come if you hadn’t set up the ambush,” he admitted, spotting the Route 7 Motor Lodge sign glowing faintly orange in the distance.

“I know, but it wasn’t fair of me to do it anyway.”

“Well, no harm done. Maybe I’ll get a little fishing done in the area before I leave tomorrow. That’ll be worth it.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “What say you cut some classes and come fishing with your Uncle Gabe, just like old times?”

Cissy’s laugh was damp with emotion. “Not this time. End of year exams coming, you know.”

“Yeah, you’re your daddy’s daughter,” he teased gently. “Little Miss Responsible.”

My opposite, he added mentally, his smile fading.

He had almost reached the motel. “Well, you get a good night’s sleep and kick butt tomorrow in class.”

Cissy giggled. “Will do.” She hung up.

Gabe disconnected and laid the phone on the seat beside him. He was only a few yards from the motel parking lot entrance, but he found his foot remaining settled over the accelerator. He passed the motel and kept going.

He checked the dashboard clock. Almost eleven. As he was driving in earlier today, he’d noticed a convenience store sitting all by itself on the side of Route 7. It wouldn’t close before eleven, would it? He could grab some snacks to get him through the night, since his barely-touched dinner was a distant memory.

Past the motel, he was solidly into wilderness, hemmed by trees on either side and ahead of him as far as the eye could see. He’d passed few vehicles on the road at this time of night, so the sudden glare of headlights coming around a curve ahead made him wince. The other driver dropped his bright lights. Gabe did the same and they passed on the narrow road.

With an empty road ahead, Gabe put the headlights on bright again, driving some of the shadows to the edges of the road. He drove about a half mile further along the winding rural road before the lights of the Stiller’s Food and Fuel came into view.

There was only one car parked at the convenience store, a small Honda Civic that had seen better years. It was parked around the side. Probably belonged to the clerk inside.

He parked in front and pocketed his keys and cell phone. As he opened the door, a bell jingled, announcing his arrival. But nobody stood at the counter, nor did anyone come running at the sound of the bell. Curious, but not alarmed, Gabe grabbed a shopping basket and headed down the snack aisle to contemplate his choices.

Beef jerky, smoked almonds, packs of string cheese from the refrigerator section—he threw all of these into the blue plastic basket. He debated the barbecue pork rinds for a moment before tossing them into the basket as well. He bypassed beer and soft drinks and went straight to the juices—apple, grape and orange juice went into the basket.

He spotted a fishing magazine on a rack near the front and picked it up. He had this issue at home but hadn’t had a chance to read it. If the night got long, he could fill the time with this, he decided, topping off the basket with the magazine.

The cashier’s desk remained empty as he approached. He looked around, wondering if he’d just missed someone stocking shelves somewhere else in the store. But he saw no one.

“Hello?” His voice seemed to echo in the empty store.

He glanced back at the door. The “Closed” sign faced him, so the “Open” sign was still facing the outside.

“Hello?” he called again.

The silence that answered seemed to swallow him whole.

He set the basket on the counter and leaned over to look behind it. There was no one lying injured or dead behind it. But a strange, sinking sensation in Gabe’s belly made him keep looking.

There was a back room behind the counter; Gabe could see the door to it standing barely ajar down past the cigarette kiosk. The back room was accessible only from behind the counter, and the counter was walled off with a latched door that wouldn’t budge when Gabe tried to open it.

It wasn’t tall enough to pose an obstacle, however. He jumped over the door and landed behind the counter, a few feet from the back room door.

Hair prickled wildly on the back of his neck, but he forced himself forward. “Hello?” he called again, giving the unlatched door a light push. It swung open with a loud, groaning creak.

The light was off in the back room, hiding most of the area from Gabe’s view. He felt along the wall until he located a switch and gave it a flick.

Yellow light from a single bald bulb filled the room with a muddy glow, revealing what the shadows had hidden.

A woman lay on the floor, her legs stretched out and her hands flat on the floor by her side. Her clothes were neatly in place and her eyes were closed. But across her belly, a series of bloody puncture wounds marred the pale gray of her blouse.

For a second, Gabe was no longer in the middle of a convenience store back room. Instead he was in the woods of Chickasaw County, only a few yards from the trucking company where Brenda had worked, staring down at the bloodstained body of his sister-in-law.

He forced himself to touch the store clerk’s throat to check for a pulse, knowing what he’d find as surely as he knew his own name.

This killer wasn’t going to leave behind a live victim. He never had before.

Gabe pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed 911.

Then he pulled out the card still resting in his back pocket. The one Alicia Solano had handed him before she let him out of her apartment.

Alicia answered on the third ring, her voice raspy and alarmed.

“It’s Gabe Cooper,” he said tersely, not bothering with small talk, since he knew she wouldn’t want it. “There’s been another murder.”

“What?” She sounded more awake now, and over the phone, he heard the rustle of fabric, as if she were throwing on a robe. Gabe was tempted to let himself dwell on the picture that rose to mind at that thought, if only to drive out the sight of the dead woman lying at his feet.

He’d give almost anything to get that image out of his head.

“I stopped at a convenience store on Route 7—Stiller’s Food and Fuel,” he said aloud. “Nobody came to ring me up, so I looked for the cashier. I found her in a back room. Dead. It’s the same guy, Alicia.”

“As the other two coed murders?” she asked carefully.

“As all of them,” he answered, his gaze drawn back to the murderer’s handiwork. “All of Victor Logan’s murders. Or the ones he helped facilitate,” he added, giving in to the probability that Alicia’s theory was right. “Alicia, this guy’s still killing. And you’re right. We have to stop him.”