Twice Dead (22 page)

“Yeah,” Tommy said, “I think Adam is right. There's nothing but control here. Too much of it.”

“I need to make some calls,” Savich said, but he didn't move, stared down at the note and at what had been Linda Cartwright.

There was silence in the small, bright kitchen and the harsh breathing of six men and two women, one of them drawing hard on a pipe that wasn't lit. Then Becca broke free, ran out the back door, and fell to her knees, vomiting until her body was jerking and heaving and there was nothing more in her belly. Still she crouched there, holding her arms around herself, shuddering, wanting to die because she'd brought death to Linda Cartwright, as she had to that poor old woman standing outside the Metropolitan Museum, as she'd nearly brought death to the governor of New York. She felt him coming up behind her, knew it was Adam.

“Her face—he obliterated her face, Adam, for a sick joke that only he thought was funny. He murdered her and smashed her face so—”

“I know.” Adam fell to his knees behind her, pulling her back against his chest. “I know.”

She felt him begin to rock her, back and forth. “I know, Becca.”

“I'm responsible for her, Adam. If I hadn't shot him, if I hadn't—”

Adam pulled her around to face him. He handed her a handkerchief, waited for her to wipe her mouth, then said, “Now, you will listen up. If you feel any guilt about that poor woman, I'm going to deck you. None of this is your fault. He's the evil one. This guy will do anything to terrorize you, to hear you whimper, beg, plead with him to stop. Anything.”

“He's succeeded.”

“Yeah, you've got to stop that as well. You can't let him crawl under your skin. That means he wins. That means he's got the control, he's got the power. Do you understand me?”

She pulled away from him and began kneading his arms with her hands, not even realizing what she was doing. “It's hard, Adam. I know he's evil. I know there must be a reason he's doing all this, a reason that makes perfect sense to him, but in my gut, it feels like I smashed in that poor woman's face. If only I hadn't fired at him, hit him—”

“Stop it,” he said and shook her good. “Now, here's the bottom line. We're going to leave her as she is in the kitchen and make an anonymous call. No, don't argue.” He lightly tapped his fingers against her mouth. “Listen, I know this is very hard to do, given the fact we're breaking the law and she's not going to get the attention she deserves right away. Even Savich and Sherlock are having a real problem with it.

“Even though they're part of the highest police force in the land, they realize that nothing good would be served if the world suddenly found out that you're here and you're up to your ears in another murder. The cops and the Feds would fight to see who could hold you and question you. On the other hand, you'd be protected, and that's something, but not enough. All of us agree that you would be charged with murder and accessory to murder. It would be a nightmare and it would continue even if they ever let you go. Why? Because he would still be there, waiting, and it would start all over.

“So, Savich and Sherlock have agreed to keep our connection under wraps for a while. He's getting the woman's phone records right now. We'll find out how long he's been here, holding her prisoner. We'll find out who he called besides you. All the guys are going over the house, top to bottom, right now. They're pros. If there's anything to find, they'll find it. If there are fingerprints, and I'm willing to bet there are, they'll pull those up, too. But it's going to take time because we'll have to clean up after ourselves. The last thing we want is to have the police notice some stray fingerprint powder. So we can't call in her murder for another couple of hours.”

“He knew the phone was tapped.”

“Oh, yes, he knew, and that's why he had the surprise all ready for you. He can't be far away now. He's close. Real close. It's possible he's watching all of us right this instant, hiding in the pine trees, but I don't think even he is that reckless. We'll get him, Becca. You have to believe that. He'll pay for what he did to Linda Cartwright.”

She said suddenly, “You're right, Adam, he is watching. Maybe he's a goodly distance away and using binoculars, but I don't think so. I'll bet he's over there, somewhere in those trees, and I think he watched you climb through that window, watched me come out here and puke up my guts. You said he was finally realizing who he is, what he likes, and this is it.”

Her eyes went blank, then she said, “He's seen Tyler and Sam. He knows I'm close to them and doesn't that make them targets, too? What if he goes after them?”

“He could, but I doubt it and here's why. He knows we're not fools. He knows there are a lot of us. He wants you. He's made his point. I can't see him veering off course to kill Tyler or Sam. Why? He wants to nail me, but I'm with you, staying with you, taunting him. That's why he wants me. Now, Dave and Chuck will start looking around here when they finish in the house.”

“He'll be gone by then.”

“Probably.”

“Do you think he killed her in those short minutes between when he called me and all the men got here?”

Adam hesitated, then shook his head. “No, she'd been dead for several hours, at least.”

“But her face, Adam, her face. It looked—fresh, even though all the blood looked dried and clotted.”

“He did that after he called you, after he realized the phone was tapped. She was already dead, Becca.”

“How did he kill her?”

Adam didn't want to say anything more about it, but he knew she wasn't going to let it go, she couldn't let it go. “He strangled her.”

“Why was there dirt all over her? It was even on her feet, in her hair.” He didn't want to say it but there was no choice. “There was dirt on her because he dug her up to smash her face.” There, it was said, and he thought she was going to vomit again. She closed her eyes, her arms fell to her sides, and her head dropped forward against his chest. But she didn't vomit, she cried, making no sound at all, just cried, her hands fists against his Kevlar vest.

He squeezed her hard. “I swear I'll get him, I swear it.”

She said nothing for a very long time. His knees were starting to hurt when she finally whispered against his neck, “Not if I can get him first.” She shuddered, then he felt her stiffen and slowly, slowly pull back from him. She said, “He was through with her, probably planning on leaving here, and so he killed her and buried her and then decided it would be fun to play this big joke on me.”

“Yeah, that's about the size of it.”

“He's still here, Adam. He's close. I can feel him. It's like something very black and heavy crawling over my skin.”

He said nothing.

“But why? I don't understand why he picked me. Why is he doing this to me?”

Again, Adam said nothing, but he thought,
If Krimakov is really dead, then there isn't a motive, and I don't have the foggiest idea, either, why he picked you.

 

BECCA couldn't get Linda Cartwright out of her mind. She kept picturing her, lying there, her face smashed, and no one to take care of her for hour upon hour.

Sherlock handed her a cup of coffee, steam rising from the mug like cigarette smoke. “You only slept a couple of hours, Becca. Here, drink this.”

“None of us slept for more than a couple of hours,” Becca said. “Where are Adam and Savich?”

“Adam is out talking to Dave and Chuck. They took over outside patrol. He's going to get some other people here, some of his own people, to free up these guys.”

“Maybe Hatch is coming.” At Sherlock's raised eyebrow, Becca added, “I heard Adam talking to him on the phone. Yeah, I was eavesdropping, so Adam had to tell me. He said Hatch speaks six languages, has lots of contacts, is really smart, and smokes. Adam is always trying to get him to stop smoking by threatening to fire him.”

Sherlock laughed and lifted her mug to toast Becca's. “I want to meet this guy. If he dares to light up a cigarette, Savich won't threaten to fire him, he'll take his head off.”

“So Adam doesn't work for Thomas?”

“No, not now. They've been friends for a very long time. Adam is sort of like a son to Thomas. No, I won't tell you any more about him.”

Becca didn't say anything.

“Listen, Becca, it doesn't matter. Right now, my husband is concerned that the local cops won't be able to do a thing about Linda Cartwright because they're going in completely blind. But we agreed this is the way we'll play it for a while. The cops have been there for a while now, Becca. They're taking care of her. But they won't be able to figure anything out because we're holding back. That really sticks in everyone's craw, probably always will.”

“Sherlock, do you know who Krimakov is?”

Sherlock couldn't help it, her eyes gave her away before she could pull down the automatic blinders, and she wanted to kick herself. She shrugged. “Yes, I know. But it would have to be his ghost who killed Linda Cartwright. Evidently, Thomas got information that he was killed in an auto accident a short time ago in Crete, where he supposedly lived. So it's all academic. If he's dead, then he can't have anything to do with this.”

“And Thomas has double-checked that this guy is really dead?”

“I would assume so.”

“If this Krimakov were alive, and he were behind this terror, why would he be doing it to me in particular? He's what—Russian? What could he possibly have against me? Why would Thomas think it was him?”

“I don't know,” Sherlock said, lying cleanly now because she'd had time to slip her mask into place.

“Who is Thomas, Sherlock? Please, you've got to tell me.”

“Forget him, Becca,” she said over her shoulder. “Drop it. Give it time. Now, I want some more coffee. Can I make you some toast or something?”

“No, nothing.”
Who was this Thomas person? Why all the secrecy?
It made no sense to her. She looked over at the single telephone. It was nearly nine o'clock on Thursday morning. Nothing from him. Maybe he was scared now, maybe he knew they were getting close, maybe he would go away. Still, she sat there staring at that black phone like it was a snake about to bite her.

The last person any of them wanted to see arrived midmorning.

“The door looks good,” Sheriff Gaffney said when Becca opened it. “What with all this mess, I didn't think you'd worry so much about how your front door looked.”

Becca said, “You never know, do you, Sheriff? Would you like to come in? Is there any news about who the skeleton is?”

“Yeah, I'd like to talk to you a moment, Ms. Powell. I believe now that the skeleton that fell out of your basement wall is Melissa Katzen.” He rubbed his forehead. “I didn't think old Jacob was that vicious. Bashing a young girl in the face—now that isn't right.”

“Sheriff,” Adam said, coming up behind Becca, “I was thinking about that. You said she was supposed to elope. Any leads on her boyfriend?”

“Nope, nobody remembers her ever dating. Isn't that weird? Why would she keep it secret? That doesn't make any sense to me or to my wife, Maude. She thinks that a young girl would be really proud to show off a boyfriend.”

“Maybe the boyfriend didn't want her to show him off,” Becca said. “Maybe he told her to keep quiet.”

“But why?”

“I don't know, Sheriff. I wish I did.”

“Rachel Ryan remembers her, said she was really nice, nothing new there. She also said that Melissa didn't ever dress in sexy clothes. She was surprised when I told her about the Calvin Klein jeans and that skimpy pink top. She couldn't remember Melissa ever wearing anything suggestive. Maybe you're right, Ms. Powell. Maybe it was her boyfriend. But you know? I can see a cute young girl waltzing over into Jacob Marley's yard, him seeing her and getting all het up. Did he smash her?”

Becca said, “Maybe she was off to meet her boyfriend and coming into Jacob Marley's yard was a shortcut.”

“Ain't no shortcut to anywhere,” said Sheriff Gaffney. “The back of the Marley property trails off into thick woods and finally stops at the ocean.”

“Maybe,” Sherlock said, “the jeans and top were her cute traveling clothes. Maybe she did intend to elope, maybe she decided at the last minute that she didn't want to and this boy got mad and killed her.”

Sheriff Gaffney said slowly, “Who are you?”

“Oh, sorry, Sheriff,” Adam said. “Sherlock and Savich here are friends of mine. They stopped in for a while to visit the town.”

“Nice to meet you, ma'am. Now, that's not a bad idea. I guess I'd have to say that for a woman you deduced that real logically, probably better than most other women.”

Savich, who heard that, wondered if Sherlock was going to take a flying leap at the sheriff's throat.

“Yeah,” Sherlock said thoughtfully, “I'm a lot better than poor Becca here, who can barely find her way to the Food Fort without some guy explaining the poisonous plant streets to her.”

“That was sarcasm,” Sheriff Gaffney said after a moment. “I know that was sarcasm. I've never believed women should have smart mouths.”

Before Sherlock could leap on the sheriff, Adam said, “Are there DNA tests being done?”

The sheriff shook his head. “Still trying to track down her father. No luck yet. Mrs. Ella remembers an aunt, lives in Bangor now. Maybe she read about the skeleton and was the one who made the anonymous call. I've got to track her down.” Sheriff Gaffney sighed and patted the gun at his wide leather belt that was really cutting into his gut today. “But we can't count on the skeleton being Melissa, even though I've made up my mind that it is, so we're looking into other things as well.” Sheriff Gaffney leaned his considerable weight back on his heels. “Now, folks, the reason I'm here is to ask about these guys I've seen on and off around Riptide. No, don't lie to me. I know they're with you, Mr. Savich. Would you like to tell me what's going on?”