Breaker's Reef (8 page)

Blair sneezed. “You know, you should dust these shelves more often. I’m getting a sore throat just standing here.”

“We dust plenty, thank you very much.”

“Hey, don’t jump on me. I’m just suggesting—”

“I don’t
need
your suggestions.”

Blair took the books, uttered a syrupy sweet good-bye, and made her way back out to Cade’s car. He got out and relieved her of the load. “Why so many? I only wanted one.”

“I thought it might be helpful to look at his other murder scenes. Plus, I took a little pleasure in aggravating Sue Ellen. That woman makes me forget the Golden Rule.”

“Uh-oh.
She
was working?”

“If you want to call it that. She has a limit of ten books now.” She smiled. “I got twelve.”

Cade tried not to grin. She knew he didn’t want to encourage her.

McCormick was pulling back into the department parking lot when they got back. They went in and looked up the scene Sheila had mentioned.

Cade read it aloud. “It is very similar.”

Joe took the book and scanned the scene. “So the question is whether Marcus Gibson is involved in the murder.”

“That would be pretty stupid,” Cade said. “Why would he describe the murders to a tee, then perpetrate them in real life, and think he’d get away with it?”

Blair shrugged. “Maybe he’s just crazy. Sheila thinks so.”

“Or maybe it’s a copycat crime.”

“I still say we need to dig into Gibson’s life, see what we can find out,” McCormick said. “Put him under surveillance. Especially if he was sleeping in the woods on the same night the Lawrence girl was murdered.”

Cade nodded. “You’re right. We can’t ignore the obvious. But meanwhile, we need to read this whole book and see if there are any other similarities. Whether he’s our man or not, we might get some insight into what really happened.”

C
ade used his new computer system to gather all the information he needed on Gibson in a matter of minutes. The man had no criminal background. Before his work had hit the
New York Times
bestseller list, he’d worked as an English professor for a small college in Maine. He’d started out with a couple of short, literary novels. Critics had hated them. One review called his books “complicated to the point of being obscure.” Another one wrote that the “depth of his thoughts, and the convoluted concepts therein, came off as superficial and shallow—the pompous efforts of a man who thinks more highly of his intellect than he should.”

In articles about Gibson’s life, old colleagues and former students commented that he had taken those reviews hard and stolen around campus with a bitter, distant look on his face. He’d been described as a man “tormented by his own misunderstood genius.”

Then one day he decided to do what his colleagues disdained, and “sold out” by writing a crime novel. But not
just any crime novel. This was from the point of view of the killer, a dark, macabre look at the inner workings of a murderer. He sold it to a new publisher, who heavily promoted it with a major ad campaign months before its release and booked him for a twenty-city tour. The novel debuted at number one on the
New York Times
list. He subsequently signed a multibook contract for millions and quit his job, ignoring the turned-up noses of his fellow academicians, who accused him of writing drivel for the masses.

Since that time, he’d been a virtual loner, by all accounts. He’d never married, and reports said that he did meticulous research on every book, even to the point of living as a homeless person on the streets of Atlanta’s inner city for months at a time.

Cade found a death certificate for Gibson’s father, who had died two months after Gibson’s birth. His mother, who’d also worked as an English professor, raised him alone. He had very little contact with her now.

“Excuse me, Chief?”

Cade looked up to see Scott Crown leaning in his doorway. “Yeah, Crown. What is it?”

He came in. “Here’s the paperwork you asked for. I’m knocking off now. I switched shifts with Bruce.”

“Okay, see you tomorrow night.”

Scott glanced down at the books all over Cade’s desk. “You a Gibson fan?”

Cade shook his head. “No, not really. You?”

“Yeah, I’ve read almost everything he’s written.”

Cade turned from his computer and looked up at the young man. “Did you notice that the victim in
Crescent Hill
was killed and disposed of exactly the same way that Emily Lawrence was?”

Crown picked up that book and paged through it. “Now that you mention it …”

Maybe this was a chance for the kid to redeem himself. “I want you to do me a favor, Crown. Can you spare another hour or so?”

“Sure. I have a date tonight, but I have some time left.”

Cade didn’t tell him he knew who his date was with. “Since you’ve read all these, could you give me a rundown on the plots,
paying careful attention to the way the murders are committed, who is killed, the motive, that sort of thing?”

“Sure. I’ll just need to refresh my memory on some of them, but it shouldn’t be too hard. Is this part of the homicide investigation?”

“Could be.”

Crown’s eyes widened. “Then you think Marcus Gibson may be our killer?”

Cade didn’t want to go that far. “I didn’t say that. Maybe it’s a copycat. Just in case, though, we’re putting him under surveillance. He has some odd habits. The night of the murder we know he spent the night in the woods.”

“Can’t they bring him in, before he kills anybody else?”

“Nope.” Cade rubbed his eyes. “Until we gather enough evidence for probable cause, we’ll just be watching him to make sure he stays out of trouble.”

Scott stacked all the books from Cade’s desk. “I’ll get right to work on this, Chief. I’ll have it to you before I leave.”

Before Scott left his office, Alex Johnson leaned in. “Cade, you got a minute?”

“Sure, whatcha got?”

“The state just faxed this over. It’s the initial ballistics report on Emily Lawrence.”

Cade took the report and read about the bullet lodged in Emily’s chest. It was from a .40 caliber Glock—the same weapon he carried.

Crown stood there, holding the books and watching Cade read. Ignoring him, Cade turned to his computer, pulled up his database on registered weaponry, and typed in Gibson’s name. One entry came up.

He sat back hard in his chair. “Marcus Gibson owns a .40 caliber Glock.”

Crown balanced the books under his arm. “That the probable cause you need?”

“Not yet. But if I could get that gun, then we could match it to the bullet. If there was a match, it would be a slam dunk. But
to get the gun, we’ll need a search warrant, and the DA won’t issue it
until
we show probable cause.”

“Kind of a vicious cycle, huh? Maybe you could just question him and ask for the gun.”

Cade’s phone rang, and he heard someone in the outer room answering, then Alex came back to the door. “For you, Chief.”

Cade picked up the phone. “Chief Cade.”

“Hello, Cade. I hope life is well for you today.” He recognized the Pakistani accent of Zaheer, the jeweler in town.

“It is, Zaheer. How about you?”

“Very, very good,” the man said. “And I wanted to tell you that the ring is ready. It is quite radiant, if I do say so myself.”

Cade glanced up at Crown, wishing he’d leave. “Thank you. I wonder if you could do one further thing for me.”

“For you, anything.”

Crown kept standing there, straining to see the report. Cade put his hand over the receiver. “Close the door on your way out, will you?”

Crown nodded and, since his hands were full, pulled the door closed with his foot. It didn’t close all the way, but it would do.

Cade lowered his voice. “Could you somehow put it in an oyster shell?”

“An oyster shell?”

Cade knew the jeweler thought he was crazy. He glanced at the doorway again. “It’s part of my plan, Zaheer. I was thinking that I might take her snorkeling at Breaker’s Reef Grotto. It’s one of our favorite places. I wanted her to find it there, in the cavern.”

A deep, low rumble of laughter rolled in the Pakistani’s throat. “Ah, very romantic. Yes, I will see what I can find. I enjoy being your confidant in this matter. I will call you as soon as it is ready.”

Cade hung up the phone and sat staring at it for a moment. He hoped he wasn’t jumping the gun. Marriage was something he and Blair had not yet discussed. All he knew was that she was the one he wanted to wake up next to every morning for the rest of his life. And he didn’t see any reason to put that off any longer.

He only hoped Zaheer could keep a secret.

E
mily’s funeral service was both tragic and celebratory, a memorial to her life even as the mourners wept over the suddenness of her death. Her family stood strong from eulogy to burial, breaking Sadie’s heart with their courage and faith.

As the graveside service broke up, Sadie saw her friend Matt, standing across the crowd. He’d been crying, as she had, and somehow that moved her.

“Hey, Matt,” she said softly as he came toward her.

He reached down and gave her a hug, something he’d never done before. She suddenly felt close to him, bound by a common thread.

“You going to the prayer service the youth are giving?” she asked when he let her go.

He glanced in the direction most of the students were heading, into the church next to the cemetery. “Am I too old?”

“Of course not. It’s for anyone who wants to come.”

“Okay, I guess I will.”

He walked with her into the big room where the youth held their Bible studies, and they took seats near the back. As the kids quietly filed in, talking in low voices, Matt leaned his elbows on his knees and closed his eyes, shaking his head. “This is horrible. Her death is so senseless. I can’t even believe it. What could he have been thinking?”

“Who?” she asked.

“The one who did this. She was just a kid. She never hurt anybody.”

She saw the tears in his eyes behind his glasses, and she touched his back. Slowly, he sat back up, took her hand, and held it in his. He looked down at it, as if contemplating it. “Sorry. I’m just having a hard time with this.”

“Me too.”

He drew in a deep, ragged breath and let her hand go. Taking off his glasses, he rubbed his eyes. “I’m so angry I don’t know what to do.”

“At who?”

He shrugged, shoved the glasses back on. “God, maybe. He should have protected her. Watched over her.”

Sadie didn’t know what to say to that, but his honesty and openness made her feel closer to him than ever before. She almost wished she didn’t have a date after the service. Maybe she would have been able to hang out with him and talk the anger through.

The prayer service started with the Mercy Me song “I Can Only Imagine,” sung by the guitar-playing youth minister. The kids around her closed their eyes in tearful worship. Sadie did the same.

After the song, the microphone was open, and one by one, Emily’s friends came up to share personal stories about the girl whose personality had never shone more brightly. With each successive story, the sadness lifted, and tears turned to laughter. It was good to see teens who didn’t know Christ being touched by Emily’s life as well as her death. It helped, knowing God might, indeed, have a purpose for it and a plan to reap a harvest from the sleep of one of his beloved children.

As Sadie left the church after the service, the burden of Emily’s death became lighter. Matt still seemed down, but his tears had dried. He followed her out into the church’s foyer.

“Hey, you want to go somewhere and talk?”

She looked up at him. “I wish I could. I really do. But I’m meeting somebody.”

“Oh.” He nodded, looking almost embarrassed. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around then.”

“Maybe tomorrow? I do want to talk to you.”

He softened then, and met her eyes. His were a soft brown behind those glasses. A slow smile worked itself into them. “Okay. I have class and have to work at the florist, but I’ll call you if I can get some time free. Will Morgan and Jonathan let you talk to me?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t they?”

“I’ve just heard they’re pretty strict. And me being a college guy … That’s kind of why I haven’t suggested it before now.”

“I think it’ll be okay.”

She followed him out of the church and watched him walk to the parking lot. Scott Crown was already waiting for her in his little Toyota, idling on the street out front. She hoped this was worth it.

The radio was playing a rap song too loudly for her mood, but thankfully, he turned it down as she got in.

“Hey.”

He studied her face. “You okay?”

“Yeah. The service was actually nice. I’m glad I went.”

“Good. I thought we’d go get a hamburger. Hungry?”

“Yeah, I am. That’ll be great.”

As he drove, she realized he looked like a teenager who’d just walked out of algebra class, instead of a full-fledged police officer.

He wore that teasing grin that he’d worn in high school when he strolled down the corridor, keenly aware that he could have dated any of the dreamy-eyed girls who spoke to him. And he’d dated quite a few.

He took her to Beach Bums, a hamburger joint on the water, where the beachcombers hung out and where a lot of the high
school kids usually congregated in the parking lot each night. Since most of the kids had been at the service, the place was relatively empty. Scott chose a table by the window with an ocean view, and though the sun wasn’t visible as it set in the west, its hues filled the sky in a watercolor pallet, lending an air of romance to the night.

Scott smiled at her. “I’m glad you came out with me. I was afraid you might not, since I’m out of school and all. Did your mom give you any trouble?”

“No, but the age thing did come up, until I reminded them that you’re only a year older.”

“Hard to believe you have another whole year of school left,” he said as he bit into his burger. “You ever feel like quitting? Since you have a job and all?”