Dreamscape (4 page)

Jackson nodded in agreement. “The pathologist thought the killer had done this to wash away any evidence that might have been found. The curious finding was the pathologist felt the body had been soaked in the ocean, washing away any trace amount of evidence. There had been no fluids in her vagina; no evidence of rape. The girl’s face had numerous slashes that left her unrecognizable.”

Thorpe dropped the file back on his desk. “Not a nice guy. Anger issues.”

“And all the tips that have come in haven’t turned up any leads?”

“Nowhere. I’ve gone over it a dozen times. I’ll take you back down to the beach. I’ve gone over it and over it. Feel like we’re missing something, but we can’t come up with what it is.”

“To be honest with you, Chief Thorpe, I’ve read the report. The beach chair had been stolen off a back porch of one of the beach houses. The team of investigators searched around every house on the row, even searching in a couple. They’d borrowed dogs to come in. Nothing turned up.”

Thorpe hesitated, questioned whether he liked Agent Dunn’s tone. He pushed his chair back before answering. “I feel the murderer knew the area well and he knew exactly what he was doing all too well. And, Agent Dunn, I figured he’d committed the crime before.”

“And what do we know about the victim?”

“Annie Crandell was a college student who had taken the waitressing job on the Cape to enjoy her last summer before graduating the following year. She was going to be a teacher. Her background didn’t produce any red flags. The only daughter of a family that included three brothers.”

“No abusive boyfriend?”

Thorpe shook his head. “No. According to her mother, Annie didn’t have a steady boyfriend. There had been no history of any abusive boyfriends either. No history of drug abuse or sleeping around to give us any likely suspects, but I believe the killer picked his victim for a reason.”

“Clues?”

Thorpe shrugged. “Only the items at the scene. Not much more. Maybe some sick message, or maybe they mean nothing? Left to throw us off.”

Thorpe evaluated the man sitting in front of him. Late twenties, thick dark brown hair, dark eyes, his light skin bringing the conclusion he had mixed-race blood. His accent had been hard to assess at first; most probably Southern. His attitude, Thorpe didn’t know where he got that. Jackson hadn’t allowed his guard down, basically a hard man to read.

Agent Dunn gave a knowing grin. Thorpe knew Dunn was aware what Thorpe thought.

Thorpe fumbled through his papers, pulled out his personal notebook and his car keys. The need to get out of his office plagued him. “Got a list in here. We can start right now.”

* * * *

Thorpe took Agent Jackson Dunn down to the beach. They stepped over the path of the scene one more time. Thorpe gave Jackson a list of beach house owners and the renters at the time of the killing. Thorpe had already looked into that aspect, even at a list of repeat renters from year to year.

“How do you think the killer got the body on the beach without notice?” Jackson asked.

Thorpe eyed Jackson. “I’ve been thinking he used a boat, could have been a row boat or motor boat. Turned off the motor and paddled in. Would explain why no one heard a strange car and why we haven’t found anything on any of the house occupants. But the killer knew the area. Perfect place to dump a body. A small cove. But almost impossible to trace if he did use a boat.”

“You know, Thorpe, I like you and the way you think. Exactly what I’d concluded. Believe it’s consistent with the others,” Jackson said.

Thorpe, not certain if he liked Jackson’s tactics, felt he’d been given a test to pass. He wondered if the kid considered him competent.

Jackson and Thorpe finished the day interviewing Annie’s roommate. She’d been interviewed several times, but Jackson wanted one more. Marsha Taylor, a quiet girl, visibly shaken from her roommate’s death, looked anxious. They’d caught her while she packed to leave. Her father and boyfriend had come to help, determined not to let her stay another night in her apartment by herself.

“Only a few more questions, Marsha,” Thorpe assured the young woman. “Your father and friend can stay. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

“You’re sure that Annie didn’t say anything, anything at all about anyone that might have had an interest in her?” Jackson questioned Marsha with a different approach than he’d used on Thorpe. Jackson charmed the girl with his smile and quickly put her at ease.

“No. She would’ve told me. The only thing she mentioned was an older guy—a customer in Chieftains—talking to her about her family. She did say he’d come back in a couple of times,” Marsha said, her voice just above a whisper. Her boyfriend sat beside her holding her hands.

Thorpe and Jackson exchanged looks.

“What exactly did Annie say about the guy?” Thorpe asked.

“Nothing much. He didn’t express any interest in her romantically, if that’s what you’re getting at. All she said was there was this older guy who had come in alone. He said his family had gone visiting his wife’s mother and left him alone. They got to talking because the place wasn’t busy.” Marsha stopped. Her voice rose. “Do you think it was that guy?”

Jackson lightly shook his head. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out. Anything you can think of can help us.”

Marsha looked at her boyfriend before continuing. “Annie told me he missed his daughter. I believe she said he’d told her she was just a little younger than Annie, in high school maybe, or junior high at the most. He always worried something would happen to her. A lot of freaks in the world.”

Tears fell. She sniffled and gulped, trying her best to contain herself.

“Annie said he was more like a father figure. Telling her to be careful. She told him he didn’t have to worry about her. She had three older brothers and an overprotective father. She was well looked after.”

Nothing much came after that. The guy must’ve paid cash. They couldn’t find any credit card receipts that linked anyone of that description. No one down at Chieftain’s remembered the guy. A couple of them did remember Annie talking with a guy about his family and hers, but no one remembered what he looked like. They hadn’t paid enough attention at the time. No one could place him there the night of Annie’s disappearance. By the end of the day, Thorpe and Dunn had more questions than answers.

“This can be so frustrating. Nothing, basically, except for the fact that he falls into our profile. Doesn’t help catching him. How did you catch Richards?” Jackson asked.

Chapter Three

Jeffrey Dills, a large, robust man, had used his intimidating figure to his advantage as an undercover narcotics officer for the Boston Police department for well over twenty-five years. He’d retired six years ago and moved down to Marshfield on the South Shore.

Norah, his wife of over thirty years, loved the ocean: the freedom from the traffic, the hectic schedule. Their children were grown, married, and lived out of state; one in California, the other in Illinois. Jeffrey had taken a part time job at a local hardware store. He loved the water, boats, and most of all, fishing.

Today…today…well, his concentration lay in the midst of an extremely competitive game of rummy. Across the kitchen table, engrossed in the study of her cards and the game situation sat his opponent, all of seven years of age and not in the least intimidated by him.

“Come on, Uncle Jeffrey. It’s your turn,” the child cried. “Of course,” she added as she leaned back in her chair, eyeing him, challenging him, “You probably do need the extra time. You’ve lost the last two out of three.”

At that moment, Jeffrey Dills saw her father, the same eyes, mannerisms. Rick would never be forgotten, not with that little face.

Eight years had past. God, where had the time gone? Young, brass, and Jeffrey’s partner, Rick played and worked like he’d had the world at his feet. Jeffrey had never forgiven himself for not being there that day, but neither had Ramona. He saw it in her eyes, the sadness that overcame her when she thought no one noticed. The day they buried Rick, Jeffrey made a promise to himself to take care of Ramona and her unborn child. Norah and he had.

Norah said plainly, “Ramona has no one. The death of Rick has devastated her. Leila is the only thing she’s clinging to now that Rick’s not here. I don’t know why Ramona has refused contact with Rick’s family; her own family. I don’t know, but I know that I’m not going to turn my back on her. She doesn’t have anyone else.”

The need to protect her daughter shone in Ramona’s eyes. Dills couldn’t say he understood, but he understood enough of what Ramona was capable of. And if she felt the need to hide, he had no right to question her.

Ramona had changed from the happy, eager, naïve girl he’d first met to the woman she was today. Reluctant, reluctant to use her gift, only accessing it when necessary. Lately, something was up. He could tell.

Leila jumped up from the chair when she saw her mother’s car pull in. “You’re lucky! Mom’s here!” Leila said and slung her cards on the table.

Jeffrey stood up and watched Leila skip over to the front door. She opened it, and her mother walked in.

The first time he’d seen Ramona, he’d thought Rick a lucky guy. Not that tall, probably 5’3”, but slender, dark eyes to match her long dark hair. Most of the time Ramona kept it pulled back. He thought she looked younger, happier with it down, but attractive without question.

Should be dating or something, Rick would have wanted her happy, but Ramona seemed content with the way things were. After getting manhandled by her daughter, she turned her attention to Jeffrey.

“You got a minute?” Ramona asked. She released her daughter’s hug, smiling down at her.

“Yeah,” Jeffrey said. “Leila, go tell Aunt Norah Mom’s here.”

Both watched as Leila ran down the hall, yelling to her aunt. The child never did anything quietly. He heard her calling out to his wife.

“So let’s hear it,” Jeffrey said. He turned and faced Ramona.

“Don’t go there, Ramona. Cut the shit! You had me deliver a letter to the FBI, and yes, I was sure they got it, before you ask. Then the next thing you’re updating your will? I’m not stupid!”

Ramona hesitated. “I don’t think it would serve a purpose, Jeffrey. I just need to know Leila will be okay. Is that too much to ask?”

“You know it isn’t, but you don’t want to…,” Jeffrey started but stopped from the expression on Ramona’s face.

Ramona turned away and stared out the window. The temperature had dropped outside. “You know, Jeffrey, I’ve been thinking a lot about that. It might be time.”

Jeffrey paused and didn’t say anything. He stared at her. She stood silently, didn’t look back at him. He wanted to press her, but he’d wait. The past haunted her. The concern he felt before turned to worry.

* * * *

Special Agent Jackson Dunn wasn’t just irritated with the New England weather. Four months had passed since the Beach Front Murder, and they’d moved no closer to finding the killer. Having always prided himself with his fortitude, he patiently waited for the lead to break the case wide open. Now, his patience had worn thin. The task force worked diligently with every lead and clue. They’d come up with nothing—the same as the other murders.

Jackson had ended up working closely with Chief Douglas Thorpe. Jackson had done his research on the Chief of Police. With his history, Jackson found it interesting that Thorpe had wound up in the quiet Cape Cod town. Evaluating the situation, he came to the conclusion it had to be a personal choice. Thorpe was competent with a natural investigative ability. Jackson had wondered more than once if the link he’d come for lay in front of him. If it was there, Thorpe had given him no indication of it.

Physically, Thorpe hadn’t let himself go as some his age might have. Obvious the man worked out. Jackson had run with the guy. He hated to admit that a man ten years his senior maintained a five-minute mile longer than he could. Thorpe had even found him a place to live.

Jackson moved to Roslindale, a suburb of Boston, occupying a two-family house above Thorpe’s aunt Miriam. Miriam, who’d lost her husband and only child within a week of each other eight years previously, lived alone in her huge house. Her son, Rick, died in the line of duty having been stabbed to death by a suspected killer. In his dying moments, he managed to shoot and kill the suspect. At his son’s funeral, Joseph O’Donnell collapsed with a fatal heart attack.

Thorpe didn’t go into details, but his actions clearly showed how protective he felt toward the aunt that helped raise him. Jackson didn’t push for information, didn’t care. The place served his purpose. Besides, Miriam made a nice landlady. She always sent him up leftovers when she cooked. He’d even found her vacuuming his living room. How could he think of complaining in his situation?