Linger: Dying is a Wild Night (A Linger Thriller Book 1) (11 page)

They laughed, relieving the tension, but then Kate got serious again, her little trip into the Twilight Zone still lingering in her brain.

How could it not be?

“While you’re here,” she said, “I need to ask you about something. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

“I think I can make the time.”

K
ATE WANTED TO AVOID THE
employee break room, so they went to the vending machine in the hallway. She dropped some coins, waited for the cup to fill, then handed it to Rusty, who took one sip and promptly deposited it in a nearby trash can.

“Now I know why I never bought that pig’s wash. Why don’t we go up to the chapel so I can catch a smoke instead?”

Kate thought about Christopher still waiting in her office, but figured Dan could stay with him for awhile. They hit the stairwell and wound their way up three flights of stairs to the roof of the building, which everyone in the department called the chapel. It was empty up here, giving them privacy, along with a much better view of the city and the Pacific beyond.

Kate hadn’t been outside in hours and the sun felt good on her face.

As Rusty dug a pack of Winstons from his shirt pocket and lit one up, she said, “What do you know about my mother’s murder?”

Rusty paused and blew out smoke. “Is
that
what the tears were about?”

“You were with the department when it happened.”

“I was. But I was junior at the time.”

“Tell me what you know.”

Rusty contemplated the tip of his cigarette, flicked away some ash. “What I know is next to nothing. It wasn’t my case and I never even went to the crime scene.”

“Do you know anything about the witnesses?”

“Just that there were two. Couple of security guards. My partner and I transported one of them, brought him in from his apartment for a follow-up interview. That was my only involvement.”

“Which security guard? What was his name?”

“Hell, I don’t remember. Bonham. Donner. Something like that. The guy who found her. Kate, I understand your curiosity, but are you sure you wanna be opening this particular wound?”

“What can you tell me about him? What kind of guy was he?”

Rusty took a drag and shrugged. “He didn’t talk much. And he was big. I remember thinking that when we escorted him to the cruiser. Twenty-two, three, somewhere around there. Of course, I could be confusing him with someone else. They all blend together after awhile.”

“Any idea what happened to him after the follow-up?”

“Where are you going with this? You thinking this guy might be good for your mom’s murder?”

“It’s a possibility.”

“And what led you to this conclusion?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“You’d be surprised what I might believe. I’ve pretty much seen it all.”

“It’s nothing. Just me hypothesizing. Wondering how long the guy had been working at Sandy Point when he found her body and how long he stuck around afterwards.”

Rusty shrugged. “Wish I could help you, but I can’t. If I’m remembering right, the lead investigator on the case was Harry Metzler, but he’s been dead for years. I’m guessing he followed standard protocol, looked into both guards and didn’t find any ties to your mother. You talk to your dad about this?”

“Not a chance. The subject’s off limits with him.”

“Did you check the file?”

“That’s my next stop. What about your partner? The one who went with you. Is he still around?”

Rusty shook his head. “Name was Abernathy. Good man, but he had his share of problems. Started acting up shortly after that.”

“In what way?”

“He got busted for forcibly sodomizing a hooker and wound up eating his own gun.”

“Jesus,” Kate said.

Rusty took another long drag. “That’s the problem with this job. You stick around long enough, see the things we see, it’s like a virus. Some people have a natural immunity and some people get eaten alive.” He dropped the half smoked cigarette to the rooftop, stamped it out and smiled. “And some people buy a plane ticket to Amsterdam.”

W
ESTON WAS DOZING IN HIS CHAIR
when the door opened and Lieutenant Messenger brought Christopher into the interview room.

This was a surprise. What was she planning now?

But as he shook himself alert, he noted almost immediately that the lieutenant’s demeanor had softened somewhat.

“I’m cutting you loose,” she said. “Both of you.”

Even more of a surprise. “What?”

She came over to unlock his cuffs and he saw a vague but discernible uneasiness in her eyes, as if she hadn’t quite found her footing after a bad spill. She seemed unsure of herself but was trying to hide it.

“What changed your mind?” he asked.

“I don’t see any point in holding you anymore. You were right. The doctor who examined Christopher says there’s no evidence he’s been mistreated—not lately, anyway—and I’m willing to cut you some slack on the trespassing and obstruction beefs.”

She unhooked him and Weston rubbed his wrists, wondering what was going on here. An hour ago she had practically called him a murderer and child molester.

“What are you not telling me?”

She paused, and in that moment seemed to regain some of her balance. “There’s a condition to your release.”

Ah. So there it was. “Which is?”

“You let me buy you some lunch.”

“What?”

“I’m sure Christopher’s hungry, and you and I have a lot to talk about.”

This didn’t make any sense. What could they possibly have to talk about that hadn’t already been discussed? Unless…

He looked at Christopher. “What did you tell her?”

“It was more show than tell,” she said.

Weston understood what that meant, and it explained her initial uneasiness. He’d felt the same way the first time the boy had opened up to him.

But why? Why would he tell her anything? They had talked about this numerous times, and had agreed it was best to keep a low profile. Sharing his gift with a stranger—a stranger who was a cop no less—was dangerous business.

Weston waited for Chris to chime in, but got nothing from him. He was gone, in the haze, wandering in whatever playground waited for him there.

“What did he show you?”

“That’s what we need to talk about.”

“And if I refuse?”

She held up the cuffs. “Forty-eight hours, remember?”

H
E ORDERED CHRISTOPHER A BOWL
of chili—one of his favorites—but it was doubtful he’d even touch it. They sat at a table at the back of a small diner across from the police department, the boy rocking quietly and getting more than a few stares.

When they had first stepped inside, Weston had looked around, saw tables full of police officers and wondered if this place was the best choice to be having this particular conversation. If the lieutenant wanted to talk about the things Chris had shown her, it might’ve been wise to find someplace a little more private.

But she didn’t look concerned. Every bit of her trepidation had vanished and her focus seemed to be limited to the three of them. And after they finished ordering (hers a terse demand for black coffee), she pulled Weston’s sketchpad out of her handbag and placed it on the table.

“Explain this to me.”

“Didn’t we already have this discussion?”

“I wouldn’t characterize anything we’ve had as a discussion. So please do me a favor and quit avoiding my questions.”

“Seems to me you’ve already answered a lot of them yourself.” He nodded to the boy. “With Christopher’s help, of course.”

She tapped the sketch pad. “You told me earlier that people wouldn’t envy your talent if they knew why you drew these. So why did you? Do they come from him?”

“You already know they do.”

“All I know is that something happened to me today that I can’t explain. Something Christopher did. And I’m just trying to figure it out.”

“And what’ll happen when you do?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m in uncharted territory here.”

She flipped open the sketch pad, found a specific page, then jabbed a finger at one of the drawings.

It was a sketch of the tattoo on the Beast’s forearm.

“I assume this came from Christopher, too?”

“Why do you keep asking me things you already know?”

She tapped the drawing. “What does it mean?”

“It’s called a circumpunct. A circle with a dot—or bindu—at its center. Its meaning could be any number of things, but one of the most common beliefs is that it represents God.”

“How long ago did you draw it?”

He shrugged. “It’s been a few months now.”

“And where did it come from? From Christopher’s memory? Because I’m assuming he was a victim of this man.”

Weston stared at her. “You really don’t know how this works, do you?”

“How it works?” Her eyes were a little wild. “I don’t even know what
this
is
. What the hell is happening?”

He watched her for a moment, almost feeling sorry for her. The first time Chris had reached out to him, he’d felt that same sense of confusion. The same disbelief. “Let me ask
you
a question instead. What exactly did Chris show you?”

She breathed deep, settled herself, and pointed to the sketch again. “A man with a tattoo just like this. Only it wasn’t a photograph or a drawing.”

“Then what was it?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “Like a vision or a dream. Only it felt real. Like I was stuck inside him.”

“Inside Chris?”

She shook her head. “The man with the tattoo.”

Weston hesitated. This was something new. “I don’t get it. What are you saying?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. When Christopher did whatever it is he does, I felt as if I was trapped inside this man’s body. He had just killed a woman and was about to cut out her tongue.”

Weston felt a chill. All he’d ever gotten from Chris were the sketches. “Where did this happen?”

“In my office.”

“No, in the vision. Where were you?”

“In an alleyway behind the Sandy Point Mall.” She paused. “In nineteen ninety-five.”

“
What?
”

“The woman I saw has been dead for nearly two decades.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because she was my mother.”

This stopped Weston cold.

The deepest he’d ever seen Christopher go was days, not years. And certainly not two decades. But if what she said was true, then her mother may have been one of the Beast’s first victims.

Weston watched Christopher rock in his chair, wishing the boy would snap out of it. He thought about the last few days and Chris’s insistence that they leave Reno and head for Santa Flora—even though the crime at the Branford house seemed to have nothing to do with the Beast. Then there was the near meltdown when Weston wanted to ditch the Rambler and disappear. The shouting that had nearly made his head explode.

Had Chris been planning this encounter all along? Had going to that house been nothing more than subterfuge, designed to bring about a meeting with Lieutenant Kate Messenger?

That would explain the stop they’d made before heading into Oak Grove.

“We’ve been in that alley, too,” Weston said.

“When?”

“Yesterday afternoon. I wasn’t sure why Chris wanted to go there and he wouldn’t tell me.”

“I know how that feels.”

Weston ignored the remark. “I thought it was just a mistake. He makes them sometimes. But I can see now he had a very specific reason for going there. He must’ve seen something earlier that lead him to—”

Kate raised a hand. “Slow down a minute. You just told me I don’t know how this works and you’re right, I don’t. So why don’t you back up a bit and explain it to me?”

“I don’t know anything about visions or dreams. That’s never happened before. Not to me, at least.” He patted the sketch pad. “This is as far as it’s ever gotten.”

“So tell me what you
do
know. Tell me about this… gathering thing.”

He studied her again, still not sure he could trust her. Was this all some elaborate ruse to get him to confess to some kind of crime?

But if that were true, how could she possibly know what the boy was capable of?

How would she know any of this?

Before he could respond, the waitress came back with their order—Christopher’s chili, the lieutenant’s coffee, and an egg salad sandwich for Weston.

Weston hoped the smell of the chili would bring Chris out of the haze, but Chris continued to rock, oblivious to everything and everyone around him.

Weston released a long breath and turned to the lieutenant.

“This is how it works,” he said.

“E
VERY CRIME SCENE HAS A
smell. A look. A trail of DNA. But I guess you know that better than I do.”

Kate nodded, but said nothing. She was trying her best to hide it, but she still felt unsettled and queasy.

“What you don’t know,” Weston continued, “is that it also has a feel. A kind of… emotional residue.”

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“It’s like the smell of rotting garbage that lingers in a room after the trash has been taken out. When someone commits a crime, there are a lot of emotions involved. Terror. Anxiety. Anger. Surprise. Grief. A kind of chaotic stew that envelops both the victims and the perpetrator and stays behind long after they’re gone.” He paused, glanced at Christopher. “Apparently a lot longer than I thought.”

“This sounds like something out of a movie.”

“Believe me, sometimes I wish it were, but I’ve seen and felt its power. And if what you’re telling me is true, so have you.”

Kate thought about that alleyway and felt the room sway. She steadied herself. “I take it Christopher has found some way to tap into this residue?”

“Don’t ask me how, but yes. What you saw him doing in the Branford living room was what he calls gathering. He soaks in whatever’s still lingering in the room—the feelings and even some of the memories of the people involved.”

Kate gestured to the sketchpad. “Which he sends to you.”