Shattered (24 page)

He could feel both pairs of eyes on him, but whether they held doubt or relief he didn't know and did not care. In a moment, Long said, “I dispatched officers to check the water tower and the airport tower just in case, and we're in the process of examining all the observation towers and platforms on the island. So far, all are negative.”

Guy nodded, and turned back to them. Kelly was alive. That was all that mattered.

Laura returned the necklace to the deputy. Her face was strained and her tone reluctant. She said, “If three girls wore this necklace and two of them are dead, and if the man who attacked me used the same kind of necklace, or at least the leather from one—”

Guy said sharply, “It's too soon to jump to conclusions.” To Long he said, “You should interview the Littles. Here's their address and phone number.”

He produced a slip of paper which Long took with a nod. “I already talked to the sheriff's department over there today. I was going to interview the parents.”

“Make it a priority,” Guy suggested, and ignored the challenging look Long gave him.

Laura said, “Then I guess we're supposed to think that the man who attacked me tonight was the same one who's been kidnapping and— killing these young girls? And that he's the one who's making these phone calls and threatening Guy? The rapist who just got out of prison?”

Long glanced at her almost apologetically. “It looks that way, ma'am.”

Laura frowned a little. “I don't understand why he would have someone pretend to be Kelly, then this Tanya Little person.”

“Possibly because he wanted us to find out Tanya Little was dead. Another terrorist tactic.”

“But he never used the name Mickie Anderson,” Laura pointed out. “If he wanted to make a point, or scare someone, that would be the name to use—everyone knows it today.”

“But they didn't know it when all this began,” Long pointed out. “And how could he be sure her body would be found so soon—if he meant for it to be found at all?”

“I suppose,” Laura said wearily. “It just—well, it just doesn't make sense.”

“Criminal behavior rarely does,” Long said.

“But he knew Carol,” Laura insisted. “The way he said her name—it was as though he knew her.”

“He's been stalking her for weeks,” Long explained. “He was in her house, who knows for how long, or if that was even the first time. It's not unusual for a stalker to form a personal relationship with his victim, to feel as though he knows her.”

Laura rubbed the mark on her neck gingerly. “I thought it was Guy he was after.”

Long said, “I don't think there's any reason for you to worry, Ms. Capstone. Your involvement was purely accidental, and the fact that he let you get away tonight proves he's not interested in hurting you.”

Laura let her fingers rest on her collarbone, just below the mark of the garrote. “I'm glad to hear that.”

Long looked at Guy. “I think it would be better, Mr. Dennison, if you left the investigation of this case to me from now on.”

Guy looked as though he was about answer sharply, then tightened his lips and said only, “Just catch the son of a bitch, will you?”

“We're doing our best, Mr. Dennison.” He nodded at Laura. “Try not to worry, Ms. Capstone. We'll call you if we need any more information. In the meantime, just—try not to worry.”

Laura stood to walk him to the door. “Thanks for your help, Deputy. And like the man said— just catch the s.o.b., will you?”

Carol returned with the tea just as the door was closing behind the deputy. She began setting out cups and saucers with a grim efficacy that was belied by the fact that her hands were shaking so badly that the china was in danger of becoming chipped. Laura came over to her.

“Carol, leave it,” she said, laying a hand upon her arm. “It's been a rough day for both of us.”

Carol stopped fussing with the cups and straightened up, but she didn't turn around. “You could have been killed,” she said in an odd, tight voice. “Just one more on his list.”

Guy said, “Carol, don't.”

Carol turned to him with a forced tight smile. “Of course. There's a serial killer on the loose with a grudge against you. He's probably taken our daughter and he just tried to strangle my best friend, but that's no reason to upset everyone is it?”

The silence was tense and painful. Carol pressed her fingers against her temples and drew in a long slow breath. “I'm sorry,” she whispered. “Laura, I'm sorry. This wouldn't have happened to you if it weren't for me—for us—and I'm sorry.”

Laura came over to her, and the two women embraced. It was a singular moment that left Guy feeling awkward and excluded, yet seemed to restore something vital between the two women.

Laura stepped away and took both of Carol's shoulders, looking into her eyes. “I thought it was Kelly,” she said. “When I heard the voice—I believed it was Kelly. And maybe Guy's right, what she said about the tower...”

Carol looked quickly at Guy. He said, “The tower, that's what she said just before the connection was broken. Remember what I used to call her?”

He saw the hope dawn in her eyes, just as it had in his. “A signal,” she said, half whispering. “It could have been a signal, to let us know it was really her...”

She looked back at Laura, and Laura smiled her encouragement. The two women held the moment, each offering comfort to the other. Then Carol said gently, “You're okay?”

“Scared shitless,” said Laura flatly. “But that's a good thing. I won't be so stupid next time.”

Carol said, “I'll stay with you tonight. You shouldn't be alone. I know how it feels—”

But before she had finished the first sentence, Laura was shaking her head. Her hands tightened on Carol's shoulders and she pushed her gently away. “No, you're not staying. I don't want you to stay. I want to have a good cry, a cup of that tea, a long hot bath, and one of those sleeping pills they gave me at the emergency room. Don't expect me to be early in the morning.”

Carol said reluctantly, “I don't want to leave you.”

“I want you to leave me. Besides, I was thinking this might be a good time to call Winston. Damsel in distress, and all that, you know.”

Carol looked unhappy. “If you're sure...”

Laura looked at Guy. “Will you take her home?”

Guy came over to her. “Look,” he said, “I don't think you're in any danger, but use some sense will you? Lock up when we're gone. And if you really do have a boyfriend you can call, call him.”

Laura arched an eyebrow. “I always have a boyfriend.”

Guy surprised her for the second time that night by leaning forward and kissing her on the cheek. “Thanks for acting stupid,” he said. “But next time—don't.”

Laura's smile was stiff. “You can bet on that.”

Guy slipped an arm around Carol's shoulders. “Let's go home, sweetie.”

Chapter Thirty-six

G
uy walked her inside, turning on lights as he went. “I see the locksmith got here,” he said, examining the locks on the windows.

She nodded. “They're not very busy this time of year. Actually, they're not very busy on the beach any time of year. Odd, isn't it, all these expensive homes with locks a child could break into?”

“Well, people don't move to the beach to keep themselves locked up like they would in Manhattan. The vacation mentality, I guess.”

He sounded tired, as tired as she felt. But they kept talking because it was better than being alone with their thoughts.

“I got an extra key for you,” she said. “It's on the kitchen counter by the door.”

“Thanks.”

They looked at each other for a moment. Then Guy said, “It could have been you tonight.”

Carol shifted her gaze, unconsciously rubbing her throat. “The thought occurred to me.”

“I keep telling myself Laura's always been the flighty one, that you never would have done anything so stupid, but you would have, wouldn't you?”

Carol smiled faintly. “I would have been the first in line.”

Guy nodded. “I guess I would have done the same thing if I had gotten the call. If there was the slightest chance it was Kelly.”

“Laura thought it was Kelly's voice,” Carol said, and she didn't have to re-emphasize what that meant. Vindication for her own belief, renewed hope ... possibilities, however faint and unlikely, but possibilities nonetheless.

Guy nodded his understanding, and again a small, tired smile touched Carol's lips. “Funny what a difference a near-tragedy can make,” she said. “On the way back here I was ready to give up, ready to believe we'd never see Kelly again. Now, just because someone else has heard the voice besides me—even though it's the same voice you and the police heard on the tape, even though there's no more evidence now than there was then that it belongs to Kelly—now I'm convinced that, even if she did fall into the hands of the same killer as those others, she somehow escaped and now she's trying to reach us... It just gets so hard being the only one who believes, sometimes.”

Guy slipped his hand around her neck, caressing gently. “It takes courage,” he said,“more courage than I had when you needed me. I'm sorry.”

“I think you've said those words tonight more times than you have since I've known you.”

He dropped his gaze. “Yeah. Something else I should have learned earlier.”

He started to remove his hand, but she entwined her fingers through his. “We both let each other down, Guy,” she said. “Let's not do that anymore, okay?”

After a moment, he smiled. “You got a deal.”

He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. Then, hesitating only a moment, tenderly on the lips. When he looked into her eyes, there was no resistance or objection there, just quiet expectation. He moved to her again and they kissed as they used to kiss, with open mouths and mating tongues and pressing hands.

He whispered, “I don't like to leave you alone, sweetie.”

And she said, softly, “Then don't.”

He held her, his face pressed into her hair. “We can't turn back time, Carol.”

He felt her heart beat against his ribs. “Maybe ... for tonight, we could make it stand still.”

Hands entwined, they walked upstairs.

Later, wrapped in the embrace of arms and legs and the glow of lovemaking that was as familiar as coming home and just as desperately, heartbreakingly welcome, Guy whispered, “I still love you, you know. I think I always will.”

Carol rested her palm against his cheek, tracing familiar contours and textures with the tips of her fingers. “That was always the problem with our divorce. We never fell out of love with each other.”

He turned his face to her hair. “Ah, sweetie,” he sighed. “What are we going to do?”

She felt his breathing, the heat of his body and the beat of his heart as though they were her own, and there was no surprise to it. There was a part of her that had only been waiting for this moment, that had always known it wouldn't be far away. Understanding that filled up a part of the emptiness that had been aching within her for too long.

“Better,” she answered, turning her face to his. “This time ... we're going to do better.”

~

Chapter Thirty-seven

W
alt Marshall was working on his boat when he saw the stranger pull up. Walt had six boats, all in various states of repair—except for the new Sea Ray, of course, which he hadn't yet had a chance to take out of the harbor. This particular one was a 1965 mahogany Cris-Craft, with brass trim and all the extras, which he was painstakingly restoring to mint condition. He was in the process of stripping down a previous owner's ill-conceived paint job when the stranger got out of the pickup truck and, closing the door softly, looked around in a way Walt didn't like.

During the busy season Walt didn't have time to keep up with the comings and goings of everyone who cruised by the marina. People tied up, paid their fee, bought their fuel and supplies, sometimes stayed, sometimes didn't, and Walt didn't much care. But right now there were less than a dozen people with business here this time of night, and Walt knew every one of them.

He figured it was some kid looking for mischief. It was after midnight and he wouldn't expect anybody to be around. The way the boathouse was situated, at the end of the pier with a straight-shot view of anybody coming or going, was ideal from Walt's point of view; not so ideal from the stranger's. He could have no idea he was being observed. And from the furtive way he was moving, that appeared to be exactly what he wanted.

Walt put down his stripping rag and wiped his hands on a towel, starting to go out and challenge the young imp. But then he stopped. The stranger moved away from the truck then, and started down the pier toward the docked boats. As he moved, he stepped into the outer circle of one of the mercury-vapor lamps that lined the pier, and then quickly ducked back into the shadows again—but not quickly enough, and Walt caught a glimpse of something he really didn't like.

He turned back toward the shop, where he kept his gun.

***

Derrick had seen Patsy at the hospital when he brought Laura Capstone in, and he knew she would want to know the whole story. She got in about eleven-thirty, which was, as it happened, only a few minutes after he did. He could tell by the dark circles under her eyes and the stiffness of her movements that she was having a hard day, and he wanted her to go directly to bed. She wouldn't hear of it, of course. He made her sit down and put her feet up while he made popcorn and hot chocolate, and she grilled him about the latest developments in the case.