Speak No Evil (15 page)

NINETEEN

C
ARINA FIDGETED
as she drove with Nick from the police station to her parents’ house twenty minutes east in an older, established San Diego neighborhood. It was nine o’clock, and the memorial service had been a bust—at least as far as learning anything about Angie’s killer was concerned.

All the guests had arrived safely and left unharmed; between herself, Nick, and the undercover cops, they’d matched up every guest with a friend or relative in the room. No one looked out of place, no one lurked in the bushes, no one wrote slut on the bathroom wall.

She felt like it had been a complete waste of time. She slammed her fist against the steering wheel.

“What are you frustrated about?” Nick asked.

“Nothing happened!”

“You wanted someone to be abducted?”

“No. I just wanted him to show up so I could nail the bastard to the wall.” She glanced at him, saw the bemused expression on his face, and lost some of her anger. “I’m good at that, you know. Apprehension.”

“Yeah, women cops have all the tricks. They have no qualms about hitting low because they don’t know how much it hurts.”

“Oh yes we do. That’s why it’s so much fun.”

“Our presence at Angie’s funeral could have prevented an abduction.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Seriously. He could have driven by, seen our people—even undercover. Killers have a sixth sense about cops, I’m convinced of it. And even if he only made one cop, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to stay.”

“Or made us and decided to stay and gloat.”

“That’s a possibility, too. If it’s someone close to her.”

“You don’t think so?”

“I think he knew her, but wasn’t close to her. I think he’s going to attack again, when or where I have no idea. The Butcher only killed women in the spring. He sometimes waited two full years between kills.”

“If you think I’m frustrated now, just watch me if I have to wait a year to get this guy. I don’t like unsolved cases.”

“You’ve never had one?”

“A couple. That’s why I hate them.”

“What about the Sand Shack?”

She frowned. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“That deleted e-mail Angie mentioned to Steve. She thought the poster knew her identity because it implied that he knew where she worked.”

“And you’re thinking our perp could be someone connected to the Shack?”

“Connected, maybe, or a regular customer.”

“That makes sense. What if he already knew Angie and then stumbled across her online diary? Because of something he knew about her personally, he was able to make the connection.”

“It’s plausible,” Nick said. “But why kill her?”

“Maybe he hit on her and she rejected him. Because he thought she’d be easy, he had a fit and killed her.”

“Possibly.”

“You don’t sound like you’re buying it.”

“I’m not discounting it as a theory. I agree with your brother Dillon. It was personal in some way, which means I think he knew her or saw her on a regular basis.”

“I feel like we’re working on borrowed time, but I have no idea where else to look.” She stifled a yawn.

“I know that feeling,” Nick said. “On the Butcher investigation, every time we thought we had a lead it was a dead end. We knew he would attack again, we even knew it would happen in the spring. But every time it still shocked the town, almost as if it were unexpected, and we scrambled, searching for a college girl who most certainly had a death sentence.”

“That must have been Hell.”

“I’m just relieved it’s over.” He paused. “What happened to your nephew?”

Justin.
She’d adored her nephew. Who wouldn’t have loved that little hellion? The first grandchild, the first nephew, the first of the next generation. With dimples like his mom and the statesmanship of his political dad, he would have been a heartbreaker, or president, when he grew up.

She missed him.

“I’m sorry I brought it up,” Nick said. “I’ve upset you.”

“I’m okay.” She pulled the car into the Kincaid family driveway and turned off the ignition. “I just miss him. But my feelings are nothing like Nelia’s, my sister. His mom. She was devastated, but she kept everything bottled up for so long. When she finally burst . . . it wasn’t pretty. She and Andrew divorced, then she just left, moved to Idaho. More than anyone, my parents want her home so badly. They built the apartment you’re staying in for her. But she won’t come back. Maybe she can’t. Maybe she just can’t be anywhere near the family.”

She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “Justin was kidnapped when I was babysitting. Taken right from his bed in the middle of the night. I didn’t hear a thing.”

Nick touched her cheek and she found herself leaning into the light caress before realizing how inappropriate it was.

“It’s not your fault,” he said.

“I know that up here,” she tapped her head, then put her hand over her heart, “but in here I can’t help but blame myself.”

He took her hand. “What happened?”

“Nelia worked as an attorney for a defense contractor. She was working late nights, and Andrew—her husband, who was a prosecutor—was in the middle of a big case. I was in college, I could give up a few nights, study at their house. I remember that day so clearly. I had two midterms and a swim meet. I was wiped out. My mom always watched Justin after school . . . he and Lucy were born a month apart. Justin loved to tease Lucy and call her ‘Auntie Lu’ though she was twenty-seven days younger than him.” She smiled at the bittersweet memory. “My mom thought she was in menopause, and was shocked when she found out she was pregnant at the age of forty-five.”

“Nice surprise, anyway.”

“Yeah. Lucy can be a pain in the neck because she’s a bit spoiled. But she’s fun and I was really happy to have a baby sister.”

She didn’t say anything for a long minute, and Nick didn’t interrupt. She entwined her fingers with his and it felt right to sit here with him, touching him, sharing her worst nightmare.

“So, anyway, I picked Justin up when I got out of class. My mom said he could spend the night at the house, but I knew she and dad were beat. I even offered to take Lucy with me.” Her voice hitched. “But,” she said, “it was a school night. So I took Justin over to his house. We ordered out for pizza. Together, Justin and I devoured an extra-large pizza with the works, minus mushrooms because I can’t fathom eating anything that is grown in animal dung.”

She remembered when her older brother Connor used to chase her around the house with mushrooms her mom bought for the spaghetti sauce.
“It’s alive! It’s going to con-shroom you!”

“We watched
Star Wars
together. Still the single best movie of the twentieth century. I let Justin stay up past his bedtime. I was studying, then Nelia called, said she was running later than she thought and why wasn’t Andrew home? Hell if I knew, and I told her so. I never liked him, anyway. Still don’t, even if he is a good DA.

“Then I fell asleep.”

Why hadn’t Justin screamed? Had the killer subdued him while he slept? There was no evidence of a struggle. Justin was just . . . gone. And the window to his bedroom was open. Had she forgotten to check it? Nelia was a stickler for always checking doors and windows. She had been sure she’d checked it . . .

“I woke up to Nelia screaming.”

Carina! Where’s Justin? Where’s Justin?

“I didn’t know what was going on. I looked at the clock. It was two in the morning.

“But Justin was missing. His bedroom window wide open. No sign of forced entry.” Carina looked at Nick, saw the sympathy and understanding in his eyes. “Nelia blamed me. For not locking the window. I thought I had, but I don’t know anymore.” She took a deep breath. “She hasn’t spoken to me since.”

Nick rubbed her neck. The gesture soothed her even more than their entwined fingers, made her say more than she’d intended. She had never told anyone the whole story, not like that. It was oddly cathartic. Even though she couldn’t forgive herself completely, telling Nick had helped purge something that had been eating her inside.

“I’m sorry to dump all that on you. It’s probably the last thing you wanted to hear.”

“No.” He cleared his throat. “I’m glad you told me. I wish I had answers. The only thing I’ve learned being a cop is that good people get hurt and bad people enjoy it. Our job isn’t to stop the pain, but to prevent it in the future.”

His hand cupped her cheek and this time she let herself relax, just for a minute, and savor the affection.

Suddenly the car started moving violently up and down.

“What the hell?” Carina exclaimed, reaching for her gun. She looked in the rearview mirror and saw her brothers Connor and Patrick pushing up and down on the trunk. “You immature brats!” she yelled, biting back a smile. “I’ll get you back!”

“Oh, we’re so scared,” Patrick laughed.

“Come on, you might as well meet the rest of the clan,” she told Nick, reluctantly letting his hand go.

Maybe it was for the best. She’d been close to kissing him.

Everything had worked exactly like he’d planned.

After Becca died, he watched the webcam he’d planted in Jodi’s apartment and saw Abby making two drinks with the spiked Coke. Then Jodi came in and made two more drinks. That was certainly enough to knock them out.

At midnight he left Becca in the library parking lot. It was fitting, really. He’d first met Angie on the beach, so he’d left her there. He met Becca at the library, so naturally he left her there. It seemed somehow complete, finished. A circle. He couldn’t imagine doing it any other way.

Jodi was going to be more difficult. He didn’t dare leave her where he’d first met her, but he had a couple of ideas that might work.

Getting into her apartment was easy enough—he’d unlocked Jodi’s bedroom window the day before when he’d planted the webcam.

At first he was scared—Jodi wasn’t in her bed. He listened, fearing the drugs hadn’t worked, that Abby and Jodi were awake and would scream as soon as they saw him. He listened carefully. In the apartment upstairs the drone of a late-night talk show. In the far distance, a siren. He listened until the siren stopped.

Nothing in the apartment stirred.

The kitchen light was on, casting an odd glow over the living room, which had only a dim, solitary lamp in the corner. Jodi was sleeping on the couch, her arm hanging over, her hair in her face.

Out cold.

Abby was in the chair, her head back, spittle dribbling out the corner of her open mouth.

He crossed the living room, unhooked the chain on the front door, and carefully opened the deadbolt. Neither girl stirred.

This was the dangerous part, but just like when he took Becca from the library parking lot, he felt an odd, rumbling thrill deep inside. He couldn’t help but think he was smarter than most everyone out there. He’d broken into the apartment yesterday morning and no one had noticed. He’d drugged their drinks and they drank without thinking anything was strange.

There was no doubt in his mind that he could take Jodi and leave the apartment without being seen.

He picked her up and she gave a slight moan. He froze, watched her face, glanced at Abby. No movement. Good. With Jodi in his arms, he left the apartment as quickly as possible.

To his left, he heard a group of young men coming up the the street toward the apartment building. He was parked in the rear, in a vacant carport, and he now quickly turned to the right, going around the building. It was late and a weeknight, but being a building dominated by college students, there were a lot of lights still on.

But most of the blinds were drawn.

It took him forty-two seconds to get from Jodi’s apartment to his car. He popped the trunk and put her in. He wanted to tie her hands, but heard the men laughing, getting closer. Where were they going?

He slid into the driver’s seat and pulled out—slowly, so as not to draw suspicion. While he didn’t see the noisy group, he knew it had been close.

He breathed easier once he got home and saw that Jodi was still unconscious in his trunk. His neighborhood was quieter than Jodi’s, all houses pitch-black except for the old woman who lived on the corner. Her lights were always on; he wondered if she ever slept.

Jodi stirred when he carried her through the back door, down the hall, and into his bedroom.

“Where . . . ” she began, her mouth thick. She didn’t open her eyes and her head rolled back.

He put her on the bed and took off her clothes, then tied her wrists to the headboard. She squirmed again, opened her eyes, confused and disoriented.

“Stop, what are you doing?” She tried to sit up, realized she couldn’t, and opened her mouth wide.

She was going to scream.

He clamped her mouth shut with his hand. Her legs bucked and kicked; he hadn’t tied them down yet.

He gagged her, but she was still too loud. He didn’t think anyone could hear, but he couldn’t be certain. She kicked him in the chest as he tried to grab one of her ankles. He slapped her across the face.

“Don’t,” he commanded.

She didn’t listen, fighting and trying to scream. But he was stronger. After some effort, he was able to restrain her. She fought against the binds, but they didn’t budge. He panted heavily, catching his breath.

He had wanted time alone with just her body, without her pleas, without her lies. Just her beautiful, exquisite body. She’d ruined it by waking up too soon. It wasn’t fair.

His fingers moved down her breast, delicately brushed against her darker nipple. Down her stomach to her cunt. He spread her legs, looked at her, trying to see it all. Pink and moist.

She jerked and moaned out a sob.

“Hi Jodi,” he whispered. “Do you recognize me?”

She shook her head back and forth on the bed. Anger followed the stab of pain in his heart. She didn’t know him. She’d seen him at least once a week for months, had said hello to him, had
smiled
every time she saw him. But she didn’t
really
see him. She looked past him, through him, around him, never
at
him. The phony smile, the phony hello. She didn’t care about him, she never really
talked
to him. She didn’t know him and didn’t know his name.