The Watcher (7 page)

Kate edged slowly toward the door that Bauer had left open. She was reluctant to get in her car and drive to the damn motel room because her mind was spinning in a dozen directions. What she wanted was to go inside the building, slap up a case board, and explore the new possibilities of the Johnston case.

She tamped down her eagerness. “So, what now, Detective Slater?”

“That depends.” His expression was inscrutable. Those penetrating eyes roamed her face as if he were trying to figure out a complicated puzzle.

Although she’d put her foot on the running board ready to jump down, she hesitated. The night air was crisp, but she felt the heat generated from Slater’s large body. She sensed a charged awareness between them, a gas tank awaiting the lighted match. “Depends on what?”

“On how much you’re willing to come clean with me.”

“What do you mean?” He couldn’t possibly know anything about her personal connection to the case. Kate felt another warning jangle in the back of her mind, warning her that Slater didn’t seem like a man easily crossed. “In what way haven’t I been honest?”

“You tell me. You have a habit, Doc, of answering questions with more questions.”

“Like what?” she countered.

He lifted his brows as if she’d made his point. Kate felt her face and neck grow warm.

“Like, why are you really here?” he asked. “Why did you come all the way from southern California to a little town up north to assist in what clearly looks like a local murder? And why do you keep putting another kind of spin on it?”

Relief weakened her legs and arms. Slater was just being naturally cautious. Doing what a good detective did best, questioning everything and assuming nothing. She felt a brief reprieve. She could answer his questions without the gut-wrenching emotion of explaining her personal investment in this case. Kate was pretty sure Slater wouldn’t like the idea of having a biased person involved in one of his cases.

“Maybe there
is
another view,” she said at last. “Maybe this
isn’t
just a local murder.”

Slater scowled. “You’d better explain that.”

Kate blew air from her pursed lips, thinking as fast as she could. What was it they said? A good lie is always couched in the truth?

“There’s an old Bigler County cold case I’ve been looking at,” she began. If she told him part of the truth, surely he’d leave it alone until she was ready to reveal the rest.

Slater’s face registered surprise. “One of our cases?”

“Yes.”

Skepticism was clear in his voice. “Go on. An old cold case – ”

“Some of the markers on that cold case coincide with the Johnston girl’s murder. I think the two cases might be related.”

“Shit. The same perp?”

“Yes. Maybe.” She shook her head helplessly. “I don’t know for sure.” That part, at any rate, was true at the moment.

“Why didn’t you tell me this before? Why didn’t Sheriff Marconi mention it?”

“There hasn’t been any time, has there?” Kate ran her fingers through her loosened hair, frustration and weariness settling in. “And I’m not sure what Marconi knows.” Okay, she thought, that was a lie, but a small one. “I just barely got here. Everything happened pretty fast.”

Slater frowned in disbelief.

“Look,” she said. “I know you need answers, but it’s complicated. I was going to tell you – ”

“When?” Slater interrupted, leaning across the seat, his face close to hers, his pupils black and dangerous in the near darkness of the parking lot. His voice was low, his lips so close to her ear that she could feel the moist heat from his mouth. “When
exactly
were you going to tell me?”

Kate turned away from the intense voice, that unsettling gaze. “First thing tomorrow. I’ve got the files at home. I’ll bring them. I promise.”

“You’ve got the files on one of our cases? How – ?” Slater raked his fingers through his hair. “Never mind, don’t answer that. Bring them tomorrow so I know what the hell you’re talking about. And Myers?”

“Yes?”

“That’s a promise I’ll hold you too,” Slater said softly. He moved back to the wheel and eased the gear into drive. “Be here early,” he commanded. “We need to talk before the rest of the division arrives.”

Kate hurried to her car while Slater watched from his truck, the exhaust sending puffy clouds into the night air. She scooted across the seat and inserted the car key. A reprieve, she thought, but not for long. She’d have to decide exactly how much of the wide array of information scattered through her files – and her mind – she could trust Slater with. Because she was pretty sure someone in Bigler County
couldn’t
be trusted.

#

When Slater reached the office at six the next morning, he saw that, for once, Marconi had gotten to the courthouse ahead of him. The Sheriff perched at his desk, his khaki shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, reading glasses sliding down his nose. He riffled through a stack of papers, moving them from one pile to another.

After first peering into Kate Myers’ office and finding it empty, Slater decided to have a chat with Marconi before the good doctor arrived. He rapped once on the open office door, entered, and sprawled in the chair across from the Sheriff’s massive desk.

Marconi looked up in surprise. “I got the report on the car. Something else new on the Johnston case?”

Slater folded his arms across his chest and ignored the question. “I think it’s about time I know why Kate Myers is really here.”

Marconi paused in the shuffling of papers to scrutinize the face of his second in command. “I answered that question yesterday, Ben. She’s on loan from LAPD, assigned to give us a hand in the Johnston case – plus anything else that comes up. I already explained this to you.”

“She came up from L.A. just to help with a small-town murder case.” Sarcasm rippled through Slater’s voice.

“Whadda ya wanna dig up trouble for?” Marconi’s normally gruff voice took on a wheedling tone.

Slater knew, hell, the whole department knew, that the Sheriff was getting trunky, practically sitting on his luggage and waiting till the end of next year to retire up north – maybe Oregon or Washington. He’d already relegated most of his duties as sheriff to his Lieutenant. Slater didn’t mind picking up the slack, but sometimes he wished Marconi would be more professional. However, since the people had elected the man for a number of terms now, they usually took Marconi’s lax ways with good humor. Right now, however, he wanted the Sheriff to be straight with him.

Slater tried again. “You know that Myers is overqualified. I checked her out yesterday, and she’s one of the top forensic psychiatrists west of the Mississippi. Why do we need someone like that? She’s trained for the kinds of crimes we haven’t seen in Bigler County in nearly twenty years.”

“She’s doin’ a good job, ain’t she?”

“I guess.”

“Humph. What I hear, she’s doin’ a damn fine job.”

Slater stretched his legs. “She hasn’t been here long enough for me to say. But that’s not the point.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“It’s my job as Special Investigations leader to understand my people, and I don’t know a damn thing about Dr. Myers. I think she’s got something else on her mind, and I’d like to know what it is.”

“Look, Slater. I’m just doin’ a favor for a friend. Don’t look a gift horse, and all that,” Marconi warned.

“After the autopsy yesterday, she mentioned there was a cold case connection to the Johnston murder.”

Slater caught the tiny hesitation before Marconi shrugged. “Could be. Look, just ask the gal herself, why don’t cha? If we got a hotshot specialist doin’ us a favor, I ain’t complaining.” He frowned. “And you wouldn’t either if you was smart. Now go on, get outta here and solve the damn case. We’re takin’ heat on this one.”

Obviously Marconi wasn’t going to be any help. Either he didn’t know or didn’t care that Myers was involved in something that went beyond Bigler County business. He grudgingly admitted an extra hand on the Johnston case couldn’t hurt.

“All right, whatever you say.” Slater held up his hands in surrender. “The whole situation is curious, that’s all I’m suggesting.”

He wound his way back to the bullpen and studied the stack of reports piled on the edge of his desk. He glanced up a few minutes later when Kate Myers entered the precinct and moved quickly into her office, looking straight ahead.

He gave her a few minutes and then followed her into the tiny cubicle that was her office. Rolling a chair from the squad room, he pushed it against her desk and closed the door behind him. He sat down, crossed his arms, and waited while Myers removed her brown leather jacket and scarf and placed her handbag in the bottom desk drawer. The large leather briefcase she carried rested unopened on the floor at her feet.

Slater inspected her patiently while she wriggled into her desk chair and folded her hands on the desk blotter. A frown marred her brow, and she seemed to be composing her thoughts before beginning. Or stalling.

“Well?” he prompted.

Myers took a deep breath as though she needed to fill her lungs to capacity and rush the tale out before she changed her mind. He didn’t know her very well, but Slater thought she might’ve rehearsed or watered down the account for his ears. And he wondered if what she
didn’t
say was more important that what she did say.

“In 1989,” she began, “the body of a young girl named Mary Stuckey was found near Donner Lake.”

“Bigler County side?” Slater asked because jurisdiction around Donner was divided since the lake lay in both Nevada and California. He wanted to be sure it was his jurisdiction.

Myers nodded, “Bigler County. Mary Stuckey was eighteen years old, the apparent victim of a drowning accident.”

“That was before my time, but I’ll take your word for it.”

“It’s one of your old cases. Sheriff Marconi, then a sergeant under a man named Gary Boyd, took charge of the case, and after a six-week investigation, the girl’s death was ruled an accident.”

“But you don’t believe Stuckey’s death was accidental.”

“The initial autopsy results were inconclusive, but the M.E. finally ruled she died before being submerged. No water in her lungs.”

What’s that got to do with Myers being here, he wondered, and why did she look so agitated?

“The girl had been missing for several days,” she continued. “She was from a place called Rosedale.”

“Yeah, it’s a bedroom community about ten miles east of here.”

“The parents and neighbors, friends, all said the girl was pretty wild, so the police assumed she was a runaway. Apparently she’d taken off before. They didn’t give the case the attention it deserved.” Myers spoke with a clarity that indicated she’d gone over the case many times and an intensity that suggested it meant something to her. “When her body was discovered at the lake four weeks after her disappearance, little evidence remained.”

“Water damage?”

She nodded. “The body washed up on the shore and was discovered by hikers. After the water and rock damage, the animals and insect infestation left almost nothing to work with.”

“Are you thinking accident or homicide?”

“Murder.” She leveled a hard stare at Slater. “I think the same son of a bitch who murdered Jennifer Johnston killed Mary Stuckey.”

Slater pushed hard at the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. A sigh escaped his lips. Kate Myers was clearly passionate about the two cases, but so far he didn’t see any hard evidence that proved her claim. “What’s the connection with the Johnston case?”

“I’ll admit the evidence is slim, but there
are
similarities between the two cases.” She reached down to retrieve the briefcase, unlocked it, and tossed a file folder across the desk. “First, both girls went missing prior to their deaths,” she said, holding her forefinger in the air.

“Shit, Myers.” Slater leaned forward to open the file. “Do you know how many teenage girls go missing all the time? And turn up dead or unharmed later?”

“Second,” she continued, her eyes flinty, “their bodies were discovered days or weeks later. Mary’s body showed no clear-cut indication of abuse, like the Johnston girl, but she was murdered – ”

“
Possibly
murdered.”

“And she was missing some of her clothing.”

Slater held up his hands in a so-what gesture.

“There was evidence Mary might have had sex before she died. The police assumed she had a boy-friend because of her promiscuous reputation, and that the sex was consensual.”

“Doc, I hate to burst your bubble, but I still don’t see any hard evidence. An eighteen-year-old girl isn’t a child. The sex probably
was
consensual.”

“Mary Stuckey’s panties were missing, but no other article of clothing.”

The missing panties was a slim connection, but Slater still wasn’t convinced. “What about rape evidence, the slit throat, body trauma, knife wounds? The chloroform, for God’s sake.”

“No.”

“You gotta give me more than unaccounted-for panties, Myers.” Slater shook his head. “I don’t see that some missing underwear is a viable link.”