Virtue Falls (51 page)

Charles laughed. “I know where you got your artistic talent from.”

She looked at him inquiringly.

“Me.” He tapped his chest.

“You? But when I was young, the drawings you did were very good.”

“Not mine.” He laughed again.

“Yes.” She knew what she was talking about. “You took an art class from Bradley Hoff.”

“Your mother got good. I was terrible.” He seemed to think he knew what he was talking about.

“No, really. Look.” Pulling out her album, she flipped to the drawings. “There’s the one that Mama drew of me. I look a little lopsided, and one of my eyes is higher than the other, but I like it.” Her fingers lingered on the edges of the vellum. Then she turned the page. “Here’s the one you drew of Mama. It’s just a pencil sketch, but so lifelike. It’s as if you captured her essence, a happy smile that masked a tinge of sadness. She looks … kind. Loving.”

Charles’s hand hovered over the drawing, and his fingers trembled. “That is Misty. It is.” He withdrew his hand. “But I have never seen that drawing before. And I didn’t do it.”

“Who else would have done it?”

Charles stared at the drawing, and everything about his expression was dry, brittle, like leaves that had fallen and waited for winter to turn to dust.

She insisted, “Who else would have drawn that?”

Charles looked up, then away. “One of the other students.”

“That’s ridiculous. None of the other students would draw a picture like that of my mother. Not one so … so complete. So thoughtful. It had to be you.”
It had to be.

“Everyone loved her,” he said.

Elizabeth nodded. “Of course. That’s what I’ve heard so often.”

Maybe Charles couldn’t create that drawing now. But he had Alzheimer’s. He had reverted. He had forgotten.

Her father
had
created this drawing.

He had to have. Because … who else could it be?

CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE

Garik strode into the Virtue Falls City Hall like the meanest, maddest agent of justice since Clint Eastwood in
The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly
.

Foster must have recognized Garik’s attitude, because when he saw Garik making his way across the floor, around and through the rubble, he got to his feet.

Garik walked up to him, chest to chest. “We need to go someplace private where we can talk.”

Foster glanced at Mona. He jerked his thumb toward the back. “Evidence room.” As they walked, he asked, “You know your way around there, don’t you?”

Garik’s temper simmered. “No. But Mike did. You remember Mike Sun. You burned his house.”

Foster flung himself around and shouted, “Shut up. You shut up!”

The chatter in the big room died. Everyone stared.

Foster glanced around, then headed toward the back again.

He unlocked the narrow door and stepped aside to let Garik in.

“After you,” Garik said.

Foster sneered, but he led the way.

The cramped evidence room smelled musty; the lack of air conditioning encouraged the humid ocean air to do its damage. The shelves were full, but one white box was on the floor, open and empty. The box was marked
BANNER MURDER
.

Garik kept his hands free and stood ready to attack.

Foster just looked at him out of those bloodshot, hopeless eyes. “You probably wonder why I called
you
, of all people.”

Garik’s temper exploded. “I don’t give a fuck why you called me. You know that Mike took the evidence for the Banner case. I sent those scissors to the FBI for testing. Those unknown fingerprints, the ones the killer put on the scissors? They match a print in San Francisco, one from the serial killer called Edward Scissorhands.”

Foster’s dull eyes didn’t even flicker. He did not say a word.

“You … knew.” Garik was incredulous—and angry. “You
knew
.”

“I didn’t know. I suspected.” Foster looked down. “Yvonne Rudda’s body washed up at Beggar’s Creek.”

Garik staggered backward. “God. Yvonne. I told her … she had that dog. And her guns. How…?”

“I don’t know.”

“Someone she knew.”

“Yes.”

Garik’s fists flexed. “We have a serial killer loose in Virtue Falls, a guy who’s killed dozens of women and children, a serial killer who’s after Charles Banner and his daughter, and takes any woman who gets in his way—and you didn’t care.”

“I care.”

“You care about your reputation more.”

Foster licked his lips. “It’s worse than that. I’m not sure it’s not me.”

That made Garik take a step forward. “What are you talking about?”

“Wherever the murders take place, I’m there.” Foster took a moment to swallow. “I’m close enough to get to those women, kill them and their kids, and get back to my law enforcement conference without anybody ever knowing.”

“But you know you didn’t do it.”

Foster’s eyes flickered. “I don’t remember. I go to sleep, you know, and I dream, and I wake up and a few days or weeks later, I hear another woman’s been killed.”

“You’re not making sense.” Which was, Garik knew, the definition of madness. But was this craziness? Or was this Dennis Foster making excuses for himself?

“I don’t like women. Okay? I’ve never liked women. Those high-pitched voices and those soft bodies they fling around to entrap men.” Foster’s lips curled as he was nauseated. “Women are evil, created by God to ruin men. We should treat them like cattle. Instead, we exalt them.” He looked at his hands. “So I could have done it. I could have done all of it.”

“Show me your ribs,” Garik said.

“What?”

“Show me your ribs.”

For one moment, Foster looked as if he was going to refuse. Then his face crumpled. He pulled his shirt out from under his belt, lifted it, and revealed pale, unmarked skin.

“I kicked the shit out of the killer,” Garik said. “Don’t flatter yourself, You’re not the guy. You don’t have what it takes to be a good cop, and you don’t have what it takes to be a serial killer.”

At last Foster sparked to life. He reached for his gun.

Garik took him out with an uppercut that snapped Foster’s head back and sent him careening with a clang into the metal shelving. White boxes fell. Foster tripped on the shower of evidence and landed on his ass.

Garik leaned over and took Foster by the collar. He jerked his head and shoulders off the floor, and spoke right into his face. “Don’t try and build yourself up in your own mind. You killed your mother. You burned down the Suns’ house. You’re responsible for withholding the evidence that got all those women and their little kids murdered most horribly. That’s enough. That’s plenty. Live with that.”

CHAPTER EIGHTY

Elizabeth stood at the counter, holding her coffee in both hands and shaking her head in disbelief. “How was she killed?”

“The way I understand it,” Mrs. Ubach said, “she got caught by that second round of tsunamis and drowned.”

“You keep believing that, Pollyanna. I heard she had her throat cut and her eyes gouged out.” Mrs. Branyon smirked. “I wonder who would do that … Elizabeth Banner?”

Elizabeth comprehended; this old woman was calling her a killer, a woman who would murder a friend and mutilate the body. Fury roared through her; nothing she had done deserved that insinuation. With a snap quite unlike her usual calm manner, Elizabeth said, “Yvonne Rudda was my father’s nurse, and my friend, and if she is really dead, I will mourn her in the fullness of my heart. So let us not make her possible death fodder for gossip.”

“You tell her, sister,” Mrs. Branyon’s daughter said.

Mrs. Branyon whipped around and glared. “Frances!”

“Mother, that was mean. And today, with Yvonne gone, it’s … just…” Frances dug a shredded tissue out of her pocket and wiped her nose. “Really mean.”

The Oceanview Café was packed with people gathered here to share their shock and grief. They sat with their phones out, staring blankly, typing, staring some more. Conversation came in fits and starts, words spoken in low voices by friends who didn’t know, didn’t believe, couldn’t bear to think it was true.

Noah Griffin was nowhere to be seen.

Smart guy, since he had been the reporter who put Yvonne’s name out there for a killer. Sooner or later, someone was going to rightly blame him.

Bradley Hoff sat on a stool at the end of the counter, picking at a stale cheese sandwich. He looked up now, and in a firm voice said, “I’m sure the first report, that she was drowned by the tsunami, is the right report. The other report, that she was murdered, is unconfirmed. So let’s remember that here in Virtue Falls, even in the best of times, we’re almost completely cut off from the world, and we need to treat each other like family.”

Heads nodded all around. In this town, Bradley Hoff got a lot of respect.

Elizabeth was grateful for his support. He shut Mrs. Branyon down as no one else could, and now the old lady stirred her coffee and muttered disparagingly, but quietly.

The heat in Elizabeth’s face faded. Her bag sat on a stool beside her; she reached in and pulled out her phone.

She still had cell service. For some reason, that made her feel secure, as if as long as she could reach out to someone in the wide, wide world, she would be able to survive the bitter grief that threatened to take the sunshine away from this day.

Then Garik walked in, and he brought the sunshine with him. But he looked sober, and he massaged his knuckles as if they hurt.

Elizabeth put down her coffee and went to him. “Is it true?” she asked softly. “Is she dead? Was she murdered?”

Speaking to her only, he said, “And mutilated. I got the details out of Mona the Mouth.”

Old Mrs. Branyon butted right in. Her voice focused all attention on Garik and Elizabeth. “We’ve got a right to know, young man. Did someone murder Yvonne Rudda?”

He nodded. “Everyone needs to be very careful. We have a killer in town.”

The café grew silent. People who were standing, sat. People who were sitting, stood.

Soberly, Garik said, “He—or she—is vicious and crafty. I spoke to Yvonne, and she was armed, good with a firearm, and she had a dog. Yet she was taken and cruelly murdered. I cannot say this strongly enough. Women, especially, watch out for yourselves. We can’t fool ourselves about this. It’s not a stranger. It’s someone we know.”

Everyone looked around as if they could spot the evil in another’s heart.

“Was she…? Were her eyes…?” Frances stammered to a halt.

Mrs. Branyon asked bluntly, “Were her eyes gouged out?”

Garik said, “Yes.” That was all. Just yes. But that single word confirmed every fear.

“What can we do to help each other?” Bradley Hoff asked.

“Network. Check on your neighbors. Keep in contact.” Garik lifted his cell phone for all to see. “Has everybody got cell service back?”

A variety of answers came back at him. “Most of the time.” “No.” “Sometimes.” “It’s been steady since this morning.”

“Mostly good news for us, then,” Garik said. “Things are improving. We’re not so cut off. We can get this bastard.”

As Garik encouraged the citizens of Virtue Falls, Elizabeth felt a tremendous upwelling of admiration. Garik was a good man, one who learned from the past. People looked to him for leadership, and he led them effortlessly. Elizabeth respected his strength and character, and more than that—she loved him. So much.

Bradley slid off his stool. “Garik, can I get your cell number? I’m pretty good with reading faces—it’s an occupational hazard. I’ll keep watch and let you know if I see anything suspicious.”

Head tilted and half-turned, Garik studied him.

Elizabeth knew what he hoped to see. Bradley was one of their prime suspects. Yet … what harm could come from taking him up on his offer? If Bradley incriminated an innocent man, it would be easy enough to prove him wrong, and that would be a clue, too. And if Bradley really could see the evil beneath the façade, what a help that would be.

“Elizabeth, have you got paper in that bag of yours?” Garik asked.

She brought out her battered spiral notebook and a pen, and handed them to him.

Garik scribbled his name and phone number, tore off the sheet, and offered it to Bradley.

“Can I have your number, too?” Frances asked. “Just in case?”

“Sure.” Garik wrote his number down and handed it to Frances.

Dax leaned his elbows on the counter. “I’d take it. I see all kinds of things come through this café. I might see something of interest.”

“Good idea,” Garik said.

Poor Garik. Everybody knew him. Everybody trusted him.

Bradley looked abashed. “I’ve started something. Here—I’ll copy your number and tear them off to give to anyone who wants it.”

“That’s great. Thank you.” Garik gave him the notebook and pen. He started to turn away, then turned back. “Where’s your wife? Where’s Vivian?”

“She’s at home, in the studio, preparing promo for Virtue Falls.” Bradley scribbled Garik’s number on the paper, tore it off, and handed it to Dax.

“It might be worth your time to check on her, tell her what’s going on,” Garik said. “She’s a woman alone.”

Bradley look startled, then almost amused. “Unless the killer is smarter and swifter and stronger than Vivian, I’d put my money on her.”

“Forewarned is forearmed.” Frances’s eyes swam with tears, and gently she placed her hand on Bradley’s forearm. “I went to school with Yvonne. And think about it. Stabbed and … and … her eyes…”

“You’re right.” Bradley put his hand over hers. “I’ll call Vivian as soon as I’m done here.”

Garik took Elizabeth’s arm. “Come on. I need to talk.”

Bradley held up the notebook. “Elizabeth, if you don’t mind, I’ll keep this until I’ve written out Garik’s number and handed it around to whoever wants it?”

“Yes, of course. I’ll come back and get it.” She left her bag on the stool.

Garik led her outside.

“Is all of it true?” Elizabeth asked. “About Yvonne? It wasn’t the tsunami that swept her away?”

“He killed her, dropped her into the ocean, then the tsunami brought her back. I can’t imagine he planned on the second earthquake and having her body wash up in a tree.”