David Ellis - Eye of the Beholder

“The victims aren’t random,” she elaborates. “Evelyn called Fred Ciancio, and both of them are dead. And he lets you see the weapons, from the song. He writes ‘I’m not the only one.’ He’s not hiding what he’s doing. The question is, why?”

She’s right about the victims. Ciancio can be linked back to the Burgos case because of the phone call he made to Carolyn Pendry. And then, recently, he called Carolyn’s daughter, Evelyn. This is not random.

“The other question,” she adds, “is where Cassie Bentley comes in. The thing about pregnancy and the abortion. You didn’t know anything about that?”

I shake my head. “The word, back then, was that Cassie had been ‘troubled.’ That was the word we always heard. Intensely private, too. She had, like, two friends. And her closest friend was Ellie, one of the other victims, so we never learned too much about her.”

“Troubled how?”

“Like locking herself in her room. Not going to class. Not socializing. Not even eating.” I shrug. “Rich kid who can’t be happy: ”

I feel Shelly’s eyes on me.

“Don’t be dismissive. It’s not easy having a famous family.”

Well, Shelly would know. She didn’t exactly have a winning relationship with her folks as her father ascended to the highest office in the state.

“Apparently,” I say, “it got worse around the time she died. She went into a cocoon.”

Shelly doesn’t respond, but I know the same words are on the tip of her tongue as mine. Pregnancy. Abortion. Enough to send an already troubled college girl into a nosedive.

“Did Terry Burgos know Cassie?”

“Not so far as we could tell. He certainly never said so.”

“Do you think these things going on in Cassie’s life have anything to do with why Burgos killed her?”

“No,” I answer. “I think he killed Cassie because she was Ellie’s friend. He needed another victim and she was it.”

“What sin did Cassie commit? I mean, each victim had a specific sin, right?”

“Well, that’s the thing. The last murder in the first verse was suicide. ‘Now it’s time to say good-bye to someone’s family. Stick it right between those teeth and fire so happily.’ He’s talking about killing himself. Burgos knew, I think, that he was supposed to kill himself but he didn’t want to. He came upon Cassie and killed her instead. Thus, she ‘saved’ him.”

“How did he ‘come upon’ Cassie?”

We don’t know. Burgos didn’t testify, and when he talked to the shrinks all he talked about was God and sinners. He didn’t get into specifics with any of the girls. I tell Shelly all of that.

“So you don’t know how he abducted Cassie.”

I feel like I’m on the witness stand. I’ve seen Shelly cross-examine witnesses and I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end.

“Does that bother you?” she asks me.

“No, it doesn’t bother me.”

“Then why are we going to Lake Coursey, Paul?”

“Gwendolyn Lake was Cassie’s cousin.” Other than Ellie Danzinger and a young guy whose name I can’t recall, Cassie’s cousin, Gwendolyn, is the only person I can think of. She wasn’t around when Cassie was murdered, but she apparently flew into town now and then and spent time with Cassie.

“No,” Shelly says. “I mean, why are you going?”

A smile creeps to my lips. Shelly can read me pretty well.

“You can’t stand the thought that something happened on that case that you didn’t know about.”

Maybe I can’t. But instead of responding, I punch the speed dial on my cell phone for Joel Lightner. I press the phone’s SPEAKER button and place it between Shelly and me.

“Hey,” he answers, having caller ID.

“Joel, I’m in the car with Shelly.”

“With-oh, great. Shelly!”

“Hi, Joel.”

I give him a brief rundown on what’s happened. Lightner is the only person in the world who knows as much as I do about Terry Burgos.

“Cassie was pregnant?” he says. “I thought she was a dyke. I mean-a member of the gay and lesbian community, Shelly.”

“You’re a true Renaissance man, Joel,” she calls back.

“Joel, I talked to Harland the other night. Evelyn Pendry had spoken with him, too. Asked him all kinds of questions about Cassie.”

“These kinds of questions? Pregnancy and abortion?”

“He never specified, but my guess would be yes. And he was very concerned about these things getting out. You know, ‘Cassie’s already suffered enough,’ that kind of thing. He wanted me to keep a lid on Evelyn.”

“Pretty good lid on her now.”

Yeah, that sure is true. I take my foot off the accelerator as I see what has the makings of a police car, hidden behind an overpass.

“Joel, what do you remember about Gwendolyn Lake?”

“Gwendolyn,” he muses. “Cassie’s cousin. The party queen? I remember nothing, that’s what I remember. Mean and nasty, if memory serves-but she was in Europe during the murders so she didn’t really matter.”

“Right.” I sigh. “What was the name of Cassie’s friend? The guy who hung out with Cassie and Ellie?”

“Oh, the studly guy.”

“Yeah, he was a good-looking guy-”

“Cried like a baby,” Lightner says.

He did. He was an emotional guy. Held up pretty well while I prepped him for his testimony at the sentencing phase but broke down on the stand. Sobbed like a child.

“Handsome and sensitive,” Shelly says. “Is he single?”

“Mitchum,” Lightner recalls.

“Brandon Mitchum. Right, right. Joel, find him for me, okay?”

“Why?”

“Why? Because I pay you to do what I ask, not to ask what I do.”

“Is this you acting tough in front of your girlfriend?”

I look over at Shelly, who blushes.

“I mean, you guys are boyfriend-girlfriend again, right?”

She laughs. I feel the color on my cheeks, too.

“Well, thank Christ,” he says. “So-Brandon Mitchum? Seriously, Riley-why?”

Same thing Shelly asked. An itch I need to scratch, or something like that.

“Hey,” he says. “Who are the cops you’re working with?”

“Mike McDermott,” I say. “And Ricki Stoletti.”

“Don’t know Stoletti.”

“She transferred from the suburbs a couple years ago. Major Crimes.”

“McDermott’s a good man,” Lightner says. “I know him a little. He’s good. A cop’s cop. Went through a tough thing there with his wife.”

“How’s that?”

“Few years back,” he says, “his wife ate a gun.”

Shelly recoils. McDermott’s wife committed suicide? “Oh, Jesus.”

“She was a-what was it?-manic-depressive, I guess. Bipolar in a bad way. He comes home one day, she’s splayed out in the bathroom. Three-year-old daughter is curled up in the shower, sucking her thumb.”

“Holy shit.” I bring a hand to my face. “Three-year-old daughter?”

That explains McDermott’s reaction, at the task force meeting, to the “whack job” comment. I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for him.

“She didn’t see it happen, at least. But, still. Walking in on that? Your mother, with the back of her head blown out? When you’re three years old?”

I shake my head. “Okay, well, I’m going. Off to learn about Cassie Bentley.”

Lightner doesn’t answer immediately. Usually, he’s quick with a line. “Suddenly, you have a personal interest in this thing?”

“Maybe I do,” I say. “Find me Brandon Mitchum.” I punch out the phone.

ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER HOTEL. This one in the suburbs, a midlevel chain.

Leo laps the place in his car three times, peeking into the lobby, watching in the mirror for any new cars that might be entering the parking lot, because they’d keep their distance, they wouldn’t be so obvious.