Кей Хупер - Whisper of Evil

"Be careful, Nell. Whoever killed those men seems to want to get secrets out in the open. And we both know you have plenty of secrets to protect."

She didn't move or say anything in response, just watched him ride away until the forest swallowed him up.

Was his arrival here as casual as it appeared, or more deliberate? And what about the vision he had interrupted? Had she seen the postscript of a murder here in these woods, or something every bit as evil? Who was the man, the woman?

Nell stood where she was for several minutes, looking around her, searching for some sign that might answer her questions. But the forest was peaceful and unrevealing now, and the peculiar doorway in her mind refused to open.

Great. Just great. The universe was willing to give her a glimpse, but no real help.

As usual.

Sighing, Nell looked around once again and only then realized just where she was. Twelve years had changed everything, so perhaps that was why she hadn't immediately recognized it.

The big oak tree didn't look so very different; a dozen years in the life of an oak was hardly any time at all. There were vines twining about its base that hadn't been there before, vines Nell had to pull aside in order to find the roughly carved heart and its two sets of initials.

He had caught her here on an autumn day long ago, carving her hopes into the tree with a rusty pocketknife, and after that there hadn't been much use in pretending.

Nell watched her fingers trace the NG and MT , then sighed and allowed the vines to hide it once again. And it was only then that she recognized the vines.

Poison ivy.

She had to laugh, albeit ruefully. The universe, she decided, was definitely out to torment her. She turned and made her way back through the woods toward the house, hoping to wash the plant oils off her hands before her lack of caution resulted in a rash.

A bad one.

Ethan Cole looked up from his desk and only just managed not to scowl as the mayor of Silence walked into his office. Like him, she disliked intercoms; unlike him, she also disliked phones and so tended to arrive with absolutely no warning.

He could have used a little warning.

"Ethan, is there any more information about George Caldwell's death?" she asked without preamble.

Ethan made a token attempt to rise, mostly wasted since she immediately sank into one of his visitor's chairs, then he sat back down and made a show of pulling a folder off a stack in his in-box and frowning over the contents.

"Well, no, Casey, I don't see anything here you don't already know. Which I could have told you and saved you the trip if you'd called me."

Mayor Lattimore shrugged, her dark blue eyes fixed on his face. "I was coming over this way and figured I'd stop in. Ethan, I've had a dozen calls today — and not a single answer for any of the questions I've been asked."

"What questions?"

"What you'd expect. What's going on? Why can't we figure out who killed George Caldwell and the others and stop him before he kills somebody else?"

Ethan stiffened. "Even assuming all four of these men were killed, who's to say they were killed by the same person?"

"Jesus, Ethan, I hope you're not suggesting we've got four separate murderers running around Silence."

"It might be the lesser of two possible evils," he said with a sigh. "All we need is for the phrase serial killer to start making the rounds to damned sure put this town in a panic"

"Maybe we're already in a panic," the mayor suggested. "People are scared, you can hear it in their voices."

"I know that."

"So what do I tell them?"

Irritably, Ethan said, "Tell them to lock their doors at night, be careful, and mind their own business."

"And what do I say when they ask me why we elected officials aren't doing the job we were voted in to do?"

"Say we're damned well doing our jobs. Look, Casey, I don't know what else to tell you. My people are busting their asses trying to get this thing figured out. I haven't taken a day off since January, and my overtime budget went out the window months ago. We're working the investigations — and that's all we can do. If anybody else has a practical suggestion, I'd love to hear it."

"You still don't have a suspect for even one of the murders?"

He hesitated, then said, "I'm looking at Max Tanner for the Ferrier and Patterson deaths."

She lifted an eyebrow at him. "Last I heard, you weren't even admitting Luke Ferrier's drowning was anything but suicide or an accident."

"A few things have come to light that make murder at least as likely as an accident."

"I see. And what's the connection to Max Tanner?"

Ethan was not required to explain either himself or his investigations to the mayor — not directly, at any rate — but he'd learned that when Casey Lattimore asked questions she expected answers. And she could be a royal pain in the ass until she got them.

So, reluctantly, he answered. "It seems Ferrier borrowed money from Max a few weeks before he died."

"You got that from Max?"

"No. From someone who overheard Max telling Ferrier he wanted the loan repaid pronto."

The mayor frowned. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but wouldn't killing Ferrier be a stupid way to get a loan repaid?"

"Max has a temper, everybody knows that. He could have struck first and regretted it later."

"Struck by pushing Ferrier's car into a bayou? Wouldn't that theory make more sense if somebody'd beat the hell out of Ferrier rather than trying to drown him? I mean, if you suspect Max of the killing?"

Ethan hated logical women. "I said I was looking at Max, not that I considered him a solid suspect."

Without commenting on his disgruntled tone, she merely said, "And the Patterson death? What makes you suspect Max of being involved in that one?"

"We know the killer stood outside that bathroom window for a while before he dropped the electrical wire in, and we found a footprint. Style and size match up with the boots Max usually wears."

"I assume you checked Max's boots?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"And nothing. We can't prove just from the print that it was him standing outside that window."

"What else have you got?"

"Not much," Ethan admitted.

Rather than question him further on that point, she merely sighed and said, "I gather you're still against caning in outside help?"

His jaw tightened. "I am. These are grudge killings, and that means all the answers are right here in Silence. Whether there's one killer or more than one, no outsider is going to be better or quicker than we are in putting the pieces together."

"It's been eight months, Ethan."

The sheriff drew a breath and said carefully, "And the first forty-eight hours after a murder are critical. Yes, Casey, I know that. I also know that you feel qualified to comment on the investigation because you took that FBI course last year."

"That isn't —"

"I'm not saying it wasn't a smart thing for you to do. A mayor should feel qualified to oversee most aspects of town management. But law enforcement is a specialty, and one course in Criminal Investigation Techniques 101 hardly equates to fifteen years of experience on the job."

Perfectly aware that he was putting her on the defensive deliberately, Casey Lattimore nevertheless heard herself say, "I never claimed to be an expert, Ethan. And I'm certainly not trying to tell you how to do your job."

"I appreciate that, Casey."

She got to her feet, adding smoothly, "But judging by the phone calls I've been getting, the citizens of Silence want action, and they want it soon. Even so, we can't afford any mistakes. That means you'd better be damned sure of your evidence before you shine a spotlight of suspicion on anybody."