Lisa Jackson - Most Likely To Die

Behind every crime was a motive. Sometimes an illogical motive, but a motive all the same. Why would anyone want to kill the members of the reunion committee?

Because they didn’t want the class of ’86 to come together again? Could it be that simple? No, of course it couldn’t. Besides, Lindsay had been attacked and she wasn’t on the committee. No, but she had been Jake’s girlfriend. So was the killer eliminating committee members or the girls Jake had dated or-no, not the girls Jake dated. He hadn’t dated Haylie or Aurora or Mandy. And although she and Jake had been friends, they’d never dated.

Scratch the girls he dated. Scratch committee members only. Each victim had known Jake, but not all had dated him or loved him. Haylie had hated him. So what was the common denominator? What was the one thing that united them?

Mentally sorting through her knowledge of each victim, Rachel reached a conclusion rather quickly. Each woman had attended St. Elizabeth’s, and they had all been a part of the same clique.

Did that mean anyone who didn’t fall answer to that description was safe from the killer? Maybe. But until Rachel could prove her theory, it was best to err on the side of caution.

“There’s an all-night diner about three blocks from here,” Dean said. “Want to stop there or-”

“Sure, that’s fine.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“What?”

“If you’re thinking you could have somehow prevented what happened to Mandy, stop thinking it. There’s no way you could have saved her.”

“If I could just figure out who might hate all of us enough to want us dead…after all these years.”

Dean pulled into the small parking lot adjacent to the diner, killed the motor, and turned to Rachel. “If we have only one killer-and that’s not a definite-then I’d say we have a mental case on our hands. Pinpoint someone who is mentally unstable and we just might have a suspect.”

“That’s it! We’ll run a background check on everyone who graduated in eighty-six from all three high schools and-”

“Wait up, honey. Who is going to do this investigation? As officers of the law, we’re limited as to what we can and can’t do. Besides, even if we were able to cut through all the red tape, it could take six months or longer to get the kind of information we need on that many people.”

“Damn. You’re right. Okay, then we’ll start with the people who were the closest to Jake, especially those on the reunion committee. That’s only four people. I think it’s safe to eliminate Kristen and Lindsay, since they’ve both been targeted by the killer.”

“I tend to agree with you, but as an objective investigator, I’d say check them out, too. Never eliminate someone for personal reasons.”

“You’re right, but-”

“If you’re eliminating suspects, drop Bella Marcott from the list. She’s Jake’s little sister and she adored the guy.”

Rachel reached for the door handle. “Come on, let’s brainstorm over some hot coffee. Maybe a shot of caffeine will boost our mental powers enough to plot a course of action.”

Mandy’s autopsy report confirmed what the ME had told the investigators at the scene of the crime-she had been strangled. Ligature strangulation. There had been bruises, abrasions, and contusions found on Mandy’s neck due to the use of excessive force during the act. Excessive force was quite common when a killer used either his bare hands or a rope or scarf.

Rachel reread the autopsy report. Using all his official influence, Chief Charlie Young had managed to get a rush job done on Mandy’s autopsy-five days. Unheard of as a general rule. And during those five days, Mandy’s friends had banded together to help Jeff and Emily, each taking turns staying at the house with them and others bringing food and fielding phone calls.

And on each of the five days, Rachel had received a phone call from the killer. Or at least the disguised voice claimed to be the killer. The caller knew things about the St. Lizzy’s students that only someone who had been around in the old days would know. If only she could recognize the voice. If only the caller would say something that would identify him or her. But the messages were succinct, each taunting Rachel, telling her that she was no better at solving murder mysteries than her father had been.

This morning’s call had ended with Rachel losing her temper, something she seldom did.

Just as she flipped her cell phone closed and slammed it down on her desk, Dean approached her. She felt his presence before she actually saw him. Whether she recognized the sound of his distinctive walk or had smelled a hint of his light citrus aftershave, she wasn’t sure.

She looked up into those now-familiar golden eyes and knew immediately that something was up. Her heart lurched as fear radiated through her. Please, dear God, don’t let it be bad news.

“Another call from our self-proclaimed killer?” Dean asked.

Rachel huffed. “Yeah.” She kept her gaze connected to his. “Whatever it is, just tell me.”

“I tried to set up an appointment with Mrs. Dewey, but she refuses to see us.”

“What? Why?”

After Mandy’s murder, Dean and Rachel had postponed their trip to Salem to question Patrick Dewey’s widow about her husband and the fact that his bow had been used in Jake’s murder. Then yesterday, Dean had suggested they make the trip today.

“The only reason her son gave me for her refusal was that she had nothing new to add to what she’d told the police twenty years ago,” Dean said.

“Did you tell her son why we-?”

Rachel’s cell phone rang again. She tensed instantly.

Dean eyed the phone lying on her desk. “Want me to get it?”

She shook her head. “Our killer calls only once a day.” She lifted the phone, flipped it open, and breathed a sigh of relief when she recognized the caller ID name and number.

“Hello, Lin,” Rachel said. The day after Mandy’s murder, Rachel had called her old friend from their days as cops together on the Chattanooga P.D. Lin McAllister now worked for Powell’s Private Security and Investigation, one of the most prestigious firms in the country.

“I’ve got the information you requested on those six women,” Lin said. “We did a rush job just for you.”

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

“You owe me more than one. A job like this took several days of Powell’s brainpower, as well as calling in a few favors and bypassing some laws.”

“If I could afford to pay you what this info is worth, I would.”

Lin laughed. “Wait until you read the report, then decide what it’s worth. I sent each report as a separate e-mail attachment. Check your e-mail as soon I hang up.”

“Was there anything that stood out, anyone that appeared suspect for any reason?” The last thing Rachel wanted was for one of her old friends to have a suspicious skeleton in her closet, but if there was information that might point to them as being capable of murder…

“Just about anybody over the age of thirty-five probably has a secret or two,” Lin said. “Your friends are no different, but nothing that sent up a red flag.”

“Thanks.”

“Sure thing. Look, take care of yourself. I don’t want to hear that you’ve become a victim of this resurrected Cupid Killer.”

A shiver of foreboding tingled along Rachel’s nerve endings. “I’ll be careful.”

After she ended the conversation and placed the phone on her desk, she turned on her laptop computer and waited for it to boot up. “I need a printer I can connect to,” she told Dean. “My old Chattanooga P.D. friend who’s now with Powell’s Private Security agency got the info I wanted.”

“You know, it’s just wrong somehow that a private agency can get hold of information the police can’t legally obtain, at least not without going through an act of Congress.” Dean motioned to Rachel. “You can use the captain’s secretary’s printer. Tracy won’t ask too many questions.”