Mariah Stewart - Cold Truth

Across the bay, Old Barney stood watch. As a child, he’d played at the base of the Barnegat Lighthouse, had fished with his brother from the rocks. At least the lighthouse remained, whatever else might have changed.

And change had come to the bay communities, there was no denying that. Over the past week, he’d driven through all the small towns that dotted the shore, one by one, reliving treasured moments here and there. He’d been stunned by the amount of development that had come to the area since he’d been away, townhouses and condos and single family homes all the way back to the Pines, some built over what had once been marsh. Shopping centers out on the highway, flanked by fast-food restaurants and discount stores. It had made his head spin.

Well, a lot can happen in twenty-six years, he reminded himself. A lot can change.

Now, me, I haven’t changed at all.

In his eyes, he was still the same guy who had left at the end of that summer, armed with new skills he’d developed over the course of three months. The need inside him, once awakened, had been a tough taskmaster, demanding ever more satisfaction. Over the course of the years, he had fed its desires hundreds of times.

As lately as last night.

He smiled, remembering. How could he have thought he’d come all this way and not feel that drive within him build to a scream?

Especially after having visited the scenes of his earliest escapades. He remembered-and relived-each one.

He had an uncanny memory for such things.

He walked the length of the beach, rehearsing what he’d say to his brother when he rang the doorbell of their old family home later this afternoon. Reminded himself to smile, to pretend to be happy to see his family again after all these years. Be gentle with his sister-in-law, who had-let’s face facts here-never cared much for him. Admire the children. Beam at them, as if delighted by their very existence. He needed to get used to them, since he planned to be around for a while. It wouldn’t do to be estranged from the only family he had left. Might it not appear odd somehow, if he and his brother lived in the same town and never socialized?

He sighed. It all sounded so dreary.

There were lots of ways for him to pass the time, now that he was back. There were more places for him to visit, places he remembered well, when he was ready. He’d know when the time was right. Some things weren’t meant to be rushed.

He raised the binoculars to his eyes and focused on an osprey that was circling overhead, and felt perfectly content.

He’d promised himself a place on the water, and having already put the house in Texas on the market, there was no time like the present to start looking for a new home. A permanent one.

Right here in Bowers Inlet.

6Cass dropped her bag on the kitchen counter and plunked herself into a chair, grateful to be home after near round-the-clock duty for the past three days. With Spencer gone, she was once again the sole detective for the department, which would, under normal circumstances, keep her moving from sunrise to sunset. Throw a serial killer into the mix, and the hours of sleep each night diminish in proportion to the number of bodies found.

And just that morning, there’d been another body.

Cass had felt a twinge of guilt when she realized her first response had been relief to learn the body had been found in nearby Dewey. Once she’d finished walking the crime scene with Dewey’s chief of police, at his request and with Denver ’s blessing, her boss had sent her home with instructions to get some sleep. But she’d run into Tasha on the way to her car. The county crime scene tech had all but begged Cass to photograph the scene for her since Dewey didn’t have anyone who could line up a decent shot. So Cass had stayed, and stayed, telling herself she could sleep later.

Well, right about now, she could sleep right here, standing in the kitchen. Or she could drag her tired bones into the living room and just pass out on the sofa. Yeah, that sounded even better…

She’d just stretched out and closed her eyes when a thought popped into her brain.

It was Thursday.

Shit. Thursday.

With a groan, she forced herself to sit, went into the bathroom, and splashed cold water on her face. Then it was a quick fly through the bedroom, where she changed into sweat shorts and an old T-shirt and pulled on her sneakers. Grabbing a headband from a drawer, she wrapped it around her wrist and picked up her gym bag. Back to the kitchen, where she took two bottles of spring water from the cupboard and tossed them into the bag she’d dropped by the back door. Already late, she hurried outside and hopped into her car.

Four minutes later, she parked and got out. It was dusk, and the lights on the poles surrounding the small playground had just turned on. From across the asphalt she could hear the distinct tap-tap-tap of a ball being dribbled. As Cass jogged across the court, that ball sped toward her, thrown by the lone player, a tall young girl whose white shorts were a sharp contrast to her long brown legs. Cass tossed her bag aside, then caught the ball with one hand. She started toward the basket, dribbling methodically, her eyes on her opponent. She took her shot, which was skillfully blocked. Back and forth they went for twenty minutes, until Cass, totally winded, called a time-out.

“I thought maybe you weren’t coming this week,” the girl said as Cass handed her a bottle of water. “I thought maybe you were too busy, you know, with that killer.”

“It has been a tough week,” Cass admitted as she opened her own bottle and took a long drink, “but Khaliyah, you know that I’ll always be here. Some weeks later than others. It was close, though. I didn’t get home until late.”

Cass reached into her bag, searching the contents.

“I have something for you,” she told the girl.

Cass handed over a cell phone.

“For me? This is for me? Really?”

“I’m thinking that with all that’s going on, you should probably have one with you.”

“You mean those women getting killed?”

“Yes.”

“He’s only killing white women, though, right? Older white women?”

“So far.” Cass ignored the reference to age. All of the victims had been around Cass’s age of thirty-two.

“Well, in case you need a reminder, I’m black,” the girl whispered as if sharing a confidence. “And I’m not old. Those women who were killed were all in their thirties, right?”

“And they also all had long dark hair.” Cass tipped her bottle in the direction of the girl’s hair, which was tied back in a ponytail. “Long dark hair like yours. Black or white, young or old-and some other time, we’ll talk about what is old and what is not-you never know what he’s thinking, Khaliyah. Best to have it, if you need it.”

“So, do I have, like, so many minutes a month…”

“No. So you can call me anytime, day or night. I already programmed my numbers in. Home, office, cell. So you can always reach me if you need me. Here, let me show you…”

“I know how to use it. All my friends have them.” Khaliyah studied the phone for a minute, then touched a button.

Cass’s phone rang. She reached into her bag for it.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Detective Burke. This is Khaliyah Graves. I want to thank you for the new phone.”

“You are very welcome. Don’t lose it.”

“I won’t. I promise. It’s the best present I ever got.” Khaliyah’s eyes were shining. “Thank you, Cass.”

“You’re welcome.” Cass disconnected the call. “Now, tell me, how’d school go this week?”

“Well, it’s just summer school, and we only just started classes on Monday. At least I got the good Spanish teacher, but the trig teacher-so-so. We have our first test tomorrow. Jameer said this teacher gives the hardest tests.”