Mariah Stewart - Cold Truth

“Cass, this is Kendra Smith,” Rick introduced the artist. “Kendra, Cass is the detective here in Bowers Inlet…”

He paused as Cass embraced Lucy.

“And she’s also Lucy’s cousin,” he added.

“Well, Lucy’s a trooper. She did an incredible job. In spite of the fact that she tells me there was low light in the room where she was attacked, she kept her eyes open.” Kendra held up the sketch she’d completed. “Agent Cisco, I believe this is your man.”

Dark hair going light at the temples and receding slightly. Thick neck. Eyes deep and wide apart. Chiseled jawline, ears close to the head. Lines around the mouth and eyes.

“Lucy, had you seen this man before? Before the night he attacked you?” Cass was asking as she reached for the sketch.

“I think I did. I think he was in the video store last weekend when I went in for a movie. Was that Saturday night?” Lucy squeezed her eyes tightly closed. “God, it seems like so long ago.”

Cass patted Lucy’s arm. “You did a terrific job, Luce. I’m so proud of you.”

She took the sketch from Rick’s hands, and paused. Turning back to him, she lowered her voice and said, “He was in the restaurant last night. He was with three…”

She took a deep breath, then nodded slowly. “He was with three other men. What are the chances the four we’ve been looking for were right under our noses?”

Rick took a second look at the sketch.

“Shit, you’re right. He was there.” He rubbed his chin. “No coincidence that he was at the Inn. He must have been watching you, Cass.”

“Let’s get this over to the chief. I’ll bet my life he’ll recognize this face.” She leaned over and kissed Lucy soundly on the cheek. “You did it, Lulu. We’re going to get him, and you were the one who led the way.”

“If you do get him, it will have been worth it,” Lucy whispered.

“No ifs. He’s ours now.” Cass turned to Kendra. “Thanks so much. This is excellent work.”

“Lucy did the hard part,” Kendra said modestly. “I’m only the translator.”

“Whatever you call it, you have a gift. Thank you.” Cass headed toward the door.

“Thanks, Kendra. I’ll let you know when we get him.” Rick followed Cass into the hall and stepped around the officer who was standing guard.

“I’ll race you to the elevator,” Cass said, but as they approached the small lobby between elevator cars, they noticed both cars had arrows pointing up.

“Forget it. Let’s take the steps.” Rick grabbed her by the arm and steered her toward the stairwell.

They ran down several flights then through the double doors that led to the lobby, and out the side door that opened to the parking garage. Up one more flight to Rick’s car, then out onto Claymore Boulevard, which led directly into Bowers Inlet. Five minutes more and they were at the police station.

Cass barely knocked on Denver ’s door.

“We have a face,” she said breathlessly as she held up the sketch.

“And I have the name,” Denver told them.

“Do we know where he is?” Rick asked.

“We know where he’s been. He leased a house over on Darien Road. I already called for a warrant. Judge Newburg is signing it as we speak. It should arrive about the same time we do. We’ll start there.”

“Chief, I want back on the job.” Cass’s hands settled on her hips, her arguments already on the tip of her tongue. It was clear she was ready to fight if she had to.

“With restrictions. One, you don’t go inside until we know for certain if he’s there…”

“How many officers do we have?” Rick asked before Cass could respond. “Besides the three of us.”

“I have three more meeting us at the scene and I’ve already requested backup from Tilden.”

“But we’re lead, right?” Cass paused in the doorway.

“I said you could come along with restrictions,” Denver reminded her. “I know the temptation to nail this guy is going to be overwhelming for you. But let someone else bring him down, you hear me? It’s in everyone’s best interest if you do not put your hands on him. If you can’t go along with that, you stay outside until it’s over. Are we understood?”

“Sure. I understand.” She nodded, her mouth a straight, grim line. “You want this clean.”

“It’s going to be clean. What I want is to avoid any complications in the future. I want this done professionally-not that you’re not professional, Cass-but for you, this is highly personal. You were one of his first victims. I don’t want your fingerprints on him when we take him down. And I want him alive to answer for every last victim.”

She nodded. She didn’t like it, but she understood. Someone else would have to bring him in. Which was okay, though not the way she wanted it to end.

What she wanted was to bring him down, alone. What she wanted was to look into the eyes of the man who had murdered her family, hold a pistol to his heart, and fire.

The bayside cottage that Jonathan Wainwright rented for the season-intending to buy, according to his brother’s wife-was unlocked, as if the occupant had just stepped out to the small patio off the dining area. The rooms were immaculate. Nothing cluttered the counters in the kitchen. No dishes had been left in the sink. The living room furniture was as smooth as if never sat upon. The bathrooms appeared to have been scrubbed down with Clorox.

The beds in both upstairs rooms were expertly made. The clothes in the closet were in perfect alignment, as were the socks and underwear in the dresser.

In the refrigerator, they found an orange, a bottle of seltzer, an unopened pound of butter. A dozen eggs sat in their box. A tub of cream cheese and a jar of salsa stood side by side with a six-pack of Coke on the top shelf.

There was nothing to suggest the identity of the person who lived there.

“You didn’t really expect him to be here, did you?” Cass asked softly.

“No. Would’ve been nice to waltz right in and snatch him up. But that rarely happens. Even on TV.” Chief Denver moved through the living room, back into the kitchen, his hands in his pockets. “I suspect he’s off disposing of his latest conquest. I only wish I knew where.”

A uniformed officer stuck his head through the doorway. “Chief, the crime scene tech is here.”

“Send her on back.”

“Before I get started, tell me just how far I can go,” Tasha Welsh asked as she came into the room, lugging the heavy black bag that accompanied her everywhere. “How broad was your warrant?”

“Broad enough.” Denver nodded solemnly. “What did you have in mind?”

“I’m thinking the traps from the bathroom sink, for one, since the place is so clean. We’ll roll for fibers, and we’ll bag the bed pillow, hoping for some hair samples, but if we have to go to skin cells for the DNA, the bathroom sink is always a good place to start.” Her gloved hand held up a disposable razor. “Chances are, he shed a few shaving.”

She popped the razor into the bag.

“Do whatever you have to do to get as much as you can,” Denver told her.

“Already bagged his shoes. Maybe we’ll get a trace of soil from the bottoms, and maybe we can link that to one of the places where the bodies were found.” She started back out of the room, then turned and said, “You never did find the actual crime scenes, did you? We don’t know where he’s been taking these women to kill them?”

Denver shook his head. “No. We don’t have a clue.”

“It’s someplace that means something to him,” Cass said aloud. “Someplace where he feels safe…”

“Well, he grew up around here. Maybe we should start with the house he grew up in,” Rick suggested. “Or that garage where the evidence was stored.”