Mariah Stewart - Cold Truth

“Not a bad idea,” the chief said. “Let me get someone over there to talk to the present owners.”

“Disappointed?” Rick asked Cass after Denver had left the room.

“I didn’t expect him to be here. He still has a victim, someplace. At least I’m assuming he does. The body hasn’t been found, and God knows, everyone’s been looking for her.” She paused. “Her name is Lilly Carson, had you heard? She lives with her widowed mother, she’s twenty-eight years old, the single mother of a six-year-old son, and she just got her master’s degree in education last month. She supported herself and her son and put herself through grad school by working as a bartender at Jelly’s down in Tilden. That’s where she was last seen. Leaving Jelly’s after her shift was over, two-forty in the morning.”

Cass went to the window and gazed out.

“Where did he take her?” she murmured. “Where does he feel safe?”

“Denver says he has a brother and sister-in-law in town. They gave us a description of the car he’s been driving, maybe they can give us an idea of where he might go. Someplace that’s important to him. Or one of his buddies might know where he’d go.”

“Let’s get started, then. You want to take the brother, I’ll start with the friends?” Cass asked.

“No. Just because we think he’s occupied with someone else isn’t a good enough reason to leave you exposed. We’ll go together. And we’ll stick together until we find him.”

She nodded halfheartedly and went off to tell the chief where they were going.

Jonathan Wainwright sat in the bird blind, his back against the wall, literally and figuratively. On the floor near his feet, Lilly Carson lay, bound and gagged and still unconscious. His mind went back and forth between killing her right then and there or holding on to her. His brother had called his cell phone, wanting to know what the fuck was going on, the police had been there, asking a lot of questions.

“You haven’t done anything stupid, have you, Jonny?” his older brother, Steve, had asked, a touch of derision in his voice. “You’re not still doing… you know, the stuff you used to get in trouble for, are you?”

“If you’re asking me if I’ve looked into anyone’s bedroom window lately, the answer is no,” Jon had replied calmly, then disconnected the call.

But he was far from calm. Somehow, they had put something together. The one who didn’t die, that’s who it must have been. She must have told them.

Jenny.

Or another Jenny wannabe?

He rubbed his eyes. He just didn’t know anymore. Sometimes he thought he knew. Sometimes he felt so sure…

The woman on the floor of the blind moaned softly.

What to do with you? What to do…?

Killing her would be as mundane as tying his shoes at this point. The thrill was definitely gone. She held no appeal for him now. The moment had passed.

But alive… maybe she could serve a purpose.

He stood up and looked down on her. Lilly’s long dark hair spread around her and fell across her forehead in a silken wave.

What a shame, he told himself. What a waste.

He leaned over the side of the blind and looked around. The sanctuary was exactly that today. His sanctuary. A slight breeze blew through the trees and the marsh grasses, and a few birds called every once in a while. Other than that, it was quiet. Peaceful.

He rested his arms along the top rail and began to think. Plan it out, son, his father would have said, for Christ’s sake.

He nodded a silent response. Okay, Pop, I’ve got a plan for you. I only wish to God you were still around to see it all play out. You think I embarrassed you when I was a kid? You ain’t seen nothing, old man.

Resolved, he lifted the woman and opened the door to the blind. Carefully picking his way down the steps, he started across the marsh to the small rowboat he’d tied up at the edge of the bay. He dumped Lilly unceremoniously into the bottom of the boat, and she groaned when her head hit the seat. Ignoring her pain, he pushed out through the shallows. When the water was above his knees, he slid over the side of the boat and picked up the oars.

He looked straight ahead as he rowed, glancing down one time to see Lilly watching him through terrified eyes.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m not going to dump you over the side. Uh-uh. You’re much too valuable alive. Much more.”

He rowed quietly and kept as close to the shoreline as he could. When he reached his destination, he hopped out of the boat and dragged it up through the reeds. He lifted a frightened Lilly and hoisted her over his shoulder, pushing his way through the thick growth of cattails to the house that stood at the edge of the marsh-the house where it had all started, twenty-six long years ago.

“Can you give me five minutes?” Cass asked Rick as he slowed down in front of her house.

“I can give you all the time you need,” he told her, “but I’m coming in with you.”

He turned off the engine and they got out of his car. She waved to a neighbor across the street, and stepped aside as a happy toddler drove his miniature car toward her on the sidewalk. The boy’s mother smiled apologetically as she kept pace with her son.

Cass pushed aside the crime scene tape that still draped her front porch, and unlocked the door with her key. She stepped inside tentatively.

“It seems like forever since I’ve been here,” she told Rick as he followed her into the front hall.

“Well, it’s been a pretty intense week.”

“It hasn’t even been a whole week,” she reminded him. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

“It seems like I’ve been here longer than that. I feel as if I’ve known you for more than a week.”

She paused at the stairwell, one foot on the bottom step, and studied his face. He was watching her watch him.

“I know what you mean. I feel the same way,” Cass told him.

“Good. That’s good.” He smiled.

“I’ll be right back.” She broke eye contact and ran up the steps to her room.

She grabbed her last clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt from her dresser-she really did need to get some laundry done-and stuffed them into a small tote, along with her running shoes, before going into her closet. From the top shelf, she took a small handgun already in an ankle holster and strapped it on. Around her waist she wore a belt with a clip that held her revolver. She reached up to the shelf again and felt around for the twenty-two she had, on occasion, concealed in the small of her back. Finding it, she slid it into place and tugged her shirt over her belt.

“You look as if you mean business,” Rick said from the doorway. “You really think you’re going to need all that?”

“One way or another, we’re getting him today.” She met his eyes in the mirror that hung on the closet door. “I’m not sure how, but this is ending today.”

“I’m all for that.”

“What do you say we pop in on Mr. Calhoun and see what he has to say. Maybe he’ll have some thoughts on where his good friend, Mr. Wainwright, might be spending a quiet day.”

“Well, neither of his other friends had much to say,” Rick reminded her. “I doubt he’ll be of much help, but let’s give him a try.”

“You think Wainwright knows that we know it’s him?” she asked as she turned to him. “Do you think he’s caught on?”

“If he’s tried to go home, he’s caught on. And there’s a damned good chance his brother has tipped him off. He sure seemed to have an attitude when it came to his little brother.”

“I felt that, too. As if he wasn’t at all surprised that the police wanted to talk to him. Almost as if he was expecting it.”