Josh Lanyon - The Mermaid Murders

“A local girl, Charlotte Simpson of all people, came forward this morning with the story she and McEnroe are an item and therefore he’d have no motive for doing Rebecca harm.”

“Can she confirm McEnroe’s alibi?”

“No. She wasn’t at the party, and she didn’t see McEnroe Friday evening.” Gervase grimaced. “She doesn’t seem to understand juggling two girlfriends actually gives McEnroe more of a motive.”

Kennedy shrugged.

“You just don’t like him for it, do you?” Gervase asked glumly. He glanced at Jason. “What about you?”

“McEnroe’s not my favorite person,” Jason said. “However, I think there would be easier ways to get rid of an extra girlfriend.”

Gervase grinned. “You’d probably have some experience with that, a nice-looking young fella like yourself.”

Uh… Jason glanced at Kennedy. He could have sworn Kennedy’s gaze was speculative.

Jason said, “Am I right in thinking there are fewer volunteers out here today?”

Chief Gervase confirmed this with the news that a lot of people were now convinced Tony McEnroe had killed the girl. Those who didn’t buy into that theory believed Rebecca had taken off of her own free will and for reasons unknown.

“No,” Kennedy said. “Absolutely not. That is incorrect.”

“ I know it’s incorrect, and you know it’s incorrect,” Gervase said. “That doesn’t change the fact it’s what people are saying.”

“I thought the theory was there might be a copycat out there,” Jason said.

“That’s our theory,” Gervase told him. “If the people of this town have a choice, they’re going to opt for the Madigan kid running away over another monster.”

“It’s too early to determine what we’re dealing with,” Kennedy said. “That girl running away from home is not among the possibilities.”

“I’m not arguing with you,” Gervase said. “We’ll do what we can with the resources we’ve got.” He absently accepted a thermos cup of coffee from a young female officer. “McEnroe passed his lie-detector test. Not that it means much. We’re still going to hold him on the firearms charges, assaulting a federal agent…we’ve got plenty on him.”

“He’s fine where he is,” Kennedy said indifferently. Clearly McEnroe’s fate was not a matter of interest or importance to him. He was studying the incident briefing map.

New Geographic Information Software had replaced outdated hardcopy quadrangle maps, transparent Mylars, and erasable markers, once standard tools in any search. In the final analysis, it all came down to boots on the ground. Humans searching for humans.

Today Jason and Kennedy were joining those boots on the ground, though that was as much to gain insight into the other players as to help locate Rebecca. According to Kennedy, there was every chance whoever had taken the girl—and he did not entertain any other scenario—would be among those looking for her now.

It was another beautiful hot summer day, and while the general mood of the searchers could not be called optimistic, the morning had brought a renewed sense of determination to find Rebecca.

News vans were parked along the perimeter, a reminder the outside world was watching.

Mid-morning Chief Gervase gave a couple of interviews, and Jason was designated—by Kennedy—to stand in the background and look suitably grave.

“That’s what you’re here for, West. Just looking at you will instill confidence in the at-home viewers.”

“The hell—”

Kennedy had already gone back to his maps and charts, and Jason gritted his teeth and followed the chief to where the cameras waited.

Around lunchtime word spread that the Madigans were holding their own press conference, and the news vans departed. Rebecca’s parents were offering a two-hundred–thousand-dollar reward for Rebecca’s safe return—and unwittingly creating huge problems for themselves, as they would no doubt discover once the crank calls started flooding in.

Around two o’clock Gervase called his “focus team” together for a quick meeting.

“It’s a long shot, but I think we should try Rexford.”

“Rexford?” Boxner was frowning. “ Why ?”

“What’s Rexford?” Kennedy asked.

Jason was wondering the same thing. The name was vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

“Rexford is a ghost town,” Gervase told them. “It was one of the smaller villages that got flooded when they created the Quabbin Reservoir back in the ’30s. Some of the houses were moved or razed, but the cellar holes remain. Some of the buildings were just abandoned as was. The majority of the land is still above water. You can’t get to it by car. You have to walk in. You’ve been there, Boyd. Hell, every kid in this county has explored Rexford at some time or another.”

“Not me,” Boxner said.

“Me neither,” Jason said.

Gervase didn’t quite roll his eyes, but the effect was the same. “Don’t worry, boys, I’m not planning to arrest you for trespassing.”

“I’ve never been inside there,” Boxner repeated. “Not ever.”

“What’s the plan?” Kennedy said.

“A small team. Strictly LEOs,” Gervase replied. “There are too many potential risks to even consider bringing civilians into the area. Some of those buildings are half underwater. All of them are falling down. We’ve got everything from poison ivy to black-widow spiders.”

“Welcome to the neighborhood,” Jason said.

“It doesn’t seem realistic to me Rebecca would be there,” Boxner said. “For sure not of her own free will. And why would anyone take her there?”

“You just answered your own question,” Gervase said. “Because it’s guaranteed no one would look for her in Rexford.”

Boxner continued to frown.

Kennedy said briskly, “All right. Let’s do it.”

“Okay. You, me, West, Boyd, Simpson—”

“George? How does George Simpson fit into this?” Boxner asked.

The chief said with exaggerated patience, “George Simpson used to be a State Trooper.”

“About a million years ago.”

“He’s got the training, and he knows the area. Which would be useful since the rest of you are claiming you’ve never been there.”

“Up to you,” Boxner said.

“I know it’s up to me,” Gervase said shortly. “And our final man—person—will be Officer Dale.”

“The little kiss-ass should love that,” Boxner said.

“Boyd, you are starting to piss me off,” Gervase said. “What’s gotten into you?”

Boxner scowled, muttered something, and walked away.

“Thinks he knows better than the old man,” Gervase said wryly.

Kennedy said, “They always do.”

* * * * *

“Remember the time we opened that old icebox and found that nest of snakes?” George Simpson was saying. “I’m surprised they didn’t hear us all the way in Boston.”

Gervase snorted. Catching Jason’s expression in the rearview mirror, he said, “They weren’t poisonous snakes.”

Jason and Kennedy were riding with the chief and George Simpson in the chief’s SUV while Boxner and the personable and efficient Officer Dale followed in a second vehicle.

“Oh,” Jason said. “Great.” He glanced sideways at Kennedy. Kennedy was staring out the window at the woodland flashing by as they headed down the highway toward Rexford, but there was the tiniest of quirks to his mouth.

“We don’t have many poisonous snakes out here,” Gervase said. “You find timber rattlers and copperheads in Hampshire and Hampden. Sometimes Norfolk. Which is not to say Rexford doesn’t have its dangers.”

“You just have to exercise common sense,” Simpson said.