Josh Lanyon - The Mermaid Murders

“Thanks. I needed that.”

“How’d you sleep?”

Jason nodded. He said a little self-consciously, “Thank you for that too.”

“Sausage and egg or bacon and egg?”

“Sausage.”

Kennedy tossed him one of the breakfast sandwiches.

“Did you sleep at all?” Jason asked.

“Me? Sure.” Kennedy unwrapped a sandwich and took one of those gigantic bites. He grinned sharkishly at Jason.

“I’ve been thinking.” Jason delicately picked paper out of his mouth. He had been a little too enthusiastic tackling his own sandwich. “Boxner is our guy.”

“I see. This again.”

“You notice he didn’t want us to search Rexford.”

“He said it was a waste of time. I didn’t get the impression he was trying to stop us.”

“He stopped by Rebecca’s house that night. Something happened. They arranged to meet later. Something.” Jason sipped his coffee.

“You’re like a dog with a bone on this. And it’s pure speculation.”

“It’s not pure speculation. He did stop by her house. They did speak. And there are no witnesses as to what was said.”

“But there are witnesses to the fact that Rebecca returned to the party afterward.” Kennedy, in the process of doctoring his own coffee, didn’t even look up.

“And a short time later, she vanished without a word to anyone. That could indicate an attempt at secrecy. Which means mine is a reasonable assumption.”

Kennedy laughed. “Is it? I don’t agree. I don’t find that a very likely scenario.”

“You’re the one who first suggested it.”

Kennedy made a sound. Not quite a growl and not quite a groan, but one hundred percent aggravation.

“All right,” he said. “Explain to me the lapse in killings. If your theory is that Boxner was Pink’s disciple—”

“I didn’t say that. I said I didn’t think Pink had a disciple.”

“Then what are you saying? What triggered Boxner’s slip into homicidal mania? There hasn’t been a murder here in ten years. So what set Boxner off?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it was something specific to his relationship to Rebecca.”

“Which appears to be largely nonexistent.”

Jason said stubbornly, “I know I’m on to something with this.”

Kennedy closed his eyes as though in pain. Or in a visible attempt to hang on to his patience. “You don’t think maybe you’re a little biased when it comes to Officer Boxner?”

“You were the first one to bring up the possibility that our unsub might be someone involved in the original investigation.”

“On the periphery of the investigation. Not directly involved. I was not accusing a member of Kingsfield PD. And I certainly wasn’t accusing Officer Boxner who was only slightly older than you at the time of the first homicide.”

Right. Because demographics indicated that the majority of serial offenders were most active between the ages of twenty-seven and forty-five, with first kills originating typically in the early twenties. There were plenty of exceptions. Hell, there were even exceptions in Kennedy’s own impressive list of successfully closed cases. Female serial killers, child serial killers, geriatric serial killers. If anyone should be familiar with the colorful varieties of serial killers, it was Kennedy.

So yes, maybe Jason was predisposed to suspect the worst of Boxner, but didn’t Kennedy also have a blind spot in being unwilling to even consider the involvement of law enforcement in this case?

“You really think I can’t separate my personal feelings from the job?” Jason asked.

“I think you sincerely try.”

“Thanks for giving me that much,” Jason said shortly.

“It’s human nature,” Kennedy said. “You have cause for not liking Boxner. There’s considerable antipathy between you. It’s reasonable that you believe he’s capable of these other acts. He believes you’re capable of these other acts. You’re going to have to trust me on this. He’s not our guy. He doesn’t fit the profile.”

“Which profile? The original profile is irrelevant.”

“It’s not irrelevant .” That was the old Kennedy. Short and sharp.

“Maybe not irrelevant, but this profile, the profile you’re working on now, is largely composed of someone trying to copy the earlier profile. Right?”

Kennedy didn’t miss a beat. “That’s not Boxner. Right there, that is not in his psychological makeup. And secondly, that’s one theory. Yours. I’m not convinced.”

Jason stared. “You don’t think there’s a copycat killer out there?” That was news. When had Kennedy made that deduction? And why wasn’t he sharing his theories with his partner? Okay, temporary partner.

As though reading Jason’s mind, Kennedy said—his tone almost placating, “I think that it’s too soon to draw any conclusions. Look, this kind of investigation takes time. We’ll know more after we talk to the Davies girl. Meantime, will you at least try to keep an open mind? You’ve got a promising line of investigation in tracking down the artist of the mermaid charms. That’s what you need to focus on.”

In other words, stay out of my way .

Oh, but hey. They had definitely made progress in the area of interpersonal relationships because Kennedy didn’t say it aloud. In fact, he was making an obvious effort not to say anything offensive or dismissive.

“All right,” Jason said curtly.

Kennedy looked relieved, but Jason too had made progress. Kennedy was the senior on this, after all, and the guy Jason was currently sleeping with. Jason could also be courteous and considerate—and keep his own counsel and follow his own line of inquiry.

* * * * *

Manning phoned on the short drive to the police station.

Jason saw the SAC’s ID flash up and threw Kennedy a quick look. He let the call go to message. A moment later, Manning phoned again.

“Answer it,” Kennedy said. “He’s not going to give up.”

Jason pressed to accept the call. “West.”

“Agent West, I was, erm, expecting to hear from you before now. What is the status?”

Hadn’t they only spoken the day before? Jason said cautiously, “The status, sir?”

“Are we or are we not looking for a copycat killer in Kingsfield?”

Copycat killer in Kingsfield . Try saying that three times fast. Jason replied, “It’s still too early to draw any conclusions. The last victim isn’t able to speak yet. We’ll know more when we can interview her.”

“Diplomatic,” Kennedy commented.

Jason frowned at him.

“I watch the news, Agent West.”

“Sir?”

Manning said, “All I want to know is did Kennedy put the wrong, erm, man in prison ten years ago?”

Jason stared at the rows of old houses and tidy gardens gliding past. “No. Absolutely not.”

“I’m not looking for an, erm, whitewash job, Agent West. I— we —want the truth. We need the truth.”

No, what Manning wanted was corroboration. Justification for going after Kennedy. This wasn’t about “we” or the Bureau. It was about Manning and Kennedy. This was a long-running feud. And Jason was now caught in the middle of it.

“Sir, Martin Pink is the Huntsman. I interviewed Pink myself three days ago, and I’m confident we got the right man.”

Manning said shortly, “I’m glad you’re so certain, West. But as I said, I watch the, erm, news, and it sounds to me like not everyone is, erm, convinced on that point.”

“Well, I don’t believe it’s possible to get unanimous consent on any point, sir.”

Kennedy gave a quiet laugh and turned into the parking lot behind the police station.

“Indeed,” Manning said. “Keep in mind why you’ve been assigned to this case, West. I want regular updates. I want daily updates.” He hung up noisily.