Twenty-two
Mason’s impression of Sunrise Cove jibed with Naomi’s. It had charm, and its situation on the water added considerable appeal. He’d have enjoyed a few days downtime there, maybe renting some Jet-Skis, or that kayak his sister seemed so keen on.
He couldn’t see making it his base, as Naomi was. He liked the city, where anything and everything could and did happen. He needed a quick pace, one that kept up with his own.
But then she preferred the quiet, prized her solitude. He needed movement, conversation, needed to be part of a team. Work drove them both—hers in art and imagery, capturing moments and making them speak. His in behavior, in rules, in an endless quest to find out why.
Compensations, he knew very well, for both of them, constantly on some level trying to weigh the scale against what they’d come from.
She tried, often too hard in his opinion, to erase it, to shove it away. And he couldn’t stop studying it, aiming his life toward the pursuit of those, like his father, who lived to destroy, and found their only real pleasure in that destruction.
He didn’t know what to think about Xander Keaton or Naomi’s relationship with him. Yet. He’d study that as well.
The fact she’d told Keaton about Bowes indicated she’d formed a serious and he wanted to believe healthy attachment—something she’d avoided and denied herself all her life outside of their tight little family.
As for Keaton . . . on first impression Mason would tag him with one of Harry’s terms. A cool customer. But he’d already observed a number of tells. The way he’d ranged himself in front of the house—with Naomi inside—before Mason had identified himself, the firm but casual order for her to “simmer down,” and the fact that he’d told Mason to talk to Naomi when Mason had asked about sex.
Initial analysis? Mason thought as he parked in the tiny lot beside the station house. A confident man, and one who’d protect his sister. He could and would be grateful for that, for now.
And like any self-respecting brother who was also a federal agent, he’d run him.
Mason rounded to the front, noted the station had a small front porch, recently painted and swept clean as a parlor.
When he stepped inside, he had that instant déjà vu he experienced any time he went into a small-town cop shop.
Had Naomi been in here? he wondered. Would she see the similarities to Pine Meadows? Of course she would. Not the same, of course, not a mirror image, and the basic tools and equipment had advanced in the seventeen years since his father’s arrest.
But the setup struck so similar, the tone. The smell of coffee and baked goods, plastic chairs, a trio of desks in what served as both a kind of lobby and the bull pen.
A uniformed deputy sat at one of the desks, gave Mason the eye.
“Help you?”
You already know who I am, why I’m here, Mason calculated. And don’t like the idea of an outsider, especially a federal one, horning into town business.
The reaction was nothing new.
“Yes. Special Agent Mason Carson. I have a meeting with Chief Winston.”
The deputy leaned back in his chair, sized Mason up with a faint sneer that clearly read fuck you. “Have you got identification?”
Even as Mason reached for it, a man came out of the back holding a big blue mug that read CHIEF. “Mike, you climb up any higher on that horse, you’re going to get a nosebleed.” Sam stepped forward, hand extended. “Sam Winston. Pleased to meet you, Agent Carson.”
“I appreciate the time, Chief.”
“Come on back. You want some coffee? It’s not half-bad coffee.”
“I just had some at my sister’s, but thanks.”
They stepped into an office with a window at the back. The wide sill held a scatter of trophies, some framed photos, and a wildly thriving philodendron.
The desk sat on the side wall, giving the Cove’s chief views out the window and to the door. Two visitor’s chairs—straight backs, no-nonsense—angled toward it.
“Have a seat.”
Sam took the chair behind the desk that looked as though it had stood in that spot for a couple generations.
“I’m going to tell you straight off, we haven’t got line one on Donna Lanier. Her sister, her daughter, and her cousin are all on their way here. No stopping them. Her car was locked, and we found the keys on the ground, just under it. It’s clear whatever happened to her started in that parking lot.”
Mason only nodded. “I’d like to see the lot, and her residence, if possible.”
“We’ll do that.”
“You indicated Ms. Lanier lives alone, and is—to your knowledge—not in a relationship.”
“That’s right. Donna’s been divorced and single for a lot of years. Now she and Frank Peters have a drink or dinner now and then, and I do believe a bit more than that. But it’s a friendly sort of thing, and nothing serious on either side. And Frank was down at Loo’s when Donna closed up Friday. He was with a couple of friends, didn’t head out until nearly one.”
Nodding again, Mason decided to keep his notes mental for the time being. “Is that usual?”
“More like clockwork. Frank and his buddies tend to hit Loo’s on Friday nights, blow off the workweek steam.”
“Would you object if I speak to him?”
“No, and neither would he. He and Donna have been friends a long time. He’s scared for her, and I’ll admit I am, too. She’s not one to go off like this. She’s a responsible woman with a daughter she loves, a job she loves. She’s got friends. And let’s cut through this, Agent Carson. She sure as hell didn’t go willing out of that lot, without her car, keys on the ground, when she’d planned this get-together with her sister and her cousin for months now. All she could talk about was her trip, how they were getting hot-stone massages.”
“I don’t disagree, and I realize it seems as though I’m asking to cover ground you’ve already covered, and ground you know better than I ever could. Sometimes an outside perspective, a fresh eye, sees something overlooked.”
Sam looked into his mug, grimaced a little, drank. “I’m not going to argue that, and you can cover the ground all you want. But I don’t just know the ground, I know the people who live on it. And I know there’s no one in this town who could do what was done to Marla. And I know we’ve got people who come here for a few hours, a few days, maybe longer, to use the marina, the shops and bars and restaurants, the hiking trails. They rent boats and kayaks and Sea-Doos.” Sam set his mug down. “I don’t know them.”
“You believe an outsider abducted and killed Marla Roth.”
“With every bone in my body.”
“Tell me more about her.”
“Marla?” Sam puffed out his cheeks, let the air out in a half sigh. “As different from Donna as they come—and I know that’s not usual if this is the same person. Marla was thirty-one, on the wild side of things, and always has been. She divorced a good man who loved her, and still does. Who’s grieving for her. You can talk to him, too, but Chip Peters would’ve cut off both arms before laying a hand on Marla.”
“Peters.” He already knew, of course, had already looked at the connections.
“That’s right. Frank’s Chip’s uncle. Frank and Darren Peters—that’s Chip’s dad—have run the Sea to Sea Tours and Rentals for about sixteen years now. Chip’s part of that. I’m telling you he’s no part of this, and neither is Frank.”
Sam seemed to pull himself back, took another sip from his mug. “But you need to look, see for yourself.”
“Was the divorce acrimonious?”
“Ever had one?”
“No.”
“Me either, but I don’t know any that are pleasant activities.”
“My information indicates Chip—that’s Darren Peters, Junior—has a temper, often a violent one.”
“Your information’s wrong,” Sam said flatly. “What Chip has is a code, and God knows a weakness where Marla was concerned. Yes, he had what you could call a confrontation with the dickhead Marla was hooked up with some years back. I’ve got a report, I’ll get you a copy. This individual tuned Marla up, a couple times. Chip got word of it—from Marla—and gave the dickhead a taste of his own. Only took one punch to lay him out, and plenty of witnesses to that. Chip didn’t keep at him, and he could have. He used his fists once or twice otherwise—over Marla. He’s a big man, Agent Carson. One punch usually did the trick. A man prone to violence doesn’t stop at one.”
“No charges pressed?” Mason asked.
“No. In the case of the dickhead—one Rupert Mosley—I spoke to him myself. At that time he and Marla both sported shiners, and the fact was he’d given her hers. I said I’d be happy to charge Chip with assault, and they could share a cell, as I’d also be more than happy to charge him with assault on Marla. He opted against, further opted to relocate. He moved down to Oregon, outside Portland. I’ve checked his whereabouts on both nights in question. He’s alibied tight, seeing as he’s doing a nickel in CRCI for laying into another woman down there. But I’ll give you that data, too.”
“I’d appreciate it. Can I ask why Chip and Marla divorced?”
“She wanted out. She wanted more. More what, only God knows, but nothing was ever quite enough. She went at your sister at Loo’s that Friday night shortly before she went missing.”
“I’m sorry? What?”
Sam kicked back in his chair—not cocky like his deputy, but a relaxed, even amused body language. “You didn’t get that part? Well, Marla was the type who wanted whatever she wanted—and she’d decided a while back she wanted Xander Keaton.”
“Keaton.”
“Yeah—apparently they’d hit a hot round or two back in high school, which was all Xander wanted. And added to it, Xander thinks a lot of Chip. Divorced or not, he’d never go with Marla. Added to that added-to, Xander had his eye on your sister—and that was clear to anybody who cared to look. Marla took objection, and being half shit-faced at the time, got pushy with Naomi. Literally.”
“She put hands on Naomi?”
“A couple of times, making a scene, using we’ll say strong language.”
“At the bar?” Mason qualified, wanting it lined up tight. “At Loo’s the Friday night she went missing?”
“That’s right. Witness reports agree on how that went down. Marla started it, Naomi asked her to back off, a couple times. Marla shoved her again. Naomi grabbed her wrist—that’s the one most agree on—twisted it in a way that had Marla going down on the floor. Then Naomi left. Marla stayed pissy, went and got sick in the toilets there, bitched at her best friend, and stomped on out. And that’s the last anyone saw of her until Naomi found her under the bluff.”
Despite the hot ball in his belly, Mason spoke evenly. “You looked into Naomi’s whereabouts, her movements, her background.”
“Yes, I did.”
“You know Thomas Bowes is our father.”
“I do.”
“And that Naomi hasn’t seen or spoken to him since the day he was arrested.”
“I do. Just as I know you’ve visited him in prison five times to date.”
“And likely will again. When your father is a serial killer, and you pursue serial killers, it’s smart to study what you have easy access to.”
“Can’t be easy, but it’s smart. I said I know the people in my town, Agent Carson. Naomi hasn’t been here long, but I’ve got a good sense of her. She’s not involved in any of this. I’m not looking at her.”
“And Keaton?”
“Not in him.” In an easy gesture, Sam lifted his fingers from the surface of the desk as if to brush the idea away. “I’m not a psychologist or a behavior specialist—or no more than any cop—but I’ve got a sister myself, and I suspect you’d like to know what kind of man he is. He works hard. He’s got a friend he’s kept close since they were in diapers—that says something to me. He’s got a head for business, though you wouldn’t think it right off. He doesn’t flaunt that around. He reads like a scholar—never seen anybody with so many books. He’s got himself a good bar band with other friends, and they’re worth hearing. I’ve seen him with your sister a time or two, and I can say I’ve never seen him look at anyone else the way he looks at her. We’re trained observers, Agent. In technical terms?” Sam smiled, just a little. “He’s hooked.”
Sam’s chair creaked as he sat up again. “Xander’s got a soft spot for Donna—most of us do. She’s a sweetheart, and I’m sick knowing I’m sitting here without a goddamn clue where she is or what’s happening to her. If you can bring in a clue, I’m going to be grateful. I’m going to throw this in the mix, as I just got this information. A young girl—pretty thing, Maxie Upton—worked that Friday-night shift with Donna. In the usual case her car would’ve been in the lot back where Donna parked, but she got a flat coming into work, caught Xander at his garage as he was closing. She told me this morning he wouldn’t put the donut on—said all her tires were bald, and she needed new. He’d get them for her the next day, and he’d give her a ride in to work, but only if she called her father to come pick her up. She had to promise not to walk home, or even to her friend’s just a block away. She came out just a few minutes before Donna, and her father pulled up almost right away.”
“More the same type as Marla Roth?”
“Younger—Maxie’s about nineteen, but more physically like Marla than Donna. Blonde and pretty. It’s got me wondering if Donna was second choice. If Maxie’s car had been in that same area, or if Xander hadn’t made her promise not to walk alone after closing, would we be looking for her?”
“It’s possible.”
“Go out on a limb, Agent. I won’t hold you to it if things change.”
“It’s possible,” Mason repeated. “You may have an opportunist. No one could anticipate Marla Roth would walk home alone, and at that time. The killer saw an opportunity, took it. The odds of two women being taken by different people in this small an area and in this time frame are slim. Ms. Lanier was alone, in a remote area of the lot, and presented an opportunity to someone who knew the closing time, the shift.”
“You’d know that after a day around here.”
Mason had only had to drive through town to see that for himself.
“He has somewhere to take them—locally, within say twenty miles—somewhere private. He held Roth for two full days, during which time he raped and tortured her. He’d need a place, and since he dumped her body here, it’s reasonable to assume that place is within a comfortable driving distance. He would need a car, a van, a truck to transport them. I’m not telling you anything you don’t know.”
“Not so far,” Sam agreed, “but it adds weight. There are rental houses and cabins around town and more within that distance. We’ve checked with the closer ones, talked to the people in them, to the owner or manager.”
“You might want to expand your area, ask the rangers to canvass cabins and houses inside the national park. It’s not far, and a good area for what he does, a private, quiet place. He’s white, between twenty-five and forty—probably closer to the younger end.”
“Why the younger?”
“More mature would probably be more patient, take more time to stalk the prey. This one jumps on it. And it is likely he wanted the young girl instead of Donna, but he took her because she was there. More mature would be more likely to wait until he gets another chance with his target. Once he has her, it doesn’t matter. She’s whoever he wants her to be.”
“Is she a surrogate? I’ve done some reading,” Sam added. “Does she represent someone?”
“Possibly. It’s too soon for me to commit to that, but I can tell you he’s a sexual sadist, so he enjoys what he does. He’s not impotent, but may only be able to climax through rape, through giving the victim pain, through feeding on that pain and the fear. He kept Roth for two full days, and as you haven’t found a second body, he still has Donna Lanier. While the kill is the ultimate release, he knows when he takes it, it’s over. So he prolongs it as long as he can.”
Mason paused, half wished he had that coffee, and went on.
“Taking two in such a short amount of time indicates he’s found what he believes is a prime location. It’s a small town, but in a very open area. The people in the town and area have routines he can study quickly. In small towns with a low violent-crime rate people feel secure, don’t worry about walking home alone, crossing into a dark area of a parking lot after closing. I suspect many here don’t routinely lock doors and windows, lock their cars. I could walk around town, check visors, and probably find any number of keys.”
“You’re not wrong.”
“He knows places like this and has certainly spent time studying them. He’s killed before.”
Once again Sam angled forward. “Yes. Yeah, that’s what my gut told me. Not his first kill.”
“His method was too efficient for it to have been his first. He dumped the body in the manner he did because he wanted her found. He enjoys the fear, the upheaval. He left her bound and gagged as it maintains his dominance. You found no prints on the tape or body. He’s experienced enough to use gloves—and a condom. There’s control, there’s intelligence.
“He blends in,” Mason continued. “If he isn’t a local, he presents himself as a visitor, friendly but not too much.”
Sam nodded, nodded. “Nobody that causes a ruckus, argues with a shopkeeper, has too much to drink at a bar.”
“Exactly. Nothing about him sticks in anyone’s mind. He most certainly ate in that pizzeria. It’s likely his father was dominant, physically and emotionally, and his mother submissive. She took what was dished out. She did as she was told. This man has no respect for women, but can only dominate by force.
“The unfortunate reality is I will be able to tell you more if and when he dumps the next body.”
Sam blew out a breath. “So unless we get lucky and find him in a rental, nothing you have helps Donna.”
“If he sticks to the same schedule, he could kill her tonight, and leave her body somewhere in the open. I’m sorry.”
“How confident are you in this? Your boss says you’re good—good enough to be on the fast track for the BAU. I know what that is, I know what profiling is.”
Mason considered. “You’ve been married more than twenty years, and you still love your wife. You’ve got two kids who center your world. You played football in high school, and you enjoy the memory of those glory days. But they’re memories, and the now matters more. Your wife’s trying to get you on a healthier diet, and you’re going along with it. For now, anyway. You’ve got an organized and open mind, and this isn’t just your job. This is your town, your people, and protecting and serving aren’t just words. Your men like you. You run a tight ship, but not a constricting one.”
Mildly embarrassed, more than mildly impressed, Sam went back to his mug. “That’s accurate on short acquaintance. How do you get it?”
“You’re wearing a wedding ring, and there are pictures of your wife, your wife and kids, on the windowsill. Your kids are teenagers now, but you’ve got some of them still up from when they were younger. You’ve got a football trophy—MVP—but it’s not front and center. The softball and volleyball trophies—your kids’—are more prominently displayed. You’re drinking green tea, and you want coffee. There’s a yogurt bar in your inbox, and you don’t strike me as the health-bar type.”
“Who wouldn’t rather have a donut?”
“That goes without saying. Your deputy’s annoyed you’re meeting with me, but when you gave him the brushback, he didn’t sulk. He grinned. You agreed to meet with me because you’ll use any source that may help. You ran me and my sister, but you don’t consider us guilty by blood or association. Believe me, some would, some do.”
“Some are fuckheads.”
“Some are. You know the area, you know the people, and you don’t believe anyone from here killed Marla Roth or abducted Donna Lanier. I’m willing to weigh that opinion if you’re willing to weigh mine.”
“And I am. Why don’t you give me a few minutes? I’m going to work on getting those rentals checked outside the town limits, into the park. I’m going to make it twenty-five miles. Then I’ll take you to Donna’s, and the parking lot. We can walk around some. You get a better sense of a place walking it.”
“Good enough.” Mason rose. “Is that coffee still available?”
“Plenty of it in the break room.” Sam smiled. “Green tea, too.”
“I think I’ll hit you up for coffee.”
—
Back home, Naomi read Mason’s text.
“He says he’ll be a couple more hours. Are you sure you want me to go with you? I don’t want Loo to feel uncomfortable.”
“If it seems like she is, I’ll kick you out.”
“Tough, but fair.” She stepped back, looked at the scatter of pieces they’d carted up from the basement storage area. She hadn’t collected a great deal yet, and none of what she had belonged in this guest room.
But, for now, they made the space feel less empty.
“I can’t come up with a bed before tonight, but at least he’s got a chair—that needs to be reupholstered—a table, a lamp. And the walls look good. Bare, but clean and freshly painted.”
She turned to him, held out a hand. “Dog or no dog to Loo’s? Your call.”
“She’ll like the dog. She was nuts for Milo.”
“Good, because he has a comforting way. Just let me change and fix up a little, and we can go.”
“What for?” Since he had her hand he pulled her out of the room, headed for the steps. “We’re not going to a party.”
“I don’t have any makeup on.”
“You’re beautiful.”
He caught the wide-eyed, surprised blink, aimed her down the stairs. “What? You’ve got a mirror. You don’t need me telling you.”
“It’s nice to hear.”
“You don’t wear makeup most of the time anyway.”
“When I go out I try to make some minimal effort.”
Since the dog meant taking her car rather than his bike, he headed for that with Tag racing ahead of them in anticipation.
“I don’t even have my wallet.”
“I do. I’ll drive.” He opened the door for the dog, then got behind the wheel. “Huh, first time I remember getting in a seat after a woman and not having my knees hit my ears. You got legs, baby.” Still, he adjusted the seat back a couple of inches before he glanced over, saw her frowning at him. “What?”
“Have you ever in your life waited five minutes for a woman with shorter legs to get ready, grab her purse?”
“You hardly ever have a purse. I admire that.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve waited. Mostly I think women just like having guys wait. And the fact is, most of them could work a couple hours at it and not look like you. So why wait?”
She huffed, pulled on her seat belt. “That’s one hell of a compliment mixed in with amazing arrogance. I can’t decide whether to be seriously flattered or seriously annoyed on behalf of women everywhere.”
“Slim, you’re not like women everywhere.”
“I’m not sure what that means, but I think you consider it another compliment. In any case, give me a clear signal if I should leave you and Loo alone. Where does she live?”
“Over the bar. She has an apartment up there. Owns the building.”
“She owns the building?” Because she understood more pieces of him now, she took the leap. “The two of you own the building,” Naomi deduced.
“It’s an investment, and since she lives up there she doesn’t have a tenant—or we don’t—bitching about the noise from the bar. I don’t know what the hell to say to her.”
“You’ll know. You’ve got a way, too.”
“Yeah. Me and the dog.”
He parked, drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he studied the building. “She’s in the bar. Lights are on down there, and we don’t open until four on Sundays.”
When he got out, she took the spare leash she stowed in the center box. But Xander came around, let the dog out before she could use it. She started to object, but Tag stood beside Xander, wagging and waiting.
“Isn’t there a leash law?”
“I think we’re safe for the next ten steps.” Digging in his pocket, Xander pulled out keys, unlocked the door.
Music blared out of the sound system, hard-driving rock with screaming guitars Naomi couldn’t identify. She’d never been in the bar in daylight or with the houselights on full. It looked bigger, she realized, especially with the chairs upended on the tables, the booths empty of patrons.
In snug cropped jeans and a black tank that showed off sculpted arms and shoulders, Loo attacked the floor with some sort of mop.
Because he was directly beside her, Naomi heard Xander mutter, “Shit,” before he strode to the bar, behind it, and turned down the music.
Loo snapped straight, hefting the mop like a bat—and lowered it again when she saw Xander.
“You’ll blow out your eardrums.”
“Rock’s meant to be loud.”
“Why are you down here doing Justin’s job?”
“Because I want it done right for a change. And why aren’t you up on the bluff trying to get into the blonde’s pants?”
“Because I brought her with me.”
Loo turned, caught sight of Naomi, and hissed out a tired breath. Before she could say anything else, Tag decided it was time for introductions and trotted over to her.
“Is this that half-dead dog you found?”
“Yeah.” Xander came from in back of the bar.
“Looks pretty healthy now. You’ve got some blue eyes, don’t you?” She gave him a rub. “Okay, nice of you to drop by, but I’ve got work to finish. I oughta close down for a week, get out the whips and chains, slap some ass, and get the crew to clean top to bottom. If you’re not on them every second, they’ll give these floors a swipe and consider it done.”
By the time she’d finished, her words tumbled together, rushed and breathless, with her arms pumping pistons on the mop.
Xander just stood for a moment, then dragged his hand through his hair. He walked to her, wrestled the mop away from her. Then just wrapped his arms around her.
“I need to finish! Damn it, I need to finish.”
“Come on, Loo.”
She struggled and shoved against him another moment, then gripped the back of his shirt in her fists. “Xander. I’m so scared. Donna. Where is she? What’s happening to her? How can this be happening?”
When she began to weep, he just held on.