A Perfect Obsession

  And might he have been easily trusted by the victims? Yes. Sad, but true. Beautiful, charming people easily gained trust.

  “Say something, please,” Kevin said earnestly.

  “There’s absolutely no evidence against you. But you have become a person of interest. Not only that, Kevin, but you could help a lot, tell us more about other people in Jeannette Gilbert’s life,” Craig said. “Tell us what she thought or knew or felt about those close to her.”

  Kevin lifted his hands. “Craig, I know how Jeannette felt about people, but I don’t know what was or wasn’t—only her perspective. I mean, Oswald might have been a creep in a way, but Jeannette cared about him.”

  “Her perspective might prove to be very important,” Craig said.

  “I’m so sorry,” Kevin said. “So sorry.” It was a whisper.

  “You really loved her?”

  Kevin nodded.

  “And how did she feel about you?”

  “I believe, with my whole heart, she felt the same.”

  “So why didn’t you panic when she disappeared?” Craig asked.

  Kevin looked over at Kieran, and Craig could have sworn that they exchanged words that were silent to the rest of the world.

  Twins.

  “Jeannette was really famous as a model, far more so than as an actress. We talked and talked about our careers,” Kevin said. “And about us. We didn’t want it to be an infatuation. You know, we met on a sexy music video shoot but we didn’t want our relationship to be something that wasn’t real. We were giving it time. We’d agreed that we wouldn’t be ridiculously jealous or interfere with one another’s careers. When the time was right—and I believe that would have been soon—we would have gone public. I don’t know. Maybe I was insecure, too. She was world famous, and I’m just a working actor, working and making a living, but not on the covers of magazines. I wanted to know that we were...real. And I believe that Jeannette needed to know that she was really loved, too. Not because she was famous. Because she was herself. She was so hurt as a child. She was taught that she was a burden. I never met him, but she said that her step-uncle was a jerk and that her aunt was an idiot for letting him run her life and the lives of everyone around them. She cared about her cousins—she even cared about her aunt. But, she didn’t buy her the house because she loved her so much. She bought her the house because she intended to pay all her debts.”

  Craig was thoughtful. “I don’t believe the step-uncle killed her. I don’t think he has the finesse to be our man. Or woman. Though I believe this killer to be a man.”

  Kevin wore a look of agony. “When I think of how frightened she must have been, I get ill. I want to kill—”

  Kieran made a move toward her brother. “Good God, Kevin, don’t go saying things like that!”

  “I don’t have a tape recorder going,” Craig assured her. He turned back to Kevin. “Was her step-uncle ever violent? Did Jeannette tell you that he struck her or abused her?”

  “No. He wasn’t violent. He just treated her like a complete sack of bricks around his neck, and then, when she left, he saw her as a cash cow.”

  “What about Oswald Martin? You were telling us she really cared about him?”

  Kevin almost smiled. “She loved Oswald. Said he was overprotective, but, after her childhood, it was nice. That’s why I have to admit... I thought that Oswald planned her disappearance. He was always thinking of new things she should be doing. Younger faces were always on the horizon in Oswald’s mind. But I didn’t spend time with the two of them together.”

  “Do you know Leo Holt?”

  “I do. We both worked with him on a print ad for jeans.”

  “And?”

  “You haven’t questioned him yet?”

  “He’s next up.”

  “Well...he’s interesting,” Kevin said.

  “How so?”

  “Women love him. That’s probably why he’s able to get such great shots. He says the words sexy pout and makes them all look like they’re ready to crawl on top of a man. He’s decent. He’s tough. There’s no messing around when he’s working. But, still, he smiles and teases people, and he gets what he wants.” Kevin hesitated a minute. “Maybe,” he said softly. “But I don’t see him as the killer. He’s a perfectionist, but he has more problems with the ad agency people than his models. He always has a vision, and it’s not always a vision that the company shares.”

  “I heard that Jeannette had a row with Leo Holt,” Craig said.

  “Row?” Kevin said, surprised. Then he shrugged. “He was angry with her one morning for looking tired.”

  “Were you there?”

  Kevin shook his head. “Jeannette told me about it. She was giggling. It was after a night that we’d spent together. She told Leo she was tired and that being tired sometimes was part of life, and that makeup could fix a few dark shadows beneath her eyes. Anyway, Leo told her that she wasn’t to go out again on a night before he was shooting. And, of course, she laughed at him, and he said that he wouldn’t hire her again. She told him he was full of it. He’d hire her again because she was good, and she was one of his favorite models.”

  “You know this how?”

  “Because I’ve worked with him on several projects. He has her pictures everywhere. He says she’s one of the best in the business, and that she can portray any emotion at the drop of a hat.” He smiled suddenly. “She was gorgeous, and she was getting better and better. Who knows how great she would have been?” Sadness filled his eyes.

  Craig knew that Kevin hadn’t killed Jeannette. He knew Kevin. If they’d lived in the mid-1800s—when New York City had been filled with Irish street gangs—Kevin would have been trying to keep the peace. If he ever killed, it would be in self-defense, or to protect someone he loved. There were no real explanations as to how he could be so certain; he didn’t have Kieran’s degree in psychology. He’d just been in law enforcement a long time. He had instinct.

  “I’m still going to need you to come in to the station,” he told Kevin.

  “Tonight?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “I’m supposed to be singing with a choir group near Saint Patrick’s in the morning. But I can beg off.”

  “You cannot. It will hurt you career-wise,” Kieran said firmly.

  “This is about Jeannette,” Kevin said.

  “I don’t want you in the morning anyway,” Craig told him. “We’re questioning Leo Holt then.” He leaned forward. “Kevin, do you know how bad this is, how serious?”

  “I do,” Kevin said softly. “I’m not sure if you do. She’s dead. Horribly murdered. And I loved her.”

  The emotion in Kevin’s voice was tragically sincere. Of course, the man was an actor; it was what he did for a living. What he loved.

  Craig knew him better.

  Other men did not.

  “I’ll be in my office tomorrow,” Craig told him. “Whenever you finish with the choir, give me a call and come on over.”

  “Can I get into that office on a Sunday?”

  “Oh, yes, trust me,” Craig assured him. “We’ll get you in.”

  Kieran had risen. Kevin seemed to take a cue from his sister; he rose, as well.

  Kieran walked over to him and hugged him tightly. She looked at him then and said, “Honestly, Kevin, I am so sorry. I know how badly you’re hurting.”

  Craig looked at them, and he almost smiled. Finnegan siblings. They’d stand together like a brick wall, and, he believed, they’d go down together like a brick wall, chip by chip.

  He stood himself.

  “Kieran, you ready to go home?” he asked pleasantly.

  “Sure. Let me just check on Declan,” she said.

  She headed out before them. Craig paused to shake Kevin’s hand and then emb
race him briefly. “I do know how you’re hurting. But we need the truth out there—at least in law-enforcement circles.”

  “Of course. I was talking to Kieran first... Honestly, if I’d thought that my speaking up could have helped in any way...”

  “I believe you,” Craig said.

  He followed Kevin out but couldn’t find Kieran. She wasn’t at the bar, talking to her older brother.

  He was surprised by the unease that seized him. When he turned, he saw that she was standing at one of the tables that ran to the side of the bar, just in from the entry.

  And he saw why.

  John Shaw was there with the trio of grad students, Henry Willoughby and the owner of Le Club Vampyre, Roger Gleason.

  Gleason seemed a little too sophisticated for the company of the academics, but he seemed to be smiling affably at whatever was going on.

  He looked up as Craig approached the table. “Special Agent Frasier. When I saw the lovely Ms. Finnegan, I didn’t think that you’d be far behind. Any progress?”

  “We like to think of every day as some kind of progress,” Craig said. “Have we made an arrest? No?”

  “And you won’t, most likely,” Shaw said glumly, his smile at whatever had been said previously fading. “There are some rumors on Twitter saying that New York City has a serial killer loose on the streets. And it might turn into a Green River or Zodiac case—and the killer might never be caught. A serial killer! Is that true?”

  Craig maintained his calm. “Are we looking at other situations? Yes. But, sir, our best analysts tell us that there may be as many as twenty to two hundred serial killers at work at any given time. Terrifying statistics, I know. Have we decided this is the work of one killer and wish to announce a serial killer? That’s a bit premature.”

  Gleason laughed softly. “I think that means he’s not allowed to give out that kind of information. We’ll only find out if there’s a press conference.”

  “But we are back to work in the old Saint Augustine’s crypt!” Willoughby said. “Please, please, don’t take that the wrong way. A woman’s life is certainly of the greatest value. But there is nothing we can do to change what has been done.”

  “Ah, yes, the city’s history is for the ages,” Craig murmured. “You’ve all just finished work for the day?”

  “It’s not work when you love what you’re doing,” Shaw said.

  “I guess you’ll see a lot of this crew here,” Gleason told Craig drily. “Salute!” he said, lifting his glass of beer.

  “Good for Finnegan’s business!” Shaw said.

  “Oh, I think Finnegan’s is going to survive just fine. After all, the pub has its own history,” Craig said.

  “And a wonderful new generation to carry on with Irish hospitality!” Allie Benoit announced, raising her glass, as well. “Truly, it’s great to come here. Great food, great music, just the right amount of noise. Great all way around.”

  “Thank you,” Kieran murmured. She looked over at Craig. “Declan is fine. Shall we go?”

  “Don’t forget—give me a call and come on by,” Willoughby told her.

  “I’ll be delighted,” Kieran said. She waved a hand in the air. “Good night, then.”

  She seemed eager to escape.

  Craig was glad; he wanted to be alone, as well.

  As they left the pub, he glanced back quickly. The students and John Shaw were busy talking. Kevin had joined the table; he was looking at Craig as Henry Willoughby went on about something or another.

  Roger Gleason was watching them leave, too.

  Gleason had also known Jeannette Gilbert, Craig thought. Gleason was fastidious and smooth and rich.

  The man lifted a glass to Craig.

  Craig waved and set a hand on Kieran’s waist.

  And he was glad when he had hurried her to the door, and they stepped outside. The night sky above them seemed benign; the sounds of distant horns and the bustle of the city were somehow good and reassuring.

  But, still, he knew that something was off-kilter.

  In the pub?

  Between him and Kieran? She’d lied to him. She’d covered up for her brother. And it was almost as if she had made it a point to show him that they were united, the Finnegan four, and they would always stand together, even when it meant they’d stand against him.

  “You don’t have to be with me,” she said softly. “I know you’re angry.”

  “I do have to be with you,” he said, and managed a grim smile, shaking his head. “We have to be together, especially because I am angry.”

  And he was. But, somehow, it seemed that a cloud covered the moon and the stars and shadows—menacing shadows—suddenly seemed to abound.

  And anger—even if righteous—didn’t seem right.

  Far too much danger lurked in the night.

  Yes, he was angry. Because logical or not, right or not, he was afraid.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHT

  THE SILENCE IN THE car was deafening. Kieran’s voice broke through it like water crashing through a dam, her words flooding the car. “We both have ethics, codes...what’s right and what’s wrong, and I knew it was wrong for Kevin not to speak, but I had to get him to be the one to tell you what he’d been doing, that he’d known Jeannette Gilbert and that he for one minute didn’t believe that she was seeing Brent Westwood.” She looked over at Craig.

  “You can’t tell me everything, when it comes to work,” she said.

  He looked her way. “Kevin is your brother—not your work.”

  “And he came to you. He told you the truth.”

  “We wasted time with Westwood.”

  “The man held a press conference. You can’t lay that on Kevin.”

  Craig kept driving in silence.

  “I am sorry. I couldn’t change anything,” she said. “It’s the same as if I were counseling someone who had committed a crime. I’m really sorry, I just...”

  She was surprised when he turned to her, a half smile on his lips. “Yeah,” he said, his tone husky. “I got that.”

  “But you don’t forgive me.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. I do understand.” He was quiet for a minute. “He’s not just your brother. He’s your twin.”

  “I love all my brothers equally.”

  “Yep. Got that, too.”

  He was smiling; he’d forgiven her. There was still something about him that didn’t seem right.

  She’d put her brother before the truth. Before honesty. Before him.

  A silence fell between them again.

  Moments later she once again was the first to speak. “What’s your feeling after New Jersey?” she asked. “And...tonight.”

  He was thoughtful for a minute and then glanced over at her. “I don’t believe your brother is a killer, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “I didn’t think for a minute that you’d suspect Kevin. I know that others will see him as questionable, though.”

  “I can’t speak for them. But I can tell you what I know at this point. We definitely have a serial killer on our hands. I believe the New Jersey victim was his first. We don’t know if there are others around the country, though I do believe that we’ll discover that sooner now. When there was the one incident in Jersey and the one in Virginia, I don’t believe it was enough to code similarities in all the law-enforcement systems. Now we’re looking.”

  He checked his rearview and side mirrors and changed lanes before he continued. “I do believe, however, that the killer is a New Yorker or spends most of his time in New York. Northern Virginia is a farther drive, but it’s still a doable drive from New York City—back and forth—in less than a day. You and the good doctors Fuller and Miro kn
ow more than I do. What makes a man like that tick? He’s not going to be a common laborer. This killer wants perfection. He’s clean and neat. He stabs his victims in the heart, which has to be very messy—where he finds places to do that, I don’t know—but then he cleans them up to display them in an organized manner.”

  He shook his head as he glanced over her. “There’s one thing I’m curious about. The discovery of the bodies in the crypt came after Jeannette Gilbert had disappeared and, we believe, when she was actually killed. Our guy had been holding her, or her body, at least. How could he have known that such a discovery as the crypt would be made, giving him a place for the display of Jeannette Gilbert’s corpse?”

  “I don’t think he did know,” Kieran said. “I think he had other plans. But what they were, I’d like to know. All the old churches in the city still have graves in crypts or they have small graveyards, as in Trinity and Saint Paul’s Chapel and others. And there’s a great old graveyard up in Washington Heights. Brooklyn has newer cemeteries...and Woodlawn up in the Bronx is extraordinary. I mean, as far as making a cemetery a lovely place to visit, if such a thing can be.”

  “They show movies at that cemetery in Hollywood, and they have all kinds of concerts there, too. Nice concept, really. Death is a natural part of life. Remembering the dead with a way of living...not bad, really.”

  Craig had found parking in the Village. He paused before getting out of the car. “It’s not going to be easy for Kevin. He’s going to have to answer to other people.”

  “I know.”

  He was still for another minute and then got out. They were about a block from Kieran’s place. He took her arm as they walked.

  “Watch your curiosity on this one,” he said softly.

  “Craig—”

  “I know. I know that we both respect what the other does for a living. Just be careful, huh?”

  “I will meet no one alone, I promise.”

  But as they walked up the stairs over the karaoke bar—that night, a really good soprano was doing a great version of “Memories”—Kieran was mulling the situation in her mind. She knew that Dr. Fuller hadn’t let it go. When he hadn’t been playing tennis or entertaining his wife and kids, he’d been investigating similar murders and looking through his files.