You Belong To Me

  ‘The beauty parlor?’ Stevie asked, tongue in cheek and Berman’s lips twitched.

  ‘My lovely wife says the beauty parlor, although a perfect microcosm of social networking, is off limits for my observation.’ He sobered. ‘I was talking about the newspaper office.’

  Lucy drew a deep breath and released her hold on JD. She used Berman’s handkerchief to swipe at her face, shuddering out a sigh. ‘I’m okay. This way.’

  Tuesday, May 4, 2.35 P.M.

  Well. That had been fascinating on several counts. Old man Trask still had some piss and vinegar in him. We’ll see how brave he is once he’s on my turf.

  Had he not known the truth about Lucy Trask, he might have felt sorry for her. But he did know, and even if he’d been one iota unsure, he now knew without a shadow of a doubt. He’d seen it just now with his own eyes. She had it. Wore it.

  Like it belonged to her. The bitch.

  It had been all he could do not to leap from his hiding place and rip the bracelet off her arm. But he’d restrained himself. Barely. It was only the mental image of what he’d do to her when he finally got her in his hands that kept him calm. Mostly.

  He’d planned how he’d take the next names on his list, but that was before she’d brought detectives to Anderson Ferry. Now it would be harder to steal one, then another. People would become suspicious and less easily manipulated.

  He could remedy that easily. I’ll just take them all. He’d keep them in the plant until he was ready to deal with them. Then he’d be back to his own timeline, unrushed by Lucy Trask’s continuing presence.

  She was smarter than he’d realized. She came back here, head high, hiding what she’d done in plain sight. She’d led the search, so no one would suspect her now.

  Except for me. Because I know what a lying, conniving bitch she really is.

  He watched as Lucy led the detectives back to Main Street, then slipped from between the buildings where he’d been waiting. His step light, he made his way aboard Trask’s boat, then below, where the sound of cheers came from a small television. It was a video of a football game, made with an old camcorder. The print was lousy, the picture worn, as if it had been viewed a thousand times. It probably had.

  Ron sat with his back to the stairs. A glass of vodka in one hand, he stared broodingly at the picture on his shelf. Boys in football jerseys stared back, championship grins on their faces.

  He knew the picture, remembered the first time he’d seen it. I thought those guys walked on water. If I’d only known, I would have killed them then. But he sure as hell could now, and he would. He withdrew his gun from his pocket and approached, the sounds of the cheers muffling his footsteps. Ironic, that.

  The old man sensed his presence and turned in the chair. ‘What the hell? Who—’

  It was all he got out before slumping to the ground. The butt of a gun was still a damn good way to knock someone out. He hog-tied Ron and shoved a gag in his mouth.

  Then he put on one of the old man’s shirts and chose a hat from the closet.

  ‘Sheriff’ was embroidered on the brim. It would do nicely. When he sailed the boat from the dock, nobody would guess that it wasn’t Ron Trask at the wheel.

  Tuesday, May 4, 2.50 P.M.

  Fitzpatrick and the others had given her space as they walked to the newspaper office, and for that Lucy was grateful. The outburst was embarrassing enough, but she hated crying in front of people. Seeing her father again had been a shock. And then to be accused . . . again. What have you done now? he’d asked. Cold sonofabitch.

  She’d snapped. She’d seen Kevin Drummond’s lifeless body with that obscene, gaping wound across his throat and she’d snapped. What did Buck do?

  She’d lied. Her wrists did hurt. Her father had always known how to cause the most pain the fastest way. But Fitzpatrick had stopped him. He took up for me. Protected me. Then he’d held her, the way she’d always wanted to be held.

  He could be good for you. Foolishly, she let herself hope. Just a little. But the hope skittered away as the larger question hit her hard again.

  What did Buck do? She’d racked her brain on the drive down, trying to think of anything, anything he could have done. Anything that could have driven a killer to such rage that he’d beaten and mutilated Russ Bennett and Janet Gordon. That he could so callously slit the throats of Kevin Drummond and the still unidentified woman in her morgue.

  Her feet slowed to a stop at the corner of Main and Church, a memory pressing her mind. It had cut through the turmoil raging through her as she’d grabbed her father’s shirt. As the words had spewed from her mouth. What did Buck do?

  And she realized they were not her words.

  ‘Lucy?’ Warmth radiated against her back, making her shudder. Fitzpatrick’s hands gently covered her shoulders. ‘What is it?’

  ‘What did Buck do?’ she whispered. ‘It’s what she said. My mother.’

  ‘When?’ he murmured.

  ‘The morning of Buck’s funeral. She was sitting on his bed, crying. My father had gone into Buck’s room to tell her it was time to leave. For the church. He was so angry. He was always angry, but that day . . . There was something in his voice. I was scared.’

  ‘Of what?’

  She closed her eyes. ‘I left my room and stood in the hall, just in case.’

  ‘Of what?’ he asked again.

  ‘In case he hurt her. He did sometimes. Never where anyone could see. When Buck got old enough . . . and big enough . . . it stopped.’ She swallowed. ‘I knew Buck had made it stop.’

  ‘Your brother saved you from your father’s abuse,’ he said softly.

  ‘Yes. But then he was gone. All of a sudden, he was gone.’

  ‘What happened the morning of the funeral?’

  ‘She was crying and my father grabbed her arms and yanked her to her feet. Shook her. Hard. He was so angry. I thought he’d hit her then, but she grabbed his shirt and screamed at him, “What did Buck do?” ’

  There was a moment of tense silence. ‘What did he say?’ Fitzpatrick asked.

  She clenched her closed eyes tighter. ‘I don’t know. He lifted her off her feet and got in her face. I couldn’t hear what he said, but she went white and just nodded. He let her go and I ran back to my room. I wanted to hide when he walked by, but he stopped in the doorway and said, “Two minutes.” I knew better than to say a word.’

  ‘What did you think she meant, “What did Buck do?” ’

  ‘At the time I guess I thought it was about driving his motorcycle and drinking.’

  ‘He’d been drinking?’ Fitzpatrick asked, surprised.

  ‘Yeah. A lot. He was so drunk he shouldn’t have been able to walk.’ Her voice flattened, went bitter, making her wince at the sound of it.

  ‘How do you know that, Lucy?’ Dr Berman asked softly from in front of her and she started, opening her eyes. She hadn’t realized that he and Stevie weren’t still behind her. They’d been watching her and she shrank away from their scrutiny.

  ‘He’d gone to see his ex-girlfriend that night and she said he was drunk. Then, I looked up the autopsy report,’ she admitted, ‘after I started with the ME’s office. His blood alcohol was three times the legal limit. I’m not sure why I looked. I just needed to know.’

  ‘He left you,’ Stevie said. ‘He’d been your protector and he left you. You needed to understand why. That’s perfectly natural.’

  That should have made her feel better. But it didn’t. Because another memory had intruded, this one worse than the first. The letters ‘I’ and ‘L’ had been burned into the backs of the victims. Now Lucy knew where she’d seen them before. Her stomach churning, she looked over her shoulder, meeting Fitzpatrick’s concerned stare. ‘I need to go to church, JD.’

  Questions filled his eyes, but he only nodded. ‘Take us there.’

  It was four blocks to the little church that stood at the edge of the town. JD held her hand, and with every block her grip became tighter. By the time
they stood in front of Our Lady of Mercy she was squeezing his hand so hard he had to fight not to wince.

  ‘I haven’t been in the church since the funeral,’ she said quietly. ‘My father would make us come every week, but after Buck died, he stopped coming. I used to sit on the pew when I was really little and try not to squirm. Usually he hit us on the back of our legs and those hard pews hurt. I’d pray that God would kill my father.’ Her lips twisted. ‘Then I’d cower, thinking lightning was going to strike me where I sat.’

  Before JD could think of a response, she released his hand and started walking again, going around to the back where there was a fenced-in cemetery. She paused, her hands gripping the gate. Then she drew a breath and pushed it open. Silently JD, Stevie, and Berman followed.

  Lucy stopped at a headstone that read Linus Trask, Beloved Son. For a moment she stared down at it. Then she looked up and around to get her bearings. ‘I haven’t been in the church, but I came to the cemetery several times that summer I came home from St Anne’s. It was quiet here and I could be near Buck. Creepy as that sounds.’

  ‘We all process grief differently,’ Stevie said.

  ‘I suppose so. It’s over here.’ Lucy led them to the far side of the cemetery, stopping at a plain marker set into the ground, and JD sucked in a breath. A glance at Stevie and Berman told him they were also stunned.

  ‘Ileanna Bryan,’ JD said, reading the marker. I and L. Born the same year as Buck Trask, she’d also died the same year. Just two weeks before Buck. ‘Who was she?’

  ‘She was assaulted the night of their senior prom. Raped and beaten by her ex-boyfriend, who killed himself later that night. Apparently he was jealous because she’d gone to the prom with someone else. I don’t remember the boy’s name, only hearing that he’d gotten high on something and went berserk. She died of her injuries before the sun came up. It was all the talk until Buck died. Then he was all the talk.’

  ‘How does this connect to Buck?’ JD asked.

  ‘He was her prom date.’

  ‘Oh, wow,’ Stevie murmured. ‘Did this happen at the prom? Was your brother there?’

  ‘No. He’d taken her home early and gone out with his friends. She was kind of a substitute date, I think. He’d broken up with the girl he’d been seeing for two years and ended up taking Ileanna. I’d forgotten about her until this afternoon.’

  ‘What made you remember today?’ Berman asked.

  ‘Like I said, I came here a lot that summer break from St Anne’s. By then it had been two years since Buck died, but I still missed him. I haunted this cemetery that summer. Knew all the headstones and made up stories about how they’d lived. Anything was better than going home. I’d get sad when I came to this marker. She had her life stolen and it wasn’t her fault.’

  ‘Unlike your brother, who carelessly threw his life away?’ Berman asked softly.

  ‘I did resent him, then. But as I got older I realized how miserable he really was. I always wondered if he’d had an accident on purpose, to get away from home. But then that didn’t make sense – he had a football scholarship. He was getting away. I thought that’s what my mother meant that night. “What did Buck do?” I thought she meant he’d wrecked his motorcycle on purpose. Now, I’m not so sure.’

  ‘Was he ever suspected of involvement in Ileanna’s death?’ Stevie asked.

  ‘No. He said he took her home, dropped her off, then went back out. My father backed him up, said he’d seen Buck come in, change out of his tux and take off again. My father was the sheriff, so nobody asked Buck a second time. The girl’s ex-boyfriend was found the next morning. He’d shot himself in the head. The case was closed.’

  ‘Except that now somebody thinks Buck was involved,’ JD said quietly. ‘Or you wouldn’t be finding bodies. Did Ileanna have family?’

  ‘She had a dad who was angry.’ Lucy frowned. ‘There was something that she’d been wearing when she died that wasn’t on her body. They accused my father of stealing it. But that was ridiculous.’ She said it hollowly, like she might have believed it ridiculous then, but was no longer certain now. ‘It was a diamond necklace. They made a big deal about it.’

  ‘Where is the family now?’ JD asked.

  ‘I’m not sure. I think they moved away. By then things were really bad at home and I don’t remember much of anything.’

  ‘What was happening at home?’ Berman asked and Lucy shrugged tightly.

  ‘My mother had a nervous breakdown and had to go away for a while.’

  JD’s heart sank. ‘Leaving you alone with your father.’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said curtly. ‘I kind of checked out the rest of that year.’

  ‘And then you found the bracelet,’ Stevie said.

  Startled, Lucy stared at her wrist. She seemed to have forgotten about the bracelet. ‘Yes. And Sonny Westcott took it from me. Why?’

  ‘I don’t think he’s going to tell us,’ Berman said practically.

  Lucy’s lips firmed. ‘Then let’s find someone who will.’

  Tuesday, May 4, 3.30 P.M.

  ‘Hold on,’ Fitzpatrick said, stopping her before she could walk into the newspaper office. She’d been a woman on a mission, leading them from the cemetery back to Main Street while Fitzpatrick, Stevie and Berman had murmured behind her. ‘We’ve got a motive, Ileanna Bryan. We know Russ, Ryan and Malcolm were involved, or perceived to be. We know Sonny reacted to your bracelet. How many other people might be involved?’

  Stevie took the team photo from her briefcase. ‘There are twenty-five boys in this picture. I checked names against the yearbook I found in Janet’s closet and had Hyatt’s clerk run whereabouts on the four other seniors on this team – George Cuzman, Marty Swenson, Randy Richards, James Cannon. Two have moved from the area, one died several years ago in a car wreck and the fourth lives in downtown Baltimore. We’re trying to contact the three still alive.’

  ‘Bennett didn’t play on the team,’ Lucy said and Stevie nodded.

  ‘True, so we could have other potential targets. I want the police and coroner reports on Ileanna, but since we’re here, let’s get anything the newspaper has on the night of that prom, both the dance and her assault.’ Stevie opened the door to the newspaper office. ‘Hello?’

  A man nearing forty came out from the back room, polishing his eyeglasses. ‘Can I help you?’ His eyes widened when he saw Lucy. ‘Lucy Trask.’

  Taken aback, Lucy searched his face for clues to who he was. ‘You know me?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I’m Bart Higgins. You broke my friend’s nose the first week of the tenth grade.’

  Lucy saw Fitzpatrick’s brows raise. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said to Higgins. ‘I really am.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Higgins said. ‘He deserved it for taunting you when you came home from that girls’ school that summer.’ He leaned his elbows on the counter. ‘Why did you come back?’

  She introduced the others and let Stevie take the lead.

  ‘We’re interested in the death of Ileanna Bryan,’ Stevie said.

  Again his eyes widened. He went to a file cabinet and was back in less than a minute with a folder. ‘Ileanna Bryan.’

  Fitzpatrick and Stevie leafed through the papers in the file, Fitzpatrick looking up with a frown. ‘Why did you have this at your fingertips?’

  ‘Nobody asks about the Bryan girl for twenty years, then two of you do. A PI came in asking questions and this was what I pulled. Her name’s on the request form on the back.’

  ‘Nicki Fields,’ Fitzpatrick read. ‘I think we’d like to talk to her.’

  ‘Shouldn’t be too hard,’ Higgins said. ‘She lives in Baltimore.’

  Stevie flipped the folder over, jotted the address down. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘When did you give this to the PI?’ Fitzpatrick asked.

  ‘About a week ago. Maybe a little less.’

  Stevie checked her cell phone, read a message, then frowned. ‘I need to make a call. Can we get copies of this file?’


  ‘Of course,’ Higgins said. ‘I’ll be right back.’

  Higgins disappeared in the back and Fitzpatrick and Stevie went outside, Berman following. Lucy was right behind them when her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was a text from Craig. Tried to call, keep getting your v/m. CALL ME. It’s critical.

  Her phone was getting only one reception bar in the office. Apparently all her calls were going to voicemail, but luckily texts came through. She continued reading Craig’s messages and her stomach rose to clog her throat. She rushed outside to where Stevie was having some trouble with her cell phone too.

  ‘Stevie’s talking to the detective looking for Ryan Agar,’ Fitzpatrick told Lucy before she could speak. ‘He was on the hotel’s security video from this morning, leaning on another man who took him to the elevator, and looking kind of sick. They went to the parking garage where Ryan got pushed in a wheelchair to a black Lexus.’

  ‘Like the one following us before,’ Lucy said. He’d been close. So close. A shiver ran down her back. He was following us. Me.

  ‘Is the man pushing him identifiable?’ Berman asked.

  ‘No,’ Fitzpatrick said. ‘He’s wearing a tweed hat that covers part of his face.’

  ‘Like the one he left on Russ Bennett’s head,’ Lucy said.

  ‘Exactly,’ Fitzpatrick said. ‘The Lexus exited from the self-pay lane. The camera caught a mustache on the driver’s face, but that’s it.’

  ‘The license plate?’ Lucy asked, but Fitzpatrick shook his head.

  ‘Stolen. We put a BOLO out anyway, but it’s likely he’s changed the plates.’

  In which case the be-on-the-lookout wouldn’t help at all, Lucy thought.

  Stevie hung up her cell. ‘We need to find that PI. I’ll get Debbie looking.’

  Lucy held up one hand. ‘Don’t bother. I know exactly where she is.’

  Fitzpatrick’s face fell. ‘No way. Don’t even say it.’

  ‘She’s dead,’ Lucy said. ‘Craig finished the cut on the Jane Doe and was reviewing the new cases. Nicki Fields was brought in this morning. Her throat was slit with that little curve around the ear, just like Kevin and Jane Doe.’