Kitabı oku: «Waterford Point», sayfa 2

Chapter Three

Nick Chavaree couldn’t remember a time he’d been so frustrated.

He didn’t generally think of himself as an unhappy guy. He was usually pretty genial, as a matter of fact. But this last month in Waterford Point had been something of a nightmare. A nightmare he wouldn’t wish on any cop in the known universe.

It was bad enough that he had three murder victims in as many weeks, all with their heads bashed in. But the fact that the first one had happened right under his nose, while he was sleeping for godsakes, had him wondering about his ability to serve his community.

It wasn’t as if Nick was a stranger to violence. He’d spent five years in the Marines, running his own squad in the desert. But hunting down the Taliban in Afghanistan wasn’t quite the same as gathering evidence at a local crime scene, and he wasn’t afraid to admit that he was a little out of his depth here.

Throw Rachel Hudson into the mix and his bad month was about to get worse. He’d read all of her books—enjoyed them, as a matter of fact—but the thought that he might become the subject of one didn’t sit well. And as beautiful as she might be, he didn’t relish the idea of her sticking her cute little nose into this investigation.

Such as it was.

“You gonna eat that chicken or just stare at it all night along?”

Nick looked up from his plate at Charlie Tevis, who sat across the table from him. Charlie was one of his best deputies and they often had dinner together. They were sitting in a booth near the back of the Bayside Grill, the busiest and best of Waterford’s handful of restaurants.

Charlie was a big guy with an equally genial attitude that hadn’t been diminished by the recent turn of events.

“If you don’t want it,” he said, “slide that plate over here.”

“How do you do it, Charlie?”

“Eat so much? I guess I was just born hungry.”

“No,” Nick said. “How do you stay so cheerful in the face of what’s been going on around here?”

Charlie thought about it a moment, then leaned back. “It’s all about attitude. I learned a long time ago that it’s pointless to take life too seriously.”

“You don’t think three back-to-back murders in a town this size is serious?”

“Of course I do. Serious as a heart attack. But I don’t see any point in moping about it. We’ll catch this son of a gun sooner or later.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself.”

“Don’t you worry, he’s bound to slip up. Assuming what we’re talking about here is human.”

Nick stared at him. “Don’t tell me you’re buying into this Weeping Willow nonsense.”

Charlie shrugged. “If I were, I wouldn’t be the only one. Putting this off on a ghost might explain a whole heckuva lot of—”

“Shut your trap, Tevis.”

The voice came from behind Nick, but he didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

He braced himself for the assault.

A moment later, Bill Burgess slid in next to him and stared pointedly at Charlie. “We don’t need that kind of talk coming from our own law enforcement officers.”

Burgess was a former Rockland County judge and a smarmy, self-important jerk who had managed to get himself elected mayor—another mystery Nick had yet to solve.

“The day I start listening to you,” Charlie told him, “is the day I turn in my gun and badge.”

“That can certainly be arranged.”

Burgess and Charlie had gone to high school together and Nick knew there was no love lost between them. Charlie had once told Nick that when he was thinking about returning to Waterford Point, after living across the country for nearly three decades, he may have reconsidered the move if he’d known that Burgess was the new mayor.

But Charlie had always had a soft spot for Maine, and Waterford Point in particular, so he figured he’d do his best to turn lemons into lemonade.

So far it wasn’t working.

“Your threats don’t scare me, Bill, so don’t even bother.”

Burgess’s eyes narrowed. “You think I wouldn’t do it?”

“I think you’re all yap and no follow-through, just like you were in—”

“Stop,” Nick said. “Both of you. This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

Burgess’s face was turning red, but he calmed himself.

“Sorry, Nick, but the last thing we need right now is your men perpetuating ridiculous rumors.” He swept an arm out, gesturing to the room. “Look at this place. Best diner in town and it’s practically empty. You start talking ghosts and that’s what Waterford Point will become. A ghost town. And we can’t afford that right now. We’re already strapped enough as it is.”

“People are scared, Bill.”

“Of course they are. That’s my point. You need to catch this guy, Nick. We can’t afford for this to go on much longer.”

“That’s easier said than done. The crime scenes are always pristine. We’ve got no evidence.”

“Then find some.”

“How? I’ve got five deputies, and we’re all stretched thin right now. We spend half our time chasing down false leads, people calling in at every little bump in the night. I’m a small-town sheriff, Bill. I don’t have the manpower or the expertise to handle a case like this.”

“So what are you suggesting?”

“I think we should invite the Maine State Police to help us out.”

Burgess shook his head, his tone adamant. “No, no, no,” he said. “We bring the staties in, we’ll only invite more publicity. We’re trying to contain this thing, not expand it.”

“I’m not a miracle worker. What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know. You’ve got some Native American blood in you. Can’t you do a smoke dance or something? Figure this thing out?”

Nick just stared at him.

Had he really just said that?

Charlie shook his head in disgust. “You are one amazing piece of work, Burgess.”

Burgess glared at him, then got to his feet, shifting his gaze to Nick. “Look, Nick, I like you. The whole town likes you. But I’m starting to wonder if appointing you sheriff was a bad idea.”

“You didn’t appoint me,” Nick said.

Burgess studied him a moment and Nick could clearly see the contempt in his eyes. Nick didn’t often run into outright bigots these days, but he knew one when he saw one.

“That may be true,” Burgess said. “But I can fire you just the same.” He leaned in close. “And if you don’t solve this case pronto, kemosabe, you’ll be heading right back to the reservation.”

Then he turned on his heels and walked away.

RACHEL COULDN’T SLEEP. After over an hour of tossing and turning and trying not to think about all the stuff that was plaguing her, she finally gave up and decided to find a place to go to dinner instead.

When she walked into the Bayside Grill, the last person she expected to find there was Sheriff Nick Chavaree.

He was sitting in a booth in back with one of his deputies, and as the hostess escorted her to a table, she could feel his gaze on her.

He probably thought she was stalking him.

She buried her face in the menu and was trying to decide between a chef’s or Cobb salad, when Chavaree approached and sat down at her table.

He didn’t look happy.

“You don’t give up, do you?”

Rachel put the menu down and sighed. “I told you, Sheriff, I’m not interested in your case. Really. It’s the furthest thing from my mind right now.”

“Yet you just happen to show up here?”

Those eyes of his could melt stone.

“Maddie suggested it, okay? She says it’s the best diner in town—and there aren’t exactly a whole lot of choices.”

“I wish I could believe you.”

“You don’t have to, but it’s the truth. I’ve had my fill of murder and mayhem for a while. I’m just here to recharge the batteries.”

She could see that he still wasn’t buying it, but what could she say to change his mind? He looked tired and overtaxed and she instinctively wanted to comfort him somehow.

She wasn’t quite sure where that instinct was coming from but it was there. Something about this guy brought it out in her.

Something beyond his good looks.

“So why do I still get the feeling I’ll wind up in your next book?” he said.

Rachel shook her head. “I’m already in the middle of another project. Besides, I’m putting the career on hold for the time being. Until I get some things sorted out.” She sighed. “Look, I’d be lying to you if I didn’t admit that this Weeping Willow angle is very compelling, but—”

He stiffened. “You know about that?”

“Your friend Maddie likes to talk a lot. But don’t worry, I didn’t push her for details. I don’t really want to know any. In fact, the less I know, the better.”

“Why is that?”

She was about to explain when Chavaree’s deputy came over, pocketing a cell phone as he approached.

His voice was full of tension. “Nick, that was DeMille. We need to go. Now.”

Chavaree looked up at him with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“We’ve got a situation.” The deputy leaned toward Chavaree now and whispered in his ear.

Rachel couldn’t hear what was being said, but she didn’t need to.

One of the handy little skills she’d picked up over the years was the ability to read lips. She didn’t always get it right but she came close at least half of the time, and even from this angle she knew exactly what was being said.

“They found another body.”

Chapter Four

As Rachel watched them go out the door, she tried to remain seated. Tried to quell the excitement that rose in her chest as she’d watched the deputy’s lips move.

She even went so far as to order a Cobb salad.

But as she sat there, thinking about those words, she felt a need coming on, the need she’d carried with her ever since she was thirteen and read her first true crime book.

They found another body.

Back then, when her friends were all reading Teen Beat and fawning over rock singers and sitcom stars, Rachel would devour monthly issues of True Detective and Crime Scene. She’d had to sneak them into her room and read them late at night because she knew her parents wouldn’t approve.

And if her father had known that she’d peeked at his murder files more than once—the ones he kept in a locked desk drawer—he would’ve had a fit, even though he’d made it clear that he wanted her to follow in his footsteps one day.

They found another body.

Resist, Rachel, resist.

Don’t prove yourself a liar.

Yet despite all her protests to Sheriff Chavaree, she couldn’t resist. Before she could stop herself, she was on her feet, tossing money onto the table and headed outside to her rented car.

She heard a siren now, wailing in the gathering darkness, and she knew it was likely an ambulance on its way to the crime scene.

As she climbed in behind the wheel, she tried again to convince herself to let it go, to simply start the car and drive straight back to the Waterford Inn. But she knew even before she turned the key that would never happen.

And a minute later, as she sat near the main road with her engine idling, she saw a deputy’s cruiser streak by.

Putting her transmission into gear, she fell in behind it and followed.

THE DEPUTY DROVE TOWARD the hills, quickly catching up to two other squad cars on a lonely stretch of road that wound through the forest.

Rachel tailed them a good distance behind. It was well past sunset now and the farther up the hill they went, the darker it got. The moon was high but it did little to illuminate the area, and that ever-present, living, breathing mist clung to the trees.

She saw mailboxes along the side of the road and thought this must be where some of the richer residents of Waterford Point lived. The place had a rustic but well-tended feel, and the trees and mist no doubt hid some very formidable New England homes.

The sheriff’s cruisers came to a stop in the middle of the road. The ambulance was already there. In the wash of the cruiser’s headlights Rachel saw a few deputies and emergency personnel attending the scene.

Pulling to the side, she killed her own headlights and sat watching through the windshield, knowing it wasn’t too late to back out of this.

She thought about Chavaree and his reluctance to believe her. She guessed when it came down to it, she was proving him right. Her motive for coming to Waterford Point may have had nothing to do with his case, but here she was, already in working mode, and motivation didn’t much matter at this point.

She felt a stab of guilt, thinking about those intense brown eyes looking at her from across the table, his gaze searching hers as he tried to decide whether he could trust her.

Apparently, he couldn’t.

But if Rachel always gave in to her guilt, she wouldn’t have four bestselling books in the stores, would she? Let alone a career. And while she had no real details and no idea if Chavaree’s case was interesting enough to sustain five hundred manuscript pages, the potential was just too great to ignore.

She dug around in her purse until she found her miniature flashlight; she carried it wherever she went. It wasn’t big but it would be bright enough to get her through the woods so she could take a closer look at the crime scene.

Glancing at the activity ahead, she climbed out of her car door. The beams of police Maglites crisscrossed in the trees.

After checking for cars Rachel crossed the road and stepped into the thick cluster of Eastern pine. She flicked on the light, keeping it low and aimed at the ground for fear one of the deputies might spot her.

The forest was nearly impenetrable here, thanks in large part to the mist. There were no pathways to guide her so she’d have to forge her own, doing her best to stay quiet in the process. If she went up and to the right, she should be able to circle around and place herself just above the crime scene.

Rachel had never been afraid of the dark, but the moment she started up the hill, the fallen tree branches crackling faintly beneath her shoes, the oddest feeling overcame her.

As if someone was watching her.

She looked back at the road but it was empty except for her car. She had parked near a mailbox, next to a tree-sheltered driveway. She knew there was a house back there somewhere but she doubted anyone inside would be able to see her.

Yet the sensation didn’t go away.

Had her run-in with Emit Lattimore turned her into a paranoid wimp?

Ignoring the feeling, she continued her climb up the hillside.

The ground was loose and damp, and had trouble keeping her footing. She banged her knee against a piece of fallen timber and almost poked her eye out on a low-hanging branch. She somehow managed to do it all quietly and with her dignity still intact, and she soon found herself crouching in a cluster of pines about a hundred yards above the deputies’ flashlight beams.

They stood in a small clearing just off the road, those beams pointed at a body that lay at their feet on a bed of pine needles.

A man’s body.

Chavaree stood over him, and Rachel sensed a change in the sheriff’s body language. The quiet anger he’d displayed in the restaurant and in Maddie’s foyer seemed to have abandoned him now. He seemed vulnerable somehow, as if he was taking this death hard. Not as just another homicide, but as a personal assault.

And again, she had to admit that he was right. He’d told her he had a feeling he’d wind up in one of her books, and what she saw here was the hero at the center of the storm.

He certainly fulfilled the requirements. The dark good looks. The outer strength. He was the kind of guy who commanded your attention the moment he walked into a room, yet beneath that cool self-assurance was a huge capacity for empathy and understanding.

Just what Rachel needed in her life.

With sudden alarm she realized that she wasn’t looking at Chavaree as the center of a story, but of her story, and she had no idea where such a notion had come from. It had snuck up on her without warning.

Get a grip, girl. This isn’t about you.

As she watched, Chavaree got down on his haunches and scooped up a handful of pine needles and dirt, closing his eyes as he let it sift through his fingers.

What was he up to?

A prayer of some kind?

Then he opened his eyes, stared at the body for a moment and got to his feet, turning to say something to one of his deputies—the one she’d seen with him in the diner.

She was too far away to read his lips, but she knew everything she needed to know by the look on his face.

The dead man was a friend of Chavaree’s.

“I THINK I WENT TO HIGH school with this guy,” Charlie said. “Maybe that’s the connection we’ve been looking for. The victims all went to high school together.”

Nick stared at the body. He hadn’t known Russ Webber all that well, but they’d gone fishing a few times, shared a couple beers and he’d liked the guy even if he had been a bit guarded. Webber was a local real estate agent who had helped Nick secure a contractor for the renovations on his house.

Waterford Point was a small town, but it wasn’t that small—it boasted a population of seven thousand. The other three victims had been virtual strangers to Nick, including Caroline.

So this death was a little more personal to him.

Seeing Russ lying there with his head bashed in was like a kick to the gut. It reminded him of his days in Afghanistan, whenever one of the men from his unit went down. He was their commanding officer so he didn’t know them as well as the boys in the trenches did, but it hurt just the same.

Charlie’s observation about high school connections was a good one, but it was one Nick had already considered. The victims were all around the same age—mid-forties—and had all attended Jefferson High during the same four-year period. Even Caroline had spent a couple of semesters there before moving away.

He remembered when she took the room at Maddie’s. She’d seemed a little skittish as she introduced herself. She was an attorney, she’d told him, who had come to Waterford Point to meet with a potential client. She’d never mentioned who that client was, and Nick had never been able to find out.

It could well have been her killer.

Of course, that was over three weeks ago, before Nick or anyone else had been looking for a pattern. And while the high school angle was a good start, it simply wasn’t enough to hang an investigation on.

“That might be helpful,” he told Charlie, “if there was more than one high school around here. But if that’s the connection, then we’ve got a couple thousand potential victims out there.”

“Including me,” Charlie said. “Maybe I should sleep with my gun under my pillow.”

“Might not be a bad idea.” Nick scanned the area. “Where’s the witness? The kid who found the body?”

“Over here,” someone said, and Nick found Joe DeMille standing near a tree with a teenager in a sweatshirt and jogging shorts.

The kid’s eyes were blank. He looked shell-shocked.

Nick and Charlie went over to him, and Nick said, “What’s your name, son?”

“Kenny Gray.” His voice trembled slightly.

“You live around here?”

The kid nodded. “Just down the road. I’m training for cross-country and was out for a run when I found him. It’s lucky I saw him at all.”

“Why’s that?”

“There wasn’t much light by then and this clearing is pretty well hidden from the road. I usually pass right by it.”

“So what made you stop this time?”

The kid hesitated and Nick could see that he was scared. “Take it easy, Kenny. You’re safe with us. Just tell us what happened.”

“It was the girl,” he said.

“Girl?”

“I heard her. Here in the trees. At first I thought she might be hurt or something, so I came to see if I could help.”

Nick’s gut tightened. He knew exactly where this was headed but hoped he was wrong. “What did you hear?”

“She was crying. Just like in the stories.”

Nick and Charlie exchanged glances.

“What stories?” Charlie asked.

“Come on, man, you know what stories. The ones about Weeping Willow. The ghost who walks the woods.”

Nick sighed. “You sure it wasn’t a bird of some kind?”

The kid shook his head. “I heard her as plain as day. Crying like a lost little girl.”

Nick and Charlie exchanged another glance. This wasn’t the first time a witness had told them this. Even Maddie had claimed she’d heard the crying the night of Caroline’s death.

But Nick wasn’t buying it. This was just a form of mass hysteria. People latching on to a thirty-year-old folktale and convincing themselves it was true. Either that or the killer was playing some kind of game.

“You sure you didn’t hear this after you found the body? You must’ve been pretty shook up. Could’ve been imagining—”

“I swear to God it was her, Sheriff. I wouldn’t have come in here if I hadn’t heard her.”

Nick nodded. He knew he could keep pushing the kid, but that would only back him into a corner and Nick doubted he’d change his story. Maddie hadn’t changed hers.

Of course, there were people in the world who were convinced they’d seen UFOs or had been abducted by aliens, and that was even less believable than a ghost who walked the woods.

But who was Nick to judge? His own culture was full of stories that most of the world didn’t buy into, and when it came down to it, people believed what they wanted to believe.

His job was to figure out how those beliefs impacted his investigation, and in this case he didn’t think it mattered all that much. Ghost stories were great around a campfire, but despite what the witnesses had said, he had no doubt that the killer they were after was all too human.

Nick just wished the guy was a little more human and would make a mistake.

He nodded to the kid. “Thank you, Kenny. We’ll need you to come into the office tomorrow, make a formal statement.”

“What about school?”

“I think you can afford to miss a couple—”

A sound cut Nick off. The snap of a branch up on the hillside and a soft but unmistakable yelp.

Five flashlight beams shot toward the trees and one of Nick’s deputies shouted, “There’s someone up there!”

Then they all started up the hill.

RACHEL RAN.

Couldn’t believe how stupid she was.

She’d been trying to get a closer look at the activity below, slowly working her way from tree to tree, wanting to hear what was being said, when she foolishly forgot to look where she was going and tripped over a fallen branch.

Idiot.

Now she was practically flying through the trees, going back the way she came, her flashlight doing very little to guide her as panic rose in her throat. Branches thrashed behind her, footsteps and shouts in her wake, as she tried to remember every turn she’d made on the way here.

But that was impossible, of course, not to mention ridiculous, and the deputies behind her were stronger and faster than she was. Even if she managed to avoid falling on her butt and get to her car, they’d be on top of her before she even had the door open.

So she did the only sensible thing she could.

She stopped in her tracks. Turned around.

Put her hands up.

“Don’t shoot,” she shouted. “It’s only me.”

Then the trees directly in front of her rustled and Nick Chavaree burst through, shining his flashlight beam directly in her face.

“Freeze!”

Then he paused, his voice now full of scorn and disbelief as he realized who he was looking at. “You have got to be kidding me.”