Dead Run

CHAPTER 38

Monday, November 19

3:00 p.m.

Liz opened her door a crack. Valentine Lopez and Carla Chapman stood on the other side, their expressions grim. Her heart leaped to her throat. They knew Mark was here. Rick had seen through her subterfuge; he had gone to the police.

What did she do now?

She worked to hide her thoughts. “Yes, Officers?”

“There’s been a development in your sister’s case,” Lieutenant Lopez said. “May we come in?”

“My sister’s case?” she repeated, moving her gaze between the two detectives. “What-”

“May we?”

“Yes, of course.” Liz opened the door wider and stepped aside so they could enter. Her hands shook as she shut and locked the door behind them.

“Do you have company, Ms. Ames?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.” She moved her gaze between the two officers. “You said you had information concerning my sister?”

The man looked at the other detective. “Carla?”

She nodded and drew a book out of the canvas tote she carried. Even housed in a plastic bag, Liz recognized Rachel’s Bible immediately.

Carla handed it to her. The plastic crackled. “Have you ever seen this before?”

Liz stared at the book, the leather cover marred by fingerprints. Bloody fingerprints. Tears choked her. “It was my sister’s.” She ran a finger over the letters of Rachel’s name, stamped in gold at the bottom of the book’s cover. “I gave this to her when she…” Liz lifted her gaze, vision blurred. “How…where did you…find it?”

“Do you know Stephen St. John? The old caretaker of Paradise Christian?”

“Yes, but what does he-”

“We have reason to believe he may have been involved in your sister’s disappearance.”

A chill washed over her. “I don’t understand.”

“Detective Chapman answered a routine call to Paradise Christian this afternoon. The caretaker attacked her with a knife that fits the M.E.’s description of the one used to murder Tara Mancuso and Naomi Pearson. Among other things, we found your sister’s Bible in his quarters.”

Liz couldn’t breathe. “Excuse me, I need to sit down.”

She pushed past the two and sank heavily onto one of the stairs. She lowered her head to her knees and breathed slowly and deeply, in her nose and out her mouth.

More proof that her sister was dead. Another nail in her coffin.

“In any of your conversations with your sister, did she ever mention Stephen St. John to you? Either by name or title of church caretaker?”

She shook her head but didn’t look up.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.” She lifted her face then. “You might talk to the owner of Bikinis & Things. She was friends with Rachel and she…she told me Rachel was frightened of him. That Rachel had caught him peeping in her windows.”

The two detectives exchanged glances. “Do you know her name?” Carla asked, removing a spiral notepad from her tote.

“Heather Ferguson.”

Carla jotted down the name. “In your sessions with Tara Mancuso, did she ever mention the church caretaker?”

“No, never.”

“Do you have any idea how Stephen St. John could have come into possession of your sister’s Bible?”

She shook her head.

“When did you first meet the church caretaker?” Val asked.

She struggled to collect her thoughts and put them into words. “On one of my visits to Paradise Christian. I’d just met with Pastor Tim and Stephen…blocked my path. He startled me by grabbing my wrist. Luckily, Heather Ferguson happened along. She scolded him and he ran off. Isn’t he…harmless?”

“That’s what we all thought,” Carla said, closing the notebook.

Liz rubbed her arms. “Are you saying…You think Stephen murdered Tara and-”

Val cut her off. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Ames.”

Carla crossed to where she sat. She held a hand out, expression apologetic. “I’m sorry, but we’ll have to keep your sister’s Bible for the time being. It’s evidence.”

She handed the book back, feeling light-headed. “Evidence?” She looked from Carla to her superior. “Then you think Rachel…that Stephen…”

Her voice trailed off. The lieutenant’s expression softened. “In light of these new developments, I’ve decided to reopen the investigation into your sister’s disappearance. Looks like you might have been right. We’re fearful Pastor Howard may have met with foul play.”

She uttered a sound of despair. She didn’t want to be right. She wanted her sister.

“Ms. Ames?”

She lifted her watery gaze. “Yes?”

“As far as you know, did Mark Morgan and Stephen St. John know one another?”

“What?”

“Mark Morgan and Stephen St. John, did they know one another?”

“I don’t…I’m not…” She looked helplessly at them, struggling to come to grips with all they had said, the implications of it. With her own conflicting thoughts and emotions. Who should she believe? Who could she trust?

“It seems like this isn’t a good time,” Val murmured. “If you think of anything that might help us, give me a call.”

They let themselves out. For long moments, she stared at the closed door, then slowly stood, crossed to it and twisted the dead bolt. Exhaustion pulled at her. Her hands and limbs shook and she felt as if her nerves were frayed to the breaking point.

She wanted to climb into bed, pull the covers over her head and sleep. For as long as it would take for this nightmare to end. When she woke up, Rachel would be alive and all that would be left of this would be a vague, unpleasant memory.

Swallowing hard, she turned.

Mark stood at the top of the stairs. Their eyes met. A shiver of fear moved over her.

“There’s a warrant out for Mark’s arrest. They think he killed Tara. And they think you may be his next target.”

“As far as you know, did Mark Morgan and Stephen St. John know one another?”

“I heard them.” He fisted his fingers. “And it’s not true. Stephen wouldn’t hurt anyone. He’s gentle. The most gentle person I’ve ever met.”

Who should she believe? Who should she trust?

He frowned. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m not…I-” She shook her head and started up the stairs. “I’m exhausted, Mark. I can’t talk about this right now.”

“They knew exactly what they were doing to you!” he cried. “They were trying to break you down. Trying to make you question yourself and what you believe.”

She reached the top of the stairs and looked him dead in the eyes. “Who should I believe, Mark? You? Or the police?”

“Me.” His expression became pleading. “You can trust me. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Now he’s forging a relationship with you. The frightened boy. The victim. You respond to that. You trust him because he needs you.”

“Please, Liz,” he begged. “Stephen’s my friend. He has this innocence, like a child. Look into his eyes, you’ll see it. He couldn’t even conceive the actions they’re accusing him of.”

“How do you know!” She jerked her arm free and faced him, furious. Hurting. “I’m a family counselor, I work with the walking wounded every day. The kind of abuse Stephen suffered damages a person. Sometimes in awful, frightening ways. Ways that sometimes make them turn that anger and pain on others.”

“Not Stephen.”

Liz brought the heels of her hands to her eyes. A headache jackknifed against her skull. “He had my sister’s Bible.”

“What does that prove? Maybe she gave it to him.”

“You didn’t see it! It was smeared with blood. It-They said he had a knife, Mark. A knife like the one used to kill Tara.”

“What about Pastor Tim? He could have planted the knife.”

She started past him; he grabbed her arm. A shiver raced up her spine. “Tara didn’t like Pastor Tim. She said there was something creepy about him. That she had caught him in a lie. That he looked at her funny sometimes. In a way that scared her.”

“Let me go.”

“He could have planted the knife, Liz. He could have planted the Bible, to frame Stephen. To divert suspicion from him. He lives there, too. He has unlimited access to the garden, parsonage and Stephen’s quarters.”

“I said, let me go!” Confused, head pounding, she broke free of his grasp. “He attacked a detective, Mark. Can you explain that away? Can you?”

His defiance seemed to evaporate, leaving him looking young and vulnerable.

She laid a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll figure it all out, Mark. I promise. But first, I have to take some Advil and lie down. Please?”

He nodded but didn’t meet her eyes.

She squeezed his shoulder, then headed to her bedroom, acutely aware of his presence. She entered her bedroom, closed the door behind her and started toward the bed. There, she stopped, turned and looked at the door.

After a moment’s hesitation, she hurried back and locked it.