Dead Run

CHAPTER 50

Wednesday, November 21

1:40 p.m.

Rick drew the ancient Jeep Wrangler to a stop in front of Carla’s South Street cottage. She had called him on his cell phone a half hour ago. She needed to see him right away, she’d said. It was about the disappearance of Pastor Howard.

He cut the engine but didn’t move to get out of the vehicle. He leaned his head against the rest and stared blankly up at the Jeep’s canvas top, thinking of Liz. As he had watched her walk away, his every instinct had shouted to call her back. The feeling that he had done the wrong thing had grown in the hours that had passed, as had his worry over her safety.

He couldn’t trust his instincts, not when it came to Liz. He saw that now. Until Val had pointed it out, he hadn’t consciously acknowledged Jill’s and Liz’s physical similarities. Just as he hadn’t seen what he had been doing-trying to save her, the way he had not been able to save Jill.

The truth of that left him feeling raw. And foolish.

He glanced at Carla’s house and saw her at the window. He lifted a hand in greeting, pulled the keys from the ignition, climbed out of the Jeep and made his way up the walk.

He stepped onto the porch. It sagged slightly and the gray deck paint was peeling. In contrast, the hanging ferns and pots of multicolored flowers all but shouted tender-loving care.

Carla had always loved plants and for the longest time had tried to keep several in her cluttered, windowless office. It had driven Val nuts. Real cops, he had complained, didn’t keep pansies and petunias on their desks.

Carla appeared at her door. “Hi.” She smiled nervously and pushed the screen door open.

After he entered, she peered outside as if assessing if they were being watched, then closed and locked the door. He cocked an eyebrow. “What was that all about?”

“You’ll understand in a moment. Come on, I’ve got something to show you.”

She led him into her small kitchen. She went to her purse and retrieved a slip of pink paper from its side pocket. She held it out. “Take a look at this.”

He closed the distance between them and took it from her. It was a carbon copy from a message pad, the kind found in most offices.

He read it then lifted his gaze to hers.

“Rachel Howard did call Val. She called him two days before she was reported missing.”

Rick pulled out one of her kitchen chairs and sat, feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of him.

“This morning, I eavesdropped on you and Val. And I…remembered. He was in his office, on the phone, he said her name.”

“Are you certain? Maybe he didn’t get-”

“He did. I spoke to Becky about it.”

“Shit.” He shook his head, struggling to come to grips with this piece of information. The ramifications of it. “This doesn’t mean anything. She could have called him about a…donation. About a church function or-”

“There’s more, Rick,” she said gently. “There was no scrap of paper with the Hideaway’s phone number scrawled on it. Tara had fabric in her hand. Shirt fabric. White.”

Rick thought back to that night, what he’d seen. It could have been fabric. It’d been dark, he had assumed it had been paper.

“Mark had on a light-blue T-shirt that night.”

“How do you-”

“I saw it at his place. The blood looked purplish on the blue. I’m embarrassed to say I never thought about it until now. Even though that fabric was most probably torn from her attacker’s shirt.”

Rick felt ill. Not Val. His best, his oldest friend. The person who had seen him through the darkest days of his life. He felt as if he were being ripped apart.

And he thought of Liz, the way he had torn into her for suggesting Val might be dirty.

“Why, Carla?” He lifted his gaze to hers. “Why would he do this?”

“I don’t know.” She turned and crossed to the window behind the sink and stared out at her lush, overgrown backyard. She let out a long, disappointed-sounding breath. “I made so many mistakes. I always let him lead. Like a little puppy dog, whatever he asked of me, I did. Whatever he said, I believed.”

She swung and faced him. “I never questioned, Rick.” Her voice trembled. “A good cop questions everything.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. He was your boss, a lieutenant and highly thought of in the department. Who would have thought twice about-”

“You would have,” she said simply, interrupting him. “I’m going to see this thing through, then I’m getting out, Rick. This isn’t the job for me. It isn’t the place.”

He understood. But he didn’t want her to go. “You’re a good cop, Carla. You’ve turned into a good cop.”

A small smile touched her mouth. “Thanks, but I know better.” He started to protest. She cut him off. “I’m not you, Rick. Never will be. The time’s come for me to stop kidding myself. This isn’t my calling. I’ll never be better than adequate, not here. Not in police work.”

“You don’t have to leave Key West. There are other opportunities here. You could-”

“Waitress? Work in a hotel or clothing boutique? I don’t think so.” Her expression became wistful. “I’m a steel mill-town girl, Rick. I don’t belong in paradise.”

“There’s nothing I can say to change your mind, is there?”

She met his eyes, hers bright with longing. “There’s one thing, Rick. Say that and I’ll stay.”

Tell her there was a chance for them. That he might love her.

“I can’t tell you that, Carla. I’m sorry, I wish I could.”

He meant it. And he regretted having hurt her.

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you? With Liz Ames?”

He thought of Liz and his chest tightened. His instincts had been right. About everything but Val.

“I don’t know. I was beginning to think there might be something-”

Dear God, he had sent her out there alone. Unprotected.

As if reading his thoughts, Carla touched his arm. “She’ll be okay.”

“If he hurts a hair on her head,” he said fiercely, “I’ll kill him, I swear I will.”

“So what do we do now?” she asked, dragging his thoughts back to the issue at hand.

Rick pursed his lips. “We need more information. We need something substantive we can take to the chief.”

“I’ll get it. As a member of his team, I have access to things you don’t. His files, desk, computer.”

“That’ll put you in harm’s way. I can’t allow that.”

“It’s not up to you though, is it?”

It wasn’t, he knew. He swore. “Carla-”

“I told you, I’m seeing this through. Consider it my swan song.” She smiled, the curving of her lips determined. “Someday I’ll be telling my kids about the big case I helped crack.”

He hesitated, then acquiesced-not because he approved of her solution but because he didn’t see another. “Let’s look at what we have. Two women dead, another missing. Rumors of a strange cult involved with drugs and teenage sex.”

“Let’s not forget one prominent banker’s suicide. A banker who was up to his ass in bogus bank loans.”

“As was one of the victims.”

Rick met Carla’s eyes. “Means and opportunity aren’t a problem. We need a motive. Why does one of Key West’s most respected citizens, a man next in line for the chief of police’s job, become a killer?”

“Is he a killer? Or is he just in bed with one?”

“Motive?”

She ticked them off on her fingers. “Love. Hate. Greed. The holy trinity of murder. Take your pick.”

“Dammit!” Rick jumped to his feet, angry, itching for a fight. “I can’t believe Val would do this! This is so fucked up.”

“True, but that doesn’t change the facts, now, does it?”

“Go to hell, Carla,” he said, turning his fury on her. “Just go straight to hell.”

She crossed to him and laid a hand gently on his arm. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I know he’s like a brother to you.”

His fury evaporated, replaced by resignation-and determination. “How much we get done and how fast depends on what this storm decides to do. We need to move fast, if Becky hasn’t told Val about your finding the message from Pastor Howard yet, she will soon. You need to-”

Carla’s beeper sounded. She checked the display. “It’s headquarters.”

He nodded, understanding. She crossed to the wall phone and called in.

“Chapman here.” She looked at Rick, eyes widening. “Another woman?”

“Where?”

Rick crossed to stand beside her.

“Big Pine Key,” she repeated. “Do they have ID?” She nodded. “Keep me informed.”

Carla hung up. “There’s another victim. No ID yet, but she’s a pretty blonde.”

“Do you need to report in?”

She shook her head. “Sheriff’s department is at the scene.”

Rick shook his head, thoughts on his earlier conversation with Liz. “Do you know a woman named Heather Ferguson?”

Carla was silent for a moment, then nodded. “Gorgeous blonde, right? She’s been in to see Val. Recently, as a matter of fact.”

Rick curled his hands into fists. More proof. Son-of-a-bitch.

“She owns a shop on Duval,” he said, jaw tight. “I’d met her at one of the Old Town merchants’ meetings. Turns out she was a friend of Rachel Howard’s. Liz went to see her earlier today and learned from the guy next door that she’d been missing a couple days. Apparently he went to Val, who did nothing.”

“Same as he did when Rachel Howard and Naomi Pearson turned up missing.” Carla clasped her hands together. “The body count’s climbing too fast. Val, or whoever he’s covering for, is out of control. It’s like they’re on a rampage.”

The way Taft had been, Rick realized, there at the end, right before law enforcement had zeroed in on him. That was often the case with serial murderers. Their killing career began slowly, first through fantasizing about the crime, sometimes for years. Then came acting on the fantasy, the first kill. The thrill derived from it could last months or even years. Then they killed again. With each subsequent murder the thrill carried them a shorter period of time.

Rick met Carla’s gaze grimly. “This killer’s become like a drug addict who needs a bigger fix, more often, until the time he’s not high or getting high ceases to exist.”

“So you’re saying that our guy’s reached the stage where he’s either hunting or devouring his next victim?”

“Not a pleasant description,” he muttered, flipping open his cell phone. “But accurate.” Rick punched in Liz’s number, anxious to warn her. He got a busy signal, swore and closed the phone. “Hurricane or not, friend or not, we’ve got to nail him. And we’ve got to do it fast.”