Second Honeymoon

Chapter 51

SHERIFF DICK INSLEY had the look, the voice, the mannerisms—indeed, the whole aura—of a seasoned veteran, but twenty-one years between murders in his town was a long time. Sarah could practically see the wheels spinning in his head as he headed toward his patrol car to retrieve an evidence kit.

Sarah accompanied him, calmly convincing him that the first thing he needed to do was to show her the body.

The walk back down to the lake was along a steep and winding downhill path, with a few makeshift rope railings along the way. The results of Sarah’s morning wardrobe decision were officially in. The jeans were a good call. The cross-trainers on her feet were a really good call.

“Almost there,” said Insley, leading the way.

Sarah had this strange custom—more of a quirk, actually. Whenever she came upon a crime scene involving a dead body, her mind would immediately conjure up a newspaper headline about the killing—how it might read in the local paper. She couldn’t help it; her mind just did it. It was a reflex. A weird reflex, she always thought. That probably explained why she’d never told anyone about it.

After another hundred yards, the pathway ended at the water’s edge, where there was one of the curved inlets—a teardrop—that Officer Knoll had described. Because the inlet was bookended by thick brush, the rest of the lake was barely visible. John O’Hara had his own private fishing hole. He was all alone.

Until he wasn’t.

His large body was laid out on the ground, arms outstretched, legs apart. He looked as if he were making a snow angel. But there was no snow: instead, all that was beneath him was blood. Lots and lots of it. One shot to the chest and one point-blank to the head. He was basically a carbon copy of the photos Sarah had seen during her initial briefing back at Quantico.

The John O’Hara Killer was consistent, all right. Perversely dependable. Same name for each victim, same execution-style killing.

“Jesus, how am I going to tell Marsha?” muttered Insley under his breath, as if he were just realizing there was one more task on his postmurder must-do list. Breaking the news to O’Hara’s wife.

Sarah blinked, her mind spitting out a potential headline in the Candle Lake Gazette, or whatever the local paper was called.

SAD SCENE AT THE TEARDROPS.