The Mermaid Murders

Chapter Nine

“Who the hell has been erasing my notes off this board?” Chief Gervase glared at the weary officers seated in what was now being termed the Command Center of the Kingsfield Police Station. “Officer Courtney? How many times have I told you about taking it upon yourself to tidy up after me?”

Officer Courtney looked outraged. “I didn’t touch that board, Chief.”

No one else responded. Gervase, as tired as everyone else in the room after the long and arduous day that had followed the discovery of Rebecca’s body, seemed to give up. He released a long pent-up sigh and nodded at Kennedy, who was seated on the low, wide window sill.

“A couple of you have asked why I’m requesting the FBI to take point on this investigation when we’ve already got the State Police and other key resources. I’ll tell you why. Some of you remember Special Agent Sam Kennedy from ten years ago when he helped us bring Martin Pink to justice. Nobody knows the players in this case better than him. And that’s what we need right now. That kind of perspective and that kind of insight.”

Gervase sat down in a chair next to the whiteboard. Kennedy rose and took the chief’s place at the front of the room.

“First thing to keep in mind is we don’t yet know who the players are this time around,” Kennedy said.

“We know we’re dealing with a copycat,” Gervase said.

“It looks that way at this juncture of the investigation.” Somehow Kennedy’s concession hinted this didn’t mean a whole hell of a lot.

A slim, dark-haired woman put her hand up, and Jason recognized Officer Dale. Kennedy nodded at her.

“Is it possible we’re not dealing with a copycat so much as a previously unknown accomplice of Martin Pink?”

“We have a critical piece of evidence that would seem to suggest an accomplice,” Gervase agreed.

Jason could see Kennedy didn’t like the direction this was going, but ironically it was his own fault. He had been the one to show the mermaid charm to Gervase’s officers and George Simpson. It was inevitable word was going to spread. In fact, Jason realized, Kennedy must have been fairly shaken to have forgotten his normal inclination to hoard all possible information to himself.

No matter how certain Kennedy was that Martin Pink was the Huntsman, seeing that mermaid charm must have given him a very bad moment.

And on the topic of that critical piece of evidence, Kennedy’s antipathy for the idea the Huntsman might have had an accomplice seemed illogical given there was no way a copycat could have learned about the mermaid angle.

Or could he?

It could be someone close to Pink or maybe peripherally involved in the earlier investigation. Someone who had never been noticed or had been safely forgotten.

Or someone who had never appeared on the radar because their relationship with Pink was relatively recent.

Maybe not an accomplice. Maybe an apprentice?

Jason tuned back in. Chief Gervase was saying, “Dwayne Pink passed two years ago. He always maintained he knew nothing about what his baby brother was up to, but that’s bullshit. He had to have some idea.”

Kennedy heard this out before saying briskly, “There are notable similarities to the Huntsman case. But we’ve also got significant deviations from the previous MO. To begin with, the remains of all other victims were found within twenty-four hours and within ten miles of where they were abducted. Their bodies were left in the woods, and there was no attempt to hide the remains. In fact, Pink enjoyed the idea his victims would eventually be found. He wanted to inflict maximum horror and outrage on this community.”

“Just because it took awhile to find Rebecca’s body doesn’t mean the killer didn’t want her found.” Boxner had only just arrived. He leaned against the back wall of the room, arms folded.

“Choosing Rexford to dump the body is a definite break with the previous pattern,” Kennedy said. “There were significant logistical challenges to transporting her so far from home which indicates her killer either did not want her found or that Rexford itself has some meaning for him. Or both.”

“What meaning?” Officer Dale asked. “How would we figure that out?”

“We won’t know that until we begin to compile the profile of our unsub. We may not fully understand that piece of the puzzle until we apprehend him.”

“It is definitely a him?”

“Yes,” Kennedy said. “Our unsub is unquestionably male and in peak physical condition.”

“Do we have an actual profile yet?” Gervase asked.

“We’re working on it.”

“No hurry,” Gervase said acridly.

Jason understood the acridness, but until that mermaid charm had turned up, there had been a very good chance they were looking at a completely different crime, unconnected to the earlier killings. The charm changed everything. Now, yes, they were having to move fast to catch up.

Kennedy said, “Frankly, this crime doesn’t fit the classic pathology. While there are obvious indications of an organized and methodical offender, the crime itself is disorganized.”

“Like Pink,” Gervase said.

“Appearances to the contrary, Pink was not a disorganized offender.”

Boxner said, “Wouldn’t a copycat killer stick right to Pink’s playbook?”

“Not necessarily. This offender will want to add his own artistic touches. In fact, he’s probably unable to resist adding such touches.”

Gervase said, “What are some of these other deviations?”

Kennedy said, “The most obvious? Rebecca Madigan was taken from a crowded event in what amounts to full view of over fifty people.”

Jason said, “The initial attack is more bold and aggressive than Pink’s. But subsequently there’s a much more determined effort to conceal the crime?”

“That’s the way it appears,” Kennedy agreed.

“Is this his first kill?” Officer Courtney asked.

“Unknown. On the one hand, this was a bold and brutal crime efficiently carried out. On the other hand, the foolhardy nature of it would seem to indicate a neophyte.”

Jason said, “It’s got to be his first kill in Worcester County.”

Kennedy nodded. “Most likely.”

Gervase said reluctantly, “It won’t be his last. That’s for sure.”

“No,” Kennedy said. His expression was bleak.

“Which brings up another possibility. I don’t like it. None of us will like it, but I think we have to consider it. Maybe we’re not looking at a copycat. Maybe we never got the Huntsman.”

Shock rippled through the room.

“Martin Pink is the Huntsman,” Kennedy said. “We got the right guy.”

“We can’t be sure, not one hundred percent sure, Agent Kennedy. How can we be?” Gervase was regretful but stubborn.

“I’m one hundred percent sure. I’ll stake my career on it.”

Jason heard the words with a sinking feeling. Of course, Kennedy’s career was already at stake. He was just putting into words what everyone already knew.

Still. A guy like Kennedy made enemies. Why give them more ammunition? They were already loaded for bear.

Jason had the unmistakable feeling someone was staring at him. He glanced up, and sure enough, Boxner was regarding him with his usual pugnacious expression.

“Well, here’s another possibility.” Boxner continued to scowl, and for a confused instant Jason thought he was being personally addressed. “What if this accomplice of the Huntsman was someone young, someone who didn’t live here all the time, someone who didn’t come back after the first couple of murders. What if he isn’t an accomplice? What if he’s a disciple?”

Boxner’s fierce gaze never wavered. Jason, unable to believe what he was hearing, was so flabbergasted he nearly laughed. It wasn’t funny though. In fact, it was so far out of line…

No. Even Boxner couldn’t be that nuts.

Or could he?

“Did you have someone in mind?” Kennedy asked dryly.

Boxner pointed at Jason like the embodiment of J’accuse. Everyone in the room turned to look at Jason. Even Kennedy looked startled.

“You’re kidding, right?” Jason said. He tried to keep his voice even, but he was so angry he wanted to leap across the room and throttle Boxner. What the hell? What was his problem? He couldn’t really… Did he really…?

Boxner was glaring right back at Jason like yeah, he did really. Boxner said, “He was a suspect when Honey Corrigan was killed.”

“What?”

“Boyd, what the hell are you talking about?” Gervase demanded.

“Are you out of your mind?” Jason cried. “I wasn’t a suspect. I was never a suspect. Are you crazy?”

Boxner said to Gervase, “You gave him a lie-detector test.”

“I did what?” Gervase continued to look amazed and alarmed. “I did?”

Everyone else in the room looked like they were watching an exceptionally good show at the Coliseum. That would be Lions versus Christians, not Springsteen in concert.

Everyone but Kennedy, and even he looked slightly less impassive than usual. He was frowning as he met Jason’s appalled gaze.

“It’s right there in Honey’s file,” Boxner said. “The files they asked for today.”

“Who the hell are you?” Gervase asked Jason. And then to Boxner, “Who the hell is he?”

“He’s Jason West.”

“I know he’s Jason West!”

“His family used to spend summers here. You have to remember them. They used to own the old Harley place out on Amber Road.”

“The Harley place?” Gervase threw Jason a quick, uneasy look. “He’s a Harley?”

“Right,” Boxner said. “One of them. A bunch of rich snobs laughing at the rest of us. And he was there, he was a witness—he claimed to be a witness—when Honey disappeared. And now here he is again when another girl is murdered.”

It was beyond ridiculous. Boxner was leaving out all the essential parts of the story like how Jason had an ironclad alibi and zero motive for Honey’s death, like how he had passed his polygraph, like how after Honey’s death Jason’s family had never returned to Kingsfield, like how he was only here in an official capacity to investigate a murder that had already occurred two days earlier—it was ludicrous, laughable, and yet he could actually see the surprise on people’s faces turning to shock and suspicion. This was how rumors got started.

How people’s careers and lives were destroyed.

“You crazy sonofabitch,” Jason said, and this time he did start after Boxner—only to find Kennedy in his way.

“No,” Kennedy said. He spoke with utter finality, like he was delivering a decree, and as Jason stared into Kennedy’s stern blue eyes, he realized Kennedy was right. He was about to give Boxner exactly what he wanted.

Which was still bewildering because why would Boxner—did Boxner genuinely hate him this much? Could he seriously suspect Jason of murdering his best friend?

Boxner said, “I don’t believe in coincidences. He’s here for a reason. He’s—”

Kennedy said, “Okay, we’re going to take this behind closed doors. Now.”

“You’re not in charge here,” Boxner began, but Gervase cut him off.

“Now, Boyd. My office.”

Kennedy led the way. Jason followed, numbly listening to Gervase adjourning the rest of the briefing until the following morning.

Gervase’s office was on the ground floor. Impressively mounted on the wall behind the desk was the head of a seven-point buck. The rest of the wall space was covered with framed commendations. Short bookshelves held binders and law books. Several family photos sat on a reasonably tidy desk.

“God almighty,” Kennedy muttered. “You’re just full of surprises.”

Jason opened his mouth to answer, but the next minute Gervase had entered the room followed by Boxner who fired a furious look at Jason, as though this was somehow Jason’s doing.

Gervase slammed the door shut and took his chair behind the desk.

“All right, let’s hear it,” he said to Jason.

Jason looked at Boxner. “Be my guest.”

This seemed to set Boxner off all over again, and he poured out his tale of damning circumstances that weren’t really all that damning once you laid them out end to end. Or at least Jason hoped not. Kennedy’s face was back to its normal granite state, and Gervase was getting redder by the minute.

“That’s it?” he demanded when Boxner had finally come to a sullen stop. “He was a suspect for few hours during the Corrigan investigation? That’s what this is about?”

“He was the prime suspect.”

“The hell I—!” Jason broke off, startled, as Kennedy placed a hand on his arm.

“Boyd, for chrissake. He was cleared. He was completely cleared.” Gervase scrubbed his face in his hands. He looked up at Jason. “I guess I do remember you now. A scrawny kid with long hair and a mouth full of metal. Why didn’t you say right away who you were?”

“I did—I wasn’t hiding anything. I had no idea I was ever considered a suspect.”

“They dragged you in for questioning,” Boxner said.

“They didn’t drag me. And if they did, they dragged you too. They dragged all of us, everyone who knew Honey.”

Boxner recoiled as though this had slipped his mind. Maybe he had grown so used to thinking of himself as a police officer, he had forgotten there ever was a time when he stood on the outside.

“Are we done here?” Kennedy sounded bored.

“Done?” Gervase and Boxner echoed.

“Well?”

Gervase threw Boxner a not-exactly-apologetic glance. “Well, Boyd, it does seem like—”

“We’re not even going to question him?”

“Question me about what?” Jason demanded.

Boxner started to explain what, but Kennedy broke in.

“West is a special agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Which means he’s passed the most rigorous physical and psychological testing in the country with flying colors. The Bureau takes only the best. We don’t make mistakes.”

“You’re talking about yourself too, you know,” Boxner said.

Kennedy grinned. “That’s right. I am.”

Boxner gaped at the sweeping arrogance of that. Even Jason was a little impressed.

Gervase said in his steady, even way, “Nobody can be above suspicion. Of course no one’s suggesting Agent West—”

“Of course not,” Kennedy said. “Because that would be fucking ridiculous. So let’s call it a night. We’ve all had a hell of a long day, and enough time has been wasted on this nonsense.”

Gervase’s jaw tightened. “Anything you wish, Special Agent Kennedy.” The words were tinged with sarcasm.

Kennedy nodded to Jason, and Jason opened the door and walked out. His heart was still pounding with frustrated fury—a tidal wave of adrenaline crashing against the rocks of common sense. You could not punch people for saying outrageous, stupid things. No matter how much you wanted to—and they deserved it.

The door slammed behind them, and he could hear Boxner’s raised voice through the wood.

“Well, that was interesting,” Kennedy said as they walked out the front doors of the station. His tone was sardonic but also weary. They were all exhausted, all depressed over the outcome of the day’s search.

Which made the last half hour all the more surreal.

“Thanks for what you said in there.” Jason’s voice was tight with the effort of not giving in to his own ranting.

Kennedy threw him a look of disbelief. “Believe me, that wasn’t personal. A federal agent under that kind of suspicion? Not acceptable. I can’t get over the fact you didn’t think this was information you needed to share.”

“You already knew I spent summers here as a kid. And the rest of it… I never knew I was a real suspect.”

Kennedy’s expression was disbelieving. “They gave you a lie-detector test.”

“They gave all of us, every boy, every man Honey knew, a lie-detector test. Her father. Her brothers. I’m sure Boxner took a lie-detector test too. Every guy Honey ever dated—not that there were that many—took a polygraph. It never occurred to me I was any more of a suspect than anyone else. I’m not sure I was. That could be Boxner’s take.”

Now, looking back, Jason wondered with a sense of shock whether his parents’ sudden decision to sell their vacation home and never return to Kingsfield had something to do with Jason falling under suspicion.

It was not a thought he liked.

The night air was cool. Moonlight reflected off the hoods and rooftops of the cars still crowding the parking lot. Most of Kingsfield PD would be working through the long night—and more nights to come.

They climbed into the silver sedan. Kennedy started the engine and said, “This is getting messy. I don’t like messy.”

“I’m not compromised,” Jason said. “Gervase said himself I was completely cleared.”

“I don’t like it.”

“You think I like it?” And he was going to like it even less if Kennedy tried to use this as another excuse for getting rid of him.

Kennedy did not put the car into gear. “What about Boxner? What’s the situation between the two of you?”

“There is no situation.”

“West, pull your head out of your easel. Boxner hates your guts. Why?”

“Because I’m gay.”

The silence that followed was as stark as the report of a rifle.

“No.” Kennedy shook his head. “It would have to be more than that.”

That answered one question. Kennedy had already worked out Jason’s sexual orientation. Not that it was a secret, but in the Bureau everybody played it straight. It went with the territory.

“Would it? You didn’t know Boxner when he was a kid. Believe me, if he wasn’t homophobic, he was pretty damned close.”

“Yeah. Well. The adolescent male ego is a fragile and frightened thing.” Kennedy sounded almost philosophical. “I don’t get the feeling Boxner is a homophobe per se. I’ve known guys like him. He probably even regrets some of the shit he pulled as a kid. But not where you’re concerned. His dislike and distrust of you shines like a beacon.”

“Then it has to be because Honey and I were best friends.”

Kennedy sighed. “West, I don’t have time to drag it out of you word by word. Tell me about that summer.”

“Boxner had a crush on Honey. Honey…wasn’t interested.”

After a moment, Kennedy said, “I gather you’re being modest. Continue.”

“We were kids. Honey was sixteen, I was seventeen. We were both lifeguards at Holyoke Pond that summer. And we were involved in the park theater program. I was just stage crew, painting backdrops and props, but Honey acted in the production. We were doing Barefoot in the Park.”

Patiently, Kennedy said, “And where does Boxner fit into all this?”

“He was a friend of Honey’s older brother Dougie. He was just always around.”

“He wasn’t a lifeguard?”

“No.”

“He wasn’t involved in the park theater productions?”

“No.” God no, Boxner would have said at the very idea.

“Okay. So basically you and Honey were inseparable, and Boxner felt thwarted and jealous.”

“Basically, yes. I would guess.”

“Hm. Maybe.” Kennedy seemed to be thinking aloud. “Maybe if he saw you as an obstacle to Honey’s affections.”

“No,” Jason said. “He knew I was not an obstacle. He knew before I did. And partly he knew because…” It was one thing to privately reflect on the old hurts and humiliations. To have to say it aloud was more painful than Jason had expected.

Kennedy sounded uncharacteristically startled. “God almighty.” He threw Jason a quick look, although it was unlikely he could see much in the weird light of the dashboard. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“As a heart attack. Which is about how healthy that was.”

Kennedy made a terse sound that could have been humor.

“So to add to Boxner’s frustrations, he had to worry about the fact he was attracting the wrong kind of interest, which is always going to be an issue for an insecure male. Especially an adolescent. Yeah, it fits. It makes sense. What was Boxner’s relationship to the second victim, Theresa Nolan?”

“I have no idea.” Jason tried to read Kennedy’s face in the dim light. “I didn’t know Theresa. You’re not thinking Boxner—”

“I think Martin Pink is—was—the Huntsman. But it’s our job to keep an open mind.”

Jason had to admire that level of open-mindedness. Kennedy must have balls of steel if he could contemplate with equanimity having jailed the wrong man ten years earlier. If that was the case, it would be the second and perhaps mortal blow to his career.

Abruptly, Kennedy shifted into gear, and they pulled out of the parking lot.

He said thoughtfully, “I think maybe it’s time to pay an old friend a visit.”

“What old friend?” Jason was thinking uncomfortably of Honey’s family. He had made no effort to see her parents since his arrival in Kingsfield, and he really should at least stop by. See how they were. He had spent an awful lot of time under the Corrigans’ roof and at their dining table.

So it was with shock he heard Kennedy say, “I think it’s time for a field trip to MCI Cedar Junction. I think we need to talk to Martin Pink. Let’s have a chat with the Huntsman.”