As Darkness Fell Page 15

  And that left the very real possibility that the man who was stalking Caroline had made an effort to move beyond notes and phone calls. If he’d been successful in his break-in attempt, it could have been him waiting when Caroline opened the door to the basement, instead of a cat.

  The image of that ripped along Sam’s nerves and burned like pure acid in his stomach. There had to be answers out there somewhere. He just had to find them. Right now his best chance was riding on Josephine. In the meantime, he had to keep Caroline safe.

  And he had to stay focused. It was the little things that usually broke a case like this.

  He went over tonight’s e-mail message again in his mind. The man was obsessed with Caroline. He hated that Sam had stayed over, and he’d mentioned Sam by name. Could this possibly be someone he knew? Someone who’d hated him even before the murders had started? Someone he’d arrested in the past—someone like R.J.?

  Not likely, but he never ruled out any possibilities. He drank a glass of water, then rummaged in the refrigerator and took out a chunk of cheddar cheese. The knives were stored in a wooden block on the counter. He reached for the smallest one, but stopped at the sound of footfalls in the hall.

  He recognized the soft tread, and his heart knocked around in his chest. “I thought you were sound asleep,” he said when Caroline reached the door.

  “I was, but I woke up and missed you.”

  His focus dissolved. Caroline had pulled on the yellow silk robe she’d worn earlier tonight, but it was half-open, revealing a glimpse of her from her neck all the way to her toes. Soft breasts. Smooth skin fading to a triangle of dark curly hair. The cheese slipped from his hands.

  “If you’re hungry, I can fix you something.”

  He couldn’t take his eyes off her, could barely talk, and when he did his voice was gravelly and steeped in desire. “I’m hungry, but what I want is already fixed.”

  “Then come to bed, Sam. Come back and we’ll feast.”

  But his blood was rushing, his whole body shaking with a raw hunger that didn’t even seem to belong to him. He pulled her into his arms, crushing her mouth with his as he pushed the robe from her shoulders.

  They made love standing up, her back against the wall, him pushing into her. It was hot and fevered, like a rafting trip over the falls, wet and primal, so wild he thought his heart might bolt right out of his chest.

  It ended as fast as it had begun, with both of them still holding on to each other and their breaths coming in choppy gasps.

  Caroline burrowed her face in his chest. “Wow! I didn’t know you had that in you, Detective.”

  “Neither did I, Reporter Lady. Neither did I.”

  SAM KNEW SOMETHING was wrong when he awoke in the gray hour just before dawn and saw Caroline curled up in the chair by the window. He stretched, then got up and joined her, resting his backside against the windowsill.

  “It’s early,” he said.

  “I know,” she replied, “but I couldn’t sleep and I didn’t want to wake you with my tossing.”

  “I know how hard this must be on you.”

  “Do you, Sam?”

  “I think so. I’m not a woman, and so I don’t know exactly what it’s like to be stalked by a madman, but I know it must be frightening.”

  “I wasn’t thinking about the murders this morning.”

  “If it’s your past, you have to let all that go. You can’t change that your mother was irresponsible. It’s she who was the real loser.”

  “Did you forget your past, Sam?”

  “I try not to think about how I was raised.”

  “But what about Peg? Do you still think about her, Sam?”

  And here it was, all out in the open. Sam had known this moment would come eventually, but he wasn’t ready for it. Yet he owed Caroline an honest answer.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sam stared out the window, letting his thoughts slide back to the night he’d first met Peg. She’d been young, vulnerable, frightened. He exhaled slowly, catching his breath and searching his mind for the right words. “I think about her.”

  “Are you still in love with her?”

  He had to tread carefully here. He wouldn’t lie to Caroline, but he didn’t want to lie to himself, either. “How much do you know about her?” he asked, instead.

  “Just what Matt told me. That she’s been dead for seven years. But her picture is still on display in your den and it’s the only photograph in your house. Was she your wife?”

  “No. We lived together for a little less than a year, but we never married. She didn’t want to marry, said it would ruin the relationship. She had lots of crazy ideas like that.”

  “But you loved her with all her crazy ideas.”

  “I did. She was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  “How did you meet her?”

  “I was on a case, working long hours, never sleeping, living on aspirin and coffee. One night when I was tracking down a suspect in a liquor-store robbery, she stepped out of the shadows and asked me to arrest her for prostitution.”

  “Was she a prostitute?”

  “She was. Nineteen years old and working the streets, but she looked more like fifteen. She had long blond hair and incredibly blue eyes, and when she looked at me… Anyway, I didn’t have the heart to arrest her, but I knew she was afraid of something, so I took her home with me.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that. I was only thirty, but I felt eons older than her. She was so vulnerable and haunted. She never told me what she was afraid of, just stayed there in my house and loved me. No one ever had until she did.”

  “What happened? How did she die?”

  “She was murdered in our apartment. I knew she was afraid again, but I thought it was for me. I ignored the signs. I let it happen. I was so caught up in apprehending a cop killer that I let her get killed.”

  “Did you find the man who killed her?”

  “No. But I tried. I went crazy trying. And drinking myself into a stupor night after night when I couldn’t crack the case. The one person in all my life who’d loved me and counted on me, and I let her down. After two years of screwing up my life, the chief told me to get my act together and stop spending all my time on a cold case or be fired.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I quit, moved back to Georgia. Lived in Atlanta for a while, then took this job in Prentice. I’ve been here four years. And now you know it all.”

  “And you’re still blaming yourself for Peg’s death?”

  “I guess.” He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his face. “No, I don’t guess. I know. I still blame myself. If there had been closure, if her killer had been caught, it might be different, but the guy is still walking the streets a free man.”

  “What about your cop killer?”

  “Him I got, but now he’s back on the streets, too. He was my stepbrother, R. J. Blocker. Now there’s a worthless piece of trash.”

  “End of story,” Caroline said.

  Only it wasn’t. Not yet. He knelt by the chair and took Caroline’s hands in his. “You asked me if I was still in love with Peg.”

  “You answered, Sam. You may not have meant to, but you did. I just have to know one other thing.”

  “Anything.”

  “Do I remind you of her? Is that what attracted you to me?”

  “A little at first, but that’s not why I’m here now.”

  “It’s because I’m afraid, isn’t it? You see the same fear in me that you saw in her, and you think you have to protect me. You think I need you, that I’m weak.”

  “You, weak?” He tilted her head and kept his thumb under her chin so that she had to meet his gaze. “You’re not weak, Caroline. You’re a survivor. A trash can with maggots, Meyers Bickham, being stalked by a vicious murderer—nothing destroys you. You’re stronger than Peg ever was, stronger than I am.”

  He pulled her into his arms. She tried to
push him away, but he wouldn’t let her. From the moment he’d started talking, things had become clearer in his mind. He still didn’t understand everything about his feelings and probably never would, but he was dead certain of one thing. He did not want to lose Caroline.

  “I’m not in love with Peg, but I am in love with you. And I don’t think my heart could survive losing you.”

  “Oh, Sam. Are you sure? Are you very, very sure, because I don’t want to love you only to lose you to a memory.”

  A tear rolled down her cheek. He kissed it away. “I’m very, very sure. And not because you’re weak, or strong, or that you remind me of anyone else. I just love you because you’re you.”

  “And I love you, Sam. With all my heart. I never thought love could come in two short weeks.”

  “It didn’t. It came in a lifetime of working our way toward this moment and each other.”

  He picked her up and carried her back to bed. He just wanted to hold her and wait for the dawn.

  JOSEPHINE STERLING was not at all the way Caroline had imagined. She’d pictured her thin and willowy, with long, nimble fingers to wield her pencil. Instead, she was big-boned and her fingers were short and chunky. But she had long, flaming red hair that seemed to go in a dozen directions at once, and a great smile. She might have been as old as fifty or as young as thirty. There was no way to tell.

  Sam made the introductions and Josephine took over from there. There was no real reason for Caroline to be there, since Josephine had a way about her that put everyone at ease.

  Everyone, that is, except Trudy’s mother. Mrs. Mitchell stayed this time, but moved to the other side of the room. Josephine pulled a chair up to the bed, commenting on the number of signatures on Trudy’s cast while she readied her sketch pad.

  “All the nurses signed it. And my guards.”

  “I saw today’s guard when I came in. Kinda cute. I’m thinking I should see if he’ll model for a couple of sketches.”

  “That’s Kirk. He’s my favorite. And he’s not married.”

  “All right. Nothing better than having a cute cop around to keep you company. I’ve had the same one around for almost twenty-five years now. I’ve about decided he’s a keeper.”

  “So are you married?” Trudy asked.

  “Very married.” Josephine twirled the simple gold band on her ring finger. “And we have three children, all girls. Very smart kids. None of them wants to be a cop or artist.”

  Caroline was impressed. If Josephine was as good at sketching as she was at getting the witness to relax, this could be a very informative session.

  “I won’t have guards after today.” Trudy informed Josephine. “I’m going home this afternoon.”

  That was news to Caroline. From the look on Sam’s face, it was news to him, too.

  Trudy and Josephine chatted for a few more minutes, mostly about how Josephine got into this line of work. Then Josephine eased Trudy into the description. “So tell me what you remember about this man I’m going to be drawing.”

  “What do you want to know first?”

  “Start anywhere. I’ll follow along and if I get lost, I’ll stop and ask directions. I can do that since I’m a woman.”

  Trudy smiled, but she was tightening up again. She closed her eyes for a second, then stared at her hands. “Billy’s got a regular face. He’s just average, you know, but kind of cute. You wouldn’t think a guy like that could be cute, but he is.”

  “Evil often comes gift-wrapped in pretty packages. Tell me about his hair.”

  “It’s blond. He wears it short.” Trudy used her hand to indicate a length above the collar. “But it’s longer in front. Kinda falls in his face sometimes.”

  “So he doesn’t keep it sprayed in place?”

  “No. His hair always looks a little mussed, but not the rest of him. He’s preppie. Wears name-brand stuff. Expensive tennis shoes. That kind of dresser.”

  “I see. What about his eyes?”

  “They’re pale blue. They’re his most striking feature.”

  That was new. Caroline didn’t remember Trudy having mentioned it before.

  “His nose is just average. So is his mouth. No, that’s not exactly true. His mouth kind of turns up more in one corner than it does the other.”

  “Like this?” Josephine held up the drawing for Trudy to examine.

  “Yes, except it’s the right side that turns up.”

  Josephine altered the sketch. “Look at the eyes. Is this how Billy’s look?”

  Trudy twirled a finger in her hair. “Not exactly. Maybe they’re not quite so round.”

  Josephine altered the sketch again. “Is this better?”

  “It’s closer, but still not right. It may be the brows that are wrong.”

  “Are Billy’s thinner than I drew them?”

  “They don’t come that close together in the middle.”

  Caroline moved back to stand beside Mrs. Mitchell. From the look on her face and the way she was chewing on her bottom lip, she needed more reassurance than Trudy did. Neither of them could see the sketch from this angle, but Caroline could tell from the questions and responses that they were getting closer to having it right.

  It was a fascinating process, a kind of tweaking and fine-tuning at each point until it matched what the witness was describing. Josephine would concentrate on one part of the face for a while, then move to another feature, back and forth, like working a jigsaw puzzle where you constructed the pieces as you went.

  It was about forty minutes into the session before Trudy started nodding a lot. “That’s close, Josephine. Real close. There’s still something that’s not quite right, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

  Sam moved so that he could get a better look at the sketch. He frowned. Apparently the sketch didn’t fit anyone he’d questioned in either of the murders. When he moved back, Caroline stepped over for her first look since real progress had been made.

  Oh, this hurt. This really, really hurt.

  “Try to think, Trudy, what should I change?”

  “It’s his nose,” Caroline said, forcing the words from her dry throat. “The nose is wrong. It’s narrower and shorter.”

  She shuddered and Sam was by her side in an instant. He put an arm around her shoulders. “You know this man?”

  She nodded and fought her panic as Josephine made the changes.

  “That’s him, isn’t it, Trudy?” Caroline asked. But she didn’t need to wait for a verbal response. It was written all over Trudy’s face.

  “I know him,” Caroline said, “but not as Billy. I know him as Jack Smith. He’s engaged to my best friend, Becky.”

  BINGO! THIS WAS a hundred times better than Sam had hoped. Not only did he have a suspect, he had people who knew the guy, and probably where he lived. Sure, he was sorry for Caroline’s friend, but better Becky found out now than after the wedding, or after the family was called to identify her body in the local morgue.

  “I have to call Becky and warn her,” Caroline said as Sam herded her to his car.

  “No phone calls.”

  “Becky’s not a criminal, Sam. She’s not in this with Jack.”

  “She may not be a criminal, but she’s a woman in love.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “We call it the stand-by-your-man syndrome. Some women think they have to remain loyal no matter what. It happens with men, too, just not as often.”

  “Becky wouldn’t do that, not once she knows the truth.”

  “No phone calls,” he repeated. He opened the passenger door for her, then hightailed it around the car and climbed behind the wheel. “Do you know how to get in touch with Billy, or Jack, or whoever he turns out to be?”

  “No, but I’m sure Becky does.”

  “Then let’s pay her a visit. Where do we find her?”

  “She owns Bon Appetit, and she’s usually there this time of the morning. It’s a gourmet deli on Front Street.”

  “I
know it. Matt dragged me in there once. He was probably hitting on your friend.”

  “Too bad she didn’t fall for him.”

  “She may have. But this was months ago and a week’s a long-term affair to Matt.”

  “Great partner you have.”

  “He’s a good cop.” Sam was making conversation, but his mind was already working out details for what he hoped was going to be a swift arrest. He’d get Matt to do the paperwork for an arrest warrant. And he’d check with Atlanta, see if Jack Smith had a record. This time he’d have a likeness to send them. If the guy was trouble, they’d know it.

  He was probably breaking some kind of rule taking Caroline with him, her being a reporter and all, but he might need her help in dealing with her friend Becky. And this way, he didn’t have to worry about Jack finding Caroline before they found him.

  Obsessed with Caroline. Engaged to her best friend. It didn’t compute. But then, they still had no proof that Jack was the killer they were looking for, much less that he was the one tormenting Caroline. Hopefully, the chips were about to start falling into place.

  Damn traffic was too slow for a town this size. That was what happened when people obeyed the speed limit. He reached under his seat, pulled out his portable light and siren, flicked it on and stuck in on the dash. “When did you meet Jack?”

  “The first time was at Becky’s birthday party. The same night Sally Martin was murdered.”

  “Whoa. He was at a party the night of the first murder?”

  “Yes, but he left early.”

  “How early?”

  “A good half hour before I got the call from John ordering me to Freedom Park.”

  “A half hour to find a victim, kill her and call the local TV channel and newspaper. That’s cutting it close.”

  “But it had to be him, Sam. Why else would he have warned Trudy not to tell us that he’d been hanging around the restaurant and necking in the parking lot with Sally?”

  “But he wasn’t in the restaurant the day you stopped by. So the only way he could have known she’d talked to you would be if someone told him.”