She took out her purse, took out a bill, and slapped it on the table. “The coffee’s on me,” she said, got up, and left.
He looked after her, then at the bill on the table. It was a twenty-dollar bill, when all they’d had were two cups of coffee. He shook his head in amusement. People loved their dramatic exits. He picked up the bill and thumbed his wallet for a crumpled ten-dollar bill, which he laid on the table instead. His mouth stretched in a Cheshire Cat grin. There was a story here. A big story. And hidden inside it was an even bigger story.
The real story wasn’t about the Chicago serial killer or the Maynard serial killer at all. The real story was about Dr. Zoe Bentley.
CHAPTER 53
As she sat in the cab, something alerted Zoe, made her tense up, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. It was as if something buried deep inside her brain were emitting faint warning signs, but she didn’t know what it was warning her about or trying to alert her to. She glanced at the cab driver, concerned, but he was the nicest cab driver she’d ridden with since she’d arrived in Chicago. He was polite, and the only conversation he made was asking for her destination. Was it something about his body language? Something that years as a forensic psychologist had etched into her subconscious? No. That wasn’t it.
She almost felt as if she were being followed. Her mind considered the reporter, Harry Barry. He could have tailed her after their meeting. Would he stoop to following her around?
Of course he would.
She glanced at the rearview mirror, trying to catch a glimpse of his smug face in the cars behind, but he wasn’t there.
She was just sleep deprived. Of course she felt anxious; she was running on fumes.
“There we are,” the driver said.
“Wait here,” Zoe said. “I’ll only be ten minutes.”
He nodded, and she became convinced that whatever had triggered her alert signals, it wasn’t him. She got out and marched into Sorenson’s Plumbing.
The only man in the store was Clifford Sorenson’s employee, Jeffrey. He frowned when he saw her.
“Good day, miss,” he said.
“Hello. Is Clifford here?”
“He’ll be back in a moment. Is this about Veronika?”
“Well . . . yes.”
Jeffrey nodded. “He’s been upset ever since you last came here. I hoped you’d leave him alone.”
“I’m sorry. I won’t be long.”
“Do you think you’ll catch the guy?”
“I don’t know. We might have some leads.”
“Okay.”
Clifford walked into the office from the back room. “Oh,” he said. “It’s you.”
“Yeah,” Zoe said apologetically. “I just wanted to ask you one question.”
“Sure.”
She took out a printout of her Rod Glover image. “Have you ever seen this man?”
Clifford looked closely at the picture, frowning. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Are you sure? Maybe around the time of Veronika’s death?”
“Do you think he’s the killer?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m following some leads.”
“I see a lot of people. I doubt I would have remembered him even if I did meet him two years ago.”
Zoe nodded. She wasn’t surprised. He handed her the paper. She took it, and as she had done with Daniella before, she wrote her phone number on the page and placed it on the office desk. “I’ll leave it here. Call me if you happen to remember anything.”
“Sure.”
She had turned to leave when Clifford said, “Miss Bentley.”
“Yeah?”
“I, uh . . . wanted to tell you something. You asked me before if Veronika was tense before her disappearance.”
“That’s right,” Zoe said.
“She was. I think she was afraid. She . . . she was angry that I kept going fishing, leaving her alone in the evenings.”
“Did she tell you that?”
“Not in so many words. But once, when she was really agitated, she said some apples really don’t fall far from the tree.”
Zoe blinked. “What did she—”
“My father left when I was just a baby. It was a jab at the fact that I kept leaving. I . . . if I hadn’t gone fishing that night . . .”
“You can’t blame yourself,” Zoe said mechanically. “You couldn’t stay by her side at all times.”
Clifford nodded, and Zoe knew her words didn’t matter. If he hadn’t gone fishing that night, Veronika might have lived. She doubted he could really shake off the knowledge of that.
CHAPTER 54
Zoe looked out the cab’s passenger window, glimpsing the water of Saganashkee Slough between the trees. The murky water of the pond was calm, reflecting the dark-blue sky. The sun was setting slowly, and the tree shadows were lengthening. Zoe cursed herself for not getting there sooner, but Harry had caught her on the phone just as she had been about to leave.
Then again, she wasn’t there for any specific reason. As always, she found herself drawn to the scene of the crime, as if standing where the killer had stood would somehow give her an insight into his frame of mind. It hardly ever did. Her plan had been to walk around the crime scenes of both 2008 murder victims. First, Saganashkee Slough, where Pamela Vance had been found. Next she’d go to Little Calumet River, Shirley Wattenberg’s crime scene. Seeing the sun set made her realize she wouldn’t have time to see both. She’d go to Little Calumet River tomorrow.
She glanced at the map she had printed earlier and then at the Google Maps app on her phone. As far as she could tell, she was just about where the body had been found.
“Can you stop here, please?” she said.
“Here?” The cab driver sounded surprised.
“Yeah.”
He muttered something and nudged the steering wheel, parking the car on the side of the road.
“Thanks,” she said, rummaging in her shoulder bag for her purse.
“Uh . . . do you want me to wait?”
She didn’t want the driver looking over her shoulder as she walked the shore, trying to think. “No, thank you.”
“But how will you leave?”
She could see his point. It wasn’t as if she could just flag a taxi down out here. The whole problem had started with her decision to ride with Tatum instead of renting her own car. Now she was stuck, dependent on the goodwill of cab drivers.
“Yeah, thanks,” she said. “Just wait for me here.”
“How long will you be?”
She checked the darkening sky. “Half an hour, tops.”
He nodded, content. She gave him the credit card, but he waved it away. “Pay me at the end of the day.”
She thanked him and got out of the cab. She glanced carefully both ways. The road was nearly empty, a single car passing them by. She crossed the road and walked down the grassy shore. Facing the water, she tried to imagine the murder of Pamela Vance, eight years earlier. Her kayak had been found near her body. Had Glover known she’d be kayaking there, or had he noticed her from the road, deciding to seize the opportunity? He might have befriended her, maybe even joined her for a kayaking trip. Did the kayak have one seat or two? The case file hadn’t mentioned this. She made a mental note to check the crime scene pictures again when she returned to the office.
The shore was in plain sight of the road, and it was the same for a long stretch to the west. But to the east, the shoreline got further from the road, the foliage blocking the line of sight. Glover wouldn’t have raped and strangled her with the road in plain view; that much was certain. She turned to her left and began to pace the shore, the foliage between her and the road thickening until she could hardly see the gray asphalt through the leaves and branches. The shoreline was tricky to navigate, the ground dotted with bushes and trees. It was hard to spot some of the obstacles in the shadowy gloom, and she nearly tripped on a thick root.