When he got there, he parked and walked past gravestones and monuments, cherubs and angels, until he reached the yellow crime scene tape that still marked off the tomb. The place where they’d discovered Richard’s body—and that of the unknown woman.
An autumn breeze moved through the trees. The day wasn’t blue and wasn’t gray, but somewhere in between. He stood there, staring at the tape, at the flattened grass where police, the medical examiner and a dozen crime scene techs had walked. He was certain they’d found all that could be found.
“Lizzie grave?” he asked aloud.
His voice was carried softly on the breeze. But if he’d hoped for an answer, he didn’t get one.
He shook his head. “Richard, you old bastard! You haunted my dreams, and now...”
Now what?
He’d denied a thousand times over that he saw or heard anyone who wasn’t there, wasn’t alive. He often told himself that something in his mind had led him to find victims. It wasn’t images he saw moving before him. Or voices he heard from the shadows. He’d been uncomfortable with his transfer to the Krewe of Hunters, afraid that it revealed and made all too evident a truth he’d rather deny. But he loved his job too much to turn it down. He didn’t want to get stuck behind a desk for the next thirty years.
And now...
He remembered the day before. Remembered it almost as if he were seeing it again.
Maureen Deauville, running after the giant wolfhound...literally falling into his arms as they discovered the body. Uncanny. He remembered the pretty brunette with crystal gray-green eyes staring up into his. He remembered feeling that the moment was charged, that she had an elusive quality that had instantly seemed compelling. Yes, she was very attractive, well-spoken, and she had a certain grim courage about her, a strength that drew him. But then, later, as he’d seen her, as he’d befriended the dog, he’d known.
There was something else about her, too. It wasn’t just the dog; it was her.
He curled his fingers into his palms until the nails cut his flesh.
One great thing about his position now was that he could call a tech at the office and get anything he needed, ASAP. In less than a minute, he had her address.
He checked his watch as he walked down the hill to his car. There was still time before his meeting. Driving to her home, he passed the road to Sunnyside, Washington Irving’s beloved home in the valley, and soon came to another small, barely paved road. He took it toward the river and saw a charming cottage, smaller than Sunnyside and architecturally different. It had two floors with several gables but was also graced with stonework and detailed molding.
He heard a trickling brook as he stepped out of his car and saw that the land sloped toward a forest. To his left, he could see the river. As he paused, he thought that the air itself felt electric, shivering with a strange sense of expectation.
He heard Rollo barking as he neared the door. Just 8:30 a.m. now. She might still be asleep.
No matter.
He knocked on the door.
It seemed she wasn’t much of a sleeper, either. She opened the door, apparently aware that it was him. She was already dressed for the day in jeans and a soft blue sweater. She looked at him with a frown, not alarmed that he was there, but surprised and wary.
“Agent Mahoney.”
“I need you to come with me,” he said.
She flinched. “Is someone else missing?”
“No. I need you to...to see whatever the hell it is you see.”
Some expression he couldn’t readily identify passed over her face. Her eyes didn’t meet his. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I don’t. If you think I can help in any way, I’ll come with you. But I don’t know what you’re expecting and I don’t know what you think I can do.”
“Yeah?” He was surprised by the hostility in his own voice. Great way to get someone to do what he wanted. “All right, fine. Just come.”
She seemed to dislike the very sight of him. For a moment, he thought she’d refuse. The word please formed in his mind but didn’t make it to his lips.
“Rollo’s coming, too,” she said flatly.
“That’s fine. I like the dog.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed.”
Neither of them said anything else, but the inference was there.
Yeah, he liked the dog—not her.
It was irrelevant; they didn’t have to like each other.
“Let me get his leash,” she said.
She stepped back inside. The door closed, and he wasn’t asked in.
For a moment he wondered if she’d locked him out and was calling her friend Lieutenant Purbeck to tell him the FBI man was crazy and that he was harassing her.
But the door opened again. She appeared with Rollo, who wagged his massive tail madly and nudged Aidan for attention. Aidan gave it to him briefly.
“Thank you,” he said formally.
She didn’t respond but strode to his car, letting Rollo hop into the backseat.
“Where are we going?”