I start to say something but don’t. Everything swimming through me now, all the regret and anger and yearning, that familiar heat filling my body whenever I see him, but none of the typical restraints, all washed away by the alcohol and emotion, and I don’t know if I’m going to burst into tears or— Or—
“I can help you,” Noah says. “I’m not as dumb as I look.”
“I’m not a cop anymore.”
He shrugs.
“Then what do we have to lose?” he says.
71
“THE KEY TO all this,” says Noah, “is someone who’s been dead for twenty years?”
“Eighteen,” I say. “And yes.”
We’re walking the next morning along Main Street, the sun blistering overhead. I skipped my morning run and pounded aspirin and water to ward off my hangover. The adrenaline helps, too. Funny that I feel almost reborn after the pep talk Noah gave me last night—that losing my badge actually has the effect of motivating me to work harder.
That’s the thing: I may have lost my official authority, not to mention my gun, but I have gained some freedom—now Isaac can’t prevent me from asking questions and probing where I wish.
I’d just better be careful. Because without said authority, and without said gun, there are limits to how far I can push things.
Noah follows me into the cemetery, all the way up to the Dahlquist plot.
“A family of violent, mentally deranged, suicidal men named Holden,” I say. “The first Holden killed, like, twenty or thirty women.”
“According to that book.” Noah read most of the book after I gave it to him last night. He must not have slept at all. The dark circles under his eyes attest to that fact. “It may not be true.”
“Doesn’t matter if it’s true. All that matters is that he believes it.”
“Who?”
“Our suspect,” I say. “Our killer.”
Noah looks at the plot, the large memorial, then back at me. “He’s mimicking what the first Holden did a couple hundred years ago? He has some kind of obsession with the family or something?”
“Very good,” I say. “You’re smarter than you look.”
“Well, dagnabbit, Ms. Murphy—that makes me happier’n a puppy with two peters. I been a-hankerin’ for your say-so—”
“All right, enough.”
“Yes’m, I’m as pleased as a goat in a briar patch, I am.”
I shake my head. “If it’s okay with you, can we get back to the point now?”
Noah looks pleased enough with himself, but he turns it off and gets serious again. “Okay, so this guy has a thing for the Dahlquist family. Okay, I get that. But you said this is about the last Holden. The guy who died twenty years ago.”
“Eighteen.”
“Okay, whatever, eighteen—you’re talking about Holden the Sixth.”
“Right. Holden the Sixth.”
“The guy who died without any heirs,” says Noah. “The guy who said—let me find this.” He reaches into his satchel and pulls out the book, opens to a page he has dog-eared. “The guy who said, ‘The greatest gift I can bequeath mankind is to avoid procreation at all costs.’”
“Yes, that guy.”
“The guy who killed himself by downing two fifths of Jack Daniel’s, popping some pills, then slitting his own throat and tossing the knife out the window.”
“Yes, that guy,” I agree.
“The guy who was suspected of raping and assaulting a bunch of women, but the charges never stuck.”
“Yes, that guy.”
“The guy who, as far as we know, never committed a single murder.”
“Yes, that guy.”
“Not one murder that we know of.”
“Correct,” I say. “That guy.”
Noah closes the book. “It all starts with that guy? He had no children, he committed no murders. I mean, he was a bad guy—he raped women, they think—but the guy running around right now isn’t raping anybody. He’s killing them in violent ways.”
I smirk at him.
“Am I missing something?” Noah asks.
“I think you are,” I say. “Our killer is mimicking what the original Holden did. And he’s pretty damn good at it. But the question is why.”
Noah stares at me, then shrugs. “I have no idea.”
“I think he feels a sort of obligation,” I say. “He thinks it’s his destiny.”
Noah opens his hands. “But … why would it be his destiny—”
His jaw drops.
I smile at him.
“Oh,” says Noah. “You think?”
“I do,” I say. “I think, no matter how much he didn’t want to, Holden the Sixth left behind a son. A son who wants to restart the family tradition.”
72
I LEAVE NOAH at the cemetery with a research assignment and continue walking up to the turnpike. It’s a little before eleven, so Tasty’s is probably not even open for business yet, which is how I prefer it. Because I’m not here for the delicious scallops.