“What’s this?” Gretchen asked suspiciously.
“You asked for the research,” he said, regarding Gretchen coolly.
“Don’t be such an asshole, George,” Gretchen responded. “Cutbacks. What the fuck. We’re all on the same side.”
September scanned the pages and muttered, “Holy God.”
“What?” Gretchen moved closer to her.
September read, “‘The body of a woman washed ashore in Puget Sound in late August. The victim has been identified as Belinda Meadowlark of Friday Harbor, Washington. She was on the last ferry to Orcas Island when she presumably fell overboard. Her death has been ruled an accident.’”
“So this is about my case,” George pointed out.
“Yes, your case,” Gretchen snapped.
“Was it an accident?” September said aloud, more to herself than anyone else, but George took it as if the question were made for him.
“As it’s my case, I dug a little deeper. Meadowlark has an estranged sister who lives in the Seattle area and tries to keep in contact with her. Last summer they had a fight over the care of their father. The sister felt she was doing all the work. She wanted Meadowlark to move to Seattle to help out. Meadowlark then drops the bomb that she has a serious boyfriend, which apparently is a first. Sister doesn’t believe it and Meadowlark throws out the name Rob Fisher.”
“Well, there’s the connection,” Gretchen said. “Same name as Finch’s boyfriend.” She smiled faintly. “My kind of weird.”
George relaxed a bit. “Yeah, it is,” he admitted. “I made some calls to Meadowlark’s coworkers and friends. No one ever met Rob. Consensus is that she made him up.”
“Be a lot better if she had,” September said. “Did you check to see if he was on the same ferry?”
“Yes, ma’am. He was. Didn’t even try to hide his name.”
They all looked at one another, thinking. “He’s playing with us,” September finally said. “He’s a serial killer who targets women with the last name of birds and he’s daring us to find him.”
“Most serial killers use the same method,” Gretchen pointed out. “Plays into their fantasy.”
“I know,” she agreed. “Water’s involved in Meadowlark’s death . . . possibly Tern’s.”
“I’ll find out if the victim is truly Christine Tern,” Gretchen said, heading for her desk.
George frowned. “What victim?”
“The one pulled out of the Columbia,” Gretchen threw over her shoulder.
“But Finch’s death was entirely different,” September said, reaching for her cell phone.
“Who’re you calling?” George asked.
“Luke Denton. He’s the one who postulated our doer is targeting victims by their ‘bird’ names.”
*
Luke signaled Andi to walk back into the hall with him, away from Ben and the still unconscious Emma. “I gotta call Peg Bellows back. Let her know what’s happened to Emma. Impress upon her that the Carreras are dangerous.”
“You really think they pushed her?”
“It’s more their style than obscure, threatening notes. What I want is for Peg to remember they killed her husband. To be cautious. I might leave and go see her, if that’s what it takes.”
She nodded. “I’ll stay here with Emma. If I need a ride, I’ll Uber it, or maybe catch one with Ben.”
“Don’t go back to the cabin without me.” He thought a moment and then pulled out his keys, taking one off the ring. “This is my apartment. If you go anywhere, go there. You know the address?”
“Yep, but I’m sticking around here for a while.”
“I’ll come back to the hospital. This is just a precaution.”
Luke’s cell rang. He pulled it out and looked at the screen, wasn’t sure of the caller. “Denton,” he answered.
“This is September Rafferty. I have some information for you.”
“Christine Tern?”
“Working on that information now. But I thought you should know we’ve discovered another woman with the last name of a bird, Belinda Meadowlark, who died last summer after falling overboard from a Washington State ferry. She told people she had a boyfriend named Rob Fisher. Robert Fisher is also the name of a man in Trinidad Finch’s Pilates class, one she became romantically involved with.”
Luke stood stock-still. It was his theory, his and Andi’s, but hearing it from the detective’s lips brought it to reality.
“What is it?” Andi asked him.
“I’d like to talk to Ms. Wren,” Detective Rafferty said into his ear.
“She’s right here, standing beside me.”
“I’d like us to all meet in person. Possibly tonight, or tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow’s probably better, but I’ll let Andi decide.”