Chapter 26
Wednesday, March 12
J ohn came awake and was immediately and keenly aware that he and Beth hadn’t changed positions since they’d fallen asleep. Her head was still on his chest, her hand on his pec, her knees tucked into his lap.
He turned his head and looked at the clock on the bedside table. It was damn early, but past time to plunge back into cold reality.
He tugged on a strand of her hair. “Beth?”
“Hmm?”
“We have to get up.”
“I don’t want to.” She snuggled closer to him.
His dick was giving him fits. “This isn’t going to work. We can’t lie here naked without something happening, and we don’t have time for it. There’s a lot to be dealt with today.”
“I don’t want to,” she repeated on a moan. But she turned away from him, worked her way over to the side of the bed, and placed her feet on the floor. He reached across and stroked her back, which she arched and stretched while she sat there clearing the cobwebs.
Once fully awake, she looked at him over her shoulder and smiled shyly. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.”
The look she gave him would have melted an iceberg in ten seconds; then she left the bed and picked up her two articles of clothing where they’d landed when he’d sent them sailing.
As she opened the door, he said, “Mind letting Mutt out on your way through the main room?”
“I’m naked.”
He chuckled, “I don’t think he’ll mind.”
She went out. He heard her greeting Mutt with an admonishment not to get any fresh ideas, and that caused John to smile.
And the sappiness of that smile brought him up short. God in heaven, what am I doing? He vigorously dry-scrubbed his face, got up, and went into the bathroom. When he looked at himself in the mirror above the sink, gone was the goofy smile.
In its place was grim resignation. The man reflected in the mirror knew that one potent bout of hot sex wasn’t going to change the circumstances.
This isn’t going to work , he’d said to Beth, talking about their cuddling under the covers.
But he could have been referring to their future. Or their lack of one. Her life was a thousand miles away. His was a train wreck, and the wreckage was piling up. And he was too old for her, anyway.
When this was over, however it ended, she would go back to New York, and he would go back to being his old self, the master of not giving a damn.
Resuming a fragmented life with no Beth in it? It was a bleak prospect, and he realized why, and the realization caused him to lean weakly against the sink.
“Bowie, you dumb shit, how did you let this happen to you?”
The epiphany left him feeling depressed. He joined Mutt outside and tossed him a few sticks, but his heart wasn’t in it. Mutt sensed it and lagged before he did. Back inside, he filled Mutt’s food bowl. While his dog chowed down, he made coffee, then called Molly.
Trying to sound upbeat, he wished her a good morning.
She sounded no bouncier than he. “Hi, Dad.”
“Did I wake you up?”
“No. I got up early to work on my art project. It’s due next week.”
“You haven’t told me what it is.”
“It’s a surprise. You’ll get your private showing after I get my grade.”
He could tell she was in the doldrums and guessed they had nothing to do with her art project. “How are things on the home front?”
“They suck. I heard him leaving a while ago, so at least he won’t spoil breakfast. But Mom and I had a knock-down, drag-out fight last night. She barged into my room still angry with me for not eating dinner with them. She called me a spoiled little shit, said, ‘Who do you think you are?’ and asked when I was going to grow up. I told her I would as soon as she did.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“I know. It is what it is.”
“Only for now. Not forever. When things get bad, remember that. And, listen, don’t forget to keep your wits about you.” He reemphasized everything he’d warned her of yesterday. “If you sense that something’s off, anything out of the ordinary, call me immediately.”
“I promise.”
“If you can’t reach me, call Mitch.”
“Cross my heart.”
“In fact, call me when school lets out.”
“Seriously, Dad?”
“Just to check in. Okay?”
“ Okay! Jeez.”
That sounded like a spoiled little shit, but he let it go and told her goodbye. By then the coffee was ready. Beth reappeared looking restored and dressed similarly to how she’d been when they’d met in the bar.
The jeans and white t-shirt stirred him now even more than they had then, because now he knew what she looked like out of them. That made it difficult to cool his jets, as he’d resolved to do only fifteen minutes earlier.
He passed her a mug of coffee. She inhaled the aroma. “Ahhh. Thanks.”
“I didn’t really get to tell you last night how sorry I am about Longren.”
“Your actions spoke louder than words,” she said softly.
Damn. That look . Did she practice it?
When he didn’t say anything, she glanced around the room. “I think that being here, in a totally different environment and having distance from the reality of his death, has blunted the pain somewhat.”
“Which leads me to the inevitable question, Beth. Are you going back, or staying on?”
“Staying on here? You mean past Thursday?” She put her hand to her cheek. “Oh God. That’s tomorrow.”
“Right.”
“Well, of course I’m staying on. Even if I were missing an elaborate funeral, Max would be furious if I went back for it. He practically ordered me to stay and see this through, with or without the moon aspect. The last assignment he gave me was to get the story, get… get his Emmy.”
John was more relieved than he let on. “Okay then, there’s a lot to talk about that you don’t know yet.”
They ate a quick breakfast of cereal and fresh fruit, then sat at their computers, where he informed her of his conversation with Victor Wallace.
“I wasn’t snooping into your emails, I swear. It just popped up as I was shutting down. I saw his name.”
“What did he want?”
He reached for a notepad and pen. After writing down all the names, and bringing her attention to the double letters, he told her what the professor had hypothesized. “He confessed to being no expert, but he gave me a crash course.”
Gauging his expression, she said, “You don’t seem to give it much credence.”
“Do you?”
“Not personally, but devotees would. I had a friend in college who added a silent letter to her name only because it would change her core number to one she thought was more advantageous.”
“People take it that seriously?”
“Yes. People all over the world.”
“Okay. I’m not ready to dismiss anything. I’ll pass this along to the others, too. Maybe numerology will be a bingo for one of them.”
“What else?” she asked. “You said there was a lot to talk about.”
“This is kind of off the wall, but here goes. Last night, a new thought occurred to me. I massaged it for a while, and eventually developed a theory around it, which I ran past Mitch.”
“And?”
“Well, he didn’t laugh at it. At least not out loud. He was working and had to end the call on the run, so I’m not sure he fully digested it.”
“John, what ?”
“All of us—you, me, the other detectives—have been looking for a common trait among the victims. Can’t find one. Nothing. Nada. So, what if it’s not the victims who have a common trait. What if it’s the perps?”
“Perps plural?”
“Perps plural.”
“How did you arrive at that?”
“The geography was always a hangup for me. I’m not sure why, it just didn’t feel right. If a serial killer is territorial, he usually strikes like a smash-and-grab thief. It’s opportunistic. He sees, he wants, he takes. In and out. Done and done. The victim’s body is usually discovered sooner, and, more often than not, it’s found close to where she—or he—was last seen.”
“ Crisis Point has documented many kidnap-murder cases,” Beth said, “and they bear out what you just said.”
John pointed to his monitor where the photos of the four girls were on the screen. “These four cases don’t follow that pattern. None of the bodies have been discovered. Percentage-wise, you’d think that at least one would have been.” He braced his hands on his knees and leaned forward. “Just for the hell of it, let’s assume it’s more than one perp.”
“Three copycats since the Jackson case?”
“Possibly.”
“Possibly,” she said, “but I can tell by your expression that you’re thinking no .”
He dipped his head and looked at the floor for a moment before speaking directly to her. “Understand that this is strictly conjecture on my part, and it will be a hard sell.”
She leaned toward him, focused and interested.
“Think about those chat rooms the professor told us about. People who have a shared fascination in the occult, assembling on the internet to swap ideas, information, personal experiences.”
She nodded.
“Now think about such assemblies taking place on the dark web. What if there’s an underground, super secret, super sick club on the deep dark web. And our perps are members.”