Chapter 19
“Based on body temperature, I’d estimate the time of death to be ten to twelve hours ago,” the balding medical examiner said.
West checked his watch. “So, around midnight.”
The ME nodded. “Give or take.”
Nico was having trouble accepting what his eyes were telling him was true. Darcy Walsh was dead. Murdered. The angry mess of stab wounds on her chest and abdomen told the story of her violent, painful, ending. Dressed in nothing but a camisole and pajama shorts—both stained a bright crimson—she was duct taped to a plastic chair. Tightly. Cruelly. The same way they’d found Isabelle Moss.
The report had come in from a passing jogger who, in her words, knew something wasn’t right when she spotted Darcy’s cat scratching at the door to be let in. Though they didn’t know each other well—save for their habitual wave in the mornings while Darcy drank her coffee on the same lawn chair she’d died on—one thing she knew for sure was that Darcy loved that cat and would never leave him out in the cold. After busting down the door to confirm what the jogger had seen through the window, the team of officers had declared it a crime scene.
Nico rubbed his jaw and swallowed hard.
Not the same.
The mantra he’d adopted to tamp down his anxiety clanged through his head like a dropped saucepan. For some reason, it no longer held the same calming effect it used to. Maybe that was just frayed nerves—god knew this was not what he’d had in mind when he requested a transfer to a remote town in Maine—or maybe it had more to do with this now being the second victim killed the exact same way in the space of a week, after decades of the island being homicide-free.
His head whirled. He couldn’t understand it. It seemed almost planned. For him? Why else would women start showing up dead the second he moved here? Why kill them in the only manner that would rock him to the core? He had a million questions with zero answers, but suddenly it didn’t seem all that ridiculous to wonder if his past was connected to all this. The implications of what that might mean slammed down on him hard enough to make sweat bead on his forehead as he backed away from the body and made his way outside.
Gulping some much-needed fresh air, he tried to think logically. What was that famous Sherlock Holmes quote? “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”
Impossibility number one—Bryan Fowler. Sara Riley’s killer was tried by a jury of his peers, convicted, and sentenced to life behind bars. Never mind that both of the two recent murders bore uncanny similarities to the way Sara was killed, there was no way he could have been the one wielding the blade.
Impossibility number two—Kyle Garrett. Naturally, the first thing Nico had done upon arrival at the scene was track that son of a bitch down and find out exactly where he was and what he’d been doing the night before. According to the Garrett’s housekeeper, the whole family—Kyle included—were currently offshore on their yacht celebrating his older brother’s engagement. They weren’t due back until tomorrow, at which time Nico intended to be standing on the dock watching the prick disembark with his own eyes.
Unfortunately, eliminating the two impossible scenarios didn’t leave one improbable option, but several.
First, there was the possibility that Fowler was communicating with someone on the outside, sharing his MO, then sitting back while another party did the dirty work. Granted, that would require a lot of commitment on his part, but then again, Nico was the one who took the man’s freedom. What more did he have to lose? Why wouldn’t he mess with him?
Logan Hayes was another. Ever since their excursion to that backward community in the mountains, Nico had wanted to revisit the option that Seth’s brother could be the one they were looking for. Not only did he know both victims personally, not to mention have enough aggression to fuel an army, but security footage confirmed he’d been a few blocks away from the first crime scene the night it happened. He also seemed arrogant enough to believe he was untouchable because of who—what—he was. Nico would take great pleasure in proving him wrong, if it came to that.
Then—and he hated to admit it, even to himself—there was the real possibility that they were dealing with nothing more than an opportunistic killer with no rhyme or reason for choosing his victims, except that they were there. A true psychopath. In which case, god help them.
What else? What was he missing? Aside from himself and the deep, dark rabbit hole of theories surrounding that idea, what could possibly connect the two victims? Were they targeted specifically or randomly? From what he’d learned so far, they were close friends, a fact that leaned heavily on the specific side of the equation. Born and raised locals. Young. Blonde. Both cat lovers. Isabelle had worked at a diner. Darcy had styled hair from home for cash. They had liked to party. Had questionable taste in men. And as of last night, they were both very dead.
Nico puffed out his cheeks with an agitated exhale. If nothing else, one thing was now certain; this was officially a repeat offender. It wouldn’t be long before the term “serial killer” was being thrown around. Chaos and panic would soon follow. News crews would arrive in white vans like moths to a flame. Tourists would get spooked and leave. Local businesses would suffer. All because of . . . what? Him? It was insane, and yet, it was the only plausible explanation Nico could come up with.
He mulled in circles as the crowd gathered, an army of curious and concerned locals with nothing better to do than try to catch a glimpse of something awful. Among the throng of unfamiliar faces, one stood out, and Nico blinked. Colin Rowe stood motionless. His gaze fixed steadily on Darcy’s trailer. What was he doing out here? In the middle of a sea of moving bodies, his stillness looked unnatural enough for Nico to watch a few moments longer. Then his focus was broken by Zoe’s voice. He hadn’t noticed her come up beside him.
“We only talked to her a few days ago,” she murmured. “What the hell is going on here, Lieutenant?”
Nico turned to face her. “I honestly have no idea.”
And for the life of him, he couldn’t figure it out. There were too many avenues to explore, none of which held any tangible proof.
For a while, he shared an oddly comfortable silence with Zoe, both of them lost in their own thoughts, until it was time to square his shoulders and return to the fray. He knew what he had to do. He found West right where he’d left him, hovering over the body with a frown. They were focusing on a nasty bruise on her face. Whatever she’d been hit with had split the skin of her cheekbone, bright red blood having oozed then dried down the entire left side.
“It hurt, for sure. Probably knocked her unconscious, but it’s not what killed her,” the ME said with confidence.
“Can I talk to you?” Nico asked.
West seemed to read something in his face, his own becoming cautious. “Sure. Excuse me for a minute, would you Ray?”
The ME grunted and continued his examination.
“What is it?” West asked when they’d walked a few paces away.
It was just shy of midday, the sun warm and bright above them. Though it wasn’t yet the peak of summer, the air was permeated by the loud, persistent call of cicadas through the trees.
“I can’t be sure but . . .” Nico shuffled his feet. “I think these murders might be part of something bigger.”
“I’d say that’s glaringly obvious at this point,” West replied.
“No, I mean—” Nico tried again. “You said you looked into me, right? So, you know exactly what happened to Sara Riley? How she died?”
At the mention of what he’d done, the chief at least had the grace to look ashamed. “I do.”
“And?”
West sighed like the weight of the world was settling on his shoulders. Reluctantly, he said, “The thought had crossed my mind.”
Nico moved so they were both facing the trailer. “I think we need to revisit Sara’s case file.”
“Which one? Missing persons or murder?”
“All of it,” Nico said. “I don’t know what we’re dealing with here, Chief, but I don’t think it’s over yet.”
“Someone wanted these women dead in a big way,” West said after a lengthy pause. He turned to face Nico. “I just wonder, is this a ghost from their own past coming back to haunt them, or one from yours?”
Nico made himself meet his eyes. “Maybe both.”
Lexie was four hours into her shift when she heard the news of Darcy’s murder. The whole island was ablaze with gossip, notions of a serial killer at large in their beloved town discussed over lunchtime burgers and fries, while she did everything she could to maintain her composure. Forcing a strained smile, she took orders, delivered drinks, cleared plates, collected tips, and gave no hint to anyone that she felt as if the walls could close in on her at any moment. As far as she could tell, only one person saw through the ruse. Wade watched her with the scrupulous eyes of a hawk tracking a rodent, though he said nothing, for which Lexie was grateful.
A long time ago, she read an article in some magazine that said despite popular belief, being in a state of shock was not emotional distress in response to a traumatic event, but rather the body’s inability to supply itself with enough blood to function properly. Lexie had no idea about any of that, but if what she was feeling right now wasn’t shock, she didn’t know what to call it.
No doubt, Nico would be elbow-deep in the investigation by now, their steamy session in the back room of Rusty’s that morning a distant memory. Against Wade’s advice to go home—Lexie couldn’t think of anything worse than being alone—she worked like a Trojan, hiding in the comfort of a job she knew inside and out rather than facing the truth. Though once the midday crowd cleared out and the dull roar of conversation faded to nothing, she couldn’t avoid it any longer.
Darcy was dead.
What was happening? Was it all connected? It had to be, right? They all grew up here, they were friends for a long time. Did that mean she was next? Did they unknowingly insult or anger the wrong person in their youth and were now paying the price? Had Darcy been right; did this all have something to do with Sara? Was she back from the dead to punish them? Did Kyle do it? Should she run? Should she hide? Should she go to Nico and tell him everything and risk him seeing her differently because of mistakes she’d made in her past? Should she leave the island and never return? Around and around the questions flew inside her head. A tornado of uncertainty and fear.
Lexie excused herself to use the ladies’ room after the lunch crowd had cleared out. As she exited the stall, she jumped at the sight of Colin Rowe waiting expectantly by the basins. She’d heard the door open but had naturally assumed it was another woman, not the resident taxidermist.
“Shit! Colin, you scared me.” She put her hand to her chest. “What are you doing in here?”
“I wanted to see how you were holding up,” he said in his usual well-spoken manner. He was standing with his hands clasped behind his back. “My condolences.”
Lexie frowned. Colin hadn’t been in town all that long in the grand scheme of things, and he had no first-hand knowledge of her former friendship with Darcy.
Reading her confusion, he added, “People aren’t very tactful around here when they gossip. You knew the girl who was killed, yes?”
“I did,” she replied, her voice a reflection of the unease she felt at him having followed her into the bathroom. “In another life.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Lexie waved his sympathy away. She’d never liked the way people said “I’m sorry” simply because it was the only thing to say. After burying her father, she’d received enough apologies to last her a lifetime.
“We weren’t close,” she told him, subtly scooting around so that she had a clear path to the door.
“I see.” Colin tracked the movement curiously. He glanced to the door, then back at her. “Aren’t you going to wash your hands?”
Lexie swallowed. In her experience, Colin was sweet man; at least she’d thought so until a few seconds ago. He was handsome with his boyish grin and curly brown locks that hung just over his eyes, and despite his profession—which, she’d admit, was a little off-putting—he seemed like a genuinely nice guy. Still, something about him didn’t sit right with her. Especially right now.
“Of course.” Lexie moved to complete the action. In her head, she was counting how many seconds it would take Wade to burst in here if she started screaming. Not many, she thought, and her shoulders relaxed a little. She’d have done so already if she didn’t feel a shade silly about it, like she was overreacting. She wasn’t, was she? No, this was totally inappropriate.
Colin’s expression remained devoid of understanding, his intentions unclear. The way he stared at her, as if he were studying her, scrutinizing her soul, sent a shiver down Lexie’s spine. She fought the urge to shrink back even as her feet were desperate to run, to escape.
“You shouldn’t be in here, Colin,” she finally said, drying her hands with paper towel.
Colin blinked, taken aback, and for the first time, he seemed to realize where he was. “Ah, yes. Well, while I have you, I’d like to place an order for my usual chicken and salad. To go, please.”
“Sure. Maybe you could just wait out in the restaurant . . .” Lexie pointed to indicate he could leave anytime now.
Colin smiled. “Of course.” Then he walked out.
Lexie let out a long, relieved breath.
Weird . . .
With Colin being the only remaining lunch customer, his meal took less than ten minutes to be whipped up, boxed up and deposited onto the counter with a clear ding of the order-up bell. Ten minutes too long, in Lexie’s opinion. She was halfway to him—meal in hand—when she spotted Zoe in the front doorway. She was scanning the room, her eyes stopping when they landed on Lexie.
“Enjoy,” she told Colin as she handed him his food. He seemed suspicious of Zoe’s presence and uncertain if he should stay. For what, Lexie had no idea, but she gave him the tight-lipped grin that roughly translated to “I’ll see ya,” and he left the two women alone. She would talk to Wade about his disturbing behavior later.
“Hi, Lex.”
“Hey, Zoe.”
“You mind coming with me down to the station? We have some questions for you.”
“This is about Darcy, isn’t it?”
Zoe nodded.
“Give me a second to talk to Wade.”