Chapter 20
Lexie didn’t like being back in the police interview room, the memory of the last time she was here all too fresh. Though unlike that time, Nico was nowhere to be seen. She was seated at the same timber-topped table, on the same hard plastic chair, with the same tight knot in her stomach, as Zoe and Frank asked her question after question. They’d been at it for thirty minutes. Contrary to what she’d expected, majority of their focus was centered around Darcy’s recent visit to Rusty’s. Evidently, not too many people saw her after that day.
“And you didn’t see anything suspicious?” Frank asked for the fourth time. “Anything at all? No one followed her? No strange cars parked out front?”
Lexie repressed a sigh. How many different ways could she say the same thing? “Like I said, we were in the back alley when we spoke. I don’t remember seeing anyone around.”
“What else did the two of you talk about?” Zoe asked. “You said she was upset about Isabelle’s death. Is that all?”
Lexie liked Zoe—had even thought of her as family once upon a time. She was smart, tenacious, and fiercely loyal. Everything you could want in a sister, and the reason she made such a great cop. Right now, though, Lexie cursed her for having such qualities.
Up until this point, Lexie had been carefully omitting certain details about her conversation with Darcy. She hadn’t lied, but she hadn’t been altogether truthful either, choosing to spare herself the discomfort of repeating the same sad story she’d confessed to Annie the day they’d gone jogging. She knew it was foolish, maybe even dangerous, considering everything she’d learned about the manner in which both Darcy and Isabelle had been killed, but she’d told herself that they were the police; everything she knew, they could easily find out for themselves.
She spared a glance at the camera in the top corner of the room, the small, red light a clear indication she was being recorded. She couldn’t explain it, but something inside her knew Nico was watching.
This time, Lexie did sigh. “What are you really asking me, Zoe?”
Zoe’s eyes cut to Frank, like she was seeking permission. He gave an almost imperceptible nod.
“I’m sorry,” Zoe said, guilt and shame at trying to bait Lexie like some run-of-the-mill criminal tinging her tone. “We’re just trying to figure this out.”
“Figure what out?”
“Why three of your childhood friends have ended up dead,” Frank said.
Lexie flinched. Put in such blunt terms, it hit differently, like she hadn’t fully thought it through until now. Clearly, they’d done their homework, connecting Sara’s murder into the equation all on their own. She’d known it was only a matter of time.
“I didn’t bring it up, because I didn’t want to talk about it,” she said.
“Why not?” he asked.
“Why do you think?” she snapped, turning away.
“Lexie.” Frank waited for her to look at him. “We need to talk about it.”
“I thought it was just coincidence,” she said after a long moment. “I thought Darcy was crazy for thinking that it had anything to do with—” Lexie felt herself crack, the first chink of her self-control crumbling to dust. She sniffed furiously, refusing to let single tear out.
“Would you tell us what happened to Sara?” Zoe asked. “In your own words.”
Lexie agreed. Did she have much of a choice?
Starting at the beginning, she walked them through everything that had happened when they were sixteen, continuing right up to her conversation with Darcy outside Rusty’sa few days ago,this time leaving nothing out.
Since she was sharing so openly, they reciprocated. Though they said it wasn’t strictly allowed, Frank and Zoe permitted Lexie to learn directly from Sara’s case file that the terrible rumor they’d all heard had been true; after disappearing from that party eleven years ago, Sara had somehow made her way to Boston where she’d been living with a man—Bryan Fowler—a known felon who had recently been in prison for assault.
Lexie held up the mugshot, which was a black and white printout of the original photo. Bryan Fowler had short spiky hair, beady eyes, and an overall menacing appearance. His head was tilted back slightly, and his mouth was set in a derisive scowl, like he was doing the police a favor just by holding still enough to have his picture taken. The placard he held in front of him told her he stood five feet, four inches tall, weighed a hundred and thirty pounds, and had been twenty-nine years old when the photo was taken.
“This is the man who killed her?” Lexie asked.
“That’s him,” Frank confirmed.
When she shuffled through the rest of the papers, she caught a glimpse of what appeared to be crime scene photos, but Frank stopped her with a firm hand on top of the pile. “I don’t think you’ll want to see those.”
“You’re right, I don’t.” Lexie shifted backward in her chair.
Frank closed file and sat on the table in front of her. “Listen, Lex, we’re flying blind here. I was hoping a look at all this might help, maybe jog your memory somehow. Even the smallest detail could make a difference.”
“I don’t . . .” Lexie rubbed her eyes. “I don’t know what to tell you. How can you be so sure that this has anything to do with me? Or Sara?”
“Unfortunately, we’re not sure of anything yet, but it does paint an unsettling picture once you start connecting the dots. Three identical murders, all three victims either killed or originating from this very island. They were your friends. Your name is right there on the missing person’s report.”
“Yeah, I was interviewed. We all were. So what? You said yourself that Bryan Fowler is in prison. Case closed.”
“And yet here we are.”
Lexie sat silent while Frank’s last words sank in. She knew she was being immature. “How can a man behind bars stab two women to death?” she asked.
“He can’t,” Zoe admitted. “His being in prison eliminates him as a suspect, but it doesn’t eliminate the connection.”
“What connection?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Frank said. “For your sake.”
“My sake?”
“We don’t want to scare you, Lex, but we are . . . concerned,” Zoe said carefully.
“You—” Lexie suddenly felt lightheaded. Her eyes bounced from one officer to the other. “You think I’m next, don’t you? You actually think I’m in danger. Oh . . .”
Here they came: the walls, growing closer and closer by the second, every logical, rational argument she’d come up with as to why she was being ridiculous to even entertain this possibility disappearing like smoke on the wind.
“Look,” Frank said, coming to crouch beside her, one arm circling the chair behind her shoulders. It was a comforting gesture; one she knew he wouldn’t offer to everyone. “We don’t want you to be alarmed, but we do want you to be aware that there could be more at play here. There’s something we’re not seeing, and until we figure out what it is, our official advice is for you to take extra care. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Lexie tried to steady her breathing. “That’s a great speech, Frank, but in case you haven’t noticed, I’m pretty fucking alarmed here.”
He smiled. “I can tell. Don’t worry, we’ll get to the bottom of this.”
After answering a few more questions, Lexie was finally led out of the interview room. It was late afternoon and she felt dead tired. She half-considered not returning to the bar. In spite of being terrified to sit at home all alone, the thought of crawling into her big, comfortable bed and sleeping her troubles away was enough to have her stifling a yawn. Zoe gave her a smile before disappearing down the hall. Frank gestured for Lexie to follow and be on her way, when another door opened behind her. She felt Nico’s presence before she saw him.
“Give us a minute, Frank,” he said. “I’d like to have a word with Ms. Bowen.”
“Sure thing.” Frank tipped an imaginary hat at Lexie. “Ms. Bowen.”
Lexie rolled her eyes and wished for this day to be over as Nico took her into his office. Once the latch clicked shut and they were alone, he cupped her face softly in his hands. When his lips found hers, they were warm and gentle, a kiss not ignited by desire, but rather a tender and reassuring reminder that she wasn’t alone.
After several moments, he pulled away. “Are you alright?”
“Where were you?” she asked.
“West ordered me to stay away.”
“Ordered you?”
“He’s my boss, and he thinks I’m too close to be objective.” Nico stroked her jawline with his thumbs, a troubled look in his eyes. “He’s right.”
“So, you saw? You heard . . .”
“Everything.”
Lexie closed her eyes.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.
That was a loaded question if she ever heard one. Why hadn’t she told him? What was she so afraid of? Rather than answer him, she decided to shift the focus off herself and ask a question of her own instead.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Nico frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“I saw your name in the file too. You were involved with Sara’s case in Boston.”
He stepped back. “They shouldn’t have shown you that.”
“That’s not an answer, Nico.”
“I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t want you to know,” he said. “It’s ancient history that I’d rather not revisit. Can that not be enough?”
“It can,” she replied. “Only because it’s the same reason I didn’t tell you about my own history with her.”
After a pause, he took her hand. “Guess we both have some trust issues to work on.”
Lexie looked down, watched their fingers twine together like they belonged that way. “I guess we do.”
“It’s kind of crazy, when you think about it.”
“What is?”
“How closely our lives have been intertwined all this time, and we didn’t even realize it.”
Lexie smiled. “Yeah.”
This was good. Mutual ground. In the space of a few sentences, they’d both admitted to being somewhat dishonest with the other, and things hadn’t completely fallen apart.
Nico moved away from her. “I have something for you.”
“Oh, bad move,” she teased, trying to lighten the mood. “Gifts already?”
His smile hushed her. Once again, she got lost in the hard planes of his handsome face, though as she looked closer, she could see the fatigue etching his features, the dark circles lining his eyes. These murders were taking a toll on him. She had a feeling she didn’t know the half of it.
Reaching into his desk drawer, he said, “It’s not exactly jewelry, but . . .”
Lexie followed the line of his outstretched arm, saw the shiny silver barrel and sculpted wooden grip of the gun resting in his palm.
“This is a Smith Wesson nine-millimeter revolver,” he told her. “Small enough you can put it in your purse.” He took her hand and gently passed it over. She felt the weight, the cold metal on her skin. “How do you feel about guns?”
“I don’t like them,” she answered without hesitation. “Do you really think this is necessary?”
“I think if you wait until a weapon is a necessity, you’re already dead.”
“That’s bleak, Nico. Real bleak.”
He shrugged. “Just my opinion. Legally, I can’t actually give you this one, but I was hoping you’d let me take you shopping for one of your own. I can show you how to use it—”
Lexie pointed the gun to the floor, released and rotated the cylinder, before returning it back into the frame with expert ease.
Nico went silent. His mouth hung open while he wordlessly took the revolver and slid it into a leather holster with an impressed and surprised expression.
“I was raised by a single father who loved to hunt,” she said. “I said I didn’t like them, but you bet your ass I know how to use them.”
“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” he replied, and kissed her again.
Nico stood on the breezy shore, hands resting snuggly in his jacket pockets. Sunglasses shielded his eyes from the mid-morning glare as he watched the Garrett’s yacht steadily come into port. Kyle was the last to disembark. When he spotted Nico across the dock, he flipped him off with gusto.
Nico chuckled. Aside from his dislike of the man, he had no good reason to continue suspecting him of murder now that his alibi had checked out. Still, it didn’t mean he wasn’t a danger to him, or to Lexie, so he’d be keeping close tabs on the asshole for a while yet.
With the first task of the day ticked off, Nico strolled back to his car and got behind the wheel. The next one would be far less easy.
He thought about a lot of things on the drive. He thought about Lexie, about how her name had been listed on Sara’s case file, right under his nose for months. At the time, it had meant nothing to him but ink on paper. Just another person the local cops had spoken to, passing along the information to his department in Boston without him ever meeting her personally. That fact alone was serendipitous enough, but then to have her be the one to save his life when he’d come to tell Sara’s parents the terrible news . . . What kind of chess move had the good lord been playing when he’d thought that one up? In hindsight, it was the only reason he was here now. Had it not been for those brief moments they’d spent together in that wreck, he might never have returned to Arcane Island.
He thought about the specifics of the two recent murders, about the motive, the means, and the ritualistic way both victims had been killed. Pain had been the aim. It wasn’t enough that they died, they had to suffer. Why? Well, that was still the big question. Serial killers didn’t always need a reason to kill a particular person. Oftentimes, the identity of the victim was irrelevant, so long as they fit into whatever fantasy the killer wanted played out. At this point, it was safe to say that the suspect they were looking for preferred young, blonde women. Whether the fact that they’d been best friends—or that they were associated with Sara who died in almost identical circumstances—was a pertinent factor was yet to be seen. So was Lexie’s significance—if any—to the whole thing.
He thought about Logan Hayes. From the moment he’d laid eyes on him, Nico had known something wasn’t altogether kosher about the man. Scratch that; there was a lot that wasn’t altogether kosher about him. He’d obviously been in a physical altercation around the time of the first murder—red flag number one. His truck had been caught on video a few blocks from the crime scene—red flag number two. And there’d been blood stains on the tailgate—red flag trifecta. Forget local prejudice. It was time to follow up on that lead once and for all.
George Riley was in the front yard splitting wood when Nico’s car ambled up the gravel driveway. Once he recognized who it was, he cast an uneasy glance toward the house. Nico hoped not to see Esme this time, then immediately felt ashamed of himself for thinking it. He should see her. He deserved to see what his carelessness had led to, the lives it had ruined.
“Stocking up for the winter?” Nico asked by way of a greeting.
“I told you to stay away,” George replied.
“I know.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“About?”
George had gone back to his task, forcing Nico to wait for an offbeat to speak.
“I assume you’ve heard about these murders?”
“Hard not to,” George grunted.
“Do you have any . . . thoughts you’d like to share on the matter?”
George paused mid-swing to regard Nico. “Stop dancing around whatever it is that’s on your mind and ask me like a man.”
“Alright.” Nico took another step toward him and waited for the next log to shatter. “Can you think of any reason why two of Sara’s friends have ended up dead?”
Without warning, George pitched the axe over Nico’s head. It wasn’t intended to hit him, but it sure as hell jolted him.
“What the fuck!”
“You’re one self-righteous son of a bitch, you know that?” he snarled. “Accusing me of hurting those women.”
“I’m not accusing you of anything,” Nico shouted back. “Just asking your opinion.”
“What’s next, huh? You gonna ask me if I killed my little girl?”
“Of course not! George, I”—Nico took a breath—“I’m sorry. I just. I’m trying to get a handle on this, and—and I can’t.”
George glowered at him. “I’m no murderer,” he growled. “But if you come to my home again, I will shoot you where you stand. How’s that for an opinion?”
“I can’t say I’d blame you for it.” Nico paced a few yards away, giving the boil enough time to hopefully lower to a simmer while he retrieved the axe from its landing spot. He held it halfway out to George. “Is it safe to give this back to you?”
“Depends on whatever stupid thing you say next.”
Nico chewed his lip, indecisive, then handed it over. “I know you didn’t kill those women, George.”
“Well, hallelujah,” he replied sarcastically, lining up another log.
“For one thing, Mr. and Mrs. McKinney both attest to you being in their garage until close to dawn the night Isabelle was killed. Working on his sixty-five Corvette, wasn’t it?”
“You checked on me?” George asked, indignant.
“I had to,” Nico said. “It’s my job.”
George shook his head and struck again, splinters of wood spreading across the grass.
“So anyway, uh . . . ” Nico dared a step closer. “I’d be lying if I said these murders haven’t forced me to wonder.”
“Wonder what?”
“If we caught the right guy.”
Again, George stopped with the axe above his head and looked back at him. Nico tilted his own, attempting to convey a distinct order not to throw it at him again.
After cutting though one last chunk of timber, George set the axe down. Folding his arms, he came to stand directly in front of Nico. “Speak plainly, boy.”
Taking that as permission to mention the topic of his daughter’s death, Nico moved his gaze to their decrepit barn in the distance. “When I arrested Bryan Fowler for Sara’s murder, I was certain he was the one, but now, with all this, I’m starting to think maybe I made a mistake.”
“Oh? Another one?” George’s eyes spoke of barely contained rage. “It was a clear-cut case. That’s what you told me.”
“I thought it was.” Nico brought his eyes back around to face the man before him, to the grieving father who’d once put so much trust in him to bring his daughter home safely. “But I didn’t see it happen, only the aftermath, and there are now two more women dead, both of whom had history with your daughter. Both tied up, stabbed upward of thirty times, and I can’t explain that. Can you?”
A long, painful pause ensued. George appeared to be trying to reign in his emotions enough that he could speak without crying, and Nico was wise enough to stay quiet and let him do it.
“What are you doing here, Nico?” he finally asked. “What do you want from me?”
“I need to know if there’s anything you can think of that I might be missing. Something that Sara might have said before she disappeared. Did she leave a note, a secret diary, or send you a letter of any kind, even if it said nothing of her whereabouts? Did she ever call? Did anyone ever tell you that they’d seen or heard from her? Was there ever another guy in her life that you’re aware of? Anybody local who she spent a lot of time with before she disappeared?”
The laugh that George let out was a hopeless one. “Oh, Lieutenant, you can’t see for looking, can you? My baby girl left because she despised me.” He lifted his chin and stared at the sky. “I’m a hard man, and she hated me for it. Would rather have lived in squaller, taking drugs with some criminal than be with her family.” He shook his head. “Clearly, I didn’t know my daughter at all. I don’t know what you thought you’d gain from coming out here today, but I ain’t got any answers for you.”
“Okay,” Nico said, backing away. “Would you do me one favor? Just ask Esme the same questions I asked you, if you think she can handle it.”
George, silent and sullen, nodded, then told Nico to go away.
The chief took his lunch break at noon. Feeling like the mouse while the cat was away, Nico sidled up to Frank’s desk as soon as he heard West’s cruiser pull out of the lot.
“You feel like getting into some trouble?”
Frank laughed, continuing with his work. “Kid, I’ve got multiple ex-wives. I’m always in trouble.”
“I want to go up the mountain again.”
Frank’s pen stopped moving. He looked up. “I’m sorry, I must have wax buildup in my ears. It sounded like you said you wanted to go visit our friendly neighborhood hillbillies, the same ones who pointed shotguns at us the last time we were up there.”
“That’s exactly what I said,” Nico replied. “I want to drive up there late this afternoon, park somewhere close and wait until nightfall, then sneak into their camp and find Logan Hayes’s truck. In and out without anyone knowing we were there.”
“I hate every word that just came out of your mouth,” Frank said. “Are you crazy?”
“Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Retired. It plays golf with my youth nowadays.”
“There was blood on that tailgate,” Nico said, careful to keep his voice low. “We need to get a sample.”
“A samp—” Frank looked incredulous. “It’s been days. What makes you think it’ll still be there?”
Nico lifted a shoulder. “It hasn’t rained, and I didn’t see any taps or hoses around those cabins. Did you?”
“So, you want to risk life and limb on a hunch that Logan Hayes doesn’t wash his truck? That he’s so confident in himself that he’d leave incriminating evidence on it, even after having cops sniffing around?”
“He might not even realize it’s there,” Nico argued. “Did you think about that?”
“The only thing I’ve thought about since you started talking is your mental health, or lack of.”
Nico rolled his eyes.
“For all we know, that blood belongs to a deer, or a squirrel.”
“Or it could belong to Isabelle Moss.”
Frank frowned. “Does the chief know about this?”
“He will.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Look, I’d rather ask for forgiveness than permission on this one, okay?”
“Well, don’t count your chickens before they hatch,” Frank said. “If you go through with what you’re suggesting, you might not be alive to ask for forgiveness.”
“You mean we might not be alive.” At Frank’s less than enthused expression, Nico grinned. “You know, I wasn’t sure if I’d enjoy being in command, but I’m finding it suits me.” He backed away toward his office. “Saddle up as soon as shift is over. We leave at sundown.”
As he walked away, Nico heard Frank mutter, “Okay, John Wayne,” under his breath.