32
Conor stood with his brother on the dock in Galilee, waiting for the Coast Guard vessel carrying the woman’s body. The Block Island ferry steamed away with a loud blast of its horn, and trawlers returned to port, seagulls wheeling and screeching over their white wakes in hopes of fish scraps.
Meeting death as a detective had trained him to remain detached, to not get emotionally involved.
But training was just that: behaviors to be studied, lessons to be learned.
Deeper down, Conor never failed to be affected: Someone with hopes and dreams and family and secrets had died.
Someone who had yearned for love and happiness.
As soon as the Coast Guard boat docked, Conor and Tom climbed aboard. They went belowdecks, to where the body had been placed. Conor approached, afraid not so much of what, but of whom he would see.
The woman wasn’t Maeve. Her face was unfamiliar to Conor, and he let out a long exhalation. Relief, he supposed, that Kate would be saved from heartbreak. He quickly put emotion aside and clicked into detachment.
From appearances, the woman hadn’t been in the water long.
Her face was bluish white, and there were strands of eelgrass tangled in her long brown hair.
She wore a high-collared, long-sleeved cream-colored lace garment that could have been a dress or a nightgown. Bits of seaweed clung to the fabric.
Conor watched Tom pull on black nitrile gloves.
This wasn’t Conor’s crime scene, so he kept his hands in his pockets to avoid any temptation to touch the body.
And he was tempted, because he saw three things that needed closer examination: a deep ear-to-ear gash just beneath the lace collar, an indentation on the swollen fourth finger of her left hand, and a single pearl earring on her right ear.
“Sir, Rhode Island State Police are arriving,” someone called down from the deck, and Conor went to greet Joe. Joe had obviously gotten his message, and he and Garrett arrived in their black Dodge Durango Slicktop, with a crime scene van directly behind them.
“You got them here fast,” Conor said, gesturing at the crime techs.
“Perfect timing,” Joe said. “We were just finishing up with Psyche. Who’s the victim?”
“Don’t know yet,” Conor said.
“Not accidental drowning, I’m guessing? Since they called us?” Joe asked.
“Correct, it’s not accidental,” Conor said.
Conor led him and Garrett down below and pointed at the cut where the woman’s throat had been slit.
“That’s familiar,” Joe said.
“Yeah,” Conor said, picturing Belinda.
The body was positioned so that both arms were straight at her sides.
Her skin was wrinkled and discolored from being in the ocean.
The left hand rested palm down, her broken or dislocated ring finger jutting out at an unnatural angle.
She wore pink nail polish, but her fingernails were dirty, and one had been torn off.
“She fought back,” Garrett said.
“I think she was wearing a ring, and someone pulled it off,” Conor said.
“Why?” Joe asked.
“Conor has a theory about how rings connect with these cases,” Tom said.
“Tell me,” Joe said.
“Whoever was imprisoned on Psyche wore a diamond ring,” Conor said.
“Are you kidding me?” Joe asked. “How do you come up with that?”
“Because ‘Sfalon’ was scratched into the window glass. I think she left a message before he killed her.”
“What makes you think a diamond made the scratches?” Garrett asked.
“Because I’ve seen it before. Diamonds are hard enough to cut glass. Even tempered glass,” Conor said.
“Okay,” Joe said. “Say you’re right. How does that connect with this victim?”
“She could be the woman kept prisoner there,” Conor said. “The white dress goes along with what Grace described. Her finger could have been broken by the killer, when he removed the ring.”
“While she was alive? Or postmortem?” Joe asked.
“Since her fingernail is broken, I’d say he did it before he killed her,” Conor said. “Like Garrett said, she fought back.”
Joe slipped on his gloves. He crouched down and carefully rolled up the long sleeves on her arms. Both wrists were rubbed raw, scored with abrasions.
“These wounds could have been made by handcuffs,” Joe said.
“On Psyche or in that bedroom,” Conor said.
“Yes. We need an ID on her right away,” Joe said. He stood up and turned to face Conor. “Tell me what you’re thinking about the ring. Say that you’re right, and she was wearing one. What’s the significance?”
“I think the killer gave it to her,” Conor said.
“Like an engagement ring?” Garrett asked.
“In his mind, maybe,” Conor said. “But not really. It’s part of his Beauty and the Beast fantasy. He’s a romantic.”
“A romantic psycho,” Joe asked.
“Something like that,” Conor said.
“Is it one man, or are there more?” Garrett asked.
“Grace said there were men, plural. She also mentioned a woman, who seemed to be part of the same group,” Conor said.
“It seems likely that whoever killed Belinda killed this woman too. The wound looks identical,” Joe said. “A right-to-left cut. A left-handed killer. But there are no hesitation marks this time. He’s getting more confident.”
“This kill took place after Belinda?” Garrett said.
“We’ll need an autopsy for that,” Joe said. “So, what do we think happened here? He decided to kill her, then took the ring off her finger?”
“Maybe,” Conor said.
“Because he didn’t mind throwing her overboard but didn’t want to lose the diamond?”
“It could be more symbolic than that,” Conor said.
“By taking the ring, he was breaking up with her?” Tom asked.
Conor nodded, picturing the romantic stage set created in the mansion. “Maybe she let him down, disappointed him, didn’t return his ‘love’? Stopped participating in whatever fantasy he has going on?”
“Or maybe he’s just a psycho who likes to torture women,” Joe said.
“I think we all know that part’s true,” Conor said. “But there’s more. He’s prettied it up, at least in his mind.”
“Psycho on Psyche,” Garrett said. “So he took back the ring but left a valuable pearl earring—if it’s real?”
“It’s real,” Conor said. “Our killer likes luxury. He’d want only the best for his victim.”
“Why only one earring?” Garrett asked.
“The other could have come off in a struggle or slipped away in the ocean,” Joe said.
“We should go talk to Jennifer, the young groundskeeper at Maynard-King. Kate said she keeps a collection of single earrings in a compartment of her ATV. I thought at the time that they could be trophies,” Conor said. “And maybe the other pearl earring is too.”
“A young woman keeping trophies?” Joe said. “That seems unusual. You think Jennifer is the killer? It would be very rare.”
“Unlikely, but she could be involved,” Conor said.
Conor’s phone buzzed. An unfamiliar number came up, and he stepped away to answer the call.
“Reid,” he said.
“Conor?” a very faint woman’s voice asked.
“Yes,” he said. “Who’s this?”
“It’s Miranda,” she whispered. “Kate’s going to be next.”
“What do you mean—next?” Conor asked, his heart crashing.
“You have to keep her safe, or she’ll be taken just like the rest. I can’t talk more. He’ll hear me.”
“Who’s ‘he’? Where are you?” Conor asked.
But the connection was broken, and Miranda wasn’t on the line anymore.