Cold Truth (21 page)

“What?” Cass opened her eyes.

“Why didn’t anyone see him leave the house? Your aunt was out front, right? She would have seen him if he’d gone out the front door.” Rick started piecing it together. “Your aunt said that when she came into the house, she went right into the kitchen. That someone was there in the kitchen, covered in blood.”

“Wayne Fulmer,” Denver supplied the name.

“Did he ever say that he saw someone else in the house?” Rick asked the chief. “Did he say that someone ran past him?”

“No. He never said anything about seeing anyone else. He testified that he came up the back steps and knocked, and when no one answered, he peeked through the screen door and saw Bob on the floor, so he came in, thinking that maybe Bob had fallen, but then he saw all the blood on the floor. He said he tried to pick him up, claims that’s when he got Bob’s blood on his clothes, then he heard commotion, and the next thing he knew, Cass’s aunt was standing there screaming her head off.”

“I read the reports. His story never seems to have changed,” Rick noted.

“No, it never did.” Denver seemed pensive.

“So we’re back to the question of how this guy got out of the house if no one saw him,” Annie said. “If someone other than Fulmer committed the murders, why didn’t anyone see this second guy?”

“He could have gone out through the basement door,” Cass told them.

“Where is that, in relation to the rest of the house?” Rick asked.

“The door to the basement is behind the main stairwell in the house,” she told him. “There’s a walk-out into the backyard from the basement.”

“Cass, you said you thought Lucy was in the backyard.”

“I thought . . . she said she was going . . .” Cass frowned. “But that would mean that she would have seen him.”

Cass looked up at the chief. “Did she say anything about seeing anyone come out of the basement?”

“We didn’t ask her what she saw,” he said softly. “It never occurred to us to ask.”

“She’s never said anything to you, all these years, about seeing someone in the yard?” Rick asked Cass.

“No. Not a word.”

“She may have blocked it out. She may not want to remember who—or what—she saw,” Rick told her.

Annie touched her arm. “Cass, do you think your cousin will agree to being hypnotized?”

“No. No way. You can’t ask her to do that.” Cass shook her head vehemently. “She is in no shape for that. She’s been through a lot this week, her larynx is damaged, she can barely speak . . . no, we can’t do that to her.”

“Cass, she may remember something, something that might help identify the man who was there that day. There wasn’t anyone else there,” Annie reminded her.

Cass shook her head. “Maybe if she wants to, when she gets out of the hospital, but not now.”

“Well, I guess that leaves us back to the yearbooks and at the mercy of Peyton’s computer skills. Excellent though they may be,” Annie said to Rick.

“Okay. Chief, could you check with Phyl and see if we can have whatever list she’s compiled so far? I think we should at least start with—”

“You’re wrong,” Cass said to Annie. “There was someone else there.”

Annie tilted her head slightly to the left.

“I was there. Maybe if Lucy’s buried something . . . well, maybe I have, too. Maybe there’s something I saw . . . something I don’t remember.” She frowned. “I don’t think I saw him, but I really don’t remember.”

“Are you sure you’re up to it?” Annie asked.

“Yes.” Cass nodded. “Absolutely. Let’s do it. Right here. Right now.”

“Are you sure? You may remember things you wished you hadn’t.”

“I’m sure,” Cass insisted.

“If you’re sure . . . first, let’s get you comfortable.” Annie stood.

“I’m fine,” Cass told her. “I’m okay right here.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you both to leave the room.” Annie looked apologetically from the chief to Rick, adding, “The fewer distractions, the better.”

“Okay. We’ll be looking over the list of names that Phyllis has been preparing,” Rick said as he left.

“I’ll call her into my office, we’ll work in there.” The chief paused on his way out of the room. “You sure about this, Cassie? You don’t have to . . .”

“I really do have to,” she told him. “But thanks.”

Denver nodded and closed the door behind him.

“Okay, what do we do first?”

“I want you to get as comfortable in that chair as you can.” Annie looked at the chair Cass was sitting in. “Is it possible to be comfortable in it?”

“I’m fine. Let’s just do it.”

“All right, then. I want you to close your eyes, and concentrate only on the sound of my voice. Don’t think about anything else. Only the sound of my voice. That’s all you hear, Cassie. All you want to hear . . .”

Annie’s voice dropped slightly lower, but Cass could hear her just fine.

“Let yourself relax, Cassie. Your mind is going to take you to a place where all is calm. My voice is going to take you there. And once you’re there, nothing will matter, except the sound of my voice . . .”

Cass closed her eyes, and focused on Annie’s words. When Annie told her to let herself drift on the sound, she drifted.

“I want you to start counting backwards from one hundred, very slowly, until you reach twenty-five.”

Cass did.

“You’re there now, Cass. It’s peaceful and you’re safe there. Nothing can hurt you in that place. You can see, but you can’t be seen, do you understand?” Annie’s voice dropped yet lower, her words soft, reassuring. “Cass, if you understand, tell me.”

“I understand.” The words seemed to float from her lips.

“Are you there, then, Cass? Are you feeling peaceful? Are you feeling safe?”

“I am. I’m safe here.”

“Good. Anytime you think you feel anything other than completely safe, you’re to tell me, all right?”

“All right.”

“We’re going to look in on your house, Cass. The house where you and your mother and father and sister lived when you were a little girl. Do you see the house, Cassie?”

She nodded. “I see it.” She
did
see it.

“What color is the house?”

“It’s brown.”

“Are there shutters at the windows?”

“White ones. With cutouts that look like birds.”

“Can you tell what kind of birds?”

“Seagulls. They’re flying . . .” She held her hands up, palms together, the fingers pointing outward.

“What else do you see?”

“Flowers. Pink ones by the front door. Mommy made Daddy put something on the wall so they would climb up to the second floor.” Her eyes moved rapidly behind closed lids. “They grew over the door.”

“Are they roses? Pink roses over the door and up the side of the house to the second floor?”

Cass nodded.

“Do you see the roses blooming?”

“Yes.”

“So it must be June, since roses bloom in June.” Annie leaned closer to Cass to continue to reassure her. “I want you to think back to a particular June, Cass. I want you to think about the last time you were in that house. It was June. School had ended. You went to summer camp that year. You and Trish and Lucy, you all went together.”

Cass’s eyelids began to flutter.

“Remember, Cass, you can see, but no one can see you. Do you remember? I promise, no one there can see you.”

Cass’s hands gripped the arms of the chair.

“Do you want to hold on to my hand while you visit there?” Annie held her hands out, but Cass neither opened her eyes nor reached for them.

“You can hold on to me anytime you feel you want to, Cass, remember that. I promise that you’re safe. I will keep you safe.”

Cass nodded.

“On that day, that last day, tell me what you remember about the morning.”

Cass related everything as she had earlier. Waking while it was still dark. Getting up for camp and being excited about the party she would be going to later that day. Everything, from following her mother down the steps to coming home after camp, and going into the house.

“What do you hear when you step inside the house?”

Cass shook her head.

“You don’t hear anything?”

“I don’t know what I hear.”

“What does it sound like?”

“Just . . .” She waved her hands around, her forehead wrinkled in concentration.

“Commotion?”

“But . . . quiet somehow . . . I didn’t know what it was, but the sound, it came from upstairs. I ran up the steps . . .”

“Were you calling anyone? Were you shouting?”

“I was calling my mommy, but she didn’t answer. Then I saw Trish . . . she was flying through the air. She hit the wall near Mommy’s bedroom. She wasn’t making any noise. I couldn’t figure out how she could fly.”

Sweat broke out on Cass’s upper lip.

“Then what happened?”

“I ran up the steps, I was calling to her. ‘How did you fly?’” A look of confusion came over her face. “But she was there on the floor . . .”

Cass swallowed hard.

“. . . and someone grabbed me around the neck, and picked me up . . .”

“Cass, when he picked you up, what could you see?”

She shook her head.

“Cassie, I’m going to ask you to pretend that you’re looking down on this, looking down from someplace up above as the man is grabbing you and picking you up.” She took Cass’s hand to reassure her. “What can you see? Can you see what he’s wearing?”

“Blue sleeves, rolled up.” She touched one elbow.

“He was wearing a blue shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows?”

“Yes.”

“Can you see his hands?”

Cass nodded slowly.

“Is he wearing any rings? A watch?”

“No.”

“Does he have anything in either of his hands?”

“He has a knife.” She began to shake.

“Don’t look at the knife, Cass. He’s dropped it, there’s no knife. I want you to concentrate on what I’m saying, all right?”

“All right,” Cass said, though her voice was shaky.

“I want you to tell me what he smells like.”

“Uncle Pete.”

“He smells like your Uncle Pete?” Annie started. “Is he your Uncle Pete?”

“No, he smells like him. Like the stuff he wears when he and Aunt Kimmie go out.”

The same cologne or aftershave her uncle wore. Easy enough to trace.

“Does he speak to you? Does he say anything?”

“He’s shouting, but I don’t understand.” Cass covers her ears with her hands.

“Listen to what he’s saying, Cass. Remember, he can’t see you. He can’t hear you. And we took the knife away from him, remember? He can’t hurt you.”

“I can’t understand him. He’s . . . shouting. Cursing. He’s angry at me. He’s angry . . .”

“Cass, is there anything else you see? Anything else you remember about him?”

Cass touched her right index finger to the back of her left hand.

“The bird mark.”

“What does it look like?” Annie asked, thinking Cass had said
birthmark.

“Like the one on the letters Mommy sent out. The big bird with the . . .” Her hands made semi-fists, the fingers held out like claws.

“Bird mark? You’re saying
bird
mark?”

“Yes.”

Anne Marie felt a jolt. This was it, then, their first real lead.

“Cass, is there anything else you see,” she asked again, “anything else about him that you remember?”

Cass shook her head.

“That’s fine, you did just fine. Now, I’m going to bring you back, just follow my voice back, Cass. I want you to count backwards now, slowly, from twenty-five. When you get to one, you’ll open your eyes . . . you’ll feel rested and peaceful. Start counting now.”

When she reached one, Cass opened her eyes and blinked.

“How did I do?”

“Just brilliantly. You may have given us exactly what we need, Cass. Now, how do we get Chief Denver back in here?”

T
wenty-one

“Cass, can you sketch out for me what you saw on the killer’s hand?” Craig Denver asked after Annie related what Cass had told her while under hypnosis.

“I don’t think so. I don’t really remember what I saw.” Cass shook her head. “I’m sorry. I just don’t remember.”

“It was something like this.” Annie picked up a pen and her notebook. “She said a big bird, with claws like this . . .”

Annie bent her fingers to form claws, as Cass had done while under hypnosis.

“Like a hawk? Like some type of raptor.” Denver studied it for a long minute, then muttered, “I’ll be damned,” before buzzing for Phyllis.

“Phyl, I need you to take a look at something in here.”

He held up the sketch when the secretary appeared in the doorway. “What’s that remind you of?”

Phyl didn’t miss a beat. “Looks like the logo on top of the newsletter we get from the sanctuary. Just got one the other day.”

“You still have it?”

“I think so. Let me take a look.” She disappeared behind the closed door.

“I should have figured that out from your description.” He turned to Cass. “Your mother was instrumental in having that bird sanctuary set up down there off Bay Road. That was a big project of hers.”

“I do remember that.” Cass nodded and turned to Rick. “I took you there. Down near where we found . . .”

“Right. There was a plaque in memory of your mother.”

“They had a big dedication ceremony when the sanctuary was opened.” The chief rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Seems to me that was that same summer.”

He looked up when Phyl came back into the room, holding up the newsletter. Across the top was the picture of a hawk, its talons extended as if reaching for something.

“What do you think, Cass?” Denver asked.

“I remember seeing writing paper in the house, on my mother’s desk in the corner of the living room, that had that hawk on it. I think my mother used to send out letters on it.”

“She probably would have,” Phyl told her. “She was one of the founding members of the sanctuary and was involved in all the fund-raising efforts. I was on her committee two years before the sanctuary opened. As I recall, we raised enough money to open three months ahead of schedule.”

“None of which tells us why the killer would have had the image on his hand,” Anne Marie reminded them.

“Oh.” Phyl rested her arms on the back of a nearby chair and leaned over slightly. “Founders’ Day. They have a big event every year to raise money to keep the sanctuary going. There’s a fair with rides for the kids, food, a little petting zoo, that sort of thing. They set it all up in the parking lot. When you pay to get into the fair, you get your hand stamped. That means you don’t have to pay for any of the events, and you can go to the sanctuary for free the entire weekend. As long as the stamp is still on your hand.”

“Were they having this fair back in 1979?” Rick asked.

“That would have been the first one, I think. I can check on that, but I’m pretty sure the sanctuary was founded in ’79,” Phyl said.

“It was. I remember,” Cass told them. “I remember hearing my mom talk about it. She was really excited about it and happy that it was going to happen. The dedication was the day before the attack at our house.”

“I can confirm that,” Phyl was saying as she left the room. “I’ll get the date of the dedication. It was a big deal back then.”

“So our boy would have been at the dedication of the sanctuary,” Rick said. “That’s where he would have come into contact with Jenny.”

“June first, 1979.” Phyl’s voice came through the intercom. “I called my sister. Says she remembers because it was her seventeenth birthday that weekend and all the kids who had volunteered to work at the sanctuary had come back to the house that night for cake and ice cream.”

“All the kids who volunteered?” Rick asked. “Your sister was a volunteer there that day?”

“Yes.”

“Phyl, get her back on the phone, then come in here. We need to talk to her,” the chief instructed.

“Will do.”

Phyl returned in less than a minute and hit a blinking light on the desk phone, then tapped
Speaker.
“Louise?”

“I’m here.” The voice floated from the box.

“Louise, Chief Denver here with Detective Burke and Dr. McCall and Agent Cisco from the FBI. We need to ask you a few questions.”

“Fire away.”

“You were at the dedication of the bird sanctuary back in ’79?”

“Yes. There were fifteen or twenty of us there that day.”

“’Us’?” Rick asked.

“Kids. From the high school.” She laughed. “Mr. Raddick, the science teacher, gave extra credit to anyone who volunteered to work out at the sanctuary that spring.”

Rick took over the questioning. “Not to work only that day?”

“No, no, in order to get the credit, you had to go at least one day each weekend that whole marking period.”

“Did you go?”

“Most weekends.”

“Do you remember who else went?” Would it be too easy to have names handed to them? When was the last time
that
had happened, Rick asked himself.

“I could probably remember most of the kids who went. Mostly girls, but a bunch of the guys went, too. Some of the real popular guys.” She paused. “I remember thinking it was odd that those guys went.”

“Odd in what way?”

“Guys like them weren’t generally interested in that type of thing.”

“Guys like who?” Denver leaned toward the speakerphone. “Do you remember names?”

Louise laughed again. “Sure. It was that whole bunch—you remember, Phyl. Billy Calhoun, Jonathan Wainwright, Joey Patterson, Kenny Kelly . . . that group.”

Denver groaned.

“Those were the only boys?”

“Far as I can remember. Oh, there might have been a few of the nerdy guys, like Bruce Windsor, but of the cool guys, it was only those four. That’s why so many of the girls signed up, because of them.”

“Anything stand out in your mind from that day?” Annie asked.

“Not really. Just that it was hot and a lot of people showed up. I was in one of the concessions that served drinks—soda and lemonade. We were busy all day.”

“Louise, did you know Jenny Burke?” Rick asked.

“Sure. We all knew her. She ran the volunteer program. We all worked with her.”

“Do you remember if any of the guys seemed to pay particular attention to her, or seemed to be extra-friendly with her?”

“Not offhand. I think the guys all tried to show off for her, though. No one in particular, but it seemed they all thought she was something else. Mrs. Burke was real pretty and real friendly. I remember that at her funeral all the volunteers were there.”

“Anyone stand out in your mind as being particularly upset? Or acting strangely? I know it was a long time ago . . .”

“Twenty-six years, but I remember. We were all upset. Mrs. Burke was the first person I actually knew who’d been murdered. It hit all of us pretty hard. Like I said, she was real friendly and we all idolized her. I don’t remember anyone being more upset than anyone else.”

“Was she equally friendly with everyone?” Denver asked.

“Sure.”

“Was there anyone you ever saw her argue with, or anyone who sought her out more than the others?”

“Honestly, no, I don’t remember anything like that. There could have been, I just don’t remember anyone in particular.”

“Well, if you remember anything else—or the name of anyone else who worked that day—give me a call back.”

“Sure, Chief. Phyl, I’ll talk to you later.”

Phyllis pushed the button to end the call.

“Anything else, Chief?” she asked.

“Not right now. But thanks, Phyl. That was a big help.”

“Okay if I leave for the day?” Phyllis glanced at her watch. “I told my husband I’d pick him up after work. His car’s getting inspected.”

“It’s quitting time anyway, Phyl. You go on,” he told her.

“Why did you groan when Phyllis’s sister named names?” Annie asked after Phyl had left the room.

“Oh, well, let’s see.” The chief leaned back in his seat and looked at the ceiling. “She named the sons of the high school principal, the former chief of police, the mayor, and a county judge.”

Rick brightened. “Great. So let’s take a look at them.”

Denver was tapping his fingers on the tabletop.

“What?” Cass asked.

“They were a cocky little foursome back then. Inseparable. Practically lived at one another’s houses, went everywhere together. And always into something, the lot of them.” He closed his eyes briefly. “They were the biggest pains in my ass, frankly. Twenty-some years ago, and I still see red when I think about them.”

“Were any of them arrested back then?” Annie asked.

“With Jon Wainwright’s father the chief of police and Kenny Kelly’s father the judge?” He snickered. “What do you think?”

“What types of things were they involved in?” Annie pressed.

“Minor things. Loitering. Disturbing the peace. Starting fights after the soccer games. Speeding, underage drinking. They never were written up for anything, but they were always pulling pain-in-the-ass things that took your time and pissed people off.”

“Low-level sex offenses?” she continued. “Allegations of rape, Peeping Tom activity . . . ?”

The chief shook his head. “Not that I know of, but if there’d been any of that stuff, Chief Wainwright would have dealt with it himself. He wouldn’t have involved us young guys in anything like that. Not if it involved his own son, or the sons of any of those other men.”

“I guess there weren’t records kept of that sort of thing.”

“Not if it involved any one of those four. All the annoying crap they pulled back then, you’ll never find a word written down.”

“What are you thinking, Annie?” Rick asked.

“Just that if you scratch hard enough, you find that kids who have grown into adults like our killer exhibited aberrant behavior at an earlier age. You don’t wake up one day and decide you like to hurt people. You’ve thought about it—fantasized about it—for a long time before you act upon it. I was just wondering what early behavior our boy may have exhibited. What fantasies he may have tried to act out. Peeping is a first step for many who graduate into more serious sex offenses. It’s a logical place to start.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you there.” The chief shook his head. “I wouldn’t have been brought into that loop.”

“They were, what, high school juniors, seniors that year?” Rick asked.

Denver nodded. “Seniors.”

“Any of them college-bound that fall?”

“All of them, far as I remember.”

“So they would have been out of town by the end of the summer,” Annie said.

“When the killings here stopped,” Cass said softly.

“Do I dare ask if you know if any of these men are back in town for the reunion?”

Denver nodded. “They’re all here. All four of them. Saw them at the clambake last weekend. Spoke to each of them myself.”

“Lucy and I were there,” Cass said.

“If our killer was there, he would have seen her. Would have noticed right away how much she looks like Jenny,” the chief said.

“I guess it’s too much to ask if you know where any of these guys have been for the past twenty-six years?” Rick said.

“Oh, well, I know that Ken Kelly keeps the family summer house here in Bowers. And Jon Wainwright, I think I remember him saying he’s worked for a security company for the past, oh, I don’t know, fifteen years or so. Joey Patterson, he’d gone into the Marines for a while, don’t know what he did after that. And Billy Calhoun did tell me where he’s been living, but I don’t really remember. Someplace out west, I seem to think he said,” Denver replied. “I can start asking around.”

“We need to be subtle, Chief. At least for now. We’ll have an edge, as long as he isn’t aware that we’re closing in on his identity,” Cass pointed out. “And if we’re wrong . . . And we could be wrong—a lot of people would have had that bird stamp on their hand after that weekend.”

“Give me their names again.” Rick reached across the table and grabbed the pen Annie had earlier used. “I’ll call them in to Mitch, have him run the names. See if anything hits. Then, in the meantime, we can start backtracking to find out where each of these gentlemen have spent their time since they left high school.”

The breeze began to blow hard across the marsh, sending the cattails chattering and the birds seeking shelter from the coming storm. He sat on the stump of a tree that had long ago been cut down, and stared across the clearing at the bird blind that stood at the end of the wooden walk.

His eyes kept returning to the plaque that marked a memorial for the woman he had once loved with all his heart.

This is all your fault, Jenny. I’m sorry to say it, but there it is. If you hadn’t led me on the way you did—what were you thinking, leading me on like that? Did you think it was funny? A game, maybe?

His face twisted into a scowl.

You don’t play those kind of games with people who love you, Jenny. I guess I showed you that, didn’t I?

She had always been so nice to him, right from the first day. She’d talked to him like he was an old friend, like he was on her level. Never talked down to him, never made him feel like the stupid gangly kid he knew himself to be.

It always killed him to think that his father had made him volunteer at the sanctuary as a punishment for having been caught looking where he shouldn’t have been looking. If it hadn’t been for that, he’d never have gotten to know her the way he did. He’d never have fallen in love with her, or she with him . . .

Oh, he’d known who she was, everyone in Bowers Inlet knew Mrs. Burke. She was a knockout, for sure. Only the kids who worked with her at the sanctuary got to call her by her first name. Jenny.

“Call me Jenny,” she’d said that first day.

It had thrilled him every time he’d said her name aloud. He’d used it as frequently as possible.

He’d counted the days, Saturday to Saturday, lived for his hours working out there in the marsh, swatting mosquitoes and green-headed flies. He didn’t care. He was with her, hour after hour, every Saturday. And with every hour spent with her, his love grew until it was the most important thing in his life. Grew until he thought he’d die of it.