Read Nobody Knows Online

Authors: Mary Jane Clark

Tags: #Mystery, #Thriller

Nobody Knows (2 page)

BOOK: Nobody Knows
6.22Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

“Today we ask for national cooperation to help the FBI track down a new, as yet unnamed, member on the FBI’s Fugitives List. We are calling him Emmett Doe. The composite drawings you see here are based on the descriptions given by some of the victims of his crimes.”

Flashbulbs popped and cameras whirred as Lynch gestured toward two blown-up images arrayed on easels. One was an artist’s rendition of a man’s face, the other was a drawing of the face of a frowning clown. The reporters murmured among themselves as they studied the grotesque, exaggerated features of the second drawing.

“Emmett Doe is being sought for car theft and rape in Louisiana and Florida. These crimes occurred within the past six months. Doe is considered armed and extremely dangerous. We are asking anyone who has any information about this individual to, please, contact your local FBI office or, if outside the country, the nearest U.S. embassy or consulate.”

Hands shot up in the audience.

“Yes,” said Lynch, pointing to the CBS correspondent sitting beside Cassie.

“Is there a reward being posted?”

The director nodded. “The FBI is offering a reward of up to fifty thousand dollars for information leading directly to the arrest of this individual.”

“You have the eye color listed as blue
and
brown. What does that mean?” asked another reporter.

“Two of the victims say their attacker had blue eyes. The other victim reported brown. We’re not sure of the man’s true eye color.”

Cassie raised her reporter’s notepad into the air. Pamela Lynch looked directly into her eyes.

“What details can you give us about the rapes?”

Lynch fumbled with her papers on the podium. “This individual raped a young woman from the Miami area last November. He struck again in New Orleans earlier this month. As you know, rape is a crime, but it is not a federal offense. So, technically, the rapes are not what earned Doe a place on this list. The fact is that Doe is a menace to society and we think the public can help us catch him.”

Cassie had a follow-up. It seemed like the obvious question. “Will you explain to us the derivation of these artist sketches?”

The director cleared her throat. “Ah, yes,” she answered. “The victims describe a man of medium height and build, who wore a grease-painted mask in the image you see here.” Lynch pointed to the clown poster. “FBI artists then tried to estimate what the man looked like beneath the makeup. This is what they’ve come up with.” She gestured toward the other easel.

In the audience, the CBS correspondent leaned over and whispered to Cassie. “Pretty nondescript-looking face.”

Cassie agreed. There was nothing distinctive about the face that glowered from the poster board.

“Can you describe for us his M.O.?”

The director took another drink of water before answering. “All three women were attacked where they lived, at night, after they had gone to sleep. The attacker tied them up and gagged them with their own undergarments. Then he”—Lynch stopped to swallow—“then he raped them at knifepoint. Afterward, he took their car keys. The abandoned vehicles were later found at city airports.”

A new question: “How common is it for a rapist to disguise himself?”

“It’s not common. Our Behavioral Science Unit at Quantico has found that the majority of serial rapists don’t dress in any special way. We’re trying to figure out what the significance of making himself up as a clown might have for this vicious individual.”

IT WAS
after five o’clock when New York finally gave script approval, leaving Washington less than an hour and a half to get Cassie’s piece edited. Cassie recorded her track and left her producer and videotape editor in the editing booth to finish putting the story together while she went back to her office and made another call to the press information office at the FBI.

“You’re on his list, Ms. Sheridan,” said the secretary, weariness in her voice.

“This is the third time I’ve called. Please, have him get back to me. I need to speak to him before we air.”

“I understand, Ms. Sheridan. I’ll be sure to give him your message.”

AT SIX
o’clock, Cassie sat in the makeup chair, being touched up for her live studio appearance scheduled at the end of her story. The stylist was spraying Cassie’s black hair when Yelena Gregory’s large frame appeared in the doorway.

“I found someone else to have lunch with,” the news president said, smiling.

“I’m so sorry, Yelena,” she apologized, totally bummed out that the press conference had forced her to cancel their third meeting to discuss the possibility of Cassie’s being elevated to the network’s premier newsmagazine show. “I hope we can reschedule something.”

Yelena walked into the room and over to Cassie’s chair. “I have to fly back to New York right after the broadcast.” At the look of disappointment on Cassie’s face, Yelena reached out and patted the correspondent’s wrist. “Don’t worry, Cassie. Everything is a go. Business Affairs will be contacting your agent. We want you on
Hourglass?

CASSIE STRODE
to the editing room and viewed the completed piece. It was well constructed, covering all the apparent bases. But over fifteen years of journalistic experience told Cassie that there was something else to this story. She had learned to trust her gut.

The story was scheduled for the second news block, after the first commercial break. At six-fifteen, as Eliza Blake mounted the
Evening Headlines
anchor platform
in New York, Cassie tried the FBI again. She didn’t call the bureau’s press office this time but instead called her friend Special Agent Will Clayton.

“I’m on deadline, Will, and the press office isn’t returning my calls. I need to know, what was with Pamela Lynch this afternoon?”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, Will. I have to go on air. The director doesn’t normally make these announcements. And she was shaking like a leaf.”

“She’s personally invested in this one, Cassie.”

“Meaning?”

There was silence on the line.

“Will? Come on. What gives?”

“I guess it will come out sooner or later. I’m surprised none of the other networks picked up on this.” Clayton hesitated.

“What? What will come out?” Cassie urged.

“You didn’t hear it from me.”

“Fine. I didn’t hear it from you. What is it?”


HOW OLD
was she?”

“Twenty-one. She was a senior at Loyola University in New Orleans.”

“I don’t see how we can’t report it, Cassie,” said Executive Producer Range Bullock from the Fishbowl in New York. “One of the highest-ranking law enforcement officers in the country is using her power to take care of personal business. That’s
huge
news under any circumstances. Would that kind of action be taken for any regular American family?”

“Would any regular American family have their daughter identified as a rape victim?” Cassie countered, squirming at the thought of using Maggie Lynch’s name on the air.

Range popped an antacid tablet in his mouth. “This isn’t a regular case. Even if this guy belongs on the Fugitives List, the FBI director’s daughter is the victim, and that’s a major story.”

“I don’t feel good about this, Range.”

“None of us do, Cassie. But it’s news, and it will get viewers. The other nets will eventually pick up on it and report it anyway.”

In Washington, Cassie hung up the phone.
Viewers and ratings
, she thought. So often, it came down to that. The battle for higher ratings and the advertising dollars that followed. This was February, a sweeps period, and
Evening Headlines
was more focused than ever on pulling in the audience.

She hurried into the studio and slid into her seat. Catching her breath and clipping the small microphone to her jacket lapel, she watched Eliza Blake on the monitor. In her mind, Cassie composed what she would say when the camera switched to her. After the last pre-narrated video of Cassie’s report finished rolling, her hazel eyes stared directly into the dark lens and she began.

“It’s unusual for the FBI director to announce personally an addition to the Fugitives List, but this was not a usual situation for Pamela Lynch. KEY News has learned that Lynch’s only daughter, Maggie, was one of the victims raped by the man with the painted face of a clown.”

LISTENING TO
Jim’s even breathing from the other side of the bed, Cassie stared into the darkness, unable to sleep. After a day like the one she’d just had, she was pumped. She had scored an exclusive with the Pamela and Maggie Lynch information. Range had called from New York after the broadcast, heavy with praise.

More important, she was going to New York to star on
Hourglass
. Though Jim and Hannah had been less than enthusiastic when she told them her news tonight, she convinced herself they would come around. The much larger salary she’d be pulling down would soften the blow. Jim wouldn’t even have to work if he didn’t want to. He could spend more time on his writing. And Hannah would make new friends.

Opportunities like this were rare. Though it meant uprooting her family, Cassie hungered for the new job, one of the most coveted positions in network news.

The move to New York might be good for the marriage, she rationalized. A fresh start in a new place. It might force them to depend on one another again.

Like the old days.

Cassie closed her eyes, willing sleep to come.

The screech of the telephone pierced the darkened bedroom. She reached over to grab the phone, hoping that Jim wouldn’t wake.

“Hello?” she whispered.

“Cassie? It’s Steve Wagner on the assignment desk.”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry to wake you, Cassie, but you should
know. Maggie Lynch jumped out the window of her mother’s apartment at the Watergate tonight.”

Thursday, August 15

The boat rocked, soothing her, as she held her manicured hand up to catch the soft light from the moon. She admired the brand-new ring that sparkled from her finger. The ruby in its golden setting matched the shade of her nail polish.

Merilee had recognized the name on the jeweler’s box. The priciest store in town. He must have paid a pretty penny for this ring. It was clear he was smitten with her, exactly as she intended him to be.

On the deck, she waited alone for him and dreamed, looking out at the lights twinkling from the shoreline, humming the tune she hoped would make her rich. She had big plans. A hit song, a piece of the action of Web of Desire Productions, and one way or another, a well-to-do husband were all in Merilee’s design for her future.

Whatever was he doing down there for so long?

She went below to find him, quietly sliding open the louvered door.

“What are you doing, sugar?” she purred before she had time to take in the horror of his reflection in the small mirror that hung over the sink. White powder covered his face, garish blue makeup encircled his brown eyes.

Caught, he spun to face her as she backed away in revulsion. His teeth looked yellow and nasty against
the red of the painted mouth as he tried to persuade her that nothing was wrong.

But this was wrong. All wrong.

What kind of sick freak was he? The monster who stood before her certainly wasn’t the man she thought she knew. This man clearly had a side she had never seen before. A twisted, demented side. She had to get away.

Merilee turned her back on him and scrambled up the ladder to the deck, sensing that he followed close behind. She considered jumping out into the dark waters of the Gulf, but the shore was far away and she didn’t know how to swim.

Trapped.

With no other choice, Merilee turned on the deck to confront the grotesque visage. “Get away from me, you sick freak.”

As he edged closer, his eyes flashed with rage at her stinging words.

Merilee’s face contorted in pain as his powerful fist smashed against her smooth cheek, the force of the blow knocking her against the railing of the rocking boat. She shook her head, desperately trying to clear it, as the clown reached down and grabbed her.

MONDAY
AUGUST 19
BOOK: Nobody Knows
6.22Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Rome's Executioner by Robert Fabbri
Prodigal Son by Debra Mullins
Tender Fury by Connie Mason
Jingle Boy by Kieran Scott
Airtight Willie & Me by Iceberg Slim
Sound Of Gravel, The by Ruth Wariner
Ember Burns (The Seeker) by Kellen, Ditter