Now That She's Gone (30 page)

“Why are you mad about that? That wasn't anything.”

“You don't get to decide what I feel anymore. What any of us feel anymore. Right, Scott? Tami?”

“Right, Alyssa,” Tami said, unconvincingly. Alyssa shot her a glare and Tami felt compelled to say more. “We're totally sick of you, Katy.”

“Scott! I'm scared. Take me home.”

Scott kept his mouth shut. He refused to look at her.

“Scott, what's the matter? Why are you doing this to me? Don't you love me anymore?”

Again, no response.

Alyssa spoke up. “I told him about Trevor and Maxx.”

“I don't care about those guys,” she said.

“Then why did you go down on them?”

“I didn't, Alyssa. You did.”

“You little bitch!”

“You told me you did. Why are you acting like this? I want to go home.”

“You aren't going home. Ever. You're gonna die tonight.”

Scott looked over at Alyssa. This wasn't the plan, but he didn't do anything to stop her. He just stood there. Tami did the same. Alyssa held up the scissors.

“Tonight,” she said.

Katy was frantic. The construction site was large and with the tide up high, she knew she couldn't get away from any of them. She had to go through them. She started to push past them.

“Stop her, Tami! You idiot! If she gets away she'll tell on us!”

Tami, who hadn't wanted any of this in the first place, but who only wanted to be part of someone's inner circle, threw herself onto her friend, tackling her and bringing her to the ground.

Alyssa pounced, shoving the knife deep into Katy's abdomen. Katy looked up from her future grave. Blood oozed from her mouth. Seeing the blood, Alyssa twisted the scissors and felt the life force drain from her friend.

Her rival.

Alyssa looked up at the others. They stood there frozen, in shock.

“Tami!” she called over to her friend, her follower. “Stab her! Scott, stab her! We are all a part of this! You need to do this now.”

 

 

“And we did,” he said. “I'm really not sure why. Tami and I just did what Alyssa told us to do. Like we didn't have minds of our own. I know we did, but that night it didn't feel that way. I took some psychology courses to see why. The mob effect, I guess. We just did what she said, in the heat of the moment. In the frenzy of what Alyssa had done. We hadn't come there to kill Katy, I swear it. We hadn't. We just got caught up in something.”

Kendall knew there was probably some truth to what he was saying, but it was an excuse. And Scott Hilburn wasn't going to prison for Katy's murder anyway. He'd testify against Alyssa.

Scott was going away for what he did to Tami.

“We covered her up and I guess we got lucky,” he said.

“Lucky?”

“We thought we'd be caught the next day,” Scott said, his eyes wet with the kind of tears that couldn't be faked. “We were sure of it. But we didn't know about the cement pour the next day. I mean, we didn't do a very good job. Not at all. Just barely covered her. I threw the scissors in the water. After we left we found Naomi walking on the road. We didn't tell her all that had happened. At least not right away.”

 

 

“I see something pink,” the backhoe operator said.

Kendall went to the edge of the hole.

“I see it too,” she said.

Pink was the color of the shirt Katy was wearing when she vanished.

A deputy with a shovel jumped into the indentation that the backhoe operator had made with his bucket.

“Yeah,” he said. “We've found her.”

Another deputy approached Kendall.

“They also found Alyssa,” he said. “She was picked up an hour ago in King County. We'll transport her tonight.”

Kendall looked over at Brit, who was slumped over in the driveway crying uncontrollably. Scott was in no better shape. Both had loved Katy. One was responsible for her death, the other had to come to grips with the blame she'd placed on her husband, an innocent man.

C
HAPTER
F
IFTY-THREE

B
ack at her desk, going over the paperwork that would close the file on Katy's death and the multiple tragedies that had sprung from it, Kendall Stark longed for the relief that would come on a day without a murder investigation. To say that she loved her work was simplistic. She did see the great value she could bring to the justice system. She could see the sad appreciation on the faces of those who wanted to know the why behind the unthinkable. Sometimes, she knew, the why wouldn't be enough. Not for Tami Overton's mother, her son, her husband. Not for Juliana's parents. Chaz's sister, who kept calling her for an update. Janie's husband and son.

All of them would have some information now, but they would always be damaged by the evil visited upon them.

Kendall's phone vibrated and she looked down. She didn't recognize the number when she picked it up. The voice, however, was chillingly familiar.

“Hi, Detective,” the caller said.

It was Brenda Nevins.

“Where are you?” Kendall asked reflexively, knowing that Brenda would never answer that question.

“You can't catch me,” she said. “You can't trace this call. But you can listen.”

“We know what you did, you bitch. I will find you, Brenda. And when I do I'll think of some reason to be threatened by you so I can shoot you dead.”

“That's funny. You are threatened. But what does any of that matter? I'm free. I'm more famous now than I was when you ruined my chance for a TV special.”

“Is that all you care about?” Kendall asked, appealing to Brenda's twisted ego. “If it is, turn yourself in right now. You're smart enough to know that you're a hot commodity.”

“You think I'm hot? I thought so. I saw the way your eyes dawdled over me when we met. I could have had your tongue between my legs right then and there.”

There had been no doubt that Brenda was sick, but she was also a bad judge of character. Kendall was sickened by the fact that they'd shared the same air in that interview room at the prison. She'd seen evil face-to-face before, but never as dark and conniving as Brenda Nevins.

Kendall pushed. “Where are you, Brenda?”

“You are turned on, aren't you?”

“No.”

“You're wet right now,” Brenda said. “I can sense it over the phone.”

“I'm married,” Kendall said, not sure why that was her response. “I'm not interested.”

“Janie was married too,” Brenda said. Her tone was cool, indifferent. “She wasn't interested either, but I had her.”

“Why did you kill her?” Kendall asked. “Why did you kill Chaz Masters? Juliana Robbins?”

Brenda let out a laugh. “Because that's what I do,” she said. “Besides riding a man and spinning him like a top, getting a woman to experience her wildest fantasies, I'm good at killing. It's what I do.”

“Juliana was a nice girl,” Kendall said, knowing that the producer was so much more than that, but stunned by Brenda's sense of entitlement and superiority. Brenda operated in that twisted place occupied by many grandiose serial killers. Bundy and Gacy were two of those who reveled in the attention and their place in history.

“Nice is easy to kill,” Brenda said. “No one remembers nice anyway. All they remember is
me.
And my little prison mouse, Janie. Janie was a great help to me too.”

“And Chaz? Why
him
?”

“Because I could, Kendall Stark. That's all there is to it. I know that the media wants to ascribe some great plan and messaging on my part but really, killing successfully means killing people randomly.”

There was truth to that. Kendall knew that the serial killers who confounded detection the longest were those who killed in different areas, used multiple dump sites, and targeted a seeming hodgepodge of victims. Bundy, however, broke that mold at the end, when he ditched his penchant for sorority girls who resembled his ex-girlfriend for a twelve-year-old Florida girl.

“I got your message. Birdy got hers.”

Brenda laughed. “I'm glad. I figured you two ladies would get a kick out of that. I'm surprised it didn't make the front page.”

“We didn't release the information, Brenda. We like to put on a good show too.”

Brenda went quiet for a moment. “I'm sure you do. Want to know a little secret?”

“Shoot,” Kendall said.

“You'd like to shoot me, wouldn't you?”

“Yes,” Kendall said, “but I'd still like to hear your secret.”

“About what I left behind.”

“Yes, the hummingbird and the toy shark. What about them?”

Brenda paused. “Just came to me at the last minute. I mean, I just thought of it on the spot.”

“That's clever of you,” Kendall said.

“I thought so,” Brenda said, not picking up on Kendall's less than enthusiastic endorsement of her creativity.

“I'm surprised you didn't mention the keychain,” Brenda said.

“What keychain?”

“With Janie. In her pocket.”

“Oh, that,” Kendall said, not knowing what she was talking about.

“You didn't see it, did you? You're a very sloppy detective. Good for me, I guess.”

“You need to turn yourself in, Brenda,” Kendall said. “Enough people have been hurt.”

“I've only just started, Detective. Let's just agree that we disagree. Life's more fun when the world spins wildly. It's like a ride.”

The line went dead.

C
HAPTER
F
IFTY-FOUR

I
t wasn't hard to find Cody Stark's school. Kendall and Steven had been boosters of the school for the past two years—less so at the moment with the change in his job.

Brenda Nevins sat outside watching the kids through the chain-link fencing as they played, mostly quietly, in the school's designated play area. Obviously geared toward younger students, the play area featured what appeared to be a foam rubber tugboat as its focal point. The ground was also rubberized. No kid could get hurt playing there had been the intent. Brenda knew a dozen ways she could harm someone. It spun through her mind that she could tear a chunk of foam off and shove it down some kid's throat.

Not just any kid, of course.

She listened to a rap station on the radio. It was a preset. She imagined the car's owner was a young person, and while she didn't care much for rap she thought that it was good for her to stay current. She thought that the owner was an overprivileged brat who'd been handed the world by doting parents.

Not like her double-crossing mother, who'd always been so cruel to her, who'd seized every moment she could to tell Brenda that she was no good. Not pretty enough. Flat-chested. Stupid. Would never be anything. To kill her mother would be an utter waste of time. So been there and done that.

Mommy issues.

Brenda took the paper bag from the backseat. She checked her makeup in the mirror. It had been applied with a light touch. Her clothes were clean, but not stylish at all. She had lived her whole life to turn heads but in that moment she wanted nothing more than to blend in. The kids scurried back into their respective classrooms. Brenda looked down at the prepaid cell that Janie had purchased. Lunch would be served in an hour. She turned off the radio and started for the door.

Kara Watanabe had been the office administrator for sixteen years and loved every challenging minute of it. She had boundless energy and unbridled enthusiasm. She barely stood still. Why would she? There was always something she could do to help someone. When Brenda came into the office she smiled and waved her over with a disarming smile.

Brenda did her best to fire her own back.

“I'm Cody Stark's aunt,” she said. “Staying with the Starks.”

“That's lovely,” Kara said. “How can I help you?”

“Kendall's working some big case,” she said, with a slight inflection that indicated that she'd tired of hearing it. “She asked me to bring Cody some cookies. Call me a bad aunt for spoiling him, but he's pretty precious to me.”

“If he were mine I'd spoil him too,” Kara said. “I can't very well do that here. Wouldn't be fair, but between you and me and the fence post, Cody
is
one of my favorites. That is if I had been allowed to have one.”

Brenda smiled.

“Thank you. I wasn't sure. I'm kind of the black sheep of the family. By default of course. I mean, with Steven and Kendall—who are about as perfect as a couple can be—I'd say there isn't anywhere to go but down.”

Kara made a face.

“I mean for me,” Brenda said.

“Understood. I hope they work things out.”

Kara's comment piqued Brenda's interest, but she didn't indicate so. Instead she did what she was best at—rolling with it. She liked to collect little bits of personal information. Information was a key into places where people wouldn't have wanted her, which is what she wanted in the first place.

Trouble between Kendall Shark and her husband. Good. That might come in handy.

“Me too,” she finally said. “All couples have tough times, Ms. Watanabe. It's how they come out stronger for it. That's what I admire. And that's our Kendall and Steven Stark, through and through.”

“I hope so,” Kara said, searching for the younger woman's name, finally admitting her lapse at an introduction. “I didn't get your name. I'm Kara Watanabe, the office manager, and I do just about everything else that needs to be done around here.”

Brenda smiled. “I'm Whitney,” she said, picking a name she'd always liked over her prosaic moniker, another crappy gift from her mother. She should have changed it when she got married. Steffi or Whitney had been her names of choice back then.

Not boring-as-the-hills Brenda. She was never going to be a Brenda.
Not ever.

“Nice to meet you, Whitney. You brought Cody a treat?”

“He and I made some cookies last night. Snickerdoodles. I told him that he could have one today as a little treat after he ate his regular lunch. Is it all right if I leave them with you? I know lunchtime is soon. Kendall told me it's at eleven-thirty.”

She knew that not because anyone told her, especially not Kendall, but because she'd stalked the school through the Web.

Kara opened the bag and inhaled the heady scent of cinnamon and sugar.

“They smell divine,” she said.

Brenda leaned in and whispered as though it were a trade secret. “My recipe calls for a dash of almond extract,” she said.

“I got a whiff of that,” Kara said. “You're so thoughtful.”

“And you're so busy. I won't take up any more of your time.”

“No worries. But before you leave, please log in here.” She tapped a finger on a visitors' sign-in sheet.

Brenda took the pencil and signed:
Whitney Nevins.

 

 

Kara Watanabe did have a million things to do. She'd been frazzled since the day started. She was running on bad staff-room coffee and needed a boost before the bell rang and the lunchtime pandemonium ensued. She went over to the cubby where she'd placed the small bag of cookies that Cody's aunt had left behind and set one little cookie on a paper napkin. She was just about to take a bite when student teacher Reeta Anne Marvell scurried inside. Reeta was overly dramatic, overly ingratiating, and overly helpful.

Just flat out overly.

“Ms. Watanabe,” she said in her one-speed fast voice, “two boys in C pod are having a fight in the boys' bathroom and I just can't get them to come out.”

“Did you go in there?”

“No. It's the boys' room.”

“Yes, you said that, Reeta. But did you know that they are just children and you can go in there if there's cause for concern?”

She shook her head. “That wasn't part of our training at the university. Not at all. It would be a major red flag if a woman went into the boys' bathroom. I mean, like a scandal almost.”

That was Reeta in a nutshell.

“It wouldn't. But fine, I'll go break it up,” Kara said, barely registering the exasperation that she'd felt from nearly the second Reeta came into the office. She picked up the bag of cookies.

“You watch the desk. I'm going to break up the fight, then deliver this to Cody Stark.”

“I don't have the training to run the office.”

“Reeta, you do. A trained chimp could do it. And sometimes behavior like yours makes me think that this place is no better than a zoo.”

“You're mean,” Reeta said.

“I don't mean to be. Just sit tight and I'll be back.”

Reeta Anne Marvell was a stress eater. Big-time. She looked over at the snickerdoodle on the paper napkin Kara had set next to the sign-in sheet

It was just sitting there. Just waiting for her. Reeta reached over and took a bite. Sugar powdered her chin and she wiped it off. She was going to have only one little bite. She didn't think one bite would matter. But it was so, so good. She took another bite. And then another.

God
,
this is a really good cookie.

She felt a twinge of something. Guilt, probably. That had to be it. Then she felt a little warm. In the space of a single minute Reeta found herself clutching the counter and fighting to breathe. Her face was bright red. Redder than the school mascot, the American Beauty Rose.

She disappeared behind the counter grabbing the paper towel, the sign-in sheet, and Ms. Watanabe's telephone down with her.

Her fingers somehow managed to dial 911.

 

 

Dixie Simpson had come off a break in which she'd managed to negotiate a deal on a used car on Craigslist, call her mother, and proofread a coworker's résumé. The thirty-two-year-old brunette with the ice-blue eyes was the best communications specialist in the Comm Center's office in Bremerton. She took satisfaction in her job and never missed a day of work.

That morning had been slow. Two crank calls, a fire, and a woman who was stuck in her car at the Port Orchard Fred Meyer parking lot. Routine and boring. She liked things to keep moving. It wasn't that she craved the drama of the calls, but rather she just wanted to be on the line whenever anyone needed help.

It was 11:32 when the call came through.

“Comm Center,” Dixie said. “What's your emergency?”

No one answered. Dixie checked the data line and saw that the call was coming from the offices of the Cascade School.

“What's your emergency?” she repeated. She could hear some movement, but no direct response. She repeated her question.

“Help,” came a gasping voice. “Help me.”

“Are you injured? Talk to me.”

Another gasp and the noise of the phone being slammed onto the floor.

Dixie's adrenaline pumped and she swiveled in her chair, catching the eyes of her supervisor, Megan.

She muted her mouthpiece. “I can't get a handle on this call,” she said to Megan. “Coming from the Cascade School. Someone's there, but this lady's badly hurt. Maybe a shooting or something?”

Megan did her own swivel and immediately notified the Kitsap County sheriff.

“Not sure what's going on. The caller can't speak. A woman, we think. Something's really wrong there.”

 

 

Kendall hurried into the evidence room and made a beeline for Janie Thomas's personal effects. Besides her clothes, there was a bindle containing her eyeglasses, four dollars in change, and a keychain. Kendall's heart pumped when she looked down at it. The keychain had already been processed. She signed the evidence receipt, put the keychain in a separate bindle, and hurried over to Birdy's office. Birdy was wrapping up a phone call with the school. Elan had been tardy the last couple of days and they wanted to know if there was trouble at home.

“I'm new at this parenting thing,” Birdy said. “Maybe you can give me some pointers, Kendall.”

“I'm like every other parent making it up as I go along,” she said. “I don't want to be unhelpful, but I came over here as quickly as I could to tell you that I just got off the phone with Brenda Nevins.”

“Crap. She called you too.”

“Yeah. She's the biggest attention whore in the history of the world.”

“Copy that,” Birdy said. “What did she say?”

“She wanted to know if we'd found the shark and the bird.”

“She wants credit for everything, doesn't she?”

“That's an understatement. She wants the world to know that she's arrived. That she's the best at what she does, which is killing.”

“Why didn't she want to be a chef or something?”

“No kidding. She dropped a little hint that we might have missed something with Janie's case. And Birdy, I'm really worried. Tell me I shouldn't be.”

“What was it?”

“I brought it.” Kendall opened the bindle and held out the keychain.

“Crap,” Birdy said, moving to her feet.

“Tell me I'm overreacting.”

“I don't know. When it comes to Brenda Nevins there is no overreacting.”

Kendall looked down at the brass-colored keychain. It showed the figure of Wild Bill Hickok next to a bucking bronco. Underneath the image were the words “Wyoming's Legendary Cowboy Museum.”

“I've been there,” Birdy said. “It was one of the few times we left the reservation when I was a kid. Mom had relatives in Wyoming. We stayed in a tent for two weeks. Not the worst time of my life, but in the top twenty.”

Kendall smiled. It was a grim smile, but a smile nevertheless. “I'm in the top twenty of mine right now,” she said, not saying it was all about Steven and her marriage, but thinking it.

“I'm not a huge fan of Detective Wyo, but I'd better warn him,” Kendall said. “He's next on Brenda's list.”

“He's probably in his top twenty worst times too,” Birdy said. “I feel sorry for him.”

Kendall started for the door. “You feel sorry for everyone.”

Birdy acknowledged her friend's assessment. Kendall was right. She
did.

 

 

Kendall's phone was dead, so she used her office landline to reach Wyatt Ogilvie.

“What's up, Detective Stark?” he asked. “You looking for more dirt? You're in the wrong place for that. I should have kept my mouth shut.”

“Wyatt, you could be in danger,” Kendall said. “I think Brenda has a hit list and you're on it.”

“What makes you say that?” he asked as he turned on the speaker function of his phone.

Kendall didn't care.

“She left a message with your name.”

“Oh, did she now?” he said.

“This is fantastic, Wyo,” Pandora said, chiming in with her all-too-familiar opportunistic glee.

“Do you mind, Pandora?” Kendall said. “This doesn't concern you.”