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“Is your badge made out of gold?” he asked.

“No.” September smiled at him. “You weren’t supposed to be in the field because it’s someone else’s property?”

“I don’t know them.” He turned to his mom for help.

“That’s the Layton place,” she said. “They have cattle, cows. The bulls are in a separate pen, thank God. There’s barbed wire on the top of the fence, but it doesn’t seem to stop them.”

“That’s how the killer musta got in,” Stuart said with a nod. “Like we did.”

“No, there was a break in the fence,” his mom contradicted him. “That’s what the agents said.”

September knew, from Donley and Bethwick’s notes, that a portion of the fence had been cut apart and the victim rolled through. They were checking for fibers caught on the fence, but September believed if they found anything, it would be from the victim’s clothes. The killer was too careful.

“Could you point us to this field?” Gretchen asked Tori.

“I can!” Stuart cried.

“Hush, Stuart,” his mother said to him, then she stepped back on the porch, inviting September and Gretchen to follow. “Straight ahead over that way. There’s a gravel drive that splits between two of the fields. Drive down it and you’ll see where the fence was cut. Mr. Layton put some temporary boards in front of the hole.”

“How old is Mr. Layton?” Gretchen asked.

“Seventy-five. All of this is hard for him,” she said with a sniff. “Do you mind? My husband’s going to be home soon and I need to finish dinner.”

“We’ll be on our way. Thank you,” September said, but Stuart was right on her heels as she stepped off the porch.

“I’ll show you. I know where the spot is.”

“Stuart . . .” His mother looked pained. She’d picked up the wine glass and was holding onto it as if her life depended on it.

“Thanks,” September told him, “but you should stay here with your mom. We’ll go look at it.”

“You better check with Mr. Layton, then,” he said seriously. “I don’t think you’ll make it over the fence.”

As they climbed back into the Jeep, Gretchen eyed September with a kind of reluctant admiration. “I kinda wanted to tell the kid to shut up,” she admitted.

“Niceness, Sandler. Niceness.”

“That’s what I’ve got you for.”

Mr. Layton might be seventy-five, but he was wire tough and really pored over their identification before he would take them through the gate and across the field. They’d come in from the north side and a stream prevented them from passing to the spot where Lulu’s body had been found.

Layton said, “Those agents and crime people went in the other side, but I blocked it up. Don’t know what could get out, or in, I guess. Some psychotic, huh? Gave me a real bad feeling, seeing her like that. Why’re you two here now?”

“We’re on the case, as well,” Gretchen told him stiffly. She looked around and then said to September, “So, you wanta ford the stream?”

“You think they missed any evidence?” September asked skeptically.

She shook her head. “Uh-uh.”

They stood quietly for a moment. It had grown dark as they walked across the field and there was little to see.

“He’s comfortable in open spaces,” September said. “Fields.”

“Farm boy,” Layton said, and they both looked at him. “City folk wouldn’t come out here.”

“Maybe to hide a body,” Gretchen argued.

“He spent some time with her,” the older man disagreed. “He knew the area. Sick bastard.”

They all worked their way back across the field. September and Gretchen thanked Layton, then climbed in the Jeep and headed back to the station.

“So, what did we learn, class?” Sandler asked her.

September didn’t answer. She was thinking about the kids she went to elementary school with and where they lived growing up. She didn’t know that many of them, but it was certainly possible to find out. That might narrow the list down a bit—the list of male classmates who knew about her second grade artwork, maybe had access to it, and who were also comfortable in open fields in a wide circle around Laurelton.

Chapter 14

September woke early and went for a run. Her head was full of so many things: Do Unto Others, Jake, her father. . . . She knew she was harboring a deep anger toward him, and kept debating with herself whether she should act on it or not. One moment she wanted to just bury all of it. Water under the bridge. The next she could feel the back of her neck get hot as she thought about screaming at him what a bastard he was.

Neither seemed like a good option.

She was back at her apartment by seven, through the shower by seven-fifteen, and out the door by eight. Her cell rang as she was getting in her car. Her heart fluttered momentarily. She’d half-expected Jake to call her yesterday, though she’d told herself it would be better if he didn’t. Then when he didn’t, she was disappointed.

And she was disappointed again, even though she’d been waiting for this call. “About time,” she told Auggie. “And I don’t want to hear any of this task force bullshit. You just turned off your phone.”

“Guilty,” he said. “What did you want?”

“I hardly remember, it’s been so long.”

“I’m sorry, okay? I wanted some down time.”

“Yeah . . . well . . .” She gathered her thoughts, then told him what George had learned about Glenda Navarone Tripp’s sexual encounter on Dr. Navarone’s examining table from Tripp’s coworker at Twin Oaks. “It may be nothing, but the guy creeped her out enough to bring it up years later to a new friend. I found it interesting that it crossed with your case.”

“How old was she at the time?” Auggie asked.

“In her teens. Where was Navarone practicing then? He didn’t have a private practice, did he?”

“Not then. Not from what I know. He might’ve been at Grandview Mental Hospital at that time.”

“Grandview . . . the one that’s now Grandview Senior Care.”

“That’s right.”

“Huh.”

“Huh, what?” he asked.

“One of our second grade teachers. Actually,
your
homeroom teacher, Mrs. McBride, lives at Grandview Senior Care now.”

“I don’t see how that fits in—”

“It doesn’t. Just an observation.”

“There was a woman I interviewed at Grandview Senior Care on the Zuma case. A nurse, Sofia, who said her sister worked at Grandview Hospital for a while. Hmmm . . . I’m trying to remember the sister’s name. I’m not sure Sofia ever told me, but neither she nor the sister thought much of Dr. Navarone.” He paused. “One other thing. Liv’s brother Hague was at Grandview for a while during his teens.”

“That’s right,” September said, absorbing that fact again. She’d never met Hague Dugan but she knew he had serious psychological issues that kept him from living a so-called normal life. He was somewhat agoraphobic, rarely leaving his apartment unless he went to Rosa’s Cantina on the ground floor of his building and was in the mood to orate/rant to a small crowd of followers who hung around him. He also had a tendency to go into a self-induced coma, or fugue state, when he became overly stressed. “He’s kind of a difficult interview.”

“You could say that,” Auggie said with a short laugh.

“Well, it’s something,” September said. “All right. I’ll keep Hague in mind. And if I go interview Mrs. McBride, I’ll see if Sofia’s around and ask for the name of her sister.”

“Mrs. McBride,” Auggie repeated, making a shuddering sound.

“I was lucky I had Mrs. Walsh,” September agreed with a smile before hanging up.

When she got to the station it was to find Agents Bethwick and Donley had taken over the squad room as their main command station. George had been moved away from his side of the room and was now closer to September and Gretchen’s desk. He was not in a good mood about it. His creaking chair was protesting loudly with every move he made. Ah, well.

Inside his office, D’Annibal had a serious expression on his face. He could have been carved in stone.

Bethwick let it be known that they were all over the Lulu Luxe investigation, and they wanted everything on Emmy Decatur, too, as she was the other victim with actual words carved into her skin.

As she was getting settled in her cell phone rang again, and this time it was Jake.

Feeling like all eyes were on her, September got up from her desk and started down the hall in the direction of the employee break room and her locker. “Hello,” she answered a bit stiffly.

“So, I waited a day to call you. Didn’t want to act too eager.”

She grinned, but then pulled the grin off her face. “What do you want?” she asked. “I’m working.”

“I want to talk to you. I’ve got a couple of things . . . I want to clear up.”

She sucked air through her teeth. “I’m sorry I was so—out of control the other night. I’m not like that usually. Really.”

“I didn’t mind the out of control part. Especially parts of it.”

“Look, Jake, I can’t talk now. I really can’t.”

“After work. Tonight. We’ll go someplace nice . . . a step up from The Barn Door and Taco Bell. I really do want to talk to you.”

He sounded . . . urgent. “Okay,” she capitulated. What was she holding out for anyway?

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” he told her and then he was gone.

She wondered vaguely if he’d hung up so quickly because he expected her to change her mind. It wouldn’t be that far off from the truth.

Her cell phone rang again and she didn’t recognize the number. “Rafferty,” she answered.

“Detective Rafferty? This is Marilyn Osborne. Marcie Peterkin called me from Sunset Elementary? She said you wanted to talk to me and gave me this number?”

“Yes. Yes. Ms. Osborne. I—uh—was a student at Sunset Elementary when you taught second grade. Mrs. Walsh was my homeroom teacher, and my twin brother was in Mrs. McBride’s class.”

“Oh, yes. I remember the Rafferty twins. How can I help you?”

September found herself at a loss for words. How could she help her? She wasn’t sure there was any way. Taking a leap of faith, she explained about the artwork that had been sent to her at the station, the message across its face, how she’d made it in second grade, how it seemed as if someone from the school may have sent it to her . . . ? “Was there . . . do you remember . . . if anyone was called Wart?” she asked, fumbling in the dark.

“No, I’m afraid not.” She sounded reflective. “I’m trying to think back. What year would you have been in second grade?”

September told her, and then added, “It’s kind of a long shot. I just haven’t figured out how someone could get my artwork and send it to me. I actually saw a picture of it on the bulletin board of Mrs. Walsh’s room and thought maybe he took it from the class.”

“It’s possible, I suppose. . . .”

She sounded so dubious, that September said, “I know. It’s been a lot of years.”

“You think this is from the same man who killed those other two victims?”

Three,
September almost said. And now four, with Lulu Luxe. “The words are the same, so yes, that’s the theory.”

“I wish I could help you more,” she said.

“Thank you.” September accepted defeat gracefully.

“If I think of anything else, I’ll call you,” she said before she hung up.

She walked back into the squad room and saw Gretchen give her a quick, low wave outside of the agents’ view. She was on the phone, and she was listening hard, offering up surprisingly sympathetic noises. “I completely understand,” she said, her voice sounding even more nasal with the effort. “We’ll look into it. From everything you’ve said, she sounds like a lovely girl.”

September’s brows shot together.
Who is that?
she mouthed.

Sandler just shook her head a teensy bit and moved her eyes in the direction of the agents. She made a few more conciliatory remarks, then finally was able to disconnect from whoever was at the other end of the line and desperate to keep talking. “Thank you. Thank you. Yes, we’ll get on it. You’re welcome . . . I . . . I’ll call you.” She set down the phone.

“Wow,” September said, surprised.

“Man, I’m hungry,” Gretchen said. “Let’s go grab some lunch.”

September glanced at the clock on the wall. It was ten-thirty. “Sure,” she said.

George said, “Bring me back something?”

“Fuggedaboudit,” Gretchen muttered, then, as if realizing she was on some new tack, said, “Tuna, chicken salad, or turkey.”

“How about a hamburger?”

“We’re going to the Safeway deli,” she told him.

“Turkey,” he said, disappointed.

“The Safeway deli?” September asked, as soon as they’d made their way past Guy Urlacher.

“It’s close. I’m not really hungry. You?”

“I take it we’re making a break from the feds.”

“You know who was on the phone? Mrs. Decatur. Emmy’s mother.”

“Ahhh . . . and you didn’t want Bethwick and Donley to know, even though they’re concentrating on Emmy and Lulu?”

“I put a call into Mrs. Decatur. Before when I interviewed her and her husband, they just went on and on about how wonderful Emmy was, and I just sorta tuned out. But when Frick and Frack took her case, it pissed me off. There was something else there, when I talked to them. Something they weren’t saying. I kinda got the feeling Mrs. Decatur wanted to tell, but just couldn’t do it when her husband was going on and on about what a lovely girl Emmy was.”

“Emmy’s roommate said her parents kicked Emmy out when she was in high school,” September remembered.

Gretchen nodded several times. “So, I was thinking about your niceness thing. Decided to try it. At first Mrs. Decatur was reluctant to talk to me, but I figured this was my last shot before the feds got to her.”

“But she did talk to you.”

“Oh, yeah. You ready for it? Emmy’s parents didn’t kick her out of the house. They sent her away. To Grandview Mental Hospital.”

September felt like she’d been punched in the gut. She inhaled sharply and felt the hair on her arms lift. Staring through the windshield as Gretchen wheeled into the Safeway lot, she said, “We’ve got to go there.”

“It doesn’t exist anymore. It’s an elder care facility.”

“I know that. But there are a lot of connections to Grandview, and we need to talk to somebody who was there. I’ve got a line on that. I’ll tell you on the way.”