Without Warning (15 page)

I called Agent Bennett, not because I had any need to further his involvement in the case, but rather because the alternative was less appealing. Hank and I were out of our jurisdiction, so our choice of forensics was either going to be the Waterville Police or the FBI.

Either one of those agencies would have been competent to handle it, especially because of the apparent circumstances. The shooter had fired through the window and likely never entered the trailer. Therefore he would not have left much physical evidence behind.

The one important test would be the ballistics work done on the bullet and a casing that we found in the dirt outside the window. It was careless of the shooter to leave the casing, and I was hoping we could use it to our advantage. The FBI would be able to run the tests immediately and could put the information through their huge database on a priority basis.

But whatever could be uncovered would be easier for me to have access to if I called in Bennett. He and I had at least something of a working relationship, and I was comfortable with him coming in at that point.

It was just about the only thing I was comfortable with. Any doubt that the killings were connected to me had now been removed.

And the most important thing I had to figure out was who was next.

I had no illusions about my ability to control the press coverage. Whether it would be Matt Higgins or one of the other media outlets that had descended on Wilton, there was no secret to be kept. I wasn’t sure when the story would get out, but it wouldn’t be long.

So I needed to figure out who might be the next victim, and only I was in a position to be able to do that. The next prediction in order had simply posed a cryptic question “Who would have guessed you could talk yourself to death?”, and at the moment I had no idea who or what it could have been referring to.

I went back to the office and plowed through all the reports that were coming in. We were way behind in following up calls made to the tip line, and the ones that were considered priority and were checked out, had so far yielded nothing.

I had three call sheets worth of messages. Every media outlet west of Pravda had tried to reach me, and the mayor had called three times. The only call I returned was Katie Sanford’s.

“Hello, Jake. We have to talk.”

“‘Having to talk’ is generally not a good thing.”

“This won’t be the exception to the rule,” she said.

“Okay. In person or on the phone?”

“In person.”

“You want to come over?” I asked.

“I’m afraid this is not a date, Jake.”

“You want to come over for a nondate? I promise not to get you a corsage.”

She had a late meeting in her office, and she didn’t get to my house until almost nine o’clock. I opened a bottle of red wine, just in case there was any flexibility in the “nondate” edict, but I could immediately tell that there wasn’t going to be.

She took the wine, but her demeanor was totally serious. “I’m in a very bad position,” she said.

“Join the club.”

“Matt didn’t write the story he wanted to write this morning.”

“I wasn’t crazy about it either.”

“It’s going to get worse. He wants to say that not only were the victims connected to you, but that you had a reason to have a grudge against each one.”

I thought about it, and at first glance it didn’t seem right. Price and now Granderson yes, but George Myerson and Bill Norris? I didn’t see it, and I told Katie so.

“He said George messed up an insurance settlement for you, and that you and Bill Norris got in a fight in a bar.”

I shook my head. “That’s ridiculous. George and I were friendly; we had put that behind us. Bill and I were close; there was no animosity at all.”

“That’s not what the story is going to say,” she said.

“Then the story is wrong, and you shouldn’t publish it. It’s your goddamn paper, Katie.”

“There isn’t a publisher in the country that wouldn’t go with that story. I can’t let the fact that we slept together change that.”

On the growing list of things I was annoyed with, her characterization of our relationship as merely “sleeping together” was right up there. But I put that off to the side for the moment.

“So go with it. Run a bullshit story. Accuse me of a ridiculous series of revenge murders. I killed my insurance agent because a policy didn’t pay off. Next I’ll kill my barber because he cut my hair too short.”

“No one is accusing you of anything.”

“That’s bullshit. What the hell else could you be trying to say?”

“I’m trying to report the facts, Jake. It’s what I’ve always tried to do, and what I’ll keep doing.”

“No matter how idiotic those facts are.”

“So tell me how they’re wrong.”

“I have no comment.”

What I hadn’t told Katie was about Granderson’s murder and the very real connection I had with him, the kind of connection that when seen through this ridiculous prism could be a motivation for murder.

“Help me here, Jake. I’m caught in the middle.”

“Go print your story.”

She looked like she was going to try again to bridge the gap between us, but then nodded and stood up. “I’m sorry, Jake.”

“Yeah, me too.”

She turned and left without another word, and I just watched her go. It wasn’t until she had closed the door behind her that I said, “Stay.”

Katie actually had mixed emotions about her conversation with Jake. She had come to care deeply for him, might even have fallen in love with him, but there was no doubt that a screeching halt had just come to their relationship. When the
Journal
ran Matt’s story, and they certainly had to run it, there would be very little chance that she and Jake could ever pick up where they had left off. He would consider the publication an act of betrayal.

On the other hand, the knowledge of all of that removed the conflicts from her day-to-day life. For now she was going to be a journalist first; that die had been cast. The
Journal
would pursue and report on the story as if she had no relationship with Jake.

And based on the cold way he had reacted to her, she feared that no relationship is exactly what they had.

Matt would be happy about the outcome. He had a lot invested in this story, more than just about anyone. The killer had targeted him for death, probably still did, and had almost succeeded. Matt had to stand there and watch as a young woman died in his stead.

So for him to be constrained from reporting the facts must have been terribly frustrating, and Katie was at least thankful that she was going to remove those constraints.

It was ten thirty, and Katie briefly considered calling Matt from her cell to give him the news. She decided that he’d probably be up late writing the story he hoped she’d let him run, so she could call him when she got home.

She never got home.

I woke up still upset about my talk with Katie. But somehow, during the night, my attitude had moved from anger to regret. I had been way too hard on her. She was in a difficult position, and not only had I not been understanding, I had made it worse for her.

In retrospect I realized that part of my overreaction was due to the relationship that she and I were forming. The fact that someone I cared about so much was causing me this aggravation colored my judgment and prevented me from seeing that she was not doing any of it voluntarily.

But the other, more significant, reason that I got angry was that she and Matt were right, and I hadn’t seen it. They weren’t right that I had a reason to exact revenge against the people who had become victims, but they were absolutely right about the appearance of it. Be it the bar fight with Bill Norris, or the insurance settlement with George Myerson, or certainly Charlie Price and Frank Granderson, an objective third party would see their point.

And that point would be hammered home that much more effectively when the Granderson murder was reported on and his history with me revealed. There was no ambiguity about that one, and no question that I couldn’t stand the man. His death did not exactly leave me inconsolable.

It was hard for me to judge what the impact of the news would be once the public became aware of it. I wasn’t concerned that people would consider me a suspect in the killings; I was too well-known, and respected, for that to be a likely outcome. Besides, the circumstances of the capsule predictions were so bizarre as to make it even more improbable that I could be involved.

Of course, a few people might consider it, and they could easily be spurred to do so by outside media. It was the kind of thing that makes for a good story, and one the national press might focus on.

But the truth was that it was going to be a distraction, and that was never good in a murder investigation of this type. The public can often be a big help in these situations, and we were asking them to be exactly that. Diverting them with silly stories like this could not be anything but a hindrance.

I called Hank in to talk about the situation and to get an update on our efforts in the field. His immediate reaction to what Katie had to tell me was anger, as I knew it would be.

“Well, that clears that up. You’re the killer. Anything you say can and will be used against you. I’ll go get the damn cuffs.”

“Being pissed off doesn’t get us anywhere, Hank. This situation can be helpful to us.”

“How do you figure?”

“Because it can help us identify the targets. They’re people that I can be seen to have a grudge against. Whether I have one or not.”

“Only you can know that,” he said.

I shook my head. “No, that’s really not true; I wish it was. Because I don’t necessarily have all the facts. For instance, I never could have predicted Bill Norris, because I didn’t even know he was a real estate agent.” I continued. “I’m the best one to figure this out, but not the only one.”

“You want me to put manpower on it?”

“Yes. Have them dig into my life, especially since I entered police work. Find people that I might be perceived to have something against, for whatever reason, and try to match them up with the remaining predictions. Have them search the public record, newspaper stories about me, that kind of thing. I think that’s how the killer found out about my fight with Bill Norris.”

Hank seemed uncertain that the approach would get anywhere, but promised to get right on it.

“What about the leak?” I asked.

He frowned. “If anybody knows, they’re not saying. So officially I have no idea. Unofficially, I have a guess.”

“Who?”

“Mary.”

He was talking about Mary Sullivan, an administrative assistant in the office. I liked her a lot and doubted that she was the one. I hoped she wasn’t even more, since she was a single mother and always seemed to be struggling through life.

“Why?”

“I’m pretty sure she went out with Matt when he first got into town, but yesterday she said she hardly knew him. And she seemed nervous about talking to me about it.”

“Not exactly proof beyond a reasonable doubt,” I said.

He laughed. “Just put me in front of a jury.”

I laughed as well, and there seemed a chance that our conversation could have ended on that upbeat note. That chance was killed when Agent Bennett called.

“We got the ballistics back on the bullet and shell casings,” he said. “The gun was used in a previous murder.”

“Where?”

“Wilton, Maine,” he said. “Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

I was stunned that the gun could have been used in a Wilton murder. “Who was the victim?”

“Cynthia Shales. Domestic violence case. You familiar with it?”

“Of course I’m familiar with it,” I said. “You think this is Chicago?”

“Well, you do seem to have a lot of murders up your way,” he said.

“It was just after I got the job. Her husband caught her fooling around and shot her. He copped a plea before it went to trial.”

“Where’s the husband now?”

“In a cell in Warren.” I was confident in my answer; there was no way that he could have been up for parole already.

“You find the murder weapon?” he asked.

“It was still in his hand when we arrived on the scene,” I said, by then all too aware where the conversation was headed.

“So it should still be in your evidence room?”

“It should be,” I said.

“You might want to check that out.”

Matt Higgins sat down outside Katie’s office at seven
AM
. She had been coming in around that time ever since the capsule story began, in fact, pretty much ever since the hurricane hit. He had written the story about Jake having reason to have a grudge against all the victims and had promised Katie he would show it to her before running it. He was anxious to do so and get it into the paper.

At eight, Katie’s administrative assistant, Nancy Gonchar, showed up. As always, she had stopped for coffee and a bagel, and was bringing Katie a low-fat blueberry muffin. She was surprised to see Katie’s door closed, and Matt sitting there.

“She’s not in there?” Nancy asked.

“No. Did she have an outside meeting?”

“Not that I know of. Maybe she forgot to tell me. I’ll check her schedule.”

She unlocked Katie’s door and Matt followed her in. Nancy turned on Katie’s computer, waited for it to boot up, and then called up her schedule. “Nothing here. Maybe something came up last night, after she left.”

“Can you call her at home?” Matt asked.

“Hey, Matt, I’m the employee, she’s the employer. She doesn’t have to check in with me. You want to call her, be my guest.”

He did not want to do that, so he said, “Okay, but let me know the second she comes in, okay?”

“I will.”

“And if she calls in, tell her I have a story to show her. It’s the one we talked about.”

Nancy promised to do as he asked, but that didn’t stop him from coming by four more times as the morning went along.

At eleven o’clock, she said, “I tried her at home and on her cell. No answer.”

“Does she do this a lot?” Matt asked.