Last Words (8 page)

“Good morning,” Beck said. “Ness, this is Special Agent Mia Shields, from the FBI. She’s here to help out with the investigation. Agent Shields, my sister, Vanessa.”

“Oh. Wow. FBI.” Vanessa looked impressed.

“Good to meet you.” Mia smiled and looked past Vanessa to something that caught her eye in the shop window. The sign over the door read Bling in stylized letters. “You work in this shop?”

“Actually, I own it,” Vanessa told her proudly. “My little piece of the world.”

Mia stepped closer to the window. “You have some lovely things. That’s an interesting bag there…”

“It’s a fabulous bag. Stop in sometime and take a look while you’re here.”

“Ness, Agent Shields isn’t here to shop,” Beck stage-whispered.

“True, but that doesn’t mean she can’t come by when she has a spare minute.” Vanessa smiled broadly at Mia. “Just to look.”

“Maybe I’ll do that before I leave town,” Mia nodded. “Just to look.”

“Good.” Vanessa turned to Beck. “So where are you off to?”

“Just showing Agent Shields around. I want her to have a feel for the town.”

“Don’t forget to show her the houses down around the square. And the old church. Oh, and the Breakstone Inn.” Vanessa turned to Mia. “It’s just gorgeous. We have so many beautiful homes that are totally restored, it’s one of the—”

“I don’t think Agent Shields is interested in an architectural tour,” Beck said.

“Actually, I am,” Mia told him. “It helps get a feel for the town and the type of people who live here. I’d like to see—”

She was interrupted by the sound of Beck’s ringing phone.

“Excuse me,” he said to both women as he took the phone from his pocket and answered. “Beck.”

He listened for several minutes, then said, “Thanks. I’ll get back to you.”

“Problem?” Vanessa asked.

“I’d say so.” He turned to Mia. “The body that was found in my car, the one we believed to be the missing woman from Cameron?”

“Yes?”

“It isn’t.”

“Isn’t…” Mia looked confused.

“It isn’t Mindy Kenneher.”

“So who is it?”

“That’s a damned good question.” He started to cross the street, motioning for Mia to follow.

“I guess if you had a report of a missing local woman you’d have mentioned it by now.” Mia caught up with him on the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street.

“Good guess.”

“So it isn’t the woman you knew about, the one from the neighboring town.” She quickened her pace. “And you haven’t gotten word of anyone else missing?”

“None.”

“Which means he brought her here from somewhere else just to jab at you a little, or someone’s missing who hasn’t been reported.”

“Judging by the appearance of the corpse, this one’s been missing for a while. The flesh was pretty soupy.”

“What’s your guess, weeks?”

“Tough to tell. Even the ME wasn’t sure she’d be able to pinpoint how long the vic’s been dead. Given the heat and the temperature that would have built up inside that plastic wrapping, I don’t know that we’ll ever know for sure how long she’s been dead. Unless, of course, we’re able to identify her and figure out how long she’s been missing.”

“I’ll call someone back at the Bureau, see if he can shoot over a list of women who have been reported missing over the past, let’s say six months in a fifty mile radius. We’ll see if any of them match the vital stats of your vic.” They reached the municipal building and headed for the door.

“I’ll give the ME a call and see what she’s got that we can use. As I said, the body is in pretty bad shape.”

Beck held the door and allowed Mia to enter the building first. Garland was flagging him down with a fistfull of phone messages and Beck grabbed them as he walked by, mouthing a thanks to the dispatcher who was busy taking another call.

“There’s a phone in the conference room you can use,” Beck told Mia. “My office is the next door over. Come on in when you’re finished.”

“I brought my own.” She took her phone from her bag and held it up as she went into the conference room. He had calls to make as did she.

Five minutes later Mia tapped lightly on Beck’s open office door then entered without waiting for his invitation.

“Someone in my office is running through the latest NCIC missing-person entries,” she told him.

“Great. We’ll see if any of them match up with the ME’s best guess.” Beck leaned against the corner of his desk. “She’s thinking the vic is in her mid-twenties, blond hair. Hazel eyes. Five feet six inches tall, weight at the time of her death was probably around one twenty-five. Extensive cosmetic dental work—a lot of porcelain crowns. Expensive stuff. The flesh was in poor condition so she’s not sure of any distinguishing marks like birthmarks. There is an old healed fracture of the right forearm, most likely a childhood injury. And that’s all we’ve got to try to match her up with.”

“If she’s in the system, we’ll have her. If not—”

“If not, we go on the six o’clock news and let the world know what we’ve got. Someone has to be looking for this woman.”

“In the meantime—”

“In the meantime, we wait,” he snapped.

She stared at him for a long time, then said calmly, “I’ll be waiting in the conference room. I’d appreciate it if you’d get me a copy of the files on the two vics—the first one that was found, and the one who’s still missing. In particular, I’ll need to see all the interviews. Family, friends, coworkers.”

He looked at her quizzically.

“Know the victim, know the killer.” She turned and went into the conference room, closing the door quietly behind her.

8

Mia rested an elbow on the edge of the table and tried to brush off the twinge of annoyance that flared inside her when Beck had cut her off. Clearly he was used to being in charge. She could deal with that. All her life she’d been surrounded by men who were used to giving orders. What bothered her about Beck was his seeming dismissal of her.

She wasn’t used to being dismissed.

Pushing aside her personal feelings, Mia searched her phone’s listing of numbers, found the one she wanted, and hit the call button.

Maybe I should remind him that he was the one who called me into this case
, she thought as the number rang.
Okay, maybe not me specifically, but he did call the Bureau looking for help.

“Hey, Will, hi, it’s Mia again. Let me give you a different fax number for that information I just requested.” Voice mail had picked up and she read off the number of the fax machine in the conference room. “I hope you got this message before you left for the weekend.”

She decided to make good use of the few minutes she had to herself. She’d wanted to make a few notes regarding the case, so she took a small notebook and a pen from her bag and began to write a list. At the top went the interviews she’d already requested from Beck, followed by photos of the crime scenes, including the car where the last victim had been left. She’d want to walk Beck’s neighborhood at night and she’d want to see the victims, if possible. And she wanted to listen to the tape. Most of all, she wanted to hear the voice of the man who’d devised such a unique method of disposing of his victims.

She paused with the pen in her hand. It was more than merely a means of disposal, she knew. Wrapping his victims in clear plastic was about control and it was about his need to be up close and personal with their death. He wanted to see, to smell, to experience every emotion, every labored breath, every bit of the struggle of his victim as he wound the plastic closer and closer to her face. The sheer terror as the film covered first her mouth, then her nose, the horror in her eyes, all most likely aroused him unbearably, probably to the point of climax.

She wondered if the plastic wrap had been tested for semen.

But of course, the killer had hosed down the victim that had been left in Beck’s car. Still, there could be some traces inside the folds of plastic. And what about the one left on the porch of her family’s home? She made a note to check that everything that came in contact with both victims had been tested for traces of semen and sweat, including the Prestons’ porch steps and decking.

That, too, was telling as far as this killer was concerned. It hadn’t been enough to make Colleen Preston suffer. He had to make certain that the people who loved her the most saw firsthand just what she’d gone through.

“Could it be personal?” she murmured aloud.

“What?” Beck stood in the doorway. Mia hadn’t heard the door open.

“I was just wondering if the fact that the killer left the first victim—”

“Colleen Preston,” he reminded her.

“Yes, thank you. Colleen Preston. We should use her name. I was wondering if maybe the killer left her for her family to find because there’s some personal connection. Some reason he’d like to rub their face in it.”

“In the fact that she’d been killed?”

“In the manner in which she’d been killed,” Mia corrected him. “He wanted them to know he’d had total control over her body and her life and her death. He wanted them to know exactly what he’d done to her. He wanted them to see just how much she’d suffered. How vainly she’d gasped for air. How terrified she’d been. And that he’d orchestrated it all.”

She stood and began to pace.

“Why else make the tapes? Why let them hear her last words, if not to taunt them?”

“Because he’s a sick son of a bitch.”

“Oh, that he is. But this goes deeper than just being sick. This has a personal edge to it.”

“You could be right about that. Right now, we need to take a drive.”

“Where to?” She slid her bag off the back of her chair and grabbed her notebook and phone from the table, then followed Beck into the hall.

“Sinclair’s Cove. It’s a bed-and-breakfast about a mile outside of town. I just got a call from the owner. He heard about the woman that was found in my car, and thinks he might know who she is.”

“Who does he think she is?”

“One of the grad students who worked for him. She went home for a family wedding in Colorado over the weekend of the first and never came back. Last week he called her parents’ house to find out if she’d quit, but they were under the impression that she was here. The Monday after the wedding, she left home to drive back to the inn. They spoke with her once while she was on the road, but they haven’t heard from her since.”

“And they didn’t miss her until her employer called?”

“She’s twenty-five years old, she’s been living away from home for some time now. I guess she didn’t check in all that often.”

As they walked past Garland, Beck held up his phone, apparently to show the dispatcher that he had it with him.

“Shit. My car…” Beck said when they reached the parking lot and he realized his Jeep was being processed as a crime scene and he’d loaned his cruiser to Hal.

“I’ll drive.” Mia pointed to the black Lexus SUV parked under one of the few trees with a canopy large enough to provide shade.

“Nice wheels,” he said as they walked toward it.

“Thanks.” She unlocked it with the remote, then opened the driver’s side door and slid behind the wheel.

When Beck got in, she said, “So, I guess this story is the big news around town.”

She snapped on her seat belt and turned the key in the ignition, then opened the windows to let out the air that had been cooking inside the closed car despite the fact that the car had been parked in the shade.

“Biggest thing that’s happened in St. Dennis since the British shelled it during the War of 1812.”

She stopped at the entrance to the parking lot to allow a TV news van to enter.

“Keep going,” he told her. “We’re not doing the news thing right now.”

“Which way?” she asked when they reached Charles Street.

“Take a right.”

“I’m going to need to hear the tape he left inside Colleen Preston’s wrappings,” she said as she made the turn. “And I want copies of the photos from both crime scenes.”

“What else?”

“The interviews, I told you that.”

“Anything else?”

“I want to walk your neighborhood at night. The Prestons’, too. I want to see it the way he did.”

“As best we can figure out, he must have been at the Prestons’ between eight and eleven. My place, sometime between one and five.” He glanced over at her. “You go walking around St. Dennis at that hour, I want to know about it.”

“Worried about my safety, Chief?”

“Not funny, Agent Shields.” He turned his face to the window. “Not funny at all.”

“It wasn’t meant to be. For the record, I’m well trained and I’m well armed.”

“Good for you. But you’re also the right age for this wacko to go after. Don’t put yourself in harm’s way.”

“I never do.”

“Make the next right,” he told her.

Sinclair’s Cove was marked by a white sign bearing the name of the inn and adorned with a painted great blue heron that was life-size and expertly done. The drive was tree-lined and reminiscent of the old South. It wound through a forest of azaleas to a clearing, at the far end of which was a house that took Mia’s breath away.

“Wow,” she said. “Take a look at that.”

“It is something,” Beck agreed.

The front of the large white structure was three stories high, with a porch that spanned the entire length, and was adorned with three pillars that went from the porch to the upper roof line. Tall windows graced either side of the front door. The circular drive off to one side of the house left the entire lawn unspoiled, and Adirondack chairs were scattered here and there for the guests to enjoy one of the many views of the bay.

“How old is this place?” she asked.

“Early eighteen hundreds, I think, but you can ask the owner.” Beck pointed to the porch where a well-dressed man stood watching. “Daniel Sinclair the…I don’t know, eighth? Tenth?”

“Come on.” She laughed.

“No, seriously. The house has been in the same family since it was built.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Crazy but true. The guy who owns this place is a direct descendant of the one who built it.”

She parked in front of one of the outbuildings and turned off the engine.

“That’s the river? Or the Chesapeake?” She pointed to the water flowing beyond the rear of the grounds.

“The bay. Most people are surprised when they realize how wide it is.”

“I live almost directly on the opposite Shore,” she said as she opened the door and got out of the car. “No surprise here.”

“Chief Beck.” The man who’d stood on the porch now strode across the well-tended lawn. “Thanks for coming out right away.”

“That’s what we’re here for.” The two men shook hands, then Beck introduced Mia. “Dan, this is Special Agent Mia Shields from the FBI.”

“Called in the big guns, did you?” Daniel Sinclair then offered a smile and a hand to Mia. “Good to meet you, Agent Shields. Glad to know I live in a town where the police aren’t afraid to ask for help when they need it. I have to admit I’m surprised that neither Cameron nor Ballard had the sense to call in the feds.”

“Well, I’m sure the cases are going to overlap,” Mia told him. “We’ll certainly share whatever information we feel is relevant to their respective cases.”

“Good, good.” Sinclair nodded agreeably. “The sooner this bastard is locked up, the better off we’ll all be.”

“Dan, why don’t you tell us about your missing employee?” Beck prompted.

“Holly Sheridan. As I told you on the phone, she asked if she could take a little time off to attend a family wedding in Colorado. At the time, I understood her to mean a long weekend, as in Thursday night through Monday. Of course I said yes. When Wednesday arrived and she did not, I figured I’d misunderstood how much time she’d asked for. When this past Monday came and I hadn’t heard from her, I was getting a little pissed off.”

“You tried her cell phone?” Mia asked.

“Yes, but it always went straight to voice mail. Finally, I figured, enough already. A family wedding’s one thing, but we’d gone beyond the amount of time I felt was reasonable. So I called her parents—we have everyone’s next of kin on file here—but they were as surprised as I was that she wasn’t here. More, maybe, because they’d seen her off the day she left to drive back here.”

“And you said on the phone that was the Monday after the wedding, which would have been July second,” Beck reminded him.

“Right.”

“So we’d give her a few days to drive back from Colorado…” Beck paused, then turned to Mia. “We should check her credit cards, gas cards, ATM withdrawals…”

“And find out what route she was following, check with the state police, see if her car’s been found.” Mia nodded. “Mr. Sinclair, do you know what kind of car she was driving?”

“Holly drove a Ford Explorer. About four years old, I think. White, had some kind of tree-hugger bumper sticker on the back and a thing on the window from the University of Delaware, where she’s in grad school. Hotel and restaurant management. That’s why she was working here, she wanted the experience. Wanted to own her own bed-and-breakfast someday.”

“Was she friendly with anyone here, any of the other workers?”

“Beck, Holly was friendly with everyone, but no one in particular. I can give you a list of everyone who worked her shift, if that would help.”

“It would.” Beck nodded. “Do you know if anyone was bothering her? Or if she was seeing anyone?”

“Tell you the truth, I don’t know anything about her private life. She was living in one of my cottages with one of the other girls, but I never really saw her socialize with anyone in particular outside of work. Holly didn’t seem much for partying. She might go out at night once in a while with a group, maybe to the movies, but if there was any partying going on, I didn’t know about it.”

“What was her job here?” asked Mia.

“Sort of an apprentice chef,” Sinclair told her. “She worked all three meals, wanted as much experience as she could get this summer. Up at the crack of dawn for breakfast, worked straight on through the day until dinner was over.”

“So she really had no time for much of a social life,” Mia said.

“That’s what I was saying. If she was seeing someone, I don’t know when that could have been. She worked her tail off. Sunup to sundown. Her choice, by the way. Like I said, she wanted as much experience as possible.” Daniel Sinclair’s voice dropped. “She used to tell me she’d be the first in line to try to buy this place, if I ever wanted to sell it. Which of course, I never would.”

“Dan, while we’re here, maybe we could take a look at the cottage where Holly was staying,” Beck said.

“Absolutely. It’s the third one from the end, down near the bay. I think her roommate, Elise Hawthorne, is off this afternoon, so let’s walk down and see if she’s in.” Sinclair motioned for Mia and Beck to follow him down a brick path that led in the general direction of the water.

“Maybe while we’re talking with the roommate, you can get to work on that list of employees,” Beck suggested.

“Sure. I’ll take a run up to the office and have it printed off the computer for you.”

“That’d be fine,” Beck told him.

“Mr. Sinclair, Chief Beck was telling me the property’s been in your family for over a hundred years,” Mia said as they walked toward the row of cottages.

“Almost two hundred years,” Sinclair corrected. “My ancestor, Harold Sinclair, built the house, pretty much the way you see it today. It’s been added to a bit here and there over the years, and we’ve kept up with modern conveniences, but I feel confident old Harold wouldn’t have much trouble recognizing his home.” Sinclair smiled. “Actually, there are some who say he’s never left.”

“Are you saying the place is haunted?” Mia asked.

“Depends on who you ask.” He shrugged. “Some claim to have seen a couple in nineteenth-century dress, dancing on the lawn. Could be Harold and his second wife, Felice, could be his son Daniel and his wife Cordelia. She was an English beauty, her portrait hangs in the Blue Room, if you’re interested in taking a look.”