Authors: Chelsea Cain
Archie reached a hand to the wall just inside the door. Sure enough, after a little fumbling he came across a light switch. He flicked it. The room was instantly illuminated by the yellow glow of an incandescent overhead bulb. The bulb was bare and electrical wires ran across the ceiling and down the wall to the light switch. It looked old and sketchy, but it was electricity. Archie could see more than a few feet in front of him. He squinted as he took in the room. Cobwebs stretched across the corners of the concrete ceiling. Over the years the cement had decayed, and sprinkled the floor with concrete gravel. Pieces of broken brown glass glittered in the concrete dust like tiny flecks of gold. The larger shards of glass had been swept over to a corner, along with a half dozen brown growlers that would have been excellent for storing hooch about eighty-five years ago. A wooden table was pushed up against the far wall, its surface recently cleaned. A black laptop sat at its center.
“You could have hit the light on the way in,” Archie pointed out.
Gretchen bent over and switched off the lantern. “I wanted to see which way you'd run,” she said.
“I'm not letting you out of my sight,” Archie said.
Gretchen took off her white nurse's cap and ran her hands over her blond hair. “How sweet,” she said. She motioned for him to come closer. He walked a few steps and stopped, and she crossed the room to him. Bits of dust and cobwebs clung to her hair and the shoulders of her cape. But her face gleamed with excitement.
“How would you like to catch the man who killed Lisa Watson?” she asked him.
Archie looked at her uncertainly. There was no smirk, no sarcastic glint in her eye. “I'm not convinced that you
didn't
kill Lisa Watson,” Archie said.
Gretchen lifted an eyebrow. “Please,” she said. “Really?”
Archie had assumed she'd brought him here because she knew about the tunnels, and thought the police wouldn't return after serving the search warrant. But maybe that hadn't been it at all.
Gretchen's eyes were bright. “I saw him.”
“You saw him?” Archie repeated. He had no idea what she was playing at.
Gretchen nodded. “That night, at the party, I saw him pick her out.”
Archie rubbed at the concrete grit in his eyes. She was good. He had to hand it to her. She had him. He needed to know more. Even if there was only a tiny chance that she was telling the truth, he had to pursue it. “Tell me,” Archie said with a sigh.
Gretchen moved a little closer to him, radiant in her delight. “I noticed the way he moved through the party,” she said. “He was looking for someone. As soon as he saw her, he started following her. I was intrigued. I knew he was going to kill her.”
“But you didn't try to stop it,” Archie asked.
“It wasn't any of my business,” Gretchen said. “But when he put her in the water, I fished her out for you.” Her eyes were keen and penetrating, a teasing smile on her lips. “I know how you like dead girls.”
Archie swallowed hard, uneasy with her closeness, feeling the itch of their proximity. He slid his hand in his pocket and folded his fingers around the pill bottle, his knuckles pressing against his thigh. “What did he look like?” Archie asked.
“Like you,” Gretchen said. “Like everyone that night. He was wearing a tuxedo and a black mask. But I think I can limit the pool of suspects.” She looked at him eagerly, waiting. But he didn't know where she was headed and could only meet her gaze with a blank look. “He killed her on the island,” she said, leading him, “but there's no footage?”
No footage. Archie's hand was sweating; the plastic pill bottle slipped from his fist. There were cameras all over that island. Gretchen was right. If Lisa Watson had been killed on the island, then the killer had managed to avoid a blanket of surveillance. “He knew where the cameras were,” Archie said. Gretchen was staring at him, nodding as Archie pieced it together. “It's someone who works here,” he said.
Gretchen grinned widely, threaded a piece of hair behind her ear, and leaned forward to put her bare cheek next to his. The edge of her cape brushed against his leg. His fingers circled the round cap of the pill bottle. “There's more,” she whispered.
Acid rose in Archie's throat. “You befriended her,” he said, finally understanding. “When you saw her being stalked, you wanted to be close to her, to see what would happen.” The girl in the bathroom. Ronin had been right. Lisa Watson had come alone. Gretchen had been on the other side of that door. “That was you.”
Gretchen's face glowed with pleasure. “You almost spotted me,” she said. “I saw you come inside the house and I only barely managed to dive into the bathroom in time.” She shrugged. “When I came out, both you and Lisa were gone. I raced to the back door and I saw him leading her away. I followed them. He whispered in her ear the whole way. He stayed off the paths. Out of view of the cameras. I followed in his footsteps. He took her to the boathouse. Into this old tunnel system,” she said. “She went willingly,” she added. “Probably excited to see Al Capone's vault or something.” Gretchen cocked her head and Archie thought he saw something like admiration in her eyes. “It was a good place to kill her. I didn't hear any screaming. He took his time with her. He didn't bring the body up until it was nearly dawn.”
Archie stared at her, desperate for how to respond, his mind racing. He had spent half the night unconscious near the boathouse. Had he been twenty feet away while a girl had been murdered? Had he laid there with a hard-on while some girl was tortured to death? He rubbed his face with his hands, the idea of it almost too awful to contemplate. “At what point did you take me down there?” he asked Gretchen.
Her eyes widened in surprise. “I didn't take you there. You don't remember? You made it out of the house all on your own. He was already in the passage with the girl when you came wandering down the stairs bleeding. I helped you lie down so you wouldn't fall in the pool and drown.” She touched a button on his shirt. “I was taking care of you, darling. I put you someplace where I knew he wouldn't see you.”
But not just anywhere. “Somewhere on camera,” Archie said.
Gretchen smiled. “Yes.”
“You wanted me to see you,” Archie said.
Her eyes smoldered. Archie wanted another pill.
“Did you like it?” she asked huskily. Her hand slithered down the front of his shirt. “Seeing me?”
Archie caught her by the wrist, just as her fingers began to plunge under the waistband of his pants. “You saw him bring the body out of the boathouse?” he asked.
Gretchen twisted her wrist out of his grip. “He brought her body up a half hour before dawn,” she said, as Archie let her slowly walk her fingers back up his shirtfront. “He used a kayak from the boathouse to float her fifteen feet from shore, and then he dumped her.” She drew a small circle over one of his shirt buttons with her finger. “I could tell from the sound of the body going in the water that he'd weighted her down. Once you woke up and stumbled off toward the house, I figured I'd better pull the girl out of the lake, and leave her where you might find her.” She unbuttoned his shirt and moved her finger inside, stroking the scar tissue that pebbled his chest as Archie stiffened. “I borrowed the kayak, untethered her, and I towed her body across the lake to a neighbor's dock.” Her touch felt electric. His skin prickled with heat. “Hauling silt-covered corpses through freezing water is not my favorite way to start the day, so I hope you appreciate it,” Gretchen said. She worked loose a second button and smiled at him playfully. “Happy birthday,” she said.
Gretchen's hand moved deeper under his shirt, her fingers sweeping lightly over his skin. Archie coughed. “You didn't kill her,” he said. “But you let her die.”
“I guess that makes me guilty of negligent homicide,” Gretchen said, her fingertips tracing his heart-shaped scar. The scar had blocked his hair follicles and the skin there was smooth and sensitive. “Do be sure to add that to the list,” she continued. She gave him an exasperated look. “Really, darling, you're nitpicking. I thought you'd be pleased to have a murder to solve.”
Archie pulled away from her, wiped the sweat from his lip, and started buttoning his shirt. “I'm never pleased to have a murder to solve,” he said. His chest burned.
Gretchen glared at him, pouting.
“How did you think this was going to go?” he asked, unable to keep the anger from his voice. “Did you think you and I would do police work together?” Gretchen's psychopathic logic could be bewildering, but this was insane even by her standards. “We tried that, didn't we?” Archie added. “Back when you said you were a consulting psychologist.” Back when she'd betrayed him, tortured him, left him in a medically induced coma for a month, destroyed his marriage. “Maybe no one ever made it official,” Archie said, “but you're fired.” He looked Gretchen in the eye. “You let that girl die. You disturbed evidence. You didn't do any of this as some deranged birthday present for me. You did it for fun, for your own satisfaction.” He could tell he was right by the defiance in her face. “Tell me something,” he said. “Back at the lake, when you were on top of me, what were you thinking about? Were you imagining him raping and murdering that girl?” Their faces were inches apart. “Did it excite you?”
Gretchen went rigid. For a moment Archie thought he had pushed her too far. But then the corner of her mouth turned up in a smile. She liked it when he could figure her out. She looked at him without blinking. Smirking like that, splattered with fake blood, she looked deranged.
“You'll catch him for me,” she said with certainty. “You'll have to.” Her eyes flashed with determination. “Remember, you're a hero. This is what heroes do. She wasn't his first kill. He knew what he was doing. He was organized. He knew what he wanted.”
Archie turned away and rubbed his face with both hands, trying to think. She was right. If she was telling the truth. Targeting a stranger, luring her to a killing ground, and then disposing of the bodyâthese all indicated the work of a serial killer. If Gretchen hadn't pulled Lisa Watson's corpse up, they wouldn't even know there'd been a murder. How many women had this man killed whose bodies hadn't surfaced, who were maybe in the lake right now? If Gretchen was telling the truth. If.
If
. “I want to see Susan,” Archie said, turning back.
“Not yet,” Gretchen said. She ran her finger along the collar of his shirt and looked up at him coyly. “Ask me how we're going to do it.”
Of course. Archie had forgotten whom he was dealing with. Gretchen Lowell always had a plan. “How are we going to catch him?” Archie asked.
Gretchen straightened his collar. Then she turned smartly and walked to the table and opened the laptop. “I know where he buried the knife,” she said over her shoulder. She threw Archie a smug smile. “A hundred cops just searched the island,” she said. “What do you think the odds are he'll move it?”
Archie's mind was reeling. Had Gretchen really engineered a police search of the island in order to drive the killer back to where he'd stashed the weapon?
Gretchen's attention was back on the screen. She lifted a finger and beckoned him without looking. “Come, darling,” she said.
He went to her, beads of broken glass crunching lightly under his feet. The light from the computer gave her white dress a gentian glow. As he stepped beside her he saw that the laptop screen showed another video feed with the same telltale time stamp at the bottom. More surveillance footage. It took Archie a moment to puzzle out what he was seeingâtree trunks, low bushes, rocky earth. An outdoor light nearby provided just enough illumination to make out grainy shapes, but no real clarity.
“I accessed the island's security cameras,” Gretchen explained. “I had to adjust the angle of one of the cameras. This spot wasn't visible originally. Luckily it all looks the same, so I don't think anyone on Jack's crack security detail has noticed yet.”
Archie studied the muddy black-and-white images on the screen. “Where is this?” he asked.
“Behind the boathouse,” Gretchen said.
“You saw this man lead the victim into the boathouse, and then dispose of her body and bury the knife there?” Archie asked, making sure he understood. If she was right, then there would be evidence on the knife. If the killer had buried it right away, he wouldn't have had time to clean it up. It would have Lisa Watson's blood on it. It might even have the killer's prints. Archie needed to get to that knife. He needed to call Henry. He turned toward the door. But before he could move, Gretchen stepped in front of him.
For a moment, Archie had forgotten.
“Look,” Archie said, trying to make her understand. “We can't ID him from the video,” he explained. “It's too dark, and it certainly isn't admissible. If he does come back for the knife, I want to be there to witness it. We might not even need him, if I can recover the knife and get it to the lab.”
She gave him a sympathetic frown. Then her blue cape fluttered.
Archie felt a flash of pain and a pressure in his abdomen. He looked down. Gretchen's fist was pressed against his belly, her fingers around the handle of a scalpel. The blade was inside him, below his left rib cage. The blade could be an inch long or six inches. However long it was, she'd driven it into him up to the hilt.
“Remember why you're here,” she said fiercely. Her left eye twitched. “I'll kill your little pigeon if you're not nice to me.”
Archie remained perfectly still. Gretchen knew where to put a blade in where it would hurt the worst without actually killing him. He didn't want to pull away and risk throwing off her aim. She directed the scalpel slightly upward, and Archie inhaled sharply. The pain was intense now, a worsening cramp. He made himself take a few long, slow breaths.
Use the pain. Let it do its work.
His senses sharpened. She smelled like lilacs. The back of his neck was on fire. “Pull it out,” he said between gritted teeth.