Before She Dies (27 page)
Tell her. Tell her.
“She loved you very much.”
“She loved you very much.”
She swiped away a tear. “I think I’ve hated her all my life.”
“She never hated you.” For several minutes they sat in silence. “Look, Sooner, I’m not so foolish to think we’re going to come together like the Brady Bunch.”
“The who?”
“Never mind. I just want us to be close. No strings. Just friends. Wouldn’t it be nice to know you have someone to call if there is trouble?”
“Sure. I guess.”
“I’m here if you need me.” She reached in her coat pocket. “I want to give you some cash. Think of it as a housewarming gift.”
“Thanks, but no money.”
She dug deeper in her purse for her wallet. “Why not? You can use it to furnish the place.”
“No charity. I work for my money. Period.”
She’d not expected that. “Please take the money.”
“No.”
She shoved out a breath, realizing her respect for the girl had risen sharply. “I’m throwing a charitable fund-raiser. It’s kind of a Halloween theme. Actually my partner is doing all the work. Proceeds go to cancer research. It’s this Saturday.”
“Good.”
“We could use a card reader. Someone to liven up the party. I mean Angie’s got a band and food and jugglers but no card readers. It’s honest work. And it pays well.”
She stared at Charlotte for a long moment. “It’s for charity.”
“Yeah.”
“Sure, I’ll do it. But I’ll donate my services.”
“I want to pay you.”
“No. I can give just like everyone else.”
“I want to pay you.”
“If it will make you feel better, I’ll bring my shiny new business cards and pass them out. I’ll consider it a marketing event.”
Charlotte shook her head. “Why won’t you let me help you?”
“No one helped you.”
“No. And I took some shortcuts that I regret. It would be nice if you could avoid mistakes like that.”
“I won’t make those mistakes.”
Charlotte arched a brow. “Sooner.”
“You’ll keep me on the right path, I’ve no doubt.”
She smiled. “I’m going to do my best.”
The two ate in silence for several minutes before Charlotte said, “I want you to be very careful. There is a nutcase out there killing women.”
“I read about that woman in the paper.”
“You’ll be reading about another one in the morning paper. She was killed the same way.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m in danger.”
“This guy seems to have a thing for strong women and the carnival.”
“Grady’s carnival.”
“I think you could be his perfect victim.”
He dug the knife blade into the end of the wooden shaft and pushed hard until the wood splintered and slid free. Without much thought he repeated the process over and over until the tip of the wood reached razor sharpness. Setting the knife down, he pressed his thumb to the tip, watching in fascination as his skin tore and bled. Smiling, he laid the stake down next to the seven others he’d fashioned.
Four were reserved for Sooner and four for Grace.
Two witches.
Two deaths.
Excitement sent his heart gaveling against his ribs. Their deaths would be a great triumph that he would savor for a very long time. Drawing a breath as he stood, he wiped the blood from his thumb with a rag.
As much as he wanted to stay in this room, sequestered with his thoughts and fantasies, it was time to focus on his life outside. He had another life with people who loved him despite his dedication to justice. Tonight he’d promised his love a real date. It would be time for just the two of them. He would find the right words to say, listen as a lover should, and win back her love.
Even a warrior needed a life outside of battle.
He carefully rolled down the sleeves of his shirt, fastened his cuffs, and then tugged them down over his wrists. The cuts in his arms were bandaged but he still had to be careful. It wouldn’t do to start bleeding again.
As he slid on his jacket, he glanced at the wall where he displayed his photos. They were the faces of evil, the witches he had slain. Maya had brought the number of images to eighteen. Gently he traced the photo image of her terrified face.
Satisfaction collided with anticipation. By Saturday night, the number of photos on his wall would be twenty.
Chapter 18
Thursday, October 28, 11 a. m.
Rokov had expected a needle in the haystack when he’d started searching for Mariah Wells. Armed with her name, a picture, and the date she died, he didn’t hold out much hope that he’d find anything. He contacted the surrounding jurisdictions, gave them her vital statistics, and asked them to check morgue files. He also called Dr. Henson and asked her to review old autopsy files.
It was just after eleven when Sinclair appeared in his doorway, file in hand. “I’ve got all the missing persons reports on women who match our second victim.”
He took the files from her. “Great.”
“Word is you’re asking about another missing persons case. What gives?”
“How do you know everything?”
“It’s a gift. And I’ve also got a file from Fairfax. An officer just dropped it off. It’s the file you requested.”
“Mariah Wells.”
“Jane Doe as far as he’s concerned.” She glanced at the folder tab. “Murdered eighteen years ago.”
Rokov sat back in his chair and dragged his hands over his short hair. He opened the file and examined the autopsy picture. She’d been dead at least a day. Her lips had turned black and her skin a sallow gray. But this was Mariah.
“Who is she?”
“She was Charlotte Wells’s sister. Mariah Wells.”
“Charlotte doesn’t know her sister is dead?”
“She knows. She believes she drowned in an accident.”
“That chick did not die accidentally.”
“You looked at the file already?”
“Sure. It isn’t often you call in favors. That’s not your style. I had to see what all the fuss was about. I take it she’s related to Sooner Tate? Mother?”
“Has to be. She gave birth at seventeen and was murdered shortly after.”
“So Charlotte is the girl’s aunt? Explains why she was with her in court.”
“Yeah.”
“So how did you find out about Mariah?”
“I asked her about working in the carnival. The rumors are true. When I told her about the second murder and that both victims had been to the carnival, she opened up about Mariah. I’m worried that the carnival owner might be involved.”
“What do we know about Grady?”
“He wasn’t at the carnival when I went by. No one has seen him today. I was just reading up on the old guy. Seems he has more than his share of trouble with the law.”
“A carnie butting heads with the law. Shocking.”
“Most of his crimes happened in his teens and early twenties. Stealing. Assault. Drunk in public. But he seems to have settled down by his late twenties. Or at least he got older and wiser and just managed to stay out of trouble.”
“How does he know Charlotte?”
“Her stepfather more or less. I’m not sure if the marriage to Charlotte and Mariah’s mother was legal.”
“How long has he been running the carnival?”
“Thirty years.”
“Wow. Okay. Thirty years.”
Rokov read the file. “Mariah Wells did die. The medical examiner also reported severe bruising around her face and neck, and the report claims she had sex hours before dying.”
“Nasty way for a girl to die.”
“Yeah.”
“How did Grady end up with baby Sooner?”
“He swore to Charlotte that he’d put Sooner up for adoption, but he never did.”
“And that makes him evil why?”
Rokov sat back in his chair. “Because Charlotte said he was jealous of Mariah’s dates. That they fought a lot. And he’s reminding me more and more of a lover rather than a father.”
“Lover to Mariah?” She wrinkled her face in disgust. “He’d have to been about forty to her sixteen when Sooner was conceived.”
“Not the first time an older man took advantage of a young girl.”
“So he knocks up his stepdaughter and then flies into a jealous rage when she dates another boy and kills her. It’s not out of the realm of possibilities. A DNA test would confirm Sooner’s paternity.”
“That will take weeks. And it doesn’t explain how he could be linked to the current murders.” Rokov flipped through the pages of the medical examiner’s report. He clicked through the details: defensive wounds on her hands, tissue fibers under her fingernails, bruises on her arms. And then he found a detail that made him sit a little straighter. “Shit.”
“What?”
“The killer wrote on her body with a pen.”
“What did he write?”
“Witch.”
“Shit.”
“The letters are faded, but the word is unmistakable.” He tapped his finger on the desk. “Let me see the current missing persons reports.”
“We have an ID on the victim,” Rokov said. He stood in Deacon Garrison’s office door not a half-hour after he’d spoken with Sinclair about Mariah. He held a missing person file in his hand.
Garrison motioned for Rokov to come into his office and have a seat. “Tell me.”
“Her name is Dr. Maya Jones. She’s a history teacher at the local community college. She missed all her classes on Monday and Tuesday and so her boss went by her apartment to check on her. She wasn’t home and newspapers had piled in front of her door. Her colleague got worried and called the cops.”
“You’re positive.”
“Fingerprints match.”
“Did she have any connection to Diane Young?”
“The carnival stub. But neither woman was seen at the carnival. Young made her living in astrology and tarot. Dr. Jones researched witches.”
“Our killer has a thing about the occult.”
“Specifically women.” He shifted his stance. “We also have a cold case. A Mariah Wells. She grew up in the carnival and was drowned eighteen years ago. The coroner noted that the killer wrote on her chest. The murder was never solved.” Rokov pulled out the picture and handed it to Garrison.”
“Witch. But no tattoos. He used a marker.”
“Maybe she was his first kill.”
Garrison sat back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Any hits on ViCap?”
“None yet. I’m trying to track down Grady Tate, the owner of the carnival. I want to talk to him, and I want a list of the towns he’s visited in the last eighteen years. Lots of small jurisdictions that might not put a murder in the system.”
“Assuming the bodies were even found.”
“The responding officers in the Mariah Wells case noted that her body had been moved after she was murdered.”
“Was she positioned like our victims?”
“No. In fact, her face was covered with a handkerchief.”
“The killer showing signs of remorse?”
Rokov pulled out a photo of the crime scene. “I think so. Her hands are crossed over her chest. It’s almost like we are dealing with two different people.”
Garrison studied the picture. “Or our killer is simply evolving. He’s just gotten better, more efficient, and less remorseful.”
“Saying she was his first. What was it about her that made him snap and cross over into the world of killers? He had not fully developed his system when he killed her.”
“And because she was his first, maybe the killing was more emotional than he’d expected.”
“Maybe.”
“He’s certainly gotten over his guilt.”
“What’s next?”
“I’m headed over to the community college to speak to Maya’s department chair. See if she had any stalkers or trouble makers.”
“Keep me posted.”
Rokov arrived at the community college’s campus, parked, and made his way into the third industrial brick building and down a polished hallway to the last office on the left. The sign outside read:
Max Boxwood, Ph.D., Department of History.
Max Boxwood, Ph.D., Department of History.
He knocked. “Dr. Boxwood?”
A tall trim man lifted his red-rimmed eyes from a German newspaper. Thick dark hair swept over his turtleneck collar, giving him a boyish look despite crow’s feet that suggested he’d passed forty. “Yes.”
“Detective Rokov. Alexandria Police. Thank you for waiting for me.”
Dr. Boxwood folded his paper and rose. “Of course. Anything I can do to help. We’re all really torn up about Maya. No one can believe it.” He motioned for Rokov to sit in the chair by his desk.
The office was small but neatly organized. The wall behind Boxwood’s metal desk and the one to the right were filled with floor-to-ceiling shelves packed full of books. Neat stacks of periodicals covered the floor behind his chair. The desktop was clean, cluttered only with a closed laptop and a coffee cup.
Rokov took his seat and pulled a slim notebook and pen from his breast pocket. “You knew Dr. Maya Jones well?”
Boxwood nodded. “We worked together the last few years. And I’ll tell you before anyone else does. We were sleeping together. But it wasn’t like we had a relationship. It was just sex. What’s it called? Friends with benefits?”
Rokov hated the term because Charlotte had used it. Hell, he couldn’t even say they were friends, or if there’d be more benefits. “It wasn’t serious between you two?”
“No. In fact, I’m engaged to marry another woman.”
His irritation grew. “And Maya was okay with that?”
“Sure. She knew the ground rules.”
Rokov sat back in his chair. “When’s the last time you slept with Maya?”
“A few weeks ago.”
“And you two parted on good terms?”
Boxwood’s brows rose. “Of course. We were friends.”
“Your fiancée know about Maya?”
“Hey, it’s not how it sounds.” An edge had crept into Boxwood’s voice.
“How does it sound?”
“Like I’m betraying my fiancée. I’m not. I love her. I want to spend the rest of my life with her.”
“So your fiancée doesn’t know about Dr. Jones.”
“Helen? No.”
“You sure?”
Boxwood frowned. “Helen would never hurt Maya.”
“She might not see the benefits as inconsequential as you do.”
Boxwood shook his head. “Helen does not know about Maya. So she cannot be a suspect.” He cleared his voice. “And I’d like to keep it that way.”
“As long as it doesn’t get in the way of the investigation.”
“Look, I’m trying to be open with you.”
“And I appreciate that. But my guess is that you are open because your relationship was so secret.”
“Not in the department.”
“And no one would have leaked your affair to Helen?”
“No. Why would they?”
“Maybe you pissed someone off. It doesn’t take much with some people.”
“Everyone likes me here. I am respected and valued.”
“Right.” He noted Helen’s name in his book. “Was Dr. Jones seeing anyone else?”
He seemed grateful for the shift in conversation. “I don’t think so, but I don’t know.”
“I’d like a list of her students.”
“I’ll get you a printout.”
“She have problems with her students?”
“Not that I know of. And if she did, she didn’t tell me.”
“She have any favorite hangouts?”
“She was crazy for the Just Java coffee shop. Went there almost daily.”
Just Java was the coffee shop near The Wharf. He wrote the name in his book and circled it. If her killer had been stalking her, someone could have noticed him. “Her field of expertise was the Salem witch trials?”
“It was. She’d been working on a book and even got herself written up in the papers last year at just about this time. The reporter was writing a piece on the history of witches, and he interviewed Maya. The article ran right before Halloween.”
So Maya had not been toiling away privately. Her work had gone public, which unfortunately expanded the field of suspects. “Do you have a copy of the article?”
“I’ll take you to her office. It’s framed and on her wall.” Boxwood grabbed a set of keys from his desk and led Rokov three doors down the gray hallway. He opened the door and clicked on the light.
This office was thirty percent smaller than Boxwood’s, and it contained double the books, paper stacks, and magazines. A poster of Salem, Massachusetts, decorated one wall. On the other wall was a poster of
Bewitched
next to
The Wizard of Oz
. Behind her desk was the framed article of her featured in the
Post
. The large article took up most of the Events page and featured Dr. Jones holding a broomstick and wearing a hat.
Bewitched
next to
The Wizard of Oz
. Behind her desk was the framed article of her featured in the
Post
. The large article took up most of the Events page and featured Dr. Jones holding a broomstick and wearing a hat.
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