Red Silk Scarf (32 page)

____________

           
Wearing a disguise, thanks to
Michael’s ingenuity, Cassidy spent ten exhausting hours at the library
reviewing newspaper headlines for New York, Chicago and L.A., articles
prompting a thirst for answers that caused goose bumps and raised the hair on
her skin.
  

           
Returning to the hotel, using a
computer, Cassidy inputted the newly obtained information, the results making
her stare in disbelief while another tissue found a multitude already scattered
on the floor.
 
Strained vision mixed with
insomnia made eyes sting and throb.
 
She'd taken too many painkillers, guzzled too much cola, and ignored a
stomach bubbling and heaving from excessive caffeine and lack of nourishment.

           
The serial killer had crossed state lines,
the reason for the FBI’s involvement therefore Internal Affairs was not working
alone.
 
This case was much more complex
than the facts revealed to the investigating team, and in all probability to
Dan.
 
Bottom line, she wasn't the only
one being “used.”
 

Now as Cassidy
reflected, obtaining the job had been too easy.
 
A genius was already in charge orchestrating a master plan.
 
Someone, who knew about her enthusiasm and
qualifications, an agent who wanted her to believe the plan, was her idea.
  
Actually, she should be flattered for having
met the stringent requirements of the Federal Government, but now, anger had
taken control.
 

           
On the contrary, the FBI never gave
a damn about human sacrifices when it came to achieving results.
   
Ben's blood was on their hands and she
wanted answers.
 
No matter what the
reason, love, money or power, revenge was uppermost in a killers mind.
 
Now Cassidy understood what might make someone
no matter whom or what they once were, kill.
         

           
Newly uncovered information ate away
at Cassidy's self-control.
 
Ben wasn't
the gunmen’s target after all.
  
Maybe if
she’d known, then again, such knowledge would have placed her in more danger
than she already was.
 
This time she
couldn't jump to conclusions.

           
Another disguise allowed purchasing
the plane ticket required to access crucial evidence.
 
A mission, upon successful completion, that
made it evident how easily someone could change their looks, their identity.
 
How easy it would be for someone to get away
with . . . murder.

           
Reflections of the person who was
withholding the conclusive information necessary to solve the mystery made her
shudder.
 
Trepidation chilled the
perspiration oozing maddeningly from pores.
 
Surely, if there were anything substantial in her stomach, she would
have retched every ounce.
 
“Calm down,
Cassidy,” her internal senses scolded.
 
Emotional stability was the only key to surviving the holocaust lurking
at her doorstep.

           
Listlessly, she showered, the warmth
of the water as she lingered never quite reaching bones aching and whining for
rest.
 
Facing the mirror, she examined
her battle dress.
 
A sufficient amount of
satin and lace concealed what little remained for the imagination with black
leather shorts allowing just enough buttocks exposure.
 
An image that made her extremely
uncomfortable and caused shivers to race over her skin from knowing that if she
bent over her breasts might escape the strapless lace top.
 
Shaking embarrassment off, using eye drops to
remove telltale signs of fatigue, she drank a hot cup of strong coffee mixed
with a shot of whiskey to bolster her stamina.
 
War paint applied, slipping feet into red leather knee high boots, eyes
raised to the ceiling, she prayed her mother in heaven couldn't see her.

The flashing
light on the answering machine halted an otherwise hasty exit.
  
Positive the message was from Dan; Cassidy
almost ignored the summons until remembering they were transferring calls from
her cell.
 
Possibly a call from the one
person she was unprepared to face.

“Jesus Christ,
Cassidy, where, in hell, have you been?
 
I'm worried sick.
 
Pick up the God
dam phone.
 
I know you're there.
 
I have to explain. Dammit, no matter how hard
I try to keep your memories from strolling through my mind, they seep in and
take control.
 
You're driving me
crazy.
 
I can't take not seeing you any
longer.
 
Meet me at your apartment at one
a.m.
 
If you don't, I swear, I'll come
after you.”
 
A threat Cassidy knew
Sullivan planned to fulfill.

The mere sound of
Sullivan's voice made ankles unstable as though his voice had knocked the floor
from under her feet.
 
Unable to gain
equilibrium, Cassidy literally collapsed into a chair attempting to regroup her
scattered confidence as the remaining recorded messages played.
 
The majority were from Dan the volume of his
vocal cords exceeding normal limits turning his third message explosive.
 
Apparently, she had a way about her that
pushed everyone's button; men in particular, damn them all to hell.

An unexpected
frantic feminine voice jerked Cassidy to her senses.
 
So surprised was she, she played it
again.
 
Vera needed to see her at once,
she rambled with urgency.
 
Cassidy was to
come to the apartment, “Now,” she begged, while Patrick and Pamela were
out.
 
Odd, Cassidy thought, before
receiving the call she was on her way to see Vera, the person she needed to
interrogate that hopefully could provide the last piece of evidence.

Cassidy's hand
was on the doorknob when the phone rang again.
 
Though time was running out, the annoyance forced her to acknowledge the
interruption.
 
There was no hello, just a
jarring deep, bellowing laughter vibrating her wits to full alert.
 

“Did you think
you'd escape my wrath, shame, shame, someone so worthy of my undivided
attention.
 
I've been watching you, following
you, waiting.
 
Our excursion to Chicago
was quite enjoyable, I’m sure you agree.
 
My, my, your perception is exceptional, your disguise quite impressive.
 

Each of your
discoveries has brought me more pleasure than your body.
 
Except when you're sleeping, that’s when
you’re divinely beautiful, your breasts and the sweet buds of your nipples that
I plan to suckle.”
 

God, dear God,
Cassidy screamed aloud.
 
The killer had
been in her apartment, watching her while she slept, when, how?
 
How long had he been spying on her?
  
At any time anywhere he could have pounced
upon her, killed her especially now that he knew where she’d been, and that
she'd found evidence.
 

 
No longer did she have privacy or
protection.
 
Dammit, that’s what she
demanded.
 
The worst part was the killer
was perceptive enough to know she'd want it that way.
 
Well, no Brady went down without a fight.

“Now that you
think you know who I am, isn’t it time you had a real man, sugar britches?
 
Watching you, dress for me tonight has made
my dick hard and ready.
 
How nice of you
to select my favorite colors, the perfect outfit for all my evening plans.” It
was obvious that their conversation was nurturing his lust for her, despite the
device camouflaging his voice, his breathing had altered and the pitch had
changed.
 

Switchblade eyes
sought the window, and then the door.
 
She swore the knob moved.
 
The
lump of fright shooting into her throat gagged her.
 
Terror on full alert brought murder to
mind.
 
Could she, would she.
 
Yes!
 
Revenge laced her reply, and starched her words making them stiff and
brittle, “Come and get me.
 
I'll be
waiting.”
 
Intending to antagonize him
further, she hung up.

Wearing a
lightweight overcoat that swallowed her frame and met her ankles, even knowing
the killer might be following her, Cassidy managed to collect herself.
 
Daylight was her insurance.
  
If he kept to his pattern, he wouldn't
attack until the sun went down.

Ducking quickly
into Vera's apartment, Cassidy secured each lock before turning to face Vera’s
distress twisted features.
 
The box
clutched in Vera’s hands was shaking in rhythm with her body making Cassidy
wonder if the poor soul had lost all realms of sanity.

“Thank God.
 
Thank God you're here,” relief expelled on
the wave of Vera’s breath.
 
Tears
collided with others as she spoke.
 
“I
can't explain, but deep down something told me to call you.
 
I have to trust someone. Lord in Heaven, I
have to do something.
 
I can't sit on
this time bomb any longer.”

Vera made it to the
kitchen table before her trembling jarred the box from her hands.
  
It seemed an eternity before condemning
evidence measured the surface the sound of articles striking like nails driven
into a coffin, the last to spill, the key to the mystery, a red silk
scarf.
 

As they stared at
the debris, both were unable to move, or speak.
 
Neither could believe the truth taking on life.
 
Grabbing her chest, Vera staggered.
 
Barely catching her in time, Cassidy helped
her into a chair.
 

Returning her
glance to the evidence confirming her suspicions, all Cassidy saw was her heart
barely beating.
 
She didn't know how to
stop blood after a rush, or how to teach a heart to beat again.
 
Dear God, her father never taught
insensitivity.

Like waves,
thoughts came eating away at her confidence.
 
Despite all the evidence she’d collected, the newly discovered evidence
was not making sense.
 
Was it possible
she was wrong about who the killer was?
  
Thoughts of Sullivan screeched to the surface.
  
Cassidy plucked a handful of tissues, some
for Vera, and a wad for herself.

           
Long moments elapsed until, when
least prepared, peering between sparse eyelashes Vera spoke, “You're not a
prostitute are you,” her voice wobbled.

           
No longer was there a reason to lie,
particularly now when a mother’s all-knowing gaze held hers.
 
Like a shade eyelids lowered as embarrassment
iced her confession, “No, I'm not.”

           
Stiffening in the chair, in a pitch
slightly stronger, “And you're not Patrick's friend.”
 

A ball chucked full
of indefinable regret blocked Cassidy's throat.
 
No matter how much she wanted to contradict the woman, she couldn't,
“no,” fluttered out.
  
Mortified by her
deceit and the love ballooning her chest whenever Sullivan wandered into her
thoughts Cassidy quickly looked away.
 

           
“You're here to find out if my son
is the killer, aren't you?”
 

Outwardly, there
were no signs of bruises from Vera's blow; inwardly the considerable affect had
Cassidy screaming their discomfort.
 
“My
son,” even stretching her imagination, Cassidy couldn't imagine how a mother
would feel under the circumstances.
 
However lost for words she was, the truth begged for release.
 
No matter when she told Vera, the infliction
would not be less painful.
 

“Several innocent
women have been brutally murdered.
 
The
person responsible must be stopped.”
 
A
statement spoken with more determination and resolve than Cassidy felt in a
long time.

Vera's head
slumped lower with each shake back and forth, “I know, I know.”
 
Pausing briefly to inhale fortification, her
posture sagging a little more with each word, “Whatever your part is in this, I
don't want you to be the next victim.
 
That's why I called.”