Wolfwraith (29 page)

It was too late to back out. He’d already told Lorene everything, damn near. Yet the only hard evidence linking False Cape Frank to the murders was a tire track, which no longer existed. And—even if Alex hadn’t run over the track—they didn’t have Frank’s bike to compare tread patterns.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Say, you don’t think it was my fault, do you?

It was late afternoon before the task force members, joined by Detective Moon in mid-session, finished asking Shadow about Helen’s information.

Running out to his truck through a second summer storm, he checked in with Alex by radio and was assigned to help the other rangers close the park. Searching for the killer was left to the swarms of law-enforcement people.

Closing the park was so similar to the situation after the murders of Jonesy and Jenny, Shadow was reminded of the Yogi Berra line Jonesy had used so often. “Déjà vu all over again.”

Later in the day, Shadow chanced on Steve Slocum grabbing a couple of sandwiches from a folding table on the contact station’s porch.

“Hey, got a minute?” Shadow asked.

“I guess.”

“Let’s walk down the road.” Shadow nodded his head in a direction away from the cops and the inevitable crowd of reporters hanging around the station.

As they walked away, Shadow noticed he had to slow his pace to stay even with Slocum. Doesn’t the man do anything fast? When they were out of earshot, Shadow asked, “Did you check the south road for tracks?”

“Sure did,” Steve replied, around bites of his sandwich. “No bike tracks, at least not recent ones. The rain had washed the sand pretty clear and I’d have seen if there were any, even if I’m not the human bloodhound you are, the way you backtracked that pig, I mean. Only thing I saw was footprints goin’ across the road—only the one set.”

“Where was that?”

“Goin’ toward the cemetery, but it was right where the cemetery trail crosses, prob’ly nothin’ to it. The tracks weren’t headed out of the park. There was a passel of people in the park, on accounta it bein’ a Saturday—and that’s a popular trail, y’know. Say, you don’t think it was my fault, do you? Leavin’ her alone there?”

“No. Don’t feel guilty about it. Hell, like you said earlier, the cops said they had the killer. Anyway, I wanted to ask you if you’d seen any tracks; the rain will have washed them away since then.” They talked for a few moments more and then walked back to the contact station to resume their duties.

* * * *

By the time the sun went down, Shadow was exhausted. All the visitors had been shepherded away and the cape was once more under police occupation. As he turned off the gravel road by the cottage that had once been Jenny’s, the tape barrier and floodlights set up in his front yard startled him, despite expecting it. There was a difference when it was your own house.

He’d been thinking about a shower and bed, but now what could he do? Even if the cops were through inside the house and let him in, how would he relax with all the lights and commotion going on outside?

He drove off the path and weaved between the trees to the Taj Mahal. It was only thirty yards or so from the latest crime scene, but the trees would buffer him from the turmoil of the murder investigation. Jonesy’s bunk was still there; Shadow could sack out in the trailer.

No one seemed the least bit interested in him and he wondered if the cops would even notice if the killer walked openly along, mistaking him for one of the searchers. Maybe the murderer was hiding in plain sight. The cops’ floodlights lit up the area, but there were plenty of deep shadows behind the trees and bushes. Even if he was seen, who’d know Frank—if he was the killer—wasn’t just one of the cops?

Shadow stopped in front of the Taj Mahal and got out. The trailer’s door was never locked, so he turned the knob and walked in to a musty, warm darkness. Without turning on a light, he opened the refrigerator and found four beers, the remains of a six-pack. With the beer dangling from his hand, he walked over toward the Wash Woods Dock and the E.E.C.

The setting seemed unreal to Shadow. This time last night, he’d walked along here and it had been silent, with only the occasional hum of a mosquito. It had been a moonless, dark night, especially quiet because Jenny’s cottage and the Taj Mahal stood empty. Shadow was the only resident of Wash Woods now. Even though he had been in pitch-blackness, walking where two people had been killed on an earlier night, he had felt at ease, thinking the culprit had been arrested.

Now the bright glare of strong lights stabbed through the trees, making distinct lines between brightness and shadow like a black-and-white surrealist painting. Men shouted back and forth and car engines hummed, and even with all the cops around, he felt uneasy.

Stepping up onto the dock, he went around the corner of the boathouse where he and Lorene had so recently waited out the rain. Here, where the lights didn’t reach and the men’s voices were but a murmur, he slumped down to sit along the wall with his back against the weathered boards. Popping the top from one of the cans, he sipped the cold liquid, ignoring the stings of the few mosquitoes not blown away by the breeze off the bay. He tried to pretend it was just another evening, but knew the park would no longer be a haven for him, even if it stayed open. Maybe he should start looking for another job now, rather than wait.

He heard a scuffing noise and felt a slight shaking of the planks beneath him. Someone had come onto the pier. One of the cops investigating the murder? Unlikely. He remembered his recent thought that the killer could be using the confusion to move about. There was no sound of footsteps, but he could tell someone was coming toward him by the vibration of the pier.

Setting the can down quietly, he pulled his automatic from its holster. He slid the breech open and then closed it again, seating a bullet and cocking the hammer. Despite his efforts at silence, a slight, double click sounded.

The vibrations stopped.

“Shadow, if you kill me,” came Lorene’s voice, “I’m going to hold it against you for the rest of my life.”

“Goddamnit, Lorene,” he said. “You’d deserve it for sneaking up on me.” Gripping the gun’s hammer with his thumb, he eased it down softly. He set the safety and put the gun on the boards next to his leg.

Lorene’s shadow came around the corner. The yellow globe of the moon was behind her, almost like a halo.

“I wasn’t sure exactly where you were. I was about to call out when I heard you jack in a round,” she said. “I didn’t mean to sneak up. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“You’re not. Have a seat. Any distraction from this god-awful racket inside my skull is welcome. Care for a beer?”

“Hell, yes, best proposition I’ve had all day.” She sank down next to him in the shadows. “Or maybe not. I seem to remember this shack from earlier today.”

“Was it today?” He asked flatly, opening a beer and handing it to her. “Seems like last week.”

“I wanted to talk,” she said

“About what?”

“I could tell—back when we were looking for the killer—you were annoyed with me.”

“A little.” Shadow he admitted. “But I’m over it. It’s only because you come on pretty strong when you’re on the job.”

“I know and I apologize. Still...” She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the lips. “We’re just getting to know each other and I don’t want to mess up a good thing.” She pulled away but now she sat with her side against him.

“I’m glad.” Shadow knew he was grinning from ear to ear. “Do that again and all is forgiven.”

“Let me take a drink of this first.” She took a swig of beer. “I saw you come this way and followed you. We’re going to be too busy for a few days to get together again, I imagine. I want—and I don’t want you to think I’m bold—to let you know I wouldn’t mind going out with you again.”

“Oh, never bold. Why you’re one of the quietest, shyest F.B.I. agents I ever kissed—not that I’ve kissed very many, mind you.”

“Anyway, I was frustrated earlier today. We must have really been close behind him.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Then, it rained while you and the others were questioning me about the park being sold. Up until then, I was hoping to track that bicycle.”

“That wasn’t all the rain screwed up. They brought in a bloodhound but he got here after the downpour and he couldn’t get the scent.”

“Hmmph. They should have done that when Jonesy was killed.”

“Damn right we should have, but we’re all city cops; nobody thought of it. And, anyway, we didn’t have anything—nothing we could be certain the killer had touched—either time for the dog to sniff so he’d know who to track.”

They sat in silence for a while.

Then Lorene said. “You know, I’m beginning to think you could have something—it’s a little hard to accept because he’s an old man—but you might be on track with your False Cape Frank idea.”

“He’s not just an old man. He’s a crotchety old man and I think he’s got a screw loose.”

“Even so. Did you know we had a profiler look at this case?”

“Somebody mentioned it.”

“We’ve been looking for a guy around thirty-five, lives alone, probably a hunter since he seems to prefer stalking his victims in the great outdoors. But...” She drank again. “That was figuring on some aspect of sex as a motive and you’ve given me doubts.”

“I’ve wondered about it.” Shadow opened a second can and sipped. “Sexual serial killers I mean. If it’s sex—and I don’t mean just in this case—why are the victims killed? Why go beyond rape?”

“If we’re talking hypothetically, it’s mainly because she’s a witness. That’s true in almost all of the pedophile cases, I’m told. But once in a while, it’s because the guy gets off on death—makes the sexual thrill higher, they say. Some of those guys keep doing worse and worse things to their victims. They get jaded and have to keep topping themselves.” She took another drink and then sat the can on the dock, empty by the sound of it. “Another sort wants the notoriety, sends notes to the cops, thinks he’s smarter than everyone else.”

“So what type did the profiler say this guy is?” He handed her the last beer.

“He enjoys killing. Not much time between kills, and the throat thing might be part of his sexual kinkiness. Some type of, well, you’ve heard of foot fetishists, haven’t you? Maybe this guy has a throat fetish.”

“That leaves me out. Personally, I’m not a toe man, and throats don’t do much for me either. But you said that kind of killer keeps doing worse things.”

“Not all of them,” she said. “And we don’t know if this guy has killed before somewhere else in the country and now upped the ante to ripping throats out. I searched the database and there’ve been no earlier killings like these. Not anywhere.” He felt her shrug. “As a matter of fact, there isn’t much we do know for sure. Except for Jennings being involved.”

“Involved? But not the killer?” He had a sudden thought. “Say, he wasn’t let out on bond or anything, was he?”

“No, we checked that right away. It sure seems to let him off the hook, but we’re not letting him go right away, just in case.”

“So what’s next? As far as the task force is concerned?”

“We keep searching the park, first of all. I asked for the job of checking out the history of this Frank guy. Morrow will look into the rest of your story—the governor and all.”

“Why did you take the job of finding out about Frank?” he asked.

“Because I’m beginning to think you make sense. You and your crazy hunches. You’ve made me doubt the profile we’ve been looking for.” She polished off her beer. “Now, let me give you that kiss and I’ll get back to work.”

She brought her face to his and this time, her mouth was open and hot against his lips.

When she had drawn away again, he said, “Mmm, now that one was as good as earlier. By the way—I meant to ask—do you always kiss like that on the first date?”

“No,” she said, rising. “Never.”

Then she was gone.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The killer cleared the park for us, didn’t he?

The next morning, on his way up the central road to the contact station, Shadow pulled over several times to allow police vehicles by. He had to give way because his four-wheel drive, unlike theirs, could handle the soft sand on the edge.

He had spent a mostly sleepless night in the Taj Mahal, trying to ignore the lingering memories. This morning, he had gotten clothing and some other things from his house, under police supervision. Even though there was no indication the killer had been inside Shadow’s house, they were taking no chances that evidence might be overlooked. This morning, with the visitors gone, he hoped to join the police in the search, but it wasn’t to be.

Alex assembled the rangers in the main office. “They’re predicting landfall for the hurricane near mid-day tomorrow. We’re in the middle of the projected path, but warnings are up for all Eastern Virginia and Carolina’s Outer Banks. We’ve been ordered to make preparations, following the park service’s emergency plans.”

“But what about that there killer?” Steve Slocum asked. “He might still be in the park.”

“If he is, let’s hope the police find him. The good news is the storm has been downgraded to a three.” Alex turned to Mark Wilson. “Since our mechanic is...,” he paused and gave a wry grin, then continued, “unavailable, I’d like you to make sure the Terra-Gator is gassed and ready to go. While you’re at the garage, put everything inside or tie it down. We’ll evacuate all park personnel for the storm, of course. The entire coastline is under order to evacuate, and we might need to use the Terra-Gator to get back into the park after the storm.”