“He planned this all along, didn’t he?”
“He had his ticket before I arrived with the doughnuts this morning.”
Mackenzie sighed. “The man’s relentless.”
“I’m not going there,” T.J. said with a small chuckle. “Stay safe, Mackenzie. This guy -”
“I know. It’s that hydrangea. Creepy.”
This time, T.J. didn’t laugh.
When she hung up, Mackenzie debated waiting in the local diner and watching for black sedans, but she didn’t. She wanted to see Bernadette, and, she thought, the lake, the shed, the brush where her attacker had hidden, the route he’d taken into the woods. The entire scene, with fresh eyes.
Jesse Lambert.
The name didn’t do anything for her. It was still the eyes that seemed familiar.
Thirty-Two
Bernadette unlocked the padlock on the shed door. She’d walked down here, realized she didn’t have the key, then had dragged herself back to the house to hunt it down. She knew she was more annoyed than the situation warranted, but the padlock was another reminder of what had gone on here last week, when she was in Washington, oblivious. Just as she’d been when Cal had slipped up here with his women.
She felt violated. The lake was her refuge, but she could no longer pretend she could simply dismiss what had gone on here over the past few months.
With a burst of frustrated energy, Bernadette pulled open the shed door. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d locked it. She’d never worried about burglars – there was nothing of real value inside. Occasionally, she worried about kids sneaking in and making off with the canoe or the kayaks and ending up drowned. But it wasn’t enough to make her change her habits. Kids had never been a problem on the lake.
Even Mackenzie, Bernadette thought as she wrestled the lock from the latch. She’d been spirited – a hellion, according to Gus – but normal, wandering off on her own, not so much fearless as unaware of any dangers lurking out in the woods.
Bernadette let her gaze drop to the old bloodstains on the concrete floor. If only she could go back in time and warn Kevin Stewart about his saw, tell him to inspect it for problems.
If only she could go back in time and find him herself, and keep his eleven-year-old daughter away.
But how many times had she looked at a defendant in the courtroom and known he was running a litany of if-only scenarios through his head? Not all defendants had regrets, or regrets for the right reasons, but some did.
She propped the door open with a rock she kept nearby just for that purpose. She wanted to stay focused and keep moving, hoping activity would renew her spirits. She’d slept poorly, and as much as she’d appreciated Gus’s concern for her, she couldn’t stand having anyone around her right now. It wasn’t him. It was her – her fatigue, her mounting sense of doom and depression.
Maybe she should just grab her garden tools and dig weeds for the rest of the day.
But she pictured Mackenzie fighting for her life in front of the shed. And Harris, five years ago, coming to the lake to tell Bernadette in person that he was in trouble. He’d found her in the shed, looking for her favorite kayak paddle.
This place is bad luck.
As she stood on the threshold, she realized she’d forgotten why she’d even decided to open up the shed. Not nostalgia, that was for damn sure.
I’m losing my mind.
She stepped back out into the sunlight. Ordinarily, the cool, bright morning would have had her out on the lake by now, kayaking, swimming, watching the loons, but not today.
“Hello, Judge Peacham.”
A man emerged from the tangle of brush and small trees between the shed and the lake front. Startled, Bernadette almost fell backward, but she maintained her balance and stared at the man, recognizing him – the dark hair flecked with gray, the pale gray eyes. He wore expensive hiking clothes and boots but seemed at ease in his surroundings.
He smiled at her. “Beanie – that’s what they call you up here, isn’t it?”
It took a moment for her to place where she’d seen him before and remember his name. He wasn’t from Cold Ridge. “Jesse,” she said. “Jesse Lambert, right?”
“That’s right, Judge.”
His tone was calm, controlled, but something about his manner unnerved her. She took a step back from him, but remained polite and nonconfrontational. “We met a few months ago…”
“That’s right. At a boring Washington party. It’s much nicer up here.” He breathed in the pleasant air, but his eyes – such strange eyes – never left her. “I love it, don’t you?”
Bernadette felt a pang of real fear. She remembered now. Cal had introduced them at a cocktail party they’d both attended, separately. As she recalled, he’d indicated that Jesse Lambert was some kind of consultant with a small company based in Virginia. She’d run into him on at least two more occasions, but she hadn’t really paid any attention. She had many casual acquaintances and hadn’t thought twice about Jesse Lambert.
“Did you come up here with Cal?” She struggled to keep her tone light. “If you two want to borrow a canoe or a couple of kayaks, by all means -” But she broke off abruptly. The way he stared at her was as frightening as anything she’d witnessed in her years as a prosecutor and a judge.
“That’s not why I’m here. You know that, Judge.”
“I only know you’re a business consultant of some kind.”
“Cal and I did a few deals together. And Harris,” Jesse added with a cold smile. “Oh, wait. Let’s be accurate. J. Harris Mayer. Always a stickler for accuracy, your friend Harris.”
Bernadette gasped, her knees weakening. “I haven’t seen Harris in ages.” She didn’t dare say she knew he was dead. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”
“He’s the one who introduced me to Cal.”
She was too shocked to respond. What else didn’t she know? Yesterday, she’d learned about Cal taking women here to the lake – and Harris’s murder, she thought. She’d tried not to envision him lying dead in the run-down rooming house, but rather how he’d looked during his many visits to the lake with his wife and children, in happier days, before he’d let his compulsions dominate him. Or maybe they always had, but he just hadn’t been caught and exposed.
“Aren’t you going to ask me how I know Harris?”
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. Just tell me what you want.”
Jesse pointed at her, almost with glee. “I know Harris because of you.”
“I don’t understand. I didn’t meet you until Cal introduced us -”
“I know. Complicated. But Cal and Harris are irrelevant right now.”
His stark words jolted Bernadette. “Jesse,” she said, her voice cracking, “where is Cal?”
Ignoring her question, he glanced at the shed, the brush, as if he hadn’t noticed them before. “I heard about the marshal attacked out here.”
It was you, you bastard.
Bernadette could see that he was enjoying manipulating her. As surreptitously as she could, she took another step back. She knew the lake, the woods around her house. If she could get away from him, she’d have at least a chance to run, elude him until she could get help.
But if she was right and he was the man who’d attacked Mackenzie last week, he could know the area as well as she did.
Get to your car. It’s your best hope. And keep him talking until you can make your move.
She tried to steady herself. “Jesse, why are you here?”
“I’m like you. I don’t want to get bit by what Cal’s into.”
She faked a laugh that sounded even more hollow and weak than she’d expected. “You’re a wealthy, respected businessman. How could anything in which Cal might be involved hurt you? And he and I are divorced. I’m not worried -”
“If you cooperate, he’ll live,” Jesse said abruptly. “If you don’t, it’s simple. He’ll die.”