“That’s exactly who I’m talking about. Did you see her picture in the paper? Rochelle was a very pretty girl. If she was at the party, she would have gotten Dean Casperson’s attention.”
“Except she wasn’t at the party.”
“How do we know? We never looked into it, because we had no reason to think she ever left home. She was found frozen to death in her own backyard.”
“The medical examiner said it was an accident.”
“Maybe that’s what John Doe wanted it to look like,” Serena suggested. “Call up the police report. What does it say?”
Guppo’s fingers flew on the keyboard again. He reviewed the details of the investigation into Rochelle Wahl’s death, and then he shook his head. “She was in her pajamas, Serena. Her parents were out of town, and she broke into the liquor cabinet and got drunk as a skunk. She went out into the yard to throw up, and she slipped on the ice and hit her head. She was unconscious in subzero weather for hours. She was dead of exposure and frozen as an ice cube by the time anyone found her. Are you really saying John Doe staged the entire scene?”
“I’m saying John Doe left Dean Casperson’s house with a drunk, unidentified girl. The next day, we found a drunk, dead girl in Proctor.”
“It seems like a stretch,” Guppo said.
“Not for a professional assassin. Curt said the girl he saw at the party was tall. Was Rochelle tall?”
Guppo checked the monitor, and his big lips puckered. “Five foot eleven.”
Serena spread her arms. “So?”
“So you think Rochelle crashed the party, got drunk, and had sex with Dean Casperson? And at that point, he panicked and brought in John Doe to get rid of her?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Serena replied. “And Peach Piper saw the whole thing. Remember, you’re leaving out the single most important fact about Rochelle Wahl. There’s a reason she would have been a lethal threat to Dean Casperson if anyone found out about her. She was fifteen years old.”
19
Stride found Cat on the three-season porch of the cottage when he got home late in the evening. The porch wasn’t heated, so the air was freezing, and needles of frost made feathers across the windows. The girl sat on the old sofa he kept out there. She had a wool blanket pulled up around her neck. Her head bobbed slightly; she’d fallen asleep. When he sat down next to her, she stirred, but her voice was tired.
“Oh, hey,” Cat said.
“Hey yourself. What are you doing out here? It’s way too cold.”
“I figured you’d be home soon,” Cat said.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I just wanted to talk.”
He put an arm around her shoulders and stretched out his legs on the wooden floor of the porch. He pulled off his wool cap; his black-and-gray hair was mussed. Outside, a metal light fixture near the door cast a dim glow into the snowy backyard. He could barely see the woods and dunes that led to the lake. The wind was high.
“What’s up?” he asked.
Cat stretched out with her head in the crook of his arm. She brushed her hair out of her face. “Something weird happened last night when Aimee Bowe was over here.”
“How so?”
The girl took a long time to say anything. “Do you believe in psychic stuff? I know Serena doesn’t. That’s why I didn’t talk to her. She would just tell me I’m crazy or I imagined it or something.”
“Well, what kind of psychic stuff are we talking about?” Stride asked.
“I don’t know. Like people who can sense the future. Aimee knew Haley Adams was dead before you found her body, right?”
“I’m not really sure it took psychic abilities to guess that. We were all pretty worried that something had happened to her.”
“Yeah. I suppose.”
“What happened, Cat?”
“Oh, it was just strange. I was talking to Aimee about what it’s like to sense things. And as she was leaving, she asked me to give Serena a message. Then something came over her face, and she said, ‘Save me.’”
Save me.
Those words had an ugly history for Stride. All of Art Leipold’s victims had said the same thing in the audiotapes. Save me, Jonathan Stride.
“I didn’t understand what she meant,” Cat went on, “but when I asked her about it, she acted as if she didn’t even know she’d said it. Honestly, it creeped me out.”
“Are you sure she wasn’t just having fun with you?” Stride asked.
“I don’t think so. And I didn’t imagine it, either.”
“I believe you.”
“What do you think it means?” she asked.
He ran one hand back through his hair. “I wish I could tell you, Cat. Years ago I would have laughed it off, but I’ve realized as I’ve gotten older that there’s a lot I don’t know. Remember when Serena got shot in the graffiti graveyard? And you and I held hands and you kept praying?”
“‘Do not take her,’” Cat murmured.
“That’s right. I was sure she was dying, but she came back to us. The doctors and scientists would all tell me that what you did had nothing to do with that. Me, I’m not so sure.”
“So you think what happened with Aimee was real?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Aimee didn’t realize she’d said it out loud. Keep in mind, she’s been going to some dark places in this movie. She has literally been trying to put herself inside the minds of women who died excruciating deaths. That has to take a mental toll on an actor.”
“I guess that’s true.”
“The one thing I know is you’re not going crazy,” Stride told her.
Cat smiled. “I hope not.”
They sat a while longer in the cold. He could tell that Cat still had things on her mind. Getting inside Cat’s head was like slowly peeling off the layers of an onion, one by one.
“Maggie left a message for you today,” she said finally. “I overheard what it was.”
“Oh?”
“I wasn’t trying to snoop or anything. I was doing homework when it came in, and I heard it on the machine. She suspects Dean Casperson of doing some really bad things. Rape. Murder. I couldn’t believe that. Is it true? A big star like him?”
“You know how it works, Cat. Suspicions aren’t facts, and facts are the only things that count in these investigations.”
“Except Maggie wouldn’t say it unless she believed it,” Cat said. “Do you believe it?”
“I can’t talk about that. It’s also important that you not tell anyone about what you heard. Okay? We’re in the midst of a serious investigation, and it’s important that we not derail it and not smear anyone’s reputation without evidence.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” Cat said, “but I just don’t get it. He is so good. I love him, I love his movies. There was an article about him in People a few months ago that talked about him and Mo and how long they’ve been married. He does all sorts of charitable work, too. I mean, he seems like a good guy. A nice guy. I can’t believe someone like that could be mixed up in such awful things.”
“I’d like to say it never happens, Cat, but it does. Good people can always disappoint us. And evil people can do some remarkable things in other parts of their lives. We just have to decide for ourselves what tips the scale.”
“You’ve never disappointed me,” Cat told him.
Stride chuckled softly. “I disappoint myself all the time. I was talking to a woman today who reminded me about some of the worst things I’ve done in my life. I didn’t like hearing those things used against me, but what really got me angry was knowing many of them were true.”
“Who was she?” Cat asked.
“Nobody. Don’t worry about it.” Then he realized he couldn’t make that demand. Cat needed to know the truth. “Actually, I do need to give you a heads-up about something. There may be some stuff coming out in print about me. You probably already know most of it, but there could be surprises. I don’t know what they’ll dig up and how they’ll spin it.”