She braced her gloved hands against the gutter, hoping it would hold, and slithered awkwardly from the van to the roof. The wind was fierce there, making it hard to keep her balance. She stood up and put one foot in front of the other like a high-wire artist as she marched through the snow along the very edge of the roof. The drop to the ground loomed beside her. Her boots struggled for traction. It was twenty dangerous feet to the corner, but when she got there, she had a perfect view into the second-floor room in the next wing.
The curtains were drawn, but they were sheer, and when she lifted the binoculars to her eyes, she could see clearly. The large room was a study decorated in dark wood and leather, with a fire roaring in a stone fireplace on the far wall. She saw a wet bar glistening with mirrored shelves and crystal. A brass chandelier hung from the ceiling. The heavy walnut door near the fireplace was closed, but another door on the adjoining wall was open, and Cat could see a bedroom beyond the doorway.
There were two people in the room: Aimee Bowe and Dean Casperson.
Aimee sat on one end of the leather sofa. She had a glass of white wine in her hand, but she held it uncomfortably, and her legs were pressed stiffly together. She wore an orange blouse, black slacks, and sky-high heels. Dean sat across from her, on the other side of a Persian rug, in a wing-backed chair. He wore a heavy Nordic-style sweater and khakis. His legs were crossed, and he looked completely at ease. He sipped his drink from a lowball glass. His face had a casual smile, and he seemed to be doing all the talking.
Nothing was happening between them.
It looked innocent.
Where Cat stood, the wind gusted. She squatted and shoved a hand through the snow to the roof tiles to keep her balance. Under her boots, the snow was melting, making it slippery. She couldn’t stay up there much longer.
What she saw through the binoculars was two actors talking. Nothing more. Yet Cat didn’t like it. It was Aimee’s face that bothered her. It seemed almost vacant, as if she weren’t tracking on whatever Dean was saying. Her eyes had a strange distance. Minute by minute, as Cat watched, Aimee grew increasingly detached from reality. Her eyes opened and closed in slow, lazy blinks. Her head lolled. Dean talked as if he didn’t notice that something was wrong, but to Cat it was obvious.
Then the wineglass tipped and fell from Aimee’s hand.
Aimee didn’t even seem to notice that it had happened. Wine soaked her slacks; the glass broke into pieces on the hardwood floor. At first she didn’t react at all. Then she put both hands on either side of the sofa and tried to get up, but as she did, she fell back. She looked dizzy and confused. Across from her, Dean got up. He didn’t jump up in alarm or concern; he simply walked over and sat down next to her. His hand reached to her face and touched her cheek.
For Cat, the whole thing was a slow-motion horror.
She stood on the roof, paralyzed. She had to stop this, but she didn’t know how. Before she could decide what to do next, her phone rang, startling her with the loud noise of “Uptown Funk.” It was her ring tone for Curt; he was wondering where she was. She reached for her phone, but as her body twisted, she lost her balance. Her feet spilled out from under her, and she toppled backward. She hit the roof, then slid past the gutter with a cloud of snow, and she was airborne.
She couldn’t help it. She screamed. She dropped twelve feet and landed in a drift that broke her fall, but the wind couldn’t cover the noise. Behind her, near the van, she heard footsteps and shouts. Looking up, overhead, she saw Dean Casperson peering out the window into the darkness and barking into a phone. Cat scrambled to her feet and ran. She tore around the curving driveway toward the front of the house, but when she saw the gate, she also could see the security guard outside. He bellowed at her to stop. The gate was opening; he was heading toward her.
Cat switched direction. She barreled into the woods, bounding through the snow like a frightened deer. She could hear the guard behind her. She didn’t dare look back; she just ran. The tree branches ripped at her arms and poured snow into her face. She slipped, got up, slipped, and sprinted again. She zigzagged through the woods until she reached the brick wall on the perimeter of the property, but the wall was keeping her inside now. There was no way to climb. No way to escape.
She ran parallel to the wall with nowhere to hide and nowhere to go. Then, like a miracle, she saw the corner where she’d jumped down into the snow. And there was Curt, on top of the wall, waiting for her.
“Run, run, run!” Curt wailed.
The guard in pursuit was faster than she was. She could almost hear his breath as he got closer. She reached the wall and leaped straight up with her arms outstretched, and Curt grabbed one of her wrists and yanked her up, nearly dislocating her shoulder. She felt herself flying. Below her, the guard’s hand grabbed her boot and tore it off, but in the next instant, she and Curt were tumbling free over the wall to the outside. Cat landed in the snow. Curt bounced off the recycling bin he’d grabbed to climb the wall. They didn’t hesitate; they were on their feet again, charging across the intersection to the school parking lot and piling into Cat’s car.
She fired the engine of the Civic and sped down the hill. Her eyes were glued to the mirror. She turned, turned again, and turned yet again, and when she decided that she’d lost anyone who might be chasing them, she swung to the curb with the engine still running. She hit the speed dial button on her phone and felt a flood of relief when Serena answered on the first ring.
“It’s me! Aimee needs help!”
26
Dean Casperson answered the door.
He didn’t look surprised to see Serena flashing her badge at him. He gave her a friendly smile and cocked an eyebrow as he watched three separate squad cars with flashing lights stream into the driveway in front of the rented estate.
“Mr. Casperson, my name is Serena Stride with the Duluth Police,” she said. “Where’s Aimee Bowe?”
“Aimee? She came over here to chat, but she wasn’t feeling well. I asked Jungle Jack to take her home.” He added with a smirk, “Your name is Stride? Are you married to the lieutenant? I have to say, the man has spectacular taste.”
Serena ignored the comment. “Please move aside, Mr. Casperson. We need to search this house.”
“Search it? What exactly are you looking for? And don’t you need a warrant for that?”
“I’ve got a credible report of an assault in progress in this house,” Serena told him.
Casperson shrugged and moved out of the doorway. “Well, come inside, then. I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed, but do what you have to do. Try not to break anything around here, okay? It’s a rental.”
Serena swung around and waved to Guppo, who waddled into the house behind her, accompanied by three other police officers. “Check every room,” she told him. “Question the staff and see what they know about what’s been happening here tonight. Show them photos of Rochelle Wahl and Peach Piper, too.”
“Peach Piper?” Casperson asked curiously. “Who’s that?”
“You knew her as Haley Adams. Before she was murdered.”
“What about this other girl? Rochelle?”
“I don’t have time for this right now, Mr. Casperson. Where were you and Aimee Bowe talking?”
“Upstairs, but I told you, she’s gone.”
Serena saw the staircase leading to the second story, and she took the steps two at a time. Half the doors upstairs were closed, and she went down the hallway, opening each door and looking inside. The rooms were all empty. Then, at the end of the hallway, she twisted a knob and found a door that was locked.