“And?”
“In both instances, the killer had been known to the woman.”
“You sound sure of that.”
“Two cups of coffee at Logan’s, two cups of tea at Lund’s. He or she was invited in. Takes the time to wash the cups out in the sink, after each crime. Logan answered the door and was stabbed where she stood. Lund allowed the killer in and on leaving, he or she placed duct tape on the latch to reenter.”
She was slowly nodding. “Both had a friendly conversation with the victim, left... and returned.”
“That seems to be the case.”
“Why would it go down this way, do you think?”
“If both women knew the person, and opened the door for him or her, the killing could have taken place right there and then. But the washed-out cups, and bloody footsteps leading to and away from the sink, revealed by luminol, indicate a pre-kill visit that required some cleanup.”
“Why the pre-visit, though?”
Pop’s eyes narrowed. “If something in the past — something bad — is at the root of these homicides, perhaps the killer wanted to determine whether the victim needed killing.”
She was nodding again, quicker now. “People reminisce at class reunions. Who they talk to, and what memories they’re inclined to share, could matter.”
“Could really matter here. And two... two women are dead. So whatever... whatever that bad thing is they... they share it.”
She could see he was fading. Shouldn’t have allowed him to talk so much. This visit had gone on long enough.
She asked him, “How much are you hurting?”
“Right now not much. I’m on really good drugs. But I’m... I’m taped up like half a mummy.”
“Well, get some sleep... Daddy.”
He smiled at her. “That I can manage.”
She glanced around. “Does it... bother you? Being here?”
He knew what she meant. “No. When I think of your mom, in this setting? She’s smiling.”
Krista nodded. “Know what you mean.”
“Now, if they wheel me into the ICU, I just might get depressed.”
She laughed gently, gave him a kiss on the forehead. “Goofball.”
When she was at the door, he called out to her. “Honey?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t go over to the sheriff’s office.”
That was where the holding cells were. Across the street from the PD, in the massive, mostly old Courthouse and Public Safety complex.
“Let Booker handle it,” he said. “You’ve had a long day. Go home and get some sleep. We have things to do tomorrow.”
“Now you’re ordering the chief of police around?”
“I’m telling little Krista Larson. Do as your daddy says.”
She saluted and, in her best Charlie Chan’s number one daughter — style, said, “Okay, Pop.”
Ten minutes later she was pulling her Toyota into the brick drive at home. She got out, locked the car with the fob, then walked over to the back door, the kitchen entrance, which both she and her dad almost always used.
The front porch — with its view of the downtown, broken by church steeples, and the river beyond that — was for sitting and taking it all in... at a different time of year. But soon enough it would warm up and she and Pop would be sitting in rockers with iced tea or lemonade or more likely Carlsbergs.
She was unlocking the door when the male voice startled her.
“Krista!”
He came walking up from the street, first in shadow from a tree, then distinct in the combined glow of moon and street light. His car was parked across the way.
Josh Webster.
Jessy’s Josh. Ambling toward her in a blue sweatshirt with red letters (ALL AMERICAN) over white ones (POPCORN STORE), tan khakis, and white sneakers. He came up to her and she knew at once he and his crew had made a batch of cheese corn today.
“You got a few minutes?” he asked shyly.
He had a nice half smile and even now, smelling of his business, borderline pudgy, this remained the handsome guy with dark blue eyes and blond hair who had made many a GHS girl’s heart flutter. Including a cheerleader named Jessica Dolan.
“Sure,” Krista said. “What’s up?”
He nodded toward the house, frowned just a little. “Is, uh... Mr. Larson home?”
“Not right now,” she said, and for some reason didn’t go any further.
“Good,” he said.
“Good?”
“This is private. Personal. I mean, you can tell him, if you like. That’s up to you. But I think it’d just about kill me to have to sit and tell you with him listening in.”
“Starting to sound serious, Josh.”
“It kind of is,” he said, and shrugged. He seemed embarrassed. Or was he... ashamed?
Suddenly she was glad the Glock 21 was on her hip. Maybe that was stupid — this was Josh, for Pete’s sake! — but what her father had told her was fresh in her mind. That the killer probably visited his victims in a friendly way before calling back later with a butcher knife.
She went to the door and unlocked it.
“Go on in,” she said, gesturing for him to lead the way.
Soon they were sitting at the same end of the table where she and her father took their meals.
“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked. “I have some Coors Light I’m trying to get rid of. And Carlsberg is the house favorite.”
He smiled a little, her friendliness seeming to put him at ease some. “I’d take a Coors Light off your hands.”
She got it for him, nothing for herself. Then she sat, resting her left hand on the table and keeping her right hand in her lap. Near the holstered Glock.
He gulped a couple of swallows. He was looking straight ahead, not to his left where she sat. He rarely blinked. His mouth moved around, like he was trying to say something but his lips were glued shut. In the silly sweatshirt, he looked like a big kid.
Finally he said, “There are some things you should know.”
“I could stand to know a lot of things,” she said with a smile. It was a remark that would work if this were about nothing. But she already thought it was about something...
He said, “Some of what you need to know?... I don’t want you to talk to Jessy about. If you can manage it. I mean, if you have to... if for some reason you think it’s necessary... okay. I understand. You got my go-ahead. But only then. Only then.”
What the hell was he talking about?
“I follow,” she said, as if she did.
He sighed. Then blurted: “I went out with Astrid, end of junior year, and over the summer. Maybe you remember.”
“I think so.” Keeping track of Astrid’s romantic activities was tough at the time, let alone reconstructing them ten years later.
He swigged Coors Light. “Well, I, uh... it got serious.”
“All right.”
His eyes swung to hers. “I mean... real serious.”
“Okay.”
He looked away again. “Luckily I’d been saving up. I worked summers at a gas station. I wanted a car. I had a car, an old one, my dad bought me, but... I wanted something really cool. I mean, I was kind of riding high back then. Football team, basketball, too.”
She was starting to understand, or anyway she thought she might. “Go on.”
Another swig. “So, uh... hell. Damnit. This is harder than I thought. And I thought it was going to be hard!”
“You got Astrid pregnant.”
He looked right at her. His mouth dropped like a trapdoor. “How... how did you know?”
“You two were real serious. Luckily you had money saved up. You gave her money to take care of it.”
He gazed at her, astonished. “That’s right. Are you psychic?”
She almost said, I’m a detective, but instead said, “No. It just makes sense.”