"How did you crack it?" Lake asked, sitting in the chair opposite Nancy.
"An anonymous tip, Peter. Nothing fancy."
"That's terrific."
"it looks like you were right." lake shrugged his shoulders, stifling a smile.
"Say," lake asked sheepishly, "you didn't tell anyone about my stakeout, did you?"
"That's our little secret."
"Thanks. I feel like a fool, going off on my own like that. you were right. if Waters caught on, he probably would have killed me."
"You must feel relieved, knowing Sandy's and Melody's killer has been caught," Nancy said, watching for a reaction.
Lake suddenly looked somber.
"It's as if an enormous weight was taken off my shoulders. Maybe now my life can go back to normal."
"You know, Peter," Nancy said casually, "there was a time when I tossed around the possibility that you might be the killer."
"why?" Peter asked, shocked.
"You were never a serious suspect, but there were a few inconsistencies in your story.
"Like what?"
"The time, for instance. You didn't call 911 until eight-fifteen, but a neighbor saw you driving toward your house around seven-twenty. I couldn't figure out why it took you so long to call the police."
"You've got to be kidding."
Nancy shrugged. "I was a suspect because of this time thing?"
"What were you doing for 'almost an hour?"
"Jesus, Nancy, I don't remember. I was in a daze. I mean, I might have blacked out for a bit."
"You never mentioned that."
Lake stared at Nancy, openmouthed.
"Am I still a suspect? Are you interrogating me?"
Nancy shook her head. "The case is closed, Peter.
The chief is going to hold a press conference in the morning. There were three black roses and another one of those notes on a shelf in the basement. And, of course, there was poor Patricia Cross."
"But you don't believe it? You honestly think I could have…?"
"Relax, Peter," Nancy answered, closing her eyes.
"I'm real tired and not thinking straight. It's been one very long day."
"I can't relax. I mean, I really like you and I thought you liked me.
It's a shock to find out you seriously thought I could do something… something like what was done to that woman."
Nancy opened her eyes. Lake looked distant, like he was visualizing Patricia Cross's eviscerated body. But he had not been to the crime scene or read an autopsy report. The media had not been told the condition of Patricia Cross's body.
"I said you were never a serious suspect and I meant it," Nancy lied with a forced smile. "If you were, I would have told Turner and Grimsbo about the stakeout, wouldn't I?"
"I guess."
"Well, I didn't and you can't be a suspect anymore, what with Waters dead, can you?"
Lake shook his head.
"Look," Nancy told him, "I'm really whacked out. I have one more report to write and I'm gone. Why don't you go home too, and start getting on with your life."
Lake stood. "That's good advice. I'm going to take it.
And I want to thank you for everything you've done for me. I don't know how I would have gotten through this without you."
Lake stuck out his hand. Nancy stared at it for a second. Was this the hand that ripped the life out of Patricia Cross and Sandra and Melody Lake or was she crazy?
Nancy shook Lake's hand. He held hers a moment longer than necessary, then released it after a brief squeeze.
"When things get back to normal for both of us, I'd like to take you to dinner," Lake said.
"Call me," Nancy answered, her stomach churning.
It took every ounce of control to keep the smile on her face.
Lake left the room and Nancy stopped smiling. Waters was too good to be true. She did not believe he was responsible for the carnage in his basement. Lake had to know about the alley and the back door. With Waters at work and the mother an invalid, it would have been simple to drive behind the house without being seen, put the body in the basement and butcher it there. Lake was the anonymous caller, she was certain of it. But she had no proof. And O'Malley would soon tell the world that Henry Waters was a serial killer and the case of the missing women was closed.
Part Three.
CLEAR AND CONVINCING EVIDENCE.
Chapter Six.
"And that's what happened, Mr. Page," Nancy Gordon said. "The case was closed. Henry Waters was officially named as the rose killer. Shortly after, Peter Lake disappeared. His house was sold. He closed his bank accounts.
His associates were handed a thriving business. And Peter was never heard from again."
Page looked confused. "Maybe I'm missing something. Your case against lake was purely circumstantial.
Unless there was more evidence, I don't understand why you're so certain Peter Lake killed those women and framed Waters."
Gordon took a newspaper clipping and a photograph of a man leaving a motel room out of her briefcase and laid them side by side.
"Do you recognize this man?" she asked, pointing to the photograph. Page leaned over and picked it up.
"This is Martin Darius."
"Look carefully at this newspaper picture of Peter Lake and tell me what you think."
Page studied the two pictures. He imagined Lake with a beard and Darius without one. He tried to judge the size of the two men and compare builds.
"They could be the same person," he said.
"They are the same person. And the man who is murdering your women is the same man who murdered the women in Hunter's Point. We never released the color of the rose or the contents of the notes. Whoever is killing your women has information known only by the members of the Hunter's Point task force and the killer."
Gordon took a fingerprint card from the briefcase and handed it to Page.
"These are Lake's fingerprints. Compare them to Darius's. You must have some on file."
"How did you find Lake here?" Page asked.
Gordon took a sheet of stationery out of her briefcase and laid it on the coffee table next to the photograph.
I've had it dusted for prints," she said. "There aren't any."
Page picked up the letter. It had been written on a word processor. The stationery looked cheap, probably the type sold in hundreds of chain stores and impossible to trace. The note read: "Women in Portland, Oregon are "Gone, But Not Forgotten." The first letters of each word were capitalized like those in the notes found in the homes of the victims.
"I received this yesterday. The envelope was postmarked from Portland.
The photograph of Darius and an Oregonian profile of him were inside. I knew it was Lake the minute I saw the picture. The envelope also contained a clipping about you, Mr. Page, your address and a ticket for a United Airlines flight. No one met me at the airport, so I came to see you."
"What do you suggest we do, Detective Gordon? We certainly can't bring Darius in for questioning with what you've given me."
"No!" Gordon said, alarmed. "Don't spook him. You have to stay away from Martin Darius until your case is airtight. You have no idea how clever he is."
Page was startled by Gordon's desperation.
"We know our business, Detective," he assured her.
"You don't know Peter Lake. You've never dealt with anyone like him."
"You said that before."
"You must believe me."
"Is there something else you aren't telling me?"
Gordon started to say something, then she shook her head.
"I'm exhausted, Mr. Page. I need to rest. You don't know what this is like for me. To have Lake surface after all these years. If you had seen what he did to Patricia Cross There was a long pause and Page said nothing.
"I need a place to stay," Gordon said abruptly. "Can you suggest a motel? Someplace quiet."