“No. He wanted to live at the dorm and we said he could in his third year.”
Kane held up a thick textbook. “Environmental Ethics. What was his major?”
“Philosophy,” Mr. Fischer murmured.
Kane leafed through the book and his brows rose. “Did Joel have a girlfriend?”
“No. He was busy with his studies. He said he was waiting for a Jewish girl.”
“Who were his friends?” Olivia asked.
Fischer closed his eyes. “The Feinsteins’ and Kaufmans’ sons, from Hebrew school. And Eric. Eric Marsh. They’ve been friends since kindergarten, first grade.”
Kane wrote down the names. “Would these boys know about Joel’s interests?”
“I don’t know. Kaufman’s son is going to school out West somewhere. Feinstein’s son is still in town. I don’t know if Joel saw them often. Eric is an engineering student at the university. I think they had lunch sometimes. Eric was always the one to keep Joel steady. Showed him the problems in all the wacky plans he came up with over the years.” His face fell. “I don’t even know if anyone’s told Eric about the accident.”
“Okay,” Kane said. “Here we go.” He’d been going through Joel’s stack of school papers and held up a bound folder. “‘Preston Moss-hero or monster?’ On the last page Joel concludes he was a hero.”
A strangled breath came from Fischer. “Son, what have you done?” he whispered.
Olivia looked around Joel’s room. One wall was covered in plaques, honoring community service, which made her think of David’s bedroom in Chicago. He hadn’t had any plaques or mementos. David didn’t do his service to be noticed. Teshuvah. David was making amends, but for what sin? What about Lincoln had he understood?
She turned to Joel’s father. “I’m betting more than he originally bargained for.”
Fischer’s eyes were anguished. “Oh, God. He did this thing. This terrible thing.”
“I am so sorry, sir,” she said. “We’re going to need to bring in our crime scene unit.”
He nodded unsteadily. “I understand.”
His color worried her. He’d turned gray. “Can I get you anything?”
“No. Nothing.” He turned away then, his back hunched and Olivia heard the familiar muted howl of agony. It was raw grief and always tore at her gut.
“Dammit,” she muttered.
“You did all you could, Liv,” Kane said quietly. “More than most would. How did you know all that about the… What did you call it? Teshu…?”
“Doing Teshuva,” she said with a sigh.
“You didn’t pick that up from dropping by your neighbors for the occasional wake.”
“No. When I was in college, I had a few years of soul searching,” she admitted. “You know, why are we here? I looked into a lot of religions. I really liked my neighbors. They were a happy family. I thought maybe it was their faith. So I went to Temple near campus for a long time. I was curious. Kind of like Joel.”
Kane held up the textbook. “He did have a girlfriend. I found a note, with hearts, x’s and o’s. ‘Meet me by the library.’ Signed, M.”
She picked up one of the pillows on Joel’s bed. “Pink smudge. Lipstick.” She sniffed it and her mind flashed back to David’s words. I thought I’d dreamed you, then I smelled you. On my pillow. Her heart fluttered. “Perfume. Faint, but there.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time boys and girls sneaked behind their parents’ backs.”
“I’ll give Micki a call, get a crew out here.”
“It’s late,” Kane said, “and I’m beat. It’s been a long day. Once CSU gets here, let’s go home, recharge, and come back at this in the morning.”
She thought of David, waiting for her at the cabin. Wondered again at what he might have done, then thought about all he’d done since and wondered what the past mattered. He’d proven the kind of man he was, time and again. He was waiting for her and he’d promised answers. She’d been waiting for two and a half years. “All right.”
Tuesday, September 21, 8:55 p.m.
“It’s about closing time, sir,” he said to Dorian Blunt, who sat alone at a table, his eyes on the door. The wayward accountant had been there for almost an hour, jumping every time the bell on the door jingled.
Poor Dorian was waiting for the man who’d contacted him via e-mail about an accounting position in a new company. There was just enough verifiable detail to make Dorian believe in the job and just enough promised to make him desperate for the position.
Because Dorian needed a new job very badly. Especially now. The job he’d taken after leaving his old firm after embezzling all that money had not been successful, and the Blunt household’s finances were suffering. So much that Dorian might start dipping into his ill-gotten gains any day now.
Which wouldn’t do at all. Because I took every cent.
Of course there was no job. There is just me, playing with Dorian a little. Not wanting to harm Mrs. Blunt or their child, he’d needed a way to lure Dorian out of his house, and promising a job interview was better than most. Having him wait for an hour, watching the door?
Now, that was a strategy he’d learned from a real master. Honed right here in his shop. The serial killer unceremoniously dubbed “The Red Dress Killer” by the press had lured his female victims from their homes with the promise of a hot date in a public place. He’d made them wait, demoralizing them, then when they’d given up on Mr. Right, the killer had followed them home and performed his dastardly deeds.
He’d lured his third victim here. Right under my nose and even I didn’t suspect a thing. Not until the police flashed the victim’s picture all over the media. He’d recognized her immediately then. He’d even chatted with her the night she’d disappeared. The police had tracked her here, asking for video of the dining area, but he’d lied, telling them he only had video of the cash register.
For a very brief moment, he’d considered blackmailing Pit-Guy but quickly decided against it. The man had been a serial killer, for God’s sake. There was no way he was getting involved with that. And as for helping the police? He let them figure it out on their own. That’s what they were paid for.
Eventually they had figured it out and Pit-Guy’s full story had been revealed. He’d had more than three dozen bodies stashed in the pit in his basement. So my instincts were right. Don’t mess with a man with three dozen bodies in his basement. The video of Pit-Guy watching his victim, following her out that night, was one of his treasures.
And whenever he needed a lesson in discretion, he watched it. Pit-Guy got cocky, then careless, then caught. Now he was dead. I don’t intend to get careless.
I intend to hang everything on Mary and Albert. Especially Mary. He had a score to settle with her. But for now, he had a score to settle with Mr. Dorian Blunt. Pay me a fraction of what you owe. Foolish. Between Tomlinson and Blunt, he’d have enough visual aids to convince his other clients to pay on time. And if not, he’d kill them, too.
He looked up at the clock. He needed to finish with Dorian so that he could deal with that kid Kenny at the deaf school and find out what he knew that he wasn’t telling the cops. He’d snip those loose ends and then he could get back to business.
“Sir,” he called out. “We’re closed now. You have to leave.”
Dorian stood, his briefcase clutched in his sweaty hand. “Just a few more minutes? This meeting is very important.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I’m ready to lock up. You may want to wait outside for a few minutes. Just in case.”
Dorian did just that, which he’d known he would. He locked up and went to get his van. Soon, Dorian Blunt would wish he’d just paid his bills on time.
Tuesday, September 21, 9:05 p.m.
David stood on the edge of Glenn’s dock, his face lifted into the cool wind coming off the water. It was after nine and Olivia hadn’t called.
He’d almost given in and called her, but stopped himself. The ball was truly in her court now, he thought. No pun intended. She could be busy. She could be tied up with a suspect and unable to call. Or, she might have simply changed her mind.