The Burying Place

Chapter Twenty-four

In the gray light of dawn, Maggie watched Guppo and his team pore over the black van they had dragged from the shallow water of Island Lake. She rubbed her eyes; it had been a long, sleepless night. Behind her, Kasey Kennedy lay across the snug rear seat of the Avalanche. With her eyes closed, the young cop's face was angelic, but once again, she had demonstrated equal parts foolishness and balls.

There was no way around it. Maggie liked Kasey. The young cop's pig-headed intensity reminded her of her own early years on the force. She had the kind of determination that meant you would never quit until you got where you wanted to go. It could also get you killed.

Near the lake, Guppo gestured to her. Maggie slid out of the truck without disturbing Kasey and joined the overweight detective near the boat ramp. The small clearing was crowded with police vehicles and crime scene investigators. Everywhere Maggie went this morning, a dozen heads followed her.

Guppo's stare was focused two inches north of her eyes.

'Quit it,' Maggie told him.

'I can't help it,' he said. 'It's just so… so…'

'Red.'

'Exactly. Red.'

'I told you I was thinking about it.'

'Yeah, but I never thought you'd actually do it,' Guppo replied, laughing. 'And especially so… so…'

'Red.'

'Yeah. It's red.'

'Are you done?' Maggie asked.

'For now.'

'What's the report?'

'It's his van,' Guppo told her, but she noticed that he was talking to her hair, not her face. 'Despite the water damage, there's blood all over the interior. It's not a pretty sight.'

'Shit,' Maggie said. 'Match it to the missing women, and make sure we don't have any other samples in there. We don't know how long he's been doing this.'

Guppo nodded. 'The Minnesota plates don't match the van. They come from a Volvo sedan. We called the owner. He's a personal injury attorney in St Paul, and he says the car is parked in the garage of his summer home south of Duluth. He only drives the Volvo when he's up here, and he hasn't been in the city since early September. He had no clue the plates were gone.'

'Let's run his house for prints.'

'We're getting the warrant now.'

'What about the van itself?'

'According to the VIN, it was stolen in Colorado Springs six months ago,' Guppo told her.

Maggie arched an eyebrow. 'Colorado? That's interesting.'

'We'll contact the authorities down there today and see what we can find out.'

'See if they have any unsolved murders in the area that match our MO,' Maggie told him. 'And get them our DNA report to run through the state database there.'

'I'm on it.'

'What about the car he stole last night to get away?'

'It's a Cadillac. The owner left it unlocked. People are too damned trusting around here.'

'Any hits?' Maggie asked.

'No, nobody's seen it yet.'

Maggie nodded. 'We're getting closer to this asshole.'

'It feels that way.'

'Any prints inside the van?'

'We're still checking,' Guppo said. 'It doesn’t help that the thing went for a swim.'

'You heard that the nine one one call was a fake, right?' Maggie asked. 'He deliberately lured us away.'

'Yeah. You know what that means?'

'It means he was going after the kid. This guy's got a hard-on for Kasey.'

'That could help us,' Guppo said. 'Do you have people watching her house?'

Maggie nodded. 'Yeah, she doesn’t like it, but I've got a black-and- white on the other side of the highway.'

'Well, maybe we don't want to scare him away,' Guppo suggested. 'Maybe we ought to be using her as bait.'

Maggie shook her head fiercely. 'No way.'

'I'm just saying—'

'I told you, no. We're not risking that girl's life. She's a cop, a wife, and a mother. I want to scare this guy a hundred miles away from her.'

'Whatever you say,' Guppo told her, but his round face frowned.

'I'm going back to City Hall,' Maggie added. 'I'll take Kasey with me. I want to get a photo of the van out to the media. That may jog some memories.'

'We've still got a few hours left out here,' Guppo said.

'OK, check in when you're back. I have to see Stride this morning out on the Point. I also want to see if we can find anything more on this Nick Garaldo.'

'Is that the young guy who went missing over the weekend?'

'That's him. He still hasn't turned up. It's been two days. I'm going to stop by his apartment and see what I can find.'

Guppo gestured at her bangs. 'You're seeing Stride, huh? You tell him about the hair?'

Maggie shrugged. 'You really think he'll notice?'

Stride drove into Duluth on the northern route that took him through Hermantown and across Miller Hill. As he headed down the sharp slope into the streets of downtown, he could see the harbor and the giant swath of Lake Superior filling the valley. White waves surged against the beach. A gray layer of clouds made the brick city buildings look old, as if time had frozen here in some extreme winter decades ago.

He took the overpass over Interstate 35 and continued through Canal Park to the lift bridge that led to the ribbon of land known as the Point. He followed the road toward his cottage and found that he was having trouble breathing. His chest felt heavy. As he reached his driveway at 33rd Street, he slowed to a stop and inhaled deeply with his mouth open, until his lungs relaxed. He lowered the window and could hear the thunder of lake waves on the beach on the other side of the sand dune. He was home.

He pulled into his driveway, but rather than go inside, he hiked over the dune to the lake, where it was wild and blustery. A seagull hung motionless over the beach, lofted by the gusty currents. The sand was littered with driftwood rubbed smooth by the water. The wispy rye grass quaked, and the pines swayed with casual elegance. He continued down the slope to the long stretch of sandy beach. The surging waves rose out of the lake in long, silent shadows and then fell back in a fury of thunder, surf, and mud. In the calm between waves, he heard the hiss of bubbles breaking and saw thousands of exposed silver flecks skittering down the beach like frightened stars, as if they were running for cover.

Stride couldn't put it off any longer. He climbed back across the dune and up the rear steps of the cottage and let himself inside. Everything was as he had left it, except for the dust on the surfaces and the musty smell of air that had been shut up for weeks. The house had a funereal quiet. The only noise was his footsteps on the uneven floorboards. He went like a visitor from room to room, reacquainting himself with his possessions. When he went into the master bathroom, he detected a trace of the floral soap that Serena used and a lingering hint of her perfume. She had been here, but she was gone now. Just like himself. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, but no one stared back at him.

It happened again. The constriction in his chest. The sensation that his lungs were struggling for air. He held on to the sink as lightheadedness washed over him and made him dizzy. A vise tightened around his skull. When he looked in the mirror again, his skin was pasty and damp with sweat. His eyelids were dark hoods over his eyes. He ran water in the sink and splashed it on his face.

He needed something to drink. Slowly, he made his way through the cottage's great space into the kitchen and found a can of Coke in the refrigerator. He opened it and set it on the counter and then reached up to the top shelf of a cabinet for a large glass. He wasn't thinking about what he was doing. His hands were wet. He took the glass between his fingers, but it slipped from his grasp.

It fell.

He fell with it.

Goddamn.