Выбрать главу

Sure, he knew he was becoming a little jealous of Sam Markham. But didn’t Markham also keep things to himself when he was on a case? Isn’t that how he caught Jackson Briggs? Hell, he still never told anyone how he really did it.

Besides, there was nothing Markham could offer from Connecticut anyway. At least not until the medical records were obtained and the lists of servicemen and their units checked against them.

There were over two-thousand residents buried beneath the soil in Clayton’s Willow Brook Cemetery, and Schaap’s first order of business was to begin testing those records against a list of men who fit Underhill’s unit profile. And once those lists were complete, once he got all the names of servicemen living in the Raleigh area, his computer program would rank them in order of probability.

It was complicated stuff, Schaap thought; and without each list to test against the other, just using the cemetery records alone would be like shooting blind from the white pages. No, the cemetery records would only narrow down the unit lists. But even then, it would be slow going. Schaap had seen those names already—Davis, White, Brown, Anderson, Jones—common names that seemed to taunt him with the futility of his plan.

But fuck it. He would spend the whole night there if he had to, checking his lists against each other and developing a preliminary cross-section of candidates. Then, once he ran that list through a computer program that would rank them according to location—that is, remote areas in and around Raleigh that theoretically would provide the Impaler with good “working conditions”—Schaap would have a better idea where to begin. But he didn’t have much time before Markham returned Sunday afternoon; not much time to keep his little side investigation secret.

But Schaap would keep it secret. As long as humanly possible, he decided.

After all, isn’t that what Sam Markham would do?

Chapter 55

Edmund and Cindy arrived at the cast party at exactly 11:30 p.m. They could’ve gotten there sooner, but Cindy insisted on showering at the theater after the show. She even came right out and admitted to Edmund that she wanted to look nice for him. He was dressed in a button-down shirt and jeans that made his butt look beyond sexy, Cindy thought. All she said, however, was, “You look very handsome.” Edmund smiled and said he would wait for her in the green room. He ended up waiting almost half an hour. But Edmund said he didn’t mind. He was used to waiting.

The party was at Amy Pratt’s—a rundown, student-district rancher that had been passed down among the theatre majors for as long as anyone could remember. It was designated “the party house” every year because of its large, fenced yard and L-shaped deck out back.

The party house was already packed when Cindy and Edmund snaked their way into the kitchen amid a sea of second glances and whispers. Cindy had expected that; had even warned Edmund to be ready for a scandal on Monday. Edmund said that they’d have to come up with something really juicy to get the rumors going.

Cindy had laughed at that, and so did Edmund. Cindy had never seen Edmund smile and laugh so much, and it made her feel beyond ecstatic to know that he was already opening up to her; made the ass-chewing she got from her director about her being unfocused during the show all the more worth it.

Kiernan was right: her mind had been on Edmund Lambert all day.

“Holy shit,” said Amy Pratt when she saw Cindy and her date. “Edmund Lambert? Edmund Laaam-bert? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Hello, Amy,” he said. “I hope I was invited.”

“Of course!” she said as she reached down into her bag of plastic cups. “I’m gonna give you and your date here a cup for free cuz I’m already wasted and you look fucking hot and you never come see me, how’s that?”

“Thank you,” Edmund said.

Buuuut,” Amy said, snatching the cups back at the last second, “you’re gonna have to promise to ditch this ho and dance with me after Brown Bags, okay?”

Edmund smiled and nodded and Amy gave him the cups.

“How much longer until they start?” asked Cindy.

“Bradley-boy and the other seniors are still in my bedroom writing them out,” Amy said, rolling her eyes. “I peeked in and he told me to get out of there—my own fucking bedroom, can you believe it? Someone—and I’m not saying who—but someone told me that Bradley and some of the other guys started doing shots in the dressing room after the show. Bet ol’ Georgie Porgie would love to hear that one. Bradley telling me to get out of my own fucking bedroom!”

Cindy shrugged and led Edmund outside onto the deck. Edmund quickly negotiated the mob around the keg, filled up their cups, and retreated alone with Cindy to a corner of the yard—drinking and laughing and making conversation just as Cindy had hoped they would.

Cindy discovered that Edmund was a Cancer. She was a Gemini, she told him.

“I don’t really believe in astrology,” she added, “but, if I remember correctly, I think Cancer and Gemini are like the two most incompatible signs possible. What do you think of that?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Edmund said. “I should have been born a Leo, but I came out two weeks early because my mother wasn’t taking care of herself. At least, that’s what my grandfather used to tell me.”

Cindy didn’t know if Gemini and Leo were compatible signs, but Edmund assured her they were, and Cindy asked him to fill her cup again. Edmund obliged.

She could not remember if she was on her third or fourth beer (it felt like her fourth) by the time Bradley Cox and the rest of the seniors stumbled out onto the deck. She and Edmund had been deep in conversation about his mother, about how she committed suicide when he was a child. Cindy was on the verge of tears, but Edmund told her not to feel sorry for him and that everything happened for a reason. She wanted to hug him—wanted to kiss him, too—but even though she had good buzz going she held back until Edmund said: “Please, don’t take it as a downer, Cindy. It’s just something that happened. Besides, tonight is about new beginnings, isn’t it?”

Oh yes, Cindy thought. Now I’m going to kiss him. She could see in Edmund’s eyes that he wanted to kiss her, too. But then—

“Okay, motherfuckers,” shouted Bradley Cox. “Gather round, gather round. It’s that time.”

Cindy sighed and gulped down the last of her beer as the rest of the students began crowding onto the deck. Cox and his cohorts—six seniors total, all men—stood on chairs at the far end opposite the keg. Cindy declined when Edmund motioned to get her another beer.

“I’m buzzing too much already,” she said. “Just hold my hand if it gets too bad, will you?” Edmund smiled and took her hand anyway, and Cindy felt a surge of excitement and pride—especially when she saw some of the other students notice.

“We got a shitload of bags to di-perse,” Cox slurred, “to disburse, I mean, so everybody shut the fuck up and don’t make a big deal. Cuz they’s gonna be mean, motherfuckers!”

The crowd cheered.

“Seriously, seriously,” Cox chuckled, “this is all in fun, so nobody start crying and shit—seriously, mine’s like the worst, I’m sure.”