“You see anything in the backyard, Greenbladt?” Ames says into his radio.
“There’s nobody out here, Detective.”
Ames sighs and puts the radio back on his hip. Darcy sets the laptop on the kitchen table. As she steps through the footage, Ames and Julian look over her shoulder. At one point, Ames bends down, hands on his knees, for a closer look. But the shadow is nothing but a large tree branch swaying from the wind. After several minutes, Ames leans against the counter.
“That’s all the footage from this evening?”
“Everything,” Darcy says. Humiliation tinges her voice.
“It could have been an animal,” Julian says with a glare that makes Darcy feel she’s wasted their time. “Lots of deer run through these parts this time of year.”
“Somebody was in the backyard,” Darcy says in a broken, child-like voice. “Maybe they knew enough to avoid the cameras.”
Ames’ face is unreadable. He’s mulling over the situation, but Darcy can’t decide if he thinks she’s crying wolf or the victim of an elaborate prank.
“This must be Ms. Yang.” Ames glances across the kitchen at Amy. Hunter protectively moves his arm around her, though Darcy doesn’t find the detective hostile. “That’s good, all of you staying together. Ms. Gellar, you have a state-of-the-art security system. You’re quite safe.”
Darcy finds it curious he doesn’t include having an ex-cop around the house as an added safety measure. So far, Ames is exactly who Bronson claimed he was—a skittish detective who jumps to conclusions and overlooks obvious dangers.
“Regarding the man who called you,” Ames says, “he almost certainly used a disposable phone. If his impression was good enough to fool an ex-FBI agent, he knows enough not to call using a traceable line.”
Darcy grinds her teeth.
“An impression? You’re brushing this off rather easily.”
“Not at all. In fact, I’m quite concerned about this phone call. Until we find the killer, I have to act on the assumption he may have been the one who called you. Why he’s pretending to be the Full Moon Killer, I can’t say, but I assure you I’ll do everything in my power to track his phone.”
Ames and Julian depart with a promise to send a cruiser past the house overnight.
They’re all staring at her. Hunter, Amy, Jennifer, even Bronson. Staring and judging, Darcy assumes.
“All of you, go to your rooms so I can speak with Bronson.”
“We have a right to know if that maniac is trying to kill us,” Jennifer says.
“You heard what the detective said. Michael Rivers is in jail.”
“Then a copycat killer is out there. How is that better?”
“Jennifer, please.”
Hunter walks the girls down the hallway. Amy appears on the verge of crumbling, and Darcy worries she’ll only make Jennifer’s anxiety worse. When the doors close, Bronson puts his hand on her hip and leads her to the couch.
“It wouldn’t be a bad idea if I slept on the couch until this situation blows over.”
“I can’t let you do that. You have your own life.”
“What kind of friend would I be if I left? I’d be just as useless as Ames and his idiot sidekick. Animals, he said.” Bronson scoffs. “That sort of incompetence is another reason I left the force. I don’t mind staying.”
“Then take my bed and let me sleep on the couch.”
He groans and runs his hand across his forehead.
“I’m not kicking you out of your own bed. Remember I was a beat cop. Back then, I dozed in squad cars at three in the morning and slept like a baby on a recliner. I’m fine on the couch.”
Darcy looks at the entryway. The door is bolted. Every several seconds, the alarm system flashes a red light to indicate it is functioning.
“Eric Hensel is coming here.”
“Hensel, the FBI agent you mentioned?”
“Yes, he was my partner the year we hunted the Full Moon Killer.”
“GCPD didn’t call in the FBI. Why would Hensel come?”
“The FBI isn’t working the case. At least not until the GCPD requests assistance.” Darcy touches his hand. “There’s something you should know.”
“Okay.”
“I’m going to ask Hensel to fly with me to New York. I want to see Michael Rivers.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The slam of a neighbor’s car door shocks Darcy awake. She sits up in bed before vertigo tugs her down to the pillow. How many pills did she take last night?
Squinting at the light, she reaches across the nightstand and grabs the bottle. She recalls swallowing a pill after the police left, but the bottle looks disturbingly close to empty. Touching her head, Darcy eases herself out of bed and winces when her thigh locks again. She limps to the shower and stands under the hot flow, one arm propped against the wall as the muscles unwind.
It’s mid-morning when Eric Hensel strides up Darcy’s walkway.
Her old partner took the red eye into Charlotte and looks as if he hasn’t slept in weeks—eyes bloodshot and drooping, blonde hair hastily brushed by his hand, windbreaker rumpled and hanging like a snake shedding its skin.
“I got here as quickly as I could,” Hensel says, shifting his briefcase to his left hand. He seems confused whether to shake her hand or hug his old partner. In the end, he does neither, and simply nods when Darcy invites him inside.
“It means a lot that you came. But I’d hate to think I wasted your annual leave.”
He studies the inside of the house and blinks, stopping for a moment on the alarm in the doorway. Though Hensel looks exhausted, Darcy bets he noticed the cameras the second he stepped out of his rental car.
“Looks like you did well for yourself. Nice neighborhood, easy access to the cove.” He swallows, realizing what he said. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Come inside, Eric. You’ve had a long morning.”
Hensel sits at the kitchen table as she tidies up the counter. His shirt sleeves are rolled up and buttoned at the forearm. A Semper Fi tattoo with a bald eagle peeks out from below the sleeve, the former marine looking ten years older than when Darcy last saw him.
He blows on the coffee when she hands him the mug. He squints at the first sip and blows again.
“Too hot?”
“Just the way I like it,” he says. “As long as it kicks me out of low gear.”
His gaze flicks between Darcy and the window.
“Say what’s on your mind, Eric.”
“You need help, Darcy. Don’t let these attacks take over your life like they did three years ago.”
“I’m still seeing someone.”
He leans forward and studies her eyes. She blinks and looks away.
“You’re taking the pills again.”
She stares down at her hands, her fists clenched from the struggle to rationalize her choices.
“Of course. It’s a prescription.”
“You know what I mean. How many? Two? Three?”
Darcy shrugs.
“Jesus. I’ll give you to the end of the month. Get this under control, or I’m putting you in rehab.”
“You don’t have the authority. And anyway, I’m not leaving my kids.”
“Were you there for Hunter and Jennifer three years ago? Don’t go down that hole again, Darcy. You’ll hurt them.”
She looks away and chews her nail.
Recognizing she’s upset, Hensel swings the conversation to the cove murder, Amy’s stalker, and the phone call from Michael Rivers.
“They’re all interrelated,” Hensel says, examining the extra security measures Darcy installed. Her laptop is open on the counter and displaying camera views around the house. “Even the police concur the same guy is responsible, but they’re playing the usual jurisdiction games and don’t want us taking their case away.”