Mallory slid all the way out the car and stepped up beside them. “Derrick, stop it. You don’t have to do this.”
“It’s okay,” Tim told her. “Better you see him for what he is, anyway.”
Derrick swung a fist at Tim’s head, and Mallory gasped. Tim sidestepped the blow—seizing the boy’s wrist—and used Derrick’s own momentum to yank him forward, into the truck. He locked the older boy’s captured arm behind his back and—
“Tim?” Mallory repeated.
He blinked and looked at the others sitting in the car around him.
“What do you think?” she asked again. “Do you want Derrick to drop you off before we go to the party?”
“That’s fine,” he said.
“Or we could all go back to my place,” Mallory suddenly added, turning back to Derrick. “My brother would be there, but otherwise we’d have the place to ourselves. Heck, he’s probably asleep now, anyway. It’s not exactly a rave, but my dad has a pool. We could go swimming.”
A sly grin inched across Derrick’s face, and he didn’t attempt to hide the glance he gave Mallory’s bare legs. “Pool party, huh? That sounds like a plan. A chance at seeing you in a swimsuit beats roll’n with a bunch of ecstasy freaks any day.”
A hint of red crept into her cheeks while she told him the directions to her house.
Derrick started the engine. “We’ll catch Troy at the turnoff on our way out of the park and let him know what’s up.”
On the way home, Mallory and her friends struggled to talk over the blare of the stereo. Twice she leaned over and asked Tim how he felt, but for the most part, she kept her head perched near the edge of Derrick’s seat, leaving him to stare out the window and imagine a whole host of fantasies where he stood up to Derrick and won Mallory’s heart.
CHAPTER 24
It was past nine by the time Melissa returned home and set about fixing herself something to eat. A lot had happened since morning, but because she’d made no headway in the investigation, she almost felt a meal and a shower were undeserved.
Skipping the shower, she made herself a simple dinner of tuna salad and hard-boiled eggs, accompanied by a large ice-filled glass of tea. She ate in the living room, seated on the couch, where she mulled over the day’s events.
Earlier that afternoon, after the medical examiner had bagged Father Kern’s remains and taken them to the morgue, Melissa stayed behind in the neighborhood. She went door to door, questioning residents if they’d heard or seen anything that would further her investigation, but like the Patterson case in Corcoran, nothing panned out.
Which reminded her; she had one last call to make.
After taking a generous bite of tuna salad, she pulled out her notepad and flipped to the page where she’d jotted down the phone number for Doctor Ryan Damerow and his wife. The Damerows were the closest neighbors to the Pattersons. Melissa had spoken with their gardener and learned the couple had gone to Duluth for a wedding. They weren’t expected to return home until sometime tonight. Hopefully, they’d be back now.
She picked up her cordless telephone from the end table and dialed the number, chewing while she waited.
The answering machine clicked on after three rings.
“Damn.” Setting the phone down, she turned her attention to the report on Mel and Florence Patterson resting on the table in front of her.
Melissa picked it up, then tossed it down again without opening it. She’d already read it twice. Through all the technical jargon, the coroner’s basic statement was that both people had died from a result of their injuries; the killer hadn’t left a single trace of himself on either of them, not even a microscopic one.
She stabbed at her salad, but then set it aside without finishing. Instead, she picked up the final item she’d brought home with her: Judge Anderson’s copy of Frank’s book.
Opening it, she leaned back and began to read.
The wall clock ticked off the seconds. Time slid by. She absentmindedly twirled a lock of her hair as she scanned the text, but with each turn of a page the twirling slowed. She straightened up as she read, her brow furrowing more and more often as the story unfolded before her eyes.
Halfway through Frank’s book, Melissa slammed the cover shut and tossed it aside.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!”
She picked up the remains of her meal and stormed out of the room, dropping the salad bowl into the sink a little too hard. She leaned against the counter.
Through the doorway, Frank’s book lay on the floor, cover up. His picture watched her.
In total, the book numbered two hundred eight pages, printed in big text that read, for the most part, like an elaborately worded police report. She’d skimmed through the beginning and middle, focusing on the parts they’d talked about earlier in the day. Despite its small size and simplicity, she scolded herself for wasting the time she’d already spent on it.
When Frank told her of his idea that Kane might have had an accomplice, she thought reading his book could help her understand what kind of a person—if an accomplice existed—she needed to look for. She had three bodies and two missing people who each seemed linked by the dead killer’s identity, so any information she could gain from it might aid her in her search for a suspect.
Not so. She found herself struggling with more questions now than before she’d started reading it.
To her surprise, Frank’s writing had revealed theories he never mentioned when she’d visited him, things he no doubt purposely neglected to discuss. And she understood why. If he’d told her his true beliefs about the killer, she would’ve labeled him insane. Hell, it was no wonder why his book had bombed. For God’s sake, the man actually believed Kane’s partner was—
The phone rang.
Melissa returned to the living room and scooped up the handset.
‘Private number’ showed on the caller ID.
Hoping for a return call from the Damerows, Melissa answered. “Detective Melissa—”
“Detective, it’s Frank Atkins.”
Her eyebrows rose in surprise. She paused to collect herself before answering. Considering how much information he’d withheld during their meeting, it was amazing he had the courage to speak to her at all.
“Hello, Frank. This is unexpected.”
“I’ll get straight to the point,” he said. “I saw a preview for tonight’s news earlier. They say there’s been a double murder out in Corcoran, that the bodies are a week old, and the killer might still be on the loose. Real nice sales pitch, isn’t it? Naturally, I’ll have to wait until ten to find out if I’m in danger or not, but I was hoping you could tell me sooner. Is what they say true?”
“You’re wondering if it’s related to Judge Anderson’s disappearance?”
“Is it?”
“You know I can’t give out case information, Frank. Even if you were an investigator once, I’m not obligated—”
“I know Anderson lived minutes from Corcoran, Detective,” Frank interrupted without raising his voice. “I had a friend from the department do a check on his unlisted address.”
“What for?”
“I’m concerned,” he responded. “Two murders, that close together; it can’t be a coincidence. If the killer is operating in that area, there are going to be more bodies, and soon.”
She smirked at his justification for becoming involved. “You’re not ‘concerned’ about just any nameless murderer, are you? You’re suggesting it was Kane’s partner.”
“I didn’t say that,” he replied, “but it’s possible. If so, I think I know where the killer will go next.”
“Where?”
“Kane’s grave.”
“I’ve given that thought,” Melissa agreed. “But right now I’m more concerned with finding potential witnesses and examining the forensic evidence rather than staking out a cemetery.”