Stunned, he stared. “But you’re still sleeping with him.”
“He told me he needed me,” Katie sobbed. “He said we could get Phelps together. Make him pay. I wanted to make Phelps pay.”
“Oh, you will,” Dell said. “Don’t worry. You’ll have the starring role.”
Harvey looked up at his son. The crazed light was gone from his eyes, replaced by an amused detachment that was more terrifying. “What are you going to do?”
“Well, I got to thinking. Wouldn’t it be great if, after losing his job through gross incompetence, Phelps killed himself? Then I kicked it up. He loves women. Wouldn’t it be even greater if he was discovered dead in his bed next to his newest bimbo who was shot in the head? Think about how that would look on a magazine cover. It would get headlines. The world would see Phelps for who he really is. It would ruin him.”
“You can’t do that,” Harvey blurted.
Dell’s eyes narrowed. “Watch me, old man.”
“No, no,” Harvey backpedaled, stalling for time. On the sofa, Katie was sobbing in fear. “I mean, you can’t just punish Phelps. Webster was there, too. What about him?”
“Oh, I have a plan for him, too. No worries.” Dell took a step forward.
“Why Buckland?” Harvey asked.
Dell smiled, enjoying his fear. “I wanted to be sure the story would get printed.”
“You killed a reporter, posed as him, so that you could take over his column?”
“No. I killed him because he refused to write the story I wanted him to write. Kept whining about professional ethics and corroboration. Turns out I was right.” He took another step forward, pointing his gun at Harvey’s chest. “But I wasn’t close to being finished. I had days of stories left to write. You really shouldn’t have told on me, Pop.”
“I didn’t. I swear-” There was a quiet pop and Harvey looked down at his chest in disbelief. Red was spreading across his shirt and he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
Dell leaned close. “You really shouldn’t have hit us all those years, either, so that was for me and V.” He yanked a sobbing Katie to her feet. “Time to go.”
Wednesday, February 24, 5:30 p.m.
“So is this Buckland imposter connected to the Shadowland killer?” Abbott asked when Noah and Olivia had finished the story. “Could they be the same person?”
Carleton shook his head. “Unlikely. The temperament is completely different. The imposter is reckless and the Shadowland killer is very careful and meticulous. Both dangerous, but not the same person.”
“Considering we know what the imposter looks like, that would have been too good to be true,” Abbott grumbled. “But the timing can be no coincidence.”
“This Hunter,” Micki said. “What exactly did he see?”
“A black SUV,” Olivia said.
“And a ring,” Noah added. He’d told Olivia and she’d already added it to the BOLO. He held up his hand. “Like my college ring, but there are a lot of people with college rings. And most schools use the same ring companies, so the designs are the same.”
Kane held up his right hand. It was ringless, but he wiggled his finger. “I had one.”
Olivia looked up at him, charmed. “I didn’t know that, Kane. What did you study?”
Kane’s smile was slightly embarrassed. “Dance. Helped me play football.”
“I have one, too,” Carleton said, holding up his right hand. “We’re going to have a hard time tracking him down if that’s the only thing we have to go on.”
“I know,” Noah said flatly.
“His prints aren’t in the system,” Olivia said, “but we’ve got a sketch.”
“No sign of Buckland’s body?” Abbott asked.
“So far, none.” Olivia looked grim. “The tech guys are tracing the email he sent to the Mirror’s editor with the article on our dead women, we think from Buckland’s laptop.”
“All right.” Abbott sighed. “So full circle, back to our dead women. No suspects, no forensics, and no idea who he’s going to strike next. I need to decide if we’re going to release the Shadowland element to the press. Pros? Cons?”
“Pro, we warn the people in the study,” Noah said. “We tell participants not to leave their houses to meet strange people they meet online.”
Olivia rolled her eyes. “Like they should need to be told.”
“Con,” Jack said, “we show him our hand.”
“If you expose the connection,” Carleton said quietly, “he’ll change. He’s stayed a step ahead of us all this time. If he thinks we know his MO, he’ll find a new one.”
“Which is exactly why Eve fought so hard not to be connected to this case,” Noah said. “She didn’t want us to lose that Shadowland advantage.”
“So you’re saying not to tell, Noah?” Abbott asked.
“No, I’m saying she bought us a few days, but the clock is running out for these women. We’re no closer to finding this guy and he’s going to kill again.”
Carleton shrugged. “If women stop leaving their homes, they stop becoming victims. But you also may lose the opportunity to catch him. He’s likely to go somewhere else and start all over. It’s your call, Bruce.”
Abbott folded his hands and pressed them to his mouth, the picture of a man with a terrible choice to make.
“If it were me,” Noah said quietly, “I’d tell. He’s killed five times. I don’t want to find a sixth, and we can’t predict what he’s going to do.”
Abbott raised his brows. “Jack?”
“I agree. What if we’re late again? I have to live with Rachel Ward on my conscience for the rest of my life.” Jack swallowed hard. “No more.”
Abbott nodded. “I think so, too. I’ll get the word out. I hope these women hear it.”
“There are two women at high risk,” Noah said. “We should call them personally.”
“Get me their info,” Abbott said, then sighed when the phone on his desk rang. He hit the speakerphone. “Ian, you’re on speaker. We’re all here. What do you have?”
“The retained blood samples from Amy Millhouse’s autopsy showed ket. According to the autopsy report, the cause of death was strangulation, same as the others. There was something unusual, though. The victim’s fingernails were torn and there were abrasions all over her hands. Luckily the examiner took some photos for the file.”
“Defense wounds?” Jack asked.
“I don’t think so. Based on what I’ve seen before, Amy’s injuries were sustained clawing against something hard.”
“Her worst fear,” Carleton said. “A small space? Being closed in?”
“That makes sense,” Ian said. “That’s all I’ve got. I’ll call you if I get any more.”
Abbott turned off the speaker. “I’ll get a statement to the press. Noah, Jack, talk to Millhouse’s brother, then visit the couple that saw Martha leave the coffee shop.”
“What about Jeremy Lyons?” Noah asked. “We haven’t found him.”
“And his financials didn’t show anything irregular,” Abbott said. “Kane, Lyons is yours. Find him. Olivia, find out if anyone saw our reporter-guy come in or out of Kurt Buckland’s place. Have we notified his next of kin that he’s missing?”
“We did a canvass, but we’ll go back now that we have the sketch. Buckland’s not married, no kids. Sal may know somebody to call. I think the ring won’t be much help.”
“Unfortunately, I think you’re right. Kane, I also want you to go back to the bar Rachel Ward was at last night. Find out if anyone saw anyone loitering, waiting for her. Now I have a meeting upstairs.” Abbott looked grim. “Keep me informed of everything.”
Wednesday, February 24, 6:10 p.m.
Eve jumped in her waiting room chair when someone touched her shoulder. Hunched over her laptop, she jerked up her chin to see Carleton Pierce standing in front of her. She took the earbuds from her ears. “Dr. Pierce. You startled me.”