Looking out on the panorama of Las Vegas, he asked himself if he could come to like this town, which was so unlike anything he had known. It was hard to take a creature of the wilderness and drop him in the neon jungle. But he wasn't sure he wanted to live in Duluth anymore. He had done his time, enough for a full pension, and this was his chance to make a break with the past. Plus, as of last week, he had learned that Maggie was pregnant and that her husband had prevailed upon her to hang up her shield. The prospect of doing his old job without her seemed empty.
He found he could walk by the edge and look down without a sense of vertigo. He followed the platform to his right, which led him on a course overlooking the eastern half of the city, free of the long stretch of glittering casinos. As he made his way to the south side, he saw the hypnotic grandeur of the Strip, jutting into the desert like a bent laser beam. At first, he saw only a dazzling ribbon of colors, devoid of detail. But the more he stared, the more he found himself focusing on individual details, like the emerald glow of the MGM Grand or the superstructure of the faux Eiffel Tower at Paris. He was so taken by the view that he spent several moments before realizing that he wasn't alone.
Serena stood a few feet away, watching him with a smile. She wore black jeans and a white mock turtleneck. He couldn't help but remember that Rachel was wearing almost the same outfit on the night she disappeared. With her black hair and athletic body, Serena must have looked very much as Rachel did then, atop the bridge over the canal. It gave him a little bit of sympathy, understanding how easily Robin, Graeme, Kevin, and everyone else could have been seduced by Rachel. Serena, with the same beauty, had that kind of power over him.
Why does a man do anything? Robin asked. A woman.
With a quiet grace, she came and put her arms around his back and pressed her cool cheek tenderly against his face, which was flushed and warm. He reached up and stroked her dark hair. Holding her felt natural, as if they had been doing it for years. He never wanted to let go, and for a long while, it felt as if they never would. They could stand there, wrapped around each other in the breezy night, forever. The electricity was still there, as vibrant as it had been at the start.
"You came back," she said, with a hint of surprise in her voice.
"I told you I would."
"I know. But promises don't always mean a lot in this city."
He let go and studied her, becoming familiar with her face again. "You looked good on television," he said.
Serena grinned. "You're such a charmer."
Two of the Minneapolis network affiliates had sent reporters to Las Vegas to do stories about Rachel's death. They interviewed Serena and Cordy, took footage inside and out at the strip club where Rachel had worked, and did live feeds from the open spot in the desert where Robin's trailer had been parked. The broken-down trailer had already been towed to the junk yard and its pest-ridden contents burned.
The television crews had no photograph of Jerky Bob to put on the air. Stride had seen to it that the only known photograph was lost during the investigation. So it was up to Serena to describe him, which she did. He was a vagrant. A nowhere man. There were a lot of them in Vegas, most of them mentally ill, and this one had nursed an obsession until it grew violent. Rachel had the bad luck to be the girl he couldn't let go.
That was her story, and she was sticking to it.
"They picked up your line, you know," Stride said. "'Rachel Killed By "Nowhere Man"' That was the headline in the paper."
"I like it."
"So what if it isn't true," he murmured.
"We talked about this," Serena said. "You had to protect her."
He placed his hands gingerly on the shield that prevented jumpers and peered downward, feeling dizzy again at the height. Serena joined him, laying a hand on his back.
"What else could you do?" she asked.
"I know. But I'm sorry I put you in the middle of it. I made you lie for me."
"That was my choice," Serena told him. She saw he was ready to say more, and she put a finger over his lips. "It's over and done, Jonny. End of story."
"Not quite the end," he said.
He took a breath and thought about how to tell her the rest He still blamed himself for not seeing the truth earlier, even though it would have made no difference. The deed was done.
Serena watched him, waiting.
"There's still the relationship between Rachel and Graeme," he said. "Something happened-something that made them blood enemies."
"We know they were having sex," Serena said. "Rachel wanted to stop. Graeme didn't. I've been there, Jonny. If he raped her, or if he tried to, that's enough to make a girl like Rachel get revenge."
"Yes, it is. But Graeme got his revenge first."
Graeme watched his hand tremble as he held a glass of brandy up to the light. He brought the drink to his lips and took a sip, hoping the alcohol would settle his nerves. The fumes filled his nose, and the brandy burned his dry throat. He swirled the liquor in the glass and took another swallow. But the quivering in his fingers refused to be quieted. He felt his desire rise.
Emily was at a church retreat in St. Paul. Rachel was in her room, waiting, knowing he would come. Graeme put the brandy down and slipped up the steps and down the hall to her bedroom door. He moved stealthily, measuring each step on the carpet to avoid a creak that would alarm her. A light came from under the door. He pictured Rachel on her bed, staring up at the ceiling with her head on the pillow. Thinking about the many times they had made love.
He twisted the knob silently and pushed. The door was locked.
"Rachel," he called out, just loud enough for her to hear. "You know how much I need you."
Nothing. She was inside, listening, but not saying a word.
"We're made for each other, Rachel," he told her. "You can't run away from that. We're like two sides of the same soul."
He knew she was there. The lingering silence began to erode his control. He found himself clenching and unclenching his fists and breathing harshly through his nose.
"Open the door, Rachel," he insisted, his voice quavering. "I promise I won't hurt you. But I need to talk to you."
His promise was a lie, and they both knew it. If she opened the door, he wouldn't be able to control himself. He needed to touch her and be inside her, whatever it took. The thought of her naked body made him sweat and tremble with longing.
"Rachel!" he shouted, anger creeping into his voice. He pounded the door with his fist, unable to restrain himself. "I need you!"
He threw his shoulder against the door with a jarring thud. He was willing to break it down to get inside. But it was a solid old house, and the oak door didn't budge.
"Let me in!" he screamed.
He laid his cheek against the door and listened. Rachel's voice, when it came, was so close it startled him. She was right on the other side of the door, separated from him by only an inch of heavy wood.
"I'll let you in if you want, Graeme," Rachel said. Her voice was like honey, without the slightest hint of emotion or venom. "If you need to rape me, you can rape me."
"I won't," he murmured.
"It's all right, Graeme. I understand. You have needs."
"Yes," he told her. "Yes, I need you so much. I want it to be like it was."
"And I'm telling you that you can have me."
He hardly dared to breathe. The thought of making love to her again overwhelmed him. "You'll let me?"
"I will. But let me tell you what will happen then."
Something in Rachel's tone made his flesh creep with unease.
"If you come inside and touch me again, I'm going to take a butcher knife to you, and I'm going to cut off your balls. Got it? And then I'm going to cut off your cock. That's a promise. Are you listening? Do you understand? You'll never sleep another night in this house without wondering when I'm going to dismember you. And don't even think about having your little darling reattached. Because once I cut it off, I'm going to flush it down the toilet where it belongs."