“It could be a one-off,” suggested Puller. “Or a wrong place, wrong time. If he saw my mother walking alone in her Sunday best? And while she was older than the murdered women, my mom looked a lot younger than her age.”
“She was a beautiful woman, Puller.”
He looked up to find Knox staring at him from the bed.
“You’ve seen a picture of her?”
“Like I said, I did my homework before I came here.” She paused. “And I’m seeing her right now.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have your dad’s height but your mother’s eyes, nose, and cheekbones.”
Puller glanced down at the file he was holding, evidently uncomfortable with her observation. “I guess I never really thought much about that.”
“Because it reminded you of your loss?” said Knox.
Puller didn’t answer her.
She said, “It is a weird coincidence that a serial killer was operating barely thirty minutes away killing young women and it doesn’t seem like the police here even made inquiries into whether your mother’s case was connected or not. At the very least they should have done a little digging, particularly since they really had no other leads.”
“It’s more than weird. It’s inexcusable.”
He reached over and snagged another file he’d brought into her room.
“What’s that?” she asked, finishing her wine and pouring herself another glass.
“CID file from my mom’s case. If the special agent on the case is still alive maybe we should talk to him.”
“You think he’ll remember anything pertinent?”
“It’s why we ask the questions.”
They finished going over the files and then Puller made some calls and located retired CID agent Vincent DiRenzo. He left a message for DiRenzo, rose, and stretched out his tall frame.
“I think that’s all we can do tonight, Knox.”
Knox had taken off the pullover, revealing a tight white tank top underneath. She laid aside a file, sat up, freed her hair from the knot, tousled it, and looked at him.
“It’s not that late,” she said. “And we haven’t finished our wine.”
“It’s after midnight,” he pointed out. “We both need to get to bed.”
“Okay.”
He stared down at her and she back up at him.
“What?”
“You know what, Puller.”
“Where exactly is this coming from?” he asked quietly.
“It’s coming from a missed opportunity back in Kansas.”
“So you’re saying you made a mistake?”
“Yes.”
He nodded, considering this.
She moved over to the edge of the bed and touched his arm with her hand. Knox’s large eyes locked on his as she rubbed his arm. Puller felt a jolt of something go right through him.
“I want this, John,” she said. “Right here, right now. I just want to be with you.”
He said, “And you’ve thought this all the way through?”
“I don’t want to think anything through. I’m leading with my heart, not my head.”
He thought about this for a moment as she continued to stroke his arm. “We’re working a case, Knox. So I have to lead with my head. Good night.”
He walked out the door.
Knox sat there looking devastated.
She let out a long groan and slumped back on the bed.
25
I’M SORRY ABOUT last night.”
A pale Knox glanced over at Puller, who was driving due west across Virginia. They were on their way to see retired CID special agent Vincent DiRenzo. He lived on Smith Mountain Lake near Roanoke.
Puller kept his eyes on the road. “I don’t like getting played, Knox. I don’t deserve that, not from you.”
She tapped her toe against the floorboard. “Meaning what?”
“Meaning I would like to know why you really showed up on my doorstep.”
“I already explained that.”
“No, you already told me a bullshit story. I’d like the truth now.”
She folded her arms over her chest and looked crossly out the window. “So I guess because of what I do for a living you always think I have a hidden agenda? That I’m never telling you the complete truth?”
“Couldn’t have summed it up better myself.”
“Screw you, Puller.”
“Speaking of, your little maneuver on the bed last night? If that was your way of getting me to trust you, it seriously failed.”
She sighed. “Okay, I guess I deserved that. And I’m sorry.” She sat up straighter. “So, Vincent DiRenzo?”
Puller’s shoulders relaxed with the change in direction of the conversation. “Had a solid career in CID. Nothing spectacular, but no big screwups either. He returned my call this morning and agreed to meet with us.”
“You said he lives on a lake?”
“Smith Mountain Lake. I’ve been there before when I was working a case. Beautiful place. Mountains rise up right out of the water. It’s a hydroelectric lake,” he tacked on. “About forty miles long with more shoreline than the state of Rhode Island. Calling it a lake doesn’t seem to do it justice.”
She nodded. “Sounds great.”
“We should also talk to the local police back in Williamsburg who handled the serial murders.”
“I’ve already made calls. Waiting to hear back. And the FBI was involved too.”
He nodded. “I was hoping you could make a call about that. You have more pull in that circle than I do.”
“You expect me to make a lot of calls,” she said sharply.
“Isn’t that why you’re here? To help?”
She looked out the window again and didn’t answer him.
Vincent DiRenzo was a widower who lived in a three-bedroom gray shingle-sided cottage set on a small cove with mountain views in the distance. The yard was full of flowerbeds and neatly maintained.
They rang the doorbell several times and received no answer. Knox peered into the garage.
“There’s a car in there.”
Puller looked around. “Let’s try the dock. It’s a nice day, he might be down there.”
“Nice place to retire,” commented Knox as they walked to the dock.
“You ever expect to retire?”
“Neither one of us can do what we do forever.”
“Some days it seems like it’s the only thing I can do.”
“Then you have my sympathy.”
Though it was a freshwater lake, Puller could smell the brine in the air. A flotilla of ducks was making its way across the water as a boat pulling a slalom skier turned to avoid them. The ducks paddled quickly out of harm’s way.
Puller and Knox went around a curve in the path and the dock came into view. It had two boat slips, a small enclosed kitchen and gazebo, and a storage shed, all on pilings with a pressure-treated wooden deck as the floor.
They spotted DiRenzo standing next to a boat up on a lift. Puller called out and DiRenzo turned and motioned them over.
The former CID agent was short and muscular. Introductions were made and he shook their hands with a firm grip. He was wearing jeans, tennis shoes, and a sweatshirt that read Army Strong. His hair was close-cropped and mostly gray. A matching mustache spread over his top lip.
He had the engine compartment open on a trim yellow-and-white Chaparral twenty-five-footer that was up on the lift.
“Nice boat,” commented Puller.
“Handles the wake well and it’s got a lot of pep when I need it.”
“Sailor can’t ask for more than that,” replied Puller.
“You mind if I keep working while we talk?” asked DiRenzo.
“Not at all. Can I help you with anything?”
“You can hand me some tools when I ask you.”
“Sure thing.”
DiRenzo climbed into the boat and started taking off some bolts from the engine using a socket wrench.