Had he singled out Havoc too soon, too easily? Mark wondered what he might have missed. Who he might have missed...
“But maybe Havoc isn’t your suspect,” Elkins said. “Maybe it’s one of Havoc’s staff. You know, he was frequently out of town, judging tournaments and making personal appearances.”
Mark sat up. “That kind of travel would be ideal for this killer.”
“You’ve seen the case files, so you know CPD didn’t look at Havoc very hard, if at all. He’s your person of interest, not theirs.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Well, I don’t find him a very interesting person at all.”
Mark just sat there, the wind out of his sails.
“But maybe you’re looking at Havoc’s staff,” Elkins went on. “Is that what you’re up to?”
He hadn’t been. Mark hadn’t really looked into the staff carefully at all — didn’t know who, or how many of them, traveled with the man.
But what about the encounter in the parking lot of Apollonia’s? And Havoc’s jab about the osso buco being “to die for”? Or had it been a jab? Could it have been nothing more than a guy spouting a cliché with an unfortunate, unintentional resonance, and Mark all too eagerly misinterpreting it?
“So is that it?” Elkins was asking. “You have a suspect on Havoc’s staff?”
“I’m sorry, sir. Not at liberty to say.”
“Then why did you bring up Havoc?”
“Actually, sir, you brought up Havoc. I merely pointed out that both girls studied gymnastics at his school, if briefly. It just demonstrates one connection I’ve found that was overlooked in the initial investigation of your family’s murders. There might be others, and that’s what I’d like to talk about.”
“Maybe looking at Havoc and particularly his staff is worthwhile, and I wish you luck. But I have nothing to contribute.”
“Sir...”
Elkins let out a sigh that filled the room. “Look, son. Detectives have come around every few months since this goddamn thing happened. They seem always to have some little new thread to pull on, but it winds up leading nowhere, and I have to revisit the... the horror of it all... over and over and over. And each time, it cuts off another little piece of me.”
“I’m sorry you’ve been put through that,” Mark said, “and needlessly. But those detectives, none of them have been pursuing the serial killer possibility, have they?”
“That’s true. That is true.”
“So they haven’t looked for the kinds of connections that I have. Like your tragedy and Jordan’s. And there are more, not just around here, but all over the map.”
Elkins sipped more beer. He leaned back, rocked a little, thinking. Then a brusque laugh came out of him. “You know, Detective Pryor — it’s funny.”
“What is?”
“Some of my support group has been working on this very theory for a long goddamn time. Serial killer notion? And way at the beginning, when we first saw the pattern emerging, we took it to the police, and they basically patted us on the head and sent us on our way.”
Someone else was investigating his theory? Victims of the killer, no less. Were they Jordan’s circle of friends he’d seen exiting the coffee shop?
Mark gave his host a bitter grin. “You and me both, Mr. Elkins.”
“Huh?”
“Sir, my investigation is strictly off the books. I’ve managed to be taken just seriously enough by my captain to secure permission to explore this on my own time.”
“Are you sure you and Jordan weren’t good friends?”
Mark ignored that. “What made you and those other group members think a serial killer might be behind these different cases? No one else did.”
Elkins sent the question back: “What made you think this was a serial killer?”
“Families as victims. That’s the common dominator.”
The writer sat forward again, nodding. “That was our thinking, too. But they all seemed too different to be connected.”
“The details vary,” Mark said. “I believe we have a shrewd actor who knows all about MO. But underlying these assorted atrocities is a desire to destroy a family, leaving one family member alive to suffer.”
Now Elkins was looking at Mark in an entirely new way. “Maybe I can get the group to meet with you. You could be our door into the police.”
“I’m anxious to see what you’ve got,” Mark admitted. “But I don’t think I can share what I’ve found with you.”
“That doesn’t seem like much of an arrangement.”
“I know. But if my superiors do finally accept my theory, my investigation will suddenly be a heck of a lot more official than it is now. I can’t be seen as having compromised it by showing potential evidence to civilians.”
Elkins was nodding again. “I can understand that. Perhaps... perhaps it’s enough that we share the same goal.”
Mark nodded back. “To put this monster away, yes.”
Before they could go any further, Mark’s cell chirped. He slipped it out of his jacket pocket, saw an unfamiliar number, and almost ignored it. But a hunch told him to answer — wasn’t he waiting for a call, after all? He hit the button, knowing it couldn’t be her.
Yet it was: “This is Jordan Rivera.”
Getting quickly to his feet, Mark put a hand over the phone and told Elkins, “I need to take this.”
Elkins waved permission and Mark excused himself to the front porch.
“Are you there?” Jordan asked.
“Sorry,” Mark said. “I needed to step away from something.”
“Okay.”
“I’m, uh... a little surprised you actually called.”
“Not as surprised as I am.”
He thought of how she’d looked when he saw her at the grocery store, close-up for the first time in so many years, as beautiful now as she had been in high school — maybe more so. Not a lot of makeup, dressed casually, a baseball fan like him, apparently, judging by the Indians cap.
“I’m ready for us to talk,” she said.
“When and where?” he asked, perhaps a little too eagerly.
“Whoa, big boy. I’m not looking to hook up or anything. This is police business. Right?”
“I know, sorry,” Mark said, still too darn eager.
“Come over to my place at nine. Bring pizza. Thin crust. Sausage. See you then?”
“Sure. What’s your address?”
“Your buddy Grant didn’t give it to you?”
“No.”
“Oh, I get it. You’re asking because I’m not supposed to know you followed me home from the market the other day.”
Busted.
“Sorry,” he said automatically.
“Don’t sweat it,” she said.
“You mad?”
“Fucking furious.”
“I’m really, really sorry.”
“It’s all right,” she said. “The only men I’ve ever known I could trust were my father and my brother, and they don’t seem to be around.”
He was searching for something to say to that when she clicked off.
Chapter Eleven
Levi Mills was already doing research online when David Elkins phoned with a new name for him to start digging into; meanwhile, the writer would drive across the city to meet up with him.
Though this name meant nothing to Levi, he didn’t question his fellow group member, just followed his instructions, looking forward to having David come over. The writer had sort of taken Levi under his wing, a year ago or so, and the younger man looked upon the older as a mentor, maybe even a father figure.