The River's Secret Read online

  “William looks like he wants to eat me?”

  “Stop interrupting,” Jake's voice barked with a hint of aggravation and a don't-do-it-again tone. “I'm not done with the story. One day Barbara, that's my ex-wife, and I came home and Elvis's cage door was open. I still say that she left it open when she gave Elvis his treats in the morning, but she denied it. So we go frantically searching the entire house for Elvis, or maybe what's left of him.”

  “This doesn't sound like a story with a happy ending.”

  “Just wait. So we finally find Elvis. He's sitting on Barbara's jewelry box on top of her dresser. Guess where Tom was?”

  I shrugged.

  “Lying right in front of him.”

  “He didn't eat him.”

  “Nope. But guess where we found Buster.”

  “The dog?”

  “Yes. He was hiding under our bed, whimpering.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, we had to coax him out with several of his favorite bacon treats. When we finally got him out, his face was covered with scratches.”

  “From the cat?”

  “Oh yeah. The way I figure it, Elvis got out and Buster went after him. Tom got in between them and let Buster have it.”

  “Tom was protecting the bird, even though instinctively he should have eaten it?”

  “Yep.” Jake nodded. “William keeps his eyes on you, every little move you make, he sees. And all the while, he's also scrutinizing the way everyone else looks at you. So what's between you and William?”

  “A lot of history.”

  “Well, let's pick up our two Sarahs and put them into protective custody. Then I'll treat you to a late dinner and you can tell me all about it.”

  “Okay.” Jake was almost old enough to be my father and talking to him was like having my dad around again. It felt nice. And I guess it did make sense about William. He had been my protector for so long, it was probably a habit.

  We found Sarah Johnson at home. She was a smartly dressed woman in black slacks and a short-sleeved blue cardigan. Her brown hair was cut short and she had lovely brown eyes. We introduced ourselves and she invited us in.

  “I'm right in the middle of practicing, you don't mind if I continue while we talk, do you?” She smiled.

  “No,” I told her and we followed through the foyer to a living room set up as a music studio. There was a black baby grand piano on one end and an overstuffed couch on the other. It was probably for the parents to sit and watch their children's lessons. We stood while she ran scales up and down the piano. Her fingers flew up and down the keyboard, but never pressed a key.

  I gave her an abbreviated version of the Jackal case.

  She stopped playing and laughed. “I'm too old to be the victim of a serial killer, my dear.”

  “You're not that old, Sarah,” I told her.

  “I'm seventy-six this year, my dear.”

  “How come your driver's license says that you're fifty-six?” Jake asked.

  Sarah laughed. “My brother worked for the DMV and he changed my age a long time ago. I forgot about it.”

  “Why did you have him change your age?” I asked.

  “Vanity.” She shrugged. “I've always looked younger than my age. When I was twenty-one, I looked sixteen and I hated it. But when I got to be fifty, I still looked thirty, so I had him change my date of birth.”

  “Won't you just come into protective custody for a few hours? Then we'll bring you right back here,” I suggested.

  “That sounds so boring, my dear.” She patted my arm again.

  “This is ridiculous, Connie.” Jake pulled out his handcuffs. “Let's just arrest her and call a squad car to pick her up.”

  Sarah smiled at Jake. “That's an interesting suggestion, Special Agent Carver. But I think you and I can find a better use for those handcuffs.”

  I stifled a laugh and Jake blushed. Sarah finally agreed to come into protective custody, but only if Jake stayed with her the entire time. I dropped them both off at the Riverbend Police Station.

  Before I could get out of the parking lot, John jogged over and tapped on the window.

  I rolled down the window. “Yes?”

  “I don't want you going alone.”

  “Okay.”

  “The only person around is William.”

  My stomach knotted. “Fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  My pulse accelerated. “Of course. He's a capable agent.”

  “That's not what I'm talking about.”

  “I'm fine, John.”

  “That's your favorite word, Connie.” John's eyebrows rose. “But is it true?”

  I nodded.

  “Okay, wait just a minute and I'll send him out.”

  While I waited for William, I worked to calm my heart rate and slow my breathing.

  A few minutes later, he walked toward the car and came over to the driver's side. I turned off the engine, opened the door, handed him the keys, and moved to the passenger seat. All without saying a word.

  The next twenty minutes felt like twenty hours. It was ridiculous. Someone had to say something.

  I was just about to, when William said, “How are you, Constance?”

  “Fine, William. And yourself?”

  “Very well, thanks.”

  Another ten minutes of silence. We arrived at Sarah Carlsberg's house in a quiet neighborhood with nicely manicured lawns and freshly painted houses.

  William parked in the driveway and we walked up to the front door. William knocked. No answer.

  “I'll go around the back,” William said and left the front porch before I could protest.

  “Fine,” I said to the back of his head. “I'll just go through the front.”

  This time I wouldn't be breaking a damn window and asking for him to boost me up. From my pocket, I pulled out a small box, extracted a long cylindrical tool and jimmied the inside of the lock. A few seconds later, the door was open.

  I drew my weapon, turned the door knob, and stepped into the house. “Hello? FBI. Is anyone in the house?”

  No answer.

  I went directly through the living room and into the kitchen. William entered through the back door. I guessed he had his own tools.

  A quick nod toward the back of the house and we checked the rooms. The first bedroom was clear. The second was not.

  Chapter 17

  Sarah lay on her bed, chest sliced. Her long brown hair had been cut short and obviously dyed blonde. A chill ran through my body, partly from the scene but also from the icy temperature in the room. The window air conditioning unit rattled and pumped out a continuous rush of cold air. It didn't make any sense since the outside temperature barely got over sixty today. I went over and turned it off.

  I glanced at her body. She would never see her twenty-fourth birthday, never get married, have children, or grow old with someone she loved. If the Jackal had succeeded the first time, I would be dead, but Sarah, Jane, and Carl would still be alive. I put my back against the bedroom wall and slid down to the floor. Tears flowed down my cheeks.

  I felt William's arms around me and heard his warm, calm voice, “Constance.”

  Obviously he'd joined me on the floor, so I lowered my head to his shoulder and tried to catch my breath between sobs.

  “Constance,” William's voice rose. “Look at me, Constance.”

  I ignored him and let the emotions flow.

  “Look at me, Constance,” William bellowed.

  I hit him on the arm. “Shut up, William. I'm not having a panic attack, I'm crying.”

  He used his thumbs to wipe the tears and then held my face in his hands. “At least you're talking to me.”

  The touch of his hands sent an electric shock all the way down to my toes. It would be so easy to lean over and kiss him. My body wanted him more than it had wanted anything in the last year. But I wasn't about to let him know I still had feelings for him. If he felt anything for me, he would have picked up the p
hone and called me after I left D.C. He had moved on and I'd be damned if I let him know that I hadn't.

  I stood up. “Of course, I'm talking to you. Why wouldn't I?”

  He stood up next to me. “Well, you haven't said more than a few words to me since I've arrived.”

  “There hasn't been anything to talk about.”

  “Okay.” He shrugged.

  I walked over and took the note from Sarah's chest.

  “Give me your scout knife.”

  William reached into his pocket, pulled out his keys which were attached to the red pocketknife I gave him a few weeks after we began our affair. I had told him he always acted like a Boy Scout and so should have the right tools for the job. Ignoring the feelings that pulled on my heart, I took the knife, opened the envelope and took out the letter. The message was similar to the last. A shiver ran up my spine as I read it out loud.

  Jackal - 2 dead women plus a penalty death equals 3 deaths

  Connie - 0 lives saved

  William pulled out his cell phone.

  I put my hand on his arm. “Wait a minute.”

  “Why?”

  “Let's go into the living room.”

  He put his phone away and followed me.

  On the way down the hall, I looked at the thermostat for the air conditioner. It had been set on forty. No wonder it was so cold in the house. But why install a separate unit in a bedroom? Probably to save money. A small window insert would cost less to run than the entire system.

  I sat down on the couch. William sat in the chair across from me.

  “What are you thinking, Constance?”

  “The Jackal was supposed to give us ten hours.” I glanced at my watch. “It's ten-fifteen, that's only a little over four and she's already dead?”

  “I think she's been dead for at least two hours.”

  “Then he doesn't know that we've found the body yet. That may buy us a little time.”

  “What are you thinking, Constance?” William repeated.

  “Remember you said that something else might be making his choices for him?”

  “Sure, but I don't know what that is yet.”

  “I think I might. My first summer job was the card shop and the second was teaching guitar.”

  “Okay, he's killing them in the order of your jobs. What was your third job?”

  “I worked at a coffee shop.”

  “Didn't like teaching?” he asked with a smirk.

  “Not really. I was only one lesson ahead of the class the entire time. Thank God no one was that good or I'd never have been able to actually teach them anything.”

  “Okay, that gives us an employer. But what about the names? Do they mean anything to you?”

  “No, not really. I can't remember ever having a friend named Sarah or Jane, but I'm sure there must have been girls in my high school with that name.”

  “How does the Jackal know so much about you? Could he be someone you used to know?”

  I shrugged. “Anything's possible.”

  “How many people knew what your summer jobs were?”

  “My parents, grandparents, and a few people in the town, maybe. But I can't imagine any of them remembering what my summer jobs were.”

  “Well, I think we can rule out your mom and granddad.” William paced around the room.

  “You know your pacing makes me crazy,” I told him.

  He smiled. “I know, but it helps me think.”

  “Okay, you pace. I'll call John and let him know what's going on.”

  “Sure,” William muttered, now totally lost in his own thoughts.

  I walked into the kitchen and dialed John's number. He picked up immediately.

  “John Carpenter.”

  “Hi John, this is Connie.”

  “Have you located Sarah Carlsberg?”

  “Yes.” I told him about finding the body and the note.

  “What!” John bellowed. “He said we had ten hours.”

  “So we can add that he's a liar and a cheater besides being a serial killer.”

  “Great.”

  I told him what William and I thought about my summer jobs. “If we can get ahead of him on the next one, maybe we can set him up.”

  “Even if we know the employer, how are you going to know which employee will be the Jackal's next victim?”

  “William's working on that.”

  “How are the two of you getting along?”

  “Fine.”

  “It seemed a little tense in the conference room.”

  “No, it's fine.”

  “Okay. I'll send out the crime scene techs.”

  “No, wait.”

  “Why?”

  “If the Jackal knows that we've found Sarah, he may accelerate the time frame on the next victim.”

  “Okay, that makes sense. Secure the scene and we'll leave her there until the ten hours are up.”

  “We're coming back to the station.”

  “Okay.”

  I went back in the living room. William sat on the couch and pushed the buttons on his iPad.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Looking something up on the web.”

  “What?”

  “I'm checking on some newspaper articles.”

  “Why?” I sat down next to him.

  “I started wondering how he knows so much about you.”

  “I don't know.”

  “When you were taken the first time by the Jackal, you got a lot of press. How much personal information was in the articles?”

  “I never read them. By the time I got out of the hospitals, I was old news.”

  “If we assume that the Jackal isn't an old friend of yours,” he said, smiling, “then I think that the newspaper articles are the place to start. He was never obsessed with you until after he kidnapped you and you survived.”

  I leaned over so I could look at his iPad. Our faces were only a few inches apart. He smelled like mint, obviously still using the same herbal mint soap he used when we were together. It brought back a swarm of lovely memories - showers together, lying in bed with my head on his chest, afternoons spent in the throes of passion and delight.

  I felt my face flush so I backed away. “That screen is too small. Let's go back to the station, print out the articles, and then review them.”

  William swallowed and stood up. “That's a good idea.”

  We locked Sarah's doors and left her house.

  I took out one of my business cards and wrote: “Please call me as soon as possible,” on the back of the card and put it into the windowpane of the front door. “This way, if the Jackal comes back, he'll think we came here but didn't find Sarah.”

  William nodded his approval.

  Back at the station, the entire team sat at the conference table.

  Jake got up and met me at the door. He frowned at William and then asked me, “Are you okay?”

  “I'm fine, Jake.”

  He reached into his pocket and handed me a white handkerchief. “You've got mascara on your cheek.”

  “Oh.” I smiled at him. “I got kind of emotional at the crime scene.”

  “Why don't you go and wash your face?” Jake nodded toward the hallway.

  “Tell the team I'll be right back.”

  I went into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. Jake had been polite. I actually looked like hell. My mascara had run down my cheeks and my eyes were red and puffy. After I washed my face, I took out my makeup bag. First I put some drops in my eyes to get rid of the redness and then reapplied my makeup. When I was satisfied with my reflection, I went back to the conference room.

  The team passed around several pieces of paper. I walked over and sat at the table. “What are we looking at?”

  “Copies of the articles that were written about you after you were kidnapped.” Sheryl frowned. “Have you read these?”

  “No, I never did.”

  “A few of them are not very flattering,” Jake replied,
shaking his head. “Idiot reporters. It's more sensational to crucify the victim than accurately report the news.”

  “Oh, I can't wait to read them now,” I said with a smirk. “Hand them over.”

  Jake was right. One article said how stupid an FBI agent I must be if I let myself be kidnapped. Another, obviously written during my hospitalizations, was titled “Crazy agent to carry gun?” It was a stroll down memory lane that affected me more than I thought it would.

  “She's a fighter and won't ever give up trying to escape,” my dad had said.

  “I just want my daughter home, safe and sound,” my mother had added.

  My eyes filled with tears again. I felt someone squeeze my arm. It was Jake.

  “Doing okay?”

  I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “Yes. It's just seeing the quotes from my parents.”

  William held up a piece of paper. “This has got to be it.”

  “What?” John asked.

  “This article was written right after you were taken. We tried to keep your abduction quiet, but with the influx of agents, the press knew something was up. They kept hounding everyone associated with the Jackal case to get information on the latest victim. Eventually it leaked that you'd been kidnapped.”

  This was news to me. “You tried to keep it quiet. Why?”

  William looked at me, his eyes showing concern. “We didn't want to give this guy any more press.”

  There was more to the story; I could see it in William's eyes. “And?”

  “They felt that having an agent kidnapped wouldn't be good press for the FBI,” he added and looked away from me.

  “That was nice of them,” Jake snorted.

  I glared at William, ignoring Jake. “Who didn't want the bad press to reflect poorly on the FBI?”

  “It doesn't matter now.” William shook his head. “In this article, the reporter went to Arroyo and talked to the locals.”

  “Does it mention her summer jobs?” Sheryl asked.

  “Yes. The reporter talked to a counselor at the high school.”

  “George Barret?” I vaguely remembered the short man who told me that I was destined to end up in my dad's jail rather than following in his footsteps.

  “Yes.” William raised his eyebrows and smiled at me. “He said he got you summer jobs to keep you out of trouble.”