It felt strange being back.
Locking the SUV, she crossed the lot to the maze of slips. A nighthawk dipped, squawking as the air whistled through its wings. She followed the east pier to
The Blue Angel
. Finn was one of the marina’s few permanent residents and paid no docking fees because the owner liked having a cop on the premises.
He’d bought the
Angel
after Toby’s death, after his marriage with Angie had fallen apart, the grief and self-blame
eroding what little love had been left between them. He’d moved out, making the boat his permanent residence and leaving the house in Hunting Ridge to Angie and his teenage daughter, Maeve. Kay had never met either of them and suspected Finn preferred to keep his two worlds separate. From what Kay could tell, the relationship with his ex had always been civil but strained. She wondered if Finn had managed a reconciliation over the past year.
The lights of his forty-three-foot Slocum cutter were on. Over the dull slap of riggings, the drone of a saxophone played out over the airways. Kay stopped at the head of the gangway. She didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to face the memories.
Finn must have felt the boat’s lilt as she stepped onto the wide deck. When he appeared in the companionway steps, he was shirtless, wearing khaki shorts and a pair of stained deck shoes.
Inside, he took out two Dr Peppers and slid one across the galley table for her. He did look good, Kay thought again. His body was firm. Solid. He’d been working out. Refusing to surrender to that rapid creep toward middle age.
As though sensing her gaze, Finn pulled on a T-shirt bearing a faded Habitat for Humanity logo. Past him, the sheets of the queen-size bed in the aft cabin had been roughly straightened. Memories twisted deep inside her. The boat hadn’t changed. The sounds, the smells, the feel of the space and the intense vibrations she’d always felt between her and Finn. It was as if no time had passed. And being here made her realize how much she missed it.
“So how’d you make out at the ME’s office?” she asked, determined to focus on the case.
“Shearmur and I met with Arsenault’s friend, Andy Reaume.”
“And?”
“The girl folded. She admitted talking to Arsenault about the cases, even showing him photos. It all started when he saw Chisney’s body.”
“How the hell did that happen?”
“She swears it wasn’t planned,” Finn said, almost sounding sorry for the girl. “Says they had a date, and Arsenault met her at the morgue. Apparently he only wanted a peek, but after that Scotty took a special interest in the case.”
“And the website?”
“She knew about it, but says she wasn’t aware he’d published the details of the autopsies.”
“What’s going to happen to her?” Kay asked, even though she didn’t doubt the OCME’s director had made short work of terminating the girl’s employment.
“After we finished, Shearmur had her escorted out.”
“She worth pursuing for more background on Arsenault?”
“Probably not. The girl doesn’t know much. They went out only a couple times. She’s never even been to his condo.” Finn reached for a pack of Marlboros at the end of the teak bar, appeared to think twice, then dropped them into a drawer. “He’s part of this, Kay. And I don’t just mean the website. He’s connected.”
Kay took a long gulp of soda, her eyes watering at the burn of carbonation. “I’m not so sure. I don’t know what his story is, but I think you’re wrong if you’re liking him for Valley’s murder.”
“He knew all the details.”
“Yeah, and so does everyone else who’s ever seen his website.” Kay shook her head. “If Arsenault killed Valley, he wouldn’t have done it the way it went down.”
“What, now you’re so close to this mope you know how he thinks?”
In Finn’s sharp tone there was no mistaking his aversion toward Arsenault. Kay wondered if it stemmed from Arsenault’s possible connection to the case or a more personal element. She’d seen the way Finn looked at Arsenault whenever the Web designer softened to her or directed a smile her way.
“No,” she answered. “But I think I know Arsenault’s type. He’s too precise, too careful. He wouldn’t just burn Valley up like that. This guy knows how to get rid of a body. If it was him, I doubt we would have found Valley for months, if ever.”
“And what makes you think he didn’t want Valley found? Maybe he wants the attention. Maybe he wants
your
attention.”
“Oh, come on, Finn. Give me a little credit. You think I’m falling for his smooth talk?”
But Finn turned away, crushing his empty soda can in one hand and tossing it into the trash. “Well, maybe you didn’t take a close enough look at the photos of Missy Neuwelt after he raped her.”
“Allegedly raped, Finn. We have no way of knowing who’s telling the truth about what happened six years ago.”
“Well, what did she have to say?”
Kay had gone to see the girl this afternoon. Rape victims seldom warmed up to male detectives, so Finn hadn’t put up an argument about being left out of the loop. “Story she gives reflects the initial reports,” Kay said. “Only now she admits she recanted in order to get more child support out of Arsenault.”
“You honestly think she could have cut herself up that way?”
Kay thought of the overly primped young woman who’d offered her pink lemonade, twirling a limp ringlet of chemically treated hair around one finger the entire time
Kay sat with her in the stuffy apartment. Something about her had been not quite right, but Kay hadn’t been able to put her finger on it. “My gut feeling? Yeah, I think she could have.”
Finn turned to the galley bar and gathered his marine maps. When he reached for one by her elbow, Kay felt the brush of his hand. The contact was too close. Too intimate.
Kay sat back, needing space. “I submitted a VICAP search,” she said.
His look was hard when he met hers. “The nicks in Valley’s chest were copied, Kay. This isn’t the same killer.”
“Maybe not.” She’d run the MO through the FBI’s Violent Criminal Apprehension Program, the national clearinghouse for unsolved violent crimes, where a series of computers and analysts in Quantico, Virginia, ran comparisons against crimes from other jurisdictions.
“Any matches?” he asked.
“No.”
“Eales killed those women, Kay. Besides, if it wasn’t him, how do you explain that it’s been over a year since the last murder? With a signature like his, you would have gotten hits on VICAP. There’s no such thing as a yearlong cooling-off period.”
“Maybe this guy’s been incarcerated.”
“Yeah. He’s been incarcerated all right. He’s down at the State Pen right now. This is someone else, Kay. Give Eales credit where credit’s due. He killed those women. All you gotta do is look at the evidence, think about what the hell he did to you.”
Kay tossed back the last of her soda. “Thanks. I’d rather not.” But the memories came anyway: Eales barging through that door, the look in his eyes as he started swinging.
“It wasn’t your fault, Kay.” Finn moved around the bar
beside her. He attempted to settle his hand on her shoulder, but she stood, tried to pace in the tight quarters.
When she met his gaze, she could see his frustration.
“I shouldn’t have drawn my gun,” she said. “I know that’s what everyone on the unit believes.”
“And what were you supposed to do? Use attitude to stop Eales?” Finn shook his head. “The son of a bitch was so hopped up on crystal meth, he probably thought he was fucking Superman. You didn’t stand a chance, so stop second-guessing it.”
“So you think I was right in drawing my nine?”
His pause diluted any conviction his reply might have had. “I wasn’t there, Kay.”
“Sounds like a no.” She felt her jaw clench tighter.
“Look, all I can say is, when you draw your weapon, you gotta be prepared to use it.” The softness in his tone didn’t make the words any less harsh.
Just back off, Bernard. We only want to talk.
Eales’s eyes had been slow, his smile listless, as he’d sized her up. And yet, she’d never known a man to move that fast. The thought of actually using her gun had barely entered her adrenaline-laced mind before the first blow caught her wrist.
“That was
you
on Eales’s porch, Kay. No one else. No one has the right to judge you. Not even me. Only
you
can decide if what you did was right. And then you have to live with that decision.”
“No, Finn, we were
all
on Eales’s porch that night. Every uniform, every detective. There’s not a single cop in Baltimore who didn’t mentally put themself on that porch after I got beat. But you’re right about one thing. It’s
me
who’s got to live with my decision. And there isn’t one man on the unit now who would dare partner with me because of it.”
“Well, they’re going to have to. It’s Department policy. You need someone watching your back.”
“Trouble is, they gotta trust me to watch theirs.”
“I do.” There was a bare honesty in his face then. A sincerity that made her actually believe him.
“I don’t want you to,” she said, seeing Spencer’s blood on Eales’s lawn. She rounded the bar, heading to the salon doors. “I gotta go.”
But Finn caught her wrist. She didn’t want this conversation. It was too dangerous. The last place she needed to end up was in that aft cabin. And it would be too easy. Too easy to throw herself into the emotions and the lovemaking they’d shared, to accept Finn’s sympathy and turn it into the kind of sex that made her forget everything.
“It’s late,” she said.
But Finn held her wrist tight. “Damn it, Kay, talk to me. Tell me what you’re going through.”
She shook her head, again trying to escape his grasp.
“Is it Valerie Regester? You’re not responsible for her death. It’s not your fault.”
“I
made her come in, Finn.
I
persuaded her to testify.”
“You were doing your job.”
“I got her killed.” Kay broke free and this time made it to the steps. Still, Finn came after her.
“Kay, what’s going to make it better? Tell me.” He wanted to comfort, to be the solace she needed, but Kay wasn’t ready for it.
Valley was dead. Because of her.
“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “Maybe …maybe I want to bury her.”
“You don’t have that kind of money.”
“I’ll figure something out. She deserves a proper burial.”
He stared at her a long time. At the bottom of the companionway steps, Kay fidgeted under the close examination.
“Fine,” he said at last. “I’ll make some calls. I know a couple people.”
She wanted him to hold her then. Standing in his boat, a cool breeze curling down from the deck, it would be so easy to step into Finn’s embrace, to accept the comfort she knew he was too eager to give. They could make love. She could feel alive. Even if just for one night.
Old habits …
But she wasn’t sure it would be for the right reasons. And Finn deserved more.
“Thanks,” she whispered, and took the steps up to the cockpit before it was too late.
Finn offered his hand as she stepped over the line and onto the slip.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” she said, her voice broken.
He stopped her before she reached the end of the slip. “Kay?” His voice ebbed into the stillness of the marina, and when she looked back at him, he was only a silhouette against the helm of
The Blue Angel
. “Just so you know, I’ll always have your back.”
She wasn’t sure if he saw her nod.
“And I know you’ve got mine,” he added as she headed inshore.
28
THE CALL CAME IN AT 8 A.M.,
as the city’s sanitation trucks crawled through cluttered back alleys and plastic-wrapped Baltimore
Sun
s sat on lawns, collecting dew. Finn and Kay weren’t summoned until nine. Kay was silent on the drive up to Woodberry in the Northern
District, and Finn couldn’t decide if it was because of the anticipation of the call or their talk last night.
Rockrose Avenue was already a snarl of Department vehicles. And with the WBAL and WJZ TV stations only just over the hill, the news crews crowded the curbs as well.
A chain-link fence surrounded the rough grounds that lay at the base of the towering antennas broadcasting both local signals. TV Hill—as it was dubbed—was a quiet hamlet where the borders of Druid Hill Park and the Jones Falls Expressway kept crime at bay, and where the sudden flurry of police activity drew a fast crowd.
Finn left the car at the end of the street and they walked the half block to the narrow alley. A turquoise trash truck rose above the postage-stamp backyards with their ragged fencing. Laundry on short lines barely swayed in the stagnant heat, and the water had evaporated from sun-bleached kiddie pools. From the top of the alley, Finn could smell the trash compacted in the truck’s hopper.
“Figured I should route this one through you.” Fred Worden—a detective from the other shift—looked disheveled after a long midnight tour. “Your sarge caught wind,” he said, leading them down the alley. “He’s on his way.”
Finn saw her from yards away: her nude body splayed across the cracked concrete of the back alley, her skin white in the morning sun. She lay faceup, her arms flung out. Deep gashes ran the length of each pale forearm.
“Sanitation crew found her when they grabbed the top bags.” Worden gestured to the shadowed airway between the two sheds where the trash had been stacked. “She musta been wedged in there under some bags.”
Worden hung back as Finn stood over the girl. There was the faint odor of decay. She looked early twenties, with dark hair and a pretty face. The eyes had already gone
milky, and a thin line of fluid leaked from her mouth and trailed across her cheek, attracting a half dozen green blowflies.