The boy’s eyes were trained on him, wide and brown.
“Don’t worry, Vincent. Cassie’s coming.”
Where was Vincent and why did he come here? Cassie walked down the gentle slope of the auditorium floor, searching for the familiar face. Was he playing some sort of game?
This isn’t the time to be fooling around, Vincent
, she thought. When she found him, she was going to tell him so in no uncertain terms. Right after she let him know that the police had the man who had kidnapped Mark.
Okay, Vincent. I can play the game
. Cassie climbed the steps at the side of the stage and slid behind the curtain.
The assistant principal’s office was empty, save for the sheriff’s deputy and Tony Whitcomb.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
“You’re out of your mind. Do you know who I am? You have no right to hold me here.”
“Sorry, Mr. Whitcomb, but as soon as the storm lets up, I’m going to take you in for questioning.”
“About what?”
He knew he probably shouldn’t, but he couldn’t resist. The deputy tossed the tape on the desk. “This. But before we get to your traveling escapades, you better tell me where Mark Bayler is.”
Except for the props and scenery flats, the backstage was empty. “Vincent? Vincent, are you here?” In the dimness, Cassie listened, hearing the creak of an opening door.
“Vincent? Come on now. This isn’t funny,” she called, starting in the direction of the noise. The floor-boards squeaked beneath her feet.
“I think we’re going to find Mark now,” she called, trying to entice him. “I’m not kidding, Vincent. Come out.”
Light streamed from the crack in the door at the back of the stage. Cassie pushed against the wood.
Bound and gagged, the boy sat in the chair.
“Vincent!” She rushed to him.
His frightened eyes looked behind her.
This wasn’t getting him anywhere. He had work to do. Leroy was tired of waiting around for police who might never show up to tell them about Cassie’s, as far as he was concerned, far-fetched notion. Cassie might be losing it, Leroy speculated.
He had talked to a friend at the Broadcast Center who told him Valeria Delaney was getting the Justice beat. Cassie had been preoccupied for the rest of the afternoon after that phone call—a phone call Leroy suspected had delivered the news that she was officially out of the Washington mix, never to return. This whole scenario she had cooked up about Tony Whitcomb being the clown rapist could just be the result of Cassie’s desperate wish to redeem herself.
He left his post and headed back to the front lobby, stopping along the way to get Felix. “This is ridiculous, Felix. Let’s go. We’re wasting our time.”
“Not in front of the boy. Please, not in front of Vincent,” Cassie pleaded, the cold, steel blade against her neck. “Please, let him go.”
“Sorry, Cassie, but I can’t. He’s seen too much. Now, go ahead. Take off your clothes.”
She tried to focus, struggling to remember her conversation with Will Clayton. Had that been only three days ago? It seemed like another lifetime. She had to pull the FBI agent’s observations from her memory bank. Her life and Vincent’s depended on it.
A compensatory rapist, Will had said. An inadequate personality, the rape assuaging his self-doubts. A core fantasy was that the victim will enjoy the rape and fall in love with him.
“Please, I can’t relax with the boy here.”
The bloodshot brown eyes peering from the grotesque face studied her, considering her words. She was older than the others he had chosen but was in fine shape just the same. If Cassie was calm, it would be
much more satisfying for him. And he wanted to enjoy this before he had to kill her.
“I can’t let Vincent go, Cassie. But I’ll move him out of the room so we can have our privacy.”
“The city of Sarasota is in for one helluva lawsuit,” Tony threatened. “The thought that I went around raping people is absolutely preposterous. And as for kidnapping the Bayler boy, how dare you accuse me of that? I’m going sue the ass off this town.”
The deputy was starting to think that Tony’s protestations might be based on truth.
“Go ahead, check with WSBC,” Tony urged. “They can tell you. I was at the station all yesterday afternoon and evening. I couldn’t have kidnapped Mark Bayler.”
“What do you like? What turns you on, Cassie?”
The floor felt cold against her bare back. Her legs were crossed and rigid. She held her folded arms against her breasts, covering herself.
His powdered face brushed against hers. “Relax, Cassie,” he whispered. “It won’t hurt. Relax.”
The knotted belts cut into his flesh.
Outside the door, Vincent struggled in his chair, twisting his wrists against the bonds. If he could just loosen the belts enough to slip his hand through, he’d be able to pull the gag from his mouth and call out.
Help was just on the other side of the curtain.
The electric ceiling light dimmed with a momentary loss of power and then brightened again, its glare beating down on her.
The hurricane
. She had forgotten about it. The sound of the wind roared through the walls.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t relax. I want to, but I can’t.”
The steel point pressed at her neck. “It’s up to you, Cassie. You can make it easier on yourself.”
“Maybe if we talked a little first. I’m worried about Mark. If I knew that Mark was all right, I think that would help.”
“The kid’s fine. I left him safe and dry.”
“At your house?”
Brian leered beneath the makeup’s frown. “I know what you’re trying to do, Cassie. Pumping me for information like all you reporters do.”
It wouldn’t hurt to answer her, would it? She wasn’t going to have the chance to tell anyone. If knowing where the boy was would loosen Cassie up, it was worth the trade. “Yes. He’s at my house. Feel better now?”
She tried not to cringe as his fevered body pressed against her.
“You know, I admire you.” She had to keep him talking, play into his need for reassurance, buy herself time. “You’ve stumped the FBI. The country’s premier law enforcement organization has been trying to find you, but you’ve been too smart for them. You must be proud of that.”
That was right, he should be proud. He wanted more of her praise.
“The FBI checked all the flights going out of Miami, New Orleans, and Louisville on the days when you left those women’s cars at the airports,” Cassie continued. “There was no one name that appeared on all three flights.”
“That’s because I just parked the cars there and took cabs back to the hotel. Tony didn’t even know I had been gone. He was too busy getting his beauty sleep.”
“Clever. Very clever.” Slowly, she raised her hand to caress his face. “And why the makeup? You don’t need makeup. You’re so handsome without it.”
“It’s a long story.” The brown eyes welled up.
“We have time.”
“No, Cassie, we don’t. Time’s up.”
“I’m Leroy Barry, with KEY News. Could you page Cassie Sheridan for me, please?”
The woman at the desk sighed. What was she, Cassie Sheridan’s personal messenger service?
A gray-haired man who’d been waiting at the side of the office approached Leroy. “Excuse me. I heard you mention Cassie Sheridan. Do you know if she found that boy? My wife and I are very worried.”
Leroy listened to Charles Chambers’s story.
Faintly, Cassie heard her name being called from the auditorium’s loudspeakers. She couldn’t be sure if the man on top of her heard it, too.
They were looking for her. Please, let them find her. She just needed some more time.
“Thank you for talking to me. I’m feeling better,” she lied. “Just one last thing, I promise.”
Beads of perspiration dotted the chalky forehead. “One more, that’s it.”
“Merilee Quiñones, the woman whose hand was found on the beach. Tell me about her.” Cassie deliberately left her question open-ended.
Brian pulled back, reached down, and took Cassie’s hand. Holding it up, he gazed at the ruby ring.
“This was Merilee’s,” he said, his tone low. “This was supposed to symbolize the life we would have together. I had such hopes.”
For just an instant Cassie almost felt sorry for this pathetic creature pinning her to the floor.
“But Merilee turned out to be just like my mother,”
he said, turning the ring on Cassie’s finger. “She mocked me. She ruined everything by mocking me. We struggled, she fell overboard. She wasn’t supposed to die.”
But she did, you crazed lunatic
, thought Cassie.
She did die. You ended Merilee’s life and Leslie Sebastien’s and the old fisherman’s. You devastated the lives of those young women you attacked, and your actions led to an emotional trauma so severe that Maggie Lynch ended up taking hers
.
Yes, Cassie had probably provided the final straw by going public with the young woman’s agony, and for that she would be forever haunted.
But you, you tortured, sick soul, are responsible for Maggie’s death. As responsible as if you pushed her from the Watergate terrace yourself
.
“Yes, Merilee was supposed to wear this ring in the life I wanted us to have, but I’m glad you’re wearing it now, Cassie.”
Cassie turned her head, retching violently, as the overhead light suddenly went out.
The dim light went out, leaving the backstage area in total darkness. Vincent heard voices rising in protest from the other side of the curtain.
His face contorted in pain as he twisted his wrists against the belt. He could feel it loosening.
One more time, twisting with all his might, freed him. He wanted to run to Cassie and help her, but he didn’t like the odds. The man was strong, and he had that knife. Vincent knew he probably wouldn’t be able to overpower him.
Trust your instincts
, Cassie had said.
He had to get help.
In the darkness, Vincent felt his way to the curtain, one hand stretched out in front of him, pulling the gag from his mouth with the other.
As Cassie vomited, by instinct, he dropped her hand and pulled away. By instinct, but it was a mistake.
In the pitch darkness, Cassie groped for the knife. There was the blade. Cold, smooth.
Steady, steady
. Her fingers caressed the deadly steel, searching for the texture of the handle.
He was looking for it, too. “Don’t try anything foolish, Cassie.” His hiss pierced the blackness.
“I won’t,” Cassie promised breathlessly.
That wasn’t a lie, she thought as her hand gripped the knife handle. This wasn’t foolish. It was smart.
Distract him. You’ve got to distract him
.
“I’m ready for you now.” She did lie this time. “Where are you?”
“I’m here, Cassie. I’m here.”
“Come to me.” She forced out the words, praying she wouldn’t get sick again. She felt the heat of his body as he laid himself on top of her. The rancid smell of his perspiration made her gag.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong,” she lied again. Her eyes stared into the blackness as the clown’s greasy mouth searched for hers. As she tasted the waxy paint, her hand tightened around the knife.
Now. Now.
With all her strength, she thrust into the darkness, hearing the dull puncturing sound.
When the lights flickered on again, Cassie saw how well she had hit her mark.
SMEARED WITH
blood, she was crouched on the floor trying to cover herself when they arrived.
Leroy scanned the room, holding out his arm to block Vincent’s entrance. “Wait back there, kid,” he instructed with firmness.
Leroy took off his jacket, averting his eyes as he handed it to Cassie.
“Who’d a thunk I’d ever be glad to see you?” Cassie managed to joke through her tears.
Sunday, August 25
“Congratulations, Cassie, on the work you’ve done this past week,” Yelena praised from New York. “You’ve been an example of the best traditions of KEY News.”
“Thanks.”
While another KEY News correspondent had been sent in to report on Giselle’s aftermath for the last three days, Cassie had been featured on every KEY News broadcast with her stories of the clown rapist and his crimes. Even
Hourglass
had wanted a segment. Brian Mueller was recovering from his stab wound. Legal experts speculated that he would enter an insanity defense and end up spending the rest of his life in a psychiatric facility.
That Yelena was calling her from home, on a Sunday, signaled Cassie’s repolished status in the news division. Her suddenly attentive agent had tracked her down as well, informing her that he had gotten calls from ABC, CBS, and NBC about the status of her contract.
All three networks were interested in signing her.
Yelena wasn’t dumb. Cassie was a hot property again, and Yelena knew she had to do some major league repair work on their relationship if KEY News had any chance of keeping Cassie Sheridan.
Cassie knew this, too. Right now, though, deciding which news organization her next contract would be with didn’t interest her. She wanted to get home, to Hannah and Jim.
“And the best news comes from the legal department, Cassie. Pamela Lynch is considering dropping the lawsuit since you were instrumental in catching the rapist.”
Cassie did not react as Yelena expected. There was no enthusiasm in her voice. Just a quiet “Thank God.”
“Let’s talk tomorrow, Cassie, about what your future will hold. I’ll call you at the Miami Bureau in the morning.”
“I won’t be there, Yelena.”
“Oh?”
“From here, I’m flying to Washington. I want to see my daughter.” It was a statement, not a request for permission.
“Of course, of course,” Yelena said hastily. “I’ll call you there, then.”