Already His, page 16
Laura rubbed a hand over her mouth, trying to puzzle it out. Was it still a shot of the past? No, it couldn’t be, because the book she had seen was unmarked. So, perhaps it was a different book she was seeing? If that was the case, then the library card was no longer evidence against Cody Schafer. In fact, it might go so far as to exonerate him.
Or was there some twist coming up that she hadn’t foreseen?
Was Schafer about to be released, get that book from the library again, and deface it?
She turned and paced back and forth in the small space, ignoring the evidence in front of her now and only seeking to go over and over her vision as much as she could. The book…was she being dense? It was more than likely that a book about ships and myths related to the sea could be found in more than one copy in a coastal town like this. They made their livelihood around ships, and half of them ran tours. Was it possible that someone else had a copy of their own?
She shook her head to herself. So many questions and no answers. All she knew for sure was that something wasn’t right in this case.
She needed Nate.
Laura walked back through to the morgue, glancing over at the coroner as she passed through. The woman was nervous again, watching her closely as if hoping that she would leave without saying anything else.
Laura’s detective senses were tingling. This was nothing to do with a vision—this was just good, old-fashioned knowledge of human behavior and body language. The woman had something to hide.
“What’s going on?” she asked, figuring she would save time if she just got right to the point.
“Hmm?” the coroner asked, then shook her head sheepishly. “Oh, I was just glad that it’s all been solved and sorted out now. So, it doesn’t matter.”
“What doesn’t matter?” Laura ground out, her every sense on high alert now. She would have been able to tell that something was wrong even if she didn’t already feel it in every tiny particle of her gut. The woman was hiding a mistake. She knew it.
“Well, about Elias Makks,” the coroner said timidly, winding a piece of hair around one finger and tugging at it as though she was distracted enough to pull it right out of her head. “About how he died.”
“What do you mean, how he died?” Laura asked, stepping right up to the desk and towering over the woman. Alana had succumbed to the elements, not to the strangulation. Was that all? Had the coroner simply missed that Makks had clung onto life a little bit later than they had thought?
“He wasn’t strangled,” the coroner said, chewing her lip. “I mean, he was strangled—there were marks around his throat like with the others—but…I think they were post-mortem.”
The woman was burying the lead, and she had to know it. Laura leaned on the desk, slamming her hands down hard enough to make her jump. She was feeling murderous enough herself. It was only the fact that she didn’t actually want blood on her hands that kept her in check. “How did Elias Makks die?” she asked through gritted teeth.
“He drowned,” the coroner said, her voice a ghost which she had to cough to revive. “Um, I found some water in his lungs. It couldn’t have got in there after he died, which, um, which suggests…”
“I know what it suggests,” Laura growled, wiping a hand across her forehead in frustration, trying to ease the headache that was throbbing there. “When did you find this out?”
“Only this morning,” the coroner said, wincing slightly. “I was going to say something, but everyone was so busy…”
Laura gritted her teeth to hold back the anger. “Salt or fresh?”
“Sorry?”
“The water,” Laura said, her eyes flashing cold fire. “Was it saltwater or freshwater?”
“It was saltwater,” the coroner replied, shrinking under Laura’s gaze.
Laura slammed a hand against the desk and stormed out of the mortuary, heading right out to the street and the short walk which would take her right next door to the Sheriff’s station. To where Nate was right now, waiting with their suspect.
Their suspect who, she now knew, had to be nothing more than a man who had an interest in myths and happened not to have an alibi.
Not the killer.
She rushed as fast as she could and found Nate standing outside the interview room, talking casually with a deputy who appeared to be doing their best not to hero worship him. She didn’t stop and certainly didn’t try to throw up any niceties. She just grabbed Nate by the arm and pulled him into the next interview room along, a private space where they could talk without anyone overhearing. This one was older. There was no two-way glass to look through. She reached up and flicked a switch on the side of the camera in the corner of the room, and then they were functionally alone.
“What?” Nate asked, looking more bewildered than irritated. Clearly, he knew that there had to be a reason behind her rudeness, which she was grateful for. She didn’t have time to apologize.
“It’s not him,” she said, without any preamble. “He’s not the killer.”
Nate made a wordless shout of frustration and slapped the table, holding his hand against his head for a moment. “Are you sure?” he asked when he dropped it.
“Yes,” Laura said. “I saw the vision again. It’s still happening. We haven’t changed a thing.”
“Goddamnit!” Nate shouted. “And you’re sure you’re not just seeing the past, or…”
“No, Nate,” Laura said. “Believe me, I’ve been through every possible permutation myself. In the vision I saw, there’s an edit to the book. Someone has written in it in red pen, circling one of the paragraphs. That wasn’t there in the copy we found in the library.”
“No, there wasn’t,” Nate said, grabbing his cell phone. “Let me check.”
“Check what?”
“I took a picture,” Nate said, scrolling across his screen and then spinning it around to show her. “The page on the kaboutermannekes. No marks.”
“There,” Laura said, pointing at the spot she knew she had seen in her vision. It hadn’t been clear enough to see in those conditions, but now… “It’s the part about the spirits being harmless—that they only help or don’t help in cases of shipwreck and death.”
“Why would that be circled?” Nate asked.
“Because of what was written next to it,” Laura said breathlessly. “LIE.”
“The killer believes that these little fairies can do harm?” Nate said. “Does he think he’s doing their work? Or…what is it?”
“They’re protective spirits, right?” Laura asked. “Maybe he wants protection. Maybe he’s…kind of, I don’t know…feeding them?”
“Giving them ritual sacrifices,” Nate said, refining the idea further. “Like an offering to ask them not to harm him, but to protect him.”
“That’s it,” Laura said. “I know it. I feel it. That’s right.” She did feel it—in her bones and in her gut. She wasn’t even sure whether that was a feeling from her vision or just the fact that she was a good detective, but this felt right.
“Well, then who is he?” Nate asked, frustration clear in his voice. “We’ve been through so many suspects. No one else came up in our investigation. Who is he?”
“I don’t know,” Laura said, biting her lip. “I just know he’s still out there. That vision—the headaches, I think they’re getting worse the clearer it gets. Maybe that means we’re getting closer to the time it will actually happen.”
“That’s a lot of maybe,” Nate said.
“I know.” Laura rubbed her eyes in frustration. “I just don’t know what to expect right now, with my visions messed up the way they are. It used to be simple. But I don’t know the rules anymore. Before it started to get weird, that was how it would be. The stronger the headache, the sooner it will happen.”
“Then we have to assume it’s the same,” Nate said. “What time was it in your vision? Do you know?”
“It was dark, but not full dark,” Laura said. “Evening. Twilight.”
“That’s not far from now,” Nate said, checking his watch. “Okay, if he’s there now, maybe we just have to find the building he’s in.”
Laura made a face. “You saw it last time too. There are too many buildings in that small area. And what if he just doesn’t answer the door? We won’t be able to come up with a warrant to break down every door. And if he did answer the door, how would we know it was him? How long would it take to go up and check every single attic?”
“Too long,” Nate said with a groan.
“That’s not all,” Laura said. “The coroner—she made a mistake. Elias Makks was drowned, not strangled.”
“In saltwater?”
“Yes,” Laura said. “Probably right next to the ship itself, wouldn’t you think? Drowned and then dragged upwards to hang. She said the marks on his neck were made when the killer pulled him up to the figurehead. He used the rope to lift him, not to strangle him.”
“But the others were definitely strangled?”
“Yes,” Laura confirmed. “You saw Alana Garland. She was strangled on land. The only water around was the storm, and that came after the killer had already left her.”
“Then Elias was the point?” Nate suggested. “The first killing was the only real one, and the others are just covering it up?”
“If that’s the case, it would have to be someone connected to Elias. But I don’t know. Eventually, we would get around to investigating every single person connected to every single victim. It’s not a tactic for staying under the radar permanently.”
“Then maybe he got it wrong and refined his technique for the others,” Nate said. “That can happen with serial killers. A little deviation from the first time when they figure out how to do it. Maybe he realized that when he drowned Elias, he wasn’t able to see his face—to see the life leaving him. With the others, he’s been able to savor the moment.”
“Maybe,” Laura replied, though she had doubts about whether it applied. He hadn’t been able to see the life leave Alana Garland—he’d mistakenly left her alive. It was more like he was in a rush, but she couldn’t put the words and the theory together enough to explain it to Nate.
Nate thought for a minute, rubbing his chin. “What’s he doing?” he asked, which seemed to her to come out of nowhere.
“What do you mean?”
“In the vision.”
Laura thought. It seemed like an obvious question, a stupid question—what was she missing? “He’s looking at the book. Then he glances up and toward the window.”
“Why is he looking out of the window?” Nate asked. “What is he seeing?”
“The ships.” Laura thought, turning in a circle. “He’s seeing specific ships. The tall ships at the end of the harbor. The ones with the masts and figureheads.”
“What is he going to do next?”
Laura didn’t know. How was she supposed to know? She pressed her hands against her forehead and held her breath, like the answer was going to burst out of her if she just pushed hard enough.
“The ships,” she said, gasping for air. It was the only thing she could think of. If there was a gun to her head, that was what she would say. “He’s looking at the ships because he’s going to go down there.”
“He’s going to find his next victim,” Nate said.
Laura rushed over and opened the door of the interview room to find herself face-to-face with the Sheriff, his hand raised to knock.
“What?” she asked, annoyed at the interruption, the delay.
“The boys said you two went in here a while ago. I was wondering if you wanted to come and finish the interview. The lawyer’s here.”
“Release Cody Schafer without charge,” Laura said, making a gesture to the Sheriff to step aside. “We have another lead to investigate.”
The Sheriff half-stumbled backwards to allow her passage out into the corridor, and Laura took the gap without looking back. She knew that Nate was following her.
There was a killer out there and they had a chance to catch him.
Neither of them was going to let anything get in their way.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
He turned distrustfully from the water lapping at the pillars that held up the whole walkway and looked up at the ship instead, his heart racing. He’d looked at this view for so long from his window. Dreamed. Known. He’d always known that it would end here.
His last victim. Or so he hoped. And if it wasn’t enough, then maybe he could find someone else who was just as fitting. Someone else who needed to be taken out of the world.
It would be a lot less tiring than taking anyone he could find—and maybe, just maybe, there would be less scrutiny from the Sheriff as well if he was doing good work.
He should have done that from the start, but it was too late now. He was evolving, getting better at this with each try.
He wondered why Alana hadn’t been on the news yet, but he couldn’t spare the time to care about it too much. He had to move fast. This one and then, he hoped, he could leave it for a while. Buy himself enough favor to save his life.
And if the water started to get restless again in a few years, well, then he would know what to do.
He rubbed the back of his neck, too nervous for a moment, too anxious that the water would get him now at the last moment before he was out of its reach, and then he stepped forward. The ship was waiting. The time was now, before the FBI agents became too problematic and he had to stop. Or he was stopped by them. He had to do this.
He climbed up the plank walkway left leading onto the deck, and then crouched as soon as he could, ducking behind some barrels left on one side for ‘authenticity’. The whole ship was a fake, of course. If there was one thing his father had taught him well, it was how to spot that.
The ship was a fake, and the man who captained it was too.
He crouched in the dark, waiting, hearing the long minutes pass by as audible ticks from the watch he wore on his wrist, each one playing on his battered nerves.
It was a long wait by necessity. He’d had to creep on here as dark fell, knowing he would be alone. He’d watched them take him away. But he would be back.
He had to be. He was innocent, after all. They would realize it—maybe an alibi, maybe some detail that didn’t add up—and they would let him go.
And he would be here, waiting, for the so-called captain to come back to his ship.
The water sloshed against the hull of the ship, and he shuddered. He remembered all too well what had happened the last time he got too close. The last time he had let the water get close enough to take him.
He was never going to do that again.
All he hoped for was that this final offering would be enough to keep them on his side, at least for a while. That he wouldn’t have to be afraid. He had never seen them, and he doubted that he ever would; that wasn’t their way. But he knew that he would feel something. Each time he had felt lighter, like things were getting easier, like the water wasn’t coming for him with quite the same pace. Each time, he knew that he was getting closer to being safe.
This time, he imagined he would feel the whole burden lift.
It wouldn’t be like last time. The time when he slipped overboard and fell and—
He closed off his mind to the memory, not wanting it to overtake him now, not when he was so close to being done.
But the memory was strong. Stronger than him. He turned slightly and caught sight of the water glinting darkly through the railing, and his stomach churned. He couldn’t fight it off. That sensation. The water around him, cold, holding him tight, filling his lungs, his legs and arms thrashing—
“Come on,” Dad said, giving him that no-nonsense look he always did. “No son of mine is going to get through his life without learning to swim. You have to learn.”
“But Dad,” he started, but it was no use.
“Your brother learned when he was younger than your age,” Dad said. “You’re just being a baby. In you go!”
There was a moment of air, of space, of uncertainty. He didn’t even know what was happening. But all too soon his mind connected with reality: Dad had pushed him.
Pushed him down.
And now the water was embracing him, a splash that burst the air out of his lungs, a sound that filled his ears, his eyes closing automatically. He opened them, and they stung, and he tried to shout, but water rushed into his mouth—and he needed to breathe, but it was filling him, and there was no air, and he couldn’t see, and he didn’t know which way was up—
Time slowed, seemed to compress, and he spent hours there, trying to fight his way up, not knowing where to go, not knowing how to get back to the top—
And a strong pair of hands lifted him out onto a wooden deck where he shivered, hacking up lungful after lungful of sea water, unable to process anything but the sound of laughter and the fact that he was alive.
And below him the sea waited, wanting to claim him again, waiting for the next time…
He wrenched his eyes away, focusing on the wood and not the water, trying to breathe again now.
“Alright, lad? What are you doing back there?”
The voice made him jump, and he looked around into the captain’s eyes, utter shock taking his voice for a moment.
The captain chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You weren’t messing with anything, were you?”
He shook his head slowly.
“I’ve seen you sneaking around the past few weeks,” the captain said, winking, as if he had discovered a great secret that could now be a funny joke between them.
He almost wanted to laugh. Didn’t the idiot realize what it meant?
“I wasn’t doing anything to the ship,” he said, finding his voice finally, keeping it calm and level.
“That’s alright, then.” The captain turned to a stack of crates that were standing on the deck a short way off. “I didn’t get a chance to put everything away properly earlier. Be a good lad and help me shift these.”
He stood up, going mechanically toward them. He didn’t know why he was helping, really. Maybe it would be a good alibi to have. The fact that he had helped him move the crates, which was why his fingerprints were on the ship. It would be hard to prove otherwise.
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