Just Right, page 5
However, there was a need to follow. He wanted to see her some more, that was why.
There she was, hurrying away, weaving through the people on the sidewalk, her ponytail bouncing. His heart was pounding. He was even surer now that it was her, and he felt desperate to find her and be with her, to reconnect with a part of the life he'd lost.
He raced along, dodging people, muttering an apology as he bumped into a woman with a small child. He raced along, the hope growing inside him, because he knew that he remembered her purse. It was familiar. He was sure of it.
He knew that there wasn't much time. He had places to be this afternoon. But there should be enough time.
The woman turned down a side street. He veered after her, trying to contain the confusion in his mind, trying his best to keep sight of this very special person who might just be one of those he thought he would never see again.
She climbed into her car, and he glanced down at his phone again, feeling a weird sense of confidence that overrode his earlier anxiety.
Even if he lost her now, he knew he could find her again, because he had done his homework. He reached into his pocket, feeling the blue wristband he had there, ready for the moment ahead.
He smiled, feeling suddenly less nervous and a cold sureness inside.
Their stars were going to align.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Nick Simmel lived in a small apartment block in a residential suburb of Milwaukee, a mile to the south of where Leanne's body had been found. Sitting in the front seat of the police car that she and Connor had been loaned, Cami looked eagerly ahead as the road they wanted came into view.
There was the apartment block. Park Villas. Nick Simmel lived at number six.
The villas were located in a garden setting, spaced out around grounds that included a basketball court and a swimming pool.
"I don't have a recorded workplace for him," Connor said, getting out of the car. "I see something's just come through from Ethan."
His eyebrows raised as he read it. "It's not a workplace. It's a record. I see that Nick Simmel has had a restraining order filed against him in the past by a previous girlfriend. That could be significant."
Cami's eyes narrowed. The man was a stalker, for sure. Now, they needed to find out how far he’d taken things.
Connor strode up the garden path to villa number six and rapped hard on the door. Cami waited, feeling anxious now that they were about to come face to face with a suspected killer. She had to stop herself from shifting nervously from foot to foot.
It didn't seem like Nick Simmel was here. Perhaps there was a place of work where he'd gone, and it wasn't yet on the police database. Or perhaps he was hiding inside.
Was there anything she could use to help out that way? Cami looked around, her eyes scouring the area for any smart devices, any cameras, any sign of anything that she might be able to commandeer to take a peek inside, or else to flush Nick out.
She didn't see anything. But as she looked at the pool in the apartment block’s grounds, Cami noticed there was a man inside it, swimming laps with a fit, rhythmic stroke.
He had dark hair. That, she could see, slick and wet as it was. The man they were looking for had dark hair.
"Connor," she muttered. "Do you think he might be over there?"
Water had been an integral part of both these crimes, and now the man she thought was Nick Simmel was swimming in the pool. Was this possibly indicative of an obsession? Cami wondered.
Connor swung around and took a closer look at the pool. "Let's go and see," he said.
He strode away from the door, through the grounds, and eased open the gate in the swimming pool fence.
The man was at the far end of the pool, just busy completing a lap. He paused mid-stroke when he saw them and grasped the side of the pool.
"Nick Simmel?" Connor called out.
Now that they were closer, Cami was sure it was their man. She recognized the slightly hooded eyes and the shape of his chin that she’d seen in the group photo. Now, he'd paused his swim. He was watching them, and he looked tense and wary.
"Nick Simmel, FBI here. We need to ask you some questions," Connor insisted. He paced over to the edge of the pool and began moving around to where Nick was now frozen in place, gripping the side.
But as Connor walked, Cami saw, to her surprise, that Nick was moving too. He kicked off from the edge of the pool and swam into the center. There, he stood, shoulder deep in the water, glancing nervously at Connor.
"Nick, we need to ask you questions," Connor said.
Nick shook his head. "I'm not prepared to answer."
What? Cami's eyebrows rose in disbelief. This man was hiding out in plain sight in the middle of a pool, refusing to answer questions. And out of reach of the police.
She'd never heard of such a thing. Was this really how people behaved when they were faced with the FBI and clearly had something to hide?
Connor's resigned expression told Cami that this was all too normal in what she guessed was never a typical day's work.
"You can't hide in the middle of a public pool," he said. "You need to give us answers."
"I'm not prepared to answer any questions," Nick repeated. "I'm not willing to speak to you."
Connor shook his head. "That's not how this works," he said. “This is a murder investigation. If you refuse to cooperate, you'll be committing offenses already."
"I'm not hiding anything," Nick said, now sounding scared, taking another step back.
"Maybe you don't want to answer the questions," Connor said. "Maybe you think you can avoid the questions. But you are obviously worried about the questioning. That's clear to us. So now, we have even more reason to need answers."
"I'm not coming out," he said.
Cami stared at him, wondering exactly what the FBI protocol was in this situation. They weren't going to walk away. That was clear in every determined line of Connor's face. But at the same time, their suspect was refusing to talk.
"Every day on the job, you see something that further reinforces your opinion of the general public's capability for idiocy," Connor muttered.
Then, to Cami's surprise and amusement, Connor stripped off his jacket and removed his belt with the gun on it. He took his boots off and unclipped the handcuffs off his gun belt.
"Don't touch the gun, or let anyone touch it, until I'm out of here," he said, handing Cami the belt.
Then, with a resigned sigh, Connor strode to the water's edge, grasping his handcuffs.
He took a deep breath and then, with more athleticism than Cami had expected, he dove in. With a mighty splash, Connor cut the water's surface, swimming determinedly in Nick's direction.
With a startled cry, Nick began half swimming, half wading away. But Connor was gaining, doing a messy but speedy crawl stroke.
Cami ran around the edge of the pool in the direction Nick was heading, intending to cut him off if it was needed. But it wasn't needed. Connor grasped Nick's arm and then, as Nick began chopping and kicking out at him, a splashy fight ensued.
"You're not getting away, and we're not spending any more time in this damned swimming pool," Connor threatened through gritted teeth. If he hadn't already been thoroughly wet from the dive, he would have been by the time he'd finished wrestling with the struggling suspect. Nick was writhing and twisting, trying his damnedest to get away, but Cami saw with a skip of her heart that one of the handcuffs was already in place. Nick was captured, and now, Connor was dragging him the rest of the way to the side.
"You can't do this! You're infringing my rights."
"Have you heard of failure to obey? It's an offense."
"I've—Ow!" Nick protested, with a cry, as Connor dragged him up the pool's steps.
Connor's face was set. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way," he said. "But we are leaving this pool. I'm not questioning you waist-deep in water."
Cami was waiting, setting the gun belt down carefully out of reach before rushing forward to grasp one of Nick's cool, dripping arms. Nick was gasping for breath, and his eyes were wide with shock, but Cami and Connor's combined efforts had him onto the pavement before he had time to realize what was happening.
Connor got the other cuff behind him and clamped it shut. Then he pushed Nick's shoulders down until he reluctantly folded into a sitting position on the pavement by the side of the pool.
"There have been two murders in the past two days. You connected with both the victims on social media, and you arrived at the aquarium, where one victim was subsequently killed, soon after meeting with her. So now, I have questions. And it's time for answers," Connor threatened, in tones that told Cami no further resistance would be allowed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The stars were sending him along the right route at last. The lost man felt sure of it. This was the direction he needed. The path he should follow. He saw where she was going, this woman who he thought was his mother. And now, all he needed to do was to arrive.
"It's all going to work out," he whispered as he walked away from the planetarium, following the destination he knew was mapped out for him. This was what he needed. At last, it was all going to be okay.
"Things are working out for you?" a man asked as he headed to his car, walking fast and purposefully.
The lost man barely glanced at him. This man meant nothing in his life; he was a nobody. He had dark hair. He was in his forties. He noticed these facts almost in passing.
"Yes," he said. "Things are working out."
"I'm glad," the man said, and the lost man realized that he was speaking to him. He looked up and saw that the man, a stranger, had stopped walking. He was watching him and smiling.
"It's good to see someone who's talking positive," the man said. "Too many people seem to spend their whole lives looking at the bad side of things."
"I try not to do that," the lost man said.
"I myself had a loss recently," the other man explained.
"You did?" The lost man looked suspiciously at him. What was this about?
"I lost my wallet. Unfortunately. So, I was wondering if you have any cash on you? I need some, just to get home, that's all." He smiled hopefully at the lost man.
The lost man told himself that there wasn't anything wrong with this. He was only being asked for a small amount of money. He could spare a few dollar bills. There was nothing wrong with a small act of kindness. But at the same time, he knew that he could not afford to be noticed. What if this man prevented him from doing what he needed to do? It would be better to shut this conversation down, right now.
"I don't have any cash," the lost man said. It wasn't true, but he felt the need to emphasize.
"That's too bad," the man said sadly, still watching him.
"It's really not a lot," the man said, following after. "A twenty would do it. I'm really not asking for much."
"I don't have any cash at all," the lost man said.
"There, you see?" The man sounded angry now. "You're just like all the others, thinking only of yourself."
"So be it," the lost man snapped.
Needing to cut this conversation short, now panicking that he was running out of time, he jumped into his car. Starting it up, he hit the gas, causing the other man to jump out of the way as he sped in the direction of the main street.
His mother—he was sure that it was her—was calling to him, and he knew now exactly where she would be. He had no time to waste. He was not interested in helping strangers who were more like thieves. That man could have ruined his plans. For all he knew, he could even have been an undercover cop. Paranoia surged.
Trying to tamp it down, reassuring himself that things were still going to be okay, the lost man accelerated in the direction he knew he had to go. South. He felt as if the coordinates were pulling him that way.
"I can see you," he told the now-invisible stars. "I can feel you. I can reach out and touch you."
He would get to her this time. He was sure of it. He was on the right path, finally, heading towards the place where he knew she would be. The lost man felt short of breath and excited. He was on the way to finding her. He was convinced of it. He sped along the main road, slowing as he turned into a side road. It would be unwise to draw attention to himself. He had to be careful and remember not to do anything that might delay his all-important task. His mission. What he had to do to save himself.
"I'm getting near," he told the stars. "I can feel it."
He was so close now. He was almost there. Everything was going to work out this time. He could feel it.
He parked nearby, but not too near, because he knew that there was always the chance that he was wrong and that things would not go as planned. If he was arrested or locked away, he couldn’t finish his mission.
He checked the street. It was quiet, with only a few houses nearby. If anyone saw him, they'd think he was a neighbor coming to visit someone.
Casually, he leaned back into the car and took the walking stick from the back seat. He didn't think he would need it because he was sure that, this time, he was right and that the person he was expecting was alive and waiting. There would be no need for the stick, which he washed so carefully in the water after those unfortunate times when he had to use it.
His breath was coming fast as he strolled along the sidewalk, heading for her house, her presence seeming to draw him there.
"Mother," he said under his breath.
He reached the house. This was where she was. Now, at last, he could see her clearly.
Keeping low, he crept out of sight of the street, rounding a wall into the back yard.
"I'm coming," he whispered, feeling a terrible eagerness erupt inside him. "I'm here. I'm in the right place. I've found you at last, and now I can save you."
He looked in through the window, his mouth dry. And there she was.
But it was not her! Disappointment thudded in his heart, together with a sense of doom. He'd been so sure, so very sure that it was her. And it wasn't. Now that he was seeing her more clearly, he realized his mistake. This woman's face was completely different. She was younger than his mother.
He'd made a stupid mistake. He wasn't in the right place. He'd arrived here by accident. He couldn't believe it. In fact, he had no idea what to do now that it felt as if his whole world had collapsed.
He felt dizzy with horror. The stick fell from his hand. He couldn't believe he'd made an error like this. He'd ruined everything. He'd been so sure. It was all in pieces now. What he had needed and longed for was beyond his grasp again.
"No," he muttered.
He tried to think the way he had to think. To make his brain work. What had he done wrong? Why had he got it wrong? How could such a mistake have happened?
Guilt pounded in his heart. He'd been so sure. He'd been so positive. And he'd made such a big mistake in not recognizing his own mother. He couldn't have been more wrong. He felt as if he should abandon all hope.
"No," he said again. "No, I can't believe it has to be this way. I can't believe this is how it's all going to end."
He was silent, looking around him at the quiet suburban scene. As he looked, the hidden part of him in the back of his mind was searching to make sure nobody had noticed him. The lost man felt that the hidden part was about to play an important role.
"I'm not beaten yet," he told himself. "I'm not beaten until I give up. And I'm not going to give up. Not yet."
He took a breath, trying to stay calm. He had to think. He'd got it wrong, but obviously, there was something that he had missed. Something that he had done wrong. There must be something he could do to reverse the situation. To fix it.
And then, once again, the light seemed to go on in his brain. Of course! He must do what he had done the last two times. The hidden part of his mind was sending messages that he understood now. Suddenly that weird, cold clarity was back in his mind, pushing him into action. This was nothing but an imposter, like the others had been. This entity, this stranger, was stealing his mother's place in the world. And just as he'd done the last time, he needed to cleanse the world of her. That way, his mother would have the chance to return. The steps of the ritual he would have to follow came back into his mind, clear and precise.
Of course. He'd been confused for a moment but now the way ahead was clear, and he knew exactly what he had to do.
Smiling, picking up the stick with a new resolve, he headed toward the home's back door.
CHAPTER NINE
Without a doubt, Nick Simmel was guilty, Cami sensed. The timing of his arrival at the aquarium was surely no coincidence. And he had a record of stalking and a previous restraining order against him.
He must be their killer. She felt certain of it.
But as she watched the dripping man, his face twitching and a towel roughly draped over his shoulders, Cami knew that suspicion alone was not enough and that Connor would now have to seek concrete proof from him.
Connor guided him, none too sympathetically, to one of the plastic deck chairs and sat him down on a cushion. Cami ran over to the cupboard near the pool, where she saw a few spare towels were folded, and brought back one for Connor. He was dripping, too, as he sat down on the deck chair opposite. But he barely seemed aware of it. All his focus was on the suspect.
"You were at the meeting with Patti Browne yesterday," he said. "She met with your arts and drama club."
Nick looked nervously at Connor. "Yes, we . . . we did meet with her," he stammered, looking cold now, as well as nervous.
"And then you came to the aquarium? Knowing she would be there?"
"I didn't come to meet her. I wasn't following her."
"You didn't? Then why are you here? What business did you have at the aquarium?"
Nick shook his head. "It was a coincidence," he said. "I was at the aquarium for an appointment. I didn't check who was there, and I had no idea Patti would be there."
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