Speak No Evil_ A Novel - Allison Brennan [65]
“Oh yes we do. That’s why it’s so much fun.”
“Our presence at Angie’s funeral could have prevented an abduction.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Seriously. He could have driven by, seen our people—even undercover. Killers have a sixth sense about cops, I’m convinced of it. And even if he only made one cop, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to stay.”
“Or made us and decided to stay and gloat.”
“That’s a possibility, too. If it’s someone close to her.”
“You don’t think so?”
“I think he knew her, but wasn’t close to her. I think he’s going to attack again, when or where I have no idea. The Butcher only killed women in the spring. He sometimes waited two full years between kills.”
“If you think I’m frustrated now, just watch me if I have to wait a year to get this guy. I don’t like unsolved cases.”
“You’ve never had one?”
“A couple. That’s why I hate them.”
“What about the Sand Shack?”
She frowned. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
“That deleted e-mail Angie mentioned to Steve. She thought the poster knew her identity because it implied that he knew where she worked.”
“And you’re thinking our perp could be someone connected to the Shack?”
“Connected, maybe, or a regular customer.”
“That makes sense. What if he already knew Angie and then stumbled across her online diary? Because of something he knew about her personally, he was able to make the connection.”
“It’s plausible,” Nick said. “But why kill her?”
“Maybe he hit on her and she rejected him. Because he thought she’d be easy, he had a fit and killed her.”
“Possibly.”
“You don’t sound like you’re buying it.”
“I’m not discounting it as a theory. I agree with your brother Dillon. It was personal in some way, which means I think he knew her or saw her on a regular basis.”
“I feel like we’re working on borrowed time, but I have no idea where else to look.” She stifled a yawn.
“I know that feeling,” Nick said. “On the Butcher investigation, every time we thought we had a lead it was a dead end. We knew he would attack again, we even knew it would happen in the spring. But every time it still shocked the town, almost as if it were unexpected, and we scrambled, searching for a college girl who most certainly had a death sentence.”
“That must have been Hell.”
“I’m just relieved it’s over.” He paused. “What happened to your nephew?”
Justin. She’d adored her nephew. Who wouldn’t have loved that little hellion? The first grandchild, the first nephew, the first of the next generation. With dimples like his mom and the statesmanship of his political dad, he would have been a heartbreaker, or president, when he grew up.
She missed him.
“I’m sorry I brought it up,” Nick said. “I’ve upset you.”
“I’m okay.” She pulled the car into the Kincaid family driveway and turned off the ignition. “I just miss him. But my feelings are nothing like Nelia’s, my sister. His mom. She was devastated, but she kept everything bottled up for so long. When she finally burst . . . it wasn’t pretty. She and Andrew divorced, then she just left, moved to Idaho. More than anyone, my parents want her home so badly. They built the apartment you’re staying in for her. But she won’t come back. Maybe she can’t. Maybe she just can’t be anywhere near the family.”
She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “Justin was kidnapped when I was babysitting. Taken right from his bed in the middle of the night. I didn’t hear a thing.”
Nick touched her cheek and she found herself leaning into the light caress before realizing how inappropriate it was.
“It’s not your fault,” he said.
“I know that up here,” she tapped her head, then put her hand over her heart, “but in here I can’t help but blame myself.”
He took her hand. “What happened?”
“Nelia worked as an attorney for a defense contractor. She was working late nights, and Andrew—her husband, who was a prosecutor—was in the middle of a big case. I was in college, I could give up a few nights, study at their house. I remember that day so clearly. I had two midterms and a swim meet.