In the Dark aka The Watcher

“Well, back then, I was Laura’s best friend.”

At the sound of Laura’s name, Stride felt a rush of memories storm his mind. Himself and Cindy, naked in the water, making love. Ray Wallace checking his gun. The huge black man, Dada, escaping on a train car. Most of all, the whooshing sound of a baseball bat in Peter Stanhope’s hands. It might as well have been 1977 again.

Serena cleared her throat loudly. Stride burst from his trance.

“I’m sorry. Tish, this is my partner, Serena Dial, and this is my colleague on the police force, Maggie Bei.”

Maggie waved with half her sandwich without getting up. Serena stood, dwarfing the other woman, and Stride felt the air blow cold like dry ice between Serena and Tish. They didn’t know each other, but with a single glance, they didn’t like each other.

“Do you live in the area?” Stride asked.

Tish studied Lake Superior with wistful eyes. “Oh, no, I haven’t been back to Duluth in years. I don’t really have much of a home base. I’m a travel writer, so I’m on the go most of the time. When I stay put, I live in Atlanta.”

“What brings you back here?” he asked.

“Actually, I was looking for you,” Tish told him.

“For me?” Stride asked, surprised.

“Yes.”

Stride exchanged glances with Serena and Maggie. “Maybe you should sit down and tell me why.”

Tish took the empty chair at the table for four, facing the lake. She slid a leather purse off her shoulder and put it on the table in front of her. She pulled out an open pack of cigarettes. “Can you smoke outside at restaurants here?”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Serena told her.

“I’m sorry,” Tish said. “I know I should quit, but smoking’s one way I handle my nerves. The other is drinking. Not very smart, I guess, but what can you do?”

“I’m a reformed smoker myself,” Stride said.

“Well, I don’t mean to be such a mystery,” Tish told them. She smiled at Maggie and Serena, but the two women wore stony masks. Tish ignored them and focused on Stride. “First of all, I want to tell you how sorry I am about Cindy’s death. I know the two of you were a real love match.”

“It was several years ago, but thank you,” Stride said.

“I would have come to the funeral myself, but I was in Prague on a story at the time.”

Stride felt suspicion poking like a spring seedling out of the ground. “That’s kind of you to say, Ms. Verdure, but you knew Cindy back in high school. I don’t think anyone would have expected you to go to her funeral twenty-five years later.”

“Oh, Cindy and I stayed in touch,” Tish said.

“I’m sorry?”

“Not very often, but we wrote to each other now and then.”

“Really.” He didn’t say it like a question. He said it for what it was-disbelief. He added, “Do you mind showing me some identification?”

“Not at all.” Tish dug in her purse for her wallet and extracted her driver’s license, which she handed across the table. The silence from the other three people didn’t appear to bother her. “I understand how odd this is, me showing up after all these years,” she continued. “Cindy and I wrote to each other at the hospital where she worked. It was only the occasional postcard or Christmas card, that kind of thing. For me, it was nice having a little connection to my life back here. I left Duluth after graduation and never came back, but that doesn’t mean I forgot about it. And of course, whenever I wrote to Cindy, it made me feel a little closer to Laura. Do you know what I mean?”

Stride studied the Georgia driver’s license carefully and confirmed that the name Tish Verdure and the photo matched the woman sitting across from him.

“Who’s Laura?” Serena asked.

Stride felt as if a scab were slowly being pulled away from a deep wound. “She was Cindy’s sister.”

Serena’s eyebrows arched, with a look that said unmistakably, Why haven’t you told me about her?

“Laura was murdered,” Stride went on. “Someone beat her to death with a baseball bat. It was July 4, 1977.”

“Did they catch the guy who did it?” Serena asked.

“No, he got away. Because of me.”

He didn’t say it in a way that invited questions. Serena opened her mouth and closed it again. Maggie pushed the food around on her plate, not looking up.

“Maybe you should tell me why you’re here, Ms. Verdure,” Stride said. “And what you want from me.”

“Please, call me Tish.” She leaned forward with her elbows on the table. Her brown eyes were dark and serious. “In fact, I’m here because of Laura. It’s obvious that her death still weighs on you. Well, it does on me, too. She and I were very close in high school.”

“So?”

“So I’m writing a book about Laura’s murder.”

Stride’s weathered face wrinkled into a scowl. “A book?”

“Exactly. Not just about her death, but about the people around her. How their lives changed. It’s a nonfiction novel, sort of an In Cold Blood thing, you know? I mean, look at you. You’re the man in charge of the city’s major crimes unit. Your wife’s sister was killed when you were all of seventeen, and the case was never solved.”

“I think this conversation is over,” Stride declared.

“Please, wait.”

“I won’t be part of a book about Laura,” Stride told her. “I have no interest in dragging up that part of my life again.”

“Just hear me out.” Tish held up her hands. “It’s not just a story about Laura’s death. There’s more. I want the book to be a catalyst to reopen the investigation. I want to solve the case. I want to find out who murdered Laura.”

Stride folded his arms. “You?”

“That’s right. Look, I’ll do it on my own if I have to, but I want your help. What’s more, I think you want to help me. This is a chance to put this case behind you once and for all. Cindy told me what kind of person you are. How every death takes a piece out of your soul.”

He was angry now. “Ms. Verdure, don’t you think I would have reopened this case years ago if I thought there was more to be done? Laura’s murder was never unsolved. We know who did it. He got away. He disappeared.”

Tish shook her head. “I don’t believe that’s what happened. I don’t think you do, either. There was a lot more going on in Laura’s life that summer. It was easy for the police to pass it off on some anonymous vagrant, a black vagrant. Talk about your stereotypical bogeyman. No one wanted to deal with the fact that it was probably someone close to Laura who killed her.”

“Do you have a suspect in mind?” Stride asked.

“Well, you could start with Peter Stanhope.”

Serena’s head snapped around at the mention of Stanhope’s name. “Peter was involved?” she asked Stride.

“Yes, he was the prime suspect for a while,” Stride admitted.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?” Serena asked.

Stride was silent. Peter Stanhope was an attorney from one of Duluth’s most influential