continued.
In the bathroom, she turned on the shower and sat on the edge of the bathtub in her underwear while she waited for hot water. She flipped through the messages recorded in two different handwritings. One was from Director Cunningham at eleven o’clock, no a.m. or p.m., no message. Why hadn’t he called her cellular? Damn, she had forgotten. She needed to report it missing and get a replacement.
Three messages were from Darcy McManus at Channel Five. The desk clerk, obviously impressed, had recorded the exact times on all three. Each message had a new set of detailed instructions telling when and where to call McManus back. They included her work, cellular and home numbers and an e-mail address. Two messages were from Dr. Avery, her mother’s therapist, both late last night with instructions to call when possible.
She was guessing the sealed envelope was from the persistent Ms. McManus. Steam rolled in over the shower curtain. Usually, hotel showers barely reached lukewarm. She got up to adjust the water, then stopped at her reflection in the mirror. It was quickly disappearing behind the gauze of steam. She wiped an open palm across the surface until she could examine her shoulder. The triangular punctures looked red and raw against her white skin. She yanked off Nick’s homemade bandage, revealing a two-to-three-inch gash, puckered and smeared with blood. It would leave a scar. Wonderful. It would match her others.
She turned and twisted, lifting the lower section of her bra. Under her left breast was the beginning of another puckered red scar, recently healed. It trailed four inches down and across her abdomen-a present from Albert Stucky.
“You’re lucky I don’t gut you,” she remembered him telling her as the knife blade sliced through her skin, carefully cutting just the top layer of skin, ensuring a scar. At the time, she hadn’t felt anything, too numb and drained. Perhaps she had already resigned herself to die.
“You’ll still be alive,” he had promised, “when I start eating your intestines.”
By then, nothing could shock her. She had just watched him slice and dice two women, cutting off nipples and clitorises despite the women’s horrible, ear-piercing screams. Then came the gutting, followed by the smashing of skulls. No, there was nothing more he could have done to shock her. So, instead, he left her with a constant reminder of himself.
She hated that her body was becoming a scrapbook. It was bad enough that her mind had been stamped and tattooed with the images.
She rubbed her hands over her face and up through her hair, watching her reflection. It startled her how small and vulnerable she looked. Yet, nothing had changed. She was still the same determined, gutsy woman she had been when she had entered the Academy eight years ago. Maybe a little battle-fatigued and scarred, but that same restless determination existed in her eyes. She could still see it behind the steam, behind the horrors she had witnessed. Albert Stucky was a temporary setback-a roadblock she needed to plow through or go around, but never retreat from.
She unhooked her bra and let it fall to the floor. She started slipping out of her underpants when she remembered the unopened envelope on top of the other messages spread across the sink’s counter. She ripped it open and pulled out the three-by-five index card. It took only one glance at the boxy lettering, and her heart began racing. Her pulse quickened. She grabbed the countertop to steady herself, gave up and slid to the damp, tiled floor. Not again. It couldn’t happen again. She wouldn’t allow it. She hugged her knees to her chest, trying to silence the panic rising inside her.
Then she read the card again:
WILL YOUR MOTHER BE NEEDING HER LAST RITES SOON?
Chapter 40
It was too early for any traffic, so Nick let the Jeep slide and cut through the drifts on its own. Street lamps continued to glow as the thick mass of snow clouds kept the sun from appearing. The windshield iced up again, and he blasted it with hot air, even though he was sweating. He turned up the radio and punched several buttons before leaving it on KRAP-“News every day, all day.”
He dreaded telling Michelle Tanner about her son. He wanted those images-no, he needed those images of Matthew and Danny out of his mind or he’d be of no use to Mrs. Tanner. So he kept his mind on Maggie. He had never felt so pleasantly uncomfortable in all his vast experiences with women. The woman had managed to turn him inside out. Something he didn’t think was possible for any one woman to do. What was worse, Maggie hadn’t intended for any of it to be sensual, making him even more hot and bothered. He couldn’t erase the image of her cheek pressed against his chest, the feel of her breath on his skin. He didn’t want to erase it, so he played it, over and over again, until he could conjure it all up on demand-the smell of her hair, the feel of her skin, the sound of her heart. It seemed ironic- criminal-that the one woman who had revived him was the one woman he couldn’t have.
He skidded onto Michelle Tanner’s street just as the radio announcer was explaining that Mayor Rutledge was canceling Halloween because of the snow, which was expected to keep falling throughout the day.
“Lucky bastard.” Nick smiled and shook his head.
He pulled into the Tanner driveway, almost sliding into the back of a van. It wasn’t until he was at the front door that he noticed the KRAP News Radio sign, partially hidden by plastered snow. Panic chewed at his insides. It was awfully early for a simple “how are things going?” interview. He knocked on the screen door. When no one came, he opened it and pounded on the inside door.
Almost immediately it opened. A small, gray-haired woman motioned for him to come into the living room. Then she scurried back into the room and took her seat beside Michelle Tanner on the sofa. A tall, balding man with a tape recorder sat across from them. In the doorway to the kitchen towered a barrel-chested man with a crew cut and thick forearms. He looked familiar, and with a quick glance around the house, Nick realized he must be the ex- husband, Matthew’s father. There were still several framed photos with the three of them-taken in happier times.
Nick heard voices and the banging of pots and pans coming from the kitchen. The smell of fresh-brewed coffee mixed with the scent of melting wax. A row of candles burned on the fireplace mantel next to a large photo of Matthew and a small crucifix.
“Is it true?” Michelle Tanner looked up at Nick with red, puffy eyes. “Did you find a body last night?”
All eyes stared at him, waiting. Jesus, it was hot in the house. He reached up and loosened his tie.
“Where did you hear that?”
“Does it fucking matter?” Matthew’s father wanted to know.
“Douglas, please,” the old woman reprimanded him. “Mr. Melzer, here, from the radio said it was in the Omaha Journal this morning.”
Melzer held up the paper. Second Body Found was emblazoned across the front. Nick didn’t need to see the byline. There was no time for anger. The panic backed up into his throat, leaving an acidy taste in his mouth and a lump obstructing his air. Christine had done it to him again.
“Yes, it’s true,” he managed to say. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.”
“You’re always just a few steps behind, aren’t you, Sheriff?”
“Douglas,” the old woman repeated.
“Is it him?” Michelle looked up at Nick, pleading, hoping.
He thought it had been obvious. But she needed the words. He hated this. He shoved his hands into his jean pockets and forced himself to look into her eyes.
“Yes. It’s Matthew.”
He expected the wail and yet wasn’t prepared for it. Michelle fell into the old woman’s arms, and they rocked back and forth. Two women appeared from the kitchen. When they saw Michelle, they broke down into tears and hugged each other. Melzer watched, glanced at Nick, then gathered up his equipment and quietly left. Nick wanted to follow him out. He wasn’t sure what to do. Douglas Tanner stared at him, leaning against the wall, his anger red on his face and clenched in his fists.
Then suddenly, in three steps, the man came at him. Nick didn’t see the left hook until it slammed into his jaw, knocking him backward into a bookcase. Books flew from the shelves, crashing into him and onto the floor. Before
