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She really, really didn’t want to believe she was going crazy.
Because if that were truly the case, sheer determination might not be enough to prevent the inevitable.
Lucas Torretti watched the petite woman, her shoulder-length red hair glinting brightly in the sun as she left the diner. She was pretty, in a wholesome girl-next-door kind of way. Must be the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her cute nose. And when she’d looked up at him, her bright eyes had been almost mesmerizing. He caught Frank’s gaze and lifted his chin in her direction. “Do you know her? Or is she one of the summer tourists?”
Deputy Frank Rawson followed Megan’s lean figure as she climbed back into her car. Out of the group of guys working for the sheriff’s department, Frank was one of the few who didn’t begrudge Luke’s position as interim sheriff. Mainly because Frank had never wanted the job for himself. Frank was serving the last two years of his duty before taking a well-earned retirement. “Yeah, that’s Megan O’Ryan. Moved into the old Dartmouth place. Lucille Dartmouth was her mother’s sister.”
Luke nodded, noting the make of her car, a white Pontiac Sunfire, as she pulled away from the curb. He memorized the tag number, thinking he might run her DMV record just for fun. “What’s her story?”
Frank lifted a disbelieving brow. “What, have you been living under a rock? How could you not have heard about Megan O’Ryan? She’s the infamous crime scene investigator that helped convict the St. Patrick’s Strangler down in Chicago earlier this year. Her younger sister was the perp’s last victim.”
Ouch. That must have been rough. He vaguely remembered the story now. It had hit the national news because the crime scene analyst who’d helped put the pieces of the puzzle together had been removed from the case when they’d discovered her sister was the latest victim. But she’d continued working the case in the lab and had testified in court against her sister’s killer.
No wonder she’d been talking herself out of going crazy.
“Which one is the old Dartmouth place?” he asked, curiosity winning out against his better judgment.
“Ten miles north as the crow flies, on the dead end of Barker Road.” Frank flashed a knowing smirk. “Why? Thinking of dropping by for a neighborly visit?”
“Of course not,” he responded, just a little too quickly. He tossed some money on the tabletop to cover their bill and stood. “Let’s get back to work. I don’t want to be late for my meeting with the mayor.”
As they left, he thought again about Frank’s directions to Megan O’Ryan’s cabin. He knew exactly where it was, even if he hadn’t known the locals referred to it as the Dartmouth place. The cabin was isolated, being so far off the main highway. Was Megan O’Ryan afraid to be out there alone? Maybe he should make sure the deputies covered the cabin in their weekly rounds. Luckily, there wasn’t a whole lot of crime in Crystal Lake.
He brought himself up short. Why this sudden surge of concern about Megan O’Ryan? She might be the most attractive woman he’d met in a long time, but he wasn’t interested in a relationship. Not now, maybe not ever.
After his wife’s death three years ago, his life had spiraled out of control. He’d hit the proverbial rock bottom, losing his job and almost losing custody of his son when he’d tried to drown his sorrows in alcohol. With the help of his pastor and God, he’d managed to pull himself together. But he’d soon realized Sam had gotten involved with a scary group of kids, so he’d packed up their things and moved them to Crystal Lake.
Working as a deputy on staff had been good enough for him, but he’d been given the job as interim sheriff three weeks ago when his boss had suffered a major heart attack and had subsequent quadruple-bypass surgery.
Despite the obvious resentment from his former peers, everything was going fine. Except for his relationship with his seventeen-year-old son, Sam. Over the past year and a half, things had gone from bad to worse. In fact, there were days he honestly believed his relationship with Sam would never recover.
Not that he intended to stop trying. He prayed every day for God to help guide them both.
Teenagers, he reminded himself. Teenagers were tough on parents. If he survived Sam’s teenage rebellion, he could survive anything.
Luke finished his meeting with the mayor. He had wanted to know if Luke would consider throwing his hat into the running for the permanent job of sheriff now that Dan Koenig, humbled from his close call with death, had announced his retirement. Luke had promised to think about it, but in reality he knew life would be more difficult than ever if he took that course of action.
Besides, he’d never get elected sheriff. Not when most of the guys in the department figured they had a better chance of winning the election and barely tolerated his presence in an interim role.
There was too much paperwork associated with being the sheriff anyway. Back in his office he stared at the mound that seemed to grow by the hour. He sighed. Likely a few of the deputies would throw their name into the race. They considered him an outsider because he hadn’t lived and worked for most of his life in Crystal Lake. The fact that he’d been a Milwaukee homicide detective for ten years didn’t seem to matter here, where the good ole boys’ club still played poker every Friday night.
Luke wasn’t much into playing cards.
Well after five o’clock, he headed home, knowing the minute he hit the driveway that Sam wasn’t there. Sam was never home if he could help it, and most of the time Luke had no idea where Sam was. Mayor Ganzer would never have offered to support him in the election for sheriff if he’d known Luke couldn’t keep tabs on his own kid.
Sam had promised to be home, but of course he wasn’t. So much for trying to talk, even to ask how his son’s day had been.
He looked for a note from Sam, and after finding no clues to his whereabouts, he pulled a cold bottle of water and a plate of leftovers from the fridge. Outside, he plopped into a wide plastic deck chair overlooking the lake. He closed his eyes and murmured a quick prayer before digging in, eating the spaghetti cold as he watched the activity on the water. Boats sped by, some towing skiers, others inner tubes, as locals and tourists made the most of the too-short Wisconsin summer.
Sam had a cell phone that Luke paid for. Not expecting much, he pushed the speed-dial connection for his son.
And almost fell of his chair when Sam answered. “Yeah?”
Nonplussed, he tried to think of something to say. Yelling at Sam for not being home wouldn’t work. “Hey, how are you? I’m sorry I missed you.”
“Fine.”
He grimaced at the one-word answer but doggedly tried again. “What are you up to? Have big plans for tonight?”
“No.”
Pulling every tooth out of his head without novocaine would be easier than carrying on a conversation with his son. “Oh yeah? So you’re just hanging around? With anyone I know?”
A pause. “Doug. Look, I gotta go. See ya later.” Sam hung up before he could remind his son that his curfew on Friday nights was twelve-thirty.
Luke snapped his phone shut, trying to look positively on the one-sided conversation. His son had answered the phone. And he’d admitted he was hanging out with Doug. Maybe Sam was mellowing out a bit. Maybe Sam wasn’t just biding his time until he was eighteen and finished with high school and could blow his father off for good.
Too bad he didn’t really believe that.
The ache in his chest intensified, and he rubbed the area over his heart with his hand. Sam’s resentment hurt. Luke was very afraid of losing his son, hardly able to find remnants of the good kid Sam had once been before Shelia died. Sam’s lack of respect made him so angry. Yet Sam had only started getting in trouble after Luke lost control when cancer stole Shelia’s life.
How long would his son pay for his own sins? He hoped and prayed it would not be for long.
Luke stared out over the water long after the hubbub of activity had died down. No-wake rules after dusk usually put an end to the fun. Or rather, he thought with a grimace, the fun took another form, like bonfires and parties.
Is that where Sam was now? Partying somewhere with the other high school kids? Drinking? Drugs? Sex? He had no idea what Sam was doing these days. He’d searched Sam’s room for incriminating evidence but had yet to find anything. Sam was too smart to make it easy. Sam rarely invited anyone from high school over to the house, so he didn’t really know his son’s friends very well, except for Doug, who lived on the other side of the lake.
Sam hadn’t exactly blended into the crowd when they’d moved in, and Luke wasn’t sure how much had changed in the past year and a half.
He kept his police radio close at hand. He was always expected to be on call in case something happened. Luckily it almost never did. The worst thing he’d experienced was when Eric Landers got drunk and put a gun to his head. They didn’t have access to a crime team, so he’d used his old homicide skills to make sure they weren’t missing something. After examining the evidence, Dan Koenig and the ME had both ruled Eric’s death a suicide. There had only been one other death in his short tenure here, a hunter who had been shot by accident when he’d stayed out past dusk. Tragic, but not a homicide. The two events had created a lot of stir amongst the locals, providing gossip fuel for weeks.
Luke was glad there weren’t many crimes in Crystal Lake. It was one of the reasons he’d moved here. He’d hoped Sam would flourish in better surroundings. In a place where life was simple and there were fewer negative influences.
Please Lord, help guide Sam home. And help me to be patient with him. Help give me the strength and wisdom to know how to handle him. I’m asking You to watch over him, Lord. Amen.
Luke must have dozed, because his radio blaring next to him woke him up. “Sheriff? Sheriff? Do you read me?”
Night had fallen, and he reached for the radio, fumbling with the buttons. “Copy that. What’s up, Tony?”
“Found a dead body floating in the lake.”
Oh, boy. He had heard tourists who drank too much and fell out of their boats were not uncommon in the summer months in the area. And there was nothing worse than a floater. “Got an ID on the vic?”
“Yeah.” There was a small silence. “You’d better get out here, Sheriff. This girl is local and she didn’t die by accident.”
He shot to his feet, instantly wide awake, his gaze sharp in the moonlight. “What do you mean she didn’t die by accident?”
“She was murdered.” Tony’s voice sounded strained. “Strangled with a towrope before being dumped in the water.”
TWO
Megan had trouble falling asleep, and when she did she dreamed of Katie. Even though at some level Megan knew it was a dream, she still heard the sounds of a struggle as Katie fought her captor. Katie’s muffled cry somehow pierced her consciousness and she awoke, her heart pounding as if she’d been the one attacked instead of her sister.
If only she could go back, to the night Katie had been murdered. Maybe if she’d gone with her sister to the pub, Katie would still be alive today. Katie had asked her to go along to Flannigan’s, as she was planning to meet some new guy she’d met during her job in the college library, but Megan hadn’t gone with her because she had to work early the next morning. So she sent Katie off by herself.
Only to be woken hours later to investigate a crime scene. Never in a million years had she expected to find Katie as the victim.
Megan splashed cold water on her face and then crawled back into bed and tried to fall back asleep. But as much as she needed rest, she kept hearing sounds outside. Wildlife, no doubt. After so many years in the city, the sounds of the animals took some getting used to.
A loud pounding on her door startled her so badly she almost fell out of bed. For a moment she wondered if she was dreaming again, but no, the pounding continued. Then it stopped. Her imagination? Or reality? She hated not being sure.
Her cell phone rang and she grabbed it from her bedside table, staring at it apprehensively, not recognizing the number. When was the last time anyone had called her? Her friend from Chicago, Shana Dawson, had probably called once or twice, but it had been so long ago she honestly couldn’t remember. Hesitantly, she flipped open the phone. “Hello?”
“Megan? This is Sheriff Torretti. We need your help. I’m standing outside your door.”
Relief that she hadn’t imagined the pounding was quickly replaced by surprise that the sheriff had her cell number, and then replaced again by cold dread. She scrambled out of bed and grabbed her robe. “I’ll be right there.”
“Thank you.”
Why would the sheriff need her help? She cinched the robe tightly around her waist and flipped on the porch light so she could see through the front window to verify that it was, indeed, the sheriff out there, before she unlatched the dead bolt on the door. When she opened it, she realized the man standing on her doorstep was the same one she’d met earlier that day outside of Rose’s Cafe. She flushed. “Sheriff? What’s going on?”
He hesitated a moment. “There’s been a murder. I don’t have access to a crime team and I really need your expertise.”
Her first instinct was to refuse. She didn’t go on-site to investigate crime scenes any more. She’d given up her career after Katie’s death. These days, all she could manage was processing routine DNA samples. “Surely someone on your staff is qualified to gather evidence?”
He shook his head, his expression betraying his frustration. “In normal circumstances, yes, but we don’t get many murders here. I’ve already called the Madison crime lab. They’ll process our evidence of a serial killer, which they’d never believe considering we only have one victim. So as of right now, we’re on our own.”
She frowned, realizing he was right. Crime teams existed in big cities like Chicago, New York, and Los Angeles but not in small communities like Crystal Lake. Once she’d thrived on the details, the exactness of the work that helped piece a complex puzzle together. But since Katie’s death, she’d lost her edge.
“I’m retired from CSI work,” she protested weakly.
“Please?” She had the impression from the hard set to his jaw that he didn’t beg very often, and the worried concern she glimpsed in his gaze tugged at her in a way she couldn’t describe. “I’ll take your rusty skills over nothing.”
A murder. She shivered in the dark night. She’d always believed victims and their families deserved justice. Once she’d been at the top of her game, but not any longer. Yet could she honestly refuse to help?
No. She couldn’t. Ignoring the dread curled in her stomach, she nodded. “Give me a few minutes to get dressed.”
“Of course. Thank you.”
She tried to smile as she closed the door, but her hands were shaking. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She brushed her teeth and then quickly donned a pair of jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and her work boots before heading outside. Sheriff Torretti was waiting patiently beside his squad car.
“Where’s the body?” she asked.
“On the south shore of the lake. You can follow me,” he said as he climbed into the driver’s seat.
She did as he requested, and all too soon, she followed him to a place where several cop cars, red and blue lights flashing, were parked in front of a path leading down to the lake. Carrying her camera and a flashlight, she climbed from the car.
“This way.” Sheriff Torretti gestured toward the path.
She didn’t walk down the path right away, but swept her high-powered flashlight over the scene to see if she could pick out any clues. She saw nothing more than a few bent and broken branches, indicating that someone, most likely the cops, had been down this way. Using her camera, she took several pictures, just in case.
She continued making her way down to the lake, acutely aware of the sheriff following behind her. Despite her initial embarrassment at being with him, she had to admit his presence helped her to feel safe.
When she reached the clearing, she stopped and once again scanned the area with the flashlight. “Have your deputies been down here?”
“Yes. Deputy Tony Markham pulled the victim out of the water because he didn’t realize at first she’d been murdered.”
“He found the victim?”
Luke nodded. “Yeah, apparently her mother called when her daughter didn’t come home at curfew, so he went looking for her. This path is used by the high school kids when they come down to the lake.”
She didn’t move, but swept her light around the wooded area, searching for clues. “Do you often have bodies washing ashore?”
His lips thinned. “No. Before I came there was a drunk tourist who fell off his boat and hit his head on the way into the water. But that was over two years ago. This is the first homicide in the eighteen months since I’ve been here.”
Even one homicide in the small town of Crystal Lake seemed like too much. It took a minute for her to register what he’d said. He was relatively new to the area, just like she was. “Do you think the murder actually happened here?”
“I couldn’t see anything to indicate the crime had taken place here. The lake is spring-fed, so there is a slight current running north to south. To be honest, this could have happened anywhere.”
Not good news. It was always harder to find detailed evidence when a body has been moved. Even worse when the body was dumped in the water.
Interesting that this was the normal hangout place for the teens of Crystal Lake. If the crime had been committed elsewhere, had the killer chosen his spot on purpose, knowing the body would wash up here to be found quickly? Crystal Lake was several miles long and surrounded by woods. There had to be a zillion other places in the area to hide a body.
Fighting apprehension, she headed closer to the lake. A young female victim was lying on the bank, where the deputy had dragged her from the water. She flashed a light along the ground, seeing a mess of trampled footprints, more than just from the deputy, but she supposed if the kids were down here often, that wouldn’t be unusual.
As she moved closer, the scene became surreal. The water changed to a blacktop parking lot at the corner of Flannigan’s Irish pub. The young woman was lying at an awkward angle, the orange braided rope bright against her slim neck. Katie? No, it can’t be. Katie? Katie!
“Are you all right?”
The deep voice beside her snapped her back to the present and she drew an uneven breath, trying to focus on the matter at hand. Her victim, the girl in the water, was blonde, just like Katie. Megan moved closer, focusing on her face, realizing with dread that she remembered the girl. “Oh, no,” she whispered.
“What?” Luke Torretti followed beside her, careful not to disturb anything. “Do you know her?”
“Teagan,” she murmured, remembering the scene outside the diner. “No, that isn’t right, she called her friend Teagan. I don’t know this girl’s name.”
“Liza Campbell, an eighteen-year-old high school senior.” Sheriff Torretti’s tone was grim. “When did you see her last?”
“This afternoon, just before I ran into you outside Rose’s Café. She was heading down to the lake with a redhead named Teagan and they met up with a group of boys.” Megan took another step and almost went to her knees. The rope wrapped around the girl’s neck was badly faded, but in the light of her flashlight she would guess the original color had been red, pink or orange. Regardless of the color, it was polyurethane and braided.
Just like Katie’s.
Luke saw Megan sway and reached out to grab her. Her arm was slim yet strong beneath his fingers. It was the second time she’d appeared about ready to faint. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked her to come out here. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
His question snapped her out of the reverie she’d fallen into. Her shoulders stiffened. “I’m fine.” As if to prove it, she shrugged off his hand, lifted her camera and began taking pictures, pretending the brutal slaying of a young girl didn’t bother her.
He stayed close, just in case, watching her work. Crime scene experts were usually not squeamish when it came to violent death, but having heard about Megan O’Ryan’s history from Frank, he could understand what she was probably going through. Her younger sister had been strangled too. The similarities between the two crimes had to be difficult for her. Yet she approached the scene with cool professionalism, obviously stronger than her slim, petite frame looked.
She spent a lot of time looking around the area. She walked over to the fire ring not far off the lakeshore and bent to examine the ashes. “They’re still warm,” she murmured.
