Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #3: Books 9-12 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [reading in the dark TXT] 📗

moment. “I’ll have to look for it. That has really shaken me up.” He paused, staring down at the floor. “I’ll have to look for it,” he said again. “Have you got a card? And e-mail? I can scan what I have and send it to you. Won’t be much. Tomorrow morning?”

I patted him on the shoulder. “That’ll be fine. Thank you, Ted. If it can be sooner so much the better. You have been very helpful.”

He remained seated and watched us stand. “He was a nice kid. I mean, I hardly remember him. He just wasn’t the sort of person you noticed…”

I paused, hesitated. “Do you know Wayne Harris?”

He frowned, made a face, shook his head. “Wayne Harris? Not by name. What does he look like?”

“Big, built like a quarterback, six five, solid muscle, short fair hair, blue eyes. Kind of guy you’d notice.”

He spread his hands, stood and smiled. “Sorry I couldn’t be more helpful, Detectives.”

We stepped out onto the sidewalk and I paused, with my hands deep in my pockets, to watch the long procession of headlamps moving steadily through the gathering evening. The cool air from the river touched my face, and through the trees I could see trails of yellow light warping and breaking on the black water of the river. I felt Dehan’s arm slip through mine and squeeze.

“Enough for one day, Sensei. Let’s go home. I’ll make spaghetti.”

I looked down at her face. She was smiling, but it was a sad smile. I was suddenly overwhelmed by an awareness of my own good fortune and, for a moment, I was terrified at how much I had to lose: what Rosario Clemente’s mother had lost, what Sonia Ibarri’s parents had lost, what we must all lose sooner or later in this world. I squeezed her arm tight, not wanting her to let go, and smiled. “That sounds just about perfect.”

She gave me a tug toward the parking lot. A small gust of wind pulled a strand of her dark hair across her face. She smiled, with no trace now of sadness. I held her back a moment. “Carmen?”

She looked surprised and stopped. “Yes?”

“Would you…?”

I stopped, hesitated, unable to go on. She frowned. “What is it, Stone?”

I took a deep breath and blurted out, “Would you mind if we stop on the way and get some fresh Parmesan?”

She raised an eyebrow and laughed. “Of course not. Weirdo! Come on, let’s go. This case has me exhausted.”

I climbed in behind the wheel and she got in beside me. The doors closed and we sat for a moment in the warm cocoon of old leather and walnut. I put the key in the ignition and paused. “Jimmy Fillmore. The invisible man. Mr. Cellophane.”

“It’s not an unusual type among serial killers. Withdrawn, shy, quiet, concealing a deep, passive-aggressive rage at the fact that nobody ever notices them.”

I nodded. “I guess.” After a moment I asked, “How did Pam describe him?”

“Uh… six foot, dark hair, jeans, normal.”

Those weren’t the words I was thinking of, but I didn’t say anything. I fired up the engine, pulled out of the lot and headed toward Morris Park. All the way I was thinking about Jimmy Fillmore from Arizona, and the way Pam had described him. What had she said? “I didn’t notice him… I was trying not to notice him.” And Teddy had said, “He’s just the kind of guy you don’t notice…”

But Rosario had noticed him, and gone back to see him again on Friday night, and probably arranged to meet him Saturday morning. She had definitely noticed him.

I pulled up outside what I had come to think of as ‘our’ house, killed the engine and turned off the lights. I turned and smiled at Dehan. She was watching me carefully. I said, “What?”

She raised an eyebrow. “What happened to the fresh Parmesan?”

“Oh…”

“What were you going to ask me?”

I shook my head. “I have no idea what you mean, and also, I need a martini, muy seco!”

I opened the door. She said, “Stone!”

“Muy seco, Carmencita! Ahora!”

I climbed out, she climbed out after me and slammed the door. “You’re a dork, Stone.”

“Martini, Carmencita! Ahora! Muy seco! Ándale! Ándale!”

She made her way to the door, pulling the key from her pocket and shaking her head.

EIGHT

The phone rang at five thirty in the morning. Dehan covered her head with the pillow and I fumbled on the bedside table. I finally found it, pulled myself to a sitting position and pressed green. Frank’s voice said, “Did I wake you?”

I frowned as much as I was able and looked at my clock. “No,” I said malevolently. “I was doing my tax returns.”

“Good, because I haven’t been to bed yet. My wife’s attorney just left. He delivered the divorce papers.”

“You’re lying, Frank. How can she divorce you if she doesn’t remember who you are?”

“You’re funny, deep down funny…”

“Yeah, I know, where it’s not like funny anymore. Why are you calling me at five thirty in the morning Frank?”

“Because, you son of a bitch, you were right. I got a hit on each one of them. Sonia Ibarri and Rosario Clemente.” He sighed like a man who finds life depressing and death poor consolation.

I sighed back at him and sat up a bit straighter. “Ah, hell! I had half hoped I was wrong, Frank.”

“I know, John. So did I. They were found within a few days of each other, end of June 2016. From what I can tell the MO was pretty much the same. They had been in the water a long time, but the wrists were still tied with silk and there was a lot of bruising on the mouth and throat.”

“Where were they found? Mouth of the creek?”

“Rosario was washed