Triptych

Will was too upset to even consider the question.

She said, “John told me that someone was blackmailing him.”

Will laughed. “You think that Michael Ormewood knows there’s a guy out there raping and murdering women, taking out their tongues, but instead of arresting the doer, Michael’s blackmailing him? For what? What could John Shelley possibly have that Michael Ormewood would want?”

“How do you explain Michael telling me to look out for John Shelley? How do you explain his not mentioning this same thing happening to a girl in the same neighborhood where he grew up?”

Will tried to make her see reason. “How do you explain the other girls?”

“What other girls?”

“Last year, two girls were sexually assaulted by a man wearing a black ski mask. Both of them had their tongues bitten off.”

Her lips parted in surprise.

“John Shelley’s been out seven months,” Will told her. “Both girls lived thirty, forty minutes away from here.” She was silent, so he added, “Julie Cooper’s fifteen. The other girl was only fourteen. What do these crimes have in common? What’s the link here?”

Angie said, “You know perps have their way of doing things. Why would he deviate? Why would he cut off some and bite off the others? Why would he go from little girls to a grown woman?”

Will recalled Michael’s answer to this question, but he did not share it with Angie.

She asked, “Why didn’t you tell me about the other cases before?”

“When, Angie? Over di

“You could have told me.”

“Why?” he asked. “Who knew you’d end up screwing around with a convicted pedophile?”

Her head jerked up. “I haven’t slept with him.”

“Yet.”

Angie gave a heavy sigh.

“Here’s an indisputable fact: Shelley raped and killed a fifteen-year-old girl. He cut out her tongue.”

“He’s not…” She looked back at Shelley’s photograph. “Whatever he did, he’s not that guy anymore.”

“Julie Cooper was fifteen,” Will told her. “He raped her in an alley behind a movie theater. He bit off her tongue.”

Angie shook her head.

“A

Angie still did not respond.

“Cynthia Barrett, Angie. Cynthia Barrett was fifteen.”

“Michael’s neighbor.”

Will shrugged. “So what?”

“Tell me this: How do they know each other? How did Michael know to warn me off him in the first place?” She indicated the liquor store with an angry wave of her hand. “You weren’t there when he did it. There’s something between them. Michael hates the guy.”

“What else am I missing here?” Will asked. “Because what it sounds like to me is that you’re so pissed at Michael Ormewood that you can’t see straight. Why is that, Angie? Why can’t you get this asshole out of your system?”

He could see the fury in her eyes, knew she was remembering the millions of times he had asked her this before.

Her voice was eerily calm when she said, “Did you ask Michael how old his wife was when he met her?” She didn’t let him respond. “She was fifteen, Will. He was twenty-five.”

“Did he rape her and bite out her tongue?” Will asked. “Because, unless he did, I don’t see why that makes a bit of difference.”

“I’m telling you, John didn’t do this.”

“I’ll ask him myself when I bring him in.”

“No.” She grabbed his arm as if she could physically stop him. “I’ll do it.”

Will could only stare at her. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“The minute you put those cuffs on him, he’s shutting down.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He’s a con. Of course he’ll shut down. He won’t so much as fart until his lawyer shows up, and then the lawyer will tell you to go fuck yourself.”

“You’re not going to control this.”

“What’s the charge? Jaywalking?” She raised her eyebrows, as if she expected an answer. “You can bring him in for questioning, but what do you have? You can search his place, but what are you going to tell the judge when you ask for the warrant? ”He did it twenty years ago, Your Honor, so maybe, probably, possibly he could have done it again now?“ ” Angie crossed her arms. “Last time I checked, unless you’re the president of the United States, you need some kind of evidence to throw a guy in jail.”

Will did not answer because he knew that she was right.

“Do you have John’s fingerprints on anything? Any witnesses? Anybody who saw anything?”

Jasmine, Will thought. Maybe she saw something. If she did, she was probably at the bottom of a lake right now.

Angie summed it up: “No forensic evidence, no witnesses and no case. You’re right, Will. Let’s go out and arrest him right now, why don’t we:

“He could be stalking his next victim,” Will said, not adding that Angie could very well be the next woman he set his sights on.

“If you arrest him now, you’ll have to kick him in twenty-four hours, and if it is Shelley who’s doing this, then he’ll know you’re on to him and he’ll go so deep underground that you’ll never find him again.”

“What do you propose I do? Wait until another girl is raped? Maybe murdered?” Will pointed out, “He could already have his next victim right now, Angie. What if he’s got Jasmine? Am I supposed to sit around while she’s counting down the minutes left in her life?”

“He’ll talk to me. He doesn’t know I’m a cop.”

“What is it with this guy, Angie? Why won’t you see him for what he is?”

“Maybe it’s a good thing I don’t judge men based on what they’ve done in their past.”

“Is that supposed to hurt me?”

“Let me talk to him,” she pleaded. “You can watch his house until morning, make sure he doesn’t go out. If he’s got that little girl, then he won’t touch her without you knowing. I’ll go to the car wash tomorrow morning and sit him down and talk to him.”

“You think he’s going to confide in you?”

“If he’s i

“And if he’s not?”

“Then you’ll be there.” She actually tried to tease him. “You’ll protect me, won’t you, Willy?”

“This isn’t anything to joke about.”

“I know.” She was looking over his shoulder again, watching the girls. “I need to get back to work.”

“I don’t like this,” he said. “I don’t like any of this and I don’t want to do it.”

“That’s nothing new for either of us, is it?” She put her hand to his cheek, brushed her lips against his. “Go away, Will.”

“I don’t want to leave you.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

John sat on a stool at the counter of the Empire Diner. He had walked in the door ravenously hungry, but for some reason when his food came, he could only bring himself to take a few bites. Nerves had his stomach in a death grip as he waited for his life to begin.

He had spent most of the night with Kathy and Joyce, trying to come up with a plan of action. Kathy wanted to go to the police, but if there was one thing the Shelley children could agree upon, it was that you could not trust the police. Michael would never talk. He was too smart to leave himself open. John’s credit report might raise some questions, but the answers could very well come back and bite John in the ass. In the end, they had decided that Joyce would use her contacts at the county records department to try to find out where Aunt Lydia was living. Uncle Barry had only been married to her for a few years before he died, and they hadn’t been able to find anything under the Carson family name. There had to be a trail somewhere. Once they found it, the Shelley children would confront Lydia about her role in framing John. She had obviously confessed her sins once before. They would not give her a moment’s peace until she confessed them again-this time on the record. As far as John’s own confession went, he had not told his sister and her lover everything that had happened. He’d been as honest as possible up to a point. He had not told them about Michael’s next-door neighbor. The thought of what he had done, the depths to which he had sunk, made him sick. All this time, John had believed Michael was the animal, but in that one moment when the opportunity had presented itself, John had been just as sadistic, just as vengeful as his cousin. Was this what Emily had fought for? Was this why his mother had spent hour upon hour writing in her notebooks, so that her little Joh