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“Fine,” she said, swiftly returning to the harsh lights and noisy din of the diner. She didn’t bother to explain. Couldn’t. She just set about her work, listening hard to the bits of conversation that buzzed through the diner and telling herself that she couldn’t take a chance any longer. Whether the woman who had been found under the falls was the victim of his cruelty or not, it was time to take action.
Chapter 16
Pescoli eyed her ring, the diamond glittering brightly under the failing fluorescent tubes humming above Blackwater’s head in the meeting room attached to his office. Blackwater was presiding over a hastily convened gathering and she’d taken her usual chair, the spot where she’d sat so many times while Grayson had spoken to them. A small group had been called in for a briefing and discussion of the case uppermost on the minds of the citizens of Grizzly Falls. The windowless room felt close.
“Okay, looks like we’ve got ourselves a serial killer,” Blackwater said, standing at the head of the long cafeteria-style table where everyone else was seated.
“Another one,” Brett Gage interjected. As the chief criminal detective, he oversaw all cases, and, like Dan Grayson who had been his boss, he gave those under him free rein. At forty, he was only slightly older than Pescoli. A runner who was in great shape, a father of two who had completed four or five marathons—maybe more than that.
“Yes, another one.” Blackwater nodded curtly. “And that’s not making the mayor very happy. She called this morning and reminded me of the fact that our little corner of the state seems to be a hotbed for homicide. I couldn’t argue. She’s worried about a mass exodus of citizens and I don’t blame her. When we actually confirm that these two victims were killed here in Grizzly Falls by the same person, all hell will break out.”
“Again,” Gage said, and Blackwater sent him a quick, hard look. Everyone in the department knew that Gage was angling for the vacant under-sheriff job and, apparently, he was determined to make his mark at this meeting. Politics. In the middle of a homicide investigation.
“Right, again. My point.” Blackwater wasn’t backing down. “So, it’s early, I know, but what have we got?”
Alvarez, seated next to Pescoli, said, “We’re a little ahead of the game on this one. We know the victim died last night. Sometime between ten and two is the best guess, taking into account the temperature of the water. This makes sense as so far, no one saw or heard anything.”
“In the middle of town? Before the bars closed?” Blackwater asked.
“I said, ‘so far,’ ” Alvarez repeated. “Deputies are still checking with the establishments open last night. We also think we might have an ID. There were several cars left down by the waterfront, but one, a late model Mercedes, has Washington plates and is the only vehicle not registered to a local. We checked with Washington DMV. The car is registered to a Calypso April Pope.”
“Seriously?” Pete Watershed said, chewing his Nicorette gum with a vengeance. He was the only deputy in the room, called in for some reason only Blackwater understood. “Calypso? Who would name a kid that? Calypso April Pope? Jesus!”
Pescoli shot him an oh-just-shut-up look which he ignored.
Alvarez barely missed a beat. “That’s the name on her license and the picture looks like our victim.”
“Calypso danced her last dance,” Watershed said.
Blackwater glared, reminding him, “You’re here by invitation. And next time?” His face was set in disapproval, his irritation palpable. “Lose the gum.”
Watershed’s jaw quit moving and he swallowed hard, his chosen way to dispose of the gum, as Blackwater explained, “Deputy Watershed thought he saw the victim’s car earlier, pushing the speed limit around ten last night, but he’d already pulled someone else over for DUI, so . . .”
That cleared up the reason for Watershed’s appearance. It wasn’t a major connection, but something. Still the deputy, handsome and always thinking he was God’s gift to women, bugged Pescoli. She’d been on the butt end of his jokes one too many times.
Alvarez said, “We’re trying to find out more about Ms. Pope. So far, no missing persons report has been filed. We’re attempting to find any connection between victim one and victim two, assuming they were both killed by the same person.”
The meeting went on with plans to call in the Washington State Patrol and, of course, inform the FBI, as it appeared as if they had a serial killer on their hands. There was discussion about procedure and autopsy reports and other details of the crime before the short meeting was adjourned with Blackwater saying, “Let’s find this guy. If we can do it without the feds, all the better.” Before anyone could protest, he held up a hand. “Hey, if we need them, yeah, work with them. They have access to manpower, equipment, you name it. The important thing is to get our man.” With that he scraped his chair back and everyone filed out of the room.
Pescoli was two steps down the hallway when Watershed caught up with her. “So, are congratulations in order?”
“What?” she looked up sharply, her mind zeroing in on her pregnancy.
“Noticed the ring,” he said, nodding to it.
She braced herself. Watershed and his ilk were the reasons she’d taken the ring off for awhile.
“You gettin’ married again?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“To Santana? Jesus, Pescoli, don’t you ever learn? A cop, a trucker, and now what? Some goddamn horse whisperer dude? You know, your track record is—”
“My business. Keep your nose out of it and shove it up your ass where it feels at home,” she snapped.
“Wow. Touchy.”
“Yeah, I am, so maybe you should back off a bit. It’s legal for me to carry a firearm, remember.”
