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“If he’s as . . .” She almost used the word evil, but it sounded so melodramatic that she said instead, “As intent on causing harm as you say, he could have a criminal history already, and his DNA might be in the system.”
“No. He’s too careful.” Catherine’s blue eyes closed again, and she let out a soft shudder. “There’s probably nothing on the knife other than Mary’s own blood.”
“How do you know he’s careful?”
“By a means that would never stand up in court,” she said.
“You’re talking about your own gift?”
“I have a little bit of precognition. Not like Cassandra’s, but a little bit.”
“What else do you know about Declan Jr.?”
“He’s dangerous, and I believe Mary drew him to her on the island. She set him on a path. She unleashed him, Detective. And he killed her.”
Savannah gazed at the older woman and said, choosing her words carefully, “It sounds like you’re asking me to start a manhunt for someone you think may have killed your sister, but you don’t want an exhumation of her body. In fact, you’re adamantly against that, even though you think this man could be a danger to others, as well.”
“Oh, he is. To all of us.”
Cassandra/Maggie’s words came back to Savannah, and she shivered a little.
“What?” Catherine asked.
“Cassandra said she told you about the man and the bones. That he came for Mary, and he was coming for all of you and maybe even me, too. Is that who she meant? Declan Jr.?”
“Yes,” Catherine answered after a long moment.
I see only his beauty.... Cassandra had said that, too.
Now, like then, Savannah felt a cold finger of premonition slide down her spine. She wasn’t really buying into the whole thing; there was a lot of woo-woo and paranoia involved in the story, and she didn’t see how it affected her. But it did get to her viscerally, no matter what she believed.
“When I get the report on the knife—whose blood’s on it—I’ll let you know.”
“Detective, don’t dismiss the danger. We’re not the only ones in this man’s sights. He believes he’s Declan Bancroft’s son, and he may act on that information. I don’t have any idea what his timetable is, but be assured that he has one. Yes, I believe he killed my sister, and yes, I believe he’s targeting us now. And his real father was a monster. . . .”
Savvy shook her head. She wasn’t going to go there. “I understand, but I need something more than . . . conjecture,” she said, for lack of a better word, “to launch an investigation. The knife is a good place to start.”
“How would you feel, Detective, if the great-grandfather of the son you just bore was suddenly attacked, possibly killed, and you’d done nothing about it?”
“That’s really a leap, Catherine.”
“You’d feel terrible. Responsible. Sick at heart. You’d want to find him at all costs. Your sister’s married to Declan’s grandson. See, I do know a thing or two.” She smiled but then saw something in Savvy’s face and asked sharply, “What? What do you know?”
“My sister was also in an accident.”
“Oh, no . . .”
“She died early this morning.”
“How? How did she die?” Catherine sat up in bed, her eyes filled with horror.
“A beam fell on her at a construction site.”
“Fell on her?”
“There’s speculation that it was something more. The Seaside police are investigating, but it could just be an accident.”
“You’re trying to tell yourself that because you don’t want it to be murder. Because you, an officer of the law, couldn’t save your sister.”
