LITMIR.BIZ

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some pretext. Or maybe he has an accomplice.” He looked at Jack. “He picks his victims carefully. He convinces them that he has something unique to show them or give them. Or maybe he romances them or comes up with some other reason for them to come to the place he’s chosen. But he’s already there, and he watches. Maybe he takes them when they’re still calm and just waiting—or perhaps he waits until they get impatient, maybe even angry, and finally afraid. Then he attacks.”

      Rocky looked around and noticed one of the trees where the bark had peeled away.

      “He waited there,” he told Jack quietly, pointing.

      “What makes you think so?”

      “The way the bark is worn in places and plucked at. I believe that’s where he was.”

      “I can get a crime scene unit back out.”

      Rocky shook his head. “No, you won’t get any physical evidence. Not now. I’ve got to get into his head, Jack.”

      “Or her head,” Jack said.

      “Or her head,” Rocky agreed.

      He was pensive when they returned to the car.

      “Want to come home with me for dinner?” Jack asked after a while. “Haley would be delighted.”

      “Not tonight. Thanks,” Rocky said. “I’m going to go over everything one more time. I’m expecting some more members of my team soon, too. So...”

      “You going to want a room at the station?” Jack asked him.

      “Thank you. That would be perfect.”

      Jack drove to Rocky’s hotel. There was a group of men in business suits standing out front, finishing up a discussion.

      “Hey, an old friend!” Jack said.

      Rocky studied the group and recognized Vince Steward easily. He had to be six-four, at least, and he was still built like a brick wall.

      He stood out in any crowd.

      “I’ll park,” Jack said. “Vince is going to want to say hello to you.”

      Vince saw Jack before he saw Rocky. He grinned and waved. He’d come a long way from the kid who drank beer in the back of a pickup truck.

      His suit was custom cut; his hair was neatly clipped. His eyes flashed with good humor when he saw Rocky.

      Vince strode over to throw his arms around Rocky. “The prodigal son returns. No, wait, can’t use that. You were never a prodigal anything. Good to see you, buddy. What brings you back to town?”

      “He’s working the murder,” Jack said.

      “Oh,” Vince said, and his grin faded. “Yeah, sad thing, huh? So, you still a fed, huh? That’s the last I heard, anyway. You know, old friends can keep up. They have this new thing called Facebook. Oh, yeah, there’s also a great invention called email.”

      “I guess I spend too much time working,” Rocky said. “But hell, if I’d known you were going to go to law school, I’d have come back just to see it,” Rocky said with a laugh.

      “Well, I’m glad you’re here, anyway. Let’s get together before you leave town again.” He called out to his group. “Hey! Got an old friend in town. Craig Rockwell. Rocky, come meet the boys.”

      “The boys” were a group of maritime attorneys, as it turned out, and they met once a week at Rocky’s hotel.

      There was conversation all around for a few minutes. The men asked Jack about the murders, but he was an experienced cop and said very little.

      “It’s good to see you,” Vince told Rocky when the conversation wound down. “We should all get together soon. No one can work around the clock.”

      Actually, Rocky thought, he often did.

      “Has Haley seen our old shining star?” Vince asked Jack.

      “She has,” Jack told him.

      “Renee will want to see him, too. We have to get together.”

      “We’ll make a plan,” Rocky promised.

      “Yes, but for now, I’d better be going,” Vince said. “Court bright and early tomorrow—I’m defending Harwell Marine. Meanwhile, if you need me, buddy, for anything, don’t hesitate,” Vince said sincerely.

      Rocky thanked him, and the three of them said their goodbyes.

      As Rocky headed into the hotel, he was glad that they’d run into Vince.

      The rest of his old crowd was doing great. Even Vince had developed ambition and made a real success of his life.

      Melissa.

      She had changed them all.

      He went to his room and set his briefcase on his desk. He liked the hotel. It was near the waterfront and offered inexpensive mini-suites with all the necessary conveniences. He had a coffeemaker, a wet bar and a large dining room table that allowed him to spread out the reports for all three cases.

      It had been good to see Jack, but he was obsessed and he knew it.

      Back to work.

      The women and the circumstances were all similar.

      The women were all young. They were all of similar height and weight, but with different coloring. All Caucasian, though. They had all been fully clothed, no sign of molestation.

      They had all been found with a silver pentagram on a silver chain lying on their breasts. Cause of death appeared to be the same: throat slit by a double-edged blade that was six or seven inches long. The crime scenes had yielded no clues. No footprints, not even near Carly’s body. The killer must have taken the time to obscure them. No gum wrappers, beer cans, condoms or wrappers, not even any cigarette butts. No evidence that anyone had used any of the crime scenes for anything at all.

      Frustrated, he picked up the photographs of the medallions. They were similar—and very much like the one Devin had—but from the photos, he couldn’t even prove that they’d been made by the same designer.

      He stood. He wanted to see the medallions again. It was time for a trip to the evidence lockup.

      * * *

      Somehow Devin managed not to drop the mayonnaise. She groped toward the counter and set it down, never taking her eyes off the apparition still standing just inside the kitchen doorway.

      “Come on now, Devin, dear,” Aunt Mina’s ghost said. “You didn’t think that a loving aunt would leave you so easily, did you, child?”

      Aunt Mina sounded both sincere and worried.

      A thousand responses ran through her mind. They ranged from, “You almost made me waste good mayonnaise” to a scream of pure astonishment. Or terror.

      No, not terror. How could she ever be afraid of Auntie Mina?

      Maybe she was just hallucinating, she told herself. After all, she’d recently discovered a dead woman. She was still not herself.

      “Auntie Mina.”

      The words came out like a croak.

      “Make some tea, dear. That always helps everything.” Aunt Mina smiled broadly. “I’d be delighted to help you, but frankly, I’m just learning this ghost stuff. Manifestation isn’t easy. And I did die when I was over one hundred. But the good thing is that nothing hurts. Nothing at all.” Her smile faded. “I think I’m here for a reason, Devin. I think I’m here to help you.”

      Devin was shaking. She walked forward and reached out to touch her aunt. She felt a slight chill in the air but nothing more.

      “You can’t touch me, child,” Aunt Mina said sadly. “Don’t you think I wished I could stroke your hair last night? Try to soothe you?”

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