“English. History. Economics, of late. She could have done anything. She was brilliant. But she chose to have a good time rather than apply herself. She was about to graduate but just barely.”
“Mrs. Silver, I’ve got two other victims who might have been killed by the same man.”
Her eyes widened as she struggled with unwanted emotions. “Her death didn’t have anything to do with her drinking or the drugs?”
“I don’t think so.”
She swallowed. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I’m trying to retrace her last days.”
“I wish I could help. But Blair and I didn’t communicate well. I called. We were polite, but our conversations had little depth and generally ended with us shouting at each other.”
“When was the last time she lived here?”
“She spent a night here about three months ago.” Mrs. Silver leaned forward and from a silver box removed a cigarette and lighter. She lit the tip and inhaled deeply. “It wasn’t a good visit. We fought. I was worried she’d start drinking again and she was furious that I didn’t trust her.”
“Could I have a look at her room?”
“Certainly.” Stiffly, she snubbed out her cigarette and rose. “Follow me.”
He sensed beneath the ice, sadness and regret swirled in a destructive twister. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Silver led Beck up a cream-colored carpeted staircase that wound by walls sporting neatly framed watercolors. In his grandfather’s house the carpets had been worn and threadbare and the walls filled with pictures of Beck, his brother and his father as a child. There were images of Beck swinging a bat and posing with the football team. It was a chaotic mishmash of pictures. And he still found it warm and welcoming especially compared to the elegant sterility of the Silver house.
Mrs. Silver led him down a center hallway toward a door on the back left. She opened the door and stepped back as if entering hurt. “Spend as much time as you’d like in the room. I’ll be downstairs waiting.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“There is a computer in her room. She didn’t take it with her but the last time she was here she spent time on it.”
“Thank you.” He waited until she’d turned to leave before entering the room. Painted in a pale pink, the room was dominated by a large canopy bed with a white eyelet coverlet. Twin nightstands sported crystal lamps and a chaise set by a large bay window. It was the perfect little girl’s room.
He sat down at a delicate, girly-looking desk, hoping it would support his six-foot-six frame. The chair groaned a protest but held steady. He pressed the computer’s power button. The screen saver was a collage of pictures taken of Blair and her friends over the last couple of years. In most of the images she was grinning, her arm wrapped casually around someone’s neck, a drink and cigarette in the other. In several, Blair’s hair was dark brown, in others she had dyed a streak purple, and finally she’d switched to blond—the color that had caught the killer’s attention. She wore deeply cut blouses and heavy makeup. Lots of gold bangles dangled from her neck and wrists.
He shifted his attention to the men in the photos, wondering if any of them stood out. Many sported the ruddy cheeks and goofy expressions of a drunk and most appeared to be college age. Seven years ago, they’d have been in middle or high schools. Nothing caught his attention.
He opened her e-mails. Two hundred and twelve messages appeared. Most were ads for clothes, shoes, some even from an online university. Only a few appeared to be from actual people, but that wasn’t surprising. Kids Blair’s age communicated via text or cell. E-mail, Santos’s youngest sister had once said, was for old people.
The majority of the personal e-mails were from men and their messages dealt with setting up a meeting. Nothing specific was discussed, and Blair’s outgoing box showed no responses on her computer. He’d need to track down her cell phone records for that. He checked her browser history but found most of her stops were online stores and tarot reading sites.
Beck rose from the chair and unplugged the computer, hoping Mrs. Silver would let him take it with him so his experts could search it. He could get a warrant but hoped she’d make this easy.
He checked dresser drawers, which were empty, and he checked her closet. The clothes that remained were for a younger girl, and many of the dresses still had the tags on them. He could picture Mrs. Silver buying perfect clothes for a daughter who wasn’t so perfect and would never wear what her mother had chosen.
He moved down the center staircase, the computer in hand. He found Mrs. Silver sitting in the living room where they’d first visited.
She’d lit another cigarette and with a trembling hand lifted it to her mouth. “I never would have smoked in this house while my husband was alive. He hated the smell. I think that’s why Blair started smoking. She wanted to make him angry.”
“Mrs. Silver, would you mind if I took Blair’s computer? I’d like my forensics experts to have a look at it.”
She nodded. “Take whatever you want.”
“Thank you.”
She snubbed out the end of her cigarette in a crystal ashtray. “I read about a woman in the Sunday paper. Lara Church. The photographer. The article said she had survived the Seattle Strangler. And you said my Blair was strangled.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Is the article about Ms. Church true?”
“Yes, ma’am, it’s true.”
“Do you think the Seattle Strangler is here?”
“I don’t know.”
Her gaze narrowed. “But you have suspicions.”
“Which I cannot discuss.”
“Can Ms. Church give you a description of her attacker?”
“She has no memory of the attack.”
Dark eyes flashed with frustration. “There’s got to be a way to make her remember.”
“We’re doing all we can.”
Mrs. Silver shook her head. “Are you?”
Her pain burrowed under his skin and grated against his nerves. “Yes, ma’am, we are.”
“I made a lot of mistakes with Blair. Warning signs I shouldn’t have ignored years ago. I should have trusted that she wanted to get sober, but I didn’t. I failed her in so many ways, but there is one last thing I can do for her.”
“What’s that?”
Gray eyes hardened. “Make sure you find her killer.”
“I’m giving it my best.”
“You damn well better, Sergeant. You damn well better.”
Mrs. Silver walked to the front door, each step controlled and brittle. “Thank you for your kindness.”
He opened the door. “I’ll be in touch.”
A quick nod was all she managed as she opened the door and watched him step onto the porch. She closed the front door with a soft click. Seconds later he heard the soft muffled sounds of her weeping.
When Lara arrived in the lab with Lincoln, the room of students was unnaturally quiet. The students, who normally were chatting and texting and thinking about everything other than lab, sat tense and silent. As Lincoln lay down behind her desk, she set her backpack on the desk and carefully unzipped it. Beyond the silence, she heard the ticking of the clock and steady breaths of the kids in the front row.
“I suppose you’ve read the paper,” she said without raising her head.
No
one said anything, but several kids murmured back and forth at each other, hoping to find someone who would speak for the class.
Lara pulled out her laptop. “If you have any questions, now is the time to ask because once I start my lecture I’m not discussing this again.”
Tim Gregory, the big, beefy football player in the back of the room, half raised his hand. “Is it true?”
Lara’s gaze met the boy’s. “The article in the paper about me? Yes, it’s true.”
Annie, a girl who always wore athletic shorts, white tees, and a scrunchie in her long, black hair, sat taller. “So, like, you were strangled once?”
“Yes, I was.”
More murmurs rippled across the room.
Tim’s smile looked more uncomfortable than jovial. “This dude killed six women before you.”
“That’s right.” Her gaze skimmed the astonished faces to Danni, who stared with wide-eyed understanding.
“So how did you get so lucky?” Annie said.
Lucky. Lara had never thought that luck would have a double-edged sword. “I don’t know.”
“Yeah, but aren’t you afraid?” Annie said.
Lara laid her hands on her desk. “Honestly, at this point I’m more afraid that the majority of you are going to fail my class this semester.”
That caused several kids to sit forward in their seats.
“I’ve tried to treat you as adults, but frankly most of you are more worried about the next party than you are about this class.” Indignation welled, jostling aside the lingering fear of a man she could not remember. “If you think it is an easy A you are going to be sadly mistaken. Most are going to have to hustle hard just to get a C. And for some, I know you need that C to remain on the roster for the fall sports teams.”
Tim grumbled. “Coach said I shouldn’t worry about snapping pictures when I should be doing strength conditioning.”
She smiled. “Coach is wrong if you want to pass, Mr. Gregory.”
He groaned. “That’s not right. I worked hard for my spot on that team.”
“You’re not working hard in my class, Mr. Gregory, and that is all I care about.”
He opened his mouth to protest.