Just Past Midnight

Suspicion gleamed in the man’s eyes. “So you have done your homework.”

“Do you know an HPD detective named Ellison Kane?”

“I know of him, but I don’t think anyone really knows him. Kane’s a loner type. Doesn’t even work with a partner, which means he’s probably got connections.” Tripp paused. “What’s your interest in him anyway?”

Richard said casually, “Our paths crossed on a case once. I’d like to look him up.”

Tripp sat back and stared at him for a moment. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Dr. West, does it?”

“Why would you assume that?”

He shrugged. “Just a hunch. And if I’m right, let me caution you that it’s highly ill-advised for a client to become involved in the investigation. If you start asking questions about Dr. West and she gets wind of it—”

“That’s why I want you to make the arrangements,” Richard cut in.

“Arrangements?”

“Set up a time and place where Kane and I can meet. Tell him anything he says will go no further than our meeting, and make sure he understands that I expect the same from him.”

Tripp’s tone sharpened. “Look, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into here. Kane’s not going to agree to meet with you if you attach conditions. You start making demands, you’re just going to piss him off. And believe me when I tell you that Ellison Kane is not the kind of guy you want for an enemy.”

Richard dismissed his concern. “You let me worry about Kane. Just make the call.”

“And if he doesn’t agree?”

“He will.” Richard picked up his drink as he glanced again at Darian West’s reflection. “Tell him we have a common interest in spiders. The deadly kind.”

CHAPTER FIVE

ELLISON KANE had little tolerance for assholes, especially the smug, self-important variety. And by all indications, Richard Berkley fell comfortably into that category.

As Kane watched him get out of his car and walk slowly up the drive, he decided the man was in serious need of an attitude adjustment.

The way he walked, the way he dressed—everything about him annoyed the hell out of Kane. But then, according to Max Tripp, the guy was a lawyer—so what could you expect?

If there was anything lower on the face of the earth than a criminal defense attorney, Kane had yet to run across such an animal. And he’d seen some pretty rough characters in his day.

The problem with Berkley was that he hadn’t yet realized he was no longer in control. He’d left that prerogative behind when he’d come looking for Kane. He was on Kane’s turf now, and there were certain rules that had to be adhered to. Number one being that in the south Harris County town of Seaport, you did not want to get on Ellison Kane’s bad side.

He knew the area too well—the bayous that cut through the county, the alleyways and dirt roads that couldn’t be found on any map. He’d even made a habit of walking that vast wasteland along the I-45 corridor known as the killing fields, where the bodies of young women and little girls had been turning up for more than twenty years.

The suburbs south of Houston weren’t exactly friendly territory, and if Berkley knew what was good for him, he’d mind his manners. Live and let live seemed to be the universal motto down here, and Kane liked it that way. Nobody got all up in his business, and in return, he didn’t ask questions about boats moving around in the Gulf at all hours of the night. The locals had a tendency to be suspicious, nervous, even a little trigger-happy at times, and a man like Berkley could get himself into some real trouble if he wasn’t careful. He could end up getting lost, and never be heard from again.

It had happened before.

As Berkley climbed the porch steps, Kane eased the rosewood-handled .45 from his shoulder holster and thumbed off the safety.

He waited until he heard Berkley’s footsteps on the porch, then he whipped open the door and thrust the gun barrel beneath the man’s chin.

To Berkley’s credit, he didn’t flinch. He didn’t so much as blink. His unwavering stare was positively chilling.

Then one brow rose slightly. “Sergeant Kane, I presume?”

The man’s voice sent something unpleasant scurrying along Kane’s spine, which surprised him. There weren’t many men who could unnerve him like that.

Well, hell, he thought. This could get interesting.

THE MAN WAS PATHOLOGICAL, Richard decided as he watched Kane step onto the porch and glance up and down the street.

“You alone?” he demanded.

“Of course.”

He dropped the weapon to his side and head-gestured for Richard to follow him into the tiny, clapboard house. Once they were both inside, Kane closed and bolted the door.

Richard took a quick survey of his surroundings. The house was close and gloomy, so claustrophobic he had to suppress the urge to tug at his tie. Very little sunshine crept through the single front window that looked out on a scraggly yard littered with car parts, a rusted-out motorcycle and an assortment of debris that Richard couldn’t identify.

The interior wasn’t much better. The furnishings consisted of folding lawn chairs and what looked to be finds brought home from the city dump. Every inch of table and counter space was used for newspapers, magazines and file folders crammed full of documents, but for all the clutter, the place appeared basically clean. Scrubbed even. The smell of ammonia clung to the air.

Kane dumped a stack of papers from one of the lawn chairs and motioned for him to sit. As Richard folded himself into the rickety chair, he hoped the aluminum frame wouldn’t collapse underneath him.

Kane took the only real chair in the room, a tattered recliner that creaked ominously when he sat, though he was by no means a big man. He was perhaps five-nine or -ten, with the kind of lean, hungry visage that reminded Richard of a stray dog he’d rescued once. No matter how often the mutt was fed, he could never get enough to eat, and he’d seemed almost pathetically grateful for any scrap of attention that came his way. But at the same time, Richard always had the feeling that with one wrong move, the animal would just as soon go for his jugular.

He got that same vibe from Kane. The man certainly had the appearance of a stray with his uncombed, dirty-blond hair, faded T-shirt and threadbare jeans. But just like his house, the unkempt facade was deceptive. His clothing and hair were clean, his fingernails neatly clipped. Either he had a split personality, or he wanted people to get an entirely inaccurate picture of him. Richard couldn’t help wondering why.

Kane laid the .45 on the TV tray beside the recliner. “How did you find out about me anyway?”

“We have a mutual acquaintance.”

Kane snorted. “If you mean Max Tripp, don’t make the mistake of thinking his name carries any weight around here. I can’t stand that bastard.”

“I’m talking about Michael Farmer.”

“Who?”

The one-syllable question was a little too abrupt. Richard would have expected better from a man like Kane. “Let’s not play games here. You know the name. I can see it in your eyes.” He paused. “And in case Tripp didn’t make it clear, let me assure you, Sergeant, that anything you tell me about Michael Farmer will go no farther than this room.”

“And why should I trust you?” Kane challenged.

“I’ll give you several reasons.” Richard removed a wad of hundred-dollar bills from his pocket and tossed them onto the TV tray next to Kane. “A thousand dollars just for answering a few questions. Not a bad day’s work, and no one outside this room ever has to know.”

Kane glanced at the bills, then back at Richard. “I don’t know about where you come from, but down here, attempting to bribe a police officer could get you jail time.”

“Then it behooves both of us to keep our mouths shut about this meeting.”

Something that might have been respect crossed Kane’s features. “What are you after, Berkley?”

“I want information about Michael Farmer. You do remember him, don’t you?”

Kane sighed. “Yeah, I remember him. He was that college kid who died in a dorm fire up in Connecticut.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Hell, that had to be—what? Seven, eight years ago?”

“It was seven,” Richard confirmed. “I have a few questions I’d like to ask you about that fire.”

Kane’s gaze narrowed. “Why? That kid’s family bringing a lawsuit against the school or something? It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”

“Being a cop, you should know there’s no statute of limitation on murder.”

Kane looked startled. “Murder? Who said anything about murder?”

“You did.” Richard studied the man’s expression. He hadn’t figured Kane out yet, but he would. He’d become adept over the years in interpreting every blink, flicker and tic of a witness or juror. So far, Kane remained an enigma. “Seven years ago you hinted to at least one person at Drury University that you thought Michael Farmer had been murdered by his girlfriend.”

Kane rubbed the stubble on his chin. “What if I did? I never could prove it, and besides, the university was more interested in hushing the whole thing up than they were in getting at the truth. Murder would have been bad for their reputation. Not a lot of parents want to send their kids off to a school—especially one with Drury’s price tag—that can’t protect them.”

“You worked for the campus police department back then. According to the official record, you were the first officer to respond to the fire.”

Kane nodded. “I was on patrol that night. I happened to be driving by the dorm when I heard the alarm go off. Then I saw smoke coming out of some of the upper-level windows, and I called it in.”

“You did more than that,” Richard said. “From what I understand, you rushed into the dorm and helped people get out. You were credited with saving lives.”

Kane shrugged and glanced away. He appeared uncomfortable with the accolades. “I was just doing my job, and yeah, luckily, most of the kids did get out. Everyone except Farmer. Nobody thought to knock on his door because he was supposed to be away for the weekend. The best we could figure, he had a sudden change of plans and didn’t tell anyone.”

“So no one knew he was there.”

“Right.”

“Except possibly the girlfriend.”

Kane’s gaze lifted. Something dark flickered in his eyes. “Right again.”

Richard got up and paced over to the window to stare out for a moment. The neighborhood where Kane lived was isolated and quiet. One of those places that seemed to wear a perpetual air of foreboding, as if the things that went on there at night were best not examined by daylight.

Richard suppressed his own feeling of foreboding as he turned back to Kane. “The police thought the fire started in Michael’s room.”

“That’s what they thought, yeah. According to the coroner, Farmer had been drinking. He had a blood alcohol content of .06, and traces of an opiate showed up in the tox screen. The police and the medical examiner concluded that the kid was so hammered, he passed out in bed with a lit cigarette and never woke up.”

“But that wasn’t what you thought.”

Kane remained silent for a moment. When he finally spoke, his voice had grown cold with suspicion. “Why are you asking all these questions now?”

Richard came back over and sat down. “It’s taken me a long time to track you down, Sergeant. Houston is a long way from Connecticut.”

“So?”

“I’m wondering what brought you all this way.”

The suspicion deepened in Kane’s eyes. “And I’m wondering how you think that’s any of your damn business.”

Richard shrugged. “I’m curious, that’s all.”

Kane’s expression told him he wasn’t buying it. “Let’s just say, I got tired of the cold. I moved to Houston because I’m a sucker for smog and humidity.”

“And because you were born and raised in Texas?” When Kane didn’t respond, Richard said softly, “That wasn’t hard to figure out, Sergeant. You didn’t get that accent just by living here for a couple of years.”

“I’d still like to know what the hell you’re after,” Kane muttered.

“Just the truth.”

Kane sat forward suddenly, his expression tight with anger. “You want the truth about Michael Farmer? Here it is, then. Seven years ago, I wasn’t much older than most of the kids at Drury, so I got to know some of them pretty well. They liked to talk and I liked to listen. Word around campus was that Farmer was a real weirdo.”

Richard had to tamp down his sudden anger. “What do you mean?”

Kane shrugged. “He kept to himself, didn’t make friends. There was even talk of a suicide attempt. Then he met Danielle Williams.”

“The girlfriend?”

“Yeah. Nice-looking chick. Nothing spectacular, but a lot of the guys had a thing for her, including Michael. He used to follow her around campus like a little lost puppy. It was pretty pathetic.”

Richard’s voice sharpened. “Wait a minute. He followed her?”

Kane nodded. “She wouldn’t have anything to do with him at first. She didn’t seem to have much use for any of those guys. Always acted like she was kind of afraid of them. But I think that was just part of her game.”

“What game?”

“The seduction. The hunt.” Kane’s eyes gleamed. “I don’t know how to explain it, but there was just something about that girl. She was different from the others. Part of it was her upbringing, I guess. She came from a small town in East Texas, and most of the other students grew up in places like Boston, New York, Philadelphia. They drove fancy cars, wore expensive clothes. Had money to burn. Not Danielle. She was there on a full scholarship and didn’t have much dough for anything extra. So Michael started buying her things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Books, CDs. Things like that. Then he gave her some jewelry, and I guess that’s when she decided to reel him in. They were inseparable for a while, but I don’t think anyone expected it to last. They were just too different.”

Richard frowned. “Because he had money and she didn’t?”

“It was more than that.” Kane settled back against his chair. “They were both journalism majors, but Michael was one of those idealistic types. He wanted to go live in a tent in Somalia or Bangladesh or some damn place and write about things that could change the world. I got the impression that Danielle Williams was a lot more ambitious than that.”

“That doesn’t make her a killer,” Richard said.

“Maybe, maybe not.” Kane shrugged again. “But the thing that’s bothered me all these years is that trip Michael canceled right before the fire. If he had a change of heart, why not tell his girlfriend about it? Everyone knew he was crazy about her. And yet he stays in town and doesn’t let her know? Something just doesn’t add up there.”

“According to the police report, Danielle was in her room the whole night,” Richard said. “Her roommate corroborated her story.”

“Yeah, but a girl as clever as Danielle Williams could have gotten around the roommate.”

“How?”

Kane thought about it for a minute. “Suppose she put something in the roommate’s drink earlier that night. The same drug that turned up in Michael’s autopsy. Danielle could have slipped out, gone over to Michael’s room, started the fire, and then hurried back to her dorm before anyone was the wiser. When the roommate woke up and heard the sirens, she would have assumed that Danielle had been there the whole time.”

“Was any of this ever investigated?”

“The Hanover police went through the motions, but there was no physical evidence linking the girl to the fire. No witnesses. No motive, apparently. At least not at first. The people who ran that university pulled a lot of weight in Hanover. The president, the dean, the Board of Regents—they all wanted the whole thing over and done with so that they could begin damage control.”

Richard frowned. “You said apparently Danielle had no motive at first. What did you mean by that?”

“It came out later that Michael had left her a lot of money. He received a trust fund when he turned twenty-one, and he left the whole thing, nearly half a million dollars, to Danielle. A few weeks later, she up and disappeared.”

“She didn’t even tell her roommate where she was going?”

“Not that I could find out. And the roommate wasn’t shy about talking. She told me about this shrink who used to call Danielle from time to time. Dr. Gaines, she called him. He was a therapist Danielle had been seeing before she left Texas. I called him up a few weeks after Danielle disappeared, but he refused to talk about her. The guy was downright hostile, but I got the distinct feeling that he knew where she was.”

“Go on.”

The prompt seemed to annoy Kane, and he scowled. “Look, I’m not on the witness stand here. And I’m starting to wonder why I should be doing all your legwork for you. If you’ve got hundred-dollar bills to throw around, why don’t you hire yourself an investigator?”

“I did hire an investigator,” Richard said. “And he led me straight to you.”

Kane’s scowl deepened. “I think we’re done here.”

“Really? Because I don’t think we are,” Richard said slowly. “I don’t think so at all. We haven’t even gotten to the good part yet. You know, the part where you explain why the university purged your employment records and why you failed to mention any previous law enforcement experience on your HPD application. So you see, Sergeant, I’d say this conversation is far from over.”

“What the hell is this?” Kane growled. “Some kind of shakedown?”

“I told you, all I want is the truth. Your leaving Drury University so abruptly had something to do with Michael’s death, didn’t it. The school had something on you, and you cut a deal. You agreed to leave quietly and keep your mouth shut about the fire. Am I getting warm yet, Sergeant Kane?”

When the man didn’t answer, Richard leaned toward him. “Let’s get something straight here. I don’t give a damn why you left Drury. I don’t give a damn what they had on you. What I want to know is what you had on them. What scared the university and the Hanover Police Department so badly that they had to find a way to shut you up?”

“Think about it, Berkley.” Kane’s voice was hard and angry, but there was a flicker of excitement—or triumph—in his gaze. “If a murder on campus was enough to frighten off prospective students, what do you think a serial killer on the loose would do for enrollment?”

“A serial killer?” Richard was surprised by how unemotional his voice sounded. How detached he felt from Kane’s revelation. But he knew that at any moment his control could slip and he’d give himself away. He didn’t want to do that. Not yet.

He glanced up to find Kane watching him. An unexpected chill shot through Richard. “You think Danielle Williams was a serial killer?”

“Not was. Is.”

“You know where she is?”

Kane hesitated. “No. But I know what she’s done. Let’s just say, Michael Farmer’s not the only dead boy in her past.”

“Don’t hold out on me now, Kane. What else do you have on her?”

Kane eyed the money for a moment, as if contemplating asking for more, but before he had a chance, Richard brought out another roll of bills and tossed it onto the table.

“What else did you find out about Danielle Williams?” he repeated.

Kane ran a hand across his mouth, as if what he’d already said had left a bad taste. “After I talked to Dr. Gaines, I decided to do a little more digging into Danielle’s background, and I found out that she wasn’t exactly the innocent, small-town girl she tried to make everyone at Drury think she was. She was a smart, driven, ruthless student who, from the time she hit high school, had her eye on something called the Belmont Award. The prize was worth thousands in scholarship money, and according to a couple of teachers I spoke to, no one even came close to Danielle’s grades or accomplishments until her senior year. Then this rich kid moves to town who’s even smarter than she is. He outperforms Danielle in all their classes, and everyone assumes that he’ll win the Belmont. Then, get this—” It was Kane who leaned forward now. “He and his family die in a fire one night.”

“Was there an investigation?”

“The girl was questioned by the police, all right, but there wasn’t enough evidence to make an arrest. So she wins the award and heads off to Drury, where she meets Michael Farmer, who also dies in a fire, leaving her a small fortune. Now I don’t know about you, but that sounds like a pattern to me.”

Somewhere inside Richard, an old rage stirred to life. A terrible fury he’d had to keep under control during his long search for Danielle Williams. And now that he’d finally found her, he wasn’t about to let anyone get in his way. Not even a paranoid cop who might be more than a little insane.

As if reading his mind, Kane traced a fingertip down the barrel of his gun. Richard had a feeling the action was very deliberate. “There’s a name for women who kill their lovers for personal gain.”

“Black widows,” Richard said.

“That’s right. We both have an interest in spiders, don’t we? You didn’t come here to find out about Danielle Williams. I haven’t told you a damn thing you didn’t already know. What the hell are you really after here?”

Richard got up and walked to the window again. After a moment, he said, “Do you know a woman named Darian West? Dr. West?”

Behind him, Kane drew a sharp breath, but by the time Richard turned, the cop’s expression was coolly indifferent.

“No, why?”

“She’s a criminal psychologist here in Houston. In fact, she worked extensively with HPD on the Casanova murder case last summer. You were assigned to that task force for a while, weren’t you, Sergeant? That is, until you asked for a transfer. I find it hard to believe that you and Dr. West didn’t cross paths at some point.”

Kane’s gaze had grown very dark and very cold, and Richard was aware of the .45 that was still only a fingertip away.

Richard walked slowly toward Kane. “I think you do know her, Sergeant. I think she’s the reason you left Connecticut and came back to Texas. I’m willing to bet that somewhere around here there’s a big, fat file on Dr. West.”

Kane’s hand rested on the TV tray, but he didn’t pick up the gun. Not yet. “Who the hell are you? What do you want from me?”

Richard paused mere inches from the man’s chair and stared down at him. “It’s simple. I don’t know what kind of sick little obsession you’ve got going on here, but I want you to back off. I want you to drop your investigation. I want you to forget you ever heard of Danielle Williams or Dr. Darian West.”

“Yeah?” Kane’s gaze turned defiant as his hand closed over the weapon. “And why should I do that?”

Richard smiled. “Because she’s mine.”

CHAPTER SIX

DARIAN DREAMED about Michael that night. It was the same scene she’d replayed in her sleep for the past seven years, ever since Michael died so suddenly and so tragically…exactly the way Paul Ryann died before him.

In her vision, she was still Dani. She and Michael were walking across a snowy landscape, arms linked, frosty breaths mingling on the cold air. All around them, icicles dripped like diamonds from the treetops, while in the distance, sunlight danced across a frozen pond.

The campus was still and almost preternaturally quiet. The two of them might have been alone in the world, captured, for all eternity, inside a snow globe.

It was as if she had no past and no future here, Dani thought. The only thing that mattered was the present. She didn’t have to think about anything else. She didn’t have to remember the fire at Belmont House or that beseeching figure in the window. And later, those awful, awful screams.

She didn’t have to remember the suspicions, the loneliness, and the utter sense of helplessness she’d felt after her father’s accident.

Most of all, she didn’t have to remember that voice on the phone….

“I did it for you, Dani.”