Before Cain Strikes

Their next stop was the Robinson house.

They were still receiving visitors, of course. Many relatives had arrived from out of town to pay their respects. Misery may have loved company, but it was company which kept misery at bay.

Lynette’s mother hugged Rafe.

“She was always very fond of you,” the woman said.

And Rafe shattered into a million pieces.

Once he’d regained his composure in the bathroom, which took some doing, he found Esme in the corner of the den, noshing on an Asiago bagel. She had never been one for mingling. Back in Oyster Bay, he had to push her to get involved in local civic activities. For all of her toughness and acumen, his wife could be astonishingly shy.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

She finished her bagel in two bites and they headed outside to the Prius. Around them trickled the sound of melting snow. It had to be in the low fifties already, and probably was going to climb half a dozen digits more by midday. The highway would be clear of ice and Rafe wondered if they might even get to spend some of the drive with the windows down.

He checked his mirrors and shifted into Drive. He was eager to get the hell out of here.

“Can we stop at the station before we go? I want to say goodbye to Sheriff Fallon.”

So instead of taking a left, toward the interstate, they took a right and pulled into the now-familiar parking lot, crowded if only because of the church across the street.

“Want me to stay in the car?” he inquired.

“Don’t be silly.”

They locked the car and mounted the steps to the weather-beaten brick-and-cement building, and were halfway across the front hall, which also led to the county’s many other offices, but neither of them spotted the man by the door until he called out her name.

“Hello, Esmeralda,” said Tom.

“But I thought…” said Esme.

“So did I,” Tom replied. “And then my girlfriend slapped me upside the head for being a fool and got me on the next flight here.”

“I can’t wait to meet her.”

“She can’t wait to meet you.”

Rafe didn’t want to meet any of them. He stood off to the side while his wife and her erstwhile Svengali reconnected. No, he was not a fan of Tom Piper, special agent extraordinaire, still wearing that ancient black leather jacket even though there was no way he rode a motorcycle here, not in his condition, and especially not since his motorcycle was, due to a swindle, busy collecting dust in their garage in Oyster Bay. It had been Rafe’s small victory and it had done very little to diminish the personal disdain he felt for this ridiculous John Wayne wannabe.

“Too bad you came all this way for nothing,” said Rafe.

Tom and Esme looked at him.

“Oh, didn’t you tell him, Esme? The investigation’s been closed.”

Esme sighed. “The unsub sent an untraceable email demanding the investigation be closed or he would murder a kidnapped infant named Marcy Harper.”

“Are we sure he can make good on his claim?” asked Tom. “And that the email is untraceable?”

“He attached a jpeg to the email. And the address it was sent from is a bunch of nonsense.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.