ask you some questions later.”
Sam looked as if he wanted to say something more, but he clamped his mouth shut and spun on his heel, walking back into the back door of the café. Luke turned and saw her, his eyebrows pulling together in a small frown when he realized she’d heard at least a portion of his conversation with his son. “You were right,” he said with a grimace. “He is trouble.”
She bit her lip, a twinge of sympathy making her regret her rash statement. She took several steps, closing the gap between them. “I’m sorry,” she said in a low tone. “I didn’t realize he was your son.”
Luke shrugged. “Not your fault.” His shoulders drooped, as if the interaction with his son had worn him out. He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “Was there something you wanted?”
“Yes.” She had to pull her thoughts together, having been distracted by the emotionally charged interaction between father and son. “It’s about the murder.”
He lifted a brow. “Yeah?”
She let out a breath in a soft sigh. “I’m sure you noticed the similarity between this most recent murder and the series of strangulations I worked on last year. Specifically, the choice of murder weapon.”
“The hollow-braided rope?” Luke asked.
She nodded. The rope disturbed her. Granted, the previous victims were all killed with a bright orange, brand-new rope, but still, could this really be a coincidence?
“You think we have some sort of copycat killer?” Luke guessed.
“It’s a possibility.” Megan glanced around, making sure they were alone. “Polyurethane hollow-braided rope is very common, especially here on a lake where there are lots of boats. And they come in all different colors. Why did the killer pick one that looks like it might be faded orange?”
“I don’t know.” Luke was frowning again. “We’re going to verify the color, since it was hard to tell for sure if it had been orange or not. But regardless, the details of the St. Patrick’s Strangler aren’t a secret. Not anymore.”
“I know.” She shivered, in spite of the warmth of the sun. “Paul Sherman is serving a life sentence in prison for killing my sister, and even though he denied killing any of them, he doesn’t have a chance at parole. I’m sure you would have heard about it if he’d have escaped from prison, right?”
“Yes,” he assured her. “I already checked. He’s still in custody.”
She felt light-headed with relief. “Okay, so if Paul Sherman is in prison, the person who killed Liza might have tried to imitate parts of his crimes.”
“But not all the details,” Luke argued. “He tossed Liza’s body into the lake. From what I remember, none of the other girls had been dumped in the water.”
“True. Sherman stalked his victims at Irish pubs and killed them after closing. All three of them were blonde, all three were strangled with a brand-new orange polyurethane rope, and their bodies were left within a stone’s throw of whichever Irish pub he met them at.”
There was a small pause. “I’m sorry about your sister.”
Her throat swelled with guilt and sorrow and she couldn’t speak, but she nodded. Seeing Katie’s dead body had been the worst thing she’d ever gone through, worse than losing their parents to a car crash four years earlier. The only good thing was that she’d helped find evidence linking Paul Sherman to the murder of her sister. Katie had clawed at his hands, not knocked out by the drug concoction he’d put in her drink. She’d found skin cells buried beneath her sister’s fingernails. The DNA evidence had helped convict him. He claimed to be innocent, but the jury had found him guilty of all three murders.
“I’ll have to review the trial transcripts,” Luke said in a low tone. “See if there are other similarities.”
“Good idea.” She was grateful he wasn’t ignoring her concerns. She couldn’t say why the faded hollow-braided rope bothered her so much. She couldn’t help wondering if the killer’s choice was significant.
Unless she was simply becoming obsessed, because of Katie. For all she knew, this was simply a crime of opportunity and nothing more.
If the killer was a copycat murderer, why not match all the details? Brand-new bright orange hollow-braided rope instead of old, faded stuff? Leaving the body at the crime scene?
Maybe she was making more out of the similarities than she should be.
“When do you want to start searching?” Luke asked.
She remembered the omelet she’d ordered. “Soon. I have food waiting for me inside. Give me twenty minutes.”
“All right, I’ll have my deputies waiting at the south shore where we found Liza’s body. You can let us know how to proceed from there.”
The way he deferred to her expertise impressed her. The sheriff was obviously a man who didn’t mind getting help when he needed it. And as far as she was concerned, they’d need all the help they could get to catch this guy. “Sounds good.”
He nodded and walked away, so she headed back inside the café.
Her food was cold, but she ate it anyway. She couldn’t help thinking about Luke. And his son, Sam. Despite what she’d overheard, especially the part where Sam had been the last one to see the victim alive, she really didn’t want to believe Sam was guilty of murdering Liza. As angry as the teen was, it was difficult to imagine him capable of murder.
Because he was the sheriff’s son? Maybe. Because she wanted to believe the best of him? Probably. Although she was forced to admit Sam seemed just as aloof and alone as his father.
Not that the ruggedly attractive sheriff was any of her concern. When her fiancé, Jake, had dumped her after Katie’s death, right when she’d needed him the most, she’d decided she was better off without men. Including tall, dark, handsome cops. Her main concern right now was to find the spot where Liza had been murdered.
There was always a clue. Sometimes the clues didn’t mean much by themselves, but in the end, the truth prevailed.
When she finished breakfast, Megan drove back to the south shore of the lake where Liza’s body had been found. True to his word, the sheriff had well over a dozen men waiting.
Since they all looked at her, she fell into the role of leading the investigation.
“We’ll split into groups of two,” she announced. “That way we can take our time and really search for clues. I’d rather have you pick up every small clue that might be evidence than overlook something important.”
Luke stepped up. “The victim was wearing a light blue tank top and denim cutoff shorts. She had long blond hair. A hard, clay-like substance was found embedded in the heel of her right shoe.”
The group of deputies and retired deputies, mostly men except for two younger women, all nodded solemnly, filing away the bits of potential evidence, and then split up as directed.
She and Luke split up. She paired herself with one of the deputies, named Adam. They started at the shore and then fanned out in opposite directions. The work was slow. She moved at a snail’s pace for fear of rushing over some minute piece of evidence. She found a long dark hair that reminded her of Luke’s son, Sam. She bagged it for evidence and marked the spot. She also found a thread, possibly a piece of denim, and followed the same routine. There were several empty bottles of Point beer, evidence of the partying she’d heard Sam talk about. She placed her third marker there before continuing her search.
Mostly, she found a lot of nothing. But she didn’t give up. Sheer determination kept her moving forward.
Her radio crackled a few hours later and she heard a female voice. “We found something! A large area where an obvious altercation took place. A small footprint that looks like it may belong to the victim and a piece of blue thread.”