street, down to the water. The lake was rough, the waves keeping pace with the wind, slapping the sand with the impact that announced winter’s impending arrival.
Amanda shook her head. “I need resolution.”
“Then let’s get it.” Casey gestured around. “Describe everything you remember in the order it happened.”
“I got a call from the police reporting that they had found Paul’s car and where. They asked me to meet them. I raced out here like a lunatic.” Amanda’s tone was flat, as if she were replaying a scene she’d long since memorized. “I knew the car was Paul’s. I saw the license plate as I drove up. And I saw a few personal things—his sunglasses case, the peppermint candies he kept in his cup holder and the suction-cup heart I’d given him was stuck on his dashboard.”
“So you identified the car to the police.”
“Yes.”
“A Mercedes SL63 AMG convertible,” Casey stated. “That’s quite a car.”
“Paul was a successful real-estate developer. That much, at least, he told me. Then again, I guess he couldn’t lie when he was driving a hundred-thousand-dollar car.”
“True.” Casey refrained from making a judgmental comment. “Real-estate development can be very lucrative, if the developer is smart and lucky. So let’s skip that part. Go on.”
“The door to the driver’s side was wide-open. There was blood all over the seat and on the windshield.”
“How much blood?”
“Enough to convince the cops that Paul was dead. It was written all over their faces.”
“According to the police report, they found tracks leading from the car. Is that why they wrote off the lake as a potential place for the body to have been dumped?”
A nod. “They did drag the lake. But the bloody tracks were pretty convincing. They headed north, up the west side of the lake toward Gosman’s Dock. The theory was that Paul had been dragged to another car and driven up to Gosman’s Dock, where he was dumped into the water.”
“That’s quite a supposition. I get the other car part. But what convinced them he was dumped into the water?”
“The proximity of Gosman’s Dock. The fact that there’s an open inlet between the jetties there that leads from Block Island Sound out to the ocean. The fact that high tide last April occurred in the middle of the night, which would make it possible for the body to be carried away by the tide… to the ocean—” Amanda’s voice quavered “—and the sharks. The fact that the killer chose Lake Montauk for the meeting. And, most of all, the fact that there was no body.”
“All compelling evidence. Still, a lot of supposition. They didn’t investigate further?”
Amanda sighed. “They did. But most of the work fell to the Coast Guard. No body turned up. Not in the ocean or anywhere else. Meanwhile, there was no tangible proof that Paul was alive or that he was dead. The amount of blood on the car seat spoke volumes, but there were no suspects, no motive and no body. After a few weeks, maybe a month, there was no way the cops could justify pouring any more resources into the search. So that was it.”
“What about you?” Claire asked, tucking a strand of pale blowing hair behind her ear. “What did your gut instincts tell you?”
A shrug. “My instincts? They were clouded by my emotions. I’m not even sure I knew Paul at all. So how could I trust myself?”
At that moment, Marc and Hero made their way over. Hero circled the section of road right around the women, then sat down and gazed directly at them. He emphasized his point with a bark.
“You’re right about the spot where this happened,” Marc noted. “I found an old T-shirt and a bath towel back at the cottage. I made some scent pads and let Hero sniff them. He’s picking up the same smells here. I’m sure dozens of people have been by this spot since, but Paul was definitely here at some point.” Marc stroked Hero’s head and gave him a treat. “Unfortunately, that gives us nothing we didn’t already have—except confirmation that Hero is finely tuned to Paul’s scent. Which is a huge plus. It could be significant when we need it.”
Casey nodded her agreement. Then she turned to gaze quizzically at Claire. “Anything?”
Claire was still looking around. A subtle but odd expression—different from the one she’d displayed earlier—flickered across her face. This expression was so fleeting that no one but Casey would notice. But Casey did notice. She also noticed that whatever it signified was, evidently, not something Claire wanted to explain.
Instead, Claire spread her hands in a helpless gesture. “There’s way too much energy coming at me to pinpoint something exact. So many people have been here, which means an onslaught of sensitizers. Even violence, which is a powerful force, isn’t enough to crystallize into something tangible. I got nothing off Paul’s towel and T-shirt. Maybe if I could hold one of the personal items Amanda described it would make a difference. But as things stand…”
“I have the suction-cup heart at my place,” Amanda interrupted. “It’s one of the things I kept. Foolish sentimental value, I guess.”
“Maybe important sentimental value,” Casey amended. “I’ve seen Claire get something off a personal object more readily when she’s actually been in a place where that object mattered.”
“That’s sometimes true,” Claire acknowledged. “It’s far from a guarantee. But now that I’ve stood at the crime scene, I need to hold that memento. If it’s something Paul had a strong attachment to, I might sense something. Might,” she stressed. She glanced down toward the lake, and that recent odd expression reappeared, then vanished. Something new was clearly bugging her.
“Can we leave now?” Amanda asked. Her voice and body language were tense, and she looked away from the crime scene, pained by the memories, compelled by something stronger. She looked at her watch. “It’s getting late. I don’t want to leave Justin any longer than is absolutely necessary. And we still have to drive back to Westhampton Beach and go through my apartment.”
“Okay.” Casey had a lot more to ask, wanting to urge Amanda to recall while she stood on the spot where she’d learned of Paul’s alleged death. But the woman had had enough. And the visit to her apartment was imperative. So they had to go—for now.
The ring tone on Casey’s BlackBerry sounded. She pulled it out and glanced at the caller ID.
Ryan.
“You go on ahead,” Casey told the group. “I’ll catch up in a minute.”
She waited, watching as they walked away. Instinctively, Amanda positioned herself beside Marc. There was no doubt that she found comfort in his presence. It could be because he was the first team member she’d connected with, and the one who’d listened to her heartbreaking situation and agreed to take on her case. Then again, Marc had that same reassuring effect on everyone—except the offenders he went after. They shook in their boots when he approached with that killer look in his eyes and that lethal Navy SEAL presence.
Casey’s BlackBerry continued to ring. She was about to answer it when she saw Claire pause, her chin up as her troubled stare scanned the periphery of the lake. A moment later, she reluctantly turned away and followed Marc, Amanda and Hero back to the van.
Making a mental note to question her when they were alone, Casey put her BlackBerry to her ear. “Hey,” she greeted Ryan. “Do you have something for me?”
“Don’t I always?”
A hint of a smile tugged at Casey’s lips. There was nothing like Ryan’s cockiness to add some levity to a tense situation. “Yes, wise-ass. What’s up?”
“A lot. Let’s start with the project Paul Everett was involved in when he vanished—building that mega luxury hotel. Apparently