“Right now,” the chief allowed with infinite patience, “the answer is no. If we could prove the cards from twenty years ago were signed with the same handwriting as the ones today, maybe. But we can’t do that. The Burgesses moved away. No one knows where they ended up. And the Petersons have both passed on. There’s no way to confirm or to rule out the possibility.”
“What about the handwriting on these two? Were the messages written by the same person?”
“We believe they were. But so were two of the other anonymous gifts both families received. Some folks don’t sign cards because they’re not looking for a thank-you or any other sort of gratification. They just want to express their sympathy and concern.”
Newton straightened, blew out a perturbed breath, and started that tension-building pacing once more.
“Chief.” Kale hated to heap any more worries on the chief’s plate, but he needed to know about last night. “Someone attacked Ms. Newton at the chapel last night.”
Willard’s face pinched. “At the chapel?” He shifted his attention to Newton. “Are you all right, Ms. Newton?”
She scarcely stopped her pacing to say, “I’m fine.”
“Did you get a look at your attacker?” the chief wanted to know. “We’ll need to file an official report so one of my deputies can look into this. I have to tell you, I’m genuinely surprised anyone would have done such a thing. I hope you’ll accept my apology. Folks around here don’t generally do such things.”
She shook her head. “He was wearing a ski mask.” She paused, then sent a pointed stare straight at the chief. “But he got a look at the bottom of my shoe.” The pacing resumed. “Don’t worry about a report. It doesn’t matter.”
The chief shook his head, worry sagging his shoulders. “Ms. Newton,” he said wearily, “I’d like you to take a seat.” She turned toward him. “And I’m going to go over a few details with you that until now haven’t been released to anyone beyond those involved with the investigation. Then you’ll see why we aren’t putting any credence in any kind of connection to the murders from two decades ago.”
Kale watched as Newton visibly conceded and took a seat. He settled into the one next to her. Tension crackled through him, making his pulse jump. Did the chief have something new on the case? Why hadn’t he been informed?
“Twenty years ago,” the chief began, “the bodies of two young ladies were discovered at the chapel.” He rummaged around on his desk and selected another folder, then passed it to Newton. “Each body was stabbed, slashed, or gouged sixty-six times. Precisely sixty-six times,” he reiterated. “But the fatal wound was the one inflicted when the killer removed the victim’s heart. The organs were never found.”
Kale tried to take a breath. Failed. Why hadn’t the chief told him that part? Did the others know? Newton said nothing in response to this revelation.
“Since those files were destroyed,” the chief continued, “I’ve written a detailed report of all that I recall.” He paused for Newton to consider the in-depth report from those murders.
When she glanced up once more, he went on, “There were no other markings, no other evidence. Nothing. Other than the victims being female and the lack of evidence, these murders share no significant similarities to Valerie Gerard’s.”
Newton closed the folder and placed it back on the chief’s desk. “This is the reason,” she suggested, “you’ve been so certain the murders weren’t related.”
He nodded. “These”—he passed Newton the folder he’d been carrying when he entered the office—“are the photos from the Gerard scene. There’s more.”
Kale tensed, startled. When had the chief made this decision? The last Kale had heard, Newton wasn’t to know that one detail. Now she would understand that Kale had not been completely honest when she asked him to describe the scene. Didn’t bode well for their tenuous working relationship. Then again, apparently there was a lot he hadn’t known.
She studied the photos briefly, then shot a fleeting look at Kale before passing the file back to the chief.
Oh, yeah. He was going to hear about this.
“What’s your theory on this undisclosed detail?” she asked. She didn’t look surprised or moved in any way.
“I’ve spent the past two hours on a conference call with our FBI liaison and the state forensics folks. The consensus is that Valerie Gerard likely knew her killer. This murder was personal. And that’s the way we’re investigating it.”
A flicker of surprise showed on Newton’s face. “No more curse theories?”
The chief adopted a long-suffering face. “Folks are going to believe what they believe, Ms. Newton. All we in law enforcement can hope for is to ferret out the facts.”
“Is there anything else you’re keeping from the press?” Her tone was nothing short of skeptical. Obviously she wasn’t convinced she’d gotten the whole story, even now.
The chief’s hesitation had Kale turning to him. There was something new. Being kept in the dark, under the circumstances, put him at a serious disadvantage. Giving the chief credit, he was neck-deep in alligators in this investigation. He didn’t have time to hold Kale’s hand by keeping him apprised of every update. Kale had to keep that in mind. In truth, he’d just as soon never have known that one part.
“There is one other thing.” The somberness of the chief’s tone set Kale further on edge. “Let me forewarn you, Ms. Newton, if a single word of this gets out before I personally release it to the press, you will be sitting in jail for the duration of your stay.”
“You have my word,” she said immediately.
Kale felt himself holding his breath.
“Valerie Gerard’s cause of death was ultimately massive hemorrhaging and exposure. But the autopsy revealed another piece of evidence, not directly tied to cause of death.” He unlocked the middle drawer of his desk, reached inside and pulled out an envelope. He passed it to Newton. “This item was found in the victim’s throat.”
