Stealing Shadows by Kay Hooper Page B

glass, Matt. Sent samples of her blood off for a toxicology report, but I'll be surprised if it comes back positive for anything. No alcohol, no drugs. Still, I'd say she never got a chance to struggle, or was too scared to. Sure as hell never fought him. No skin or tissue under her nails, no defensive wounds. She sat there with her hands bound behind her, probably with a belt, as I told you, and he cut her throat – and she died."

    "But not in the woods."

    "No, there wasn't enough blood there."

    "Any idea where?"

    "Nope. Have you checked her house?"

    "Of course. Her parents never heard a sound, and the family dog, being old and deaf, never barked. We didn't find a sign of forced entry, but her folks say she usually slept with the window open even in winter."

    "So you're thinking he just climbed in the window and persuaded her to get dressed and go with him?"

    Matt scowled. "Maybe. But I don't really like that possibility. You say time of death was around two o'clock Thursday morning?"

    "About that."

    "Then, there's a chance he was waiting for her at her house when she came in late Wednesday night, and got her before she could unlock the front door. Her bed wasn't made, but her mother said she often didn't make it, so we have no way of knowing if she actually came in and went to bed."

    "Who was she out with?"

    "A group of friends. They all left that club out on the highway just after midnight and headed home in their individual cars. Becky was alone when she drove off in hers."

    "I've kept her clothes as evidence, of course, in case you want her friends to take a look and say if it was what she was wearing when she was with them."

    Matt grimaced. "Yeah, okay. But it wouldn't be conclusive, since she could have gotten up out of bed and put on the clothes she'd worn earlier."

    Doc Munro got to his feet. "So what do I tell her folks?"

    Matt pushed the warning of a psychic out of his mind. "Let them schedule the funeral."

    "Okay. I'll send my report along tomorrow. Get one of your boys to come over and collect her clothes and the bits of grass and leaves we found on her."

    Matt considered reminding the doctor that his deputy force was made up of roughly forty percent "girls," but in the end he just let it slide. "I'll send somebody over this afternoon."

    "Good enough."

    Matt was left alone in his office with his thoughts, and none of them were pleasant.

    She shouldn't have done that. Bitch.

    Why did she have to do that? My head hurts.

    I'm still tired, and my head hurts. But I can't let her get away with it. She has to pay. They all have to pay. They'll never laugh at me again.

    The knocking at her front door on Friday afternoon didn't surprise Cassie. She'd been expecting him. Sooner or later.

    She went to the door and opened it. "Hi," she said to Ben.

    He was carrying a manila folder, and his face was set in grim lines. "May I come in?"

    "Sure." She idly wondered whom he'd gotten to research for him. Janice, probably. She'd looked quite efficient.

    Three days. Not bad.

    Most of the furniture was back in the living room, since she'd finished the painting and refinishing, so she led the way there. She left the entire sofa for him, sitting down in a wing chair at right angles to it. "Have a seat."

    He didn't. Instead, he opened the folder, took out a sheet of paper, and handed it to her. "Care to explain this?"

    It was a copy of a newspaper story taken from microfilm. There was a not very good photo of her much younger self, looking frightened. And headlines. Big headlines.

     

    SERIAL KILLER TARGETS PSYCHIC

     

    FOUR

    "Did Janice find this for you?" Cassie asked.

    "Yes."

    "You don't pay her enough. That article was buried. The wire services never picked it up." Cassie put the sheet of paper on the coffee table and pushed it toward him, then made herself comfortable in the chair, sitting sideways with knees drawn up. He finally sat down on the sofa so that they were on eye level again.

    He