Where the Blame Lies(60)

She heard an exhalation of breath, and there was something in the background—rushing water maybe?—that made it difficult to hear.

“Slayer of r-rats. Deliverer of poetic j-justice. Did it m-make you happy? What I d-did to your bitch of a mother?”

His voice was slightly muffled by whatever sound she heard in the background but it sounded like him, just like him, and horror clawed through every cell in Josie’s shock-riddled body.

It can’t be. It can’t be.

“Marshall?” she whispered, her voice a mere slip of sound. Was she in a nightmare? It felt like she was.

He laughed. “No. No, this is n-not Marshall. He d-died, Josie. Don’t you know that? Blew his own b-brains out.”

“Who is this?” she asked, her throat clogging with tears, with terror. She heard the front door open and close and Zach stepped into the kitchen. He began to smile, but as soon as he took her in, he rushed to where she stood, trembling, holding the phone to her ear in a death grip.

“I think about you, Josie. I’ll n-need to see you once more. You h-have to know that, right? Just once m-more. You and me. Finally.” His voice deepened. “It’s been hard to stay away.”

She clenched her eyes shut, a tear rolling down her cheek. Zach leaned in, trying to listen, but it was almost as if whoever was on the phone could see through the device, because the call disconnected. Josie opened her eyes, the phone dropping from her hand as she let out a tortured sob.

“Who was that?” Zach demanded, taking her shoulders in his hands.

She shook her head back and forth, denying what her mouth was already saying. “Marshall. It sounded exactly like Marshall. He said . . . he said he left that rat, he killed my mother. He called it poetic justice, he—” Her voice was shaking so badly she could barely speak. Zach pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. “He said he needed to see me one more time,” she choked. “He’s coming for me.”

“Shh,” he murmured against her hair. “I’m here. You’re safe. You’re okay. Josie.”

“I think about you, Josie. I’ll n-need to see you once more. You h-have to know that, right? Just once m-more. You and me.” No, she wasn’t okay. It can’t be. He’s dead. But it was him. It was Marshall.

Zach pulled her even closer, his hand making slow circles on her back. For a moment, Josie stiffened, unused to physical affection, hesitant about touch in general. But he felt so solid, so warm against her, and she sagged into him, letting him hold her for a moment before he pulled back, looking into her eyes. “You’re safe,” he repeated. “Take a deep breath and tell me exactly what he said.” She had taken solace in the strength of him against her—even for a brief moment—and she took solace in his words as well. She was safe. He was there with her. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt her. She took in a big breath, allowing it to infuse her body with momentary strength. She told him exactly what the man had said, how he’d stuttered exactly as Marshall Landish had, how the tone of his voice was the same, though there was competing background noise, something she couldn’t identify.

Zach nodded, retrieving her phone from the floor, and looked up the number that had just called. He removed his own phone from his pocket and hit a button. A second later, Josie heard Jimmy’s barked hello, which further served to soothe her frazzled nerves and racing heart. Jimmy. Solid Jimmy.

“I need you to trace a number,” he said. “Someone just called Josie pretending to be Landish.”

They exchanged a few more words and then Zach hung up, leading her to a kitchen chair. She sank down into it, her limbs like jelly. “It sounded so much like him,” she whispered. “It . . . I thought it was him.”

Zach squatted down in front of her, taking her hands in his and looking up at her. “It couldn’t be. It was some sicko trying to scare you. Marshall Landish is dead. There’s no chance it was him.”

She nodded. She knew he was dead. The police didn’t make mistakes like that. The coroner. Whoever was charged with identifying a body after death. She knew it couldn’t be him. She just couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d come back from the dead somehow.

Just once m-more. You and me. Finally. It’s been hard to stay away.

Oh God.

**********

Zach leaned against the railing, his back to the house, his eyes scanning the road and the surrounding areas as he waited for Sergeant Woods to pick up the line.

“Copeland,” he greeted. “Jimmy’s here in my office with me. We got the information back on that trace. Burner phone. Dead end.”

Zach exhaled a breath. He’d figured as much. “It’s gotta be this copycat. And the copycat has to be someone who knew Landish. Josie said there was some background noise, but she was convinced it was him at first. Whoever impersonated him, did a damn good job. It scared the hell out of her.”

The sergeant swore softly. “I don’t have a good feeling about this. This guy is gearing up to do something, Cope. Every cop instinct I have tells me so.”

Zach didn’t disagree. His stomach twisted at the very real possibility that Josie was in danger. Guarding her had been a precaution at first. Now it was a necessity. A necessity that, if not handled well, could result in her being hurt. Or killed.

“Vaughn Merrick has lawyered up. We’ve put in a request to get a voluntary DNA sample and a list of women he’s been involved with over the years, as far back as he can remember. The guy is hemming and hawing, saying there were only a few, and he can’t remember their names offhand. He’ll have to go back through his class rosters, etcetera. Slimy motherfucker. But once we get those names, we’ll probably be putting details on them as well. We already have one dispatched to Reagan Hutchison’s house.”