My Wife Is Missing(83)

“I bet,” replied Michael, who kept his response intentionally brief. He hoped his message to Kennett was clear: let’s change the subject. To drive that point home, Michael turned his attention to the TV above the bar, which was broadcasting some sports game—didn’t matter what or who was playing. Better that than meeting Kennett’s hard stare, which Michael could feel like a cold hand gripping the back of his neck.

“You know what’s really hard to take, Mike? What sticks with you the longest?” Kennett said brusquely. He didn’t seem to mind that he was addressing the back of Michael’s head.

Michael didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to avert his gaze from the TV, but Kennett rapped his knuckles against the bar to make sure the focus went to him. “I’m talking the really hard cases.”

Once again, Michael felt forced to face Kennett. “No,” he said, as a tight band closed around his throat.

An unsettling gleam entered Kennett’s eyes. He seemed to be relishing Michael’s evident unease.

“I bet you think it’s the cold cases,” said Kennett. “Most people do, and sure, those are tough, but you still have a hope you’ll get your perp. It could be next week, next year, a decade from now, and that kind of keeps you going.”

“I’m sure it does,” Michael seconded.

“The hard cases, Mike,” Kennett went on, as if he were giving a lecture, “are the ones when you get your guy, dead to rights, you’ve got ’em, you know who did it, and yet they still walk free. A technicality during the arrest, a blown case in court—whatever the reason, you have your killer, no question about it, but they walk. Those are the cases that really haunt you. That’s the shit you don’t ever forget. I’ve got a long memory for that kind of thing. That’s what I’ve got. A long memory. Blessing and a curse.”

Kennett downed his drink in one long gulp. Michael heard the ice cubes rattling inside the tumbler like a pair of casino dice, a reminder that accepting Kennett’s offer to help find Natalie was definitely a gamble. With the drink gone, Kennett tapped the bar, ordered another. It felt as if a harsh wind had blown through the room, chilling Michael to the bone.

“It’s only happened a handful of times in my career, but the first one—now that was the hardest of them all, because it was personal.”

“I guess we’re going there,” Michael mumbled to himself, feeling pressured to look Kennett in the eyes. Again, he didn’t like what he saw.

“I didn’t find the body,” Kennett began. “A jogger did. Hell, that’s why I don’t run. Joggers always find the body.”

If that was supposed to get a laugh out of Michael, it didn’t.

“She was sixteen years old, beautiful girl, whole life in front of her. I wasn’t much older, twenty-three at the time, new on the force, a rookie cop who came from a family of cops. Her killer strangled her and then slit her throat from ear to ear before dumping her body in a marsh. She’d been missing for two weeks. Wasn’t a pretty sight when we found her.”

“Grim,” said Michael, trying to ignore his growing unease.

Ghosts.

Michael tried to calm himself.

It’s going to be a serial killer … not a boyfriend …

“Didn’t take long for us to lock in on a suspect,” said Kennett. “The boyfriend. Dated her two years and she’d recently called it off.”

Oh shit …

Where was it? When did it happen? Her name … what’s her name?

Michael wasn’t sure how to ask those questions without implicating himself in the process.

Kennett continued.

“Phone records showed the victim was in touch with this guy at least three times before her murder. The mother wasn’t too keen on the relationship. Didn’t want her daughter dating anybody. Real strict, religious type—not that there’s anything wrong with that, but it created a lot of friction at home.”

Mother’s name is Helen.

“Mom tried a number of times to force a breakup, but the boyfriend always managed to win her back, until that one time he didn’t.”

Michael sat stone-faced and still as the dead. Every word Kennett spoke upped his anxiety another degree.

“I wasn’t a detective back then, but I was on the case, helping out, doing my part, whatever was asked of me. See, I knew the girl, Mike—went to the same church. Knew her and her sister from a distance. Nice family, everyone knew them.”

“Where was that?” Michael asked. An anxious flutter entered his belly when he thought, Rye. He’s going to say, Rye, New York.

Instead, Kennett waved off the question.

“A city in Westchester County, you probably haven’t heard of it, doesn’t matter anyway.” His expression told a different story. Michael let it slide. He got his answer. Rye was in Westchester County.

“The boyfriend was persistent. Gotta give him that. Kept calling her at work, harassing her, that sort of thing.”

“Young love can be tough,” Michael said, forcing the words out of a throat so dry it hurt him to swallow.

“Or, it can be a deadly obsession.”

Kennett’s face remained grim as Michael let his gaze drift to the floor.

“She had a big heart, though, told her friends she was going to go see him after her shift ended. She scooped ice cream for a job.”