Cold feet

Caleb was surprised by the relief that flooded through him. He wanted to find Susan's killer, but he wanted that killer to have no connection with Madison. "You're sure?"

"I'm positive."

Crossing his arms and leaning against the truck, Caleb let some of the tension leave his body. "Then what do you make of the blue Ford that was spotted outside the pizza place?"

Gibbons waved his hand in a dismissive motion. "The make and model of Purcell's truck has been in all the papers. Our copycat's playing games, that's all."

"Our copycat doesn't have to read the paper for information, remember? From the way Susan's body was positioned, he already knows more than we ever revealed."

"I'm afraid our killer is close," Gibbons said. "Close to the investigation. Close to us."

Caleb thought of the trophies Madison had found under her mother's house. Johnny was close. So was Tye. "What about Madison's brothers?" he asked. "Have you learned any more about them than I was able to dig up?"

Gibbons shook his head. "Not really."

"They have alibis?"

"Tye's wife said he was home with her the night Susan was killed."

"When did you talk to her?"

"Two days ago. I talked to him, too. Showed him a picture of Susan. Said he's never seen her."

"Of course he'd say that."

"My thought exactly. So I visited some of the guys where he works, and some of the people who hang out at the same bar he does on weekends, just to get a general feel for what he's like."

Caleb knew Tye worked in construction the way his father had, and made a decent living as project manager for Stoddard Construction, one of the larger developers in the area. "Anybody have anything interesting to say?"

"Seems he has an explosive temper. Gets in fights all the time. But he's a hard worker and good at what he does, so they put up with him at Stoddard. Anyway, I don't see our perpetrator letting others see his temper."

"What about Johnny?"

"I still haven't tracked him down, but he's an unlikely suspect. I've confirmed that he was behind bars when at least two of the strangler's victims were killed."

Caleb considered this piece of information. "Are we sure they were the strangler's victims? The remains of some of those women weren't discovered until months after they died."

"Either way, I've decided he doesn't fit the profile." The detective straightened his tie, which was too short for a man his size. "His parole officer says he's not capable of executing such an organized, methodical murder."

Caleb had to agree. "What about Susan's autopsy? Have we learned anything there?"

"Asphyxiation was the cause of death, just as we expected. She was sexually assaulted with a broom handle or something similar. Only surprising thing was that the coroner couldn't find any Rohypnol in her blood."

"So she wasn't drugged like the others."

"The question is why."

"Maybe she wasn't an intended target."

"Or our copycat isn't as worried about his ability to overpower his victims as the original strangler was."

Pushing away from the truck, Caleb climbed behind the wheel. He hated that they weren't any closer to solving Susan's murder. He could barely think of her without feeling a terrible heaviness in his chest. But at least now he didn't have to worry about taking Madison to meet his mother. The investigation was heading in another direction entirely. She wasn't going to feel the heat of it. Which eased some of the guilt he felt about last night.

He rolled down his window. "So where do we go from here, Chief?"

"We keep searching," Gibbons said. "The news isn't all bleak. I found a message on my desk this morning from the lab. The DNA beneath Susan's nails is somewhat corrupted because of all the filth under there, too. Boy, did she put up a fight. But with time, they think they'll be able to create a profile."

"Really?" Maybe his promise to Susan wouldn't be an empty one, after all. Maybe, with a small amount of luck..."If they come through, we'll need the right suspect."

"Exactly." Gibbons thumped the door panel. "Thanks for getting the truck."

Caleb watched the detective heave himself into a nondescript beige sedan and drive out of the lot. They were making progress, but he was afraid it might be too little, too late. Their killer could strike again if he wasn't stopped soon. Where could they find the answers they needed?

Caleb's eyes lingered on the glove box before dropping to the floor, which was bare except for a crushed paper cup. If the truck held any secrets, he wasn't sure he wanted to know them. But he felt obligated to search while he had the chance. Obligated to himself, the investigation and Susan.

Opening the glove box, he quickly rifled through its contents: an owner's manual, a service record, a stack of napkins and several receipts for gas, all from several years ago. Beneath the seat, he found a sack that still contained some french fries. The fries didn't appear to be very old, which suggested they were probably Johnny's trash--along with the cigarette butts in the ashtray.

Now Caleb just had to check beneath and behind the seat. He pulled out a coat with a Chinese dragon on the back, but it was a size small; that meant it probably belonged to Johnny, too.

Shoving it behind the seat again, he finally put the truck in reverse. He'd done what he needed to do and, thankfully, Madison was still in the clear.

TWO HOURS LATER, Caleb felt almost euphoric as he drove Madison over to her mother's place in Ellis's truck. The tires didn't seem to match the imprint left at the site of Susan's body. And Johnny and Tye were looking less like suspects than they had before. Which meant the shadow of violence that had so deeply affected Madison's life in the past probably wasn't going to overtake her again. It also meant that what Caleb had done in the name of justice should be forgivable, since there wouldn't be any negative consequences from his actions. He'd simply explain the truth to Madison and apologize. And make sure she understood that last night had nothing to do with any ulterior motives.

He'd tell her tonight, he decided, while there was still a chance she might forgive him.

"So who was the friend you helped move?" she asked, breaking the silence.

Caleb glanced over at her. She was dressed for business in a navy-blue suit, with her hair pulled back, and looked almost too cool and professional to be such a passionate lover. A grin tempted the corners of his lips as he remembered just how erotically she'd behaved. He'd never experienced sexual hunger like he had that first time at her place--unless it was later, at the cottage. But her question about the "move" he'd supposedly helped with this morning put him in an awkward position.