The Christmas lights of Jericho glittered in the distance against the pitch-black sky as Carla shrugged on her coat. The town was a stickler for tradition and the seasonal decorations hadn’t been installed until the third week of advent. It was typical that Jericho was behind with its preparations. The town, Carla suspected, was always a little late to the party. Max’s victims had been denied justice because, rather than investigate the essence of Jericho itself, Viv Kantz had focused on finding a link between the victims when there was none. That, Carla supposed, was fair enough. What was unforgivable was, once she realised that the hexafoil was meant as a message for her, she had tried to shut everything down. Albert’s reprimand still came to haunt Carla at night, his questioning of her professional competence a hard act to forgive.
Albert, however, now had other preoccupations. He was on a leave of absence and the rumour was that he wasn’t coming back. It left the department rudderless and reeling from the revelations of Max’s killings, and that made Carla more determined to stay to help rebuild the reputation of a once-revered archaeology school. Jack would be there too. She would try not to think too much about him during the break, although no doubt her mother Sylvia would want to know the details of every man she’d encountered in Jericho. Well, that would be an interesting conversation.
The zip snagged on the lining of her coat as it reached her collarbone. It was the padded jacket she’d purchased on her first visit to Franklin Mall back in October. She’d worn it a few times but, like most impulse buys, it was an expensive mistake. Not smart enough for college, too pristine to wear in the field. She missed her old dig jacket but couldn’t bear to wear it after the night in the cemetery. When she got back to England, she would get herself a replacement and bring it back with her. She’d been warned January in Jericho was bitterly cold.
Patricia had arranged for her meagre possessions to be transferred to her new lodgings over the holidays. Carla had wanted to do it herself – leaving her stuff for strangers to move had disturbing echoes of Lauren’s effects languishing on campus. As a compromise, she took all her books and papers and locked them in her desk. Patricia’s son would simply be moving her clothes and toiletries. The whereabouts of Lauren’s notebook would remain a mystery. Baros was convinced that Max had taken it, but a search of his house had revealed nothing of Lauren’s. Carla had another theory: Max had lured Lauren to Suncook Park somehow and what better way than to say he’d an idea of his own as to the pattern that the killings were forming and to bring her notes from visiting Madison’s house. The notebook, once it had entered the water, had been worthless. It had been carried away downstream while Lauren had not.
Her new home, when she returned, would be a small apartment not far from Penn Street where Jessica Sherwood had lived. She could walk to her office at college and settle down to another term where this time her students would know her. Her classes would still be second to Jack Caron’s in popularity, but that would be OK. Or maybe it wouldn’t. Time would tell.
The sound of a horn from the driveway warned her Erin had arrived. Carla picked up her case and hand luggage and walked down the steps. To her surprise, she saw Ethan in the back seat, his goofy grin aimed at her.
‘You’re honoured,’ said Erin, opening the trunk. ‘I can’t usually get him away from his PlayStation. He’s even vacated the front for you.’
Carla opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. The car had the familiar antiseptic smell she’d come to associate with Erin’s work. She wondered if her friend even noticed. Erin jumped up beside her and started the engine.
‘Your luggage is light. So you are coming back.’
‘Never was in doubt.’ It was a lie and they both knew it.
Carla was booked on the Boston to London red-eye and Erin had offered to drive her to the airport. Carla was glad of the offer. It allowed her to watch Jericho from the comfort of the car among this small family she had grown to know and like. Erin had gone above and beyond the call of duty as her mentor. She had played devil’s advocate and challenged Carla’s wilder guesses, but she had ultimately allowed her to tease out the pattern Max had been plotting out. The tragedy was that Lauren had got part of the way there. If only she had turned to Jack rather than her former lover Max. Jack. Carla turned her face out of the window and thought of Anna. She suspected there was unfinished business between the couple despite the divorce proceedings. Carla would heed Erin’s warning and tread very carefully next term.
The route took her past Jericho College where people were thin on the ground. The library was staying open for the holiday period, but most students were going home to their families. Albert’s empty office was hidden from view. Carla wondered if she’d ever see him again or if she’d return to news of his replacement. She suspected the college would move fast to protect its reputation.
The car slowed to a crawl at lights. In the distance, she could see the church of St Luke’s next to Suncook Park. She wondered if Franklin would ever learn of her suspicions that he was the killer. She suspected, in this town, it was inevitable the rumours would reach his ears. Baros was a talker and he’d relish telling everyone that Carla had, once again, got it wrong. Their brief camaraderie outside the Kantz house had evaporated as soon as the emergency services arrived, although Erin had thawed towards the belligerent detective. It was just as well Viv was unlikely to be using the archaeologists as expert consultants in the future.
As the lights turned green, Erin turned onto the highway out of town. The route took them past Silent Brook and through the underpass where she had spoken to Dallas and learnt the story of Stella King, Max’s first victim. As they approached, Carla looked out for the woman, but a lone girl, probably no older than fifteen, stood in the glow of a yellow streetlamp. Perez’s appeal here had at least done some good. Lighting had been provided and it didn’t look like the girls had moved on elsewhere. Stella King had been a victim of chance. It was the shopping centre that had been key, not her profession. Any one of the women standing beneath the concrete roadway would have been at risk.
Traffic was heavy and the car slowed to a crawl as they passed the girl. Behind her, in the side mirror, she could see Ethan gawking.
‘Mom.’
‘Yes, I know,’ murmured Erin. ‘Avert your eyes, please. No need to stare.’
‘But Mom, look.’
Both Carla and Erin turned to the girl, who looked indifferent at their scrutiny. But Ethan wasn’t pointing at the sex worker but the pillar behind her.
‘What—?’ Carla frowned at the column. Amongst the graffiti and car registration numbers was a daisy wheel spray-painted in violent purple.
‘Maybe one of the girls painted it on. Protect them from evil spirits,’ said Erin. ‘The story has been all over the papers. I’m surprised there haven’t been more instances of it popping up around town.’
‘I sincerely hope so.’ Carla looked at the crude image. Would the girls have appropriated such a violent symbol for themselves? She would call Dallas from the airport and ask her.
The traffic sped up as they drove away from the underpass and the town. Ethan put on a local radio station and Erin hummed along to the Foo Fighters. Still the daisy wheel continued to niggle at Carla. She would definitely call Dallas from the airport. Because, if the girls hadn’t put it there, who had?