Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
“Yeah, I understand that. Do you visit them?”
“Well, Mark is married and lives outta state. New Hampshire. Pediatrician. Dmitriy just relocated a while ago. New opportunity. I still talk with ’em. Life can be hectic, I guess. They’re my brothers. Family. I’ll always be there for them. Family is important, even when you’re not seeing eye-to-eye.”
Too soon, it was time to go. He helped her with her sweater jacket, and they said farewell to the staff, their paintings in tow. She noticed some sort of box in his hand at that time, wrapped like a birthday present. Is that for me?
Nikolai escorted her to her car, the cool air nipping at her face as her hair blew to and fro. When she reached her vehicle, he presented the gift.
“Here. This is for you.”
Under the streetlights, she took it from his grasp then unwrapped it. He held the ribbons and paper as she opened the box. Her eyes rested on a shiny lighthouse pendant. He turned it over. “Read that.” He held the light from his cellphone over it, so she could make out the etched words:
‘Welcome to Portland, Porsche Lee. Light in the darkness.’
She fought a smile, but then a tear budded in her eyes, and another.
“Oh, hey, hey, hey, I’m sorry. Did I do somethin’ wrong?”
She shook her head as he grabbed her, holding her to him.
“No. Not at all.” She sniffed as he wiped the teardrops from her cheeks. “My brother told me several times while he was dying, that I was a light in the darkness. It’s just… just strange how you wrote that.”
There was no way he could have known such a thing. It hurt, but felt beautiful at the same time. Nikolai held her a bit tighter now. They said nothing. Just hugged. Melted into one another like paint colors on a canvas. It was like old friends starting new beginnings…
CHAPTER TEN
“He’s not our guy.”
Captain White leaned to his left and waved the bartender over while Porsche itched on the inside. Her gut twisting and turning.
“How can you be so sure?” he asked.
“The facts don’t point to him. Also, my intuition.” She exhaled loudly and picked up her mojito, looking into the glass. Staring back at her in the liquid reflection were tired eyes. “It’s rarely been wrong. Back in Boston, I had a high accuracy rate of pegging the suspect. It didn’t matter if the list consisted of two people or twenty. I can’t explain it.” She shrugged. “I just… know. Well, I take that back.” She waved her finger in the air as the thoughts matured. “I did have a little help with fine tuning this skill of mine. I had worked with one of the most talented psychological profilers in New England.”
“Humphrey McMurphy.” They said the man’s name at the same time.
“That’s right. That man was damn near psychic. I asked him all sorts of questions, you know, how he came up with his analyses and conclusions. He helped me look at the details… not just the big picture. He also reminded me that no matter what, no matter how good the killer figured himself to be, he always left something behind. It may have been bleached or thrown away. Maybe drowned with the victim. But it was there. And if it was discoverable, then it would answer so many questions… it would be the key. Often the small details that are missed by others…
“That’s where you keep your eye. That’s what you study. You ask yourself, ‘What do these victims have in common?’ There has to be something, even if it’s not immediately obvious. He kept drilling that into me. It’s the small things that would lead you to your killer. He also stated how important it is to go over your findings. Again and again. We always miss something the first, second, and even third time around. It’s like putting together a puzzle with several of the pieces missing. God bless him… when he passed away last June, we lost one of the greats.” She shook her head. “I always kept his teachings close to me, Captain. So, I followed his advice. I wanted to be certain about Nikolai, therefore, I interviewed him three times in person. Twice over the phone.
“I would purposefully ask the same questions, then again, in a different way. He was always consistent with his answers no matter how I changed them, or what curve balls I threw. I watched the surveillance tapes again, too. I reviewed his police interviews. I checked his cellphone records during not only Clark’s murder, but around the times the others landed on the beach, too. He doesn’t match the forensic psychologist’s profile… and he doesn’t check off enough of the FBI profile of who the killer is, either. If he’s our guy, then he’s broken the mold. As he told me when I interviewed him, he can’t be in two places at once.’”