All the Pretty Dead Girls Part 19

"You're wrong. Two more girls." He pushed a report toward him stamped TOP SECRET TOP SECRET.

Perry glanced down at it. "Joelle Bartlett...Patricia Lewis," he read. "Dad, why didn't you tell me?"

"As a favor to the college," he said, clearly unhappy with the decision. "It was a state police call, not mine. An agreement was made to keep the disappearance of two more girls secret for now, so as not to panic the campus and the town."

Perry was flabbergasted. "Dad, if people find out-h.e.l.l, when when people find out-they will be royally p.i.s.sed. And with reason. If some maniac is running around abducting college girls, the public should know." people find out-they will be royally p.i.s.sed. And with reason. If some maniac is running around abducting college girls, the public should know."

"Yes, I agree. The dean understood that eventually this would come out, but he asked that we sit on the news for a bit." He shook his head. "The muckety-mucks at State Police HQ agreed-but it's a temporary decision."

"How long have they been missing?"

Miles shrugged. "Not sure. The d.a.m.n college administration is being cagy. They didn't even make the report. It was the girls' parents who got worried when calls they made to their daughters weren't returned. Finally, they called the college, which at first said the girls were very busy with exams. Then, finally they admitted to the parents that they hadn't been in cla.s.s, but they've been vague for how long they'd been gone."

"Jesus," Perry said.

"And get this, Perry. The girls were roommates. And they lived right across the hall from the first girl who went missing-the one that left all the blood all over the street."

"So you suspect a connection."

Miles nodded. "The state is trying to take over the whole investigation. But I just can't let the thing go."

Perry sighed. He understood his father's determination. Bonnie Warner's disappearance still ate at him, him, too. He couldn't forget seeing her at the Bird that night, when she'd turned down his offer for a ride. He'd followed up every lead he could, questioned everybody who was out on the road that night, hoping to find some clue. too. He couldn't forget seeing her at the Bird that night, when she'd turned down his offer for a ride. He'd followed up every lead he could, questioned everybody who was out on the road that night, hoping to find some clue.

"I've been digging," his father told him. He began gathering the papers on the table into a pile. "Son, there's a cycle...every twenty years or so." Miles's voice was animated, and he actually sounded like himself for the first time in weeks. "Something happens to the girls up there at the college every twenty years or so."

"What are you talking about?"

Sheriff Miles laughed. "I know it sounds crazy. I've been thinking that myself for the last few weeks. But it's been there in the back of my head all this time...when Bonnie Warner disappeared, I said to myself, 'This has happened before...'"

"Dad, what do you mean?" Perry stared at his father. "A girl disappeared before from the college?"

"You don't remember?" His father returned his stare. "You were young, but it made the news. It was twenty years ago, almost to the month."

Perry closed his eyes for a moment. "Yeah," he said. "I vaguely remember a girl going missing there...it was right after you were elected sheriff."

"That's right. It was one of my first cases. Margaret Latham. An all-points bulletin went out searching for her."

Perry was nodding. He had been just eleven years old, but he remembered the gruesome details. "They found her eventually, right...badly mutilated."

"That's right. Limbs cut off, blood drained. Body was dumped in Lake Bessett. No one ever charged with the crime."

Perry shook his head. "But that hardly makes it a cycle, Dad. One girl's murder doesn't necessarily connect to the disappearances of three others twenty years later."

"I have a long memory, Perry. That's why I've made such a d.a.m.n good sheriff. People forget things. But I remember. I make connections." He handed Perry a sheet of paper. "I recalled that another girl was reported missing soon after Margaret Latham disappeared. See the report?"

Perry glanced down at it. "Yes, but this girl eventually turned up okay. It says here her parents told police she had run away from the college and returned home."

"Yes...but why why did she run away?" did she run away?"

"Come on, Dad, now you're really starting to sound nutty..."

"I have a long memory!" he shouted. He seemed genuinely angry. "I've been in the vault, combing through all our old cases. I've been at the library, going through micro-filmed newspapers. This has been a recurring pattern at that school. I remember!"

He shoved a well-thumbed folder, cracking with age, across the table at Perry.

"If you read that, you'll see that almost twenty years before Margaret Latham's disappearance, there was another curious event at Wilbourne. People forget. But I remember."

Perry leafed through the contents of the file. A girl in a 1960s flip hairdo smiled up at him from one photo. In another, she stared gla.s.sy-eyed at him, her face swollen in death. Perry shuddered.

"I had to really rack my brain to remember," his father was saying, "but I did it. It was like there was something in there that kept me from remembering-that keeps everybody in this G.o.dd.a.m.n town from remembering. But still, I knew it was there. Deep down, the memory was there-and the files corroborated it."

"Okay, so girls have gone missing or murdered from Wilbourne before. Still, to call it a cycle-"

"You need more, son? When I suspected I might be on to something, I went back again in the files. Sometimes it was twenty years. Sometimes it was only nineteen. But sure enough..." He began tossing files at Perry, who practically had to catch them in his arms, they came so fast. "1962. 1943. 1923. 1904." Miles grunted. "That's when the sheriff's department was founded, so I don't have records to go on before then. And the local newspaper only goes back to 1897. But how much do you want to bet, if we went down to the town clerk's office, we'd find some death records of Wilbourne college girls-mysterious deaths-murders-circa 18841885?"

Perry leaned forward and placed his hand on his father's forearm lightly. "Dad, I think you might be tired. Maybe you should go lay down, get some rest."

"I don't need any G.o.dd.a.m.n rest! I need to figure out what the h.e.l.l is going on up at the school!"

Perry stood. "Have you eaten anything tonight, Dad? Let's go get a chili burger and fries at the Bird-"

"Haven't you heard what I've been telling you? Come on, Perry. You've got to admit this is too weird to just chalk up to coincidence." He banged the table with his fist. "Explain why the townsfolk seem to forget. Explain why you didn't remember Margaret Latham going missing until I reminded you."

"Dad, I was eleven."

"Then explain to me why the selectmen didn't remember! Not even Veronica Thomas, whose father was the sheriff before me! She never called me to say, 'Gee, Miles, this sounds a lot like that case we had eighteen years ago.' Explain to me why no one in town seems to remember these things. Even more-why no one up at that G.o.dd.a.m.n school ever seems to wonder why every generation they lose two or three girls to violent deaths!"

Perry had to admit that was a very good question. Evidence of the girls' deaths sat right there on his father's kitchen table. But Wilbourne College had never acknowledged its recurring problem.

"Well," Perry said, thinking out loud as much as responding to his father, "if they did acknowledge it, enrollment would certainly decline."

Miles looked at him with a hard, intense stare. "I have a feeling enrollment is the least of their concerns."

"Dad," Perry said. "You think the school has something to do with the deaths, don't you?"

"Or at least covering them up."

The sheriff stood, rubbing his forehead.

"You okay, Dad?" Perry asked.

"Headaches," Miles grumbled. "Too much reading."

"Let's go to the Bird. You need to get out of this house."

The older man was still lost in thought, however. "The strangest part is why we don't remember. It doesn't make any sense. It's not like so much happens in this f.u.c.king town that you can't remember something bad happening. At the time, these were all big news stories. I don't understand it...it just doesn't make any sense."

"Dad, you need to eat."

"I'm not hungry." He put a hand to his head again. "d.a.m.n headache. Maybe I will go lie down and take some Motrin."

"Good idea," Perry said. "I'll clean up this mess. Then maybe I can make us both some eggs."

Miles shook his finger at him. "You gotta admit I'm on to something, Perry."

"We'll talk about it after you rest awhile."

His father grunted, then headed down the hall to his room.

Biting his lower lip, Perry started scrubbing the dishes in the sink. Food had dried like glue in pans. Milk rings stared at him from the bottoms of gla.s.ses. He decided just to fill the sink with hot water and let the dishes soak.

Hauling the trash out to the can, he scolded himself. Why wasn't I paying more attention to Dad? Why wasn't I being a better son? Why couldn't I see he was on the verge of cracking up before? Why wasn't I paying more attention to Dad? Why wasn't I being a better son? Why couldn't I see he was on the verge of cracking up before?

But he couldn't deny that what his father had discovered was very interesting. Very interesting indeed.

A good memory was one of the most important tools in solving crimes. Perry knew that. His father was right. So he needed to pay attention to the feeling he'd gotten when he looked at one of those files. He'd seen one of the names before.

But where? When?

Back at the table, he lifted a yellowed folder he knew had come from the station files. Yes, this was the one. The girl who'd disappeared but later turned up okay at her parents' home.

BARLOW, MARICLARE MARICLARE was written on the tab. was written on the tab.

Barlow? That name is familiar. Why?

Perry sat down and scratched his head. Where do I know that name from? Where do I know that name from? He opened the file and looked at the date it was opened. He opened the file and looked at the date it was opened.

Twenty years ago.

He heard his father saying, "Every twenty years or so something happens to the girls up at the college." "Every twenty years or so something happens to the girls up at the college."

And then it came to him.

The girl in the white Lexus. Perry had pulled her over the night before school started. Her name was Barlow. Susan Barlow, with a Manhattan address. She'd flirted a little bit with him, and he'd found her attractive.

Might there be connection between her and this Mariclare Barlow, who was also listed with a Manhattan address?

Barlow was a fairly common name, and Manhattan was a big place. But Perry had enough curiosity to read the entire file. His eyes widened as he read.

Dear G.o.d, he thought. he thought. Could Dad be right? Could Dad be right?

Every twenty years or so...

The overhead light flickered. Perry shuddered as he continued to read.

29.

Ginny climbed the stairs to her apartment, spitting mad, I should have resigned on the spot, she thought to herself. she thought to herself.

Fumbling with her key, she let herself inside, balancing her book bag slung over one shoulder and two paper bags of groceries in her arms.

I'll never forgive Gregory, she said as she stewed. Never Never.

They'd finally had their long-awaited face-to-face confrontation about Bonnie Warner, as well as a few other things.

"Do you want me to tell you I was planning on reporting her for being off campus? Is that what you want me to say, Ted?"

Ginny sat opposite the dean, who was ensconced in his tall leather chair behind his desk. His small pink hands were folded over his chest.

"I would hope that was truly what you were planning, Ginny," he said to her. "It would have been the only responsible thing to do."

"Fine. Then I'll tell you that's what I was planning to do. I never got a chance to do so, because I found out from Sheriff Holland that morning that she was dead. Or at least presumed to be, with all that blood. And frankly, that weighed more heavily on me than the fact that she'd broken one of the silly college rules."

Gregory had smiled at her, that toothy mammal smile. "We have rules for the students' protection and safety, Ginny. They're not silly."

"If I could do anything differently, it would be to have insisted that Bonnie ride home with me. If she had agreed..." Ginny's voice trailed off. She hated thinking about that poor girl and the fate she suffered.

"She was a headstrong child," Gregory said. "So I've been told. I never met her."

Of course not, Ginny thought. She wasn't the granddaughter of a rich benefactor like Sue Barlow... She wasn't the granddaughter of a rich benefactor like Sue Barlow...

"Here's the dilemma as I see it, Ginny." Gregory leaned forward, his beady eyes locking onto hers. "I'm sure Bonnie's parents would be very distressed to know a teacher here saw her off campus the night she disappeared and did not report her right away."

"Right away? The administration was closed for the night."

"You could have called me directly."

Ginny laughed. "And what would you have done? Gone out looking for her?"

"Perhaps." Gregory leaned back in his chair. "The point is, if you had taken action rigft away-"

"That's an unfair charge!" Ginny's voice was loud, but she didn't care. "The best I could have done was report her the next day."

"I'm not sure if the Warners will see it that way." He gave her a tight smile. "They're threatening to sue Wilbourne, you know."

"Then you'd only be giving them ammunition if you told them I saw her."

Gregory nodded. "You'd probably be named a party in the case."

Ginny stood, approached the dean's desk, and gripped the sides with her hands. Her eyes bore into Gregory's. "What is this all about? Stop beating around the bush."

"Just a simple request that you drop the courses on the divine feminine next semester."