35

David Hardin's POV

Two Harbors, Minnesota

Monday, October 4, 2021

I'm sure Talia wondered why I took her out in public like that. She isn't recognizable, but I was a minor celebrity on the North Shore. She'd been to my house several times, we were together for the press conference, and someone was going to start asking questions. If our only time together were her visiting my home? Eventually, the press would suspect something and dig deeper.

Our cover story was simple. Talia Devine was a Homicide detective following up on leads, so I had to give her some. That's one reason I helped her with the kids for the phone search today. I had to let people see us in a public manner. The friendly relationship not hidden raised fewer questions than the one you tried to hide.

I went home and got to bed early. After my morning workout, I went into my office and got to work. Tracy's murder told me my dreams weren't my own. I couldn't have stopped the murder, and I wasn't responsible. You can't imagine how much of a relief that was for me. I was free now, able to travel and live again, and I'd found a woman to love.

And then the reality of the situation hit me like a brick. Vanessa Miles' death was my fault.

I'd known it was her in my dreams, just like with Tracy in my first book. Vanessa was no longer the rookie officer in her early twenties when I dreamed of her. I couldn't mistake her voice or face. She was older, had put on a few pounds, and her hair was now a chestnut brown with long waves. It had been enough to convince me the events of my dream were far in the future.

I'd been so relieved that I wasn't the killer that I hadn't thought about the other dream victims. In my mind, I'd been their killer. If the first dream was wrong, so were the others.

Although the murder scenes came from my dreams, the rest of the books were my imagination. My books were successful because the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension investigators found enough little pieces of evidence to lead to the truth. My lead character, BCA Investigator Clarissa Donley, was relentless. The families always got justice in the end, as my lead character put the clues together to put them in jail or the morgue. A serial killer was not something I'd considered a possibility.

I'd never looked for Vanessa Miles, I never warned her, and now she was gone.

The guilt was crushing. All this time, I thought the dreams had been a warning to keep me in isolation. Now, I knew that they were prescient. I didn't know how or why, but something happened on that operating table when I died and came back to life. God had placed a burden of knowledge on my shoulders, but he didn't tell me what to do with it.

Two people were dead because I didn't warn them. Playing innocent wasn't the safe choice now; I had to stop the killer before he could harm the next two.

Would anyone listen to me? How could I make the 'I had a dream' thing believable without sounding like a crazy man? Would telling the police about my dreams get me arrested?

Yeah, it probably would. I called Gerald Costley's office, requesting the earliest appointment possible. His secretary moved things around, getting me in at ten AM for an hour. I called for an Uber and got ready to leave.

I had enough time to pick up coffee at the Northshore Coffee House for the driver and myself. At ten, I sat in Gerald's well-appointed office overlooking the harbor and laid it all out for the first time. "I don't know how or why, but my dreams are coming true. That means books three and four could happen as I wrote them. I know who the victims will be, but I don't know how to warn them without sounding crazy or guilty."

"Or both," Gerald replied. "Let me make this simple, David. You can't say anything about the next victims without handing them enough to convict. The only reason you're still walking free is because of reasonable doubt. No jury will believe your dreams are anything but two counts of premeditated murder."

"Then how do I warn them?"

"I don't see how you can," he replied. "You haven't done internet searches for them or attempted contact, have you?"

I shook my head no. "I figured law enforcement is either monitoring my communications or can get a warrant, so I'm careful about what I do on the internet."

"Good."

"I need to do something, Gerald. I'm already feeling guilty about Vanessa. What do I do about Doctor Ibanez and Connie? How do I help without incriminating myself?"

That was the question Gerald pondered for a minute. "We have to stick to open-source information, David. If it is a detail in your book, you can talk about it. If it is a person in your past who fits a pattern, we can talk about them as a group."

"What do you mean?"

He looked at his notes. "The victim in Book Three is a doctor who owns a horse," he said. "You know it is Doctor Raul Ibanez, but we can't say that. What we CAN say is who fits the profile based on your life, as a group. We believe the killer is obsessed with the books by David Hardin. He is following the book murders as a sick kind of tribute. He's also going after people who wronged you in the past."

"A wife I divorced and a partner who crippled me," I replied.

"Exactly. What doctors did you wrong? Doctor Ibanez declared you unfit to return to duty, but he wasn't the only doctor involved in your case, right?"

I nodded. "There was a doctor with the city who was part of the decision."

"Add in the doctors the night you got shot, the surgeons who did the follow-up surgeries, and the doctor overseeing your rehabilitation. Go through your medical records and make a list. Let the police figure out who owns a damn horse and warn him. You're just helping the investigation."

That seemed reasonable. "What about Jennifer's friend?"

"Connie? Do you even know her last name?"

"Nope. I only recognized her when handing out the payments after they found the phone. I don't think I'd ever seen her before."

Gerald got on his computer. "Does Jennifer play any sports?"

"Women's ice hockey. I think Jennifer said they are on the junior varsity team, but their season hasn't started yet."

After a quick Google search, Gerald had a team photograph from last year. "Connie Cook, goalkeeper. That makes it simpler. Was there anything in the fourth book about the victim playing hockey?"

I thought about it. "In my description of the victim's bedroom, there were hockey medals and trophies. The victim was a goalie. The town was fictional, though."

"Is there anything to connect you to the Two Harbors women's hockey team?"

"My neighbor Jennifer did fundraising yearly, and I always donated a thousand to her boosters. I donated ten thousand to the Two Harbors Lake County Arena remodeling fund last year. The donation was in the paper."

He nodded. "Are any kids of your friends playing women's hockey?"

I chuckled. "I have two friends left, and neither one has kids."

"You need a life, David." I shrugged. "So we tell the cops that the victim in the fourth book might be a girl's hockey player here in town. They'll focus on Jennifer since she is your neighbor, but maybe they can get the entire team to be more careful?"

This shit sucked. I'd warn Jennifer's parents privately and let them pass the word to Connie Cook. I didn't care if it hurt me in court. I'd accept the risk in front of a jury if it saved a young kid's life. "That will have to do. How do we handle this?"

"Put together what you want to tell them and email it to me. I'll review it and make sure we aren't hurting ourselves."

"Email?"

"Privileged communications. If they intercept it, they can't use it." That worked. "I'll set up a conference call with Saint Paul and Lakeville Police tomorrow. We can do it from here."

"No," I said. "I need to do this in person. I want the press to see me actively helping in the investigation."

He hated that idea; I could tell by his look. "I don't think I can get away from here on such short notice, David."

"I'll bring you in by telephone. Figure out when you have time, then call Captain Cullen or Detective Maloney and set up the meeting."

"You sure about this, David?"

I nodded. "It's life and death for these people, Gerald. I have to do what I can."

He got the meeting set up for noon on Wednesday. The meeting was highly irregular, but I was insistent. The Captain would contact Lakeville Police, and we'd do it in his conference room. I went home to put together my notes

Writing

Construction Sight

was tough for me. The crime was horrific, and the dreams were so long and vivid. In them, I'd seen every moment of the victim's suffering over many a sleepless night. I brought the book up on my computer and started looking for clues. After all, if the killer followed my script, it would give the investigators ideas. I spent two hours going through the story with a legal pad next to the keypad, writing down ideas as I went.

I did the same with my third book,

Headless Horseman

. My work was interrupted by the return of my car on a flatbed, accompanied by a Lake County Deputy. "Done already?"

"Waste of our time," the Deputy replied as the tow truck driver lowered his flatbed ramp. "This car had 87 miles on the odometer, and it's 200 miles each way to Lakeville," he replied. "Our forensics guy didn't find the victim's fingerprints, and the fiber and hair evidence collected excluded the victim. We notified your lawyer, and the Sheriff ordered your car returned."

"I appreciate it, Deputy."

"I'm sorry about all the hassle, Mr. Hardin."

"The Lakeville guys were only doing their jobs. I wasn't going anywhere."

My fourth book involved a kidnapping/murder. My read-through of

Basement Chains

took me past sundown before I emailed everything to Costley. The killer had her for thirteen days. Forensics showed she was raped repeatedly before death, and I'd seen that in my dreams as well. I ate a frozen pizza and drank a beer, thinking about everything I had to say tomorrow.

It wasn't enough. I put on a jacket and boots, grabbed two signed hardcover versions of my fourth book, and left Rocky behind as I walked down the private driveway to Jennifer's home. Her father, Alan Parson, answered the door. "Hi, David," he said. "Everything OK?"

"I need to talk to all of you. It's important," I replied.

"Come on in, then." Their home wasn't as new as mine, but it shared the same incredible lake views.

Jennifer was studying at the kitchen table while Brenda was watching television. "Hi, Mr. Hardin," Jennifer said. "Where's Rocky?"

"He's home," I replied. "Can you call Connie Cook? I need to speak to her and her parents tonight, whether they come here or we go see them."

"What the hell is going on," Alan asked.

"The kids are in danger, and the police can't help," I said. "Please. Get them here."

Alan made the call, and twenty minutes later, the Cooks were walking in the door. Connie ran to sit with Jennifer while Alan introduced Charlie and Rose. "We're all close friends," Alan said. "Charlie is a Merchant Mariner, so he's gone a lot, and Rose is a nurse at the hospital. We've spent a lot of time together at hockey camps and tournaments over the years," Alan explained.

When everyone was seated in the living room, I asked them to suspend their concept of disbelief until I finished. "You know that someone is copying the murders in my books," I started. "Book four is about the kidnapping and murder of a teenage hockey goalie. It occurs in a fictional town, but this killer is going after people close to me."

The fathers were close to exploding by now. Charlie jumped up and got in my face. "A lot of people think YOU are the killer," he said.

"I'm not," I said calmly. "

Basement Chains

came out over a year ago. If the killer decides to act out the crimes in my book, I can't stop him. I'm warning you because Jennifer here is a neighbor and friend of mine. Going after her will cast suspicion on me. Connie is the goalie on a local team that I've supported. If the killer stays true to the book? Connie is in danger."

The Moms were pulling their daughters close. "You've told the police?"

"I'm telling them about this tomorrow," I told them. "My lawyer warned me not to say anything to you, but I can't leave you blind to the dangers. The police aren't in the people protection business. Even if I KNEW who the victim was, they wouldn't put her under police guard when it might be days or weeks until the killer strikes. They will tell you to call them if you see anything suspicious and make sure you lock your doors. I'm telling you to do more than that, and I'm willing to help."

"Help what," Alan asked.

"The best way for them to be safe is to disappear. Send them to stay with distant relatives, and don't return until the killer gets caught. If money is an issue, I'll help."

Charlie didn't like that at all. "The girls have school and hockey. They can't just get up and leave everything!"

"I'm warning you so you can take actions to stay safe. If you can't get them away? At least make sure they are NEVER alone outside school. If that means Connie sleeps in Jennifer's room while the two of you are gone, do it. They take the bus together, go shopping together, everything. As much as you can, keep them with others, preferably adults. Keep a gun handy, and carry one if you have a permit. Make sure these two know how to defend themselves." I handed each couple a signed copy of the book. "Please don't ignore this warning. I've already lost my ex-wife and a friend to this psycho."

Connie was the first one to speak up. "What would you do if you were me?"

I didn't even hesitate. "I'd be hiding in some cabin in the wilds of Alaska by the weekend," I told her.

The parents didn't find that comforting. I left them to discuss their options as I walked back home.

Chapter 32

Talia Devine's POV

St. Paul Police, Robbery/Homicide Division

Tuesday, October 5, 2021

I enjoyed a soak in the hotel room tub after waking up. I missed David already, but I knew I had to go home. After a light breakfast, I was on the road again. I was getting very familiar with the drive, and I suspected I'd be driving it regularly.

I'd gotten a text from Sergeant Kelly on Sunday that 'Mat Mondays' were no more. With the big case, the division could no longer afford my once-a-week loan to Training Division. I missed the gym, and I'm sure the cops there missed rolling around on the mat with me instead of Kelly! I was disappointed because I love teaching, but temporary assignments are just that. It was going to end soon anyway.

I went to the BCA crime lab in St. Paul first. I signed the evidence bags over to the techs, then watched as they went to work. They did not find any fingerprints, which didn't shock me. They did find a spot of blood, which they sent for DNA analysis. One of their computer people analyzed what was on the phone. No one had called to or from the phone, but its memory contained four photos.

One of them was the original photograph leaked to the press, showing Tracy alive in the middle of the torture. The other three were similar, taken at different times. Only one hadn't been leaked by the killer to the local paper already.

She gave me a thumb drive with the pictures and printed them out. "Is there any way to tell how he sent these out? The phone got destroyed before the Star-Tribune got them."

"The Nokia 2760 doesn't have a data cable. Any transfer would be by instant message, email, or Bluetooth. I didn't find any messages in or out, and Bluetooth does not retain a history. Sorry."

"Thanks anyway. How long for the DNA?"

"I put a rush on it, so you should know by tomorrow." With that, I took custody of the phone back. Putting that and the new materials in a sealed manila envelope, I headed for my car. On the way, I took a quick detour on Payne Avenue to Eastside Thai. I knew I'd be busy as soon as I got to my desk, so I might as well have a relaxed lunch while I can! The shrimp Pad Thai and spring rolls hit the spot.

I was back in the office by one. James Maloney was sitting at his desk; I went to give him the evidence packet, but he was already getting up. "May as well bring the Captain in on this," my partner said.

He knocked on the Captain's door before going inside. Captain Cullen finished up a phone call and looked up at me, and he didn't seem happy. "How was your date last night, Detective Devine?"

"It wasn't a date, and the food was excellent," I replied. I opened the envelope and took out the two evidence packets with the broken phone. "David was very helpful to my phone search. He recruited ten high school students, and we found the pieces within ninety minutes."

"I don't like a suspect participating in the search," he told me.

"David didn't participate. He just paid the neighbor and her friends to help me. There are too many reporters on the road for David to be out there."

The Captain nodded. "You need to be careful, Detective. David Hardin is still a suspect in two murders, and you're getting too close to him. The press running photos of you dining with him is raising questions I don't want to ask. You sure as hell don't want to answer them under oath in front of a video camera! I don't want Internal Affairs poking around my division. If this goes to trial, his lawyer will raise all kinds of hell if you've had an inappropriate relationship with the defendant."

"Yes, sir." That was as close to a 'cut this shit out before I have to get involved' as I was going to get.

"Submit your reports and get back to work, Devine. Detective Maloney? Devine isn't with Hardin unless you or another senior detective are present."

"Understood, Captain."

It was like when I couldn't go on a date unless my older cousin would chaperone! The Captain's order was going to be embarrassing because he felt the need to give it. That meant he recognized I was falling for David. Time to get them off the subject. "I've learned enough about David to believe he's not our guy, and he honestly wants to find the killer. The victims were both close to him at one point."

"What about Lakeville's search warrant?"

"I doubt if they will find anything," I replied. "I saw the framing nailer from his garage, covered with a thick layer of dust. The rope they found was the wrong thickness. The Sheriff impounded his car, but I haven't heard about that."

"And the phone?"

"It was the one that took the leaked photos," I said as I handed over the printouts. "The last one didn't get leaked for some reason. No fingerprints and no other evidence we can use. We're waiting on DNA from the drop of blood found on the phone, but I'd bet it's the victims."

"I'd have to agree," he said. "I want you to keep working with Lakeville on the matchup between their crime scene and the second book, then make up spreadsheets for books three and four."

"Do we expect this asshole to strike again, sir?"

Cullen nodded. "Unless we catch him, yes. Everything I've seen so far tells me he LIKES it. Sick fucks like that don't stop until we stop them."

"I've got a good start. I'll talk with my contacts in Lakeville and make sure I get everything updated."

"Go," he said. "Close the door behind you."

I wanted to return to my desk, but James pulled me into the conference room instead. Closing the door behind him, my partner looked into my eyes. "What the fuck is going on, Talia?"

"I like David a lot," I said softly. "The more time I spend with him, the stronger my feelings get."

"Jesus," he told me. "A couple of weeks ago, I'd have been happy for you. A couple of weeks from now, after this case closes, I'll be happy for you. Right now? You're playing with fire."

"I know. The Captain made that clear."