When All The Girls Have Gone(21)

There was a television that was hooked up to a satellite dish, and a landline phone, but Charlotte did not see any signs of cell phones or computers. The Briggses were doing their best to live off the grid without cutting all ties to the outside world.   





 

The only indications that the Briggses had once lived a more conventional life were the framed photos on the mantel. One showed a much younger Egan Briggs dressed in a policeman's uniform. He was smiling proudly and he had his arm draped possessively around his wife, Roxanne. Her long blond hair was blowing in the wind and she looked very pretty. She also looked a lot younger than her husband.

The other two photos were pictures of a handsome youth-a son, Charlotte decided. The first picture showed him dressed in a high school graduation gown. He was smiling a big, can't-wait-to-take-on-the-future grin.

The second picture was a snapshot that showed the same young man a few years later. He lounged against the railing on the porch of the cabin and he was no longer smiling. There was something sullen about the way his shoulders were hunched. He looked as if he was angry at having been forced to pose for the picture. Or maybe just angry at the world, Charlotte thought.

"Nothing solid," Egan said in response to Max's question. "Seem to recall that there were a couple of popular theories at the time. No offense, Ms. Sawyer, but one of those notions was that Jocelyn Pruett was involved in some nasty sex games that had gotten too rough for her."

Charlotte gripped the arm of her chair. "My stepsister has never been into bondage games."

She was aware that Max was sending her a warning look, but she couldn't help it. Someone had to stand up for Jocelyn, who was not there to defend herself.

Egan exhaled a heavy sigh. "Like I said, I believed Ms. Pruett. But no one else did. According to the people we talked to at the time, she had a reputation for being what you might call high-spirited. Adventurous."

Charlotte shook her head. "She wasn't into that kind of adventure."

Roxanne Briggs appeared from the small kitchen. She was still tall, but the lushly rounded figure she'd possessed when she posed for the photo on the mantel had thickened over time. Somewhere along the line she had adopted an earth mother vibe. She wore a long, flowing caftan-style dress that was decorated with brilliant splashes of color. Her blond hair was just starting to turn gray. It hung in a single heavy braid down her back.

She watched Charlotte with somber, unreadable eyes and extended a wooden tray that held two steaming mugs.

"Coffee?" she asked in a whispery voice that did not seem to go with her size and stature.

It was, Charlotte reflected, the first word Roxanne had spoken since acknowledging the introductions with a nod of her head a short time earlier.

"Yes, thank you," Charlotte said.

She took one of the mugs.

"Cream and sugar?" Roxanne asked.

"No, thanks," Charlotte said.

Roxanne offered the other mug to Max.

"Thanks," he said. He took the coffee. "No cream or sugar."

Roxanne put the empty tray on the hand-carved chunk of polished wood that served as a coffee table. She sank down onto an overstuffed sofa.

Max turned back to Egan. "You said there were two major theories of the crime. What was the second one?"

"I ruled out the BDSM angle because I figured that if Ms. Pruett was into that scene she probably would have known her attacker."

"He blindfolded her," Charlotte said. "He put a bag over her head and threatened to choke her."

"I know, but still, if she'd been having regular sex with him, it seemed like there would have been something about him that she would have recognized. Also, if there had been a sex club like that operating on the campus, I'm pretty sure I would have turned up someone who knew something about it. Loring College was small at the time and the town was not exactly a big city. Still isn't, come to that."

"You're right," Max said. "It would have been hard to keep a BDSM club completely secret."

Egan nodded. "That's why, in the end, I went with the second theory-that Ms. Pruett was the victim of a serial rapist who protected himself by moving from campus to campus."

Charlotte started to open her mouth to tell him that Jocelyn had always been sure that her attacker was someone who knew the campus well. But Max flashed her a quick, silencing look. This time she heeded the order.

He looked down into his coffee for a few beats, as if he was mulling over the information that Egan had provided. When he raised his eyes, his expression was unreadable.

"You're sure it couldn't have been someone local?" he asked.

"Trust me, we looked into that possibility very thoroughly," Egan said. "Talked to a lot of students, male and female. Also talked to several members of the faculty and staff. To this day I'm convinced that whoever attacked Jocelyn Pruett moved on. If he hasn't been picked up on some other charge by now, he's probably still at it."   





 

"Guys like that don't quit," Max said.

Egan shook his head. "Nope."

Charlotte tightened her grip on the mug. "My sister believes that she was stalked before she was assaulted. The rapist seemed to know her routine. He struck at the one place on the path where she would be most vulnerable. Doesn't that indicate that it was someone who knew the campus well?"

Egan gave her a sorrowful look. "It indicates that someone studied the campus, but it doesn't indicate that he stalked your sister. It's more likely he simply chose his victim at random. Any girl who came down that path that night was a potential target. Jocelyn Pruett was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Charlotte started to argue, but Max set his coffee mug aside with just enough force to get her attention. She closed her mouth. This was his area of expertise, she thought. Let the man do his job.

"There are some distinctive elements in the case," he said. "Getting a feel for the territory, the attack from behind, the bag over the head and the use of a knife suggest a carefully thought-out plan. This guy is into strategy."

Egan grunted. "Assuming that's the way it happened."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Charlotte demanded.

He gave her a sympathetic look. "The thing is that people who are subject to serious violence and trauma often have difficulty remembering the details of the events exactly as they occurred."

Charlotte kept her mouth shut, but it wasn't easy.

Egan turned back to Max. "I agree with you. Assuming Ms. Pruett did remember the details correctly, the attacker had a plan. And he would have used it again and again because it worked. But there were no more reports like that on the campus or in the town of Loring. Believe me, I kept an eye out for any assault that was even remotely similar. Nothing came to my attention. That's why I think he moved on."

"What about assaults elsewhere in the region?" Max asked.

"I examined the rape reports from campuses around the Pacific Northwest for a while," Egan said. He propped his elbows on the arms of the chair and put his fingertips together. "There were two more that year that could have been a match. Both took place on other college campuses. Both involved blindfolds and knives."

"Was anyone caught?" Charlotte asked.

"No, unfortunately." Egan's jaw tensed. "I followed up, but no one was ever arrested. There were never any viable suspects. Like I said, if the person who attacked those other two women was the same man who assaulted Jocelyn Pruett, then he was smart enough to move from campus to campus. For a time I even thought I might be able to track him, but the trail went ice-cold after the second report. There were no more assaults using the same MO."

"But you don't think he quit, do you?" Max said.

Egan shook his head. "No. But like I said, it's possible he was arrested on some other charge and is doing time. Hell, it's also possible that he moved out of the state. He could be clear across the country by now. There's no good way to track those kinds of crimes when large distances are involved."

"No," Max said, "there isn't."

A strange hush settled on the interior of the cabin. Charlotte was suddenly aware of the muffled clash of the wind chimes on the front porch. The wind was picking up again. She looked at Roxanne Briggs. The woman seemed frozen in place, staring at Max.

It was Egan who broke the spell. He peered out the window.

"Weather's taking another turn," he said. "You might want to think about getting down off this mountain before things get too bad."

Roxanne stirred. "They haven't even finished their coffee, Egan."

Egan frowned and looked as if he was about to say something, but, as if on cue, the lights flickered and went out. The cabin was plunged into an early twilight.

Roxanne flinched and then got to her feet. "There goes the electricity."

Egan groaned and heaved himself up out of the chair. "Business as usual during a storm, I'm afraid. We always lose power. Well, that's why they invented generators."

"I'll light the lanterns," Roxanne said.

She moved across the small space to the dining room table and struck a match. Light flared in a glass storm lantern.

"I'll go crank up the generator." Egan looked at Max again. "Take it easy driving back down the mountain. The rains have been heavy all week. Rivers and streams are running high. We frequently get a few landslides and downed trees in a storm like this. Once in a while a bridge washes out."