Allison Shea-August ’79-Dewey

Trina Wilson -August ’79-Killion Point

Lorraine Otto-August ’79-Hasboro

Regina Daley-August ’79-Killion Point

The second sheet had no header and consisted of two columns, one of dates, the other locations, but no names. The dates spanned several years, and the locations varied, state to state. The names of the Bayside Strangler’s victims would be easy enough to trace. Perhaps Chief Denver could verify the names of the Bowers Inlet victims when he called back. If he called back.

Regan sat and stared at the yellow pages for a long time. She compared the two lists her father had printed up. Except for the inclusion of the names on the first list, they were identical in form.

If the first was in fact a list of the Bayside Strangler’s victims-names, dates, and places-what was the significance of the second list?

She studied it, line to line. No matter how long she stared at it, the list made no sense:

– May ’83- Pittsburgh

– February ’86-Charlotte

– August ’86-Corona

– March ’87- Memphis

– January ’88- Turkey

– November ’90- Panama

– November ’91- Croatia

– September ’93- Somalia

– April ’95- Bosnia

– February ’98- Pakistan

– others????-

Since it was in the folder along with the Bayside Strangler notes, could she assume it had something to do with those killings? And if so, what?

She stole a look at the clock. It had been more than an hour since she’d called Chief Denver. She’d have to be patient, give him a little more time.

Regan slid the lists back into the folder, added the two notes that had been addressed to her father, and placed the file on one corner of the desk. She took one more look through the big file and, convinced there was nothing more to be learned from it, replaced it in the cabinet. She lifted out the file behind it and returned to the desk. Settling into the big chair her father had used for more than twenty years, she began to page through the contents, front to back. Once satisfied she’d uncovered nothing that could add to the information in the thin file that sat on the corner of the desk, she put that folder back and took out another. And another.

She’d gone through five file folders by noon, another three by mid-afternoon, when she placed a second call to the Bowers Inlet Police Department. Denver was not available. She left another message.

Stopping only to eat a makeshift meal around seven that evening, she plowed through file drawer after file drawer. At eight-thirty, she stopped to make another pot of coffee, and it occurred to her however many files remained in the office, there were three times as many in the basement, and God only knew what Josh might have stashed in the attic.

So far she’d found nothing that referred to the list her father had handprinted with dates and places, nor had she found any other letters that may have been sent by the Bayside Strangler. Perhaps Josh had turned them over to someone in law enforcement after all.

But he would have kept copies, she reminded herself, if he’d planned on writing a book on the subject. He would have kept copies of all the correspondence, regardless. He’d done that before, she knew. Throughout the day she’d come across several such files. But where were the files that would relate back to the list? They had to be there. It was a matter of finding the right drawers. Or the right boxes.

As Regan studied the mysterious list for perhaps the tenth time, the thought occurred to her that she could have already bypassed something that might be a clue to the lists’ meaning.

How will I find it if I don’t know what IT is?

Somewhat disheartened by the thought, but nonetheless determined, Regan read on through the night. Her father had always relied upon his instincts in times like this, she reminded herself. Perhaps it was time to put her own instincts to the test.

He stood upon the wooden boardwalk at the top of the dune and inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with as much of the bay as he could draw in with one breath. This, more than anything, this scent, meant he was home.

With one hand at his forehead acting as shade, he scanned the horizon. Far into the bay, fishing boats headed to the Atlantic. The sun hung over the water like a red-hot ball. The narrow beach was littered with the remains of a dozen horseshoe crabs and hanks of seaweed. The scents all blended together, and if he closed his eyes, he’d be a kid again, searching the sand for treasure.

Across the bay, Old Barney stood watch. As a child, he’d played at the base of the Barnegat Lighthouse, had fished with his brother from the rocks. At least the lighthouse remained, whatever else might have changed.

And change had come to the bay communities, there was no denying that. Over the past week, he’d driven through all the small towns that dotted the shore, one by one, reliving treasured moments here and there. He’d been stunned by the amount of development that had come to the area since he’d been away, townhouses and condos and single family homes all the way back to the Pines, some built over what had once been marsh. Shopping centers out on the highway, flanked by fast-food restaurants and discount stores. It had made his head spin.

Well, a lot can happen in twenty-six years, he reminded himself. A lot can change.

Now, me, I haven’t changed at all.

In his eyes, he was still the same guy who had left at the end of that summer, armed with new skills he’d developed over the course of three months. The need inside him, once awakened, had been a tough taskmaster, demanding ever more satisfaction. Over the course of the years, he had fed its desires hundreds of times.

As lately as last night.

He smiled, remembering. How could he have thought he’d come all this way and not feel that drive within him build to a scream?

Especially after having visited the scenes of his earliest escapades. He remembered-and relived-each one.

He had an uncanny memory for such things.

He walked the length of the beach, rehearsing what he’d say to his brother when he rang the doorbell of their old family home later this afternoon. Reminded himself to smile, to pretend to be happy to see his family again after all these years. Be gentle with his sister-in-law, who had-let’s face facts here-never cared much for him. Admire the children. Beam at them, as if delighted by their very existence. He needed to get used to them, since he planned to be around for a while. It wouldn’t do to be estranged from the only family he had left. Might it not appear odd somehow, if he and his brother lived in the same town and never socialized?

He sighed. It all sounded so dreary.

There were lots of ways for him to pass the time, now that he was back. There were more places for him to visit, places he remembered well, when he was ready. He’d know when the time was right. Some things weren’t meant to be rushed.

He raised the binoculars to his eyes and focused on an osprey that was circling overhead, and felt perfectly content.

He’d promised himself a place on the water, and having already put the house in Texas on the market, there was no time like the present to start looking for a new home. A permanent one.

Right here in Bowers Inlet.