Megan's Legacy

Megan's Legacy by Deidre Dalton is Book #8 in the Collective Obsessions Saga.

 

Megan Larkin falls for dashing Boston attorney Luke Castaneda, a newcomer to Larkin City. Locals try to warn Luke about Megan's family, their history of madness and tragedy, but he is determined to make her his wife. Other elements are at work to ensure the union never takes place, bringing another veil of evil over the Larkin's and their self-named city in the guise of a serial killer. Megan is forced to discover the truth and to set herself free from a legacy of family secrets and obsessions.

From Chapter Twelve

August 2006

Larkin City, Maine

 

MARK BALSAM WAS ENJOYING his retirement, not missing any aspects of his former job. That part of his life was over, as far as he was concerned. To Mark, retirement meant the definition of the word. It was cut and dried: he had no interest in solving crimes or dealing with scum, even in his capacity as casual observer or as an ex-officer of the law.

He was well aware there was a serial killer on the loose in Larkin City. He read the Larkin Gazette online every morning with his coffee. He didn’t volunteer his opinion, although from the telephone messages he’d received he knew Lyle Gould wanted to know his thoughts on the matter. Mark avoided the desperate attempts to contact him, refusing to answer or return calls from Lyle or the LCPD in general.

Mark hadn’t given much credence to Lyle’s investigative skills during his first few years on the police force. The man had a penchant for unsubstantiated gossip and self-promotion. However, as time went on and Lyle matured, he lost some of his green edges and managed to actually absorb much of what Mark tried to teach him.

It was inevitable Lyle would be promoted to lead detective when Mark retired a decade ago. There was no one else qualified to take his place. Captain Paul Collins had no desire to be in the trenches, and no other officer aside from Lyle had knowledge of Mark’s methods and departmental workings.

As with the murders of Katie Kirk and Chrissie Fox, when Kerry Matheson was found raped and murdered Lyle tried to reach his former boss. Mark adroitly avoided his attempts for the most part. If Lyle happened to reach him, Mark would pleasantly agree to meet him and then not show up, predictably disappearing for a few days.

Lyle was desperate. He had no clues or evidence to lead him to the killer, and he wanted Mark’s sage advice on how to proceed. His irresponsible quirk of disassociation greatly annoyed Lyle, who found it incomprehensible the older man didn’t want to help in some way.

Rather than leave another message on the man’s answering machine, Lyle went to Mark’s house on Pine Whispers Road unannounced. A widower for thirteen years, Mark lived with three cats in his two-bedroom home, which was a mile away from Larkin City Cemetery. He was an avid fisherman and birdwatcher, often absent indulging both his hobbies.

It was mid-morning on a Sunday in October when Lyle knocked on Mark’s front door, fairly certain the older man would be home. He hated having to trap his former boss between a rock and a hard place, but he had come to the end of his options.

Mark answered the door, his face darkening when he saw Lyle on the doorstep. Lyle took in Mark’s appearance: bald pate, deep lines in his face, thick glasses perched on his long nose, but thinner than he remembered.

“Don’t you believe in asking permission to visit?” Mark asked gruffly. “I certainly don’t recall inviting you to Sunday brunch.”

“C’mon Mark,” Lyle scolded gently. “You won’t return my calls. When I do get a hold of you and you agree to meet me, you never show up…”

“Doesn’t that tell you something, Lyle? I don’t want to get involved. I’m retired, for hell’s sake. I have no interest in being part of any ongoing investigations, cold cases, parking tickets, domestic disputes, traffic violations…”

“Larkin City has a serial killer,” Lyle broke in.

“You think I don’t know that?” Mark asked crossly. “I read the papers.”

“We have no clues, no suspect DNA. Mark, I need your help. I don’t know what to do next. Where do I go when I’ve exhausted all possibilities?”

“I’m retired,” Mark reiterated firmly. “I have as much input as the milkman.”

“Please,” Lyle pleaded. “It’s just not my career on the line, that’s not why I’m here. The people of Larkin City are mighty uneasy, not to mention the fact a serial killer being on the loose might taint our rather lucrative tourist trade. Three women have been raped and murdered in much the same fashion in the last two years. I need answers, some sort of direction. I need your advice. I’m begging you, if that’s what it takes.”

Mark sighed loudly. “What makes you think my advice has any value now? You said it yourself - there isn’t any solid evidence or DNA to go on. I don’t have mental telepathy, Lyle, nor am I some mystical wizard with all the answers. What can I possibly offer you?”

“Can I please come inside?” Lyle asked. “I’d rather the whole neighborhood didn’t overhear our conversation.”

Mark snorted. “My closest neighbors are members of our illustrious bone yard.”

“Damnit, Mark, please!”

“Bollocks,” the former detective declared, opening the door wider. “Hurry up and get inside. You’re not staying long.”

Mark’s home was modest but clean, with most of the vintage furniture coming from the seventies. Three well-fed tabby cats, curled close together on the orange-brown striped couch, gave Mark and Lyle sleepy but cursory stares as they walked though the living room to the kitchen.

“I’d offer you coffee but I just drank the last cup,” Mark said flatly as they sat at the small kitchen table. Lyle noticed the remnants of the older man’s breakfast, an empty plate with dried yolk stains and toast crumbs. A window above the sink overlooked the back garden, where Lyle knew Mark grew copious crops of zucchini and pumpkin.

“I’m fine,” Lyle said. “I had a big breakfast at Bruno’s Café with a large pot of coffee.”

“So let’s get on with it,” Mark said shortly.

Lyle folded his hands together, resting them on the table. “You know Larkin City better than anyone. I’ve exhausted every empty lead, witness and avenue of follow-up. If you were me, what would be your next step? I can’t just allow three murder cases to go cold, not on my watch. What would you do?”

Mark regarded Lyle for a long minute across the table. He wanted to dismiss the younger man, let him go on his way to find his own path. He meant what he said before: he didn’t want to get involved. He’d done his duty, for almost thirty years, and felt he didn’t owe another minute of his time to the LCPD or Lyle Gould.

“I won’t change my mind,” Mark stated. “I won’t help you with the investigation. I’m out of all that, and I deserve every leisure moment my retirement affords. I’m certain you’ll come to understand that someday.”

Lyle’s face fell.

“But,” Mark continued strongly. “I will offer you a piece of advice, for what it’s worth. It’s the one thing that stuck with me throughout my career, and it’s the only thing my father Jameson passed on to me.”

“I’m listening,” Lyle said eagerly, leaning forward.

“There’s one common denominator between all recorded murders in Larkin City,” Mark said slowly. “It applies to some of the other violent crimes as well. They can all be traced to one combined source.” He looked at Lyle. “It’s the Larkin and Sullivan families. While I don’t think one of them is your serial killer, I’m sure your suspect is connected to them somehow. That’s been my experience all along. Start looking at people with known associations with the two families…”

Lyle appeared stunned. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of the connection before…”

“All of the facts are there,” Mark continued. “Just go back in time, look at history. Patrick Larkin killed the family cook as long as sixty years ago, and then hung himself. Mike Sullivan, Patrick’s first cousin thrice removed, killed a man at the mansion and kidnapped Shannon Larkin. Mike’s sister Carly murdered Marianne Chamberlain and Sara Sullivan in cold blood and then killed herself. Even the most violent of crimes, such as Jack Sansovino on the run these last eight years after beating Jamie Page senseless, is connected to the Larkin family. You have to study all these relationships, and put pieces of the puzzle together from there.”

“It makes sense,” Lyle agreed, excitement shining in his eyes. “It gives me a place to start.”

“I can’t fathom a guess as to the identity of your serial killer, so you have a lot of leg and brain work ahead of you. Make lists of family members, sub-lists of their friends, lovers and spouses. Look into these people, track their whereabouts over the years, follow their financial paper trails, interview them repeatedly if need be. Make another sub-list of employees, teachers, ex-lovers and former friends. Leave nothing out, and leave nothing to chance. You’ll learn personal kibble that may seem utterly useless on the surface, but pursue it anyway.” He paused, taking a breath. “The needle you’re looking for is in that intricate family haystack somewhere. I’d bet my life on it.”

Lyle stared at the older man. “You’re right, on all accounts. Thank you, Mark. I know how reluctant you are to get involved further, so I won’t ask it of you. However, I want you to know your advice has been invaluable to me.”

“This is the one and only occasion I’ll help you,” Mark said crisply. “I won’t make myself available a second time.”

“I won’t bother you again,” Lyle promised.

* * *

THUS BEGAN THE LENGTHY process of assembling all the puzzle pieces. Lyle followed Mark’s advice. He made paper lists and interchangeable strategy boards of Larkin and Sullivan family members, their spouses, children, friends and lovers. He gathered their histories, financial data, known facts and local tidbits. He tried to connect the dots between those in the inner circle and their wide spectrum of acquaintances. He also created dossiers on each individual, no matter how important or marginal, with the help of his assistant Curtis Day, and looked for glaringly odd or common threads.

Without DNA or other evidence, it was all Lyle could do. He knew in his bones that Mark Balsam was right: most all paths led back to the Larkin and Sullivan families, and it was just a matter of time before he linked them to familiarity with the killer.

                One way or another.