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  Julie flipped to another notepad page. “What about getting a trace set up on the request lines? Just in case this creep calls in again.”

  Rodney stroked his chin for a moment, and then shook his head. “Beside the fact that the radio station is out of our jurisdiction, we’ll be hard pressed to get permission to do that. Especially since there’s only been one call.”

  Nine letters in total. All of them identical in structure. Magazine clippings pasted on eight and a half by eleven sheets of paper. Until this latest one, the message had always been the same. A request to play an REO Speedwagon song, but never stating which one. Creating a letter in that fashion seemed a bit too time consuming to Rodney. Why go through all the trouble? And what was up with that signature? The Shallows?

  Kaitlyn had explained that the first letter arrived over a month ago, with a new one arriving each consecutive Friday since. The frequency accelerated this past week with one letter every day in her mailbox at the radio station.

  “Why didn’t you report this to someone sooner?” he’d asked.

  “I didn’t take it seriously. In my line of work, we get the occasional enthusiastic fan.” She made air quotes with her fingers for the word “enthusiastic.”

  Rodney narrowed his eyes. Her rationale was naive, and a bit far-fetched. “Enthusiastic fan?”

  Kaitlyn looked down at the floor. “At first, it seemed innocent enough. Just someone playing a prank. I started to get worried this week.” She glanced at Brad. “We talked last night. I’d decided to speak to the police on Monday.”

  “And the letter you received yesterday? Where is that?”

  “Gone, just like the others.”

  Rodney had cringed when she said it. That was vital evidence lost forever. Forensics might be able to pull something from the most recent letter, but they’d have stood a better chance if they had more to work with. What about those magazine clippings? It sounded more like a bad cliché. Why not print a letter from a computer? Surely that would be easier.

  “What about the boyfriend?” Julie asked, snapping his thoughts back to the present.

  Rodney remained silent for a moment. Brad Ludlow looked genuine enough, but it wouldn’t have been the first time a man played head games with his girlfriend. “Not sure yet. We’ve got to play it cool with him. He’ll know the law better than we do. Including every loophole. If it is him, I don’t want him getting away because of some technicality.”

  “He’s a business attorney, not a trial lawyer.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “Let’s run a check on both of them. Him in particular. I doubt that it will turn up anything, but you never know.”

  While Julie scribbled in her notepad, Rodney acknowledged his nagging misgivings about his conversation with Kaitlyn. There’d been a reluctance in her answers that he couldn’t explain.

  “These letters keep referring to a song, as if you know what it is. Any idea why?” he had asked.

  Kaitlyn turned her gaze away from him to study the spines of the books on the shelf along the far wall. “No, I don’t know why.”

  He sighed. “What about from your past? Anything that you can think of that might even remotely involve REO Speedwagon?”

  She rose from the sofa, crossed to the bow window and looked out over the front yard. She looked at her hands, seeming preoccupied with her fingernails. “I can’t . . .” She slid her hands into her back pockets and stared out at the street. “There’s nothing that I can think of.”

  “Nothing at all? Think carefully. Even the smallest detail could help us.”

  With her gaze turned toward the window, Kaitlyn appeared reticent, either unable or unwilling to speak. Rodney studied her carefully, noting the slight tremor in her arms. He was struck by the similarity between this moment and the moment when he’d confronted his daughter about the accident. Carol had avoided eye contact as well.

  “Detective, I’m sure she’d tell you if she knew what this was about,” said Brad. “She wants to get to the bottom of this as much as you do.”

  Spoken like an attorney.

  There was something off with Kaitlyn’s behavior. She’d been visibly upset when he’d arrived, but by the time she had left with her boyfriend, Kaitlyn had become resolute that it was nothing more than a harmless prank. She knew more about this than she was letting on. He was certain of it.

  “Where’s that letter?” he said to Julie.

  She reached into the leather bag at her feet. “I’ve got it here.” She handed him a clear plastic bag, the letter sealed inside.

  Rodney held it before him, gazing at the sheet of paper. At first glance, the placement of the magazine clippings appeared to be random. Small lettering—perhaps from within an article—intermixed with larger letters from headlines and article titles. It was almost juvenile. He reread the text, finding that the message made no more sense to him now than it did the first time he read it.

  Can’t remember the song? You’ll pay for your forgetfulness. The Shallows holds no more love for you.

  As he reread the words, Rodney pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, making a clicking noise. He didn’t need to look at Julie to know that she’d be cringing. She hated when he did that. He leaned toward her and pointed at the letter. “The Shallows must be a person or a place. Look at the other words. Each is its own clipping. But, the Shallows, that’s pieced together from multiple clippings, like he couldn’t find it on its own.”

  Julie nodded. “Not surprising. It’s not a word you see often in magazines.” She smiled. “Not that you’d know.”

  He handed the plastic-wrapped letter back to her. “See if forensics can tell us what magazines the clippings came from. I doubt it will help us, but you never know.” Rodney thought once again about Kaitlyn Ashe. “She knows more than she’s telling us.”

  Julie flipped her notepad closed, slipping it into her pocket. “You going to the station?”

  “Eventually. I missed breakfast and lunch. I’ve got to grab something to eat. I’ll meet you there in an hour.”

  Julie picked up her leather bag and crossed the street, heading for her blue Volkswagen parked along the opposite curb. As he watched her pull away, Rodney folded his arms, leaning back against his car. His eyes roamed up and down the street. Upscale homes. Middle-class families enjoying life in the suburbs. A nice, quiet neighborhood. Why did he feel like that was about to all change?

  8

  Brad held the door for Kaitlyn and ushered her into O’Toole’s Brew Pub. A Saturday night crowd crammed into the Walnut Street taproom. The bar was packed to capacity, every table occupied. An inverted cone-shaped light hung over each booth, illuminating the occupants in the otherwise gloomy light of the pub. Conversations blended into a cacophony of voices that practically drowned out the music from the jukebox. Despite the din, Kaitlyn picked up the familiar melody of the Gin Blossoms and smiled. Someone had good taste in music. The hostess by the door waved, then gestured toward the back of the bar. Kaitlyn grabbed Brad’s hand and weaved her way through the crowd.

  A round of drinks was already on the table when they approached the three-square tables that had been pushed together to make room for the gang. Sammy leapt from her seat and threw her arms around Kaitlyn in a tight embrace.

  “You’re late,” she said. “I was startin’ to think you weren’t comin’.” Sammy released Kaitlyn and moved toward Brad, wrapping her arms around his neck. “How goes it, Legal Eagle?”

  He gave her a tentative pat on the back. “I’m good.”

  Kaitlyn heard the awkwardness in his voice and saw the forced familiarity of his gesture. Brad wasn’t yet comfortable with Sammy’s forthrightness. “You’ll get used to it,” she’d told him the last time they’d been out together. Kaitlyn remembered when they first started dating, how long it took him to get comfortable with Kaitlyn herself. Sammy was twice as outgoing.

  Scott Mackay, who sat across the table, lifted a Corona bottle and used it to point toward two
empty chairs at the table. His salt-and-pepper, shoulder-length hair was pulled back in a ponytail. There was a trace of fatherly affection in his smile and a sparkle in his eyes. The fifty-two-year-old program director had been like a father to her from the first day she started working at WPLX. He took her under his wing and was just as responsible for her success in Philadelphia as she was. Scott’s wife Amanda sat beside him and gave a vehement wave. Kaitlyn smiled in return and took a seat at the table next to Brad.

  Kevin O’Neill, who was sitting across the table, stared at her long enough to make Kaitlyn notice.

  “What?” she asked.

  “What’re you drinking?”

  “White wine,” she said, slightly irritated that Kevin seemed to suggest she couldn’t order for herself.

  “I’ll have what he’s having.” Brad pointed at Scott, but Kevin didn’t seem to acknowledge Brad’s order and kept his gaze on her.

  “White wine,” Kevin said, then slowly turned toward Brad. “And a Corona. Coming right up.” Kevin rose from the table and walked to the bar.

  Kaitlyn shook her head and admonished herself silently not to take out her frazzled state on an innocent colleague. It wasn’t Kevin’s fault that her equilibrium had vanished.

  “Where’s Zeek?” she asked, ready to enjoy the moment.

  Sammy sipped from her Guinness, then said, “Workin’.”

  “No Justin?”

  Sammy shrugged. “Said he was coming.”

  An arm flashed in front of Kaitlyn’s face and set a wine glass down before her. Kevin’s fingers brushed across her shoulder as he handed a Corona to Brad. She flinched at his touch. Kevin didn’t seem to notice and returned to his seat with a fresh Bud Light of his own.

  Scott raised his bottle. “Here’s to the end of another week.”

  The small group chatted, laughed, and drank. They ordered appetizers and Kaitlyn relaxed, pushing thoughts about the mysterious letters into the recesses of her mind. These biweekly get-togethers were a longstanding tradition among the station staff, an open invitation to anyone who wanted to show up. Attendance often varied, sometimes with a large contingent from the sales staff as well as the on-air DJs making an appearance. But, more often than not, it was the DJs who could be considered “regulars.”

  Kaitlyn enjoyed nights like this. The people around the table were the closest thing she had to friends. It had been the same at every radio station where she worked. Broadcasting was a close-knit community, because the odd working hours often prohibited what many would consider a normal social life. The sense of family that arose among station staff frequently took the place of friendships outside of work. This was Kaitlyn’s comfort zone. Each person at the table was dear to her in some way.

  It was shortly after ten when Justin Kace wandered up to the table. With hands buried deep in the pockets of his jeans, he hunched forward over the table, nodding a greeting to everyone. His bare forearms were long and bony. A faded Van Halen T-shirt hung off his pointed shoulders and draped down over his scrawny body.

  “Hey all, sup?” he said.

  “About time,” Kevin said, glancing at his watch. “Who was she?”

  Justin straddled the nearest chair, rested his arms on the back. “What’re you on about?”

  “The only time you’re late for something is when a woman’s involved.”

  Justin pushed a few stray strands of jet-black hair back from his face. “Why you gotta get on my case?” He smiled, then looked around the table. “No Holy Roller Tyler again?”

  Kevin laughed. “Nope. Probably doesn’t want to run the risk that he might start having fun in a bar.”

  Scott frowned and shook his head. “Come on, guys. Lay off him.” His tone was very much that of a parent scolding a child.

  “Whatever.” Justin gave a wave to dismiss the rebuke. “How does one get a drink around here?”

  Kevin stood and said, “I’ll get it. What’re you having?”

  “Jack and Coke on the rocks.”

  When Kevin returned with the drink, Justin raised the glass. “Ah, the elixir of life.”

  As the group fell back into friendly banter, Kaitlyn sipped her wine and allowed her mind to drift. Discussions flew back and forth across the table. Justin talked more with his hands than in words as he recounted some amusing childhood story to Scott. Amanda laughed as Sammy mimicked the reaction Dale Jamison—the station’s sales manager—had to the news that he was being moved to a smaller office to make room for a new production studio. Brad drank in the conversations in silence, his arm wrapped around the back of Kaitlyn’s chair. Perhaps it was the camaraderie or maybe just the wine, but Kaitlyn felt a warm, comforting sense of calm wash over her. No past to worry about. No future to fret over. Just another Saturday night with a few drinks and good friends.

  When the first few chords of the next song reached her ears, she gasped. The slow, melodic piano cut through the cacophony in the bar. Each note drove a dagger of fear into her heart. Someone was playing REO Speedwagon on the jukebox.

  She glanced across the table and caught Kevin staring in her direction. His eyes were piercing and dark. He had a half-smile and winked at her as he placed his beer bottle to his lips to take a drink. A chill crept down her spine. He turned his gaze away from her, but she couldn’t help but feel as if he were still watching her from the corner of his eye.

  She reached for Brad’s hand. He was laughing along with the others over some joke Scott had just told. Kaitlyn had missed it. She looked over her shoulder, scanning the faces of those nearby. Perhaps she would recognize someone. No one was paying her the least bit of attention. She glanced back across the table. Kevin was talking, but she didn’t hear his words. All she heard was the song, sharp and clear in her head.

  As the chorus played over the speakers, a chaotic flood of images sent her head spinning. Splashing in the water. Jesse’s touch. His lips on hers. A cuddle by the bonfire. Then, darker images. A tight grip on her arm. A slap across the face. Jesse’s face disappearing . . .

  Kaitlyn shuddered. Her hands, resting in her lap, trembled. Someone was watching her. It felt as if a set of eyes was boring into the back of her head. Another quick glance behind her revealed nothing out of the ordinary. It was more than she could stand.

  She leaned toward Brad. “I’m not feeling well. Do you mind if we leave?”

  He looked at her, deep concern in his eyes. “You okay?”

  As the chorus repeated, she reached over and took his hand. “I just want to go.”

  9

  She screamed. Flailing her arms, Kaitlyn struggled to free herself from the hands that grasped her shoulders. Her eyes darted from side to side, peering around the dark room. She fought for air as she wrestled with the tangle of sheets around her body. She bolted upright and tried to clamber from the bed. Two hands gripped her shoulders, pulling her back.

  “Kaitlyn. Wake up,” she heard from behind her. “It’s just a nightmare.”

  She continued to struggle, desperate to pry herself free.

  “Kaitlyn!” The voice sounded more urgent this time, more insistent. “Wake up!”

  Closing her eyes, she leaned forward and lowered her face into her palms. Was it another nightmare or was it real? It was becoming harder to tell. The water, the darkness. The lines between reality and fantasy blurred. Then, brushing her hair back from her face, she opened her eyes. A light clicked on behind her, illuminating the room in a faint glow. Brad’s bedroom. She drew in a deep breath. Brad sat in the middle of the bed, staring at her. His furrowed forehead was creased with shadows from the bedside lamp.

  “Babe, you okay?”

  Kaitlyn didn’t speak. Her mind still fought with the lingering images of dark icy waters and grey hands clawing at her legs. She was chilled by the frigid sweat that had soaked into her pink T-shirt. When Brad touched her shoulder, she recoiled.

  “Relax. You’re safe,” he said.

  She turned away from him and stared into the corner, watch
ing the light dance with the darkness, forming intricate silhouettes of indeterminate shape. Did one of the shadows look like a hand reaching toward her? Kaitlyn touched the back of her neck. The skin was cold and clammy. “What time is it?”

  “3:30.”

  Kaitlyn sighed, still watching the shadows. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  Brad reached for her. This time, she didn’t flinch. “Must have been some nightmare,” he said. “You were screaming your head off.”

  She reclined into his arms and felt the warmth of his embrace. But it didn’t do much to relieve her trembling. “Hold me.”

  “We need to talk about this.”

  She looked away. Talking would only mean having to either lie to him or tell him the truth. She didn’t want to do either at the moment. “There’s nothing to talk about.” They’d had this argument several times before. Not tonight. Please, not tonight.

  “There is something to talk about.” The irritation in his voice was unmistakable. “I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what these letters are about.”

  “They’re nothing.” She stared across the bedroom, watching the shadows in the far corner. Anything to keep from looking him in the eye.

  “Kaitlyn . . .”

  She spun around to face him, but kept her eyes looking down. “Can’t you believe me? Just let me deal with this in my own way? Is that too hard for you?” The outburst surprised her. She hadn’t intended to snap at him.

  Brad was silent for a moment. “I’m trying to help.”

  She leaned forward and took his hand. “Just hold me tight.”

  As his arms tightened around her, Kaitlyn closed her eyes and sank deeper into his embrace. The nightmare was still vivid in the recesses of her mind. Murky water around her. A small point of light above her that she had so desperately tried to reach. Cold hands held her back. She’d kicked her legs, trying to free herself. But, as soon as she freed herself from the grip of one hand, another would find a hold and drag her deeper into the water.