Cat and Mouse
By Terri D. Thomas
Part 3
"So, Mr. McCarthy reported his wife was missing last Monday," Cassy said as she opened the file. She glanced at the faxed copy of the missing person's report. "This picture is horrible. I can't tell a thing about this woman, except she has a head and hair."
"Yeah. I called Riviera Beach P.D. and asked for the copy of the report. This was the best thing they could send me. They said we could stop by later and look at the file for ourselves, could even have a copy of the picture if we wanted." Tom then remembered the faceless body they had found. "For all the good it will do us," he completed.
Tom turned his Mustang onto Bay Ridge Drive. "McCarthy said he and his wife had an argument on Saturday night. She wasn't at home Sunday morning when he got up. The car was gone so he thought that maybe she had decided to visit her mother in Boca Raton. He didn't get worried until Monday morning when she hadn't returned."
"So I take it she wasn't in Boca."
"No. Her family hadn't heard from her and the car's never been found."
Cassy raised an eyebrow. "The whole thing sounds suspicious to me."
"Yeah. Me too."
"I wonder what the argument was about."
"I think we'll just have to ask the loving husband about that."
Within minutes, they pulled into the driveway of the McCarthy household. The home was not especially large, but was neat and well maintained.
"What does McCarthy do?" Tom asked as the two detectives left the car.
"File says he's a professor at one of the community colleges."
Tom rang the doorbell. Almost instantly the door opened. A disheveled man greeted them, eyes weary with emotional strain.
"Yes."
"Mr. McCarthy?" Cassy asked.
"Yes. I'm Jason McCarthy."
"I'm Sgt. St. John. This is my partner, Sgt. Ryan. We're with the Palm Beach Police Department."
The man's eyes grew wide. "Is this about my wife? Have you found her?"
Cassy glanced at her partner before continuing. "May we come in?"
"Oh God. . .Oh my God. . ." the man stuttered. "Something's happened, hasn't it? Please. . .please tell me she's okay."
"May we come in, Sir? We would like to talk to you about Sara."
The man bit his lip and backed away from the door, motioning the detectives into the house. He led them to a small living room. Cassy moved to the couch, Tom sat beside her.
"Is she. . .dead?" the man asked quietly.
"We don't know, Sir. That's what we're here to talk about," Tom answered.
"Call me. . .call me Jason." The man's head dropped down and his hands covered his face. "I've been. . .so worried. She's never done anything like this before. Never for so long."
Tom watched the distraught man's pain-filled face. "We don't know anything about her for sure," he started to explain.
"Please. . .please tell me what's happened. I have to know."
Cassy nodded. "Okay. Jason, a woman's body was found under the Flagler Bridge in Palm Beach early this morning. The general description is similar to your wife's. We don't have any reason to believe it's her except for the fact that the physical description is similar."
"I gave her photo to the police. Can't you tell if it's her?" the man responded, frustration in the words.
Tom took a deep breath, steeling himself for the husband's reaction to his next words. "Unfortunately, the woman was submerged in the ocean for a few days. We are not able to identify the. . .facial features of the body."
Jason McCarthy paled, looking as if he were ready to collapse. "Oh God. . .."
Cassy gave the man an apologetic look. "We're sorry, Jason. We really don't want to upset you with this news, but we are grasping at straws trying to identify the body."
The man nodded, desperate to know more. Cassy held two photos out to him. The man didn't take them, fear showing in his face. "These are photos of a ring the woman was wearing and a birthmark on the woman's right shoulder."
The husband's shaky hand reached out and he took the pictures, hesitating before looking at them. For a long moment there was no reaction. Tom and Cassy's eyes met, slightly confused. "Mr. McCarthy?" Tom finally whispered.
The man's shoulders began to shake. His trembling hands caused the photos to drop to the floor. Tears began to run down his cheeks as sobs racked his body. "It's her. . .it's Sara," he murmured. He buried his face in his hands once again.
The two detectives allowed the man to grieve for several minutes. When the tears seemed to slightly subside, Tom spoke up. "Mr. McCarthy, could you give us a picture of your wife?"
The man wiped the wet drops from his face and pushed himself to his feet. On weak legs he walked over to a bookshelf and pulled a framed photograph from the top shelf. He handed the photo to Tom. "That's Sara. . .and me. . .on our six month anniversary." The man paused for a moment and then broke down in tears once again. Tom stood quickly and helped the man down to the couch.
The detective glanced at the picture. Jason and his now deceased wife were posing in front of a lush garden of colorful flowers. She was an attractive woman with angular facial features. Her hair and eyes were brown. As far as he could tell, the photo matched the dead woman.
He handed the picture to Cassy. His petite partner looked at the photo and then frowned. She shook her head slightly. She glanced up at Jason McCarthy and then back at the photo.
Tom followed Cassy's eyes, curious at his partner's reaction. "Cassy, what's wrong?"
Cassy shook her head once again. She started to speak, then stopped, then started again. "I know her."
Tom's eyes widened in shock. "What?"
Jason McCarthy also seemed to be shocked from his remorse. "How?"
"She's not Sara McCarthy," Cassy mumbled, her face going pale.
Jason's jaw dropped. "Of course she is. She's my. . .was my wife."
Cassy shook her head. "No. I know it's her."
"Who, Cassy?" Tom pressed.
"She was Brad's wife."
"Brad? Who's Brad?" Tom asked, clearly confused.
"Brad Kersey?" Jason interrupted.
Cassy stared at Jason. "Yes."
"Who's Brad Kersey?" Tom asked, now feeling frustrated. Then his memory kicked in. "Wait a sec. . .." He pointed at Cassy. "Your Brad Kersey?"
"Brad was Sara's first husband. He was killed over a year ago. . .shot by some nutcase," Jason answered, ignoring Tom's words.
Cassy's face paled. "The killer wasn't just a nutcase," the woman whispered, fear in her eyes. "He was a homicidal maniac. . .Ollie Murdock."
End Part 3
To Part 4