Photograph, page 26
I got off the bed and paced in the shadows. Everything Kate said made sense, right down to Maro suggesting I go farther back and explore other lives. Why was I so reluctant to admit it? Why couldn’t I give up the idea that Jenny Curtis and I were linked? And yet letting go gave me a sick emptiness in my soul.
“I know you’re probably right about Maro,” I told her. “I’m not a fool. But does that really change anything? Do you think the killer is going to take it on faith that I’m quitting? He’s already killed two people, Kate, on top of what he did years ago. He’s not going to stop. We’re too far down the road to turn back. Besides, I owe it to Lara to keep going. Your mother saved my life that night at the motel. Years later, she lost her own life in a terrible way. You lost her, too. That was all because of me.”
Kate looked as if she wanted to keep arguing, but we were sisters, both of us stubborn. She knew my mind was made up, and she wasn’t going to change it. “All right. We stay. What are you going to do?”
“I need to talk to Gordon. He was the lookout at the Daughertys’. If he was there that night, he may know who the killer is.”
“Okay. Let’s go.”
Kate began to get up, but I clamped my hands firmly on her shoulders.
“No.”
“I’m going with you.”
“No way. You stay here. It’s not negotiable, Kate. Keep the door locked and the curtains closed and the lights off. If you hear anything outside, call 911. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
“Shannon—”
“No,” I said again.
I left the room before she could stop me. With a few steps, I was out the door and back in the rain. In the parking lot, the downpour drowned out the rest of the night like white noise. I didn’t head to my car immediately. Instead, I stood there and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to go back in time, trying to stir the past from my brain. I’d been three years old. I’d heard something outside. As curious children do, I’d gotten out of bed and left the motel room to see what it was.
I pictured myself wandering to the end of the building, where the empty lot led to the trees. I’d seen it. I’d been there. It was inside my head, locked away, if only I could find the memory and set it free. Dawn came running from the trees, running right at me, screaming for help. Then the gunshot killed her and pitched her forward at my feet. Behind her, emerging from the woods like a monster, was the man with the gun, coming closer.
He was almost there. I could almost see him. Who was he? What did he look like?
I tried and tried to open up my mind, but he stayed in shadow. I didn’t remember.
All I could do now was talk to Gordon.
I climbed into my SUV and drove toward Benton Harbor. My windshield wipers whipped back and forth to clear away the rain. Behind me, the highway stayed dark, no headlights in my mirror. No one followed me. I parked near the water tower where I’d found Gordon the previous day, and I walked the last block toward the row homes on Britain Avenue. It was almost eleven o’clock, and most of the apartment dwellers were home, their cars parked outside. I made my way to Gordon’s unit and knocked on the door.
There was no answer, so I twisted the knob, which opened and let me inside. I kept my hand on my Glock.
“Gordon? It’s Shannon Wells.”
Again I got no answer, but a fresh cloud of cigarette smoke stung the air. There were no lights on, other than the glow of electronic panels on the appliances. When I entered the small living room, I saw a silhouette on the ratty sofa, and I lit him up with my phone. Gordon wore only tighty-whities, and he dangled a cigarette from two fingers. His face showed no surprise at seeing me. When I got close enough to shine the light in his eyes, he squinted, but I could tell from his reaction that he wasn’t high. He was just a sad, balding, middle-aged man, consumed by guilt. The ghost of his sister had chased him through the years.
“You flushed my pills,” he complained.
“Yeah.”
“Do you know how much they cost me? I can’t afford more.”
“Good.”
He swore at me, then turned to his other addiction by sucking on his cigarette and expelling smoke. I sat on the opposite end of the sofa.
“So you were the lookout,” I said. “That’s what you were hiding all this time. Dawn saw you at the Daughertys’.”
Gordon didn’t say anything; he didn’t deny it. He put his cigarette in an ashtray and inhaled sharply. Then, without warning, he slid to his hands and knees and vomited on the floor. His torso convulsed again, causing a second wave, then a third. Sick sweetness filled the room. When he was done, I helped him to his feet and guided him to the bathroom, in what felt like a replay of the previous day. He washed out his mouth and splashed water on his face. As he gripped both sides of the sink, his eyes flicked to a plastic razor next to a can of shaving cream.
“I need to use the toilet.”
I wagged a finger at his reflection in the mirror. “Nope. I’m not leaving you alone to lock the door and slit your wrists. I’m sick of you taking the coward’s way out, Gordon. You smoke. You get high. You’re probably bulimic, too. All because you blame yourself for Dawn’s death.”
He slid to the linoleum floor, his back against the bathtub. “I have a gun. Do you know how many times I’ve put it in my mouth?”
“So why not pull the trigger?”
“It’s like you said. I’m a coward.”
“Then tell me the truth. It’s time to come clean. Dawn deserves that.”
Gordon picked at his broken fingernails. Tears slipped from his bloodred eyes. “How did you find out I was there?”
“It doesn’t matter. Dawn told Lara. Lara told someone else.”
He bent over now, his chin propped on his knees. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse, aimed at the floor. “I didn’t know anyone was going to get killed. I swear I didn’t. They didn’t tell me anything. They gave me a walkie-talkie and an address, and that was all. I didn’t even know who lived there. They told me to park my car half a mile away, then walk to the address and stay out of sight. If I saw anyone coming, I was supposed to give a warning.”
“Who gave you the walkie-talkie?” I asked.
“Some guy from Chicago. I didn’t know him. I was supposed to meet my usual contact and pass along the monthly take, but this guy showed up instead.”
“So you went to the Daugherty house?”
“I didn’t know whose house it was. I didn’t know what was going to happen. But yeah, I did what he told me. It’s not like I had a choice. If I said no, he would have killed me and moved on to someone else.”
“What did you see?”
“About fifteen minutes after I got there, a car passed me on the road, heading toward the house. I couldn’t see what kind of car it was, or who was driving, or anything. I used the walkie-talkie to send an alert, but I didn’t get a response. The car went up to the gate, and the driver buzzed the microphone, but I couldn’t hear what he said. The gate opened, and the car drove in.”
“Then what?”
“I sat there like they told me. I watched the road, but nobody else came. A couple minutes later, real muffled, I heard what sounded like shots. Two deep booms, had to be a shotgun. That froze me up. Then more shots, same thing, maybe a minute later, and again not long after that. I was freaking out. I didn’t know whether to say something on the walkie-talkie, but I figured I better not. I just sat where I was. Right after that, I heard something in the woods behind me. I saw somebody climb over the estate wall and jump to the ground. She ran for the road. Ran right toward me.”
“It was Dawn,” I said.
Gordon eased back against the tub. His eyes sank closed. “Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“She saw me. I saw her. It was crazy. We just—we just stared at each other, like we couldn’t believe it. Neither one of us said a word. Then she ran down the road, and I headed into the woods to get away. That was it. In the morning, I found out about the murders, but Dawn and I didn’t talk about it. We pretended like we hadn’t seen each other. I mean, we hardly talked to each other again after that.”
I waited, watching Gordon’s breath grow erratic. “Until?”
“Until that last night.”
“She called you.”
“Yeah. I was at the hotel in Detroit. Dawn called me in a panic. She was whispering into the phone because she didn’t want to wake up our parents. She said someone was watching the house, someone in a car. She wanted to know who I’d told. Who knew she’d been there during the murders?”
“Who did you tell?”
Gordon shook his head fiercely. “Nobody! I didn’t tell anybody! I said she had to be wrong. Nobody was coming after her. Nobody knew she was there other than me. But she said she’d lost an earring when she was getting out of the house. She thought the killer had found it. She was sure he was looking for her.”
“Did she know who the killer was?”
“No.”
“What about you? Did you know?”
“I assumed it was the guy from Chicago. He’s the one that gave the orders.”
I thought: A stolen car. Illinois plates. But a local shooter. That was what Terry Blaine had told me. Not a guy from Chicago. Someone who could get Greg Daugherty to open the gate.
“Did you ever see this guy again?” I asked Gordon.
“No. He was long gone. I had no idea anyone was looking for Dawn.”
“But you never told the police. You never told your parents.”
He laughed sourly. “Yeah, sure. And get arrested for murder? I was there. That made me an accomplice. It didn’t matter that I didn’t actually do anything. I would have taken the fall anyway. Besides, you saw what the gang did to the Daughertys. And to Dawn. If I came forward, if I talked, they would have erased me. My parents, too.”
I couldn’t tell him he was wrong, because he wasn’t.
I sat down on the cold floor in front of him, my legs crossed. His tired eyes stared back at me, and I didn’t see any more lies in his face. I sighed with frustration, because we were so close.
There had to be something more. There had to be a clue that would point me to a man with a gun.
“If you didn’t tell anyone you saw Dawn, how did the killer know it was her? Even if he figured out that a girl was in the room with Zeke, it could have been anyone from the high school. How did he find her?”
“I don’t know. I have no idea.”
“Dawn and Zeke were keeping it a secret, right? She told you, but nobody else knew they were dating.”
On the floor, Gordon slowly stirred at those words. Nobody knew. Something angry awakened in his eyes. It was as if he were realizing for the first time that this wasn’t just about a Chicago killer coming to town. The evil of what had happened lay closer to home.
“No,” he said. “No, that’s not true.”
“What isn’t?”
“Somebody else did know about them. Somebody told me.”
“I thought you said Dawn told you.”
He shook his head. “Dawn admitted it when I talked to her, but I already knew.”
I scrambled to my feet, my heart beating faster. My reflection taunted me in the mirror, as if it were way ahead of me.
“Who told you?” I asked, but I could hear the name forming on his lips before he even said it.
“Rick Kaslan,” Gordon hissed. “Dawn’s math teacher. Kaslan saw them in a classroom together. Dawn was supposed to be tutoring Zeke, but they were making out instead. Rick told me about it.”
My mouth tightened into a thin, hard line. “Kaslan lied. He knew about Zeke and Dawn all along.”
“Yeah. He wanted me to get Dawn to break it off.”
“Break it off? Why?” Then I did a double take with surprise. “Wait a minute, how did you even know Kaslan? He told me you weren’t in any of his classes.”
Gordon’s face darkened. “I knew him because Kaslan was one of my biggest buyers. He was a pill popper. I sold him drugs all the time. When he saw Dawn and Zeke together, he freaked. The sister of his dealer dating the prosecutor’s son? That was trouble. Kaslan was terrified his secret would come out.”
THIRTY-THREE
Rick Kaslan. A first-year teacher. An addict.
The Chicago gang knew it had Kaslan under its thumb. If the word had gone out about his drug use, he would have been fired on the spot. No other school district would have hired him. He was staring into an abyss, his life and future in ruins. So the gang had all the leverage it needed to make Kaslan do whatever it wanted.
A local shooter.
Rick Kaslan.
The Daughertys knew him and trusted him. He was their son’s teacher. Greg Daugherty wouldn’t have hesitated to buzz him through the gate. He didn’t know that he would open the front door to a shotgun.
I left Gordon’s apartment and got back inside my SUV, my whole body cold with a wet mixture of rain, rage, and fear. Before I switched on the engine to head to Kaslan’s house, I reminded myself to stop and think. For several minutes I sat there utterly motionless, trying to clear my head, trying to make a plan about how best to confront him. What I had was supposition, theories, guesses, not evidence. I had no real proof of what he’d done.
All he had to do was deny it. You’re crazy. It wasn’t me.
And yet there had to be a trail, if not from twenty-six years ago, then from last month. That was the killer’s weakness, and we both knew it. That was why he was so desperate to stop me. Once we knew who to look for, we’d find him. He was clever, but he wasn’t invisible. Somewhere between Michigan and Florida, we’d be able to put Rick Kaslan on the road to two murders. Witnesses. Receipts. Highway cameras. He might not go down for the death of Dawn West, but I’d make sure he paid the price for what he did to Faith Selby.
I checked my watch. Two hours had passed since I left the motel. It was late, and I was tired, and Kate would be worried. There was nothing to do now. So I decided to leave Kaslan’s future until morning.
Then my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I don’t know why, but when it did, a sick sensation twisted my gut, like a foreboding of horror. Somehow I knew. I knew it was him. I grabbed my phone and saw that a text had arrived from a blocked number.
When I checked it, I saw a photograph.
It was a motel room. Then I looked more closely and realized: It was my motel room, taken from the door to the parking lot. I could see it all. The room had been torn apart, and everything was gone. My clothes. My laptop. All of my notes and records about the investigation, about Faith and Lara, about Devil Creek and Frankfort, about Angola and Jenny Curtis.
Worst of all, I could see a spray of blood spread out over the beige paint of the far wall like a constellation of red stars. A strangled cry of despair burst from my throat. Oh God, oh God. Kate.
A text message followed the photograph.
I have your sister.
My fists clenched. I squeezed my eyes shut, and my jaw tightened like a vise. He knew who she was. He knew who I was. He’d gotten the truth out of her. In response, my fingers stabbed desperately at the phone.
If you hurt her, I will kill you.
Even as I typed it, the threat felt hollow. He held all the cards in this game.
Come to me, Shannon. I’ll trade her life for yours.
That was a lie. If I went to him, Kate and I were both going to die. But what could I do? My twin shadow was inviting me to the denouement between us, and I couldn’t say no. Not when Kate’s life was at stake.
How do I know she’s still alive?
A few tense seconds passed. Then a new photograph arrived on my phone. My heart seized as I saw Kate, eyes wide with terror, dried blood making ribbons from her temple like worn-out desert creeks. Her mouth was gagged with duct tape and a motel towel. I didn’t recognize the background, but she was inside, her back propped against a wall.
The photograph proved nothing; she still might be dead. He might already have killed her. But I had to go to her.
The clock began to tick.
You have fifteen minutes. Call the police, and she dies right now.
Fifteen minutes. Smart. Keep me rushing. Keep me off balance. Don’t give me time to do anything but act.
Where are you?
When he replied, somehow I wasn’t surprised.
The Daugherty house.
Of course. That was where it had started; that was where it had to end. So I told him what he wanted to hear.
I’ll be there.
But two can play the lying game.
Yes, I was going to the Daugherty house, I was going to Kate, but I sure as hell wasn’t going alone. As I fired the engine of my SUV and screeched away from the curb, I called Chuck Kimble. Despite the time, the detective answered on the first ring, and he already knew something was wrong. I could hear it in his voice. “Shannon. What’s going on?”
My words spilled out of my mouth.
“The shooter’s at the Daugherty house. He’s expecting me there in fifteen minutes. I need you to meet me as backup. But just you. If he hears sirens, if he sees other cops, he’ll kill Kate.”
“Kate?”
I hesitated. “She’s my sister.”
There was a brief pause as Kimble digested this information.
“Okay, I’m on my way. Don’t go inside without me. But I can’t keep this between us, Shannon. You know that. I’ll put a few men in the woods to surround the place and cover our backs. The shooter won’t see them.”
I didn’t have time to protest. “Just keep them out of sight. I’ll see you in ten minutes.”
“Shannon, wait—do you have any idea who this man is?”
“I think it’s Rick Kaslan. The principal, Dawn’s math teacher. I talked to Gordon, and he used to sell Kaslan drugs back then. Kaslan was compromised. He knew the Daughertys, knew Zeke, knew Dawn and Zeke were involved. He checks all the boxes.”
