M for Murder, page 27
The first year was understandably the worst. Her father suffered a heart attack as a direct result of what had happened to her, and her older sister gave up her job and moved back home to help with both his and Jennifer’s recovery. The second year was a little easier. They moved to a small fishing village in South Carolina where they could all make a fresh start. Her parents bought a restaurant in town and the four of them concentrated on building a new life together.
Following the move, Jennifer had decided she would reinvent herself. Her sister went with her and together they shopped for a new wardrobe: for clothes that were different to those she had worn before, that showed she was a new person. Then she went to the hairdressers and had her long brown hair cut shorter and lightened to blonde.
She started working part-time, waitressing for her parents in the restaurant on the days when she didn’t have therapy, and after eighteen months of working there she bumped into the one person from her past whom she had never quite forgotten.
Lawrie.
He recognised her instantly, despite the changes she’d made, and they got talking. About college, about what they were both up to and about what had happened to her. He had moved east to complete his teaching degree after graduating from Juniper and was living locally. He came to the restaurant every day that first week and it was on his fifth visit that he asked her out.
She was still pretty screwed up and at first it was difficult for her seeing a face from the one time she wanted to forget. Lawrie was persistent about wanting to see her again, and his concern for her seemed so genuine. She finally relented and agreed to go out with him.
Since the Boone incident she hadn’t dated at all. Now, with her image change and knowing that she could trust Lawrie, it seemed like the perfect time to restart.
The date was successful. They went to a seafront restaurant and ate clams, then walked along the beach and spent a lot of time talking. They got on well together and over the following months began to see each other on a regular basis.
Although he originated from California, Lawrie liked Juniper and had made it clear that one day he intended to move back there and get a teaching job. She had accepted his decision at the time, hoping he would change his mind, and not realising how hard she would fall for him. Another year passed and a teaching position came up. When the time came for him to leave, she didn’t want him to go and he surprised her by asking her to marry him.
It was a tough decision. She didn’t want to lose him, but she wasn’t sure if she could ever bring herself to move back to the place where she had nearly been murdered, especially knowing that Boone had never been caught. The only people who knew what had happened to her were her parents, her sister and Lawrie. If she went with him, she would have only him to rely on. At first he went alone and during those first few weeks that she realised just how much she missed him.
Her doctor told her she had made the right decision in staying. He said that she was still too traumatised by the incident and there were a lot of buried feelings that she had to learn to deal with. If she went back to Juniper it was possible she might have a nervous breakdown. She accepted the diagnosis and agreed to stay with her family, but then Lawrie came to visit her, and she knew that she couldn’t let him leave her again.
She told him how she felt and within three weeks they were married.
Jennifer Isaac had stopped existing the day she had decided to reinvent herself and start going by her middle name, Kylan. Now she had become Mrs Parker she was finally able to shake off the one piece of her past that still haunted her, her maiden name, Isaac.
Things had gone okay at first. It was scary returning to places that held such bad memories and she regularly suffered from nightmares in which Boone was coming to get her. She had Lawrie for support, though, and her records had been transferred to one of the therapy groups in the city. The sessions she attended helped and her new doctor gave her pills to help her sleep through the nightmares.
She convinced herself that she was safe. Eight years had passed. If the serial killer was still alive and looking for her, surely Juniper was the last place he would expect to find her.
Lawrie had his teaching job, back at the same college where she had been attacked. At first Kylan refused to go near the place, but with time she gradually grew more confident and eventually gave in to his wishes and went back to finish her college degree.
Living off campus made it easier. Stepping inside the dormitories was something she didn’t think she would ever be able to do again, but the day-to-day routine of attending her lectures helped and, if anything, made her learn to deal with what had happened. Of course, she was always more on guard than before. She avoided going places alone and often found herself glancing over her shoulder to check that she wasn’t being followed, but it helped knowing Lawrie was close by. If she ever needed someone to talk to he would be there for her.
Or so she thought.
It was the day in the grocery store when things had taken a turn for the worse, when she had first noticed the man watching her. Then, of course, she had seen him at her kitchen window. He had something to do with Rodney Boone. She knew it. Did he have spies out there looking for her? Keeping an eye on her, until he was ready to make his move?
She tried to ignore it, tell herself she was safe and that the whole situation had nothing to do with Boone. She needed Lawrie more than ever, but she didn’t dare talk to him. It was almost as though he was so preoccupied with his work that he no longer had time for her.
She had changed her name, her looks, her whole identity, but still she felt vulnerable. Now she wasn’t sure if she could even trust the man who had promised to look after her. Feeling desperately alone and scared of being attacked a second time, she wasn’t willing to take any chances. That was when she had packed her case and left.
Her sister, Tania, lived in Seattle; Kylan knew it was a place she could go and feel safe, to get away from the pressures that were building in her head. She needed to be alone for a while, to make some decisions about what was happening to her and to the people around her. Her plans to make things better were not working and she was terrified that if she wasn’t careful, Boone might be granted a second chance to kill her.
Figuring that if Lawrie really loved her, he would understand, she had caught a cab to the bus station and booked herself a ticket on the next Greyhound.
Now she was in Seattle, in Tania’s house. Her sister wasn’t home, so she had let herself in with the spare key kept in the barbecue, but she was feeling more alone than ever. In an attempt to obliterate her fears, she took the bottle of gin from the liquor cabinet and went upstairs, where she sat in her sister’s bedroom drinking it neat from the bottle, the curtains drawn shut to keep out the demons.
Eventually, too exhausted to think any more and too drunk to care she fell back on the bed and closed her eyes, hoping to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. Instead she dreamt of a faceless man who held a playing card out to her and when she took the card from him and studied it close, she realised that the joker in the picture had the smiling face of Rodney Boone.
38
San Palimo, California. Wednesday 7th May 1997
The old newspapers stacked high in the back room of the library showed Max that he and Boaz had a mammoth task on their hands.
Most libraries now had up-to-date computer equipment, but San Palimo was only a small town and not yet able to afford such luxuries. Agnes Barnes had explained that the library hadn’t been set up long and, due to a staff shortage, nobody had really had time to sort out any kind of filing system or date order for the papers. She had pointed a long finger towards the back of the room, telling them that was where they were likely to find most of the papers from the early sixties, and Max and Vic had gone to work.
They worked through the rest of the afternoon and into the early evening, then Max suggested they take a night shift each, so they could both get some sleep. He agreed to take the first shift and Boaz left at ten to book them a room at the motel across the street, arranging to come back at two to take over.
As Karen Harris had still been hanging around in the library after hours, Max suspected that Boaz wouldn’t actually use the room for sleep. He just hoped that the two of them wouldn’t leave the bed in too much of a mess and, of course, that Boaz wouldn’t forget to come and relieve him. Looking at his wristwatch, he saw that it wasn’t quite midnight and he cursed having over two hours to go. His eyes were sore, and his back ached from leaning over the papers. He stood up and stretched, trying to ease his aching muscles. What he wouldn’t give to be back home right now, his back rested against the plumped-up pillows, a large glass of scotch on the nightstand, and Rita in bed beside him.
When he was actually home, and that was seldom these days, the two of them liked to spend the evening in bed, either reading or watching re-runs of old TV shows on cable. He guessed the idea would seem boring to a lot of people, but to him it was heaven.
He knew he shouldn’t complain. Max loved his job and he would hate it if he ever got stuck behind a desk. Now the boys were grown-up, Rita had more spare time, and she sometimes flew out to meet him if he had a free weekend. But when he was stuck in a small-town library in the middle of the night, rummaging through old copies of newspapers, it was difficult to be appreciative of these things.
So far, he had gone through all the papers from April 1963 to mid-November. He hoped that Agnes Barnes was right about the year of Myron White’s death. It would be unlucky if they were wrong by one year. Glancing at the large pile of papers that he had already gone through, he hoped that wouldn’t turn out to be the case.
Max made himself as comfortable as possible on the floor and opened the yellow-stained front page of the San Palimo Press for the 21st November. The paper had closed its doors back in 1972 and was now a derelict building on the outskirts of town. Agnes Barnes had told him and Boaz that there had been plans for the last ten years to turn the old press building into an apartment block. As yet, nothing had been done.
He scanned the page before him and turned over, disturbing a thick film of dust on the page beneath. Sneezing loudly for about the twentieth time since he’d been in the room he swore at his dust allergy.
Well, look at you, old buddy. Twenty years with the Bureau and you find yourself shuffling papers in a dusty old library. Is life the pits or what?
He laughed to himself, thinking he should have cajoled Joel into coming down here instead. Had he known what the visit to San Palimo would entail, he would have given it his best shot.
Maybe he had been foolish in letting Boaz off so lightly. Instead of allowing the lazy officer the chance to go partying with some babe he’d picked up, he should have made him stay at the library all night and search through the papers while Max supervised.
Too late now, buddy. You’ve taken the job on, so you might as well get on with it.
He flicked over the next page and read the headline.
LOCAL PROFESSOR KILLED IN PRANK
He read the beginning of the story.
San Palimo Police were today questioning three local youths about the death of a San Palimo College Professor who was found hanged in his classroom. It is believed that Professor Myron White, who taught English at the college, was killed when a prank went wrong.
Max read the rest of the story. It went on to say that the police had not yet decided whether they would press charges and that White had left a wife and three young sons. No details were given of the children’s names. Quickly Max found the paper for November 22nd. He flicked through twice but was unable to find any further developments on the Myron White case.
The next story was on the 26th of the month and much longer than the previous article. He scanned through, looking for the names of the children.
A loud bang came from out in the library, throwing his concentration.
He jumped and looked up.
‘Hello? Who’s there?’
There was no answer.
Not wanting to leave the newspaper now he had found what he wanted, Max ripped the page out, folded it up and stuffed it in the front pocket of his jeans. Then he reached for his revolver. The library had closed at ten when Boaz had left and Agnes Barnes had locked the door, leaving Max inside with a set of keys. Logically, he knew that any disturbance would have to be caused either by one of the library assistants coming back (unlikely), or Boaz banging on the front door, having decided to come across early to help (even less likely). Whatever or whoever had caused the noise, he wasn’t prepared to take any chances.
He waited a second before gently easing down the handle of the door to the back room, listening for further sounds. Then, satisfied there was no one waiting on the other side, he stepped through into the room with the books and pulled the door shut.
The room was dark and not wanting to turn on the light he stepped carefully around the books so as not to make any unnecessary noise. The next door separated him from the main library. Back against the wall and his revolver ready, Max eased down the handle and pushed the door open.
There was no one there.
He considered calling out again, before he scared the shit out of one of the library assistants with the loaded gun. But he couldn’t take the risk.
Just in case.
The room was filled with high bookshelves, offering any intruder a hundred places to hide, but they were as much an advantage as a disadvantage. Whilst an intruder could hide from him, Max could hide from an intruder.
His revolver raised and ready, he crept around the bookshelves, keeping his footsteps quiet and his breathing as shallow as possible. At the end of each shelf he stood with his back against the books and cautiously peered around the corner to make sure the coast was clear before crossing into the open.
He saw no one and he heard no one.
It’s probably all a false alarm. Jeez, old man! You’re running around an empty library, waving your gun in the air. You look like a damn fool.
Feeling it probably was a false alarm, Max relaxed slightly. He loosened his grip on the revolver.
Then he saw the broken glass on the floor.
He was over on the left-hand side of the library, standing between the wall and an end bookshelf containing children’s titles. Looking up at the window he could see that the pane of glass had been completely smashed. It was only a small window, but just big enough for an intruder to climb through.
So much for imagining things. He’d been right about hearing a noise after all.
He took a step closer, wondering why someone would want to break into a library. Maybe to steal a copy of Moby Dick or The Catcher in the Rye. He laughed quietly to himself, not seeing the approaching shadow on the wall in front of him.
The wooden club smashed down, crunching hard against the back of his head and knocking him to the floor. Max rolled over just in time to get a glimpse of his attacker’s face, before the club smashed down again, hard against the side of his head, knocking him unconscious.
He was still unconscious five minutes later when the library, strong with the smell of gasoline, started to fill with smoke and flames began to tear through the newspapers in the small room out back, destroying the last remaining records of San Palimo’s history.
39
Juniper, Oregon. Thursday 8th May 1997
By the time Rebecca finally located Kylan Parker, she had just about managed to piece everything together.
Richard Lamb had been a great help at filling in the gaps when he’d come in the day before; she only wished he had decided to come to them earlier. She had listened to everything he had to say, shocked that people could be so callous. Then she had called Hickok and made Lamb repeat his story.
The private investigator had been hired by a woman called Barbara Hyde, whose only son, Marcus, had been Rodney Boone’s eighth victim. Marcus had spoken with his mother only hours before he was murdered, and she remembered how he had mentioned to her that he’d found an envelope stuffed into the door of his locker that contained a playing card of a joker. At the time they’d both found it strange, but neither of them had thought any more about it. After Marcus’ murder, Mrs Hyde became convinced that the playing card must have been some kind of calling card sent by the killer. When she learned about Scott Jagger’s murder, she was convinced that Boone had returned to his old hunting ground to finish his alphabet. Not trusting the police to catch him, she had asked Lamb to help her trap the killer, using the intended victims as bait.
She told the investigator that she suspected the new killer would send his victims the playing card once he had made his selection and asked Lamb to try to find out who had been chosen. The plan was to use the victim to lure Boone out of hiding, catching him when he attacked so Mrs Hyde could personally avenge her son’s death.
Lamb had researched the original killings thoroughly before undertaking the task, but it wasn’t long after arriving in Juniper that he got side-tracked by a pretty, blonde student called Kylan Parker. A little personal research of his own revealed that she was Jennifer Isaac, Boone’s one surviving victim.
When he told Mrs Hyde this information, she became convinced that Boone knew Kylan’s true identity and would go after her again, only this time as victim P. Although she still wanted Lamb to try and catch Boone through one of the earlier victims, Kylan Parker became her safety net and she believed that if all their other chances failed, they would definitely be able to catch the killer when he went for her.
Unfortunately, the whole plan fell apart when Kylan got spooked and left town. Lamb admitted that it was his fault, because he had spent most of his days following her around instead of concentrating on finding the killer’s other victims.
Rebecca had asked him if Barbara Hyde had been right about the killer’s calling card and whether he had known of any victims who had received a joker playing card.
