Becoming the Boogeyman, page 34
She didn’t say anything to that.
On the video, Gallagher, a wistful expression on his face, reminisced about beating me in a game of H-O-R-S-E.
“I asked the lab to retake his DNA.”
I looked at the lieutenant in surprise. “You did?”
“I must be getting senile in my old age.”
“The stories are true. I am the Darkness. I am the Boogeyman.”
“Holy Mother of Moses,” Carly whispered from behind us. “He’s batshit crazy.”
I slumped back on the sofa and closed my eyes—searching the distant corners of my mind for the missing puzzle piece.
A moment later, from deep within the darkness, I heard his taunting voice:
“Goodbye for now… Richie Rich.”
3
Lieutenant McClernan asked me to walk her to her car so we could talk in private. The press across the street was still humming with activity. Cameras flashed. Reporters shouted our names repeatedly until we were forced to sit inside her unmarked sedan to finish our conversation.
“I still feel like we missed something in his fan mail,” the lieutenant said, starting the engine and turning on the air conditioner. “That has to be how initial contact was made.”
A short time ago, the same pair of grumpy detectives had picked up the cartons of mail from our house and returned them to the station. According to the lieutenant, they were already back at it, once again combing their way through the stacks.
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” I said.
“I know you told me that nothing of importance was discussed… but what exactly did you and Gallagher talk about during those three unsupervised phone calls?”
I’d been waiting for that question since earlier this morning. “It’s kind of embarrassing.”
She made that tsking sound in her throat. “You’re already in enough hot water as it is. Don’t let that stop you.”
I cleared my throat. “At first, we just talked the way we always did. I told him how I was doing. He told me the same. And then I eased into the important stuff, or tried to, anyway. Where was he on this date or that date? Did he have anything to do with this missing person or that unidentified body? I thought he might open up more, knowing that he wasn’t being recorded.”
“And did he?”
“No. It didn’t seem to matter to him.”
I watched as a car cruised slowly by the house, blowing its horn at a couple of photographers who’d strayed too far into the street. The driver was Ken Klein. He turned onto Runnymede and swung into his driveway.
“About halfway through the second call, I started asking questions… about me.”
“What kind of questions?”
“That’s the embarrassing part.” I took a deep breath. “I asked when he’d first noticed me and what he’d thought. I’d known him for years. Gone to school with him, saw him at parties and at church and around the neighborhood.” I shrugged. “I guess I wanted to know if I’d always been marked somehow, or if it really was all about us playing basketball that day.”
“Did he answer you?”
“He said that I’d always reminded him of himself. I was quiet. I read a lot and kept to myself. I wasn’t much of a follower. But at the same time, I was also athletic and popular. He said my parents were always nice to him.”
“How did that make you feel?”
“Even more confused, to be honest. I’d been thinking about it for almost thirty-five years, and I felt no closer to getting an answer than I did back when I started.”
“So all of this… angst was because you felt like lightning had struck for a second time with Gallagher, and you didn’t know why, and it was eating you up inside.”
“I’ve always believed in destiny. I remember, back when Kara and I were dating, we were walking down by the water one night, and I told her that I felt like I was meant to do things that no one else had ever done. Good things. Maybe even great things. And because of that, people everywhere were going to know my name.” I looked at the lieutenant, half expecting her to be laughing. She wasn’t, so I went on.
“I know most kids probably think the same sort of thing and they’re just too smart to say it out loud… but the thing was, I really believed it. In fact, I never stopped, and I guess, in a way, it kind of came true.” I was starting to sweat despite the air-conditioning. I readjusted myself in the seat. “So, yeah, when it came to Gallagher and Metheny… I needed to know why. I needed to understand.”
“Understand what exactly?”
I thought about it, searching for the right words. “Why they were the way they were… and why I fell… so strongly into their orbit.”
“And now?”
I shook my head. Just once. “I’m done looking for answers where there are none.”
4
When I walked into the house, Carly was coming out of the guest suite wearing a bathing suit. It was a one-piece. Bright yellow and black with big fluffy fringes. She looked like a bumblebee. I stopped and stared at her in astonishment.
“Loud-and-proud Black prince. Really?”
“I was only speaking the facts, Richie Rich.”
I grabbed her arm. “Don’t call me that.”
Eyes wide, she said, “Hey, ow—that hurts.”
I immediately let go and backed away. “I’m sorry. I…”
“It’s fine,” she said.
“I didn’t mean to.”
“Then we’re even. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
I couldn’t believe I’d hurt her. I felt terrible.
“Get that look off your face, Rich. It’s fine. You just surprised me, is all.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You already said that.” She gazed into the family room. My iPad was still propped up on the ottoman. “That video… was intense. I don’t know how you did that.” She shook her head. “I know I couldn’t.”
“That was the last time.”
She looked at me. “For real?”
“For real.”
“Well, make sure you tell your wife that.” She walked past me and gave my shoulder a gentle punch. “It’ll be like an early Christmas present.”
5
TMZ✓ @TMZ 19m
In a scene straight out of “The Silence of the Lambs,” bestselling author Richard Chizmar visits childhood friend and confessed serial murderer Joshua Gallagher in prison to help police track down copycat killer before he claims fourth victim. FULL STORY BELOW.
6
The three of us spent the afternoon decompressing by the pool. Kara made a salad and cut up some watermelon. I cooked chicken and hamburgers on the grill. Billy took a short break from writing and came down to join us. While we ate, Carly entertained us with stories of her overseas adventures, including the first time she’d tried authentic Indian food. I won’t go into the sordid details, but suffice to say it involved an overflowing toilet on a crowded cross-country train ride. Billy almost peed his swimsuit laughing.
Normally, I would have been right there with him, but I wasn’t in the mood for silly stories. All I could think about was how I’d cost Sharon Ridgely her job at the penitentiary and how the media was going to go ballistic once they learned I’d bribed a prison guard for classified information. The whole thing sounded so scandalous—and let’s face it, it was. The press was going to eat me alive.
And then there was Joshua Gallagher—what was he going to think about what I’d done? Would he be angry? Amused? I honestly had no idea.
And finally, like an anvil strapped to the center of my back, there was the almost suffocating reality that I had yet to confess to Kara. She’d already commented earlier this afternoon about my lack of appetite. I’d led her to believe that my visit with Joshua Gallagher was weighing heavily on my mind—which just happened to be the truth.
Goodbye for now… Richie Rich.
But if only she knew the complete story—something I couldn’t put off telling her for much longer—there would be hell to pay. I dreaded with all my soul the inevitability of that conversation. I wasn’t entirely sure that my marriage would survive it.
After lunch, I slipped in my AirPods and found a raft to float on. I closed my eyes, and the warmth of the sun on my skin felt like a lover’s embrace. I dipped my hands in the cool water, wiggled my fingers, and tried to will myself to relax. So much had already happened today and it wasn’t even three o’clock. I just wanted to lie here and sleep for the rest of the week—or even longer.
I’m not sure how much time passed before I dozed off.
7
“Oh my God,” I said, staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. “I look like a fucking lobster.”
Kara peered over my shoulder—which was approximately the same bright red hue as volcanic lava—and tried not to laugh. “We have sunscreen, you know.”
“You told me not to get my bandage wet. I didn’t hear a word about sunscreen.” I turned away from the sink and carefully slipped on my pajama top. “Ow. Ow. Ow.”
“You want me to put on more aloe?”
“No. I just want to lay on my back in the dark and not move a—”
My cell phone buzzed on the nightstand.
I slowly made my way toward it, my arms held out in front of me like the mummy from the Abbott and Costello movie.
“Hello?”
“You okay?” It was Lieutenant McClernan. “Your voice sounds strange.”
“I fell asleep on a pool float this afternoon. I’m fried.”
“You should’ve worn sunscreen.”
Suddenly, everyone was an expert. “Yeah, well, I forgot.”
“What are you… twelve?”
I didn’t even bother to hide my annoyance. “Why are you calling me at ten o’clock at night?”
“I thought you would want to know that we’ve already located two individuals with leg issues similar to what Kara and Mrs. Albright described. Both wear inserts, according to insurance paperwork.”
“Who?” I looked at Kara and made a face.
“Your mailman, Daniel Kelly, and Scott Peacher, the guy who built your screened-in back porch. Don’t get too excited, though. Both of them have squeaky-clean records and detectives already spoke with them after Anne Riggs’s remains were found.”
My heart sank. I’d known Daniel and Scott for a couple of years now and they’d never been anything less than pleasant and polite. Another dead end. “So what happens now?”
“We’ll send someone out to talk to them again. And keep looking. See who else turns up.”
I thanked her for the update and ended the call. After relaying the news to Kara, I turned off the lights and eased myself onto the bed. The sheet was pleasingly cool on my back, which did little to offset the fact that the skin on my stomach and chest felt like it was on fire. I closed my eyes and imagined that I could feel blisters forming on the top of my feet. Telling Carly that she was right about the shoe insert—an admission I was certain would result in another “Who’s the ace investigator now?!”—would just have to wait until tomorrow.
8
THE BOOGEYMAN LIVES MESSAGE BOARD
(June 19, 2022)
Thread: Suspects
Started: June 19, 2022
Page 3 of 44
Jennifer Tuttle
My stepfather knows someone in the Bel Air Police Dept. He told him today that there are two main suspects. One’s a teacher. The other one’s some kind of artist from the city. The cops are staking out both of their houses and jobs.
TEDlasso
The butler did it. hahahahahahaha
bonnieDarkness
what if it was chizmar’s wife all this time? Could u imagine???
Leesa Hyde
I can’t even imagine being married to him. Poor woman!
9
The three of us were eating breakfast at the island in the kitchen when I told Carly about Lieutenant McClernan’s phone call.
Yesterday’s visit with Joshua Gallagher was the lead story on Channel 11’s morning broadcast. There was even video of Lieutenant McClernan and me walking across the tarmac to her car. To make matters worse, true crime mega-celeb Nancy Grace had announced on her show the night before that she believed Gallagher and I were working together to withhold crucial information from the authorities—“In my heart of hearts, I think they’re both complicit,” she’d spouted with that snooty, head-tilted-to-the-side look of hers—and overnight the clip had gone viral, and then some. A pinned post this morning on the Boogeyman Lives message board read: “GALLAGHER AND CHIZMAR: Partners In Crime???”
It was due to this particularly egregious assault upon my integrity—at least this was my theory—that Carly didn’t gloat when I told her what McClernan had said. In fact, she was downright gracious about the whole thing. Completely unlike her. After giving Kara a high five over a platter of bacon, she’d merely added, “My Walter comes through again”—and then she never mentioned another word about it.
Kara and I were loading the dishwasher when the dogs began barking in the backyard. A moment later, we heard the clank of the gate being opened and closed, and then Lieutenant McClernan was standing at the breezeway door.
I waved her inside.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, stepping into the mudroom.
“Want some breakfast?” Kara asked. “There are leftovers still warm on the counter.”
“Thanks, I grabbed something at the station.” She looked at me—and I could tell by the expression on her face that she was excited about something. Unlike Carly—who’d taken to calling me Mr. Tomatohead all morning—she didn’t even mention my sunburn.
“Rich, do you know a woman named Alicia Fetterman? She sometimes goes by Alice.”
I thought about it. “The name sounds familiar.”
“She’s from Edgewood. Six or seven years younger than you.”
“If it’s the same person I’m thinking of, her family used to live on Bayberry. Her brother… John or Jake maybe… was a few years behind me. I remember he had a little sister.”
“That’s her.”
“Why?”
“Alicia Fetterman is your mailman’s girlfriend. She and Daniel Kelly live together in a house in Edgewood that Alicia rents under her name. Do you want to guess where?”
She was talking so fast I was struggling to keep up. “Where?”
“920 Hanson Road.”
I dropped the dish towel I was holding.
My old house.
“Holy shit. You’re kidding me.”
“Nope. And Daniel Kelly might not have a record, but Alicia Fetterman sure does. She lost custody of her kids fifteen years ago, and it’s been a steady downhill slide ever since.”
“Wait a minute… you think Alicia’s the copycat killer?”
“We think she and Daniel may be working together. And before you go stomping your feet and hollering about how you were the one who first brought up the possibility of two people working in tandem—yes, I remember.”
“And?” I said, unable to stop the shit-eating grin from taking over my face.
The lieutenant sighed. “And I’m sorry I called you Joe Hardy.”
10
As soon as Lieutenant McClernan left, I grabbed my iPad from the family room and did a social media search for Daniel Kelly and Alicia Fetterman.
Alicia came up blank, but Daniel had a Facebook page. From what we could gather—by this time, Kara and Carly had joined me on the sofa—Daniel Kelly was quite the bowling enthusiast, twice divorced, and until two or three years ago, lived with his parents in Abingdon. Mindhunter was his favorite television show, Van Halen (with Sammy Hagar at the mic) his go-to band, and when he wasn’t binge-watching The Lord of the Rings or Star Wars movies, he was rooting for the Philadelphia Phillies. There were numerous photographs of him wearing his mailman uniform and even more dressed in a black-and-white bowling shirt with a red lightning bolt stitched across the front of it. We only found one photo of him and Alicia together. They were eating steamed crabs and corn on the cob at a picnic table by the water. They made an unlikely couple. Daniel Kelly was tall and athletic looking with a gentle-featured, thoughtful face. He could’ve passed for a high school guidance counselor. Alicia Fetterman appeared much older and worn down by the world. Her round eyes were a startling deep blue and didn’t match the rest of her face, which was as long and lean as a butter knife. Neither of them was smiling in the picture.
Drawn by the sound of our excited voices, Billy came downstairs, JJ trotting at his side, and quickly took over control of the iPad. I watched in amazement as he tapped away on the screen and within minutes was able to access Alicia Fetterman’s arrest record from a public website.
Driving while intoxicated, driving without a license, possession of a controlled dangerous substance, breaking and entering, petty theft, felony theft, threat of bodily harm, assault and battery, trespassing, vandalism, solicitation, possession of stolen property, passing bad checks.
Almost all of them multiple offenses.
At a glance, Alicia Fetterman appeared to be Edgewood’s own version of Bonnie Parker—or even worse. There was little doubt that the woman was bad news.
A short time later, the mood in the room dramatically shifted when a giggling Billy almost gave me a heart attack by pretending to send Daniel Kelly a friend request from my Facebook account. Exasperated, I chased him off the sofa and into the living room. He scooted around the coffee table, grabbed a steel poker from the fireplace, and attempted to fend me off. I quickly wrestled it out of his hands and whacked him on his backside with the handle. He collapsed to the floor in faux pain, and the dogs immediately mobbed him, smothering his face in sloppy kisses.
The more Billy laughed, the more frenzied their affection became, the dogs pinning him to the floor, tails wagging in tight little circles. And then we were all laughing and it felt like we couldn’t stop—and as I stood there watching, it occurred to me what we were experiencing.
