Girl, 11

by Amy Suiter Clarke

  Terror grew white hot inside her. She couldn’t see Natalie’s face, but the little girl’s body was tense and trembling, and she had vomited into the snow.

  The poison. She was dying.

  The thought almost kicked the back out of Elle’s knees, but she forced herself to stay standing as Douglas finally turned to face her. He was transformed from the man she saw last week: granite face ruddy with effort, blue eyes free of lenses and glowing from the bright sunlight glaring off the snow. His balding head was covered by a black wool stocking cap. He was unsurprised, unmoved—panting from the lashes he had laid against Natalie’s skin. His brown leather belt lay in the snow next to his feet, coiled like a dead snake. He must not have been able to find a switch under such heavy snowfall. On his right cheek, drying blood shone sticky and thick around a fresh wound, suggesting he’d been grazed by a sharp object. She wondered if it had come from Natalie and felt a wild combination of pride and terror at the thought of the little girl fighting back against him.

  “Ah, Eleanor.”

  The sound of her old name on his lips made her tremble. He used to say it so often—sometimes like a curse, sometimes like a prayer. He called her by name every time he gave her an instruction, every time he punished her, every time she pleased him. He made her dread it as much as he made her long for it, all in just a few short days. She would never understand how.

  She was desperate to look at Ayaan or Sam, to figure out whether they had a plan, but she didn’t dare break eye contact with Douglas now that he was looking at her, his gun still snug against Natalie’s head.

  “Elle, I’m sorry,” Natalie wailed. “I tried to get away.” Elle resisted the urge to run to her. Natalie would only live if Elle was in control, if she did not make another mistake. She had made enough of them where TCK was concerned, enough for a lifetime.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart.” Her voice was shrill in the cold, country air. She swallowed, trying to steady herself. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “You’d be proud, Eleanor. She tried to kill me, just a few hours ago. Almost succeeded too,” Douglas said. “Uh-uh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He looked next to her at Sam, who was trying to inch closer.

  Elle put her arm out, stopping him. “Do not mess with him.”

  Ayaan spoke from a few feet behind them. “Douglas Stevens, you are under arrest for the kidnapping and murder of Amanda Jordan, as well as the kidnapping and aggravated assault of Natalie Hunter.” She used the same voice she always did, clear and precise. “Drop your weapon and come with us peacefully. We will not harm you.”

  While Douglas was looking at Ayaan, Sam broke into a run. Before Elle could even blink, Douglas lifted the gun away from Natalie, pointed it at Sam, and shot.

  “No!” Elle screamed, lunging forward, but Douglas had already returned the end of his pistol to Natalie’s head. She shrieked at the hot metal burning her flesh, her body contorting, and then she slumped over the tractor. Elle prayed she had gone unconscious. There was nothing she could do unless he dropped that gun. Elle chanced a look to her left. Sam was sprawled in the snow, some of the drifts soft enough to close around his body. He didn’t make a sound.

  When Elle looked back at Ayaan, the commander was standing resolute, pursing her lips with eyes wide and dry. They had missed the opportunity Sam had tried to give them—that brief second where Douglas’s gun was not directed at Natalie. It had passed so suddenly, shattering like an icicle on pavement.

  Elle faced Douglas again. She was a few feet closer to him now, close enough to see the hardness in his eyes. He was angry because this was not going to plan. Nothing, so far, had gone according to his plan. She could use that.

  “You stopped for all these years.” She shook her head as if in disbelief. “What made you lose the urge to kill? Did you finally meet a woman who you actually loved?”

  Douglas laughed. “You think that’s what this is about? That I was some isolated, involuntary celibate who could have been cured with a regular woman in my bed? Oh, Eleanor, I expected better of you by now. I have no trouble with women. They believe everything I tell them, including my dead wife. You remember her, don’t you? I told her you and Jessica were my nieces when she came home early one day and caught you scrubbing the floor.”

  The way he said “Jessica” brought a memory slicing through her consciousness like a hot knife. He said it the exact same way as he had twenty-one years ago. She sorted through the haze, trying to recall a woman catching her cleaning. She didn’t remember ever seeing her. She’d been so hungry and scared that, afterward, it felt like each memory of the place was a card in a deck, and someone had thrown it into the air and scattered them all.

  Then she remembered the bodies in the burnt cabin. “I know you killed her.”

  “My wife killed herself. I just cremated her in an unconventional way.”

  “She was shot.”

  “She knew what the consequences were for betraying me. In that way, she caused her own death.” He smiled. “Conveniently, her lover made an excellent body double.”

  Elle blinked, thinking of the two charred bodies, buried without names. She pictured Luisa, dumped in a lonely grave behind an abandoned house, her mother distraught and left with nothing but questions. Then there was the woman in Douglas’s basement, dosed with some kind of tranquilizer he must have had on hand for his kidnapped girls. Maybe it was the same drug he’d used on her, all those years ago, when she wouldn’t stop kicking the back of his seat as he drove her away from her life, from her childhood. How easily this man extinguished lives to find fulfillment in his own. He had probably been doing this for years: finding vulnerable women who looked up to him, who craved his approval, and slowly dismantling their lives until there was nothing left. Maybe that was how he was able to stop killing for so long—temporarily satisfied by the control he was able to exercise over them.

  A gust of wind kicked up, slapping the exposed skin on her face. Pushing through the ache in her shoulder, Elle raised her gun again, but only got it to a forty-five-degree angle before the stabbing pain became too much. She tried to take a step forward, but Douglas shook his head.

  “No, no. You stay just there.”

  “Why now?” she asked, doing as he said and planting her feet on the ground. Natalie was still limp and unmoving. Her body must have been half frozen; she was terribly still. Please, God. Don’t let her be dead. Not now. “You could have come for me anytime. Taken your revenge in a thousand ways. Why do this? Why resume the countdown after so much time has passed and people have basically forgotten about you?”

  The comment had the desired effect. Douglas’s jaw clenched and the arm holding his gun wavered. Then he laughed again. “Let’s not forget who you’re talking to here, Eleanor. The story of my work has made you famous. No one has forgotten about me.”

  She pushed her lower lip out and shrugged her shoulders. “Still, this isn’t your best work. I mean, you’ve only had Natalie a few days. You already screwed up with Amanda. How can they fulfill their purpose in the countdown if they don’t even do their full six days of work before they rest?”

  His face paled. She had been right; that verse in his house wasn’t a coincidence. It was his driving force. She looked at the end of his pistol pressed into Natalie’s head. He was only holding it with one hand, so if she knocked him off balance with her bullet, it might be enough to keep her from being hit. But Ayaan was a better shot, so if she hadn’t taken it, that meant it wasn’t worth the risk. Even if he died, his finger could still reflexively pull the trigger, and Natalie would be gone.

  She was going to have to make him come after her. If he turned his gun away from Natalie again, Ayaan would not miss a second chance. Elle put every ounce of fury and frustration from the last two decades into her voice when she said, “So, how does this end, then? You kill Natalie, out of sequence, because you fucked up and killed Amanda before you meant to? That’s sloppy, Douglas. You’ll never get what you need that
way.”

  “Is that so?” he asked.

  “The countdown is ruined. You’re not fulfilling some grand design; you’re just like any other old monster, caving to instinct and anger. All it took was some security camera footage and a nosy janitor to bring you down.”

  “Shut your mouth, stupid woman. You have no idea what you’re dealing with here.”

  She let out a single, harsh laugh at his words. Her desire to kill this sad, small man dissipated like car exhaust. Elle took another step toward him, daring him to move his gun away from Natalie’s head, to shoot her instead. Four more steps, and she’d be on him. In the distance, sirens wailed.

  “Make me shut my mouth, you pathetic old man. You don’t have control over me anymore. We caught you. Two women captured the brilliant, uncatchable Countdown Killer. You are finished, and I can’t wait to stand in front of a jury and tell them exactly who you are.”

  Douglas’s arm jerked, the tip of the gun moving off the back of Natalie’s head. Elle braced herself for the bullet she knew was coming her way.

  A shot rang out. Douglas froze, let out a gasping cough. The hairs on the back of Elle’s neck stood up as Ayaan stepped forward into her peripheral vision, handgun extended. Two more shots exploded, forming a perfect triangle of holes on his chest. He stumbled, staring down at himself in shock as the gun fell from his hand.

  Elle didn’t wait for him to fall. Unzipping her coat, she raced across the snowy ground. She dropped to her knees and fell across Natalie’s still body, covering her with whatever warmth she had left to give.

  45

  Justice Delayed podcast

  February 18, 2020

  Transcript: Season 5, Episode 11

  [THEME MUSIC + INTRO]

  Elle voice-over:

  I am an investigator. I am a survivor. I am a storyteller.

  This month, I have had to learn what to do when a chapter ends before I know how the next one will start. Over the past few weeks, I have released episodes detailing what happened in this case. I have told you about the two victims in the cabin, trying to give them back their identities after decades languishing in unmarked graves. I covered what we have been able to learn about Luisa Toca, how her ex-husband tried to convince her the man she was dating was a killer. We may never know why Luisa visited her boyfriend’s childhood home the day before she died or what made her text Leo a picture of it, but it was the last activity on either of their phones before they were killed.

  I have described what his newest girlfriend experienced after she heard Natalie screaming and came to investigate, finding the two of them in his basement dungeon. He drugged her and left her for dead, but like us, she survived. So many women have written in since we aired her episode about the abuse and controlling behavior she endured at his hand. They all tell a similar story: how TCK found them when they were at their most vulnerable, made them believe he was in love with them, and then dug his claws in—not letting go until their confidence was shredded. That episode also inspired his almost-fiancée, Loretta, to tell her story on the podcast last week. I remain incredibly grateful to these women for coming forward and reliving some of the worst moments in their lives.

  I have also shared what it was like in that final standoff, facing the man who destroyed so many lives. I have made sure you all know the names of the detectives who helped rescue Natalie. Without investigators accessing Leo’s files, we never would have known where to look for TCK. Without Sam Hyde finding Luisa Toca, we would have been too late to save Natalie. I’m glad to report he is out of the hospital and recovering well. And without Ayaan’s careful shooting, there is no doubt in my mind that both Natalie and I would be dead.

  But one thing I have not done, which several of you have asked about, is say the killer’s real name. And I never will. I will get to that in a minute.

  Over the past few weeks, I have been grateful for your notes of encouragement and support. I have been grateful that most of you have respected the privacy of my friend and her daughter, and the Jordan family, as they work their way through the trauma. I spoke to Sash yesterday, and she agreed to be recorded for this podcast.

  Sash:

  I just wanted to let everyone know that Natalie is doing well. This kid is stronger than I ever could have hoped, and she has taken to her physical and psychological therapy without complaint. I want to thank everyone for the money you raised so that I could take an extended leave of absence to be with her and pay the medical bills. And I understand you put together a funeral fund for Amanda Jordan’s family—that’s amazing. Elle, the community you created around this podcast is something special, and we are incredibly grateful.

  Elle:

  Does Natalie have anything she wanted to say?

  Sash:

  Yes, she recorded a message on my phone.

  Elle:

  Okay, go ahead.

  [SOUND BREAK: A click, then a shuffle as a recorder is set down.]

  Sash:

  Do you have anything you want Elle to play on her podcast?

  Natalie:

  Um, yeah. Don’t give him attention.

  Sash:

  What do you mean?

  Natalie:

  Just that he would want everyone to be talking about him, and I don’t think you should. He killed a bunch of people who never got to be famous for anything other than being dead. I don’t think he should get the attention because he did that to them.

  Elle voice-over:

  When I was investigating these kidnapping cases, we thought for a time that the person who had done this was copying TCK’s methods. We thought he was inspired to do so by this podcast. And while we now know that isn’t true, I realize that I have not been completely honest with myself here. I have strayed from my mission of focusing on the victims of crime and bringing them justice. I never intended to make another podcast that glorified the lives and minds of serial killers, but I can see now that in some ways, I did that with this case.

  That is why I have decided to take down this season of Justice Delayed. All the episodes covering TCK have been removed, but my back catalog will remain, and I will leave this final episode up so that new listeners will know why I’ve made this decision. I have to be honest, it hasn’t been a popular one with my podcast network or our advertisers, but—with all due respect to them—I don’t care.

  Natalie is right. The man we knew as the Countdown Killer wanted nothing more than to have every one of you looking into his background, holding up the terrible things we’ve uncovered about his childhood and jilted romance as some evidence for why he was the way he was. He wanted to control the narrative around himself. I’m sure he would have loved for you to dissect his every thought and motivation. So, I’m not going to give him what he wants, and I hope you won’t either.

  Don’t share every moment of his life on your blogs and Reddit posts. Don’t delve into the gruesome way he controlled and murdered girls, the unverifiable theories about what he may have done in the twenty years between his triad killings. Don’t give him the satisfaction of a legacy, even if it is the worst kind of legacy a person can have. Talk instead about the lives he stole, the futures of the women he wiped out before they could make a name for themselves on this planet. Talk about Amanda Jordan and the impact she had in her eleven short years. Focus on the girls whose lives he ended, not the pitiful life he used as a reason for doing so.

  Now that this season is officially concluded, I’ll be going on a brief hiatus as I look for a new case where I can focus on the people who are waiting for justice—the victims, their families, their loved ones. That’s what this podcast is all about, and yes, it will continue. I’ll keep searching for answers for people who have been forgotten and ignored. I’ll keep hunting the monsters that got away. And with your help, I will keep bringing them to justice.

  Acknowledgments

  Writing a novel is a solitary act, but bringing it into the world cannot be done alone.

  I’m beyond grateful
for my agent, Sharon Pelletier, whose brilliant editorial notes made this manuscript stronger. You are the best advocate and champion I could ask for—I’m glad you’re in my corner. Lauren Abramo, my indomitable foreign rights agent, worked with countless coagents and book scouts to make this book even more well-traveled than I am. Special thanks to Kemi Faderin for all you do. The whole team at DG&B is unrivalled in its awesomeness, really.

  The first time I talked on the phone with my editor, Jaime Levine, I knew she just got this book. The story would not be where it is now without your incisive feedback, your refusal to let me get away with weak character choices, and your deep understanding of what I was trying to say. Also, thank you for introducing me to the phrase “power donut” and knowing a remarkable amount about Darjeeling tea.

  The enthusiasm of everyone at HMH for this book has continued to blow me away. Helen Atsma provided early support, and Millicent Bennett and Deb Brody carried it on. Ana Deboo, copyeditor extraordinaire, caught a hundred tiny mistakes that would have kept me awake at night—bless you. Romanie Rout combed every word and punctuation mark with an eagle eye. The design team—Jessica Handelman, Mark Robinson, and Margaret Rosewitz—made this book look gorgeous inside and out. Johannes Wiebel provided a truly stunning illustration for the cover that made me gasp the first time I saw it. The marvelous production editor Laura Brady and editorial assistant Fariza Hawke offered invaluable help along the way. My publicist Marissa Page, marketing genius Liz Anderson, and everyone in sales have worked tirelessly to put it in the hands of readers all over the country. Thank you to each and every one of you.