by Jenna Kernan
“Alive?”
“So far. He’s in bad shape. But holding on. His wife is with him.”
Nadine closed her eyes tight and let the tears come slipping down her temples from behind closed lids.
Her nurse appeared. She felt a burning at the crook of her arm and then the pain receded, drawing back to a place where it could not reach her.
After nine days, they removed Nadine’s nasogastric tube and catheter, and moved her to her own room. Demko was still in a drug-induced coma, but the swelling of his brain had abated. His nurse told her that he should be returning to the world of the living soon. She almost envied him.
He didn’t have to give statements and depositions. He didn’t have to be wheeled into Uncle Guy’s hospital room under heavy guard or formally identify his own uncle as the man who had shot him.
That was her afternoon agenda. Her poor healing intestines did not need her clenching the muscles of her stomach. But the anxiety of seeing her uncle built like two colliding tectonic plates. Eventually something inside her would break loose.
She now sat in her wheelchair, thanks to her nurse, who was excellent. He would not allow her to dress but had tucked a blanket around her legs, swaddling her like a newborn.
“All set?” asked Torrin from the doorway.
Nadine sighed, pushing away her uneaten lime Jell-O. How could anyone be ready for such a thing?
The FBI had confirmed that her uncle had murdered the real Gary Osterlund, allowing Guy to secure a job at an Orlando theme park in human resources, using Osterlund’s credentials. Six years after his sister’s conviction, he’d secured a position at Lowell Federal Corrections in payroll, where the siblings had hatched this scheme. His success securing employment from the city of Sarasota, two years back, initiated their plan.
Since then, he’d targeted Dun as a fall guy and recently created fake identification at work that he used to rent the van and the cabin. He had been writing Arleen, and the FBI had intercepted two letters and a postcard.
“Did you ever find Anthony Dun?”
“Yeah. We got him that night, staying with a friend from work. He’s under arrest, charges pending.”
That was good. She was glad they found him, and glad he wasn’t wrongly accused of her uncle’s crimes.
Torrin took her down the hallway. She and her uncle were floormates. But soon he would be changing locations. That, at least, gave her courage. This was only the first step. She had been down this road before. There would be a trial and she would have to testify against him, just as she had against Arleen.
The guilt she expected didn’t arrive. Instead, she felt a kind of satisfaction, knowing that she would be helping protect the world from the danger that ran in a wide streak through her family tree.
She caught sight of the nurses’ station. Her nurse, Ross, lifted his gaze and then his hand in greeting as she rolled by.
And there she was, at the door to her uncle’s room, identifiable by the police officer stationed outside.
Torrin guided her wheelchair past the officer and through the doorway. Inside, Special Agent Fukuda stood at the footrail of Guy Owen’s bed.
Nadine’s uncle sat propped up on pillows, a slight smile lifting the corners of his mouth. He looked as placid and harmless as a beloved grandfather. The perfect chameleon. The jurors would struggle to believe that this small docile man could do all the things they would charge him with. And the list was long. Torrin had told her that her uncle’s claims of bodies in his home were no exaggeration.
“Hello, Dee-Dee. How’s my girl?” asked her uncle.
Unlike him, she did not shield her expression. She had no reason to hide. So, she let him see it there in her eyes, the disgust.
“Is this the man who shot you?” asked Fukuda.
“Yes.”
“Do you have any doubt that this is the man?” he asked.
“I do not.”
“That’s all we need,” said Torrin from behind her, and began to roll her out of the room.
“Wait,” said Nadine.
Torrin paused.
Nadine held her uncle’s gaze as he lifted a brow in anticipation.
“Did you kill my father?”
Her uncle laughed, as if delighted, then recovered, still holding his smile, that smile of a man duping someone.
“I would never hurt your dad.”
“But you helped her move his body.”
“I helped her move two bodies.” He directed this comment to Torrin.
“Dennis Howler and Infinity Yanez?” asked Nadine.
He said nothing to this.
“Where are they?” asked Nadine.
Her uncle looked delighted. His eyes sparkled and his grin was as wide as a hyena’s.
“Oh, that’s the sort of information that might help me avoid that needle,” he said, referring to Florida’s current method of capital punishment.
Nadine had had enough of his smug, self-satisfied face, so much like her mother’s.
“Take me out,” she said.
Torrin rolled her from the room.
Her uncle called after her.
“Just inexperience, Dee-Dee! You’ll get better with practice.”
It wasn’t inexperience. If she had wanted to kill him, he’d be dead. But she didn’t endure any such craving. And that truth gave her hope. Hope for a future that did not include hiding for fear of discovery. The entire world now knew who she was, and she was surviving it.
Best of all, she was not like her mother or uncle. Nadine believed that now. Never had been and never would be.
Because of them, she had been given the chance to kill and turned it down.
So, not a killer. But was she brave enough to let others get close, see the terrible parts of her past?
Perhaps.
Nadine’s family tree grew monsters. That kind of legacy left scars.
Special Agent Torrin accompanied Nadine back to her room and waited while the nurse helped her transfer to the chair beside her bed.
“Thank you for the identification, Nadine.”
“Glad to help.”
He didn’t leave and his expression put Nadine on alert.
“Your profile was correct, Nadine. Nearly perfect, in fact.”
That gave her little satisfaction, because despite her efforts, her uncle had murdered six people. “He almost completed the series,” she said.
“But he didn’t.” That was true. “I’d like to show you something, if that’s all right. We found this in your uncle’s house. A yearbook. Your mother’s yearbook.”
Whatever it was, she was certain she did not want to see. But not knowing would be worse.
“Yes. All right.”
He drew the book from his bag and opened it to the pages containing senior photos. First, he pointed to the one identified as Arleen Howler.
“This and her homeroom photo are the only shots of your mother in the entire book.”
Nadine studied the black-and-white image, seeing the resemblance between her and her mom. But her mother’s hair looked to have been hacked with scissors and she had a wide-eyed, haunted expression.
Torrin offered a five-by-seven color photo, laying it on the open page.
“This is Gena Heilman. Gena was captain of the volleyball team and homecoming queen.”
Nadine studied the photo of the teen. Her head was tilted just so. She had a bright smile, perfect teeth and dimples. Her dark eyes sparkled, alive with mischief, accentuated by carefully applied liner. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders.
“According to the teachers and staff we interviewed, Gena was very popular.”
Nadine picked up on the vibe. “‘Was’?”
“She went missing senior year. I had my agents do some digging. Spoke to retired teachers and administrators and some of Gena’s friends. From that, we gleaned that your mother was involved with a boy, well, lots of boys, but one in particular. He ended up dating Gena. They were one of the most popul
ar couples. He was Gena’s date for prom.”
Torrin flipped to an image of a handsome boy. Someone had drawn a heart around his senior photo.
He’d either dumped her mother or used her.
“Is he…”
“He’s alive. Still resides up in Ocala. We’re sending someone to speak to him.”
Nadine’s skin stippled and she shifted on the plastic chair as she stared at the photograph of the girl who disappeared.
“Was Gena my mother’s first kill?”
“We have no evidence of that. But there’s this.” Torrin flipped to Gena’s senior photo. Someone had scratched out her eyes. Torrin turned to the homecoming page and there was Gena, standing beside the prom king, whose arm encircled her. Gena wore a long halter dress and her crown; she looked perfect except for one detail. Her eyes had been scratched away until the page had torn. In the sports section, Gena dove for a volleyball. Again, her eyes were scratched away.
“They’re all like this. All eleven photos.”
“It doesn’t mean she killed her.”
“It doesn’t. But we suspect that she did. This high school student, Heilman, matches your mother’s profile for female victims.”
“What happened?”
“She went missing after a party at a local drinking spot favored by teens. Police thought she could be a runaway. Apparently, her home life was not as ideal as her image.”
“Where was the party?”
“Hontoon Island State Park.”
Nadine’s stomach cramped. Torrin closed the book.
Hontoon Island. The place she, Arlo and her mom had so often visited. The place they had found Lacey Louder, the third victim in the series.
“Arleen has been uncooperative when questioned.”
Nadine set her teeth. She’d get her mother to cooperate. That much she was sure of.
“I’d be happy to help with questioning, Special Agent Torrin.”
“Thank you, Dr. Finch. I’m sorry to burden you with this now. But there are families who deserve closure.”
“Yes. Of course.” She thought of something else. “Can I ask you about Dr. Crean?”
“Sure.”
“Why didn’t she know that those two were in her kennels?”
“That second building isn’t used. She told me it was scheduled to be torn down this month.”
“So, she never checked it?”
“No reason. Dogs were all in the new kennel.”
“I see.”
“Gotta run. I’ll be in touch,” said Torrin as he tucked the book back in his bag and headed out the door. There he paused to glance back at her. “Nadine? I’ve asked our BAU to reach out to you. I have told them you’d be an asset.”
“Uh, I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be. You’ve got the education and the experience. But more important, you’re a natural.”
He left her, and she thought about what it might be like to work for the FBI. Gradually her mind turned to her uncle’s admission of moving bodies and her mother’s slip that she had killed a man who owed her money.
She sat back and wondered if she should tug this thread. Should she try to find her father’s remains, join the hunt for Gena Heilman or duck back into her shell? There was so much horror in her family. So much death.
Nadine’s phone chimed with an incoming call. She glanced at the screen, seeing the image of her aunt Donna, and collected the phone from the nightstand.
“Hello?”
“Nadine? Sweetheart, I just heard. I’m still in Dallas at the law conference. I’m flying out tomorrow. Stewart and the girls are picking me up in Orlando,” she said, speaking of her daughters and husband. “We’re coming straight there.”
Nadine’s lip quivered. She already had a family. Why hadn’t she ever let them in?
“You don’t need to.”
“Oh, honey, don’t be silly. When I heard, I booked the first flight. Why didn’t you call me?”
There was a pause.
“I’m sorry. I… it’s been a lot.”
“We’ll be there sometime tomorrow afternoon.”
Nadine squeezed her eyes shut as she realized she’d have to tell her aunt that there was a real possibility that her brother, Dennis, was dead.
“Thank you.”
“Oh, darling. Don’t thank me. We’d do anything for you.”
And they had tried. She had never let them, but that ended today.
“Aunt Donna? I need to tell you something.” Nadine let the words tumble out, what she learned, what she feared, what the FBI suspected about her father. Finally she wore herself down to a stop. “Are you still there?”
“Of course I’m here. The FBI already told me about Dennis. I’ve felt he was gone for a long time now, Nadine.”
“How can you even stand to look at me?”
“Oh, sweetheart! None of this is your fault. You hang in there. We’re coming.”
Nadine sniffed. “I can’t wait to see you all.”
Thirty-Six
Friend indeed
Nadine called Juliette on Friday morning to ask if she would pick her up and bring her to her place. Nadine could barely walk, but she had met the low bar required for discharge.
While she’d been in the hospital, August turned to September, which in Florida meant absolutely nothing. Fall felt like summer, but with less rain and more school buses.
“You have prescriptions?” Juliette asked, after Nadine was settled in her vehicle. Clearly, she knew the drill.
“Yup.”
They stopped at the pharmacy drive-through and they waited for what seemed a lifetime for the three prescriptions, each wrapped in their own white paper bag and stapled together.
“Listen, I swung by your house. The news teams are camped out there. You want to head to my place?”
“Juliette, I am so grateful.”
So, this was what it was like, to have a friend you could trust and one that had your back.
“And about the way I treated you, at the restaurant and at my house, I’m so sorry.”
“I know. I know. People like us have to be more careful than most folks. I get it.” She gave Nadine a generous smile.
“I don’t think I deserve you.”
Juliette offered Nadine a sympathetic pat on the forearm and a bottle of water to take her pills. “I used to feel that way. But I’m a good person. My job is off-putting to some, but I’m not my mother and you aren’t yours.”
“That’s true.”
“So, let’s start again. This time with some honesty,” said Juliette.
“I’d love that, really.”
“Okay, then.” Juliette set them in motion. “Did you hear about Osterlund’s… I mean your uncle’s house?”
“Yes. Some. Torrin said they had found many of the victims’ wedding rings in his bedroom.”
“I didn’t know that. I meant about the excavation.”
“Torrin said something about bodies and a pit.” She braced for what they might have found, remembering her uncle’s claims.
“In his guest room. It’s a mass grave. He kept his victims in there and buried them when he was done with them. Evidence is that he was still taking victims during this latest string of murders.”
“How?”
“Runaways, young ones judging from the skeletons.”
“Skeletons? How many?”
“Two dozen so far.”
Nadine dropped her head to say a prayer for his victims as Juliette rolled to a stop at the traffic light.
“We’ve got a team of forensic anthropologists down from the museum up in Tampa and have requested another team from Miami-Dade. It’ll take months to recover them all.”
Her family arrived on Friday afternoon and her aunt had chased the news teams off with threats of legal action. Nadine had not lifted a finger since they’d swarmed her cottage and felt grateful and relieved.
The call from Special Agent Torrin came the next day. The doctors planned t
o wake Clint Demko from his induced coma, and he thought Nadine should be there.
Apparently, the process was like turning on an intravenously delivered switch. Or it wasn’t. Nadine’s internet search told her that, after this procedure, some folks popped awake and others never did.
Protecting the brain was a dangerous business. Demko might have permanent impairment. The blow he took damaged the frontal lobe, which controlled movement, problem solving, thinking and personality. All qualities she was sure Clint Demko would wish to retain.
As she was not yet cleared to drive, Juliette agreed to get her there. She had managed to convince her family to take advantage of her absence to visit the botanical gardens, promising not to do anything strenuous until they returned.
She was walking now, but so slowly that she opted for the wheelchair at the hospital, and then Juliette helped her transfer to a seat at his bedside.
There were already two other visitors who introduced themselves as Demko’s sister and brother, Carlie and Danny. She remembered Demko telling her that Carlie, born Caroline Nix, was his sister and that they were adopted after his father’s murder. That made Danny the cousin.
Juliette left them to move the car and said she had some business at the hospital.
“I’ll be back soon, but text me if he wakes up.” She offered a wave.
Carlie looked like Demko, with similar deep blue eyes and hair slightly lighter blond than his. Danny didn’t resemble him. He was thinner, with a slighter build, a thick bushy black beard and light brown eyes. His nose was narrow and with no characteristic bump, like both Demko and Carlie. His cloudy eyes and the thick lenses in his glasses confirmed he was the one losing his sight.
“Doctor’s on his way,” said the nurse.
They passed in the entrance, causing the nurse to reverse course back to Demko’s bedside.
The neurologist explained that Demko had come off the respirator early this morning and the mask he now wore administered just oxygen. His doctors had halted the medications to sedate, and they were just waiting.
So, they waited. Not the neurologist, of course. He left almost immediately.
She took her pain pills at his bedside and chatted with Carlie. Danny had missed lunch, so after ninety minutes, he and Carlie headed down to the cafeteria, promising to bring her a cup of coffee.