“Protect? Of course. I understand. You and Ruth must be horribly guilt ridden by what you did to that poor boy. But in assisting him in such a manner, you may have caused more harm than good.”
“It was only Adderall,” Ruth blurts out.
The pastor shakes her head. “But it was an illegal attempt to purchase a drug, was it not?”
Ruth doesn’t answer.
“Anyway, I think we can all agree, we don’t want Adam to go to jail. When I think of all he’s been through . . .” She pauses and wipes her eyes. “The years he shouldered all the blame for Hunter’s death. No wonder the poor man’s a mess. I’d like to find a way to help him, if only for Ember’s sake. I owe it to the poor girl.” The pastor leans back and strokes her cross.
“So, what do you want from us?” I ask, feeling boxed in every which way.
“Haven’t I made myself clear? I want you to keep my secret so I can continue with my life’s work.” She pauses. “Don’t make a face. I don’t plan to stay here much longer. In fact, I will be giving my notice next week.”
That’s a surprise. “Where will you go?” I ask.
“I’ll be doing missionary work in the slums of Mumbai, where there are thousands of poor souls that could benefit from my work.”
I fold my arms tight against my chest. “Anything else you want from us?”
She nods. “You’re not to reveal anything about the members of the Goodnight Club. They’ve done nothing wrong, and they deserve their privacy.”
I glance at Ruth, who sits stone faced. I can’t get a read on her feelings. Is she pissed? Scared? Deliberating? “Is that it?” I ask.
“One more thing. I’d like your help in exposing the serial killer. I can’t leave here with a clear conscience if this monster isn’t stopped.”
“You think it’s a him?”
“Yes. I do. But the gender doesn’t matter. At heart, he’s a sadistic murderer, pure and simple. I’m sure he killed Nurse Milo and possibly Simon Appleton, and then there are the poor destitutes.” She pauses to wipe her eyes. “Now, then. Will you agree to my demands?”
“I don’t know.” I glance at Ruth. “We need to discuss this in private.”
“I’ll give you until tomorrow afternoon.”
“Before?”
“Before I set events in motion that will forever ruin your lives.”
“I don’t like threats.”
“It’s not a threat. It’s reality.”
Ruth interrupts. “Wait a moment. I have a question.” She sets her hands on the desk and leans forward. “Do you have any idea who this killer could be? Even the slightest guess?”
The pastor nods. “I do.”
“Tell us.”
She taps her fingers on her desk. “The thing is, I have no real proof, just a lot of circumstantial evidence that points to one man . . . Kai. Gilchrist.”
“Kai?”
“Yes.” The pastor takes a moment to drain her coffee. She then pulls a tissue from her drawer and dabs at her lips before continuing. “For one, there’s the financial motive. The man has been supporting his expensive lifestyle by accumulating a mountain of ruinous debt. But there’s more. He reeks of evil. I honestly believe he’s the devil incarnate. A bloodthirsty beast.”
I picture Kai’s face, his behavior, his demeanor. “Kai? Evil? I’m not sure I agree.” Although I can’t help but recall the knife he waved in my face.
“Well, I do.” Ruth says. “I think it makes sense.”
The pastor grins. “It does. He’s the missing piece to the puzzle, but we’ll need to find evidence, of course.”
“So if we help you,” I say, not wanting to reveal my thoughts, “how will you help us?”
“Well . . . your secret will be safe. Ember’s assistance won’t be exposed. I’ll find a way to divert attention from Adam, which should be easy to do once Kai’s malicious actions are brought to light. And to add icing to the cake, I’ll counsel Adam to forgive both his mother and mentor, and I’ll suggest he keep Ember in his life.”
Once again the room goes quiet, and I hear the ticking of the clock. I glance at Ruth. She’s staring at me with a question in her eyes. I nod quickly and return my gaze to Pastor Sam.
“All right. Give us twenty-four hours.”
“And you won’t say anything in the meantime.”
“We won’t.”
“Then swear on the Bible.” She pushes the leather-bound book in our direction.
“That’s a Bible?” I ask, eyeing the thin volume.
“It’s my Bible, yes.”
I shrug, and we place our hands on the cold leather and proceed to give her our word.
Ruth and I leave the chapel and enter the gates of the adjacent herb garden. Shadows fall across the lawn; the scent of wisteria blooms. I’m due at work in fifteen minutes, and I’m tired and feeling sick. Ruth, on the other hand, looks energetic. She’s ready to put up a fight.
“I knew it,” she says, pacing back and forth like a trapped cat. “I knew there was something wrong with Kai.”
“I’m not so sure. We should be careful not to jump to conclusions.”
She stops in her tracks and eyes me in disbelief. “I’m not jumping to conclusions. I’m agreeing with Pastor Sam. And she’s right. It’s the only scenario that makes sense.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“What don’t you know?”
I work to clear away the fog. “It’s just that . . . Kai doesn’t seem to fit the mold of a serial killer.”
“How would you know?”
“I studied them back in the day. I mean, I agree he’s a liar. And a backstabber. And a lowlife sneak. But a killer? No. I don’t think he has it in him. He’s way too much of a wimp.”
“A wimp?” She places her hands on her hips. “And wimps don’t kill? Is that a scientific fact?”
“No . . . but . . .” I think about the night Kai brandished his knife. About his Kali classes and his venture into martial arts. Is it possible he wasn’t just dabbling? Is it possible I’ve been played? “I probably should’ve mentioned this before.” I tell Ruth about my encounter with Kai and his slice-and-dice karambit. Her face screws up in anger.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she screeches, rousting a flock of starlings.
“Tell you what? That some idiot millennial has a hard-on for a prepper’s workout class?”
“Workout class? Are you kidding me? He flashed a knife at work.”
“He didn’t flash it.”
“No? Then what the hell did he do?”
Well, he did flash it. But not in the way she thinks. How can I explain? Especially to a by-the-book stickler like Ruth. “Maybe it’s something. Maybe it’s not.”
“Well, I think it’s something, and obviously the pastor does too.” Ruth nervously taps her Fitbit. “If we can prove he killed Milo and the others, wouldn’t that clear Adam’s name?”
“Of course, but . . .”
“But nothing. We need to take our theory to Detective Ruiz. He can arrest Kai, and this whole mess will be over.”
Now it’s Ruth who’s not thinking straight. “You heard what the pastor said. We go to Javier now, we’ll have to tell him everything. That includes what we know about the Goodnight Club and the Post-it Notes. And if we spew, the pastor will out us. We could end up in even more trouble than we are in now.”
Her eyes narrow. “Then what do you suggest?”
“Well . . . as far as I can tell, we’re in a catch-22. Damned if we do and damned if we don’t.”
“So do nothing?”
“Of course not.”
“Then what?”
“We need to gather more evidence before approaching Javier. Something that firmly incriminates Kai.”
Ruth nods. “All right. I can’t argue with that. How? When?”
I think for a moment. “What if I talk to Kate again? Maybe she knows more than she told me the first time around. And you can work on Ember.”
“Agreed. But I
have another idea. What if you also have a look around Kai’s office? Search for that knife. He might’ve used it to kill Milo.”
“I don’t believe Milo’s wound came from a karambit knife.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because of the way it’s curved—it’s better for slashing, not stabbing.”
“Maybe he used another kind of knife.”
“If he did, I doubt he’d be stupid enough to leave it in his office.”
“He was stupid enough to show one to you.”
“Another reason I doubt he’s the perp.”
Ruth shakes her head in frustration. “So look for something else. Hard evidence. Notes. Or an incriminating email.”
I eye her like she’s crazy. “You understand you’re asking me to break into his office?”
“No, I’m asking you to investigate a noise.”
“A noise?”
“Isn’t that what security guards do?”
“That’s breaking and entering, Ruth. We—I—could get in a shitload of trouble.”
Ruth begins to pace again, arms folded, back straight. “So you’re worried about yourself? Not Adam?”
“Of course I’m worried about Adam. I just don’t know if I’m ready to break the law.”
“Well, it sounds to me like you only give a damn about yourself.”
“I’m just asking you to slow down. Think clearly.”
Her voice goes shrill. “Do what?” She stops pacing and moves close enough to poke a finger in my chest. “You’re the one that spent all those years moaning about what we did wrong. What we should’ve said. And you know what? You were right. We should’ve copped to the truth the day Hunter died. And now? Now that we have a chance to help my son, you want me to think clearly. Clearly? To slow down? Don’t ask you to do anything illegal? Well fuck that. Yes. I said it. Fuck that. I’m going to help my son, and you’re going to help me to help him. We are going to clear Adam of any suspicion. And you . . .” She jabs her finger hard for full effect. “You are going to stop worrying about doing something wrong.” She jabs again. “You are going to investigate Kai, starting tonight.” She stakes a step back, breathing hard. “Now I’m going home. I need some food and to sleep. I’ll expect a report from you first thing in the morning.”
“You understand if we go that route, we’ll have to tell Javier everything we know.”
“So?”
“Including what you knew about the pink slips. And why you never spoke up.”
Ruth takes a deep breath and exhales as if clearing the past from her lungs. “I don’t care what happens to me. I just want to help Adam. Understand?” She turns and marches off, head held high.
I watch for a moment before sagging onto a nearby bench. I’m exhausted. Completely beat. But I’m a long twelve hours from climbing into my bed. What I need is a strong cup of coffee. Maybe two. Because deep down, I know Ruth is right. She might’ve been the one to tell the first lie, but I got Adam into this mess. I have to get him out.
Two
Wednesday, October 2
“Evening, Kate.”
“Evening.”
It’s past midnight when I find Kate resting on the veranda in her lounge chair. She’s dressed in all black tonight, her hair pulled back in a bun. A candle flickers in the darkness, sending up a sweet, musky scent.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” she says. “Have a drink?” Her face is paler than usual, her eyes rimmed in red.
I settle beside her with a thud. “Not tonight.” I need to keep my head clear. Ask the right questions. See if I can glean enough information to help clear up this self-made mess.
“Please?” she says in a small voice. “For me? Consider this my husband’s wake?” She downs half her drink, the ice clinking hard against the glass.
“You’re shaking,” I say. “Are you cold?”
She sighs. “Not cold. Depressed, I suppose. It’s been quite a day.”
“I bet.” I reconsider and pour myself a stiff one, thinking I’ll only take a sip. “I’m sorry about Gordon . . .”
“It was time. Still . . .”
“You regret how it happened?”
“Not in the least.”
“You don’t feel guilty?”
“Why would I?”
“Your Angel was involved, right?”
She hesitates for the longest time before answering. “Right.”
“I thought so.”
“It was time. You saw Gordon. He was in horrible pain. I just couldn’t bear it anymore.”
I nod. “I’m not here to judge you. I just want to ask you a few questions.”
“About . . . ?”
“The process.”
“Why?”
“I have my reasons.”
She eyes me warily. “You’re not going to have me arrested, are you?”
“Of course not.”
“Then fire away.”
I wet my mouth with a few drops of whiskey. “Were you here when the Angel came?”
She shakes her head. “I was in my room. That was our agreement. The Angel tapped on the door when he or she was done. I waited five minutes and then . . . well, by then Gordon was gone.” She sighs. “I hope you don’t mind the scent. I lit the candle in Gordon’s honor. It reminds me of the cologne he wore when we first met. It was at a party in the Hamptons; I was living in New York. That was the first time I laid eyes on Gordon, and I knew he was the one. He was by far the handsomest man in that room that night, and the nicest one for sure.”
“Love at first sight?”
“Corny, I know, but true. Our relationship started off a little rocky, but it quickly smoothed out. I can’t believe our life together is over. That I’ll never see him again.” She makes a choking sound, which might be the closest she gets to crying. I reach out and take her hand.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She grasps my hand tight before releasing to finish off her drink. “I have a lot to be thankful for, and I’m going to focus on that. Once his boys arrive, my peace and quiet will be gone.” She holds out her drink, and I fill it up without her asking, the amber liquid splashing back and forth. “They never liked me, you know. The boys, I mean. They believe I stole Gordon from their mother.”
“Did you?”
“Steal him? Well, yes, in a way I suppose I did. Their marriage was over by the time I met Gordon. They were living like brother and sister. A brother and sister who didn’t get along. And then, well, something terrible happened. Once we made it through that, Gordon left his wife for good. We were married the following year.” She sighs. “You don’t find men like Gordon anymore, present company excepted.”
I down half my drink, enjoying the warm sensation. “I wouldn’t compare myself to your husband. I haven’t been so honorable. I’m not that good of a man.”
“Oh, but you are. You must know that.”
“I’ve made a lot of mistakes.”
“So have I.”
“Like?”
“Well to start with, in society’s eyes, I’m an accomplice to murder.”
And I’m an accomplice in my son’s death. I think on those words for a moment, and then I drain my whiskey and set my feet on the ground. My knee is throbbing like a bitch tonight. I give it a rub and eye Kate. “Back to the subject at hand. What can you tell me about Pastor Sam’s involvement with the Goodnight Club?”
“Pastor Sam?”
“Yes. My understanding is that she’s the Angel’s ambassador. That she acts as some sort of go-between, delivering Post-it Notes to her master. That sort of thing.”
“Her master? That’s an interesting choice of words.”
“Why?”
She finishes off her drink and sets it down with a clank. “Where did you get this information?”
“It doesn’t matter. Let’s just assume I’m right.”
“Hmm. If so, then I’ve been wrong all along.”
“What do you mean?”
“I had come to believe the pastor was the Angel.”
The pastor? I think back on our conversation. Could she have been telling a pack of lies? “Why’d you think that?”
“Through the process of elimination. The Angel had to be knowledgeable about the campus, with the ability to secure and dispense the appropriate drugs. At first I thought it might be someone on the medical staff. I had my eye on a nurse or two. Early on, Nurse Milo came to mind. But it also needed to be a compassionate person. I swiftly ruled him out.”
“So you believe the Angel’s motives are good ones?”
“Absolutely. Why else would she put herself in jeopardy to help us if her motives weren’t pure? It’s not like she was paid to take on the risk. She only asked that we reveal a precious secret, and all of us were willing to give her a peek into our pasts for the promise of a peaceful end. I’m sure you realize if she’s ever caught, she’ll spend the rest of her life in jail.”
I nod. “So you never spoke to, or met, the Angel.”
“I repeat. No. It was safer that way. The first time a club member ever laid eyes on the Angel was the night of their crossing.”
I think about that for a moment. “But how would the member identify the Angel if they had no idea who it was?”
“What do you mean?”
“How would they know who would show up at their door?”
“Um . . . well. I guess we never thought about that.”
“How about this ambassador? Did she attend the crossings?”
“Not that I know of. Why? Is there a problem?”
“What about the night Gordon died? Did you see anyone?”
“Outside of the pastor earlier in the evening, no. No one. Why are you asking?”
I consider how much information to share. “There seems to be a problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
“You know that Nurse Milo was murdered.”
She swats at a mosquito. “Of course. That’s old news.”
“Well . . . the same person may be responsible for the deaths of several destitutes.”
“Deaths? You mean murders?”
“Yes.”
“Are you talking about a potential serial killer?”
“I am.”
She raises her hand to her throat, her eyes growing wide. “Who told you this?” she asks in a voice just above a whisper.
What She Never Said Page 23