Into my neck Evan said, “Leave it.” And I did, but as I nuzzled his ear and grabbed at his butt, my mind was busy. Was it the Campsite Killer? The police? Did Julia call? Evan stopped kissing my collarbone and rested on me for a moment. I could feel his heart beating fast. He leaned up on his elbows and gave me a slow kiss, then said, “Go see who called.” I made denial noises. He gave me a look as he sat up and reached for his pants. “I know it’s killing you.”
I gave him a sheepish smile, then dashed to the kitchen.
It was just Lauren, calling to chat about the boys, but for the rest of the weekend we both jumped every time the phone rang. Evan left Monday morning, but not until he lectured me on safety again. That afternoon I got a call from a private number. My body tense, I waited until it went to voice mail. Staff Sergeant Dubois wanted me to call back as soon as possible.
* * *
Staff Sergeant Mark Dubois turned out to be extremely tall—at least six-foot-four—and genial, despite his intimidating height and deep voice.
“Hi, Sara. Thanks for coming in.” He sat behind an enormous L-shaped desk and waved me into the seat in front. “Have you received any more strange calls?”
I shook my head. “But I saw my birth mother on Friday and she said the earrings the Campsite Killer took were pearls. They were a grad gift from her mother.”
The sergeant said, “Hmm…,” then clicked his tongue against his teeth. “We’d like to interview you, but this time we’re going to audio- and videotape it. Is that all right?”
“I guess.”
The sergeant led me down the hallway and into another room. This one was friendlier, with an overstuffed sofa, a lamp, and a painting of a seascape on the wall. There was also a camera in the upper corner. I settled at one end of the couch and the sergeant sat at the other, throwing a long arm up to rest on the back.
The questions were basically the same as the policewoman asked on Friday, but his tone was pleasant—conversational—and I opened up more. I even told him about my last visit with Julia and her emotional reaction.
“Good job, Sara,” he said with a smile after I was done. “This is going to be a big help to us.” His face turned serious. “But I’m afraid we need to tap your phone and—”
“So you do think it was him?” I cringed at the desperate tone in my voice.
“We don’t know yet, but the Campsite Killer is a high-priority case and we need to take every lead seriously. Until we can confirm it was just a prank, our first concern is your safety. We’ll have a DVERS installed in your house as soon as possible.”
“A what?”
“Domestic Violence Emergency Response System. It’s an alarm system we use when we feel the victim’s at risk.”
I’m a victim now.
“The private investigator you hired is a retired policeman, but we haven’t been able to locate him yet for an interview. We’d prefer you not have any contact with him about this case. In the next couple of days, two members of the Serious Crimes Unit in Vancouver will come over to the island and talk to you.”
“Why can’t Nanaimo just deal with it?”
“The Serious Crimes Unit has more members and greater resources. The suspect is potentially responsible for some horrific crimes. If that’s who’s calling you, then obviously we’d like to apprehend him, but we need to make sure we don’t jeopardize you or your family while we’re doing it.”
Fear shot down my legs. “Should I send my daughter somewhere?”
“He hasn’t made any direct threats and we try not to separate families, but I suggest you go over some basic safety rules with her. Your husband’s away right now?”
“Fiancé—we’re getting married in September. He already knows about the call, but should I tell my family?”
“It’s very important you not discuss this with anyone—including family—and your fiancé also needs to keep it to himself. We can’t risk a leak to the media and the suspect finding out about the investigation.”
“But what if my family’s in danger too?”
“At this point he hasn’t indicated he wants to harm anyone. If there’s a threat, we’ll take the appropriate measures. Someone will be at your house tomorrow morning to tap your phone, and ADT will wire it for the alarm. In the meantime, if he calls, don’t answer, and contact me immediately.” He handed me his card. “Do you have any questions?”
“I guess not. It’s all just so … surreal.”
He stood up and gave my shoulder a quick squeeze.
“You did the right thing by talking to us.”
I nodded like I believed him.
* * *
That night, while Ally played outside with Moose, I kept watch through the sliding glass door as I peeled carrots and listened to the TV playing behind me. When the local news came on, I almost cut myself. Sure enough, their lead story was Karen Christianson. They showed shots of the university—bunnies nibbling grass on the front lawn, noisy students in the cafeteria, a classroom door—while a newscaster said a professor had been identified as Karen Christianson, the Campsite Killer’s only surviving victim. They didn’t give my name, just said that Karen was rumored to have a daughter living in Nanaimo who couldn’t be reached for comment. The newscaster’s closing line was delivered in a somber voice. “As the days grow warmer, we can’t help but wonder where the Campsite Killer is now, and where he’ll be this summer.” That’s when I turned the TV off.
When Ally came back inside I told her we were going to play a game of “let’s pretend” and went over our safety rules. Evan and I had done this with her before, but this time every little detail mattered. Ally soon tired of the game, but I made her go over everything twice. What our code word is: Moose. That she’s not to go anywhere with an adult who doesn’t know it. What number on the phone is programmed to dial 911, what things the operator might ask, especially our address. And a new rule: she’s not to answer any phone, or open the door until an adult looks first. My heart stopped every time she forgot something.
When I snapped at her for answering the phone twenty minutes later, which turned out to be Lauren, she shut herself in her room and refused to talk to me. I made pancakes for dinner and wrote I’m sorry in blueberries. She got over it, but I still felt bad dropping her off at school this morning.
When I got home the police were waiting to tap my landline, and ADT arrived soon after to wire the house. They also showed me how to use the small personal alarm, which I’m supposed to wear around my neck. I don’t want Ally to ask about it, so I carry it in my purse. After everyone cleared out I stared at the alarm and my now-tapped phone, trying not to panic. How long is this going to last? I can’t even have a private conversation with Evan anymore—
The phone rang.
Just go look. It’s probably not even him.
It rang again.
It might be the police.
Evan’s cell number. I let my breath out in a rush.
He said, “Hi, baby, I—” then broke off. Dead air. When I called back I got voice mail. Great, another dropped call. I slammed down the receiver. When it rang again I almost picked it right up, but at the last minute I noticed the call display. It was a pay phone. I held my breath and waited for it to stop ringing. He called back five times.
* * *
This time I phoned the police right away, Nadine, but the man didn’t leave a message, so we aren’t any further ahead. Sergeant Dubois said I still shouldn’t answer the calls until I talk to the Serious Crimes Unit people, and they can’t be on the island until tomorrow. They want me to come in first thing and give a DNA sample. That’s why I rescheduled our appointment for this afternoon. Well, that and because I can’t think straight.
I tried some of the techniques you suggested: going for a run, writing in a journal, meditating, humming to release the tight feeling in my throat—I even tried humming while meditating. The worst part about all of this is that I can’t tell my family, can’t talk to Lauren. You know me—I dum
p everything out, then figure out what to do. Thank God for Evan. We talked last night and he’s being super supportive, but I miss him so much. When he’s around I feel more focused, settled, like everything’s going to be okay.
Today Julia’s lawyer released a statement that she wasn’t Karen Christianson and had never given a child up for adoption. Anyone claiming otherwise would be faced with legal action. This morning after I dropped Ally off at school a reporter and a cameraman were waiting in my driveway. Taking my dad’s advice, I told them the statement was true, neither Julia Laroche nor Karen Christianson was my birth mother, and I’d sue if they printed anything about me or my family. Then I closed the door in their faces.
I understand why Julia lied—she’s trying to protect herself. In my case I’m trying to protect Ally, but it was weird reading that Julia denied she’d had me. It made me feel like I don’t exist or something. But that’s not such a bad thing right now. I’m not looking forward to the DNA test. If it matches with the DNA they have on file from the crime scenes, then all of this will be real. I keep hoping it won’t match. Maybe there was a mix-up with the adoption records and I’m not Julia’s daughter after all. I could only be so lucky.
SESSION SIX
I can’t remember the last time I picked up a tool. I snapped at Lauren the other day, and all she asked was whether I’d sent out invitations yet. But if I even think about making a guest list, my mind blanks.
When I tried to talk to Evan about it he said we might want to consider postponing the wedding until things settle down. You can imagine how well that went over. He does have a point—the timing is a nightmare—but I waited my whole life to feel the way I do when I’m with Evan. I didn’t know men like him even existed. He’s so nurturing, bringing me food when I’m in my workshop, pouring baths when I have a headache, yet he’s strong enough to handle my intensity. And we’re both homebodies, preferring to watch movies on our couch rather than go out in the evening. We rarely fight, but when we do we work it out fast. He’s so good and kind that it makes me want to be the same way.
I can’t stand the idea of waiting to marry him. The way things are going lately, though? I may not have a choice.
* * *
Last Wednesday morning I headed straight to the police station. My hands gripped the wheel as I sat in the parking lot for a couple of minutes. It’s going to be okay, whatever I find out, I can handle it.
Inside I gave some blood for a DNA sample, then Sergeant Dubois took me back to the room with the couch to wait for the Serious Crimes people. Just as I sat down there was a knock on the door and a man and woman entered.
I expected haggard-looking older men in black suits and sunglasses, but the woman was somewhere in her forties and dressed in loose-fitting navy dress pants, a plain white blouse, and a brown blazer-style leather jacket. Her short dirty-blond hair was streaked by the sun and her skin glowed with a tan. The man was younger, maybe late thirties, wearing stylish black pants and a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing Asian symbols tattooed down both forearms. His olive skin tone, shaved head, and hooded eyes gave him a Mediterranean look. When he flashed a friendly smile I caught a dimple—and the impression he didn’t lack for female attention.
Sergeant Dubois said, “Sara, I’m going I’ll leave you to Staff Sergeant McBride and Corporal Reynolds,” then left the room. The woman sat at the other end of the couch while the man pulled up a chair in front of me.
“So you’re from the Serious Crimes Unit in Vancouver?” I said.
He nodded. “We came over last night.” I couldn’t place his accent, maybe somewhere on the East Coast. He handed me his card and I saw he was Corporal B. Reynolds. So the woman was the sergeant. I was impressed.
She handed me her card. “You can just call me Sandy.” She motioned to the corporal. “And this is Billy.”
“Bill,” he said, shaking a fist at Sandy.
She laughed. “I’m older and wiser, that means I can call you whatever I want.” I smiled, enjoying their banter. Sandy turned to me. “Can we get you a coffee or water, Sara?”
“I’m good. I’ll just need to pee a million times.”
Sandy shook her head and said, “Isn’t it annoying? I made Billy stop twice on the way here.” He nodded and rolled his eyes.
I said, “It got worse after I had my daughter. Do you have children?”
“Just a dog.”
Billy snorted. “Tyson’s not a dog. He’s a human in a Rottweiler suit.”
Sandy laughed. “He’s a handful.” She met my eyes. “And I’m sure Ally keeps you busy.” For a moment I was surprised they knew Ally’s name, then I realized they probably knew everything about me. My bubble popped. This wasn’t a social call. These people were here to catch a serial killer.
Billy had a thick file in his hands and started to flip through it. He dropped it, and I moved to help him gather the papers, then recoiled when I saw a photo of a woman’s pale and bruised face.
“Oh, my God, is that…” I looked at Sandy. She was watching beside me but made no comment. I glanced back at Billy, who was casually placing photos back in the file.
“Sorry about that,” he said. I sat back in my chair and stared hard at him, wondering if he’d dropped it on purpose, but he looked genuinely apologetic.
Sandy said, “This must be very overwhelming for you.”
“It’s pretty crazy.” They were both watching me now, so I added, “It’s not quite the situation I was hoping for when I decided to find my birth mother.”
Sandy’s eyes were sympathetic, but her fingers tapped on her knees.
Billy said, “Have you heard from him again?” He leaned forward and his biceps bulged as he rested his elbows on his chair. The lamp in the corner cast a glow on the right side of his face and his eyes looked almost black in the dim light. I pressed farther into the couch, fiddling with my engagement ring.
Sandy cleared her throat.
I said, “Just the calls I got Monday night. I already told Sergeant Dubois about them—I gave him the phone numbers.”
Billy looked at Sandy, then back at the file in his hands. It made me nervous, which made me mad.
I said, “I didn’t answer because Sergeant Dubois said you guys were going to coach me on what to say, but the number’s still on the call display if you want to check.”
“You handled it perfectly.” Sandy’s voice was calm. “The next time he calls we’d like you to answer. Let him guide the conversation, but if there’s an opening, try to see if he’ll give you any information about the earrings, the victims, where he’s calling from, anything like that. Even small details can help us determine whether he’s actually the Campsite Killer. But if he becomes agitated, change the subject.”
“What if it’s really him?”
Sandy said, “Then you might be able to establish a relationship with him and—”
“You want me to keep talking to him?” My voice rose in panic.
Billy said, “Let’s just take this one step at a time. We’re not going to ask you to do anything you don’t want to do.”
Sandy said, “That’s right, for now we just need to know who this person is and why he’s calling.”
My body relaxed, slightly. “Do you have any idea where he might be?”
Billy said, “The calls have been coming from the Kamloops area, but the pay phones he used were in remote locations and wiped clean, so he’s being careful.” I was relieved to hear he was an hour and a half ferry trip and a few hours’ drive from my home.
“Billy and I are staying in town,” Sandy said. “We’ll give you our cell numbers so you can call us the minute you hear from him—any time of day.”
We were all quiet for a moment, then I said in a hushed voice, “Summer’s coming. Do you think he’s still, you know … active?”
Sandy said, “We never know when he’ll hit, but as long as he’s out there it’s always a possibility. That’s why this lead is so important.”
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“You have a lead?” They stared at me. “Oh, you mean me.” My face was hot.
“The profiles show someone familiar with the woods,” Billy said. “He’s cunning and used to living by his wits, probably a loner. Someone who spends a lot of time hunting.” I shuddered as an image of a terrified woman running through the woods flashed in my mind. Billy continued, “The description we got from Julia yesterday—”
“You saw Julia?”
Sandy said, “We interviewed her in Victoria. Based on her original description the suspect was probably in his late teens or early twenties at the time of her attack. He’d be in his early to mid-fifties now. Methods have changed in the last few years, so we had her sit down again with a police artist from the Behavioral Science Unit.”
Billy handed me a sheet of paper. “This is a composite sketch of how the suspect might look today.”
I sucked in my breath. No wonder Julia freaked out at the sight of me. Even in this rough drawing I could see the resemblance—same cat eyes, left eyebrow that arched higher than the right, Nordic bone structure.
I stared down at the drawing. “His hair…”
Sandy said, “Julia described it as a deep reddish brown color … and wavy.” I looked up just as her gaze flicked to my hair. My stomach rolled. Billy took the sketch from me as Sandy said, “Julia was attacked in the middle of July, but another woman was killed in Prince Rupert later that August. This is the only time he hit twice in the same summer, so it was probably because he failed with Julia. He’s very careful and leaves virtually no evidence. That’s why we need you to play along with this caller, so we can find out if he’s really the Campsite Killer. It’s all we have to go on right now.”
I looked back and forth between Billy and Sandy. Their gazes were steady on mine. I took a deep breath, and then nodded reluctantly.
“Okay, I’ll try.”
* * *
As soon as I left the station I phoned Evan. He didn’t answer his cell, so I left him a miss-you-and-need-you message. I wasn’t ready to go home and face the possibility of another phone call from my supposed father, so I picked up a vanilla latte and walked along the seawall—obsessing about everything Sandy and Billy had said. We wouldn’t see the results on the DNA test for another three to six weeks, but I got the feeling the police were sure I was the Campsite Killer’s daughter.
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