Sam’s favorite song blared through the speakers of his Bose iPod dock. He hummed the soft melody and leaned back and allowed himself to return to a previous time in his life, where he found himself alone in a stark white room with Laurel. He was five and she was—well, significantly older. How much so Sam didn’t know at the time. He just knew she looked like a mom, even though she didn’t act like one. Laurel knelt down next to him and her soft hair fell in his face. It smelled like he’d dipped his hand in a jar of honey.
“What’s this song called, Mommy?” Sam said.
“Sinnerman.”
Sam didn’t know what that meant.
“Who’s the singer?”
“Nina Simone.”
He liked the name Nina but didn’t care much for Simone.
“Why does he have two first names?”
“Not he silly, she.”
Sam thought Nina didn’t sound like a woman at all. Her voice was low and rough, like a man’s.
“What’s it about?” he said.
Laurel knelt down and extended her right hand and pulled her fingers back toward herself. “Come here,” she said to Sam. “You want to hear a story?”
Sam nodded. Laurel never told him stories. It made him feel special. He walked over and knelt by her side.
“When Nina Simone was little, she used to go to church with her mamma, who was a Methodist,” Laurel said.
“What’s a Messosist?”
Laurel placed a finger in the middle of Sam’s lips. “Shhh,” she said. “Do you want to hear the story or not?”
He nodded.
“Well then, shush now.”
Laurel continued.
“Nina’s mamma was a minister at that church, and they used to sing this song to help sway people into confessing their sins.”
Sam was confused. He didn’t know what confess meant, but he knew if he asked, he might never hear the rest of the story.
“When Nina grew up, she became a famous singer, and she remembered this song and decided to sing it for the whole world to hear. Do you want to know what I think the song means?”
Sam nodded and pulled closer to his mother and clung to her every word.
“There was a man and his name was Sinnerman, and he spent his life running around doing bad things until one day he woke up and realized what he’d done and he was ashamed. He didn’t like who he was anymore and all he wanted to do was to run and hide. So he went out and tried to find a place where he could shield himself from the rest of the world, and he looked for someone to take him in. Only, no one wanted him. They’d all heard about this man called Sinnerman, and they thought he was up to no good. So they shut him out, and with no place to go, he sought out the Lord. But the Lord had seen all the things Sinnerman had done and he told him he couldn’t stay. He said there was only one place for him, and he pointed Sinnerman in the direction that he must go.”
“Where?”
“He was sent to live with the devil.”
The song ended and Sam snapped back to life. He didn’t like to think about Laurel or the life he used to have. His past had wasted away and any emotions he had corroded along with it. Whether he lived or died mattered little to him now. He preferred life, of course, but he also knew one day it would all come to an end, and if that was what needed to happen—so be it.
A female voice from the other room cried out in terror, and Sam rose from his chair and looked at the clock on the wall. The drugs had worn off. He didn’t like it when they talked. It made them seem so real, so human. He preferred them quiet. He grabbed a knife from the counter, walked to the room she was in and closed the door behind him.
CHAPTER 52
Agent Luciana and the chief sat on the corner of Kearns and Main in a parking lot of a place that used to be hailed the best restaurant in town.
“Where’s Giovanni?” Agent Luciana said when I drove up.
“Busy,” I said. “What have you found out?”
“The handwriting in the notebook is a match to the Sinnerman letters,” the chief said. “Almost exact even though I assume he wrote those journal entries years ago, but he hasn’t changed much over the years.”
“You’re sure?”
Agent Luciana nodded. “Without a doubt.”
“And the prints?”
The chief shook his head.
“We only found yours.”
“How’s that possible?”
He shrugged his shoulders and said, “Don’t know, but it had been wiped down.”
“Now what?” I said. “Am I the only one who feels like we take two steps forward and three steps back?”
“We’ve come a long way since I arrived,” Agent Luciana said. “We’re close, I can feel it. Pops and grandma are on their way in for questioning, and I’ve got my team on standby. Once they’re out of the house, we’ll sweep the whole thing.”
I thought about his grandmother and how it would affect her when she found out.
“I have a request.”
The chief rolled his eyes.
“Why am I not surprised?” he said.
“I’d like to talk with the grandmother for a moment before you guys get started.”
“Not a good idea,” Agent Luciana said.
“Look, I’ve already spoken to her once, and believe me when I say the news of her grandson being a killer isn’t going to be easy for her to take. It would be better coming from me, and then you can take over and ask her all the questions you want. It won’t get you anywhere, but if that’s the way you want to go—it’s not like I can stop you.”
“We’ll go easy on her. It’s not necessary for you to be there,” Agent Luciana said.
The inside of my body felt like it was in a tepid room and someone had just cranked up the heat as high as it would go.
“Neither of you would be where you are on this case if it wasn’t for me; maybe you both should take that into consideration. If anyone can get through to her it’s me. So let’s not sit here and waste more time going round and round with this.”
Breathe Sloane, breathe, I told myself. Count to fifty if you have to, but don’t lose it!
Agent Luciana turned to the chief who threw his hands up. I’d won.
***
“Sloane, I don’t understand what this is all about—why have they called us here?”
I sat in the chair opposite Sinnerman’s grandmother and just looked at her for a moment. Now that we were face to face, all of the sudden I didn’t want to be the one to tell her any longer. I wanted to be anywhere but in that room at that moment. But I’d asked for this, and they were watching. There was no other choice, I had to do it.
I took one of her hands and wrapped my fingers around it. “It’s about your grandson,” I said.
Her eyes lit up like she’d just screwed a shiny new light bulb into a dim-lit light.
“What—have they located him at last? Please tell me you’ve found him. But if we’re here, it must be something bad. Oh no, is he’s dead?” She retracted her hand from mine and thrust both of them toward her face and flicked her head back and forth. “Please tell me he’s not dead.”
“I believe he’s alive and well,” I said.
Or alive anyway—well wasn’t the best choice of word for someone with his degree of instability.
She pulled her hands from her face and relaxed a little.
“Thank goodness. And I’m sure we owe it all to you. Tell me where he is—can we see him?”
“I don’t know where he is,” I said.
“What do you mean? I thought—”
“It’s so hard for me to tell you this, but I wanted you to hear it from me.”
“I can see it in your face,” she said, “and in your eyes. Something’s wrong. What is it?”
“That day I was at your house, I took something from Samuel’s room.”
“What—why?”
“There was a notebook he’d kept wedged between the bed and the dresser, and I wanted to read it
.”
“You should have said something.”
We were way past all that now. I leaned in closer.
“The writing in the book matched up with some of the notes your grandson sent me.”
“There’s something you aren’t saying,” she said. “I can feel it in these old tired bones of mine. What is it?”
“How much do you know about the Sinnerman murders?”
“You mean the person responsible for the lives of all those women?”
I nodded.
“I just know what I’ve read in the papers,” she said, “or saw on the news.”
“We have a lead on a suspect and believe we know who he is.”
“That’s great, but why are you telling me all this, dear?”
I took a deep breath. Slow and steady, you can do this.
“The man, Sinnerman—he’s your grandson.”
Her eyes glazed over liked she’d just won the lottery, only to find out when she arrived to claim her millions she hadn’t scratched that last number off right and that winning number six on her ticket was actually an eight.
She spoke, but not to me—to the air around her.
“This can’t be, not my Samuel, surely they’re mistaken. He’s a good boy. He’s had his problems like every other boy, but this? No, I don’t believe it. Not a word of it. You’re wrong, you have to be.”
“Please, I know this is a lot to take in, but I wouldn’t have ever told you this if I wasn’t sure. And believe me when I say I’m sorry.” I placed my hand on her wrist. “I’m so sorry.”
She was silent for a time during which her face changed from a soft pink to dull and ashen, like the life had been sucked out of her.
“When you were at my house, you said you thought my grandson knew your sister—that he was the last person to see her alive,” she said.
“That’s right.”
“How did she die?”
It was the question I hoped she wouldn’t ask, but she had every right to know the answer.
“I’m sure this has been hard on you. I don’t want to make it worse.”
“You can’t say that to an old woman,” she said. “Not after all this.”
“Alright then. My sister was murdered. She was the last woman killed in the first series of attacks a few years ago.”
“And you believe my grandson did it?”
Up until now I’d looked her in the eye, faced her, and told her the truth. I thought about the pain I’d already caused, and I couldn’t do it any longer. My eyes were so filled with liquid I couldn’t see her properly if I tried. I looked away and nodded.
A few seconds went by and we both remained silent. I felt her hand slip from mine, and when I turned to look at her, I noticed her eyes weren’t open anymore and she’d slumped down in her chair. I reached over and felt for a pulse—it wasn’t there. I raced to the door but Coop had already witnessed the commotion through the mirrored glass, and he flung the door open. He looked at the woman and then to me and said, “Way to go, Sloane. Nice job.”
CHAPTER 53
Samuel’s grandmother was transported to the hospital. She’d suffered a heart attack but was expected to get through it. The fact that I was responsible was too much for me. I needed to get out, to breathe. I put on my Band of Horses playlist on my iPod which Maddie called my “sad music” even though I disagreed, and drove to the one place I felt a connection to family.
The cemetery was quiet as usual with all its residents engaged in their eternal sleep. Some of the stones cast shadows on the grass around them. I found Gabby’s grave and positioned my body in front of it and sat down. I grasped both sides of her headstone with my hands and buried my head in the center of it and opened my mouth and let the words flow out of me.
I wish I could talk to you, Gabby—even if for a single moment. I wonder if you’re alive somewhere, living in peace in some type of afterlife, and if you’re happy. I’ve spent the last few years thinking only of you, and I don’t think I can do it anymore. I haven’t felt like myself in such a long time, and I need to move on, live my own life. I know that now. But what I don’t comprehend is how I’m supposed to do that. Here’s my promise to you: I’m going to find Samuel Reids, the person who did this to you, and then I’m going to start my life all over again. You’ll always reside in my heart, and I won’t let a day go by that I won’t think of you. But it’s time for me to let you go and for you to do the same, and maybe that way both of us can find a sense of peace.
Once I’d finished my talk with Gabby, I went back to my car. The slight chill that came with the tail end of August swept past me and reminded me it was almost long sleeve season again. Something moved in the tree next to me, and I halted and pulled my gun from its holster on my hip.
“Is anyone there?” I said.
No reply. Then the noise came again, above me. It shuffled and was restless, like the rustling of the trees in the winter wind. I pointed my gun toward the sky. An owl spread its wings and took flight.
I’d been on edge for weeks, and I needed to remember to take a breath every now and then. Giovanni’s men had my back. I was safe, and everything was going to be alright. I slipped my gun back into its holster and unlocked my car door and got in. I slid my key into the ignition and started the car.
“How touching. Did you tell your sister hi from me?”
It was like time had slowed to a halt. I swung my head around and focused on the needle that was pressed against my neck. It was filled with fluid. One wrong move and it would pierce my skin.
“I’ve waited a long time for this.”
“Me too,” I said, “and I’m not alone.”
“Correction: you weren’t alone. I’ve taken care of the others. It’s just you and me now. Feels good, doesn’t it?”
I didn’t know whether to believe him or not, but since no one had come to save me, I could only assume it was true.
“Why bother hiding yourself under that hat?” I said. “I know who you are, Samuel.”
“It’s Sam, or Sinnerman. Whichever you prefer.”
I closed my eyes and tried to not to lose myself to him. If I could just remain in control of the situation, even though it seemed like I was far from it at the moment, I might be able to save myself.
“Well Sam, you should know your grandmother is in the hospital right now fighting for her life, and that she still cares about you.”
He leaned in close, and I didn’t know whether he was going to stick me or bite me. With each word he uttered from his mouth my neck felt more and more like it was on fire. I wanted to grab my gun, but I couldn’t reach it unless I shifted my body toward the needle. It was too risky—I needed to wait.
“Don’t waste your precious words on a family I no longer have or care about. I’m here to talk about you Sloane Monroe—about us.
Us? Was that his twisted fantasy—not to kill me at all? Had he imagined we could have some sort of life together?
“I’m here, now what?” I said.
“Drive.”
“Where?”
“Let’s take it one street at a time, shall we? Wave goodbye to your sister and then back out and make a right at the stop sign.”
I reversed the car and turned right. Sam made a sound like the ticking of a clock and said, “Shame, shame. Not waving to your own sister. All this time, I thought she meant more to you than that.”
“I left your grandmother out of it, now you extend me the same courtesy,” I said.
“See how much we’re alike Sloane?”
“I’m nothing like you.”
“Oh, but you are. Aren’t you interested in how I know? I’ve watched you. Yes, that’s right. Don’t look so alarmed. At work, at home, out with your friends. I’ve been there, and I know everything. So much more than they know. Do you really think your friends know the real Sloane? Well,” he whispered in my ear, “would it surprise you to find out that they don’t?”
“Why are you so interested in me?” I sa
id.
He inched back from me but remained close and said, “Make a left at the next light.”
“I asked you a question.”
“You’re in no position to make demands, but okay—I’ll bite. At first I was intrigued by the resemblance between you and your sister. Oh…I forgot, no talking about sis. I followed you, I watched you put that board up in your office and then cover it so no one else could see. It was like our little secret. You returned to it time and time again and posted all the things you collected about me: the newspaper articles, the photos, and then the note I wrote you. They were all there on one beautiful board. I became the center of your life—you cared about me like no one else ever had.”
Cared about him? He was more delusional than I thought, and I didn’t know whether to play into his emotions or balk at them. The fear was gone, and my thoughts didn’t center around what was to become of my life anymore. I was angry.
“Don’t want to join the conversation?” he said. “That’s okay; we have plenty of time for that.”
“What did you do to the others?”
“Those men who followed you like lost lambs? I put them to sleep.”
“You didn’t kill them?” I said.
“They are of no interest to me. Why would I bother?”
I felt a sense of relief and hoped he spoke the truth. I didn’t want anyone else to die because of me.
“There is the matter of that boyfriend of yours we’ll have to deal with.”
“What do you mean?” I said.
“You’ll have to tell him it’s over so we can be together.”
“I won’t.”
He was in my ear again. “So defiant. So different than the others. I like it!”
And I’d like it if he rotted into the fabric of the deepest depths of hell.
“Take the next left please,” he said.
I may have been showered in darkness, but I knew what part of Park City we were in and the neighborhood. Decklan’s. But Decklan said he hadn’t seen his son for years.
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