by Tess Diamond
“Dr. Jeffrey is in his seventies now,” Abby said as she let a red sports car that clearly had very important places to be pass her. “He was the county ME since the sixties. He’s an institution.”
“Did he seem shady during his interview?”
Abby shook her head. “Nothing really leapt out at me when we talked. But I didn’t even realize there were pages missing from the ME’s report, so maybe I just missed it. Over the course of the last year, I talked to Dr. Jeffrey, Sheriff Alan, who was just a deputy on the case at the time, and several of the other deputies who worked the case before the FBI took over.”
“I was looking over who was in charge on the FBI side,” Zooey said, flipping open the thick file she had in her lap. “It was an Agent Barson, who was kind of infamous at the Bureau.”
Abby frowned. “Infamous how?”
“Well, Barson was a really good agent when he started. But he also developed a really big cocaine problem.”
“Oh, God,” Abby said.
“Yeah,” Zooey said. “And he rode on the ‘I caught Dr. X’ wave for a while, so he didn’t get caught and fired until 2005. There was a whole internal investigation and then another one when Director Edenhurst took over. They reexamined several of his cases, but I guess this one didn’t ring any alarm bells, since Howard Wells confessed.” She paused, frowning out the window for a second. “I don’t get why he confessed,” she said. “Even if your theory that they met online is right, and he doesn’t know who our unsub was, why would he confess? Why not try to wriggle out of it? The forensic evidence alone could have maybe clinched it for a jury, but maybe not. Juries get frustrated when you talk too much science at them. And Wells is charismatic—he could have weaseled his way out of it.”
“He’d never be able to kill that way again, though,” Abby said softly. “He couldn’t perform his whole ritual. The strangulation, the marking of his victims. He would’ve had to change.”
“You think he confessed so he could keep his killing MO intact?” Zooey asked, sounding skeptical.
Abby shrugged. “You’re probably more of an expert on serial killers than I am,” she said. “But I’ve talked to everyone I could who knew Wells, and so much of what they told me was the same: He was a control freak, he had to have things just his way. One of his scrub nurses from his surgery days told me a story about how she would have to use a ruler to measure exactly one and three-eighths inches between his surgical tools on the tray, because anything less or more, he’d notice, and freak out.”
“We are dealing with an enormous ego,” Zooey said thoughtfully. “I mean, just with the surgeon factor—you have to have supreme self-confidence to be a successful one. But if he was ruled by ego, why did he quit surgery to go work in a morgue in the middle of nowhere?”
That was a good point. “Something must have happened,” Abby said. “What do you guys call it? A triggering incident?”
Zooey nodded as Abby pulled off the highway, taking the exit into town.
Castella Rock was the kind of town that had stop signs—and no stop lights. Only about 5,000 people lived in the town proper, most of the citizens living outside the town, on farms, orchards, and small ranches. Main Street split the town in two, with three streets on the east side of town, three streets on the west side. And not much south or north but farmland. There was one gas station, two churches, a tiny library that was more a labor of love than anything, and the school, which had gotten a fresh coat of paint this summer. Problem was, the strapped one-school district had bought the paint on discount, so now the school was painted an ugly, dirty-looking brick red.
Dr. Jeffrey lived with his wife, Mamie, in a sweet little white house with green shutters on Marigold Street. He was waiting for the two of them on the porch, sitting in the antique 1920s glider, leaning against pillows Mamie stitched herself.
“Howdy, girls.” He tipped his cowboy hat, gesturing for them to take a seat in the chairs across the glider. “Iced tea?”
“Please,” Zooey said.
“Thank you for taking the time to see us,” Abby said. “I know it was sort of last minute.”
“Oh, come now, this old man is happy for the company.”
“Well, you know I’ve been working on a book,” Abby said. “About Cass.”
Dr. Jeffrey nodded. “I think it’s a very nice way to honor her, Abby.”
Abby smiled. “Thank you. I hope so too. But you know me, I like having all the research in front of me.”
“I remember all your note cards,” he said with a grin.
“Exactly,” Abby said. “Zooey here, she’s got some STEM field experience in forensics and such.” She didn’t want to scare Dr. Jeffrey off by saying Zooey was with the FBI. “She’s been helping me figure out all the medical and science jargon,” she said, with a disarming smile, going full sweet country girl on him. “Anyway, Zooey is cataloging stuff for me, making notes, you know. And she noticed that there are a few pages missing from Cass’s autopsy report. I thought it was a mistake or something, but when I went looking for the original at the sheriff’s department, the same pages were missing.”
Dr. Jeffrey set his iced tea on the table. “Oh, you know how things get, over the years,” he said. “Sheriff Alan’s probably had to move those records in and out of the upstairs a dozen times because of that leaky roof. I’m sure those pages just got lost in the shuffle.”
He looked at his watch. “You know, Mamie’s gonna need me to pick her up from bingo soon.”
“Bingo doesn’t even start until noon,” Abby said, frowning, and the good doctor’s cheeks reddened at being caught in his lie. “August,” she said, her voice lowering in her seriousness. “What are you not telling me here?”
“Abigail,” he said, and it was more of a warning than anything. It sent chills down her arms. “You’re a sweet girl. A good girl. A talented girl. You don’t need to put tawdry details that’ll get a lot of people hurt in your book about Cass.”
A horrible prickling feeling spread from the bottom of her spine to the top. “Tawdry details? What are you talking about?”
Next to her, she saw Zooey bite her lip.
“Sir?” Zooey asked the doctor. “Was she pregnant? Is that why the pages are missing?”
Dr. Jeffrey didn’t need to say anything. The proof was written all over his face.
Spots danced along the edge of her vision as her ears roared. Pregnant? No! Cass would have told her. She would’ve confided in her.
Would she have really, after what Ryan told her? that horrible voice in the back of her head asked.
Her fingers clenched around the arms of the wooden rocking chair, her mind racing. Cass had been gone for almost a month the summer she died, visiting her grandma. They were supposed to get coffee the day after she got back. Cass had cancelled on her, and considering the fight they’d had before she left, Abby couldn’t exactly blame her.
“How far along was she?” Zooey asked.
“Three months at least,” Dr. Jeffrey said.
Three months. She might’ve known during their fight. Oh, God . . . that meant . . .
Paul.
Abby felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. Paul hadn’t just lost Abby that night. He’d lost his child. A child he hadn’t even known existed.
“August, why in the world did you keep this secret?” she demanded. “You hindered two investigations—the sheriff’s and the FBI’s.”
“I kind of want to know that too,” Zooey said. “Because this is vital information the FBI wasn’t given.”
“It was Sheriff Baker who told me to bury it,” Dr. Jeffrey said. “I brought my results to him first. And he told me I had to keep it quiet. That it would break Cassandra’s mother’s heart.”
Abby’s frown deepened. Maryann Martin was a lot of things, but she was a strong woman, she’d survived Cass’s murder. She would’ve survived this. She felt angry on Maryann’s behalf, that these men had decided that they knew better than her. That they understood her strength mo
re than her.
“Well, that’s some good ol’ boy bullshit right there,” Zooey declared. “You took that woman’s right to grieve away. You withheld an important fact from law enforcement. You didn’t do the right thing, sir. And as a doctor, as a scientist, I would think you would understand how people like me need the full picture to do our job. To catch the killers.”
“I don’t understand why you’re so upset,” Dr. Jeffrey said, his eyes wide. “I understand this news is a shock, Abby. But holding back the news of Cass’s pregnancy didn’t hinder anything. Her killer is behind bars.”
Abby took a deep breath. “It was a copycat, August.”
All the color drained from the man’s wrinkled cheeks. “What?”
“Cass’s killer, he killed her to frame Howard Wells. He made it look like Wells’s killing method. Cass’s killer is still free.”
“And we think he’s still active,” Zooey said. “That he’s been active for the last sixteen years. So it’s time to dig deep, Doc. Please tell me you saved the pages from the medical report.”
He sighed. “I gave them to Sheriff Baker,” he said.
“And where’s he?” Zooey asked.
“He died five years ago,” Abby said.
Zooey pursed her lips, breathing hard through her nose. “Okay. Okay. Then we’re going to get creative. Doc? You’re gonna go in that sweet little house of yours, pull out a notebook, and you’re going to write down every thing you remember from the autopsy and medical report. I’m gonna pick it up later on tonight and we’re going to talk over everything you remember.”
“You’re very impertinent, young lady,” he said.
“And you obstructed an FBI investigation,” Zooey said. “The sweet little old man act won’t work on me. Like you said, I’m impertinent. Abby?”
Abby got up. She still felt numb, like she was walking through cement. “I’m sorry, August,” she said, not really knowing why she was doing the apologizing. He’d known this this whole time. He’d known this when she came to him for the copy of the exam. And he thought a promise to another man was more important than her uncovering the truth. Because he was an old-school guy who thought that a teen pregnancy would somehow taint Cass’s memory.
Maybe in the eyes of men like him. But not Abby’s. And certainly not Mrs. Martin’s.
Abby felt a twinge of pain at the thought of Cass’s mother as she and Zooey headed down the street, where her truck was parked. She needed to go see Maryann. It’d been a few months since she’d checked in.
In a way, she was just as bad as Dr. Jeffrey and Sheriff Baker. She’d kept the truth from Maryann too.
You didn’t know for sure until now, she thought. It was her one saving grace. But she needed to go tell her. And soon.
“You look like you need a drink,” Zooey declared as they came to a stop in front of her truck.
“It’s not even noon yet,” she said.
“Okay, good point,” Zooey said. “French fries it is.”
Without another word, the younger woman plucked the keys out of Abby’s hand and climbed into the driver’s seat of her truck. Abby got in the driver’s seat, letting Zooey drive them to The Pit, Castella Rock’s best—and only—diner.
They took a red vinyl booth in the back, and Abby leaned her head in her palms as Zooey ordered fries and two chocolate shakes.
“You knew,” Abby said finally, after their food came and Zooey poured about half the shaker of salt on her own plate of fries. “Even before he started acting suspicious. You knew she was pregnant.”
“I had my suspicions,” Zooey said. “The pages of the report that were missing were the ones that would’ve detailed a pregnancy. I didn’t want to say it, just in case I was wrong. My hunches aren’t always right. I’m more of a science girl.”
Abby stared at her plate of fries. “I can’t believe I didn’t know,” she said. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell me.”
“Maybe she’d just found out. Maybe she needed more time. This isn’t your fault, Abby.”
But maybe it was. Maybe, if she and Cass had met for coffee that day like they were supposed to, she would’ve never crossed paths with that sick psychopath. Maybe she’d be sitting across from her right now, the mother of a fifteen-year-old.
God. Abby felt sick. She ran her hands through her hair, trying to breathe deep and gain some kind of control. She needed to get herself together.
She was going to have to tell Paul.
“I don’t know how to tell him this.”
Zooey sighed, plucking the paper off her straw and sticking it in her shake. “Yeah . . . this is really messed up,” she said. “It’s going to be really hard.”
“He’s going to be devastated,” Abby said, shaking her head, bewildered and overwhelmed.
“There’s a lot of history here for both of you,” Zooey said.
“We’re all tangled up in each other,” Abby admitted, softly, a confessional she had to get off her chest. She felt like she was losing grasp of everything—her emotions, her heart, her words—as she just kept talking. “Sometimes I think it’s my fault.”
“What’s your fault?” Zooey asked, her black brows drawing together. “Cass’s murder? That’s ridiculous, Abby. Look at all you’ve done to find her real killer, when no one else was even thinking they had to look.”
“You didn’t know me back then,” Abby said. “Cass and I . . . we were always so close. But that summer she was killed, it was like things were falling apart. We were falling apart.”
“What happened?” Zooey asked. “Did you guys have a fight?”
“The fight to end all fights,” Abby said. “My high school boyfriend dumped me at the end of the school year, and at first, Cass was supportive. And then she started getting really distant. The night before she left for her grandmother’s for a month, I finally got the nerve up to confront her about it.”
“What did she say?”
Abby could still feel the tightness in her chest, how her cheeks had flooded with heat, when the words had spilled out of Cass’s mouth: Ryan says he dumped you because you’re after Paul.
“She said that at first, she waved Ryan’s concerns off,” she told Zooey. “She thought he was just bitter. But then she started really thinking about it. And that she’d decided that Paul and I were way too close. That he was way too concerned about me when Ryan dumped me. That she’d let it go on for way too long. That things needed to change.”
Abby stared at her hands. “I admit it, I was pissed at her. It felt like she was accusing me of something. Other than Cass, Paul was my best friend. And I spent the next four weeks being mad and petty and I didn’t avoid Paul at all. Sometimes teen girls can be vicious, and I was. I spent as much time with him as possible. Doing all our normal summer stuff. So when Cass came back, she cancelled on me when we were supposed to get coffee. And so the next time I saw her, she was in a coffin.”
“Abby, I’m so sorry,” Zooey said. “I had no idea.”
“No one does,” Abby said. “And now . . .” She let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Now I’m sitting here wondering if she was telling me to back off not just her man—but her baby-daddy. And I’m sixteen years removed from it now, I’m older now, and I’m wondering if she had a damn point.”
“You mean you had feelings for Paul back then,” Zooey said.
“I don’t know,” Abby said, feeling hopeless and guilty and just so damn sad for the girl Cass had been, the girl she had been, the woman she got to be, while Cass never had the chance.
Paul had been her home and history and heart for so long, maybe he’d never left. Maybe he’d always been there.
“Nothing ever happened back then,” Abby stressed. “I’d never do that to Cass. And neither would he. But he’s my childhood. He’s the boy next door. I was seventeen, and then my entire world blew up and I lost one of the most important people to me. And all I could think, after, was that maybe she died hating me. So whatever there was there, if there was
anything between him and me, I just denied it.”
But now . . .
Oh, but now.
She couldn’t let herself go there. Not after the line she’d drawn in the sand two years ago, her on one side, him on the other, never, ever to cross.
“I’m sorry,” Abby said suddenly, jerking up, realizing she was spilling her entire heart out to one of Paul’s co-workers. She turned positively scarlet at the thought. “I shouldn’t have . . . you don’t need me dumping all this on you.”
“It’s fine,” Zooey said. “I have one of those faces. People tend to tell me stuff. It’s what made me such a good criminal.”
Abby blinked, momentarily distracted from her own problems by this revelation. “You were a criminal?”
Zooey nodded. “Remember how I said Paul saved me? I wasn’t kidding. He just kind of saved me from myself.
“I was in foster care from an early age,” Zooey explained. “No one really cared about me. I ran away, when I was fourteen. I started out stealing cars. The new ones are basically rolling computers, so if you’ve got a hacker’s skill . . .” She shrugged. “I made enough money for college that way. Dodged the system—or really, hacked it—until I aged out. Went to MIT. Dropped out. I thought I’d go back to boosting cars, but I ended up on someone’s radar. Someone really bad.”
“Who?”
“A bombmaker,” Zooey said. “I have a bit of a knack with chemistry. And this guy? He was all about chemical weapons. Sold them on the black market all over the world. Didn’t matter what fascist government wanted them—as long as the price was right, he’d make the sale. He decided that I was going to be his newest apprentice. Whether I wanted to be or not.”
“Holy crap,” Abby said.
“Yeah,” Zooey said. “I was lucky. I had a window of time to ‘make the right choice,’ as he put it. Twenty-four hours. So I got on a train to DC and I stood outside FBI headquarters and I hacked into their servers, right outside their doors.”
“What?” Abby was agog. Why in the world would she do that? How was she standing here right now, if she could do that?
“I didn’t do any damage,” Zooey assured her. “I just sent one message: ‘I’m outside.’ And they came running. Armed to the teeth, of course, and that was kind of freaky, but they brought me inside pretty fast. Cuffed, of course.”