by Jeff Miller
“If you kill, I shall rise like Christ and smite you all.” His voice, rising, began to shake with fury. “You shall ravage in the bowels of hell for what you have done. You shall rot in the stink of your filth. My hands are clean. The blood is on yours. And now you shall live with this knowledge, just like you gave me knowledge to live with.”
He turned back to Allison and smiled. “That was perfect, don’t you think? Now everyone will understand why I had to do this.”
Allison stared at him intently. “You didn’t have to do any of this.”
The thin man leaned toward her, and his face filled with rage. “I just explained it as clearly as I can. You still don’t understand?”
“No, I understand,” she said, backtracking. “It does make sense.”
“You just said it didn’t.”
“I was wrong. It does.”
Fisher froze for a moment, and then his body began to shake. “You know what? You’ve been a silly distraction, and this has been a waste of time.” He raised his voice. “I’ve given you all this attention, and the gift of my story, and all you’ve done is deceive with your beauty and your manner. I opened my heart to you!”
He disappeared off screen and came back with a rope. Dagny stopped the playback.
“What do we do with this?” Victor said.
“Bury it in the file.”
“Won’t people want to see it?”
“That’s why we bury it. You don’t grant the wishes of murderers.”
They put the camera in the last numbered box of the file. The next day, trucks came to take everything away. The morgue was converted back to a gymnasium; the armories were returned to locker rooms. She welcomed the coach back to his office, thanked Principal Geathers for her hospitality, and sent Victor back to DC.
Dagny stayed in Bilford for three more days. It took that long to help John Beamer reassemble his train set.
CHAPTER 73
Diego performed a final and unauthorized sermon to a packed crowd in the back of Barrio Burrito. He riffed a bit on Ecclesiastes 3, and then told them it was time for him to leave. They loaded him with food and gifts and buried him in hugs.
Back home, he loaded his last possessions into a suitcase and tossed the house key on the counter so the landlord could find it. He’d given most of his things away through Craigslist. They wouldn’t have fetched much if he had tried to sell them.
He tossed his suitcase into the trunk of the Corvette and drove one last time to Dayton. Every few minutes, he fiddled with the envelope inside his coat pocket to make sure it was there.
McPherson Convent was both colonial and gothic—a brick-and-wood melding of American and Renaissance styles. He parked across the street from the front entrance, wishing, once again, that he drove a less conspicuous car.
The entrance to the convent was blocked by a tall iron gate. An intercom allowed visitors to request admittance. Last time, he had buzzed it enough to wear out his welcome.
He watched as sisters filtered in and out of the convent. One of them was Katrina, but he knew better than to try to approach her. Instead, he waited for Sister Cathy, because she had always been kind to him, and because she was a little rebellious.
When he spied Cathy returning from an outing, Diego rushed from his car and ran up beside her.
She turned to him and jumped. “Well, you shouldn’t be here.”
“I know,” he said. “But I need a favor.”
“I can’t let you in.”
“I don’t need you to. I just need you to take this.” He pushed the envelope toward her hand, but she refused to take it. “Please?” he begged.
“I’m sure this is a mistake,” she said, grabbing it and taking it inside.
Diego went back to his car and watched. He watched the kids walk home from school. He watched the rush-hour traffic clog the streets. He watched the streetlights come on. He watched until he fell asleep, and he slept until Katrina knocked on the passenger window the next morning and woke him up.
He reached over and unlocked the door. She opened it and climbed into the passenger seat.
“You read the letter?” he said.
She said nothing and nodded. Finally, she turned to him. “Why do you have to make everything so hard?”
“I love you, Katrina.”
“I know that, Diego.”
“I know you love me, too.”
“I love God.”
“You could love us both.”
“God’s love is better. He never left me.”
“I never left you, either. Not really. That’s why you’re here.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Come with me to Texas.”
She shook her head. “You have things to work out with your family. Go and come back. We can talk then.”
Diego shook his head. “I want you to come. I need you to come.”
Katrina kept shaking her head. “It was a good letter, but it wasn’t that good.” She sighed. “They’re sure he’s your brother?”
“He’s my twin. That’s what the DNA test said.”
“How did he end up in Bilford?”
“I think he was looking for me. I think a coyote helped him cross the border.”
“So, he was from Mexico?”
“It would seem.”
“But you’re American?”
“I don’t know. I feel like I don’t know anything right now. Except that I love you. Please come with me.”
“Diego . . .”
“Do you love me?”
“That’s not a fair question.”
“Do you?”
“The last time I told you, you broke my heart.”
“I won’t this time.”
“You’re asking me to give up my dream.”
“I’m asking you to start a new one.” He felt the window closing. “You’ve been in the convent awhile now. Are you happy?”
“I’m content.”
“God wants more for you.”
“Diego, you don’t even believe in God.”
“I do.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“No, I mean it. I’ve done things recently where it felt like someone was guiding me.”
“Of course, he is guiding you, Diego.”
“And he has guided me here, sitting with you, asking you to come to Texas.”
“You went to Bilford because you didn’t trust me to make my own choice. Do you understand how angry that made me?”
“I do. I didn’t back then, but I do now.”
“I don’t want you to ever do that again.”
“I won’t.”
She shook her head, then tilted it and gave a hint of a smile. “Okay. I’ll come with you.”
Diego leaned forward and kissed her. “I’ll wait here while you pack.”
She opened the passenger door and reached for a suitcase on the curb.
“You already knew you were going to come?”
“It was actually a very good letter,” she said.
CHAPTER 74
They convened at the Professor’s home in Arlington. The Professor sat behind a desk that looked larger than it had before. Or maybe the Professor just looked smaller.
Brent and Victor sat on the sofa opposite her. Victor was waving a file in the air. “Henderson Equity is a hedge fund out of Short Hills, New Jersey. Its portfolio is diversified, but when you look at the breakdown, you’ll see—”
“This sounds like a case with no bodies,” the Professor said.
“No bodies, but there are—”
“I want bodies.” He turned to Brent. “What do you have?”
“Missing girl in Jackson, Wyoming. Seven years old—”
“Are her parents divorced?”
“No.”
“No custody issues?”
“No.”
“When was the abduction?”
“Three days ago.”
“Then it’s probably too late.”
/> “To save her, maybe. Not to catch the guy.”
“Why should we take it? What makes this case special?”
“The girl is black,” Brent said. “And poor. Not a lot of poor black girls in Jackson. Low media coverage. Local police aren’t giving it a full-court press. It’s a chance to do something right.”
The Professor sighed. “I suppose there is value in that. It’s too small a case for us, though—”
“We could wrap it in a week,” Brent said. “Get the headlines and move on to something new.”
“Perhaps.”
“I have a case,” Dagny said. “Four murders in Lexington, Kentucky, all within the last three months. Two students and two other college-age women. One of them—”
“You’re not picking this time,” the Professor said. “We’ve done enough of your cases for a while.”
“It’s a good case.”
“I said no.” He stood. “Brent, you can fly out to Jackson today. You have forty-eight hours to make some progress with it. Otherwise, we’ll do Victor’s stupid money case, I suppose.”
“I can go with Brent,” Dagny said.
The Professor shook his head. “This is Brent’s case. If you’re needed, we’ll pull you in.”
Victor glanced at Dagny. She nodded. This was her punishment. They had wondered what form it would take.
The Professor saw them to the door but asked Dagny to stay behind. After Victor and Brent left, he turned to her and said, “I’ll make you a deal.”
“What is it?”
“Tell me how you knew where Fisher was.”
She knew it was killing him not to know. “Will it buy forgiveness?”
“Absolutely not. But I’ll let you fly to Lexington and poke around, see if your case can beat Brent’s little-girl case.”
That was as close to forgiveness as she could expect. “Fisher stole my backpack when he dumped the body at the motel. When he turned on my iPad, I was able to track it.”
“You must be kidding.”
“I’m not.”
He smiled. “I’m glad to hear that.”
“Why?”
“Because it means it was dumb luck. If you’d outsmarted me, I would have been worried.”
“So, I can go to Lexington?”
“You can leave tomorrow. It’s only fair to give Brent a head start. Same deadline for both of you.”
“Thanks.”
The Professor frowned. “Things will never be the same between us, you understand. I don’t trust you anymore. I don’t know that I even like you anymore.”
“I understand.” She walked out on to the front porch and looked back at the Professor. He stood in the doorway, shaking his head.
“You’ve hurt me, Dagny,” he said, closing the door.
As she drove home, those last words bounced around her head. They rattled inside her while she packed her bag for the next day’s trip and while she made herself a salad for a late lunch.
She picked at the salad while sifting through bills and junk mail, and returning calls and e-mails from acquaintances who had seen her press conference in Bilford. When she finished, she felt bored and sad. She grabbed a DSW coupon from her pile of junk mail and headed to Pentagon City, where she treated herself to three new pairs of sneakers. When she returned home, she laced up a new pair and went for a run.
The Mount Vernon trail was packed with people, bikes, and strollers. She treated them like video-game obstacles. Passing a runner got her two points. A bicyclist was five, unless it was a tandem bike, and then it was twelve. Strollers were worth twenty points. At one point, Dagny passed a woman juggling on a unicycle; Dagny gave herself one hundred points for that one.
By the time she got to Thomas Jefferson Island, Dagny had racked up 682 points. The run back home got her another 421. A twenty-minute shower let her map out a strategy for the next day’s trip to Lexington. She turned off the water, grabbed a towel, and dried. Stepping onto the bathroom rug, she stared for a moment at the bathroom scale. Every instinct told her to ignore it, but she knew those instincts were bad. She dropped the towel to the floor and stepped on.
One hundred and eighteen. Seven pounds less than her target. It could have been worse, but it should have been better.
She wrapped the towel back around her body, walked to her bedroom, and dialed her phone. “I’d like to make an appointment,” she said.
“Can I have your name?”
“Dagny Gray.”
“Are you currently a patient of Dr. Childs?”
“I am.”
“How is Friday at eight a.m.?”
She would be back from Lexington by then. “Perfect.”
Hanging up the phone, Dagny glanced at the clock. It was 7:15 p.m. She dressed quickly, grabbed her keys, and drove to the Target at Potomac Yard. Grabbing a cart, she darted back to the toy aisles. Superhero costumes, Star Wars Legos, Elsa dresses—none of it seemed right. A shelf full of Nerf guns caught Dagny’s eye. She grabbed the biggest one and tossed it in her cart, then added Scotch tape, a birthday card, and a roll of wrapping paper to her haul on the way to the checkout counter.
“Who’s the lucky boy?” the clerk asked as he rang her up.
“Girl,” Dagny said.
She wheeled her cart to her car, popped the hatch, rolled out the paper, and set the toy on it. Tearing the paper by hand and applying a good amount of tape gave her a passably wrapped present. She dug through her glove box, found a pen, scribbled a message on the card, and sealed it in its envelope.
It was only five minutes to Old Town. Dagny pulled into a cobblestone alley and parked in front of a three-story brownstone. Present and card in hand, she jogged up the steps and knocked on the door. She heard the clatter of feet and the turn of the latch. When the door opened, Julia Bremmer was standing there, holding a phone to her ear.
“Hey,” she said into the phone. “I’m going to have to call you back.”
“I’m sorry I missed Emily’s birthday,” Dagny said.
Julia smiled and threw her arms around Dagny. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too.”
“Come on in.”
EPILOGUE
Two months later . . .
“It’s ten thirty-five, and you’re listening to The Hank Frank Show. Let’s go to Ted on line three. Ted, how’s it going?”
“Permission to speak frankly, Hank?”
“Permission granted.”
“I like this Beamer kid as much as anyone, but I’m hearing rumors that this kid is gay.”
“Ted, there hasn’t been a bigger supporter of Sheriff Don Marigold than Hank Frank. Anyone who has listened to me over the years knows that. Don is a great man and a great American. But the primary job of a sheriff is to keep the county safe, and it might be a good time for some young blood with the energy to do it. Now, I’m not a big fan of the gay agenda, as you all know. I don’t know if John Beamer is gay or not, but I do know that Sheriff Don didn’t find Harry Fisher, and the FBI didn’t, either. If another maniac were on the loose in Bilford, I’d want a sheriff who could find him, not someone who will make a few grandstanding arrests that have nothing to do with anything. Whatever John Beamer does in the privacy of his own home is his business. Keeping this county safe is the business of the office, and he’s shown us he can do that. So, if Beamer can get enough signatures for a recall election in the spring, he’s got my vote.”
Frank pushed a button to release the call. “Now, folks, I’ve got to tell you that this morning, I was a big Hank Frank crank when I read in the paper that there are folks in the statehouse who want to institute a property tax on our cars like they have in Kentucky. So, let me get this straight—we’re going to pay a sales tax when we buy the car, and then more tax every year on the car until its value dwindles down to nothing? I call this a perpetual tax, and you can bet I’m going to do my best to stop it. One of my allies is State Senator Max Winger, and we’ll check with him after this break.”
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br /> ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
If you thought I wasn’t going to thank my wife first, you’re crazy. Kate Miller is a brilliant, loving, and supportive spouse, the only person I trust with early drafts, and a tremendous partner for life. I would be lost without her.
My sons, Freeman and Calvin, bring me joy, make me laugh, and give me purpose every day. They better not read this book for at least ten years, though.
My parents, Joel and Linda Miller, can rightfully claim responsibility for anything good about me. They are my biggest fans, and I can’t thank them enough for it. Stephanie Sellers is probably responsible for half of my sales in Texas. I am beyond fortunate to be her brother.
I sought out friends and fans of The Bubble Gum Thief to serve as beta readers for a draft of this book, and they provided incredible feedback. Thank you, Jill Sopko, Brian Mason, Brad Monton, Aimee Landis, David Mortman, Michael Rich, Lynn Wagner, Jeb Brack, Gail Anderson, Kate Craig, Matt Tauber, Vickie Krevatin, Jordan Lusink, Stephanie Wakeman, Deborah Cochrane, Carol Gibbs, Lori Parr, Mikhael Shor, Michael Bronson, Vipul Vyas, Lisa Stewart, Jory Lockwood, Jim Bates, and Heather Har-Zvi. I am grateful for all of your time and efforts. The great author Michael J. Sullivan and his wife, Robin, provided excellent advice about the beta-read process.
The Arlington Writers Group, led by Michael Klein, will always be my home, even in absentia.
My agent, the lovely Victoria Skurnick, waited patiently for this book, helped make it better, and sold it. I’ll do my best to write the next one faster, Victoria.
Thank you JoVon Sotak, Jacque Ben-Zekry, and everyone else at Thomas & Mercer for your support, and for doing so much to bring writers to readers. And thank you to my fellow Thomas & Mercer writers, many of whom have provided advice and support. It’s wonderful to be part of such a community.