“I know who you are,” she said evenly. She’d awoken to a hard truth this morning. She’d lost a brother. And all the terrible things he’d done had pulled at her mouth and eyes and aged her.
“Do you think it would be okay if I talked to Robbie for a few minutes?”
She hesitated. “He’s been through so much …”
“Just a few minutes,” I pressed, and she stepped aside and gestured for me to come in.
“He just woke up,” she said. “I’ll let him know you’re here. Would you like something? Coffee?”
“No. Thank you. I’ll wait here.”
I stood in the foyer looking through a glass storm door at the manicured lawn, the neighborhood, middle income and cared for. “Dr. Street.” I turned and looked up at Robbie’s face. Some of the swelling had gone down and that bruised eye was open now and clear and blue. “What’s going on?”
“I’m headed out of town. But I wanted to check on you. Feel like taking a walk?”
“Okay, sure.” He slipped long, sockless feet into Nikes. We crossed the lawn together and walked down the sidewalk, Robbie watching the ground, hands dug into his pockets. “My dad okay?” he asked, after a while.
“Still in the hospital,” I said. “They’ll move him today. I’ve been thinking a lot about him.”
“Me too,” Robbie said. “I miss him. You never think about losing your dad.”
“He told me he just wanted to end it his way.” We walked under the water oaks lining a street warmed with morning light. “He told me that’s why he killed Skylar. Because he just wanted it to be over.”
“Do we have to talk about this?” The teenager’s voice was distant and aching.
“You remember Tracy, don’t you?” I asked. I stopped and looked at him. He wore jeans and an untucked blue shirt. He had that slumpy teenage-boy posture. He didn’t take his hands out of his pockets. It took him a long moment to answer.
“I heard him open the trunk,” he said darkly. “I was sleeping in the car. He didn’t know I got out and followed him.”
“So you saw her. Did you see him kill her?”
“Yes. Oh God.” He put his hand in front of his mouth. Robbie started to cry. “I couldn’t tell. He’s my dad. Are they going to keep him a long time?”
“He murdered three women. I think he’ll be convicted on two of them. There’s a lot of evidence.”
“They told me he killed my mom. So that’s four.”
“But you killed Melinda, Robbie,” I said. His chin came up. No more sadness. No more grief. His eyes dried almost as quick as he’d whipped up the tears. He said good morning to a woman who passed us with a yipping, tail-wagging Yorkie. We started to walk again. “You know, when I got the first note and handed it to your dad, he wiped it down before he took it to the lab. I realized this morning that wasn’t at all what it looked like. He was protecting you. Same with Skylar. In his fucked-up logic your father decided to kill her, to clean up your mess. That’s why he hit you, isn’t it? He was furious about the photograph. The guy puked when he saw it. And the notes. You very skillfully planted the seed in my head that your dad had been in town when the letter was delivered. You took Melinda and Skylar. That’s why there was an escalation in violence, that’s why Melinda’s body was rolled and not thrown. Because you didn’t know what you were doing. She fell when you hit her, didn’t she? Was she dead or did you leave her to die?”
“Very interesting theories, Dr. Street. Honestly, I’m totally blown away right now.”
“He must have realized when the bodies were found, because you screwed up and dropped evidence, that he’d raised a killer,” I said. “He made you promise not to do it again, didn’t he? And then I came to town, and the rumors and the gossip started, and you knew it was your chance to grab Skylar and throw him under the bus.”
I thought he might smile. His lips quirked. “Crazy talk.”
“Oh come on, Robbie. Like I could sell this to Ken Meltzer. With all the evidence pointing at your dad. Ken adores you. Besides, you know I’m not a cop. You want to frisk me or something? You think I’m wearing a wire? You want to check my phone? Maybe the FBI has a recording device in it. Maybe a big black helicopter will swoop down. That would be a fitting end, wouldn’t it? Lot of drama and attention. I’m sorry I couldn’t arrange it for you. This is for me, for closure.” I took my Glock out of the holster, held up my arms, my phone in one hand, my Glock in the other, made a circle. “Go ahead,” I challenged him. “But make a move for the gun and I will shoot you.”
Robbie didn’t touch me. He watched with something that looked like amusement. His dry eyes were lit with the new fire and fear and delight of being seen for what he was, what he truly was. In the end, I knew his ego would win. The thing he believed in most of all was his ability to con the world. He watched me with his clever predator’s eyes, sizing me up, judging his risk, my weaknesses.
“Lot of things weren’t adding up,” I said, lowering my arms, returning the Glock to the holster. “And then one of Melinda’s friends called me. The girls knew you and Melinda were flirting or whatever you were doing, and they were hiding it, protecting her, because they knew her parents wouldn’t approve. And when they heard about your dad, they thought that by continuing to protect Melinda’s secrets, they’d exposed Melinda to him, through you. They still haven’t put it together. Because you’re the cute guy with the guitar, right? I realized you were the reason Melinda and Skylar were pulling away from school activities. Because the adorable little psychopath in the neighborhood was seducing them.”
“A psychopath,” he said. “Is that what I am?”
“We both know you are.”
“Because I like them when they first get tits?”
“No. Because you can’t feel their pain. Your dad, he’s a thug and a killer too. But he’s different. He doesn’t crave it. He feels remorse. He could stop.”
“He’s an idiot,” Robbie said. “So easy to get him all torqued up. When he found the phone on the road he was so mad I’d done it again. Especially with you here. He said the searches were starting. I told him I wanted to fuck with her like he fucked with that Tracy girl. I was in the car that day he talked her into getting in, in the front seat. He told me Tracy was lying down because she got sick. But I knew he hit her.”
“So you got your dad all worked up. You knew he’d go out there to clean up the scene and make Skylar disappear. You set him up. Just like you set me up. You knew I’d spark to him with your black eye and his finger in my face at the park, the clever hint you dropped on Main Street. Well played.”
“I have to admit it was easier than I thought. I’m learning a lot about human nature. I’m smarter than you think I am.”
“Maybe,” I said. I started walking back to my car. He followed me. Of course he would: I was feeding his ravenous ego. “There is one thing I’m curious about, though. I think I understand, but I want to be sure. These girls liked you. Melinda and Skylar would have gotten in your car. So why con them with the breakdown? Why risk doing it in the open?”
“Because not doing it is riskier.” He said it matter-of-factly.
“You want to get control right away. Is that it?”
“Gotta show ’em who’s boss,” he said. “Get them in the car and they get squirmy and start worrying about their mommies and daddies and where you’re taking them. They can spook and bail.”
“Ah. You tried it before,” I said. “And screwed it up. Did she report you?”
“Seriously? I’m the cop’s kid. Who’d believe some weepy teenage girl? And I’m a heck of a nice guy.” He took a deep, exaggerated breath and blew it out. “You think we could talk sometimes? I like talking to you.”
“Enjoy it while you can,” I said, and opened my car door.
He looked down at me with those innocent blue eyes. “She looked so pretty in your mascara, Keye. I thought you’d want to know.”
I took a last look at him as I pulled away, skinny and sweet an
d battered and not at all like the monster he really was. I switched off the voice memo app on my phone, hit PLAY, and listened. I heard my voice and Robbie’s. I praised the smartphone gods, touched the SHARE button, and emailed the entire conversation to the Hitchiti County Sheriff’s Department.
Epilogue
I drove the way I’d fantasized over breakfast. I drove like I’d stolen the car, top down, hair flying behind me. I drove toward the thing that always grounds me, sets the world right after it’s tipped up on its end, connects me again, mends what’s broken and numb. I drove toward the marsh and sand and gnarled live oaks until the scent of Jekyll’s briny, seductive coast rose up over the hood of my Impala, musky and voluptuous and ripe. A Low Country girl had raised me. My mother had fished and played and come of age on the banks of the Albemarle Sound, and she wove gorgeous, vivid, harrowing, romantic tales about the geography that had shaped her. And in doing so it had shaped her children. Jimmy and I both are terrified of the sea while being irresistibly pulled to it.
I saw my phone lighting up on the seat next to me as I crossed the causeway bridge. First Rauser’s ringtone sang out, then Meltzer’s. No designated ringtone for the sheriff. Not yet. I didn’t answer for either of them. I needed to think. I needed bare feet on the hard-packed sand. I needed salt air. And miles between us. Just for a minute, an hour, a day. I needed to be alone. I needed to make decisions.
When I heard the default ring a second time, I reached to silence the ringer. I had expected to see the sheriff’s name again, but I saw a 954 area code instead. I thought about Robbie talking about learning human nature. Curiosity got me.
“Keye Street,” I answered.
“My name is Ching Lan Lin,” she said. Her voice was smooth, unaccented. “Do you recognize my name? I’m your mother.”
For Kate Miciak,
who took me to school
Acknowledgments
One of the many things I didn’t realize when I began the Keye Street series is what a collaborative process book writing is and that it takes an army of people to help a writer get it right. I’ve been fortunate to be surrounded by exceptionally smart and generous professionals.
Huge thanks to my amazingly dedicated team at Random House who believed in a new voice and nurtured this series. I have tons of starry-eyed adoration for you all.
Thank you Special Agent Dawn Diedrich from the Georgia Bureau of Investigation and Dr. Jamie Downs, Coastal Regional Medical Examiner, Georgia Bureau of Investigation.
Thanks to the gang at Victoria Sanders & Associates, to Chandler Crawford and Angela Cheng Caplan for everything you do. And a special thanks to Victoria Sanders, who made this possible.
Benee Knauer, friend, best research assistant ever, straight shooter, what would I do without you talking me down a couple of times a year? Thank you.
And to Ken Meltzer, animal lover and high-bidder in the character name giveaway to benefit homeless animals and the Lifeline Animal Project, who graciously agreed to let me have my way with his name and reputation. Ken, I hope your wife approves.
By Amanda Kyle Williams
The Stranger You Seek
Stranger in the Room
Don’t Talk to Strangers
About the Author
Amanda Kyle Williams worked with a PI firm in Atlanta, was a process server, a freelance writer for The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, and owned a small business. She is active in the humane community and one of the founding directors at LifeLine Animal Project, a nonprofit, no-kill animal welfare organization based in Atlanta, Georgia.
Williams is the author of The Stranger You Seek, her Townsend Prize for Fiction and Shamus Award–nominated suspense debut, and Stranger in the Room. Williams is currently hard at work on the next Keye Street novel.
For updates, bonus content, and sneak peeks at upcoming titles:
Visit the author’s website
amandakylewilliams.com
Find the author on Facebook
Facebook.com/AmandaKyleWilliams
Don’t Talk to Strangers: A Novel Page 33