While Lance continued on as if nothing was wrong, Kristy pored over her files, in the mornings, during lunch hours, and late at night in her office, making excuses that Gus was forcing her to work late. From liar to murderer in ten easy steps, Kristy thought.
Case by case, Kristy broke down cause of death, the alibis, the location of victims’ bodies, the killer’s subsequent arrest and prosecution. She studied a total of two hundred and twelve murders. The majority were crimes of passion. They weren’t planned or calculated. Some were cases like Pamela’s, with too much physical evidence—blood spatter on the floors of her home that she’d missed in her cleanup, traffic cams showing her near the burial site. There were other cases in which the killer used a cell phone in the same area where the victim was murdered or purchased items related to the killing at a Walmart and was identified by staff or store surveillance. Other crimes were drug related, arguments that spun out of control over stolen bags of weed or a few grams of heroin. There were the mentally ill off their meds, snapping in the heat of the moment. All of them were messy murders with loads of evidence in which the perpetrator never had any chance of escaping prosecution. Kristy had to do her best to make certain that Lance simply disappeared and no one ever suspected that she was involved.
One of the most important factors in getting away with a crime was creating an irrefutable alibi. In essence, Kristy had to be in two places at once, and they had to be quite distant from each other. In order to do that, she had to find a situation in which Lance would actually leave her alone, which had become increasingly rare. Unless he was showing a house or at martial arts class, he never let Kristy out of his sight. The only exception was his hunting trips, and those were infrequent. Even if Lance left Kristy behind, there was always the possibility that Mac or Ryan would join Lance. Fortunately for Kristy, on Lance’s next scheduled hunting trip, Ryan was coaching his Urban Debate team, and Mac and Vera had a wedding in Waco. Lance didn’t mind going alone. He enjoyed sitting in the middle of the woods with a couple of six-packs of Bud, staking out his prey, waiting for the opportunity to strike. It made sense, his love of hunting: It required patience, finding your target’s weakness, and then destroying. That was Lance’s specialty.
The next two weeks flew by. Kristy had to juggle her work responsibilities with ensuring all the details of her plan were in order. Day by day she continued going over and over her plan, trying to ensure that she had all the details covered. Lance had at least five inches on her and about a hundred and twenty pounds. She had been worried about what to do if Lance fought back, and she needed to make sure she was prepared. She’d done her best to prepare herself for any possibility. At the library, tucked away during her lunch hour, she’d studied numerous self-defense weapons. In the end, the Vipertek stun gun was one of the best on the market.
But the biggest challenge was securing a weapon. She hated guns, but that was the quickest and most efficient method. Kristy briefly considered using one of Lance’s hunting rifles, but they were too heavy and unwieldy. She needed something small and error-proof. Of course there were numerous risks involved when it came to purchasing a firearm. She was a prominent figure in town. The idea of going to a gun show or buying from a private seller was way too risky. But Kristy had heard about the dark web from inmates, and Ryan had researched it in a debate topic and given Kristy the complete download.
“Pay attention, Mama Bear. The dark web is a collection of thousands of websites that conceal IP addresses, allowing anonymity for a variety of unsavory tasks, including buying drugs, guns, and all sorts of other illegal merchandise.”
Purchasing the gun required many steps. When Gus was in Austin on official business (aka the good ole boy golf tournament) Kristy headed off to a “dentist appointment” and asked Carmen to cover for her. She drove to the library in Montgomery, another nearby town, logged on to the dark web, and set up a sale from someone who called himself MadDogg12. For five hundred dollars, he sold her the stun gun and a Smith & Wesson .38 Special. MadDogg12 instructed Kristy to buy three Amex gift cards, two in the amount of two hundred dollars and one in the amount of one hundred dollars. She paid cash, making withdrawals on various days so nothing would appear out of the ordinary. Then she sent the cash in installments to different Mail Boxes Etc. locations in Houston.
Kristy’s biggest challenge was figuring out what to do with Lance’s body. She thought about dumping it in one of the many lakes surrounding the area, but she didn’t own a boat, and renting one would require paperwork, not to mention Kristy wasn’t a great swimmer. If Lance got the upper hand, just for one second, she could wind up overboard.
Burning the body was an option because it removed any forensic material. But the fire had to burn very hot, which meant you needed large amounts of accelerant. That was readily available at any Walmart or hardware store, but then there were records, credit card statements, security footage, potential eyewitnesses, not to mention a burn pit that could draw attention. It also wasn’t easy if you wanted to burn a body completely. A crematorium furnace, she’d once read, must generate temperatures of 1,600–1,800 degrees Fahrenheit to ensure disintegration of the corpse, and even then some bone fragments might be left behind. Sometimes Kristy’s research left her physically ill, but she couldn’t stop now. Not when Lance was busy with plans of his own.
Burying became the most realistic option. Her research warned that it was necessary to dig a grave at least six feet deep in order to prevent scavenger animals, bears, and wolves from digging up the body. It was important as well that clandestine graves were within fifty feet of a vehicle access point. Adrenaline surged for only so long, so getting as close to the grave as possible meant the body wouldn’t have to be dragged far, an important factor when thinking about size discrepancies. Kristy had checked hundreds of public land record surveys to find the right spot, until she finally located a piece of land that had been undeveloped since the 1930s. It was miles away from any campsite or hiking trails, but only fifteen miles from Lance’s favorite hunting site. A true Texas wasteland. She’d spent the past two weeks leaving work early and heading out to the site, digging the grave in preparation. By the time Thursday arrived, her anxiety was off the charts, the realization that she had only one more day before she took Lance’s life.
“I’m onto you, Tucker.”
Kristy nearly jumped out of her chair. Mac stood at the entrance of Kristy’s office, eyeing her carefully. She resisted the urge to push aside her notebook. Mac had no idea anything was wrong. All she needed to do was keep up the facade that everything was fine.
“You’ve lost that loving feeling, haven’t you?” Mac asked, his lips curled in a mischievous smile. Kristy forced a laugh. “What’s it been, weeks since we’ve hung out?”
“I’m sorry I haven’t called. We’ve been so busy.”
“Yeah, yeah, save your meaningless excuses for someone who cares and buy me lunch.”
Kristy had planned to spend her lunch hour going over her timeline again, looking for holes in her alibi, working on her contingency plan if Lance canceled his trip. But the more people that saw Kristy going about her day, the more people that could place her if she became a suspect later on down the line, the better.
“Lead the way, sir,” Kristy said, standing up and grabbing her purse. Mac smiled and slipped his arm through hers. Kristy had to stop herself from pushing him away—a result of her ongoing paranoia that Lance had spies everywhere. It wouldn’t be an issue after tomorrow. She allowed Mac to escort her to the staff cafeteria. It was a large windowless room in the center of the prison. It used to be the highlight of Kristy’s day, sneaking away from her desk and gossiping with Mac and the other guards, or with Carmen. These days she avoided the cafeteria altogether, anxiety gnawing away at the lining of her stomach. Mac and Kristy had always bonded over their love of good food but not today. He regarded the iceberg lettuce and Roma tomatoes in her salad with a grimace, shaking his head disapprovingly.
“You
’re eating rabbit food? What the hell have you done with my friend Kristy?”
“I had a huge breakfast,” Kristy said.
His gaze lingered. “Really?” he asked.
“Breakfast tacos are filling. You know that,” Kristy said, and Mac shrugged, digging into his gravy-covered steak.
“Lance says y’all are doing well. And then he said something that surprised me. He said you were thinking about quitting?”
Kristy smiled, feeling the tightness around her mouth.
“We’re discussing it. I haven’t made up my mind,” she said.
God, she was so tired of pretending. She just wanted to be done with it all. Some days she envied Hannah Mendoza. There were many nights she imagined taking her own life. Climbing into her car and driving down the back roads, parking in a wooded area, taking Pops’s gun, and pulling the trigger. Other nights, she imagined opening the medicine cabinet, surveying the aspirin, Lance’s Ambien, the leftover Percocet from her wisdom tooth surgery, wondering how many she would have to take so that she never woke up. But then Kristy envisioned Pops staring down at his daughter’s cold and lifeless body, mourners commenting that she looked lovely, while others whispered how odd she looked and why the hell had they put so much makeup on her? She imagined Lance, an arm clasped around Pops, holding him up, the two of them shaking their heads asking, “Why?” And then there was Ryan—forever haunted, wondering what he could have done to stop his mother from going over the edge.
“Kris … come back to me?”
“Sorry, what did you say?”
“I was saying what would you do if you left this place?” Kristy hadn’t given it any serious consideration.
“The options are endless.”
“And you and Lance are good?” Mac asked.
“Couldn’t be better,” Kristy lied, quickly moving on to other topics. “Did I tell you Pops got into a clinical trial at MD Anderson? He’s got me running around like a crazy person between here and Houston but it’s worth it. They’re trying out some revolutionary new treatments. It’s not a cure but the doctors are hoping it might alleviate some of his discomfort.”
“Damn, that’s good to hear! He’s been in great spirits the last few times I’ve seen him. And Ryan? I’ve texted him a few times but I haven’t heard back.”
“Yeah, I barely see him these days. He’s either with Ella or he’s studying for the SATs.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “But, Mac, there’s a good chance he might get in to Notre Dame.”
“No shit,” Mac said. “Are you serious?”
“He was accepted into a summer program, which could give him a serious advantage when he applies.”
Mac shook his head, a wide smile on his face.
“You’ve done good, Kris. Really good. This is what it’s all been for. Working here, all the sacrifice. This is it.”
She smiled, the tears falling quickly.
“Oh shit … I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
Kristy batted at her eyes with a paper napkin.
“God, I’m a wreck just thinking about him going off to school,” Kristy said. Stop it. Don’t let him see the cracks. Fortunately, her tears made Mac uneasy and it was his turn to change the subject.
“Heard they’re finally executing Clifton Harris,” Mac said. “Guy’s finally gonna get what’s coming to him.” Kristy fought back her tears, thinking about Clifton’s execution. She might be able to explain why she got emotional over Ryan leaving home, but explaining why she was crying over Clifton would be a hell of a lot more difficult.
“I’ll be working nonstop on that one,” Kristy replied, turning the conversation back to Mac, inquiring about his family and how they were doing. He launched into a monologue about his mother’s new quest to lose weight, insisting that the whole family cut out gluten.
Kristy envied how ordinary it all seemed. What might Kristy’s life have been like if she had chosen the good guy? When lunch ended, Mac pulled her in for a hug.
“Tell Lance I’ll see him soon. And take care of yourself. You’re practically disappearing.”
She left work early that day. Take care of yourself. Take care of yourself. That’s what Kristy told herself she was doing. She drove home and made meat loaf for supper. Ryan was gone. He would be spending the next two nights with Ella and her family in Galveston and wouldn’t be back until late Saturday afternoon. Lance was in a jovial mood, making dessert and insisting they all hang out and watch TV. They settled in the living room, the same room Lance proposed in, making promises he never intended to keep. Pops was propped up in his recliner, Lance seated on the sofa next to Kristy, a hand resting on Kristy’s thigh. Lance let Pops pick what they watched and he chose the finale of his favorite show, some musical competition in which aspiring singers vied for record contracts. Kristy despised this show, hated the fake cheerfulness, the all-consuming desire for stardom, but she didn’t argue.
Lance took Kristy’s hand, his legs touching hers. She endured the physical contact, darting glances at the photo hanging over the television. It was a family photo of Kristy, Pops, and Ryan taken almost eight years ago, the only one that worked out in a series of overly posed shots, part of a photo shoot package that an enthusiastic sales clerk suckered Kristy into buying at the mall kiosk.
Worth it though, for this one picture, Kristy thought. She couldn’t remember what made them all laugh so hard. Whatever it was, it was always just out of her mind’s reach. As the overly coiffed host droned on, stretching out the winning singer’s name, Lance’s hand gently caressed Kristy’s neck. Lance had always been affectionate, but he was exceptionally clingy tonight. Did he sense Kristy’s emotional shift? Was he trying to trick her? Set her off balance? It was possible but it didn’t matter. Not happening, Lance, Kristy thought. You’re too damn late.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Today was the day. Lance’s execution day. Kristy lay awake, the soft amber glow of sunrise peeking through the curtains. Beside Kristy, Lance slept, eyes closed, hands resting across his chest, looking so goddamn peaceful. Sometimes she questioned whether she could actually do this, and then she recalled everything Lance had done. Lying in her crumpled truck, her ribs aching, his hands around her throat. The cold metal pistol pressed to her forehead, the life insurance policies. There was more than enough evidence. Kristy quietly slipped out of bed, reminding herself that this was all on Lance. He had set this into motion.
In the bathroom, she closed the door and removed her nightgown, staring back at her gaunt frame in the full-length mirror. At work she’d tried to hide her weight loss, draping her skeletal figure in blousy shirts and A-line dresses. She’d never liked her body. Too round and hippy, she always thought, her life spent counting points, skipping meals, giving up carbs and dessert and wine (dear God, she gave up wine), and now here she was, her ribs peeking through, eyes bulging. She’d once dreamt of a stomach this flat. Now it served as a reminder that her body didn’t belong to her. Lance on the other hand adored the changes, dubbed this her “supermodel bod,” reveling in her sharp edges. Lance never once commented on the bruises, some fading, others freshly forming. He ignored the scars, some obvious, others indelible, etched on her body forever.
Kristy showered and dressed in her favorite black slacks and gray silk blouse. Her tote bag was packed, hidden in the back of the supply closet in her office. In it she had an exact duplicate of the outfit she was wearing, as well as a pair of gloves, zip ties, and duct tape.
At breakfast, Kristy fought the urge to hug Pops. Any outward display of emotion might be cataloged later. This was simply another Friday morning. She chatted casually, pouring coffee and forcing down a piece of toast, knowing that even if she wasn’t hungry, she couldn’t let her blood sugar drop. She’d planned to be out of the house before Lance woke up, but for once he was out of bed early, ambling downstairs at a quarter to seven, barefoot, blue jeans, no shirt, hair still damp from the shower. Staring at his lean, taut muscles, she recogni
zed the sheer power he possessed, his chiseled body, capable of doing serious damage to equally trained opponents. It left her unsettled. She’d told herself to stay focused but Lance must have clocked something off in her demeanor. He ambled over and wrapped his arms around her.
“You sure you don’t want to come with me?” he asked. “It’s just population control.”
“Been months since I’ve gone to the movies,” Kristy said. “But have fun.”
“All right, it’s your loss,” he said with a smile. He gave Kristy a kiss, his entire body pressing into hers, his hands gripping her, his body language claiming ownership. You’re mine. That’s what she was to him—Lance’s property, no different from his pickup or hunting rifles. As he pulled away and headed upstairs, he whistled a tune, not a care in the world. Kristy watched him go. I can do this. I can do this, she kept telling herself, hoping that if she repeated it enough, she might actually believe it.
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