“Was the camp your idea?”
“No. It was Michael’s. Why not a church camp, he’d suggested, where children could be guided by the Good Shepherd. Where they would learn the way.” Clarence Homer’s eyes glistened with tears. “It was the first time that he’d shown any interest in much of anything. I thought maybe he’d finally had a calling. . .”
“Did you know before. . . before that summer?”
“No. My God, no.”
“When did you learn?”
“When a reporter from the local television rang my doorbell. That’s how I found out,” he said bitterly. “From a reporter who stuck a microphone in my face and asked me how I felt about my brother being arrested on multiple counts of child rape.”
The clock ticked loudly from the mantel, doling out every painful second that passed.
Finally, he said, “I am very sorry for what happened to you and to the others. I’ve prayed for you—for all of you—every day that’s passed. And every day I ask forgiveness for the unspeakable horror that was inflicted on you.”
“And for Michael?”
“God forgive me, I’ve stopped praying for his soul long ago.” The man seemed to diminish in size even as she watched. After another long minute, he asked, “Is your father still preaching?”
“He and my mother died several months ago.”
“I’m sorry.” He looked sincere. “Reverend Snow knew his fire and brimstone.”
“That he did.”
“And your sister?”
“She’s still recovering.”
“And you?”
Genna shrugged.
“Are you really with the FBI? Or are those fake badges, procured to gain admittance to my home?” he asked.
“They’re real enough.”
He nodded faintly. “Seems you did all right for yourself, in spite of it all.”
“Appearances aren’t everything, Mr. Homer.” She took a few steps toward the door, then turned to ask, “Why didn’t you acknowledge that you knew who I was, when I was here before?”
“And what do you suppose I might have said?”
“Just what you’ve said now. That you hadn’t known what your brother was. That you were sorry.”
“Under the circumstances, it doesn’t seem like much, does it?”
She shook her head, no.
“Sometimes words aren’t worth a damn, Miss Snow. I figured this might be one of them.”
The silence spread to every corner of the room. Genna broke it by saying, “The words that would help most right now are the ones that could help us to find him. Mr. Homer, can you think of anyplace where we might look for Michael? Did he give you any indication of where he might be going, or what his plans were?”
The old man shook his head.
“No. But one morning, I did hear him talking on the telephone, something about picking up a car, I think.”
“A car? He bought a car?” He had her total attention. “Was it from a dealer? Or a private party?”
“I think it might have been a dealer. I saw him through the door,” Mr. Homer pointed toward the hallway, “with the telephone book spread open across the desk. Looked like it was opened to the back, where the yellow pages are.”
“That’s terrific, Mr. Homer. That’s the first bit of information we’ve been able to get. Thank you.”
“Thank you.” He raised a weary hand as if to wave. “It took courage for you to come to see me today.”
“And courage for you to let me.” Anxious now to share her bit of news with John, Genna paused in the doorway, then walked back across the carpet to where the old man sat, hunched in his wheelchair. When she extended her right hand to him, he looked up at her before taking it.
“All my life, I tried to do right,” he told her. “To use the resources the Lord so generously blessed this family with, to do His work. If I could reach into the past and change just one thing about my life, it would be my brother.”
“That Michael had not been what he was?”
“That Michael had never been born at all.”
20
If John had had any doubts as to the wisdom of Genna going back to speak with Clarence Homer—alone—those doubts were swept aside when the front door opened and Genna marched down the walk, her old energy clearly evident in her step.
“Thank you,” he whispered softly to the heavens, grateful that whatever had transpired had apparently lightened, not added to, the burden she carried in her soul.
As she drew closer to the car, he leaned over to open the door for her. “I take it that your chat went well.”
“Better than well,” she told him as she climbed into the car.
“Then he knew you.”
“He knew me,” her face softened. “It was as you said. He just didn’t know what to say to me. Frankly, I think he was embarrassed by the fact that I showed up here, that after all that happened, he had to face me.”
“What did he say?”
“Just that he had always known that his brother was different, but he didn’t realize just how different. That he hadn’t been aware of what Michael had been doing at camp.” She leaned back against the cloth seat of the rental car. “And that he was sorry for everything that had happened.”
“Do you believe him?”
“Yes. I do,” she nodded. “I don’t know what he’d have to gain by lying to me now, and there seemed to be a real anguish inside of him. But more important to our case—he remembered something that could prove to be the first break we’ve gotten since this mess began.” She snapped on her seat belt and looked up at him triumphantly. “He believes that Michael may have bought a car before he left town. He heard him talking on the phone, and on the day he left, Michael left on foot.”
“Did he tell you where he might have purchased it?”
“No, but since there are only. . .” Genna pulled a stash of yellow paper from the outside pocket of her handbag, “let’s see. . . seven car dealers within walking distance of the Homer house, I’d say we have a damned good chance of finding the salesman. I made a quick stop at the desk in Mr. Homer’s hallway. His yellow pages are a bit lighter, but under the circumstances, I don’t think he’ll mind. Now, there’s a GM dealer up on Melrose Avenue. The school we went to was on Melrose, and if memory serves, I think that would be about four blocks from here. That’s as good a place as any to start.”
“Does Mr. Homer know that you ripped pages out of his phone book?”
“We’ll let the evidence folks tell him. I think it’s time to call the ERT in, to go through the house. Especially Mother Homer’s room. I think we need to start lifting prints, hair samples—”
“Done. That was one of several calls I made while you were inside,” he told her. “I also called Egan and filled him in. He’s going to dispatch field agents to each of the families of the missing women to bring them up-to-date.”
“Then I guess it’s time to start visiting all of the car dealers in the area to see if in fact Brother Michael made a purchase.”
John turned the key in the ignition and the car eased from the curb.
It had only taken three stops before the dealer who’d sold Brother Michael his wheels was located.
“A 1998 Dodge van, yes, ma’am,” the middle-aged salesman who introduced himself as Lou Banning told Genna nervously, glancing at the pocket where she’d placed her badge and wondering, no doubt, where her gun was stashed. “Paid cash on the spot.”
“What can you tell us about the van?” she asked.
“It was dark blue. Windows on one side panel, windows on the back doors. Only had about thirteen thousand miles on it.”
“Were the windows tinted?” John pretended to be checking out the merits of a new SUV.
“Yes, tinted windows.” Lou nodded.
“Can you pull the paperwork for us?”
“Paperwork’s locked in the office this time of the night, but I can pull up the transaction on the computer, if that would h
elp.”
“That would be fine. But maybe,” Genna smiled as she followed him to the glass door, “maybe you can get someone to come in and open up that office so that we can take a look at the paperwork.”
“I can do that,” he nodded.
“Can you describe him for us?” John asked, choosing to stand rather than sit in one of the hard plastic chairs that were offered. “The fellow who bought the van?”
“Under six feet, slender, full beard, a mustache. . .”
“What color was his hair?”
“Dark brown, touch of gray running through it, but there wasn’t much of it. It was really short.”
“May I use your phone?” John asked, reaching for it without waiting for a response.
“Do you think you could work with an artist to prepare a sketch for us?” Genna asked. John would be calling Calvin Sharpe. In no time at all, agents from the nearest field office would be all over Lindenwood.
“Sure. But I don’t know that we’ll need to,” he told her, pointing behind her. She turned and followed his finger, to the nearby corner of the room. “Security camera. We started using it last spring, when our vending machines were being broken into. We caught the guy who was doing it, but I don’t know that anyone thought to turn off the camera. It probably just ran until the tape ran out.”
“When was it installed?” Genna asked, her heart pounding at this unforeseen stroke of luck.
“On Tuesday, April 11, of this year. I remember because it was my forty-fifth birthday. It had seventy-two hours worth of tape on it.”
“And Michael Homer was here when?”
“First thing, Thursday morning. That would’ve been April thirteenth.”
“Is the tape still in there?”
“I never did take it down.” He shrugged. “Didn’t hear nobody else saying they did.”
“Get it down now, then, if you would be so kind.” She turned and called to John. “Off the phone, Mancini. Lou has a little surprise for you. . .”
By ten-thirty, the tape had not only been viewed several dozen times, but copied as well. Just as the salesman had suspected, the man he identified as Michael Homer was clearly evident. Unfortunately, the camera angle failed to provide a full facial image. Still, it was the first glimpse they’d had of their prime suspect, and it was hoped that by sending the tape to the lab, some isolated still shots might be obtained that could be sent out to the media.
By midnight, the first of the ERT members had arrived from the Pittsburgh office and had been briefed by John and Genna both. It was a little after one A.M. when John pulled into the parking lot of the motel on the outskirts of town where rooms had been reserved for the two agents.
“Some day, eh?” John said when he turned off the engine.
“You’re not kidding.” Genna stifled a yawn and nodded.
“Tired?” he asked.
“A little. I’m more hungry than tired right now, though. Do you remember when you last ate?”
“Breakfast on the plane.”
“Me too. I think it’s just catching up with me.”
“There’s an all-night diner across the parking lot,” he noted. “Want to give it a try?”
“Are you kidding? I’d walk over hot coals for a fresh cup of coffee and something really good to eat.”
John smiled to himself as he locked the car. The return of Genna’s appetite was a good sign.
He took her hand and they strolled through the halos of yellow light that spilled from the poles stationed every twenty feet or so across the lot. The two customers seated at the counter turned to look them over as Genna and John entered the quiet diner. A tired-looking young woman in her early twenties led them to a table overlooking the street and handed them menus.
“We serve breakfast twenty-four/seven,” she told them.
They studied the menus and made their selections, and sat quietly, each lost in their thoughts, for a few minutes.
“What would you like to hear?” John asked.
“What?”
“They have an old jukebox,” he pointed to a wall behind her. “What would you like to hear?”
“Let’s see what they have.”
They leaned against the rounded glass front of the jukebox and read off titles of songs, most of which were popular a decade or more ago.
“Wow, some of these records are antiques. Look there, ‘Blue Moon.’ That was a big favorite back in the Stone Age,” John told her as he slipped some change into the slot. “And this one. ‘You Belong to Me.’” Grinning, he dropped in another quarter. “Not to mention this one. ‘Why Do Fools Fall in Love?’ My dad had some of these.”
“I don’t know if I ever heard any of them.”
“You have to be kidding.” He turned, wide-eyed, to stare at her.
“Nope.” She shook her head just as the song began to play.
“Wow,” he muttered, pretending to be shocked, “never heard ‘Blue Moon.’ It’s a golden oldie.” He made a few more selections before leading her back to their seats, singing with the jukebox along the way.
“I wasn’t born until 1973,” she reminded him.
“And I was born in ’70,” he said as they sat back down. “What’s that got to do with it? You weren’t alive in the forties, either, but I’ve heard you singing ‘The Tennessee Waltz.’”
“Only because it’s an old favorite of Patsy’s, and she used to sing it all the time.” Genna laughed.
The waitress brought their coffee and they ministered to their cups, stirring as they added cream and sugar.
“So. What are you thinking?” John asked, when he felt it was time.
“I’m thinking we are going to catch this bastard.” She looked across the table at him with eyes that glowed with a certainty he hadn’t seen there before. “I think those videos will go a long way to helping us when they are shown on the news tomorrow morning. We will be hearing from gas station attendants and waitresses and people who work in drugstores and we will track him down before another victim is taken.”
“He may not look the same now as he did back in April,” John said, wondering when it would occur to her that there was only one potential name left on Michael’s list. “He may have shaved off the beard, the hair could be longer. Maybe a different color.”
“I know, I know. But. . .” She hesitated.
“‘But. . . ?’”
“But, well, watching that tape. . . there’s something about the way he walks. . .” her voice faded off.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I can’t help but feel as if. . . well, as if something seemed familiar. . .”
“Well, it’s possible that something has stayed in your mind that you don’t consciously remember. Your paths have crossed before, even though you were only nine years old at the time.”
“Maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s just an old memory.” She sipped at her coffee, then moved her body back to permit the waitress to serve them the scrambled eggs and toast they’d ordered.
“How did you feel, seeing him, after all these years?” John tried to sound as nonchalant as possible, though it had been the one issue that had most worried him since the tape had been found.
She put her fork down, considering the question.
“Mostly, angry. I’m still angry for what he did to me. But I’m even more angry about what he’s done to these women. They’ve been twice his victim.” She swallowed hard. “Sometimes I wake up at night, thinking that I hear them calling me. Calling for help. Like they’re waiting for me to find them. . .” Her voice trailed off for a moment, then she was back, adding firmly, “But on another level, I am infinitely grateful that I am here, where I am, to be the one who will bring him in and put an end to it, once and for all.”
“Well, certainly, you’ll be part of it, but. . .” John stopped, and studied her face, not liking what he saw there. “Genna, don’t even think about it.”
“John, you know I’m on his list. You know I’m the one he�
�s after now,” she said softly.
“If you think I’m going to let you out of my sight. . .”
“Stop and think,” she lowered her voice and leaned across the table. “You know he’s not going to quit until he’s crossed every name off that list. Mine is the last one.”
“I was wondering when that would occur to you.”
“I never lost sight of it. He’s far too clever to be easily caught. He’s proven that. Twelve victims so far, and we don’t have a clue as to where they are or what he’s done with them. You and I both know that this will not end until we find him or he finds me. Unless we get a clean lead and locate him over the next few days, we won’t find him at all. I’ve spent most of my life trying to overcome the repercussions of what he did to me. I will not spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, wondering where he is, waiting for him to come back. This time, I’m going to be in control, not him.”
“Genna, don’t you think he’ll expect you to do just that? Do you really expect him to come after you now?”
“I think he thinks he’s smarter than all of us. I think he’ll find a way to get to me, regardless of how much protection there may be around me.”
“Gen, the best thing for you to do right now is to go underground with Patsy and Crystal—”
“Oh, my God, someone needs to warn them—” The color drained from her face.
“Someone already has.” He reached out for her hand and took it. “I called Patsy while you were in talking with Mr. Homer and suggested that she and Chrissie prepare to leave the lake for a while.”
“Leave the lake?” Genna frowned. “Patsy’d never agree to that.”
“Au contraire, my sweet,” he told her. “She’s probably packed by now.”
“To go where?”
“We agreed that perhaps Brian’s house might be a good place to stay.”
“No.” Genna shook her head. “I will not put Allison and the kids in the middle of this. We’ll think of someplace else to send them.”
Voices Carry Page 26