“Hello?”
“Hi, it’s me. Kate. I did something really dumb.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m lost in The Balsams,” she said, trying to keep the tremolo out of her voice.
“How did that happen?”
“Listen, my phone’s about to die. I forgot to recharge it.”
“Okay, calm down, I know the area,” Palmer said. “Describe where you are.”
“I have no idea. I’m all turned around, and it’s snowing pretty hard.”
“Where did you park?”
“Kirkland Road, next to the trailhead. I’ve been wandering in the woods for about half an hour.”
“How far into the woods—your best guesstimate?”
“I don’t know. Maybe two miles.”
“Do you see any colored disks on the trees?”
“No. I’ve been looking. I’m on a private trail.”
“Okay. Keep walking and describe it for me. What do you see?”
She trudged along the trail, fighting her own exhaustion. “Snow. Trees.”
“Not helpful, Kate.”
“Underbrush… rocks, a few boulders. I don’t know what I’m looking for,” she admitted miserably.
“All right. Listen. If you keep walking, you’re bound to come across a stone foundation or an old well, something along those lines.”
“All right.” She came to a fork in the trail. “Oh. I’m at a fork.”
“Good. Pick a direction and keep walking.”
“Okay. I’m going left.”
“See any of those disks?”
“No.”
“Keep going. Anything yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Okay. Turn around and try the other fork.”
She did.
“Anything yet?”
She spotted an orange disk nailed to an ash tree. “Yes! Found one. It’s orange.”
“Great. You’re on a hiking trail. Can you read the number for me?”
“Two zero something.”
“Can’t make it out?”
“Hold on…” She reached up to wipe off the snow.
“Kate?”
“Just a second.” Her cell phone sputtered with static. “Palmer?”
For a moment, there was nothing but silence.
“Palmer?”
He came back. “Kate?”
“Thank God. You were fading out for a second.”
“What does the number say?”
“Two zero nine.”
“Okay. Hold on.”
“My phone’s dying,” she said plaintively.
“Stay calm. I’m looking at the map now,” he said. “Two zero nine. Got it. I know exactly where you are. I own a cabin not too far from there. It’s closer than where you left your car on Kirkland Road. That okay?”
“Yes. What should I do?”
“Stay on the trail for a couple of minutes, until you come to another intersection of hiking trails. Let me know when you reach it.”
“Okay.”
“Take your time.”
After several laborious minutes, Kate said, “Okay. I’m at the intersection.”
“Read the number on the nearest disk.”
She did.
“Okay, good. I want you to take the left fork and stay on this trail until you come to another fork, where you’ll take a right. Be careful here. If you get on the wrong trail at this point, you’ll end up on a two and a half mile loop. We need to avoid that if possible.”
“Okay,” she said, struggling to stay focused.
“After about ten minutes or so, you’ll come to the foundations of an old homestead and a rusty pump nearby. I want you to draw a line from the foundations to the pump. You’re going to follow this imaginary line out of the woods. Understand? Are you getting all this?”
“Yes,” she said above the howling wind.
“Okay. I want you to follow this imaginary line until you come to a gravel road, which will be aligned in a south–north direction. You’re going to cross the road and take the trailhead back into the woods. From that point on, you’ve got maybe forty yards to go before you’ll reach my cabin. Got it?”
“Okay,” she shouted above the wind. “Got it.”
“Pace yourself. Stay focused. I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes.”
Her phone began to beep as the charge ran out.
“At some point you’ll come across a stream, but it will be frozen—”
“Palmer? Palmer?”
The line went dead.
She felt an adrenaline spike as she pocketed her phone. With the wind in front of her, she powered her way through the flurries. The day was dying. Hypothermia was a real threat. Her face was rubbed raw from the wind-chill. Her legs were numb— it was like walking on stilts. She couldn’t afford to mess up. Right at the fork—stone foundations—cross the road—back on the trailhead…
She trudged through the deepening drifts, sweating and swearing, before she spotted the crumbling foundations dusted with snow. She located the rusty pump and drew a mental line from the foundation toward it, then aimed herself in that direction. With great trepidation, she stepped off the trail. Her boots descended into hidden holes and ravines full of rocks. She focused on the whiteness beyond the trees—a dead space that could only mean one thing. A clearing. A road.
It seemed to take her forever, but she finally managed to burst out of the woods onto an old logging road. She cheered with relief, her breath clouds billowing eastward. Almost there.
She jogged across the road and found the trailhead back into the woods. After a dozen yards or so, she came upon a stream. It was frozen over. She tested the solid block of ice and made it to the other side without incident. Then the last bit of daylight blinkered out. Flurries pummeled her from all sides. She took out her keys and used her halogen penlight to guide her way, keeping her head down.
Five minutes later, she spotted a pair of headlights cutting through the darkness. As she drew closer she saw a cabin, then Palmer waiting for her. He aimed a heavy-duty flashlight in her eyes, blinding her momentarily before swinging it away.
“Kate?” he shouted through the wailing wind.
She laughed so hard, she nearly choked, and ran toward him.
46
PALMER HELD THE CABIN door open, and they stomped the snow off their boots. He hung his overcoat on a hook in the front hallway, and Kate hung her parka up next to it. She kicked off her boots and followed him sock-footed into the kitchen.
“Grab a seat,” he said, starting a pot of coffee.
She sat down at a square table made of rough planks and massaged her sore arches. The snow was tapering off. Dean Martin was crooning from the sound system in the living room, an old-fashioned boozy love song. She tried to calm down, but she couldn’t stop shivering.
“I’m not going to lecture you,” he said, “but that was—”
“Dumb. I know,” she completed the thought. “By the way, that qualifies as a lecture.”
He smiled. “You need dry socks. Be right back.” He disappeared upstairs.
Kate examined her feet. Her toes were swollen and painful to the touch, but she could still wiggle them, and they’d stopped throbbing. Her left calf cramped, and she massaged it until the muscles softened. Her nerves were on edge. She would have to tell him about William Stigler.
Soon Palmer was back with a pair of clean white athletic socks, and she asked him where the bathroom was. He pointed down the hallway. Inside the white-tiled bathroom, Kate peeled off her wet socks and put on the new ones. She studied her face in the mirror. Her cheeks were red and her lips were cracked. She took a deep breath. She could’ve died out there. She washed her face with warm water and ran her fingers through her hair.
Back in the kitchen, Palmer poured them two coffees, added generous helpings of milk and sugar, and Kate gulped hers down, savoring every last drop.
“I went to see Stigler today,” she confessed.
> His entire demeanor changed. “Kate, no.”
“I just wanted to catch a glimpse of him, that’s all. But we ended up talking.”
He shook his head. “I never should’ve told you about him.”
“He said he was in Germany when Vicky Koffman went missing, and in Boston when Maggie Witt disappeared, so the police have ruled him out as a suspect. He said you know this.”
“Kate, listen to me. The man is an exceptional liar. Vicky Koffman disappeared eight hours before Stigler’s flight to Germany. And Maggie Witt’s mother thought she was at a friend’s house, but she never made it there—there was some confusion about the timeline. So there was a window of opportunity of about five hours when he could’ve abducted her before heading off to Boston. And yet you believed him.”
She nodded slowly. “He came across as charming and reasonable…”
“Stigler fits the profile. He’s divorced, no kids. He has a house by the lake with plenty of acreage, so he’s fairly distant from his neighbors—he’d need access to an isolated location where he can indulge his fantasies. His job puts him in touch with his victims. He’s manipulative, deceptive, and highly intelligent. He’s tenured and beyond reproach. It’s a great disguise.” Palmer pinched the bridge of his nose. “There’s something else we need to discuss.”
Kate braced herself, ignoring the twinge in her stomach.
“I think your mother was murdered and that her suicide was staged, just like Susie Gafford’s accident.”
Kate balked. She shook her head. “No. She killed herself the same way Virginia Woolf did—by filling her pockets with rocks and walking into the river. She loved reading Virginia Woolf.”
“Yes, which is something Stigler would have known. The rocks became part of the staging. He and your mother were living together at the time, and their relationship wasn’t good. Neighbors complained about the noise, loud arguments coming from the apartment in the days prior to the event.”
“Wait,” Kate sputtered. “Are you saying that the professor I met today killed my mother and made it look like a suicide? Because he reminded me of every college professor I’ve ever had. Arrogant, maybe, but nothing out of the ordinary. He came across as fairly warm and caring—my mother would’ve responded to that. She craved attention. My father can be so cold.”
“But you know even better than I do, psychopaths can fake empathy. Stigler had an alibi for most of the day your mother died, but not all of it. There’s a two-hour gap, and that’s plenty of time to kill someone, trust me. Besides, I didn’t agree with the pathologist’s time of death, which could’ve given him another couple of hours. There’s plenty of room for doubt. I just haven’t been able to prove it yet. But your mother was cremated. We can’t exhume the body and do another autopsy.”
Outside the wind rattled against the windowpanes with an erratic beat, like a child’s fists. Let me in. I’m cold. I’m hungry.
“Your mother was a strong swimmer, right?” Palmer said. It was true—Julia used to brag about the swimming trophies she’d won back in high school. She was fearless in the water. “It takes four or five minutes for a person to drown,” he continued, “and that’s a long time to be struggling for air. Even if you wanted to kill yourself, your natural instinct to survive would kick in after thirty seconds or so, no matter what your original intentions were. Now, the medical examiner argued that even if her will to survive had kicked in, the powerful currents combined with the rocks in her pockets would’ve exhausted her. He ruled that the wounds on her body were a result of the current pulling her under and smashing her against the boulders.”
Kate took a breath, feeling sick.
“But you’ve got a person who’s emotionally distraught,” Palmer went on, oblivious to her distress. “There’s proof she’d been drinking. What if your mother and Stigler had an argument that night? What if he followed her down to the river in his own vehicle? What if they continued to argue, and he took advantage of her intoxicated state and killed her? What if he struck her over the head, filled her pockets with rocks and pushed her into the river?”
She felt a tremor in her bones, like the wake of a passing boat.
“Quade and I disagreed about a lot of things, and this was one of them. He used your mother’s history of mental illness and the quantity of alcohol in her system as corroborative evidence. There was no suicide note, but she’d threatened to kill herself in the past. And the fact that her lungs were full of water proved she was alive when she jumped in the river, according to him. The rocks in her pockets pointed to a conscious decision to end her life. Case closed. However, I still believe it was a homicide staged to look like a suicide.”
She stared at him, glassy-eyed. “You’re suggesting Stigler killed my mother and my sister?”
Palmer took a sip of coffee. “I used to follow him on my off-duty hours. I even brought him in for questioning once, but he threatened to sue the department, so I was ordered to back off. I’m retired now. I live off my pension. I don’t have much of a budget, but I can do whatever I please.”
“But the medical examiner came to a different conclusion?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time one of us disagreed with Pickler.”
“So the other detectives had concerns about him?”
“The few of us who were vocal about it are either dead or retired.” He shrugged.
“But you don’t have any evidence. It’s all circumstantial.”
“It’s a difficult case to prove.”
She shook her head skeptically. “What tipped you off to the connection between the victims and Stigler in the first place?”
“Vicky Koffman’s mother first mentioned the study to me. I soon found out that six other families were involved, and some interesting details emerged. Maggie Witt’s mother mentioned that during the interview process, Stigler would brush the hair out of Maggie’s eyes. Same with some of the other girls. I looked into Stigler’s background and discovered that he came from an abusive home. His father was a drunk who used to beat him and his brothers and mother, then abandoned the family when Stigler was seven. His mother was a drug addict and occasional hair stylist. As a small child, Stigler would play on the floor of the beauty salon where she worked.”
Kate nodded slowly. “That’s interesting, but still…”
“Trust me, there’s enough red flags. He’s gotten away with it for so long now, he’s convinced that everybody else is either too stupid or too blind to see it. As long as he doesn’t take any risks, he can keep on killing. In the meantime, he puts on a friendly face and pretends to be a normal, decent human being. But deep down, he knows what he is. And he’s proud of it.”
“Let me talk to him again.”
“Absolutely not. I don’t want you going anywhere near the guy. Not while he thinks he’s impervious.”
“So what can I do?” Kate asked.
“Sit tight.” Palmer scowled at her. “This man is dangerous. By showing up at his office today, you’ve piqued his interest. You might have made yourself a target.”
Kate nodded nervously. Palmer was right. If by some chance Stigler had murdered Kate’s mother and little sister, then he would have no compunction about killing her.
“Promise me one thing,” Palmer said. “No more adventures. Be careful. Watch your back. Keep your doors locked. And call me if anything unusual happens.”
“Unusual?”
“Hang-ups. Anonymous gifts. Unsigned letters. Damage to your property.”
“Are you serious?”
“Wait here a sec.” He got up and left the kitchen. She could hear him in the living room, opening drawers. He came back and handed her a canister of pepper spray. “Keep this handy.”
“Pepper spray?”
“For self-defense. Just in case.”
“Great,” she said sarcastically. “You really think he’ll come after me?”
“He may try to intimidate you but he won’t do anything rash. Not now. He knows I’m watching
him. Besides, you’re too high-profile. He doesn’t want to get caught. Psychopaths hate to lose.”
“You’re really creeping me out, Palmer.”
“Nobody’s going to hurt you, Kate. Not on my watch.” He stood up and put on his coat. “Listen, it’s getting late. Why don’t you stay the night? I’ll swing by in the morning and take you to your car.”
She glanced at her watch. It was getting late.
He handed her the cabin keys. “Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. The clean linens are in the closet upstairs. The landline works, if you need to call anyone, and I’ve got a spare phone charger so you can juice yours up.”
“I don’t want to impose.”
He smiled. “No trouble. I’m beat myself. I’m heading home.”
“Okay. I’ll take you up on it.”
“Good.”
She walked him to the door. “Thanks for rescuing me today,” she said.
“Any time.”
She drew the chain-lock behind him.
47
KATE POURED HERSELF A cup of coffee and called James.
“Jesus, where’ve you been?” he asked. “I’ve been trying to reach you for hours. I’ve been worried sick.”
“My phone died and I’ve only just been able to recharge it,” she explained. “I’m so sorry, babe.”
“I called your father when you didn’t come home. He said you’d left his house hours ago. Where’d you go, Kate?”
“I got lost in the woods. The Balsams. I took you hiking there once, remember? Anyway, I had this crazy idea… and I was following a trail, when all of a sudden I thought I saw Savannah. And before I knew it, I was lost.”
“Oh, Kate,” he said with sympathy.
“By the time I realized I was in trouble, it was snowing really badly. And I could feel another migraine coming on. My phone battery was dying, so I called Palmer…”
“Palmer?”
“Detective Dyson.”
“Oh.”
“…because he knows the area really well, and he was able to walk me through it.”
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