‘Something’s come up. Actually, I could use your help.’
He showed Sofia the letter. He felt just as slimy lying to Sofia as he had to Becky. Sofia’s reaction was similar.
‘Holy shit, Tommy. This is horrible.’
‘I know. I’m leaving tomorrow to go away for a few days, and I want some security for Becky and the kids. Can you arrange that for me?’
‘Security? Like what kind?’
‘The kind that makes sure nothing bad happens to them.’
She blinked. Once. Twice.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I don’t know. I need to finish my book, and I think this lunatic is more interested in me than my family. So I’m going to keep myself away from her for a few days to make it safer.’
Sofia stood there staring at him, assessing.
‘Tommy … this is—’
‘Crazy, I know. Becky said the same thing. Sofia, please just take care of it, will you? I need it done today, and don’t worry about cost.’
Sofia seemed lost in thought, her gaze drifting out the window, unfocused. Then she snapped out of her reverie and looked at her boss.
‘Of … of course, Tommy. I don’t have a clue how to go about it, but I’ll figure it out. I … I was just thinking about something else.’
‘What?’ Tommy asked.
‘About a weird thing that happened this morning.’ Then she told him about the woman in the parking lot. Tommy didn’t find it too strange. He had a lot of fans, and many were a little off.
‘I think the weirdest thing is my wife asked you to run her errands,’ he said. ‘I’ll talk to her about that.’ Becky always assigned a lower status level to Sofia’s job description than what her role actually encompassed. Tommy often thought she felt threatened by Sofia.
Sofia took a step forward. ‘But you don’t think it’s a little coincidental that this woman – who happens to be this massive fan of yours – literally runs into me?’
‘There’s over a million and a half copies of that book out there,’ he said. ‘It’s not like the Magna Carta fell out of her purse.’ He nodded to her own purse. ‘You have it in there? I’ll sign it now.’
She looked at him for a moment, as if waiting for him to change his mind. Then she pulled the book out and handed it to him.
He put it on his desk and grabbed a pen. ‘Thought you said she read this a couple of times.’
‘That’s what she told me.’
He opened the book and felt the spine resist. He had opened a lot of unread books before, and this was exactly how they felt.
‘No way,’ he said. ‘This book is brand new.’
‘You see?’ Sofia said. ‘I told you there was something weird about her.’
Then he knew. Tommy felt his stomach hollow out.
‘Who did she want me to sign it to?’
Sofia answered immediately. ‘Elizabeth.’
‘Elizabeth?’
‘That’s right.’
Tommy leafed through the pages of the book, looking for another note. He pulled out the receipt and saw an address scribbled on it.
Elizabeth
71481 Rade Cr.
Centennial, CO 80015
Rade’s name jumped out at him. So did the house number: 71481. July 14, 1981.
The day of the killing.
‘This is her address?’
‘It’s where she asked me to send the book. You think she’s the one who wrote this note?’ She shook the note in her hand.
Tommy did his best to seem disinterested, but had to lower his head to do so.
‘I don’t know.’ He looked down at the receipt with the bogus address written on it. Elizabeth was sending him another message: You can’t hide from me. ‘Listen, I know I’m asking a lot, but just get some kind of security ASAP for them, OK? Cancel any plans you had today – this is now your priority. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.’
‘Of course, Tommy.’
Sofia stood there for a moment longer.
‘And please shut my door on the way out. I need a little privacy, please.’ It was a colder tone than she was used to hearing from him, but Tommy just needed things done now. He didn’t have the time or the energy for massaging relationships. Sofia would understand.
‘Be safe, OK, Tommy?’
‘I will.’ He gave her a smile, and she gave him a weak one in return. Two smiles, neither of which conveyed happiness.
She walked out of the office, the door softly clicking shut behind her.
Tommy grabbed his phone and dialed Mark’s cell phone.
Mark answered on the second ring.
‘Mark, it’s Tommy.’
There were a few seconds of silence before Mark Singletary’s lead-lined tone rumbled into the phone. Tommy hadn’t heard that voice in thirty years.
‘Tommy. Hell. I was going to call you today. I know why you’re calling.’
‘Mark …’
‘The bitch is back.’
TEN
‘She found you, too?’ Tommy asked.
‘Showed up at a campaign rally last week. Passed me a note. Didn’t recognize her at first. But it was the eyes. The eyes brought me back.’
‘What did the note say?’
Mark hesitated. ‘I still remember what you taste like.’
‘Jesus,’ Tommy said.
‘Yeah, no kidding. I thought my heart was going to stop. It was all I could do to keep smiling at the people in the crowd. What about you?’
‘Pretended to be a fan. Passed me a note. Then harassed my assistant a bit.’
‘Your assistant knows about this?’
‘No. I didn’t tell her anything.’ Tommy heard voices in the background over the phone. ‘Aren’t you golfing right now?’
‘Just finished,’ Mark said. ‘I can’t be overheard where I’m standing. But don’t say anything stupid.’
Tommy wasn’t sure what qualified as stupid.
‘Do you know about Jason?’ Tommy asked.
‘No. She talk to him, too?’
‘No. He’s dead. Fifteen years ago.’
Mark’s voice was full of practiced emotion. ‘You’re kidding me? How?’
‘Hanged himself.’
‘That’s a horrible shame.’
‘Exactly.’
‘He was a good kid.’
‘We were all good kids, Mark.’ More or less, he didn’t add. ‘She wants me to come to you. Did you know that? She wrote me an e-mail. It said, “Contact Mark – he’s easy to find. Go to him.”’
A small sigh escaped from the other end of the phone. ‘I know. She sent me an e-mail as well. “Bring Tommy here,” it said. I tried to reply but got a bounce-back. Why does she want us together?’
‘God knows. Some kind of sick reunion fantasy?’
‘You have to come here,’ Mark said. ‘We have to do what she says. No choice here, Tommy.’ Tommy could hear the tendrils of desperation in his voice. ‘Too much to lose.’
Tommy wanted to disagree, tell Mark he was weak. But he couldn’t because he agreed with him.
‘I told my wife I was leaving for a few days to work on my book.’
‘That’s perfect,’ Mark said. ‘My wife’s family owns a gorgeous rental property in downtown Charleston. Place is three hundred years old. I’ll make sure we don’t have any renters in there, and you come out as soon as you can.’
‘Sure thing, Mark. But I want to leave soon. Like, tomorrow.’
‘Got it. I’ll make sure it’s ready.’ He rambled off the property’s address, which Tommy quickly jotted down. ‘Call me after you make your flight reservation, and I can meet you at the house. It’ll be good to see you.’ He paused, and Tommy could picture his old friend softly shaking his head the way a bad actor would if instructed to think of something nostalgic. ‘Goddamn. Tommy Devereaux. Where did all the time go? Life moves by too fast.’
‘Faster for some than others,’ Tommy replied. Rade never made it past ten.
&nbs
p; ‘Amen to that.’
Then Mark was gone. No goodbye. No see ya soon. Just amen to that and then a silent line.
Tommy put the phone on his desk and stared out his office window, wondering if Elizabeth would be following him to South Carolina.
He was hoping she would.
ELEVEN
Sunday morning.
Tommy woke and sucked in traces of the cool October air that had crept in through the bedroom window during the night. He looked over and saw Becky burrowed beneath the covers; she was either trying to stay warm or she was avoiding the day. Maybe both.
The rest of yesterday hadn’t gone well. The security firm Sofia had contacted had sent someone over within three hours. Man by the name of Stuart. Despite his non-threatening name, Stuart looked like he could eviscerate someone with his gaze but would prefer to do it with his bare hands instead. He arrived at Tommy’s doorstep in a perfectly tailored gray suit and sunglasses so dark they seemed to bend light. He did a full perimeter ‘check and diagnostic’ before sitting the whole family down to tell them how things were going to be done. Tommy watched Becky turn white, then red, and then redder, before wondering if he should be worried about her blood pressure. Despite the perceived threat looming over all of them, it was clear Becky didn’t like having her schedule or freedom of movement fucked with. But, as Tommy knew, there was nothing she could do.
Stuart was very clear he was in charge.
Chance was excited. Evie was anxious. Becky was pissed off. Tommy and Becky barely seemed to share a bed that night, and they had fallen asleep in a screaming silence. He had thought about her question from the day before, about her asking him if this was ‘about something else’.
He tried not to let his mind wander to the days after his confession of cheating, but Becky’s current iciness toward him reminded him of that time, though now there was just an undefined suspicion rather than knowledge of any betrayal. Tommy’s stomach tightened remembering the unanswered phone calls in the days after his confession two years ago, or receiving calls from the kids but not from his wife. Or the heartbreaking confusion in Chance’s voice when, by the third day of silence and hotel rooms, Tommy asked his boy to put Mommy on the phone. Chance had only said, ‘Mommy doesn’t want to talk to you. I don’t know why.’
By the fifth day she had agreed to talk to him only in a counseling session, which started their long and painful road back to trust. But once a trust like that is broken, it’s never fully restored. It’s just glued, and all you can do is hope the glue holds.
Tommy knew he was a fucking idiot to think she would just fully trust him again. People just aren’t like that. He couldn’t even imagine what he would have done if she had been the one to cheat. Probably not been so forgiving. But she was a better person than he was. She always had been, and being with her made him a better man. He could not lose her. He would not.
Tommy forced himself out of bed and into the bathroom. He looked in the mirror and decided the two-day-old stubble was going to become three. Then he threw on a bathrobe and walked down the hall to the kids’ rooms. Evie mimicked her mother – a motionless lump underneath a blanket. Oswald, their fourteen-year-old tabby, was a motionless lump on top of the blanket.
Chance’s room was adjacent to Evie’s, and Tommy pushed the door open. Chance was up, or at least awake. He was on his back in bed, ear buds nested in his ears, playing his ZoomBox Go. The glow from the game console’s screen made Chance look like something from a wax museum.
Chance caught the movement and turned his head. He paused the game and looked over.
‘Morning, Dad.’
‘Morning, yourself. You don’t want to sleep in a little more? It’s Sunday.’
‘Uh uh. Not tired.’
He got that from his father. Mornings were not to be sacrificed for sleep when anything else could be done.
‘You looked good in the game yesterday,’ Tommy said. ‘Real good.’
‘Thanks. We still lost.’
‘That you did.’
‘You hitting the gym?’ Chance asked.
‘Not today, buddy.’ Sometimes Chance would join him in their home gym, and Tommy liked teaching his boy about exercise. His own dad had been an amateur boxer, so Tommy had always known the value of sweat and pain. ‘I’m actually going on a trip today for a few days. I need to get away and finish my book.’
‘I know, Mom said. That’s why Stuart’s here, huh?’
Stuart was being quartered in one of several spare bedrooms in the house. Tommy wondered if the man even slept.
‘Yeah, something like that.’
Chance stopped playing his game and looked up. ‘Why do we need protection?’
‘We’re just being safe, Chance. That’s all.’
‘But why?’
‘Because, believe it or not, your dad is pretty famous. And sometimes famous people attract the attention of crazy people.’ Tommy searched his son’s eyes for fear and found only fascination. ‘Stuart’s job is to keep the crazy people away without interfering too much in our normal lives. But it’s important you do what he says, OK? It’s just for a few days.’ Hopefully.
‘Is he going to school with me?’
‘No, Chance. I don’t think so. But he might give you some pointers on how to be safe at school.’
‘Is this like when you moved out a few years ago?’
Tommy tensed hearing the words.
‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s nothing at all like that, buddy. Just a quick business trip.’
Tommy braced himself for a deluge of more questions, but Chance merely absorbed this information and muttered, ‘Cool.’ Then he retreated back into his game.
Tommy envied him his ability to absorb and process information.
Downstairs, Tommy sought comfort in his espresso machine. He took his double shot and his iPhone over to the kitchen counter, checking his e-mail and voicemail. Nothing more from Elizabeth. She had receded back into the shadows as quickly as she had appeared, but that gave him no comfort. Her plan involved more than just scaring him, he was certain of that. He just didn’t know what exactly she wanted.
But he should know what she wanted.
Tommy had been writing thrillers for years. Thrillers about women who killed. He had researched all types of dangerous and brutal women, enough so that he occasionally received calls from the FBI looking to pick his brain. Tommy was familiar with virtually every multiple murder involving a female perp over the last two hundred years.
Women killed for different reasons than men. This wasn’t a universal truth, but it proved valid often enough for criminologists to be able to outline distinct differences in behavior. Male killers – especially serial killers – garnered far more media attention primarily because their crimes were often horrific in their violence. Jeffrey Dahmer was a prime example of this, among many others. Men killed for a variety of reasons, but the number one reason women killed was money. According to the Kelleher Typology, these women are called Black Widows.
Elizabeth hadn’t killed Rade for money.
Nor was she a Revenge Killer, an Angel of Death, or even a Career Killer. From Tommy’s few hours with Elizabeth and countless years thinking about her, he guessed she fell most closely into the classification of Sexual Predator, a defined type of female killer so rare that only one other person had even been classified as one in the US. Aileen Wuornos was convicted of killing seven men in Florida between 1989 and 1990, shooting them all after claiming the men had raped her.
Tommy thought back to that day. How Elizabeth climaxed after smashing the rock into Rade’s skull. And what she had done with the other boys immediately afterwards. Yes, no doubt. Elizabeth was a Sexual Predator. He wouldn’t be surprised to find out she had killed more than one person. In fact, he would be surprised if she hadn’t. A Sexual Predator would never be sated with one kill. Tommy grabbed his laptop and opened the screen. The thought from earlier came back to him. The story needed truth. Real truth, and not jus
t in the first chapter.
A feeling came over him that was both depressing and exciting. Depressing, because it involved throwing away a lot of hard work. Exciting, because it would be something he’d never done before.
He let the idea form just a little in his head and then he stopped it and tucked it away. It was the kind of idea not to be acted upon impulsively. It needed a little time to ferment. He would revisit it soon.
Perhaps, he thought, in Charleston.
TWELVE
Tommy felt the thickness of the South Carolina air as soon as he reached the jetway. It didn’t feel like Octobers he was used to in Colorado. He fumbled for his phone and dialed Becky as he made his way toward the terminal.
‘Hi, baby. Just landed.’
She sounded tired or disinterested. ‘Good flight?’
‘Pretty decent.’
‘Great.’
‘Becky …’
‘Just be productive and then come home, OK? Maybe when you finish your book, you’ll feel better about everything else.’
He didn’t want to tell her that this book was far from being finished.
‘I promise.’
‘Good,’ Becky said. ‘Have you decided when yet or did you buy a one-way ticket?’
Ouch. Tommy shut his eyes and tried to keep his voice level.
‘I booked it for Thursday,’ he said. ‘Hopefully I can come home earlier.’
Tommy walked into the terminal and saw it was largely empty, something he never expected inside an airport. He wondered why it felt so strange, and then he realized it wasn’t the empty airport that gave him an unsettling feeling. It was the sense he was being watched.
The Boy in the Woods Page 6