The Serial Killer's Wife

by Robert Swartwood

  “Of course.”

  “And your credit cards?”

  “Yes. I have everything.”

  “Use the credit card to pay for the gas, then take out as much money as you can with your ATM card.”

  Todd had opened his wallet and was staring down at the loose bills and credit cards. Now he looked up at her. “Why?”

  “Because when the FBI gets involved, they’ll be able to track our movements with your credit card.”

  “How would they even know I’m with you?”

  Elizabeth shrugged. “I’m just trying to cover all our bases.”

  She was hesitant to let him out of her sight, fearing he might try to call the police while inside. But she trusted him, and she had seen the look in his eyes when she explained what had happened to Matthew, how his life was in danger, and she knew Todd would do whatever it took to get him back.

  Todd returned two minutes later with a filled plastic bag showing the gas station’s logo.

  “I got you a Diet Coke,” he said. “You know, in case you’re thirsty.”

  She didn’t realize until they were back on the road just how thirsty she really was. She drained the soda in nearly five swallows. Todd offered his bottle of water but she declined. He took something from the plastic bag and opened it and immediately the car was filled with the smell of coffee.

  “What is that?”

  “Coffee beans. Breakfast Blend.” He placed one in his mouth. “You want one?”

  “You’re eating them?”

  Todd shrugged. “My dad chewed coffee beans when we went on road trips. He said it was healthier and cheaper than smoking. He’d let me try some and I eventually came to love them. Now when I drive long distances, I can’t do it without chewing some kind of coffee bean. What—you look surprised.”

  “I’m just surprised that gas station actually had coffee beans.”

  “They did, and they were expensive, too. Are you sure you don’t want one?”

  “I’m sure.”

  There was a silence. Elizabeth felt unnerved by the exchange. It seemed too conversational for the situation at hand. Still, they had a long drive ahead of them, and Elizabeth didn’t want Todd to feel more uncomfortable than he was already, so she said:

  “You know, you never mentioned your father before.”

  “I haven’t?”

  “Not once since I’ve known you. I always just assumed he was dead.”

  She flinched when she said that last word.

  Todd said, “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “We don’t have to talk about this.”

  “No, really, it’s okay. What were you going to say?”

  Todd studied her for a long moment before speaking. “My father, he might as well have been dead. When I was in high school he ran away with this woman he met at the gym, she was like ten years younger than him. He left me and my sister to take care of my mom. She had MS.”

  “I’m sorry,” Elizabeth said, at once thinking of her own mother. “You never mentioned that either.”

  Todd produced an ironic smile. “What can I say—I don’t like to be a downer.”

  They drove for another minute in silence.

  Elizabeth said, “My father died when I was very young. He was healthy, kept himself in shape, but he still had a heart attack. It was a strange case, but the doctors admitted that it does happen.”

  “You know,” Todd said, “that’s the very first time you mentioned your father.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m assuming you’re talking about your real father.”

  “Yes.”

  “What about your real mother?”

  “Breast cancer. She found a lump one day and decided not to do anything about it. Apparently she had been in a kind of depression ever since my father’s heart attack. She wasn’t suicidal, per se, but just didn’t have the will to continue living. So she found the lump and let it go and it wasn’t until one of her regular checkups did the doctor find it. He wanted to start treatment immediately, but she refused.”

  “So what happened?”

  “In the end the doctor did something he probably shouldn’t have done: he called me. Right after that I got my brother involved and we pretty much forced her to start treatment.”

  “I didn’t know you had a brother either.”

  “Jim,” she said. “I never even had a chance to say goodbye to him. He was in Africa when the FBI came for my husband.”

  “Africa?”

  “He was in the Peace Corps. He called me up, apologizing, saying it was all his fault.”

  “His fault?”

  “He and my husband were college roommates. That’s how we met. Jim set the two of us up together, and Eddie and I immediately hit it off.”

  “Eddie is your husband?”

  She nodded. “Edward Piccioni.”

  Todd was quiet for another moment. “So your brother blames himself for you marrying a serial killer.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Do you blame him?”

  “Of course not. How was he supposed to know? I was closer to Eddie—had been close for almost seven years—and even I didn’t know.”

  Todd reached into the bag of coffee beans between his legs, plucked out a bean, went to put it in his mouth but paused and offered it to her.

  “Sure you don’t want one?”

  She shook her head. “No thanks.”

  “Are you positive? They’re not that bad once you get used to them.”

  “I drink coffee, Todd. I don’t eat it.”

  He popped the bean in his mouth, chewed it like a mint, and said, “So what about your mother?”

  “What about her?”

  “You said you and your brother forced her into treatment.”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “Fine,” Todd said. “If you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to talk about it.”

  Elizabeth stared out at the highway in front of her, watching the oncoming night. She had begun to feel unnerved again, thinking it wrong that they held a conversation like this while Matthew was somewhere tied to a bed with an explosive collar around his neck. But talking was good. She would have to explain everything to Todd eventually. There was just so much that it was impossible to tell all at once. She would have to tell a little at a time, piece it out like that, so she might as well get started.

  “I don’t really know what happened to my mother. I’m assuming she’s dead. In fact, I’m positive she is. When I ... when I left, she was still alive. Barely holding on, but still alive.”

  Elizabeth shook her head, wiped at her eyes even though there were no tears.

  “I’m sorry,” Todd said softly.

  “Thank you.”

  There was another brief silence.

  Todd said, “Who do you think this guy is?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “But don’t you have a, like, suspect?”

  Elizabeth said nothing.

  “I recognize your husband’s name.”

  She still said nothing.

  “I sort of remember his trial, too. It was all over the news.”

  Still nothing.

  “And I remember a couple people on TV—I can’t remember who now—making these, you know, speculations on why you disappeared.”

  “That speculation started with just one person,” Elizabeth said. “His name was Clarence Applegate. He thought I was an accomplice.”

  “Clarence Applegate,” Todd said slowly. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

  “He was one of the victims’ husbands. He ended up writing a book about my husband, and about me. He called Eddie ‘The Widower Maker.’ ”

  Now it was Todd who said nothing.

  “I wasn’t, you know. His accomplice.”

  He glanced at her, already nodding. “Yeah, I know that. It never even crossed my mind.”

  “Sure i
t did. The whole thing was so bizarre, why not have the wife be part of it?”

  “No, none of that—”

  “I left because I ... well, I was a coward. That’s basically it. I just couldn’t stay there. I couldn’t go through the whole ordeal of the trial. I couldn’t sit in that courtroom and act like his wife anymore. I thought about what our lives would become—mine and Matthew’s—and how if we stayed they would be forever ruined, so I just ... left.”

  Those were all reasons she had left, yes, but another reason—the most important—was something she could never tell Todd. Something she could never tell anyone.

  “How did you get away without anyone knowing?” Todd asked.

  “I had friends.”

  “What kind of friends?”

  Before she could answer, the BlackBerry dinged. They both glanced down at it on the middle console, the notification light blinking red. Todd reached for it.

  “Don’t.”

  He froze and looked at her.

  “Just don’t,” she said, and pressed her foot down even more on the gas, driving them deeper into the oncoming darkness.

  CHAPTER 19

  AT SOME POINT after they crossed over the Indiana state line, Todd had begun to doze.

  They hadn’t spoken in hours, and the night had worn on, and eventually Elizabeth became aware of Todd breathing heavily through his nose. He was slouched down in his seat, his head tilted back on the headrest. Good for him, she thought. At least one of them was getting some rest.

  The speed limit here was seventy, and she set the cruise control to seventy-five, her urgency to get to Pennsylvania so strong that she found herself with lead in her foot, the needle rising and rising, but reminding herself that getting pulled over by the police a second time was not in their best interest.

  The BlackBerry had dinged five more times. Like that second time, she had refused to look at the pictures, fearing she might lose it. The only evidence they were there at all was the notification light blinking red for several minutes before it stopped.

  She tried to concentrate on who Cain might be and why he was doing this. There had only been two people back home who knew about her escape, because they had been the ones who helped arrange it. Sheila, her best friend, and Mark Foreman, their family lawyer. Both had had a hand in helping her slip out from public view, start a new life, but both, she was certain, were trustworthy. No, wait. She was more than certain neither of them had anything to do with this, and the fact that she even considered the possibility was a testament to just how clueless she truly was when it came to figuring out the identity of Cain.

  At one point she tried one of the coffee beans, grew nauseous after the first bite, had to roll down her window and spit out the remains, the wind whipping at her hair and face. As she powered the window back up, Todd stirred in the seat beside her, asked if everything was all right.

  “Chewing coffee beans is disgusting,” she said.

  He smiled, his eyes still closed, repositioned himself in the seat, and began snoring almost immediately.

  A half hour later the lights of Indianapolis began to rise on the dark horizon, and for the first time today Elizabeth felt the smallest flare of hope spark in her soul.

  She knew there was no guarantee Van would still be in the city. There was always the chance the police or even the FBI had gathered enough evidence on him to finally make an arrest. Only she doubted that was the case. Men like Donovan Riley did not go quietly into the night or even the day. He was a survivor, just like her, and right now he was the only person she could trust.

  Like a baby, Todd was soothed by the constant motion of the Prius, so when she eventually found her exit, slowed and took the off-ramp, he stirred again, yawned, wiped at his eyes.

  “Are we there already?”

  “Not yet.”

  Todd sat up straighter in his seat, his arms crossed, squinting out the window. “Where are we?”

  “Indianapolis.”

  “Why are we stopping here?”

  “For one, we could use a quick break to stretch our legs, use the bathroom, and get something to eat.”

  “And two?”

  “There’s someone here, an old friend, I need to see.”

  Todd didn’t ask any more questions, just sat silent as she navigated the hybrid through the city streets. It had been over three years since she had been back here, and for some reason she thought she would be lost, the street signs and buildings all looking foreign to her. But she found her way without any problems, leading them downtown.

  “Um”—Todd shifted nervously in his seat—“are you sure you know where you’re going?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Because ... well, this doesn’t look like a safe part of town.”

  “It isn’t.”

  This part of the city became more broken down, gangbangers hanging out on the street corners, souped-up cars passing them with their rims glowing neon and their basses set to the highest decibel.

  The closer she got toward where she hoped she was going, the more she realized it wouldn’t be there. Either that or she had lost her way, had brought them down into the middle of the worst part of the city, where almost every street soldier carried a weapon.

  And then there it was, Riley’s Pub, the three-story building looking the same as it had the day Elizabeth first saw it. The parking lot was half empty, as she had expected it to be, the bar not filling up with its regulars until after midnight.

  “An Irish bar,” Todd murmured, “in the middle of ... this?”

  Elizabeth pulled into the parking lot. “They have a loyal clientele.”

  “And how, exactly, do you know this?”

  She found an open spot near the door and parked the Prius. She turned toward Todd, forcing a smile. “I’ll be right back.” Her expression became all at once serious. “Make sure to lock the doors.”

  CHAPTER 20

  THE BOUNCER JUST inside the door was big, almost seven feet tall, and he was heavy, maybe three hundred and the bulk of that muscle. He was bald, too, wearing black pants and a black T-shirt, and to complete the ensemble he wore wraparound shades.

  “ID?” he said, already holding out his hand.

  Elizabeth said, “I’m here to see Donovan Riley.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but Mr. Riley isn’t here tonight.”

  The ma’am didn’t surprise her, as neither did the mister. Van trained all his employees to be respectful, no matter how deviant they might be. Here now in this bar, hearing the din of voices and laughter and music, she remembered once two bouncers had to break up a fight, the entire time the bouncers calling the guys fighting sir, as if that excused their behavior.

  “I know that’s not true,” Elizabeth said. “It’s Friday night. He’s always here Friday night.”

  The bouncer’s hand didn’t move. “If you’d like to enter, ma’am, I’m going to need to see some ID.”

  “Do I really look like I’m not old enough to be served?”

  “Ma’am, all I’m asking for is your ID.”

  She took a breath, gazing past him into the bar. Van had rearranged the place since she was last here, but it was still basically the same set up of tables and chairs, four billiards tables near the back, the stage area beside it.

  Elizabeth took another breath, counted to ten in her head, and said, “Listen, I know you’re new here. Van always puts new guys on the door. But believe it or not, I used to work here. Right there behind the bar, I used to serve drinks.”

  “That’s nice, ma’am.”

  “No,” she said, “what’s nice is that I also know exactly what kind of man Van really is. And I don’t mean that he’s gay; everybody knows that. What I’m talking about is the stuff the FBI would just love to get their hands on.”

  The hand finally lowered, went back to the bouncer’s side. He said, “Ma’am, if you’re threatening Mr. Riley, I’m going to have to—”

  Elizabeth pushed past him, headed into the ba
r. He reached for her, grabbed her arm, and she spun around him, lifting up the back of his shirt, pulling the Glock he had concealed at the small of his back.

  Digging the gun’s barrel into his ribs, she said, “I also know that everybody here carries, even the bouncers. I always told Van it was stupid to have bouncers carry, especially the guy on the door, but it seems he never took my advice. Now, if you would be so kind, I would very much like to see him.”

  The bouncer didn’t move. He didn’t even breathe. He just stood there without a word, and it occurred to Elizabeth that he would continue standing there until she was forced to shoot him. That was how Van liked them, after all, his employees willing to die for anything. Elizabeth had been the exception, and she had told him that up front and he had always said that was what he liked best about her.

  She said, her teeth clenched, “You have no idea what I’ve gone through today. I don’t want to shoot you, but I will if you don’t let me see Donovan Riley in the next minute.”

  This last was something she shouldn’t have said, not with a gun jabbing the bouncer in the ribs, because it came off much too threatening toward the man’s boss. She realized this a second too late, but by then the barrel of another gun was placed gently against the bottom of her skull.

  “Easy now, Elizabeth,” said a voice behind her, “step back and hand me the gun.”

  Without moving, without even turning her head in the slightest, she said, “Harlan?”

  “That’s right, E.”

  “I’m here to see Van.”

  “I figured as much.”

  “It’s important.”

  “I’m sure it is. First though, you need to step back and lower Jerry’s gun.”

  Harlan’s own gun still kissing the back of her neck, Elizabeth took one step back and lowered the bouncer’s Glock.

  “Good,” Harlan said. Then, “Turn around slowly, Jerry, and take your gun back.”

  Jerry did as he was told, turning and taking his gun back.

  “Now thank Elizabeth here for not killing you.”

  The bouncer said nothing.

  “Jerry,” Harlan said, his voice growing dark, “don’t make me repeat myself.”