by K. L. Murphy
“I’m sorry.” He stood slowly, his eyes glowing in the gray light. Julia gasped at the heavy rope in his hands. “I’m so sorry.”
Chapter Sixty-Two
HE DROVE EAST, sipping convenience store coffee. He passed the exit for Little Springs and the next two for the college. A few miles later, he pulled off, turning onto a narrow route that led to the hunting and fishing lodge on the mountain. Julia’s compact four-cylinder strained at the incline, and he pressed the gas to the floor. The road was narrow and bumpy, well suited for trucks and SUVs, not cheap rental cars. He pulled into the gravel parking lot, which was less than half full. He parked at the far end, farthest from the lodge and near the tree line.
He got out of the car and looked down the mountain, his eyes following the path of the water. The first girl, Cheryl Fornak, had been found there, at the bottom of the trail, on the banks of the Thompson River. He remembered her well. They’d met at a college bar and dated briefly. She’d been pretty and energetic in a chirpy, singsong way that at first had seemed pleasant but turned grating after a short while. Still, he hadn’t anticipated the way it would end. Even when he’d seen the life slip from her eyes and felt her body relax under the pressure of his hands, he’d felt almost nothing. A life ended seemed like no big deal. Later, he’d thought maybe it wasn’t nothing he’d felt, but rather the absence of anything. Was he was trying to fill an emptiness? It didn’t matter now. He’d long ago accepted he wasn’t normal. It wasn’t an excuse. It was a fact. The emptiness could never be filled. It had grown until it was the only thing. It was part of him. He gazed down at the trail lined with tall trees. In another few weeks, the trees would be bare, their gnarled branches shorn of leaves. He’d be gone by then. He had to fix everything now. It was the only way.
He opened the trunk and removed a fishing rod, a tackle box, and a large black backpack. He slung the pack over his shoulder. The weight of it pressed into his back as he reached in to grab another jacket. It would grow colder as the day wore on, and it was not a short hike down the mountain. He raised his face to the sky, glad to see the clouds moving in. Rain would suit his purposes well. A couple of men came out of the lodge. Baseball hat pulled low, he spun around and busied himself inside the trunk. When he heard the engine rev and the men drive away, he slammed the trunk closed. He stood for a moment. Both Little Springs and the college were barely visible in the haze. He turned toward the thick trees and the trail signs. He would stay on foot.
He took the blue trail, the most difficult and least traveled. He pulled out the cell phone he’d purchased shortly after his release. He’d stored only a few numbers, but they were the ones that mattered. Julia’s name appeared near the top of the short list. He shook his head. He didn’t want to think about her. To clear his mind, he breathed in and out, pushing away everything that could distract him. A frigid wind blew across the mountain, ruffling the branches. He threw his head back, letting the wind blow his jacket from his shoulders. He put the phone back in his pocket and picked up his pace. It was time.
Chapter Sixty-Three
“ARE YOU SURE you don’t want to come with us?” Allison asked.
Nikki shook her head, loose curls swinging. “You know I’m not big on church, what with my dad and all. Besides, you should spend time with your parents without me tagging along.” She lay on the twin bed, stretching her long arms and legs under a quilt. She glanced at the clock. Services would start soon. Allison wore a dark brown dress, brown boots, and her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail—just right for services at St. Benedict Catholic Church. “You look nice,” she said.
“Thanks.” Allison hesitated. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but I wish you wouldn’t stay here alone.”
Nikki smiled. She’d known Allison since their first day at Blue Hill, one of the only friends who seemed to understand her issues with religion and her famous father. She didn’t treat Nikki like a freak or a celebrity. Best of all, she didn’t want anything from her. A thoughtful and quiet girl, she rarely voiced her opinion, but when she did, Nikki listened. This time, however, she wasn’t concerned. The gun she’d taken was in her book bag, loaded, and she knew how to use it.
“You’ll be gone for what? An hour? I’ll be fine. I promise to lock all the doors. Anyway, no one knows I’m here, remember?” Allison did not look convinced. “And if you want, I’ll make pancakes for you and your parents while you’re gone.”
“Geez, Nik. Why do you always have to be so stubborn? You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I’ll be fine. I promise.”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right.”
“I may be stubborn, but you’re a worrier.” Nikki sat up and tossed a pillow at her friend’s head with a laugh. “I’ll make blueberry. Your favorite.”
Allison smiled then. “Oh, all right. You win. I’ll tell my mom and dad.”
When they’d gone, Nikki went down the stairs to the kitchen, her backpack on her shoulder. She welcomed the extra weight of the gun, grateful to have it nearby. He’d followed her before, she was sure. He’d been watching her. Maybe he knew she was there. She’d read up on him. He was a smart man. He could even be watching her right now. A shiver shot up her spine, and she tightened her grip on the bag. Then she shook her head. She was being ridiculous. He couldn’t possibly know where she was. Allison and all her worries were getting to her.
She let her hand drop and checked her cell phone. Frowning, she saw four new messages, one from her mother and three from her dad. She clicked on her mother’s first, read it and responded.
I’m fine, Mom. I’m sorry I can’t come home.
She paused, then added,
I love you and hope you understand. Don’t worry.
She went back to the list of texts. Squaring her shoulders, she read her father’s messages.
I’m thinking you should come home. Let us know when we can expect you.
An hour later, he had typed:
Haven’t heard from you. Phoned President Sinclair. I know they’ve evacuated campus. You should be home by now. Don’t let me down.
And then:
You are making me look bad. Everyone knows what’s going on there. A loving daughter would be home with her family. You’re hurting your mother, you know. Get home NOW!
She almost laughed at his desperation, using her mother that way, but her amusement faded. Nikki wasn’t afraid anymore. She did feel badly about not being with her mother, but not for the reasons he implied. Her mother could leave at any time. Nikki had begged her to more than once. She silenced her phone and tossed it on the counter. No way would she give him the satisfaction of a response.
Searching the cabinets, Nikki found a large bowl and pancake supplies. She flipped on the TV that stood perched on a corner of the counter to cut the quiet. The first station was televising a religious service. She changed the channel twice more. Groaning, she recognized a preacher on the third station, a long-time friend of her dad’s. Apparently, Allison’s family did not have cable in the kitchen. She hit the off button and put her headphones in her ears. The music lightened her step around the kitchen. Relaxing, she slipped the backpack from her shoulder and laid it on the counter near the bowl. She unzipped it and pulled the gun to the top, leaving the bag open. She smiled. Allison wouldn’t be so worried if she knew Nikki had a gun only an arm’s length away.
She heated up the griddle and mixed flour, eggs, and milk. She added vanilla and folded in a cup of blueberries. When the batter was smooth, she dribbled water on the hot pan. When it popped, she spooned on batter and waited for the bubbles on top before flipping, the way her mother had taught her.
Nikki sang along with the song playing in her ears, waving the spatula in the air. Wiggling her hips, she tapped her foot in time with the beat. A moment later, her feet were taken out from under her, and the spatula flew across the room. One strong arm h
eld her at the waist. She screamed, but a large hand over her mouth muffled any sound. Wild-eyed, she reached for her backpack. He jerked her body upward, and her fingers found the edge of the mixing bowl. It skidded across the counter, landing on the floor in a puddle of batter and broken glass. She picked up her right foot and brought it up hard against his knee.
Her headphones were ripped from her ears and the music player clattered to the floor. She brought her foot up again, but before she could make contact, he picked her up and threw her to the floor, her head slamming into the tile. In the seconds before she lost consciousness, she reached up, her fingers clawing at empty air.
Chapter Sixty-Four
PROFESSOR SIMON POURED three cups of coffee. Steam rose and fogged his thick bifocal glasses. He wore his starched, button-down shirt tucked neatly into his pressed pants and his snow-white hair combed close to his head. He carried himself like he used to stand an inch or two taller, his broad shoulders now hunched.
“Cream? Sugar?” he asked. He set the cups and saucers on the table and sat opposite Cancini and Talbot. “I don’t know what I can tell you gentlemen, but,” he said, “if it helps in any way, so be it. I probably should’ve said something before.” His voice trailed off. “Maybe I didn’t think it mattered then. But, what the hell? I’m an old man now, and I can say whatever I like.”
Cancini knew the old man had taught for many years at Blue Hill, even chairing the math department for more than a decade. Whatever his reasons for not talking before were his own. Cancini cleared his throat. “Why don’t you tell us what you remember, and we’ll ask questions as they come up?”
The old man looked at him through the thick lenses, his eyes clouded and opaque. He nodded, then spoke again. “Leo Spradlin was in one of my freshman math classes. Quite possibly the brightest mind I’ve taught, but it was wasted. I don’t mind admitting I didn’t like that kid. He had the audacity to correct me in class, in front of the other students, just to show them how smart he was. I could have put up with that, but when it came to tests and exams, he would sign his name and leave the whole thing blank. He thumbed his nose at it, at us.” The man spread his hands wide on the table and stared down at his wrinkled, gnarled fingers again. “He was only at Blue Hill because of his mother. From what I knew, she was a good woman, better than he deserved.” He paused then added, “And because of Baldwin, I guess, too. The man took a special interest in him. God knows why.”
Cancini’s pen stopped moving. “Mayor Baldwin?”
“No, no. President Baldwin, Teddy’s daddy. For some reason I could never understand, he took an interest in the kid. Maybe it was because he was a friend of Teddy’s. I don’t know. When Leo was failing my class, President Baldwin strongly recommended I give him a passing grade. I refused at first. But he made it clear that I would not be failing a kid who could show me a thing or two. I tried to argue his test grades were zeros, but he didn’t want to hear it. Said I should give the kid a break.” Simon’s pale skin turned pink. “It went against everything I believed in, but I passed him. Gave him a D. Turns out, there were other classes, other professors with the same issue.” He shook his head. “We figured Baldwin was trying to do Leo’s mom a favor, trying to keep him in school. I’d heard she wanted him to graduate. She seemed like a good person, and I always got the impression she was a smart lady. There was something, though. She seemed beaten, sad. The entire faculty knew Spradlin was Teddy’s best friend. The two were always together, even after Leo dropped out. At least until, well, you know.”
Cancini remembered the friendship between Spradlin and Baldwin as tight even when he’d first arrived in Little Springs. Old high school friends, they were part of a fun group back then, a bunch of young men in their twenties who liked to fish, and hunt. Most of them were in school at the college. Although Spradlin seemed to be the unofficial leader of the group, Teddy, already in his first year of law school, was the oldest. Cancini wondered when the friendship between Spradlin and Baldwin had begun to wane. Was it before the murders or after?
“Spradlin didn’t care whether we passed him or not. He didn’t give a whit about anything as far as I could tell. Not like Teddy. That young man wore his heart on his sleeve. Always felt bad for him, you know. He had a tough time with his dad.”
Cancini remembered some of the Baldwin father-son issues. When Teddy’s father wanted him to play baseball, he chose football. When his father wanted him to go into academia, he chose law school. They were minor issues really, but Cancini remembered the antagonism on Teddy’s face when his father addressed him and the sarcasm that tinged Teddy’s words when he answered him. Locked in his own struggle with his father, the young Cancini hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Now he wondered if it was more than just a young man’s rebellion. Was that why Teddy’s father gave Leo attention, to gain favor from his only son?
Tapping his pen against his notepad, Cancini said, “I know it was a long time ago, but I never got the impression that Teddy and his father were that close. Why would President Baldwin take that kind of interest in Teddy’s friends?”
“That is the question, isn’t it? It’s true Teddy and his father weren’t close. Not at all. When Teddy was young, he seemed like most boys, you know, seeking his dad’s approval. But after his mother died, that changed.” The old man gave a shake of his head. “When she was alive, there were rumors, but later . . . you could say that as a widower, President Baldwin was not a discreet man.” His mouth turned down. “There were stories, some of them quite unsavory. I’m sure Teddy heard his share.”
Cancini glanced at Talbot and saw the same question on his face. “What do you mean by unsavory?”
The man sighed. Sad and tired, he looked past the men at the table to another time. “Most of the faculty lived on campus back in those days. That’s not true anymore, but it was encouraged then, especially for those like me who weren’t yet married. I was given a faculty apartment, fully furnished. A nice perk actually. The Baldwin family lived on campus, too, of course. They had that big house at the end of Blue Hill Drive. I think it’s empty now.”
He folded his hands in his lap. “This was a Christian college when I came here. President Baldwin had a national reputation. He preached about God and education and how the two should be joined together. I was mesmerized the first time I saw him speak. Even when he dropped ‘Christian’ from the school’s name, he made a pledge to keep the Christian spirit of the college intact. Most of us didn’t like it, but we understood it was a business decision to get the young people here. I loved teaching. I loved the kids.” He took off his glasses and wiped the lenses with a cloth napkin. He half smiled. “I’m sorry. I digress. You wanted to know about the unsavory behavior of President Baldwin.”
Glasses on again, Simon continued. “As I said, when his wife was alive, rumors circulated. Baldwin was a busy man, a religious man, and I admired and respected him. I put little credence in the talk, but after Marian died, gossip was more frequent and outlandish—or so I thought at the time.” A shadow passed over his face. “But then there was what happened with Lilleth, my Lilleth.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “He killed her. Baldwin killed her.”
Chapter Sixty-Five
DIZZY AND UNSURE, she blinked, trying to clear the haze, her only awareness a thudding noise and blinding pain. She groaned.
“Good,” a man’s muffled voice penetrated the confusion. “You’re awake. I like it better that way.”
Nikki’s eyelids fluttered, and she slipped away for another few moments, this time waking to fingers pulling at her clothes and body.
“No,” she tried to say, but the word sounded strangled. He rolled Nikki on her side. “No,” she said louder, struggling to escape his iron grip. She was no match for his size or his strength. She kicked and bucked, head throbbing, until she was spent, muscles burning.
When she lay still, he brought his face close. “
Finally with me? Good.”
Moaning, Nikki couldn’t answer, the pounding in her head overwhelming everything else. She thought it might explode. Cold fingers reached under her shirt and touched the bare flesh of her stomach. His hand moved down to the waistband of her leggings. The throbbing subsided a little, and she tried to knee him but missed. “No,” she said, whimpering.
“Don’t worry.” He laughed softly. “We’re going to be friends now, very good friends.” Twisting and writhing, she tried to fight off his hands, but he pinned her legs down and pulled at her leggings. She tried to shift, but he had her trapped under his shoulder and hips. She wanted to claw him, scratch his eyes, but he had her wrists locked in a tight grip. He kept tugging until the leggings were around her ankles. Panting, he tore her underwear from her body.
The tile floor was cold against her bare skin. She twisted her head away. The strap from her backpack dangled over the side of the counter, in sight but out of reach. The gun. He fumbled with his pants, his weight shifting. She inhaled and slid backward. He grabbed her leg. She kicked hard, catching him in the thigh. He grunted but held on. She kept kicking harder against his overwhelming strength, sliding still closer to the backpack. His power seemed to grow the more she struggled.
He pulled his hand back and slapped her face. Her head snapped back, exploding in pain. “Be fucking still!”
Ignoring the sharp sting and ringing noise, she wrenched her wrists from his left hand. She tried to scoot farther away, but he yanked her back again. His erection strained the fabric of his linen trousers. His nostrils flared and his eyes reminded her of a wild animal, a predator. She froze. She knew that look, the crazed look of a man who liked the fight, who got off on his strength and absolute power. With every ounce of self-control she had, she let her body go limp.