She attempted a giggle but it came out more like a strangled cry when she suddenly realized that she couldn’t reach her gun without a struggle. Better try to keep him occupied so I can get him to share some details with me. She worked furiously to control the burgeoning fear that threatened to spill over and make itself evident to him.
“And, who are you?” Claire asked flippantly. Her head pounded with the beginning of a terrible headache as she awaited his answer.
He gazed longingly at her, as seconds ticked away, before blurting out, “Why I’m a regular chameleon, darlin’…to you I’m Greg Roberts… but to others I’m Trent Newman.”
Claire inhaled deeply with surprise, but at the same time fought the strong urge to scream. How could I have missed it?
Her mind spun dizzily out of control. Scenes from the past came back at her like a kaleidoscope, blurry at first, but with dawning clarity as she saw in her mind’s eye the manifest signs that should have been there all along: same build, color of hair, features…just hardened. Her eyes widened in shock. Why didn’t I recognize him? Was it just because he changed his eye color?
She remembered then, I didn’t interview him! Brad Peters did that part of the investigation. I saw the mug shot but it wasn’t very good…he wore a cap. She mentally slapped herself for not paying closer attention to the picture.
Then, we decided that we didn’t have enough evidence to even make the determination that she was dead so we left it at that.
Forcing herself to recover as quickly as possible, she replied, “Why, Greg? Why all the mystery? Why the different identities? What’s your reason for all this?”
He glared at her with distrust; he didn’t care for the barrage of questions but he contained his seething anger and quietly responded, “It’s all been for you, Claire. I love you and have always loved you, but you left me when you found out I was married, right?” He shook her shoulders and she winced in pain.
“But you didn’t have to kill someone, Greg.” Claire’s eyes glistened with tears.
Greg let her go but remained close by her side. “Which one,” he said quietly.
She stood still for a minute as the realization of what he had just said hit her.
Tremulously she asked, “Which one? What do you mean by that? Do you mean there were others?”
His voice remained calm but she could see his body tense, his arms by his side, hands opening and closing into fists. He stood ramrod straight and hesitated before answering in a patronizing tone, “Of course there were others, Claire. You were my one and only love and I couldn’t share you with anyone.”
Alarmed and confused, she questioned, “What do you mean ‘you couldn’t share me with anyone?”
Greg laughed again and relaxed now. He leaned against the dock post, his attention on the lapping water as it came onto the lake’s shore. His eyes took on a thoughtful but evil glare; at that moment he seemed to make the impromptu decision to tell his story, not to unburden himself, but to relish in what he saw as his accomplishments.
He folded his arms. “You know the most fun was running over that policeman boyfriend of yours. I couldn’t believe my luck! I’d been following him for days and I knew his route and routine.” He secretly stole a glance at Claire, looked back at the water’s edge, and continued, “When I saw him stop that guy for speeding, I knew it was time to act. I turned around in the median, came up from behind, and plowed right into him.” Greg smiled at the memory, “He didn’t have a chance. He was dead before he hit the ground.”
Claire was listening to all of this with a mixture of shock and outrage. Nausea hit the pit of her stomach. Tears started flowing freely down her cheeks. She struggled to control her composure so she could gather more details from this monster…and buy some time… but the hatred she now felt kept interfering.
Impulsively, she shouted, “How could you do that, Greg? What did he do to you?”
Greg turned his head to look at her and wickedly said, “Why, Claire, he tried to take you away from me. I couldn’t have that.”
It was an absurd justification that mentally ill people sometimes use, but Claire saw it for what it was—sheer evil.
Her fear was growing by the second, but she plied him with questions, using the time to study a way she could catch him off-guard. “Why did you kill Libby, Greg? Was it because she divorced you?” Her voice nearly strangled on the last part. She was hoping he didn’t notice and see right through her feigned interest.
“No. True, we got a divorce, but that wasn’t why.”
She persisted, “Then, why?”
He looked at her with disdain and sarcastically said, “I wanted you back and I was afraid you might not be happy with my past matrimonies.” And then he added, “Because, if that had been the case, my dear Claire, you might have thought badly of me.”
Ignoring the biting response, her mind raced, flooding with details from the past. She blurted out, “Libby was your second wife! You were married to someone else when I knew you.”
Greg snarled and replied, “Smart bitch, aren’t you?”
Claire thought about her gun, but he was standing too close. And, he was on her right side which was where her gun was. She saw him put his hand in his pocket and noticed a faint glint of steel protruding. Thinking quickly, she softly asked him another question, “Did you kill her, Greg? Did you do that for me too?”
He grinned and looked at her closely as if to gauge her emotional response before deciding she was trustworthy and said, “She was smart too, Claire.”
He paused again as he considered her reasons for wanting to know and her acceptance of what he was saying. Internally he must have decided that she was being sincere so he continued, “I met you a year after I changed my identity the first time. Up until that time I was Grady Rogers, truck driver, married, and no children, living in Brown County. Eight years ago my wife and I had some financial problems.”
He paused; this part of the story always made him mad. “She was a selfish, greedy woman…always wanting more…never satisfied with the money I brought home from my trucking job.” He sneered, “of course, she didn’t want to work; she just wanted me to make more money!”
As Claire watched, Greg continued to finger the knife in his pocket. She pressed him for more details. “What did she want? You had a nice house, didn’t you?”
He replied with emotion, “Yes, we had a nice house! In fact we lived in Sweetwater, same as you. But she was never satisfied. She wanted more.” He spat on the ground in a visible show of disgust for her avarice.
“So what did you do?”
“Funny, she went along with me on that one.” He sighed and seemed lost in thought before resuming, “I brought a hitchhiker home from one of my road trips. We had a nice, long talk in the truck. He was homeless, didn’t have any family, and was on his way to Florida for the winter. I suggested he spend the night with us and I’d drive him to the interstate the next morning after he got a good night’s sleep in a real bed for a change.” Greg grinned as he remembered that part. “And, I promised him a home-cooked meal.” He laughed. “I think that’s what did the trick. Bastard hadn’t eaten in a couple of days. Didn’t take much to talk him into it.”
“What happened to him?”
He stared off into space, his eyes as dark as the night sky. “Killed him; hit him over the head with a shovel and then I burned the house down to cover it up,” Greg replied flatly.
Claire swallowed a shriek when she recognized his story. She squeezed her eyes shut and quietly asked, “Why’d you kill him? What happened after that?”
“After he went to bed, my wife…her name was Doris…we talked and I told her about this great idea to make some money.” He stifled a laugh and continued, “She liked it as much as I did! After he went to sleep, I went into the bedroom and hit him several times. Then I burned the house down; she ran from the house to the neighbor’s and I ran into the woods; end of story.”
Claire watched Greg’s fa
ce. He seemed lost in his own thoughts. She thought briefly about going for her gun but he still had a hand on the knife. She decided to stall him by asking for more details. “That’s not the end of the story. Was the fire ruled an arson? Did they think you died in the fire? Where is Doris, Greg?”
“Why Claire, if I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were enjoying this,” he taunted her.
She could tell by the tone of his voice that she’d better be careful. Meekly, she responded, “No, I’m just curious.” She made an effort to look at him with as much sincerity as she could muster and asked, “What did happen next, Greg?”
He examined Claire’s face for any signs of deception and then convinced himself that she was truly interested because he opened his mouth to speak. But, before he could respond, Greg thought he heard a noise in the woods and hesitated. His ears perked up and he listened intently. Subconsciously his hand tightened its grip on the knife.
In close proximity, Claire noticed the subtle movement of his hand and held her breath in response. She did not hear the noise.
Greg listened for a few more minutes before answering her question. Hearing nothing more, he proceeded with his story.
“The fire was ruled an arson. The firemen found the body but it was burned beyond recognition. They believed it was me. Doris said I’d come home late and didn’t want to disturb her so I went to sleep in the guest bedroom. They thought I was smoking in bed and caused the fire.” He snickered as if this was all just an example of dark humor.
Claire shuddered at his callous disregard for life, but forced herself to urge him on. “What happened then?”
Even though Greg seemed reluctant to reply, he only paused for a minute before answering, “Doris had what was left cremated and buried.” His voice was devoid of any emotion.
He heaved a sigh and said, “After that, she moved to a different house in Brown County. I’d come to see her when I wasn’t on the road but I had to hide in case the cops paid her a visit…and believe me, they did.”
He stared off into the dark night for what seemed an eternity before continuing, “She sure wasn’t happy when the insurance company refused to give her a settlement right away.” He frowned and added, “She finally got her settlement last year when the seven years were up and the state declared me legally dead. She moved to Tennessee because it was safer for me to visit her there. No one was suspicious. No one there knew us well enough to ask questions.”
Claire looked at him questioningly. “Who was that woman I saw you with at the bookstore then?”
Greg smiled wickedly and replied, “So, that’s when you realized I was married. You saw me with her! Now I see!”
“Who was she?”
“Jealous?”
Claire persisted, “Who was she?”
“That was Doris,” Greg responded. His voice had a flat, monotone quality to it.
Claire’s heart was hammering so loudly that she assumed he could hear it.
“We took a chance and she came along with me on a road trip. We stopped in just to buy her a book to read. She was always wanting to read.” He glowered and continued, “It made me nervous to go there but she insisted.”
He shook his head in disgust, “I should have known that was what happened, but when you wouldn’t call me back, I just figured you were seeing someone else…like that ex-boyfriend of yours…Doug.”
Claire resisted the urge to scream back in anger at him. She asked him quietly, “When did you meet Libby?”
“She came into my life shortly after you broke up with me.”
Claire wanted to lash out and slap him for continuing to blame her for everything, but she held her emotions in check once again.
“I met her at a class I was taking,” Greg explained. “I liked taking adult education classes; I could meet pretty women there too, just like at bookstores,” he added, grinning at Claire.
She resisted his taunting and calmly waited for him to continue the story.
“She was there with her interpreter. I remembered a little sign language from when I was a kid and I went up to her at one of the classes. She was pretty and seemed to like me. I asked her out for coffee and she accepted. We started dating and the rest is history.”
Claire knew these details from the investigation but continued to ply him with questions to buy some time. “But weren’t you still married to Doris?”
Greg laughed. “Again Claire, you amaze me. Yes, I was still married but that wasn’t a problem. Hey, I’m a truck driver! I realized I could lead any life I wanted to!”
He added, “And, after Doris had me declared legally dead, she wasn’t useful to me anymore, so I killed her too.”
Claire gasped. She grappled with the sheer magnitude of what he was telling her, but managed to ask, “Is that why you killed Libby, Greg…because she wasn’t useful to you anymore?”
Quietly he responded, “She was upset with me. She never knew about Doris, but she didn’t like the long absences that truck driving can cause. She filed for divorce because she was lonely.”
“Then why did you have to kill her, Greg?”
He sighed, “Believe it or not, I loved her. I went to see her one night and I convinced her to come for a motorcycle ride with me. I parked at a utility substation close to the house. We walked over there, got on the cycle, and left…,” his voice trailed off.
“But she didn’t mean you any harm, Greg.”
His head snapped around and he glared at Claire. “Oh yes she did!”
“How do you know that?”
“She was going to abandon me too, Claire. She was planning to move out to California. No one knew that but me. She told me after she lost out on another promotion at work. We kept in touch you know,” he added. “I wanted her to stay but she wouldn’t do it. She’d made up her mind.”
“So, why would you kill her, Greg?” Claire tried her best to be noncommittal.
“I couldn’t take a chance. She’d already told me she was going to quit that next week and move. She was planning to leave me, just like you, and I wanted her to stay.”
Claire noted that his voice took on an almost childish, pleading quality to it.
Snap! Both of them fell quiet when they heard the sound in the trees behind them. Greg grabbed Claire with one hand and slid the knife out of his pocket with the other. He spun her around so they both faced the woods, placed the knife so that it was touching the small of her back and said, “Whoever you are come out and show yourself or she dies!”
Claire remained perfectly still, her breathing quick and erratic. Seconds felt like minutes; minutes felt like hours. Nothing stirred.
“I mean it! You’d better come out now!”
Claire strained to see into the forest. She jumped when she saw a shape step out from behind the large oak tree. She felt the knife press harder against her back. The figure moved closer. Her knees went wobbly and she almost fainted when she recognized who it was.
Chapter Twenty-nine
“Let her go, Trent.” The form continued to advance, holding a gun in his hand while he spoke. “Let her go right now or I’ll shoot.”
A sinister smile crossed Trent’s face. “Now why would I do that?” After all, Jim, I’m the one with a knife in her back. Do you want to take a chance and watch her die?” Jim Hoppes hesitated slightly and Trent continued, “Drop the gun or I’ll kill her.”
“Do what he says, Jim.”
He looked in her eyes and saw the pleading; he also saw something else. Her eyes traveled down to her right side and her head dipped ever so meaningfully.
Trent didn’t feel or see the scant movement. His attention was squarely on Jim. He repeated what Claire said in a sarcastic tone. “Yes, Jim. Do what he says.” He twisted her arm until she moaned in pain.
Hearing this, Jim let the gun fall to the ground in front of him. He raised his hands in surrender and said, “Okay, just let her go.”
“Oooh, sounds like Jim cares about you, Claire.” He p
ut his head down and nuzzled the side of her face. “That might not be too good for him.”
Alarmed, Claire burst out, “Don’t hurt him, Greg. Let him go. I’ll stay with you.”
Before he could reply, Jim spoke up. “Why did you call him ‘Greg’, Claire?”
“Tell him,” he ordered her.
“He’s both, Jim. He’s Trent Newman but I remember him as Greg Roberts.”
“And, you might remember me as Grady Rogers,” Trent added.
Startled, Jim stared closer. Shocked, he quietly whispered, “Grady Rogers! Oh my God! It is you! I thought you might still be alive!”
“You won’t be for long, though.”
“He killed his first wife, Doris Rogers. He killed Libby too,” Claire said to Jim.
Trent twisted her arm again more forcefully than before and Claire gritted her teeth so as not to scream out in pain.
Jim clenched his fists and bent forward in response to the pain evident on Claire’s face. He started to say something but remained quiet when he sensed a change in the atmosphere; it almost felt like another person was present.
Claire and Trent were silent too as a noticeable chill in the air seemed to spread out and cause the already frigid night to become even more frozen. But, it was more than just the cold that hushed them, and they all stood still as that sense of another presence suddenly invaded their space. It wasn’t a noise this time, but only a feeling that came over them as they stood in the clearing adjacent to the lake. In the night air they experienced a frost that went beyond a winter evening breeze. The iciness heralded the proximity of a being, even though no one was visible in the darkness.
Claire could feel Trent tighten his grip on the knife. He stood quietly, watchful, with an uneasiness that mirrored the soundlessness. She and Jim shared a questioning glance. Unspoken, it denoted an uncertainty of what it was they were all feeling.
Finally, in their increasingly clear night vision, they could see a shape beginning to form a short distance from them in the woods. It was fuzzy at first, only an outline. As it began to take on the appearance of something more solid, all three inhaled sharply as they simultaneously realized that they were looking at the ghost of Libby Newman.
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