by Willow Rose
“They are talking an awful lot about that,” he said.
“And I bet people are hoarding canned food and bottled water,” I said. “Like always at this time of year.”
“It’s not a bad idea to have a plan prepared,” he said.
“Of course not. But when you’ve been around a while, you get tired of being all riled up again and again, and then it never comes, or if it does, it turns out to be nothing.”
“So, what have you been looking at?” he asked, nodding toward my laptop.
“I’m trying to find out what his next move will be. I know that he will be angry now. We messed up his plans, and he’ll try to retaliate somehow. And probably pretty soon to make sure we don’t think that he’s defeated. He won’t let a small setback like the one yesterday get in his way. He’ll be angry, yes, but he’ll get back on track as fast as possible. My guess is he has already kidnapped his next victim and laid out the plan. But I can’t seem to find any recent kidnappings on the island. I’ve looked through all the police reports and Internet searches, Facebook, Instagram, and so on. I’m searching for anyone who wrote anything about a loved one who didn’t come home or someone who is worried about one of their drunk friends who hasn’t been seen in a while, stuff like that, which usually doesn’t make the police reports because they’ll never go to the police and report them missing. Like prostitutes that someone says is missing, or homeless people, or maybe a runaway teenager that they believe will come back, or maybe they don’t care, but the sister does. Stuff like that. I have this terrible feeling that we’ll hear from the Leech very soon. And that has me worried. He’ll strike back even harder, and I have no idea how. Since I still don’t understand his pattern, I have no way of telling what his direction is, what he wants to accomplish. It’s very frustrating. I’m usually always able to figure them out. But I can’t seem to see the connection between his victims and the way he kills them. I have this system where I run all their similarities and their differences, but it still doesn’t create a usable pattern. I can’t seem to …”
I tapped on the laptop aggressively with a groan. “See? Nothing!”
David placed a hand on top of mine. “Maybe I can help? Let’s try together. Show me what you’ve got so far.”
Chapter Sixty-Nine
We woke up Sydney with our talking. The more I talked, the more agitated I became, and then I forgot all about her sleeping next to us. She sat up in the bed and stared at us from behind the green facial mask.
The sight made both David and me laugh out loud. Sydney sent me a look.
“I’m sorry we woke you up,” I said. “I know it’s early, but …”
“It’s okay,” she said and put her feet on the floor. “I have to get up anyway. I’m behind on my reading and need to get the first few scenes down by today. I’m going off-script tomorrow. I also have to go for a run and lose at least two more pounds before the audition.”
I exhaled. “Syd, you’re working yourself too hard. If they want you for this part, if you’re perfect for it, they’ll take you no matter what. Two pounds won’t change anything, will it? I can hardly imagine it would.”
She scoffed. “Then you don’t know the business.”
I nodded. I didn’t. She was right about that. Sydney got up and walked to the bathroom while I returned to my notes.
“So, as you can see here, what I have so far is just the fact that he uses others to hide what he’s doing, and I believe he thinks no one will know. But why he is killing them and why he is doing the things he does in that way is odd to me. But it’s not strange that someone like him emerges at a time like this. That’s no surprise to me.”
“Why not?” David asked.
“A guy like him has one goal. To punish society for his misfortunes. And mass murderers like him are on the rise. We see them as shooters at musical festivals like the one in Vegas; we see it in the shooter who killed people at a Wal-Mart in El Paso, or the garlic festival in California. Their mindset is what we often refer to as an ‘injustice collector.’ These men — overwhelmingly, they are men — often feel that they have been personally wronged, mistreated, or overlooked. Sometimes they see broader injustices they perceive against their gender or race or religion. They’re latching onto some anger that is bigger than them.”
“And you think the Leech is like them?”
“Yes. That is my firm belief. I also think he’s very, very clever, and that he — unlike most of the others — isn’t planning on dying while doing his killing. He’s no martyr, which is a tendency we see more and more too. He’s not planning on getting caught either. He sees himself as way too important for that. That’s why he’s covering himself behind others, using them, like he did to Adam. He’s making others do the dirty work for him, so to speak. In that way, he can continue for way longer than others we have seen and know of. He’ll go down in history as the one who made it, the one who succeeded. He idolizes those other killers, but he wants to up the game. He wants to do even better.”
“But if he hides behind others, then chances are no one will ever know it was really him who was behind it; how does that fit with his profile?” David asked.
“That’s the thing that has me mystified as well,” I said.
“So, you think that he might have an outlet for those desires somewhere that we don’t know about?” David asked. “That there is somewhere he’s showing the world what he’s doing? Like in the video he sent you?”
I stared at him, puzzled. “Yes, that’s exactly what I was thinking.”
Chapter Seventy
THEN:
Marlene’s heart was beating fast as they showed her back into the interrogation room. Rivers and Waltman were both there, looking seriously at her as she sat down across from them.
She hadn’t told Bruce about what she had seen on his computer and did her best not to let him know as she sent him off to work. He too was going to be interrogated, but not until later in the week; he had been instructed. Marlene gathered that they first needed to have enough ammunition against him.
“I need you to know that I have always done what was best for my son,” she started. “I am a good mother. I have read every book there is about children and parenting, well almost that is, and I have found Triple P Positive Parenting to be among the most effective techniques.”
“Ma’am, we’re here to establish how much you knew about the abuse,” Rivers said. “I don’t think your parenting technique makes much of a difference.”
Marlene swallowed. She had thought about this all night, lying awake in her bed, eyes wide open, staring into the ceiling, thinking about how she was going to tell them that she had no part in this. She had prepared an entire speech that was to show them how terrific a parent she really was.
But now she wondered who the speech was really for. Was it, in fact, for herself? For her own sake? Because she felt so devastated to know that this could have taken place under her nose, on her watch?
“I didn’t,” she said with a sniffle. “I didn’t know anything.”
Waltman leaned forward and folded his hands on the table. “Now, we want to believe you; we really do, ma’am. But you can see how we’re having trouble, right? You’ve spent the entire time in here defending your husband, even with the evidence we presented to you. You haven’t been very cooperative, nor have you tried to defend your son, who is the victim here. Add to that the fact that you haven’t wondered about the bruises or anything else, and then you’ll see why we have a hard time believing in your innocence.”
Marlene nodded. She understood. “What does Jack say?”
“Excuse me?”
“About me. What does my son say about me and my part in this?”
They looked at one another like they didn’t know how to answer that.
“Please. I have a right to know.”
Rivers exhaled deeply, then leaned forward. “He says you haven’t seen his dad hurt him, that he can’t recall you seeing it happen or bein
g there when it did. We don’t know if he is just protecting you yet, as small children often do with their mothers.”
Marlene bit her lip. This was the answer she was hoping for. It didn’t acquit her, but it did help her case.
“There is something that I have come to know since yesterday,” she said, feeling heavy. She was going to betray her husband, but she had to do it. To save herself. Besides, with what she had seen on the computer, she knew she would never want him in her life or her son’s life ever again.
“Yes?” Rivers said.
Marlene handed him a USB port. “I put it all on this. It’s from his laptop. Now, before you see what’s on it, I want to make one thing clear. I had no knowledge of this until last night. It is something he has kept completely hidden from me. You have my permission to prosecute him for this. I will even testify if needed. I am done defending him for what he has done. I am done with him completely.”
Chapter Seventy-One
It wasn’t a very good day. Six-year-old Owen Brown glared after his mother as she drove off from the drop-off line at school. A teacher guided him inside, and he sat down at his desk. No one noticed the tears running down his cheeks all morning as they went through their classes, just as no one noticed how he didn’t want to talk to anyone.
Why not?
Because it was his birthday and his momma had forgotten. It wasn’t unusual for Owen’s mother to forget things, but it was the first time she had forgotten his birthday.
“She’s not well.”
The words had fallen from his aunt’s mouth the night before when she came to visit and cook for them. Owen had overheard her speaking on the phone with their mother, Owen’s grandmother.
“We need to do something.”
Owen had known for a long time that things weren’t as they were supposed to be with his mother. It had started with her forgetting to pick him up after school. Then she had forgotten his name while speaking to him, or things she was about to say. She also forgot to grocery shop, and he had to eat cereal with bad tasting lumpy milk or sometimes just eat it dry. He didn’t like to complain about these things because his mother got so confused and often so very sad when he did. Once, when he told her she had forgotten to wash his PJs, she went to the bathroom and cried for half an hour. Later, when she came out, she seemed to have forgotten why she went in there in the first place, and his PJs weren’t washed until he did it himself.
Owen had taught himself to do a lot of stuff, like toast his own bagels and even fry an egg for dinner when his mother forgot what time of day it was. He could make simple meals for himself and wash his own clothes. He even remembered to make sure he got to bed at bedtime, and he set the alarm to get up and get ready in the morning.
“It’s too much for the boy. He’s so young,” his aunt had said on the phone. “I’m afraid she might burn the house down with both of them in it, forgetting she was cooking or something. It’s getting serious.”
It was just Owen and his mother in the house. His aunt had recently begun to come over and cook for them every now and then. She wasn’t a very good cook, and Owen didn’t like having her there much. She was so harsh on his mother, he thought. Always telling her what to do and what not to do.
Owen didn’t like that. He liked it better when it was just him and his momma, alone against the world. He missed the old days when she still remembered things.
Like his birthday.
At recess, they were all sent outdoors to play on the playground, and Owen was the first one to storm out of the doors. He ran to the swings to be the first to get one when he spotted something on the bench in front of him, something that made him smile for the first time that day because it could only mean one thing:
His momma hadn’t forgotten about his birthday after all. She had just pretended to while planning this big surprise for him.
Only Momma knew how much Owen liked clowns, and right now, there was one sitting on the bench in front of him, and in his lap, he had a big basket filled to the brim with Pixie Sticks.
Owen’s favorite candy.
Chapter Seventy-Two
I called the sheriff’s office, but McMillen hadn’t come in yet, his secretary said. Instead, she sent me to one of the other detectives on duty, a guy named Detective Foster, who seemed like an even bigger prick than McMillen.
I asked about Melanie Kagan.
“She doesn’t remember a thing,” he said, sounding annoyed. “That’s all we know for now.”
“So, she was drugged?” I asked. “Have you checked her bloodwork for roofies or any other drugs? Did you get a blood sample when you took her in last night?”
“Listen, Miss …”
“Thomas.”
“We’re swamped down here today. I don’t have time for this. Was there anything I could help you with?”
“How far are you in the case? Do you know why she did it?” I asked.
“We’re working to get to the bottom of this,” he answered. “But as I said, the last thing she remembers is going out to a bar with her friend. She doesn’t remember anything else.”
“What if I tell you I believe someone did this to her? Someone roofied her at that bar, then placed the vest and the blood pressure measurer on her body and left her in the armoire?”
He went quiet on the other end. “Then I’d say you have a very vivid imagination, Miss …”
“Thomas. Listen, I know it can be hard to believe, but you need to realize that this isn’t her doing. There’s someone on the island who …”
“Listen, Miss Thomas. I really don’t have the time for this. Thank you for calling. Please, don’t do it again.”
The line went dead, and I stared at my phone, raging. I hadn’t even been able to tell him about the nails yet. I had hoped that this guy might believe me since I knew McMillen wouldn’t give me the time of day. All I needed was a few minutes of his time, a few minutes to explain. Then I was certain he would see it the way I did. But I wasn’t even going to get that. They wouldn’t give me a chance.
I was just about to lose my patience with this place and especially the law enforcement.
I looked up abruptly from the phone and at the wall next to me. My heart began to race in my chest as I clenched the phone hard in my hand. A sensation rushed through me and caused me to tremble. It was a feeling I was very familiar with and that I welcomed wholeheartedly. One I had longed for in this case.
The feeling of a piece of the puzzle falling into place.
“David?” I said as I dropped the phone and ran for the door. I rushed into the hallway and to the top of the stairs, then yelled at the top of my lungs:
“DAVID?”
Chapter Seventy-Three
“What is this?”
Owen looked at Bryan, who had come up next to him. The clown in front of them hadn’t moved.
“Is that candy?”
Owen nodded and grabbed another stick, unwrapped it, and poured its sugary contents into his mouth and felt it melt on his tongue. It was his third one, and he knew he might get a tummy ache, but since it was his birthday, he felt like he deserved it.
“It’s my birthday,” Owen said. “My mom sent the clown here to surprise me with the candy.”
“Cool. Can I have some?”
Owen nodded. “Sure.”
Bryan dug in and took a stick. He opened it, poured the sugar into his mouth, then went for a second one. He dug in his hands and grabbed an entire handful. Bryan then turned around to face the other kids on the playground and yelled:
“Hey, guys! Free candy over here!”
Seconds later, they were surrounded by all the children in the entire playground. They were digging their small fingers into the basket in the clown’s lap, stuffing their little faces with the sugary powder, eyes glistening in excitement.
Owen felt especially proud that his mom had managed to pull off something like this for him, and it gave him extra hope for her and for their future. Maybe she was getting better? M
aybe everything would soon go back to normal? Maybe his aunt didn’t have to come and cook anymore?
Maybe everything was going to be fine, after all?
The thought felt intoxicating, and Owen couldn’t stop smiling. It wasn’t until Bryan collapsed next to him and fell to the ground, ragdoll limp, that Owen realized nothing would ever be fine again.
Chapter Seventy-Four
“What’s going on? Did something happen?”
David came running up the stairs, pale as a sheet. I stared at him, then put both my hands on his shoulders.
“I got it. I figured out his pattern.”
David looked surprised. “You what?”
“It was when I thought about the thing at the theater; you know when we sat there with Melanie, and how it took all the patience I could muster. That’s when it hit me. What’s the definition of patience?”
David stared at me like I had gone mad.
“It’s the capacity to accept or tolerate delay, trouble, or suffering without getting angry or upset,” I answered my own question.
“And? I am not quite following here,” he said.
“Patience. She needed to endure it. Melanie did, or we would all die. If she got upset, we’d die, all of us.”
“Because her blood pressure would rise, yes,” he said.
“Okay, let’s go back to Adam,” I said. “He was holding Allyson’s picture in his hand when he went into the school with the gun. We both agree he was put up to it by the Leech, that he had kidnapped Allyson and made Adam do it, or he’d kill Allyson. That’s the theory, right?”
“Right.”