“It is,” he said.
“I’m sorry to bring it up,” she said.
“It’s all right,” he said. “Honestly, I don’t know if we’ll ever know what happened that night.” Unless, of course, Destiny’s body showed up, perfectly preserved in a freezer, with his semen still inside her. Which could happen, and he knew it would all go worse for him if it did. No one would believe his story if that evidence was uncovered.
However, back when Finn was trying to frame Liam for his own murders, that would have been a slam dunk for Finn. Liam couldn’t believe that Finn wouldn’t have used that evidence already if he had it.
So, Liam was banking on the idea that Destiny’s body was long gone. The morning after it happened, Finn had told him that he’d taken care of it. Finn claimed that Destiny was the first corpse he’d ever violated, and if that was true, he wouldn’t have had the means to preserve a body. He would have dumped it somewhere.
He’d probably buried it, though, which might not be any better.
Liam foresaw a long session of googling on an incognito tab all about DNA and buried corpses and how long it took to degrade.
“Maybe not,” said Dawson. “Maybe we’ll never know.” She got up from the table. “Well, Liam, if there’s anything that we need from you, I’ll be in touch. We can still count on your cooperation, can’t we?”
“Absolutely.” He’d noted she’d called him Liam, so that was good. He got up from the table. “I’m here to help you in any way I can. Anything you need, just ask.”
“Thanks for your time,” she said, and she offered him her hand to shake.
When their fingers touched, he remembered kissing her, and it went through his body with a jolt.
She yanked her hand back, almost as if she felt it, too. “Mr. Emerson.” She gave him a curt nod.
“Detective Dawson,” he said, also nodding.
“I’ll see myself out.”
* * *
Dawson didn’t know what to believe.
Currently, she was back at the office, huddled over her desk in her cubicle, trying to focus on doing actual police work, and instead unable to do anything but think about Liam Emerson.
She supposed that maybe Liam’s story accounted for everything. She also knew that eyewitness accounts were often not reliable, getting very important details entirely wrong. This was an event that had happened in 2004, over fifteen years ago, and—by his own admission—Liam had been too drunk to remember any of the details accurately.
So, the fact that he was saying things that didn’t entirely make sense wasn’t a smoking gun on the face of it. But it didn’t look good.
She was certain that Finn and Liam had discussed whether or not Destiny’s death was an accident. She was positive of it. There was no reason for Finn to say what he’d said otherwise. And she also remembered the sanguine way Liam had admitted it to her. I choked her. I strangled her until she stopped breathing.
So, here was what Dawson thought had actually happened.
She thought that Liam had been very drunk, and that he had blacked things out, and maybe he didn’t quite remember what he’d done or how it had happened, but she thought that there was a good chance Liam had accidentally killed his girlfriend. And when he said he walked out because Finn was having sex with her, she thought that Liam had walked out because Finn was having sex with her corpse.
She thought Liam had kept that secret all these years, and that he didn’t want to let it out now because he must understand that what he’d done was a crime, accident or not. Even if he could prove that it had been an accident and not intentional, he was still looking at involuntary manslaughter, and his life would be ruined.
Not that Liam had much of a life left after the number Finn had done on him. Finn had ruined Liam’s marriage and forced him into that ratty apartment, where Dawson was fairly certain Liam was drinking himself to death. She’d seen all the liquor bottles out on his work desk.
But he was working.
She’d even watched the latest YouTube video he’d released, a strange and oddly hypnotic meditation on the fanfic This Love, the novel Dusk, and Finn’s murders. Chock full of footage from the Dusk movies, Liam’s voice narrated over scenes of shirtless vampire and werewolf men fighting over a mortal girl as he talked about the intersections between fantasy and reality and violence.
She could see why he made a living doing it. He was good at what he did. The video had been mesmerizing and intriguing, and it was only the first in a series. She knew she’d watch them all.
She jiggled the mouse on her office computer and began to scroll idly through the search results she’d just brought up. She wasn’t really looking at them, however. She was still thinking.
The truth of the matter was that, when it came to Liam and his possible murder of Destiny Worth, she probably had enough to open an investigation into it. There were Destiny Worth’s clothes, for one thing. Slater had given them to her, and they’d been bagged and tagged and tested for evidence. Liam’s DNA was on the clothes, and so was Slater’s. But then, so was Dawson’s, so there was no saying if that DNA had gotten on the fabric years ago or weeks ago. The only DNA that didn’t seem to be on the clothes was Destiny Worth’s, for that matter. It was only Slater’s word the clothes even belonged to Destiny.
But the clothes didn’t matter. She could still open an investigation. She could work with the police in Delaware, and maybe they’d be able to go looking for Destiny’s body, which Dawson figured had to be buried out there somewhere near the college. Depending on the conditions of the burial, it wasn’t out of the question that there they’d find damning DNA evidence on that body, even after all these years.
But Dawson wasn’t going to open an investigation.
She was protecting Liam.
Not because of the kiss.
The kiss didn’t matter. She might have found him attractive, and she might have enjoyed kissing him, but he was the last person on earth she’d want to have a relationship with. He was a head case. He was emotionally destroyed. He was in a bad, bad way. She would never get involved with him.
So, that wasn’t the reason.
It was mostly that she felt sorry for him.
She believed it had been an accident, and she suspected it had been choreographed by Slater. Maybe Liam had done the deed, but Slater truly was responsible. So, she had committed to helping Liam cover up the truth.
And yet, she couldn’t simply tell him that.
Well… she had thought maybe if he would have admitted it to her that morning, then maybe she could have. But he didn’t trust her, and she couldn’t blame him. After all, she didn’t really trust him either. Which made it all incredibly stupid that she was crossing ethical lines and doing something that went against every edict of justice in the universe.
But, well, she didn’t really know what had happened. Maybe it hadn’t been an accident. She needed to look into it all more.
Abruptly, she closed the window she had open on the computer and opened another one.
It was a document she had been working on. It wasn’t officially connected to Slater’s case, not yet, and she wasn’t supposed to be giving it priority, but since she couldn’t concentrate anyway, maybe she could make some headway on it.
She was looking into the disappearance of two women in the spring of 2004, both of whom were probably dead, killed by Slater. Slater had tried to frame Liam for these women’s demise, back when he was still free and killing, so they were probably his own work.
But they didn’t have any evidence of these women. No bodies had ever been found. No one could be sure what had happened to them.
Dawson’s document had the girls’ names and the details of their disappearance. Harlow Walker and Montana Scout. She’d spoken to Harlow’s mother and Montana’s sister, but neither had been at college with the girls and so neither had any knowledge of a boyfriend or even a date.
In both cases, it had been some time before the girls were
even considered missing, because college was a point in one’s life when people came and went at odd hours, when they disappeared for days on end and no one thought much of it.
Dawson had spent some time hunting down the roommate of Harlow Walker, however, and she supposed that maybe she should attempt to call the roommate now.
There was a little rapping noise on the outside wall of her cubicle.
She looked up and saw that Mitch Clark was there.
“Hey,” he said, “just wanted to let you know we got the DNA results back on your case, and it’s definitely Slater.”
“Oh,” she said. “Thanks. I’ll check out the report.”
“No problem,” he said. “Don’t work too hard, there.” He gave her a half-wave, half-salute and kept going.
Dawson sighed and closed the document.
She had a flesh-and-blood serial killer on the loose killing women right now, not fifteen years ago. She needed to focus on what was important.
* * *
“I was afraid you weren’t going to pick up,” came Finn’s voice from the phone.
Liam had it pressed too tightly against his ear. “I didn’t want to.” He had recognized the number, and he’d known who it was, and he’d briefly thought that perhaps if he just let it be, then it would all go away. The phone had stopped ringing, and he had let out a little sigh of relief. And then the ringing had started again. So, defeated, he’d answered.
“Ouch, I’m wounded,” said Finn. “And we used to be so close.”
“What if there was a legitimate reason I couldn’t pick up the phone, Finn?” he asked. It was dark outside, and Liam had pulled all of his shades tight to block Finn’s view into his apartment. The idea of being watched made him feel exposed and vulnerable.
“Did I threaten you? Did I say you had to pick up the phone?”
“You implied it.”
“I knew you were home,” said Finn.
A dark tremor went through Liam. “Where are you?”
Finn just chuckled. “That’s not important this time, tiger.”
“So, you’re not near Madison?”
“I know where she is. I know that I could get to her if I needed to. Do we really have to go through all that again, Liam? I was hoping we could move past that.”
“Oh, move on to what? Last time, you listened to me eat toast, what are we doing this time?”
“What do you think we should do? What do you want to do?”
“I thought I made it clear that I didn’t even want to talk to you.”
“Oh, that’s not true. The sound of my voice has you all hot and bothered,” Finn said silkily. “You’re rock hard right now.”
“I am not,” said Liam, and it might have been true a minute ago, but it wasn’t anymore. His pants were uncomfortable and he was aroused. It was only because Finn had said that, and it didn’t mean anything. It was worse precisely because Liam knew he shouldn’t be aroused. It was only his body. It was a physical thing. Nothing more.
Finn chuckled again, his voice dipping lower. “Well, I’m hard.”
Liam clenched his hand into a fist.
“You remember the last time you touched my cock, Liam?”
“Shut up,” said Liam.
“You want to pretend that didn’t happen, don’t you?” said Finn. “Well, I’ll always remember, tiger, and I’ll always remind you of it.”
“You’re just doing this to get to me, huh?” Liam’s voice was shaking. “That’s what’s making you hard. Well, maybe I’m not going to let it bother me. Maybe I’m going to—”
“Unzip your pants.”
“No.” Liam’s voice was breathy, barely there.
“Come on,” said Finn. “You want to. It’ll feel good. Stop resisting.”
Liam hung up the phone. He threw it on the desk where he was sitting and stalked out of the room, going into the bedroom and shutting the door, as if putting walls between him and the phone would somehow protect him.
Except, inside his pants, he was still throbbing.
And outside the door, the phone was ringing again.
Liam slammed his palm into the door. He wanted to cry.
Then, he seized the doorknob and flung the door open, hurling himself through the air back to the living room. He picked up the phone.
“I’m not going to be your little bitch, Finn,” he growled.
“You already are, tiger,” Finn snarled.
“No, fuck this. I’m not doing this. I don’t have to do what you say. I’m not brainwashed, and you’re not anything to me other than—”
“I lied,” Finn interrupted. “I’m outside Madison’s window.”
A strangled noise came out of Liam’s throat.
“You want to know what color her curtains are?”
“Stop.”
“Purple with little yellow flowers and tassels on the end. Do all teenage girls have so little taste?” Finn scoffed. “I wonder if the window’s unlocked. I wonder if I could get in without making much noise. I wonder if she’d notice. She’s pretty intent on that tablet that’s propped up on her knees while she’s lying in bed. And I have to admit, tiger, there’s something appealing about the way she’s still got a little baby fat. Round cheeks and big eyes. She’s… it wouldn’t disgust me to have her.”
“Stop.”
“Hang up on me again,” said Finn, and now his voice was inflectionless and callous, “hang up on me ever again at any time, and I will cut her and stick my cock in the wound.”
Liam was speechless at that.
Seconds ticked by.
Finn smirked on the other end of the phone. “You’d have thought that would have made your raging hard-on die down, but it didn’t, did it, tiger?”
Liam didn’t answer.
“Unzip your pants.”
“Fine,” Liam snapped. “Done.”
“Don’t lie to me, tiger.”
Another sound made its way out of the back of Liam’s throat. It might have been a sob. “Please, Finn?”
A sigh. “Oh, tiger.” Now, Finn almost sounded sympathetic. “You shouldn’t have hung up on me.”
“You left me alone for years,” said Liam. “Why, all of the sudden—”
“I thought I explained this,” said Finn. “You were what was missing. I needed you.”
“Bullshit,” said Liam. “You don’t care about me. I’ve never meant anything to you one way or another. No one has ever meant anything—”
“Unzip your pants, take yourself out, send me a picture, and we’re done.”
Liam shut his eyes. “Done?”
“We’ll hang up, and I’ll leave you be for the rest of the night,” said Finn.
Liam opened his eyes. “But you’ll call again. And next time? What am I going to have to do next time?”
Nothing from Finn, but somehow Liam knew he was smiling.
“Fuck,” said Liam. He sank down in the chair at his desk and unzipped his pants. He was hard, and he hated himself for it. “You’ll have to forgive me,” he said in a sarcastic voice, “I’m not up on this sexting thing the kids do these days.”
“Back when we were kids, the phones didn’t have cameras this good,” agreed Finn. “But it’s not difficult, tiger. I’m sure you can figure it out.”
Liam grimaced at himself. More than anything in the world what he wanted to send was a picture of himself flaccid. He wanted to stick it to Finn in some way, and that would be the ultimate—
Well, it wasn’t happening.
He took the picture and sent it.
“Oh,” said Finn in a different voice, a satisfied voice. “There we go.”
“We’re done, right?”
“Oh, tiger,” sighed Finn. “When are you going to be ready?”
Liam didn’t say anything.
“Night, Liam,” said Finn. “Pleasant dreams.” He hung up.
CHAPTER THREE
Dawson got out of her car and shut the door behind her. She squared her shoulders and look
ed up at the house that she’d just parked in front of. It was a two-story colonial, stately behind a cluster of oak trees. The stone walkway wound through the well-landscaped yard to the front door.
She probably shouldn’t be here.
She started up the walkway anyhow.
Yes, it was true that Slater was free, and she should be focusing all her attention on catching him, not on cold cases, not on women who’d been missing for over a decade.
But here she was.
She made her way to the front door and knocked.
She probably should have called, but she hated calling people on the phone, because of her deep voice, and all the time it took to explain that she was a woman, thank you very much. So, this had all the hallmarks of going very badly.
She knocked on the door.
A few moments passed and then a woman opened the door. She had a strip of gray in otherwise chocolate-brown hair. She furrowed her brow.
“I’m sorry to show up unannounced,” said Dawson.
The woman’s eyebrows shot up at the sound of Dawson’s deep voice. “Listen, if you’re trying to sell something—”
“I’m a police detective,” said Dawson.
“Oh.” The woman’s expression elongated. She suddenly seemed much older than she had only a moment ago. “Is… has something happened?”
“Not in many years,” said Dawson. “Are you Catherine Wilson?”
“That’s me.”
“You went to college at Branwen University in Delaware?”
“Well, yes, but that was a very long time ago,” said Catherine. She currently resided in northern Virginia. If she’d lived further north or in another state, the drive probably would have prohibited Dawson from coming, but this had only been an hour and a half drive away. It had seemed serendipitous.
“You were Harlow Walker’s roommate?”
“This is about Harlow?”
“Yes,” said Dawson. “I know it’s been a very long time since she went missing, but I have reason to believe that her disappearance may somehow be linked with a serial killer case.”
“Phineas Slater,” said Catherine.
“You know about him?”
The Temptation of Silence Page 3