The Christopher Killer (17 page)

“Go ahead, Deputy, get her out of here,” Jacobs instructed. “I can handle this piece of garbage.”

While Sheriff Jacobs cuffed Jewel, reading him his rights in a staccato voice, Justin led Cameryn into the dim hallway. She wanted to stop, wanted to get a grip, but she could only weep—for herself and for Rachel and the other three girls who’d lost their lives at the hands of the monster. She’d come as close to death as was humanly possible, and lived. She couldn’t absorb that fact, couldn’t make sense of it. A moment before, she’d been preparing to die and yet here she was, alive again.

“Are you okay?” Justin asked. His brow creased as his eyes searched hers.

It was hard to speak, but Cameryn managed to choke out, “I’m all right.”

He brushed a lock of hair from her face. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Yes,” she answered. Wiping her face with the palms of her hands, she took in a deep, wavering breath. “Take me home.”

“I THOUGHT JUSTIN WAS
the killer. I really did. That’s why I went to Jewel in the first place. When I saw that
M
on Justin’s license plate…”

“It’s all right, Cammie,” her father replied. “There might be some psychics who are real, but many of them are frauds. The fakes throw out numbers or letters or whatever and let
you
find the connection
for
them, you see? Practically everyone has some random connection with the letter
M
, or any number of letters or sequences of the two. My first girlfriend’s name was Miranda. It’s an old trick.”

They were on the swing, with Cameryn resting her head on her father’s shoulder. She pulled back so she could look at him full in the face.
“Miranda?”

“Let’s not get off subject,” he replied, so she settled back in to him. She pushed the swing with her foot and it began to move again, rocking her comfortingly.

“What bothers me,” she said, “is that I knew about that stuff and I still fell for it anyway.”

“You and millions of others.”

His arm was around her, strong, protective, and Cameryn marveled that the day’s end could be so different from its beginning. The evening air was cool, so she nestled in closer, and when she did he kissed her roughly on the side of her head.

“So, after all this, do you still want to be assistant to the coroner?” he asked.

Cameryn paused and let the motion of the glider, which creaked beneath her father’s weight, carry her three passes before she replied, “Ask me tomorrow.”

“Oh, believe me, I will. I want you to stay on. You’re smart, Cammie. We would never have caught Jewel without you. You stopped Jewel from killing again.”

“Smart?” She almost laughed at this. “First I thought Adam killed her, then Justin—I don’t call that smart.”

“Well now, don’t be so hard on yourself. Jewel fooled a lot of people. Sheriff Jacobs called me and explained how he was able to cover his tracks with his rental-car scheme. He’d go into that—what did he call it?”

“Cleansing period.”

“Right. Cleansing period. Anyway, he used that time for his alibi. And guess how he got out of the hotels unnoticed?”

“How?”

“Wearing plain workman’s clothes. Wearing the cap and his old glasses that distorted his eyes, no one even registered him.”

“I saw the clothes but I didn’t make the connection.” Cameryn found the hangnail that was bothering her and bit it.

“Don’t bite your nails, Cammie.”

“I wasn’t—okay, I’ll stop.” She dropped her hand into her lap, while Patrick went on.

“Just think, a big celebrity like that and nobody saw him. He rented the car for a week but left it in the airport lot, then checked it in by phone. That was the genius of his plan.”

Looking up, she said, “I’m not sure I really understood that part of it.”

“The police checked him out every time there was a murder. But they knew Jewel had to get from point A to point B, right? So they’d look into all the flights out of town and every rental-car place, seeing if just maybe he’d rented one and left town. The police knew he was making speeches the day
after
each murder. So they were checking for cars that would have been returned by then. They could never find one that fit the bill. Until now.”

Cameryn thought about this. “I’m glad Jewel’s talking. At least now the families will have closure. Did he ever say why he used a Christopher medal?”

“Because he was raised Catholic and I think a bit of it still clung to him in a warped way. He killed while he traveled. He told the detectives he thought he was death’s patron saint. What a sick, screwed-up man.”

“Who said he talked to dead people. You know, from now on I’m going to stick with science. When I’m a forensic pathologist I’ll use only the facts.”

He squeezed her tight and said, “Except you were using a bit of intuition there yourself. Which makes you a natural for the job.” He reached out and playfully caught Cameryn’s nose between his knuckles. “Although I don’t know why we’re talking about your future when you’re grounded for life—”

“I thought you just said I was fantastically intuitive!”

“You are. But, bottom line, you could have gotten yourself killed.” His voice thickened as he craned back his neck to look at the stars. “You’re all I’ve got, Cammie. In this whole wide world, you’re all I’ve got. Promise me you’ll never take such a stupid risk again.”

As she nodded, her cheek rubbed against his shirt. “I promise,” she whispered.

For a while they sat silent, content to glide. Overhead, the aspen shivered in the wind, creating a sound like the rushing of water. The currents began to blow, first in ripples, then in waves, and she marveled how the wind passing through leaves could conjure the rumble of a distant ocean. She, too, dropped her head back; like her father, she gaped at the sky overhead. Silverton was small enough that the town itself cast almost no light, so the space above her was black as ink, studded with tiny, brilliant lights. Looking into the endless deep of space, as thick with starlight as the ocean was with plankton, she thought how it was like looking at life upside down. Her own life, too, looked different, a reverse of what it had been. Only days before, her mammaw had accused her of being too dark. Strangely, she didn’t feel dark any longer. She’d almost become a body on the autopsy table, an object to be opened up and read, sewn up and buried in the ground. To be alive, to have another chance at tomorrow, was a wonderful thing.

The wind surged again, harder now. Shivering, she pressed deeper beneath her father’s arm.

“Dad?”

“Hmmmm.”

“Hannah’s trying to find me.”

His grip tightened so hard she winced. “I know it.”

“I want to talk to her. When I thought I was going to die, that was the one thing I was sorry about. I was sorry I never gave her a chance. I was sorry I wouldn’t read her letter.”

It took a long time for him to speak. “You don’t know what you’re asking. You don’t understand.”

“That was okay before—not understanding—but not now. Dad, I want to get the letter.”

“Your mammaw already has it.”

As if on cue the porch light flicked on, flooding the backyard with light. Above, the stars faded, but she could see her father now, though his eyes were still shadowed.

“Are you warm enough, you two?” her grandmother’s call carried over the grass. “Don’t answer that—I don’t even know why I’m asking. You’ll say you’re fine when you’re a breath away from freezing. I’m bringing out a blanket.”

Her mammaw, standing in the strong porch light, traveled carefully across the lawn. Stiff, she stepped on flagstones, her body rocking with off-center weight from the thick quilt she carried. When she reached the swing she unfurled the blanket, tucking it snugly beneath Cameryn’s chin.

“Lyric called and I told her you’d call back. She and Adam are going out, celebrating, but I took the liberty of telling her you’d be staying home tonight. You’ve had enough excitement. What is it, girl?” She felt her grandmother’s strong hand on the top of her head. “What’s wrong? Patrick?”

“You’ve got my letter,” Cameryn whispered hoarsely. “From Hannah.”

The smile slowly drained from her grandmother’s face. “I do,” she said.

“How did you get it?”

“The deputy came by. He gave me two things. A letter and a package.”

“I want them.”

“Patrick?” Mammaw asked, but he didn’t answer. That seemed to be answer enough, because Mammaw said, “I’ll go get them.”

Time stopped. Her grandmother was gone only moments, or was it hours? Cameryn couldn’t tell. Patrick stared straight ahead, unmoving, his eyes wide and blank. When her grandmother returned she pressed two objects into Patrick’s hand. “The child’s right,” she said softly. “Tell her.”

But her father shook his head. “No. Not yet. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Son, if you’ve learned anything from today, it’s that we don’t always have our tomorrows.”

“I need more time,” he said. His mouth had been the only thing to move. He did not meet his mother’s gaze or his daughter’s, but stared into the darkness.

“No, Patrick,” she said softly. “I’ve heard every argument you’ve come up with as well as a few out of my own mouth, and the both of us have been wrong. It is time. You’ve got to tell her the truth.”

Then her mammaw caressed Cameryn’s cheek with her hand, pulling her chin up so that their eyes met. “What we’ve done—it’s been from love. We’ve always tried to protect you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will.” Mammaw turned and made her way back to the house, her fuzzy slippers padding on the stone. The screen door screeched open, then went silent.

Suddenly Cameryn’s blood began to race. She stared at the package, wrapped in iris blue paper, then at the letter, encased in a plain blue envelope. Her father made no motion to give them to her.

“Dad?”

“It’s strange, the way we’ve been sitting here, talking about death.” His voice was oddly flat, and when his eyes met hers, he didn’t seem to really see. “About death, and dying, and ghosts.” He swallowed. “There are different kinds of ghosts. When we moved here, Cammie, I wanted to forget. They were things about Hannah, about our life before, that I’ve never wanted you to know. I thought it was better to bury the secrets. To forget the past.”

“Dad, what is it?”

Her father took a deep, wavering breath. “Cammie, you don’t remember everything. About who you are, I mean. It was too long ago. But…there’s another person….”

For some inexplicable reason her father had begun to cry, yet, strangely, he made no sound. His face contorted while quiet sobs shook his body, rocking the swing with spasms. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry….” he said in a hoarse whisper. “I can’t do this.” He stood. With a final, wavering breath, he let the package, then the letter, slide from his fingertips into her lap.

“Do what you need to do,” he told her. Then he walked, unsteady, following Mammaw’s footsteps along the flag-stone that made a path toward home.

Cameryn was left alone. Rocking, feeling the breeze, she tried to steel herself for this new reality. Because the porch light was so bright she could no longer see the stars, but she could see the pines, waving their arms as she stared into the heavens. Turning over the package, once, twice, she let it drop back into the blanket, then picked it up again. She hesitated only a moment before she ripped off the paper. Inside was a picture. Two girls, maybe only three years old, had been painted in soft watercolor. Two dark-haired little girls in pink dresses with smocking, laughing, their mouths wide. Cameryn saw herself in the face of them both. It made no sense. Hesitant, she picked up the letter. It felt light in her hand, as fragile, as inconsequential, as a leaf. The envelope was made of pale blue paper; when she looked closer, she saw the watermark of an iris.

Somewhere, an owl hooted and she heard a rustle in the grass behind her. It was probably a mouse about to get caught by the owl, an animal that could find its prey in the dark. A part of her was like the mouse, running and hiding, but a bigger part was like the owl. She’d been searching for something all her life and she sensed it was right here, in the blue envelope.

She didn’t give herself another chance to think, afraid she’d change her mind. Trembling, she tore open the envelope and removed a single page.

Cameryn unfolded the letter she’d waited all her life to read. It was written in black ink that swirled across the paper like bits of lace.

My darling Cameryn,

I love you. I want to say that in case you don’t read another line of this letter. But I love you more completely than I have ever loved anyone before or since you came into the world.

I realize that you must have always had questions about me—why I left, why I chose to disappear from your life. But death can make a person walk a path she never thought herself capable of. In my grief, I ran away from you. Now, I realize what a mistake that was, and worse, that it might now be too late.

Cammie, when your sister died, a piece of me died, too. Jayne’s death sent me to places that were not safe for you. But now I’m well again.

Stunned, Cameryn looked at the picture. Jayne? She had a
sister
? It was impossible. Cameryn would have remembered, would have known…wouldn’t she? The smiling face of twins stared back, mocking her with their silence.

I’m asking you, begging you, to contact me. If you call me I’ll know you’re ready. There’s so much to say, Cameryn, so many years to fill. Please, I won’t care about the hour. Day or night, you can always find me.

Beneath the scrolling signature she saw a phone number and a New York address. Above her, the owl glided, his wings spread wide to embrace the evening. She read the letter again and again. Then, hesitating, she pulled her cell phone from her back pocket but didn’t open it. At that moment the owl swooped in on its prey and flew up into the night. The mouse’s tail hung from its talons like a velvet cord. It was already dead.

Death. She had wanted to serve the dead, wanted to learn their language so that she could be their translator. She remembered thinking how much of her life had been buried with Hannah’s memory and how cordoning off her past had stolen her own voice. But for the first time Cameryn understood it was the secrets themselves that had silenced her. And they’d silenced Hannah as well.

Once again the pines trees danced overhead. Rousing herself, Cameryn flipped open her phone and dialed the number written on the bottom of her letter.

The letter from her mother.