The Serial Killer's Wife (27 page)

Having found the business card, she took out the throwaway phone, opened it, and began to dial.

PART III:

WHAT DENNY THE DRAGON KNOWS

CHAPTER 50

D
ESPITE
LAST
NIGHT
’
S
heavy rain, some drops of blood spotted the back parking lot of the Green Meadows Motel. There were only a few, barely even noticeable unless you were looking for them. The pebbles of safety glass were easier to find. Not all of them had been swept up by Clarence, who had also presumably moved Jim’s car along with Jim himself. In the early morning light, the pebbles sparkled like diamonds.
 

Special Agent David Bradford crouched over the area with the spots of blood and pebbles of glass. He had positioned himself so the sun could shine just right and not have any chance of getting his shadow in the way. Standing a few feet away was Special Agent Julia Hogan, who in her smart dark pantsuit also stood back enough so the sun’s rays wouldn’t be distracted.
 

“What are you thinking?” Julia Hogan asked.
 

He stayed crouched for another few seconds, staring down at the spots of blood and pebbles of glass, before standing back up. He was in his late forties and one of his knees popped with the effort.
 

“I’m thinking,” David Bradford said, “that those spots there on the asphalt
could
be blood. And those pebbles of glass there, they
could
have come from a shattered car window. And that the supposed victim, James McEvoy,
could
have been killed here last night.”
 

“That sounds like a lot of coulds,” Julia Hogan said.
 

David Bradford nodded, still staring down at the ground. “Yes, there is definitely a pattern forming. Of course, without the actual body, or even the car that was supposedly here, it’s impossible to make a solid conclusion. There are no security cameras back here. In fact, there are no security cameras out front either.”
 

“So again, what are you thinking?”
 

“That depends.”
 

“It does?”
 

“Yes. It depends all on whether or not I want to believe a woman who disappeared five years ago only to reemerge and become the focal point of a series of unexplained murders. A woman who, in my opinion at least, is not trustworthy at all.” He paused, tilting his head up so his gaze was even with hers. “What do you think about that, Elizabeth?”
 

She had stood in the same spot for the last ten minutes, not moving, just standing enough distance away that she didn’t feel too close to the FBI agents, but not too far away either. Last night she had told Special Agent David Bradford to meet her here at seven o’clock and had disconnected and turned off the phone before he could say anything else or even call back, and a half hour ago Todd had dropped her off a half mile away and she had walked here with only the BlackBerry Clarence had given her.
 

She explained everything, or at least almost everything, leaving out one or two details about her time at Van’s place, but besides that she had come clean with these two because right now she didn’t know what other choice she had. And, surprisingly, the two of them had listened to her, Special Agents David Bradford and Julia Hogan, the woman somewhere in her thirties, with a pretty face and short black hair, the man looking exhausted, like he hadn’t slept in days.
 

Now she held up the BlackBerry and said, “The pictures of my son are on here, all of them.”
 

“Why didn’t your boyfriend come with you?”
 

“In case this doesn’t work out well.”
 

“Meaning?”
 

“I want him to have the least amount of involvement in this as possible on the chance we eventually face charges.”
 

David Bradford glanced at Julia Hogan. “That’s probably for the best.”
 

Elizabeth said, “What’s for the best?”
 

“Doesn’t it seem odd to you, Elizabeth?”
 

“What does?”
 

“Clarence Applegate—if he really is the person behind all of this—hasn’t seemed to care much about his killings so far. First he killed that child molester back in Kansas, then your friends in Indianapolis, then that lawyer in the middle of Rockefeller fucking Plaza. And then he comes here to kill your brother but he cleans up the scene and takes away the body. Why?”
 

Elizabeth stared down at the spots of blood on the asphalt. “I don’t know. To push me over the edge, I guess.”
 

“And why do you think he’d want to push you over the edge?”

“He hates me. He wants to see me suffer.”
 

“Do you think your son is still alive?”
 

She didn’t answer, still staring at those spots of blood.
 

“Elizabeth.”
 

She blinked and looked up at David Bradford as the agent reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. It was a BlackBerry, the same model as hers.
 

“Look familiar?”
 

She started shaking her head slowly. “I don’t ... I don’t understand.”
 

“Then understand this. I’ve been trying to contact you for the past two days. Even last night when you called me, I tried to tell you something, but you wouldn’t listen.”
 

Her gaze narrowed, she looked at Julia Hogan, then back to David Bradford. “What are you saying?”
 

“This past weekend was supposed to be my weekend with my son. We were going to a ballgame. That night we ordered pizza. Even now I believe the guy who delivered it is the one who’s doing this—and truthfully it may have been Clarence, because he had a hat on and I wasn’t even paying attention—but the next thing I knew I woke up in the morning to a terrible headache and my son had been abducted.”
 

With frustration he shook the BlackBerry like a maraca.
 

“This was beside me, with a photo on it of my son strapped to a bed in his underwear and a gag in his mouth. Just like you I receive a new photograph of him every hour to let me know he’s still alive. And the only way I can get him back is to help you. That’s what the messages sent to me say. That’s why I needed to find you. I want to get my son back, and the only way I can do that is by helping you. And I know exactly how we’re going to do it.”

CHAPTER 51

T
HE
VERY
LAST
place Elizabeth expected to find herself that Monday morning was a changing room in the women’s department of Sears. Earlier Julia Hogan had asked her size and then picked out a pantsuit and a blouse, and now here Elizabeth stood in the new clothes, staring at herself in the mirror.
 

There was a knock at the door. Julia Hogan asked, “How’s it going in there?”
 

Elizabeth kept staring at herself. “Fine.”
 

“I’ve brought you two pairs of shoes. You said you were a size seven, right?”
 

When she emerged from the changing room a few minutes later, dressed once again in her dirty jeans and shirt, David Bradford was pacing around one of the displays for winter wear, his own cell phone to his ear. Julia Hogan took the clothes and shoes from her and asked if they fit okay. Elizabeth only nodded.
 

While Julia was paying, David quit his call and walked toward them. He looked even more exhausted, which now made sense to Elizabeth, who figured he, like her, hadn’t slept much in the past two days.
 

As the cashier swiped Julia’s credit card, Julia turned to David and asked, “Well?”
 

“It’s a go.”
 

“Just like that?”
 

“I spoke directly to the warden. I’d met him a couple times before. He knew I’d been transferred out of the division but didn’t seem to care. He promised me at least a half hour.”
 

“When?”
 

“At noon.”
 

Julia glanced at her watch. “That’s in three hours.”
 

David nodded. “And it’s a two hour drive, so we need to get going.”
 

The cashier bagged up the clothes and handed them to Julia with a plastic smile. She then turned the plastic smile on Elizabeth and asked, “How are you today, dear?”

•
   
•
   
•

T
HERE
ARE
OVER
twenty state correctional institutions in Pennsylvania. Edward Piccioni had ended up in the largest maximum-security prison in the state, located in Graterford, about thirty miles northwest of Philadelphia. There he had been for at least the past four years, calling whatever tiny cell he’d been forced into his own, and it was this prison that Special Agent David Bradford planned on taking her into today.
 

His plan was crazy, of course. Completely off-the-wall nuts. Even he had to know that was the case, but that didn’t seem to slow him.
 

After Sears they made a quick stop at Walmart (Elizabeth in the back of the car, David Bradford up front, neither one of them speaking while Julia Hogan ran inside), and then they stopped at a motel, a very rundown and inexpensive motel, and got a room.
 

The room had the two things they needed: a bathroom sink and a chair.
 

Julia folded one of the towels and placed it on the edge of the sink. Elizabeth sat in the chair and tipped her head back so her neck rested comfortably on the towel. Julia began running the water.
 

“Tell me if it gets too hot,” she said, starting to open the package of L’Oréal Paris she pulled out of the Walmart bag.
 

For the first couple minutes Elizabeth didn’t speak. She kept her eyes closed and let Julia do her thing. With each snip of the scissors, Elizabeth felt herself tense. Julia’s hair wasn’t that short—only a few inches shorter than Elizabeth’s—but still it pained her to know she would be losing all of it.
 

“Do you really think this is going to work?”
 

The bathroom door was closed and it was just the two of them.
 

Julia Hogan didn’t answer for the longest time, working the dye into Elizabeth’s hair. Finally she said, “It has to.”
 

Elizabeth remembered saying something very similar not too long ago. Right before somebody got killed.
 

“It’s a crazy idea.”
 

Julia said nothing.
 

“He could lose his job. You could lose yours.”
 

Julia was quiet for another couple of moments. “We’re both aware of the risk.”
 

“I understand why he’s going to this length—it is his son, after all—but why you?”
 

Julia kept working her gloved hands through Elizabeth’s hair, not saying anything.
 

“I don’t remember you being one of the agents who came to arrest my husband.”
 

Still nothing.
 

Elizabeth said, “Are you two sleeping together?”
 

The water falling on Elizabeth’s head suddenly became scalding. Elizabeth flinched and cried out. The door opened and David Bradford poked his head in, asking what was wrong.
 

“Nothing,” Julia Hogan said, turning the hot water down.
 

David Bradford glanced at his watch. “We need to leave soon,” he said, and closed the door.
 

“Bitch,” Elizabeth murmured.
 

Still working the dye into her hair, Julia Hogan leaned forward to whisper into her ear. “That man out there is a good man. He got screwed over because you ran away and disappeared.”
 

“How did I—”
 

“His superiors didn’t look kindly on the fact he lost the suspect’s wife. Especially after Clarence Applegate came out with the idea you were part of the killings. Dave was made out to look like a clown, and because of that so did the Bureau. And as you can probably guess, the Bureau doesn’t like being made to look like clowns, so he was transferred across the country, put on desk duty until the day he retires.”
 

“That still doesn’t answer the question of where you fit into all of this.”
 

The water stopped. Julia Hogan leaned away from her and said, “You can open your eyes now.”
 

Elizabeth opened her eyes right as Julia threw a towel at her face.

•
   
•
   
•

“N
OT
BAD
,” David Bradford said.
 

“You really think she’ll pass?”
 

“They’re just going to glance at our IDs, not study them. She’ll do fine.”
 

Elizabeth stood in the pantsuits and blouse and shoes newly purchased from Sears, her hair now short and almost black. Julia Hogan came to stand beside her. Both women looked into the body-length mirror. Despite the fact Elizabeth was three inches taller than Julia, they could have passed for twins.