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Chapter 24

Charlie Quinn guided his car down the steep gravel driveway and parked in front of the garage doors of the moss-green split level house. Amelia Harding sat in the passenger seat, her eyes scanning the darkening yard.

“Matilda isn’t here. They must have gone off for their walk already.”

“She isn’t? How do you know?” asked Quinn.

Amelia pointed towards an empty dog kennel, the door swaying slowly in the breeze.

“Oh.”

“We can wait until they return. I’m sure it won’t be long, as neither one of them is all that spry anymore.”

“Fine.”

The two of them sat in silence. Quinn went through the questions he wanted to ask, carefully planning so as not to alarm or offend. Briefly his thoughts strayed to what Mathies would think of this whole escapade, which made him even more determined to return to Winstead with something to show for his travels.

“What makes you think the killer is a woman?”

Quinn quickly turned to Amelia, startled by the suddenness and directness of her question.

“What—?”

“You heard me. Why a woman? I would think the level of violence would indicate a male.”

Quinn could tell he was being needled.

“Just a hunch.”

“So you said before. What exactly is the basis for this ‘hunch’?”

“Something funny from the old case.”

“Such as?”

Quinn turned to face Amelia. Her hazel eyes were regarding him with a mix of suspicion and amusement.

“I don’t buy the whole ‘disappearance’ of the survivor thing. I can’t believe that someone who was supposed to be mentally out-to-lunch could just walk out of a hospital unnoticed and disappear.”

“So...you think the killer came and took her, and that a woman in the hospital with nurses all over the place would be less likely to be noticed?”

“Not exactly.”

Amelia raised an eyebrow.

“Well? What then?”

“I don’t think the ‘survivor’ was mentally out of it. I think she planned her escape before someone really figured out what happened. I think she was the killer.”

Amelia stared at him for a moment, then threw back her head and laughed. It was a genuinely beautiful laugh, and if it hadn’t been at his expense, Quinn would have enjoyed listening to it. Instead, he sat in stony silence, waiting for her laughter to subside. When she finally regained control of herself, Amelia turned to Quinn with a chuckle.

“And they say cops don’t have a sense of humor.”

Quinn glared at her and she swallowed a smile.

“You’re serious? That kid, kill her whole family? That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“No crazier than thinking the other kid killed them all, now is it?”

“But...she was attacked, too. Badly injured. Surely you don’t think she did that to herself?”

“Of course not! I think her brother attacked her after he saw what she was doing. Maybe he escaped before she got to him. He had some injuries, right?”

“Well, yes, but the police assumed it came from his fight with his sister...”

“I’m sure he did, except his wounds were the defensive wounds, or from getting the knife away from her. He was actually subduing her when the cops showed up and shot him. Wrong place, wrong time.”

“But...that still doesn’t explain the new killings. Why wait 12 years, and why kill a whole other family if she had already eliminated her own family?”

“That’s part of what I hope to find out.”

Amelia stared at Quinn and shook her head. How the Hell do I get myself into these things?

“I don’t buy it. You still haven’t explained how it couldn’t be an outside killer who abducted her from the hospital.”

“If it was another person, why would they have waited until she was fit to get rid of her? Why not take her out when she was much more vulnerable? It’s obvious the hospital security was pretty lax. If she was in such bad shape it would have been easy to do something and it might even have been written off as natural bad luck.”

“But...” Amelia struggled to find another aspect of this crazy idea to question. “What about a motive?”

“No one needed a motive when they believed it was the son. They all thought he ‘just went crazy’. Maybe she just went crazy instead. Only her insanity is much more controlled. And long term, because she’s still killing.”

“I...” Amelia noticed a flash of light at the top of the driveway. “I think you better keep this idea to yourself for now. Mr. Woodward thought very highly of the Eastmans. He might not be too helpful if you start accusing their youngest daughter of serial murder.”

“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”

Amelia opened her door and climbed out of the car. Quinn followed suit, and saw that two figures were now descending the steep driveway. As they drew close, he could see the first was a dark shaggy beast of indeterminate parentage. It started to bark ferociously.”

“Quiet, Matilda,” said the other figure in a deep, rather gravelly voice. The barking stopped abruptly. The figure stared at Quinn for a moment and then turned to Amelia, removing his red knit cap and bowing slightly.

“Greetings, Miss Harding. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Hello, Mr. Woodward. This is my...an acquaintance of mine who is, uh, looking into a certain event in the history of Pine Mountain. I told him that you could provide him with some...background information. He would like to ask you a few questions, if that’s all right?”

Quinn was surprised to notice that Amelia’s normally brash voice was now quiet and respectful.

Mr. Woodward turned to Quinn and regarded him with deep-set, heavily lidded eyes. Suddenly Quinn had the impression that he was back in school again and was about to be questioned over some violation of rules he had carelessly committed. He shifted nervously.

Mr. Woodward slowly extended his hand.

“Ralph Woodward.”

Quinn cautiously shook the man’s hand.

“Charles Quinn.”

“Will this be a lengthy interview, Mr. Quinn?”

“I...I believe so, yes.”

“Fine. Let us go inside and be comfortable. As I understand, they are predicting storms for later tonight. We would not want to be caught out in them, correct?”

“Uh, no, Sir.”

“Good. Come along, Matilda.” He turned and walked towards the house with Matilda following along behind, her bushy tail waving jauntily in the stiffening breeze. Quinn looked at Amelia, who shrugged, and they both followed the pair up the front steps and into the house.



Mathies watched Dr. Crosslin’s assistant slam the door on the Medical Examiner’s van. The removal of the bodies from the scene had taken less time than expected, but the job appeared to have exhausted the young man. He turned to Dr. Crosslin with a weary look.

“All ready to go, boss.”

“Thank you, Craig. I need to speak with Sheriff Mathies for a moment. Why don’t you go take a break?” Dr. Crosslin looked exhausted as well, but Mathies knew she would be working through the night. He doubted she would be able to sleep anyway.

“No problem.” Craig walked to the front of the van and climbed inside.

“What’s on your mind, Dr. Crosslin?” asked Mathies after Craig was out of earshot.

“I obviously can’t give you anything definite until I get back to the office and...have a closer look, but there are some things about this that don’t add up.”

“Like what?” Mathies was afraid he already knew what she was going to tell him.

“While the general...display of the bodies was similar, there were several differences. These people were simply tied to the cross-pieces, while the others were actually tied and nailed to them. The cuts made on the bodies do not appear to be as deep, and are from a different angle.”

“How different?”

“As if a different hand made them. The first scene was done by a right-handed person, while this one appears to be the work of a left handed person.”

“Go on.”

“The bodies at this scene weren’t drained. There’s much more blood, and appears that their throats were cut after they were placed on the crosses. I can’t be sure until I examine them more closely, but I think the children may already have been dead when their throats were cut.”

Jesus.

“Any...anything else?”

“You know this just as well as I do: no symbols.”

All the details we kept out of the papers. Something an outsider would not have known. Ah Christ, this is just what we need.

“You think this was done by someone else. A copycat.”

She looked up at him with and expression of sadness edged with fear.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Christ. What kind of person would want to...imitate such a thing?”

“That’s a good question. Almost as good a question as ‘who would do such a thing in the first place?’ I’m guessing that you still haven’t been able to answer that question?”

“Not yet. We’re working on it.” And now we have “help”. God, I hope Glinn knows what he’s doing.

Dr. Crosslin looked up at him and sighed.

“I’m sorry, that was inappropriate of me to say. You are doing your best, and I know how frustrating this kind of work can be. You really didn’t need this kind of complication.”

“No, we didn’t.”

They stood in silence for a few minutes. Finally Dr. Crosslin spoke.

“I guess I better get going. We’re going to have a lot of work to do tonight. I’ll have the results of the autopsies for you as soon as possible. Take care, Sheriff Mathies.” She walked over to the front of the van and climbed in.

Mathies watched the van head slowly down the driveway. He turned and walked around the house to the back yard where the rest of his men were finishing up. He waved them over to where he was standing.

“What’s up?” asked Brandt.

“I don’t think I need to remind you all about maintaining your silence about this case. We truly do not need a panic. Talk to no one, understand? Not even your family.”

“What did Dr. Crosslin have to say about the case?” asked Watson.

“She... we believe that this is the work of a different killer.”

“Oh that’s just fucking great!” exploded Brandt. “Two nutcases on the loose!”

“One or two, it doesn’t matter. We need to catch them both, but we don’t need to give them any more of a motive to continue. At least one of them wants attention. We need to keep the focus of the public off these cases, or we may have more. Understand?”

The men nodded.

“Fine. Let’s pack up and get out of here. I’ll deal with...Mrs. Jenkins.”

“I don’t envy you that,” said Watson.

Neither do I.

Thunder rumbled and lightning streaked across the darkening skies.

“We better hurry. It looks like it’s going to rain any minute.”

The men gathered up their equipment and carried it out to Mathies’ cruiser. After the equipment had been packed securely in the trunk, the men climbed into their respective vehicles and drove off. Mathies climbed into his own cruiser and shut the door. He opened up his clipboard and saw the report Dr. Crosslin had brought.

Damnit, he thought. I forgot to have her explain all this. I guess I’ll have to wait until tomorrow. He sat for a moment, thinking, then pulled out his cell phone and tried to call Bonnie again.

Still no answer.

He was about to call the office when the phone rang. He checked the number.

Good timing.

He pressed the SEND button to answer.

“Pat. Have you found her?”

“Sorry, Rick. We checked at all of the houses within a five mile radius. No one has seen her. Maybe she was able to call a friend and get a ride home?”

“She’s not home, and she’s not answering her cell phone. I just checked. Could you—?”

“You know the rules, Rick. She hasn’t been gone for 48 hours.”

“Screw the rules! You know what we’ve been dealing with down here. What if her disappearance has something to do with our case?”

Campbell was silent on the other end. After a few moments, he spoke in a much lower voice.

“I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, you really sound like you could use a rest.”

“You think I can rest, when—?”

“I understand. Really, I do, but you’re not doing her, your case, or yourself any favors in that condition.”

Mathies sighed.

“I’m sorry, Pat. I know you’re trying to help. Please, do what you can. And thanks.”

“You’d do the same for me, Rick. Take care.”

Mathies pressed the END button on his phone and snapped it shut. He sat in silence, mentally preparing himself for the task that lay ahead.

What can you say to someone in a situation like this? I need to lessen the blow, but is that really possible?

He reached down and turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life, and he guided his cruiser down the driveway, just as the first large drops of rain spattered the windshield.



Bonnie Mathies lay on her back, one hand resting against the stone wall, listening to the thunder as the storm drew nearer. After her initial bout of screaming panic she had passed out. The pain in her arms woke her, and the realization of her situation had almost caused her to scream again. Instead, gritting her teeth against the pain, she had struggled to free her wrists from the shackles that encircled them. Finally, after what seemed like hours of twisting her hands back and forth against the iron bands, she had managed to free one of them, scraping it badly in the process. The pain helped to clear her head, and after resting for a few moments, she had gone back to work on freeing the other hand. Finally, with both hands free, she had been able to sit up. She had tried to free her ankles from the shackles as well, but that proved to be impossible. The cellar was pitch black, save for a thin shaft of light which barely illuminated the top of the steps on the other side of the room, and she had been unable to find something that might be used to pry open the iron rings. She had crawled as far as she could toward the stairs, only to be brought up short by the shackles. Now I know what a dog on a chain feels like, she had thought. Exhausted and frustrated, she had finally collapsed by the wall, trying to ignore the pain in her throat from her screaming and from thirst.

You’re such an idiot. How could you have allowed yourself to be scared by such a stupid little “ghost” story. You’re an adult, Bonnie. You’re too old for such nonsense. What’s worse, you gave that...asshole the satisfaction of seeing you freak out. You should have known better. You should have listened to Mother and taken the highway. If you had, you never would have wound up in this mess.

Bonnie’s mental self punishment had not helped her mood, and after awhile, she realized that while it was pointless, it was also mostly untrue. Eventually, now mentally as well as physically exhausted, she fell asleep.

Several hours later, she had awoken to the sound of thunder. Now she lay, looking up into the dark, counting the seconds between the rumbles of thunder and trying to figure out how close the storm was. The ridiculous nature of her occupation suddenly came to her, and she almost laughed.

Here you are, essentially buried alive, and you’re worrying about a stupid storm. Get a grip, Bonnie.

Eventually she heard the patter of rain on the door that led to the cellar. She listened, thinking how that sound had always been comforting to her. Now it simply reminded her of how thirsty she was. Suddenly something hit her forehead, and she almost screamed. She felt exquisitely stupid when she realized it was just dripping water. Water...

She moved her head so she could catch the drops in her mouth. The first tasted like mud, and she nearly spit it out.

Don’t be such a wimp. It’s better than nothing.

As she caught the next few drops and grimaced at the taste, a memory rose in her mind. It was of her father, laughing as he encouraged her to catch snowflakes on her tongue, both of them standing out in the first snowfall of the season. It seemed like a century ago.

Oh Dad. If anyone could find me here, it’s you. Please...

Once again, that nagging voice of self-admonition returned.

You wouldn’t be in this situation if you had listened to your parents. You should have known better...

No, thought Bonnie. I couldn’t have known. There’s no way I could have known that one of my closest college friends would turn out to be a serial killer.

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