by Gregg Olsen
No one should be like me.
I think she’ll be okay. She bounced back from being kidnapped and beaten. She’ll get through this. I hear her crying softly in the other room and I feel relief. She’s not so much like me after all. I feel bad for Ronnie, but I feel great that that psychotic bitch is dead.
I slide my blazer and boots off but leave the shoulder holster on. I use the blazer like a cover. I have to get some rest before I talk to the Clallam County Sheriff’s Detective tomorrow. And write my reports. I don’t want to think about any of this. I remember I’ve got to call Gabrielle and Clay to let them know it’s over.
Ronnie is softly snoring. I try to quiet my mind and go to sleep, but I call the new cell number Gabrielle has given me to let her know it’s safe to go home. She deserves that much.
A man’s voice answers. “Who is this?”
The voice sounds familiar. I ask, “Detective Megan Carpenter. Who is this?”
“Hi, Megan.”
It’s Clay. But Gabrielle is in Maine with her son. I don’t say hello. “What are you doing answering Gabrielle’s new phone?”
“Gabby’s sleeping.”
Gabby? “You’re in Maine?”
“No. She didn’t feel safe there and called me. She’s back here.”
I hear Gabrielle’s voice in the background. “Who is it, Clay?” He says to her, “It’s Detective Carpenter. She wants to talk to you.”
I don’t know why I feel hurt. Clay acted like he was interested in me but I remind myself I don’t do relationships. Never works out. The last person I got close to was almost killed because of me and will never have anything to do with me. Ever.
Gabrielle comes on the line.
“Megan. What is it?” She sounds sleepy. And concerned. “I talked to Sebastian a few hours ago. He was fine then.”
I force myself to call her Gabby since she called me Megan. “Hi, Gabby. It’s nothing about Sebastian. I thought you should know the danger is over. We’ve got the killer.” But maybe you should worry about Clay ditching you. Cops make for horrible relationships.
“Clay already told me. I’ve been staying at his place for a while. Sheriff Gray called him to give us the news.”
“I’m so, so happy for you.”
She asks, “Excuse me?”
I didn’t realize I said that out loud. “I mean I’m glad you aren’t in danger and can get on with your life. I’m sure Detective Osborne’s taken good care of you.”
She thanks me and disconnects.
Sixty-Two
I ride to the office with Ronnie. She’s in a quiet mood. That means she only talks when she has something to say or to ask a question and not her incessant stream-of-consciousness blabbering.
“Did you sleep last night?” she asks me.
“Just fine,” I say. Every time I was about to nod off last night my mind would conjure up an image of Dan being skinned alive and screaming. I’m surprised that I feel as good as I do—physically—with the little sleep I got.
“Marley called this morning while you were in the shower,” she says.
Of course he did.
“He’s coming in early to do the DNA from… you know.”
I know but I want her to say it. Confronting your fear, your monster, is the best way to get past it.
“What DNA?” I ask.
“From last night. The two bodies. The one is probably Michael Rader. I wonder if they did any good identifying the woman.”
She stops at a McDonald’s drive-through and we order six coffees, six apple pies. I pay.
We get to the office and my eyes cut toward the place where I found the cigarette butt. I don’t know why I do that. I doubt that she even smoked. The cigarette butt could have been left there by anyone. The fact that she was stalking me made me think of my other stalker: Wallace. Maybe I’m being pessimistic. Maybe she was Wallace. Or Michael Rader was. They’re both dead and that’s an end to that. I only know it’s not Hayden. He doesn’t hate me that much.
Ronnie and I carry our cache of McDonald’s treasure into the office.
“Coffee and pie for everyone,” Ronnie says. I grab a coffee before it’s all gone. Ronnie apparently has returned to drinking water.
Minus one point.
Sheriff Gray pours three creamers and three packs of sugar into his paper coffee cup and stirs with one of those toothpick-thin stirrers. He seems to be in a good mood. That’s good for me and for Ronnie.
“I have the crime scene reports,” he says. “Photos, fingerprints, the woman’s knife, a list of things found inside the motor home.”
And? I want to ask. But I wait for him. It’s his story.
“I got Michael Rader’s personnel file from Monroe Correctional Complex. The fingerprints match the body we found. We can’t find any next of kin. His brother, Alex Rader, is still in the wind. Kitsap County is looking for him as a murder suspect. The Monroe superintendent wasn’t broken up over Michael’s death.
“Crime scene found some rope behind the motor home and matched it to the rope you said the woman used to bind herself to the tree. As far as the woman goes, we couldn’t find anything on her. No fingerprints or DNA on file. It will be difficult to identify her because of”—he pauses and looks at Ronnie—“because of the damage to her face. We got one clean profile shot and the lab thinks they can create the other side using that to give us a photo we can circulate.”
“Anything connecting her to the murders?” I ask.
“Yang is working on it. He told me this morning that two blood types were found on Rader’s body. He’ll run DNA on both.”
She apparently cut herself while hacking Rader’s head off. Poor her.
“Clallam County Sheriff’s Deputies found a stolen rental car,” Sheriff Gray says. “Rader’s truck was found parked behind the Wendy’s in Port Angeles. We were able to lift latent prints from both her body and Rader’s. Her fingerprints were in both vehicles. The rental company said it was stolen off of their lot and wasn’t rented to anyone. There was nothing in the car to help us identify her. Rader had a moped registered to him as well. It was found hidden in the woods near the crime scene covered with brush. Her fingerprints were on it.”
It looks like the only way I’m going to get her identified is by putting her picture out to every law enforcement agency in the US plus the news media. The crime lab techs might put a good photo together with a face and profile shot, but I’ve seen her. Something is off in the photo.
Maybe if the picture had a knife raised overhead it would be more like her.
“I’ll take care of sending the photos off, Sheriff,” I say. Ronnie will be busy with paperwork.
Detective Mike Felson shows up early and takes us, one at a time, into the interrogation room to get our statements. He takes Sheriff Gray’s first and they’re in there with the door closed for half an hour. I can’t help but wonder what they had to talk about all that time. All Sheriff Gray knows about the shooting is that he saw Ronnie shoot the crazy bitch.
The door opens, Tony comes out and Felson motions me inside. I go in and sit in a chair across from him. I try not to show how nervous I am. I know I shouldn’t be nervous. The questions will be about the two killings. If he were here to arrest me, he would be reading me my Miranda warning.
Felson’s first question is: “How are you feeling this morning? Are you up for this?”
I relax. I answer his questions and don’t add anything. The trick is to answer the questions fully enough but not too elaborately. I’m good at that. He taped my statement and we were done in fifteen minutes.
“Detective Carpenter, I know this is stressful for you. I’ve been in the same spot as you before and I can tell you, it’s not easy. The only criticism I have, and you can tell me to go to hell if you want, is that you should never have gone there alone. Sheriff Gray swears by you and that’s good enough for me. And that’s why I don’t want to see you get yourself killed. I’m honored to meet you.”
He
says this and stands to shake my hand. I don’t want to tell him to go to hell. He didn’t say anything that I don’t already know.
“I’m ready for Detective Marsh, if you want to send her my way,” Felson says.
I meet Ronnie at the door. She looks composed and confident. She should be. It was a righteous shooting. I hope she sticks to simple answers and doesn’t get into what the killer was saying to me before she fired the shot.
Ronnie goes in and shuts the door.
Sixty-Three
I know there will be a press conference this morning. I’m hoping Sheriff Gray will take care of that. I don’t talk to reporters. Sheriff Gray suggested holding off on showing any photos to the press until I send them to other law enforcement agencies. That’s what I was going to do, but it makes him feel in charge to make the decisions.
I settle for giving the profile shot of the unknown killer to law enforcement for the time being, since one side of her face had been blown off.
Good shooting, Ronnie.
I also have her prints and DNA sent to the FBI and Interpol. She was a stone cold killer and I find it hard to believe she hasn’t done this before. I also gave them Marley’s information about the drug she was using. How the Raders hooked up with her I’ll probably never know, but she was definitely in love with Alex.
It’s no use wondering what she might have told me if she hadn’t lost her mind—literally. To do that, I might have had to take her into custody. That wasn’t going to happen. She was dead the moment she stuck the needle in my leg.
We finish off our coffees and the McDonald’s apple pies. Ronnie takes frequent breaks to make coffee or refill some mugs. She doesn’t complain about doing it, and her coffee is extra-strong, the way most of us like it.
She still opts for bottled water.
Finally, we’re done with what paperwork we can do. I’m so spent from yesterday’s drugging and this morning’s activities that I want to sleep on my desk. Sheriff Gray comes in carrying a double-layer chocolate cake with one birthday candle on top. Nan finds paper plates, napkins, plastic plates and a cooler of bottled water. All I want is black coffee. Lots of it. Just to get me through another half hour.
Nan lights the candle and Tony gathers everyone around for his announcement. He is holding a document and reads it out loud. It’s the oath that Ronnie will take to uphold the Constitution and the laws of the state of Washington. I have it memorized. I take these things seriously.
She raises her hand, repeats the oath and signs the paper, then Tony digs in his shirt pocket. He takes out a six-pointed silver deputy sheriff’s star with a picture of George Washington on the seal. Instead of pinning it to her shirt, he hands it to me.
“Megan, I thought you’d like to do the honors.”
I agree. She saved my life. I take the badge and pin it to Ronnie’s shirt over her heart. Before I realize what I’m doing, I hug her and say in her ear, “Congratulations, Red.”
Ronnie squeezes me until I can’t breathe and I can feel her vibrating with excitement. She should be excited. She’s made deputy a heck of a lot faster than most reserve deputies. Plus I think she’s on the fast track for detective. Worse things could happen.
Sheriff Gray invites everyone for a drink after work but I beg off. I’m going to check on Dan at the hospital. He is being kept at the hospital for observation because of breathing difficulty. I call the hospital and hear that he’s going to be hospitalized for another night. He’s a lightweight. I ask Sheriff Gray if I can take off. He reminds me I have an appointment with the shrink tomorrow. He’s made the appointments for me and for Ronnie. It’s okay. I want to get back to work as soon as possible.
I go to the hospital and enter through the ER. The security guard gives me directions to the floor. I get to the door of Dan’s room and hear laughing and a female voice. I peek around the door, thinking I’ll see a nurse, but it’s Jess Moonbeam. His perky little high schooler from work. She’s bent over the bed, hugging him. Her face is against his. I’m not jealous but I feel my face go red. I turn to leave but I don’t. I have to at least apologize for getting him into this. Also, I want to know what he’s going to do about what he heard last night. What he might say and who he might say it to. Ronnie and Sheriff Gray may not grill me with questions now, but my future is still on the line. I may have to leave town. The country. I don’t want to go. But I know how to disappear at the drop of a hat.
I step into the room and Jess straightens up guiltily. A light of recognition comes on behind her dark eyes and she points at me.
“She’s the one that pointed a gun at me.”
I want to point a gun at her now.
“Dan, I apologized to her. I was looking for you.”
I’m not going to apologize again. She’s lucky I don’t tell him how unhelpful she was and how she doesn’t answer the phones. I think he should fire her and get some grumpy old hag to watch the place.
He looks much better now that he’s gotten some of the poison out of his system. His color is back and he’s sitting up. His eyes look focused.
“Thanks for coming by,” he says to Jess. “Would you mind checking on the store before you go home? If there are any important messages, let me know.”
Jess looks from him to me and back at him. She smiles sweetly at him.
“Okay, Dan,” she says. “I’ve got your number.” She gives me a death star look as she carefully goes around me and out of the door.
“How are you doing?” I ask. It’s a stupid question. He’s in the hospital, for God’s sake. He’s been poisoned by some crazy woman who was getting ready to skin him because he’s my friend.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he reaches a hand out for me. I cross the room and he takes my hand in his. I start to say something else stupid, like “I’m sorry” or “is there anything I can get you?” The usual hospital visit crap.
He squeezes my hand tightly. “Megan, I appreciate what you did out there. She was going to kill me. You offered yourself as a trade. I don’t know what to say. Really. You saved me.”
Now I know he heard all the other stuff that spilled out of the bitch’s mouth.
“Dan, she was after me. I shouldn’t have involved you.”
“What do you mean, Megan? You didn’t involve me. She was crazy. She’s probably been watching you for a long time. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have left the pictures in my mailbox. I think she wanted to see how close we were. I gave her exactly what she wanted.”
“It’s my fault. I feel horrible, Dan.”
He doesn’t let go of my hand. “No. It’s her fault. I care about you a great deal and it must show.”
“She burnt your things up.”
“I can make new ones. I hear I owe you for saving my house as well.”
“It isn’t livable, Dan. You lost everything.”
“I haven’t lost you. Have I?”
Sixty-Four
I leave the hospital after Dan is ordered to go to sleep. I want to stay but I don’t want to start crying. He doesn’t hate me. In fact, I think he’s falling in love with me. That’s a good thing. I think.
I’m suddenly not tired and go to meet the crew for a drink, but everyone has already left. I go home. I left a light on in the office but it’s totally dark inside. I draw my .45 and go down the side of the house to the back. I look to see if there are any lights on or if a window is broken. It looks okay. I go back to the front and try the doorknob. It’s unlocked and turns easily in my hand.
The smart thing to do is call the police. I don’t do the smart thing all the time. I turn the handle and push the door open. There’s a dim light coming from the kitchen. I put my purse down by the door and step inside. I leave the door open in case I have to run. I move quietly down the hall and peek into my office. Nothing has been moved. The bear is still on my desk where I left it. That seems like days ago.
I move back down the hallway to the kitchen. I can hear something. It sounds like chewing. It confuses me. Wild
animals don’t open doors and then shut them. They don’t pick locks. I know I locked the door.
I move closer and hear the sound of someone smacking their lips. I look around the corner. The refrigerator door is open and it blocks my view of the table. I can see under the door that a pair of size eleven shoes are planted on the floor. I see who it is and re-holster my .45.
“Hayden,” I say. I push the refrigerator door shut.
He says, “I let myself in,” and goes back to munching on his sad sack sandwich. I see an empty packet of tuna, a jar of peanut butter, and a jar of jam on the table. Only Hayden would eat a PB&J and tuna on stale bread. I want to vomit.
“I can see that,” I say. “I thought I had a burglar.”
“No. Just me,” he says, as if his sudden appearance after ducking out on me is normal. “Where were you last night?”
I don’t answer. I’m still protecting him from the bad things. “Can I get you something to drink with that?”
“You’re out of Scotch. I looked in your cabinets but the bottle was empty. Well, it is now.”
I pull out an empty chair and sit. “Do you want to talk?”
He gets up and goes to the doorway. “No. I just wanted something to eat. I was here last night and you weren’t home. I’ve gotta go.”
He says this in an accusatory tone, like he expects me to never be around. I want to explain.
“Hayden,” I say, but he’s gone. I hear the front door shut.
I sit for a minute or two. I don’t know what’s going on here. I don’t know if he’s trying to punish me. I know he picked the lock. I didn’t know he could do that. I never taught him. Maybe Mom did. Or maybe it’s something he learned in the service. It doesn’t matter. I’ll have to put a better lock on the door. I want him to come back, but not like that.
