The Other Daniel - A Camille Grisham Novella

by John Hardy Bell

  Meredith and the hotel clerk gasped simultaneously.

  “What do you mean by dangerous?” the clerk asked. Camille imagined that Meredith was asking the same question.

  “Jacob Deaver is the name he may have registered under. Can you look it up please?”

  The clerk swallowed hard. “Are you with the police?”

  Meredith eyed Camille curiously. Camille eyed her back. I hope you don’t embarrass easily.

  “Yes,” Camille answered as she leaned into the desk. “But for the sake of not panicking your guests, we’d rather not have to produce identification.”

  The clerk blew out a deep breath, nodded, and turned back to her computer. “What was the name?”

  “Jacob Deaver.” Camille looked at Meredith from the corner of her eye. Thankfully, her poker face was holding up.

  “I’m afraid he’s checked out already.”

  “Checked out already?”

  “That’s right. A little over an hour ago.”

  Meredith looked concerned. Camille couldn’t blame her.

  “Can you tell us which room he was staying in?”

  The clerk checked the computer. “307.”

  “What about the credit card he used,” Meredith asked, hints of panic rising in her voice. “What was the name on it?”

  The clerk hesitated. “I’m sorry ma’am, but that’s privileged information. Even if you are with the police, I’m not allowed to—”

  Camille cut her off. “That’s okay. We don’t need it.”

  The clerk continued working the computer. “I am seeing something here though. Apparently he left items behind with another clerk. If you give me a moment I can go ask about it.”

  Camille nodded as the clerk walked away.

  “Checked out?” Meredith’s expression was a combination of fear and confusion. The worst combination imaginable.

  Camille remained silent as the clerk returned. She was holding two small envelopes.

  “As he was checking out, Mr. Deaver told one of the clerks that two women may be coming to see him and he was afraid he would miss them. He said to give them these cards.” She looked at the names on the front. “Are you guys Jessica Bailey and Candace MacPherson?”

  Camille’s heart plunged into her stomach, taking all of the color from her face with it.

  Meredith appeared to sense her distress immediately. “Are you okay, Camille?”

  “May I have the notes please?” Camille stammered as she attempted to gather herself.

  The clerk handed them over. “Unfortunately that’s all I can offer.”

  “It’s more than enough. Thank you.” Camille quickly stepped out of the line and made her way to an empty table in the dining area.

  “What just happened back there?” a wide-eyed Meredith asked.

  Camille held up the notes. “Do those names look familiar to you?”

  Meredith squinted as she glanced at the tiny scribble. “No. Who are they?”

  “Daniel Sykes’ last two victims.”

  The color seemed to drain from Meredith’s face just as quickly as it had drained from Camille’s. “I don’t understand.”

  Camille was slowly beginning to. Her hands were shaking as she opened the note marked Jessica Bailey. She read the brief message silently; fearful that giving the words audible life would make them impossible to repeat. When she was finished she pushed the note across the table.

  Meredith briefly studied Camille’s face before taking the note. Her expression revealed nothing. After a long pause, she read the message out loud. “I was failed. My best friend was failed. Our families were failed. Unfortunately, I’m no longer here to speak up for myself or for them. But someone can. He will be heard. They all will be heard. Always watching, Jessica Bailey.”

  “What about the handwriting?” Camille asked with a forced measure after Meredith finished reading. “Does it look like Jacob’s?”

  “Not at all.” She handed the note back. “And I’m assuming it wasn’t written by Jessica Bailey.”

  Camille shook her head.

  “Then it was written by the man you met today.”

  Camille didn’t respond as she opened the second envelope. The message was exactly the same as the first, except it was signed Candace MacPherson.

  “I suppose we call the police now,” Meredith said, the gravity of the situation fully evident in her tone.

  “I suppose we do,” Camille muttered in a voice that was barely audible above the soft harp playing in the dining hall.

  They made the walk to the parking garage in silence, both attempting the make their own sense of the situation. When they reached the car, Camille pulled out her cell phone.

  “I’d better fill my father in before we make any other moves. I’m sure his nerves are already through the roof.”

  “That might be an understatement,” a male voice said from behind them.

  Camille spun back on her heels as Jacob Deaver slowly approached. Only now she knew he wasn’t Jacob Deaver.

  “Scared. Petrified. Seeing what’s left of his life flashing before his eyes. Those might be better descriptions of your father’s current mental state.”

  Meredith backed away from the man. Camille walked toward him.

  “Meredith? Is this Jacob Deaver?” she asked.

  “No it isn’t.”

  He lifted his arms and crossed his wrists. “Guilty. Guess you’ll have to put the cuffs on me now.”

  As he drew closer, Camille held her ground, already plotting the first area of his body she would strike should it come to that. His thick Adam’s apple was a sensible target. “What the hell do you know about my father?”

  “Plenty.”

  “Where is he?”

  “It’s not really my job to know the ‘where’. And frankly I don’t care. All I can tell you is that, barring some failed last gasp at heroics, he’s still alive.” He paused, as if briefly losing himself in a thought. “Which is more than I can say for my sister.”

  Camille resisted the obvious question, opting instead to unnerve him with her silence. A noticeable quivering of his chin let her know that the tactic had worked.

  “And who is my sister you may ask?”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  His attention turned to Meredith. “Jacob Deaver asked. He seemed very noble about it all. He said he’d read all the news reports, watched the tearful interviews. But he knew none of it did true justice to Candace’s life. Like he knew the first damn thing about Candace’s life.” He looked at Camille with dark eyes. “Does it make sense now?”

  It made perfect sense. But Camille couldn’t find the words to communicate that.

  He turned back to Meredith. “He bent over backwards to assure my family that the book wasn’t about glorifying what Daniel Sykes did. It was merely about understanding him. And in order to understand him, Jacob said he needed to know as much about his victims as possible. My parents were as nice to him as they could be. They’re good people. Really good people. But their senses were still dulled by shock. They couldn’t see him for the vulture that he really was, even after he insisted on taking pictures of Candace’s gravesite. Fortunately I could see him exactly for what he was.”

  Tears were running down Meredith’s face faster than she could wipe them away. “Where is he?”

  “As I said, the ‘where’ isn’t really my concern. I’m more of a ‘why’ and ‘how’ kind of person. But the last time I saw him he was lurking outside of Camille’s apartment building.”

  “How did you know he would be outside my apartment building?”

  “Because he told me he would be. You see, in the process of intruding on our lives with his heartless questions about my sister’s final days on earth, he had somehow gotten the idea that we had become friends. So I decided to play along, build trust, learn everything I could about his true objective. We exchanged emails. I’d supply him with anecdotes about Candace, he’d give me regular status reports on the book. Since I
was the only person he talked to who would actually give him or his book the time of day, he was more than happy to keep me in the loop. Things weren’t going so well for a while, as you knew all-too-well, Meredith. Then came the brilliant idea of interviewing Camille. That was your idea, wasn’t it?”

  Meredith looked at Camille with embarrassed eyes.

  “Yep, I believe it was,” the Jacob Deaver imposter continued. “At any rate, he couldn’t have been happier to make the trip out here. Told me he’d finally found his bestseller. Having a vested interest in Ms. Grisham’s story myself, I couldn’t disagree with him. But I also knew it couldn’t happen. Not the way he envisioned it anyway. It was bad enough that he wanted to glorify my sister’s killer at my sister’s expense. Now he wanted to glorify the woman who allowed my sister to be killed. What kind of brother would I be if I allowed that to happen? So I decided to make the trip out here too.”

  Camille remained calm as she took another step toward the man she now knew to be Daniel MacPherson, the older brother of Candace MacPherson – one of the two co-eds killed in Sykes’ basement on the day he was apprehended.

  As far as she knew, Daniel had never been interviewed or photographed, but she did see his name in the ‘survived by’ section of his sister’s obituary. She distinctly remembered the obituary, and the guilt she felt that a young man of only twenty-two would have to endure such an indescribable loss.

  Right now her feelings were very different.

  “Do you really think this will honor her memory? Doesn’t she deserve better?”

  Daniel laughed. “The old mind-fucking technique. I’ve heard you FBI profilers just love to do that. Of course you aren’t an FBI profiler anymore. From my perspective, you were never much of one to begin with.”

  Camille’s reserve of calm had suddenly run out. “Where the hell is my father?”

  “Why does everybody keep asking me that? I’ve already told you, I don’t know. What you need to concern yourself with more is who has him.”

  “Tell me who.”

  “In due time.”

  Camille grabbed the smaller man by the shirt collar and threw him against the hood of her car. “Damn it, you’re going to tell me now!”

  Daniel gasped for air as she squeezed his windpipe. “He’s someone just like me, except that killing comes more naturally to him. I’ve never hurt anyone in my entire life.”

  Camille squeezed harder. “Bullshit.”

  “Okay, I’ve never actually killed anyone. But he has. Four that I know of so far, not counting your father or Meredith’s author friend.”

  When Daniel’s eyes began to bulge Camille released her grip. He staggered off the car hood in a desperate search for breath.

  Meredith put a hand on Camille’s shoulder in a vain effort to comfort her. “We’ll find them. Let’s just call the police and get this monster locked up first.”

  Camille pulled out her cell phone and dialed her father’s number. She bristled when it went to voice mail. “Jesus dad, why aren’t you answering?”

  “Camille please,” Meredith reiterated.

  Daniel’s face twisted with amusement. “He isn’t going to answer. Not now, perhaps not ever. I don’t know what the ultimate plan is for him. But I do know what it is for you. It’s been in the making for a long time now. And this book, this Daniel Sykes love-fest that that piece of garbage Jacob Deaver wanted to write, was the vehicle that we needed. Sykes may have been ultimately responsible, but you were the one who allowed him to roam free. You were the one who could have stopped him. And now you’re the one who has to pay.”

  “And how is she supposed to pay?” Meredith cried. “Hasn’t she, haven’t you, been through enough already?”

  “No she hasn’t been through enough. Not by a long shot. And as far as how she’s going to pay? I can’t really answer that. I’m merely the messenger. The message has been delivered, which means my work is finished. The ones who can answer your question are the ones you aren’t going to see. Not until it’s too late anyway.” He paused as he turned his now lifeless eyes to Camille. “I wish I had it in me to end you myself. But everyone has their role in life.”

  “And what is your role?”

  “The catalyst.”

  Jacob smiled wide as Camille dialed 911. It was a hideous smile that reeked of smug satisfaction.

  “Are you even going to try to run?” she asked him when she hung up the phone.

  “I’ve done everything I was called to do. It doesn’t matter what happens to me now. Besides, the police can’t do anything to me that you haven’t done one hundred times over.” He took a step toward her. “All that matters to me is that you suffer.”

  His ghastly smile returned. It only took one punch for Camille to knock it clean off his face.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  AN OLD FRIEND/ A NEW THREAT

  The police had already arrived by the time she made it back to her father’s house. The absence of yellow tape meant that they had thus far found nothing to indicate that an actual crime had been committed. It also meant that Camille could breathe a tentative sigh of relief.

  She raced up the driveway to the sight of two uniformed officers standing on the front porch. The door was open.

  “Did you go inside?” Camille asked the female officer who approached her.

  “Yes ma’am we did. The house is empty.”

  “Did you check everywhere?”

  “Top to bottom. The front door was open when we arrived. No obvious forcible entry. And it didn’t appear as if anything inside was disturbed.”

  Camille strained her neck to look around the officers and into the house. “Can I go and look around myself?”

  “We need to first ask you some questions about—”

  Camille had sprinted up the front steps and into the house before the officer could finish her statement. In contrast to the early spring warmth of the air outside, the air inside the house was cold and empty. She rushed into the kitchen then down the stairs into the basement, then outside into the backyard. No sign of her father anywhere. With precious little oxygen remaining in her lungs, she made her way into his office, checking every nook, cranny, and closet along the way. “Dad?” It was as futile-sounding a word as she had ever uttered.

  Finally she climbed the staircase, moving quickly past her childhood bedroom and into his. The bed was made with the same crisp edges that he always insisted on. His shoes were stacked neatly in the corner the same as they always were. Her mother’s young, smiling face looked at her from a frame on top of the nightstand the same as she always had. Beyond that, there was not a single indicator that her father had ever been here.

  Hollow legs carried her back down the staircase. When she reached the bottom, she saw Meredith standing near the front door, her face a sad, quivering mess. Camille imagined her own looked ten times worse.

  “He’s not here.”

  “We know,” a female voice not belonging to Meredith said.

  Camille swung her head to the right as a familiar face stared at her from the kitchen entryway.

  “Detective Sullivan.”

  “Hi Camille.”

  “What are you doing here?” Camille asked wearily, though not because she was unhappy to see her.

  Detective Chloe Sullivan was the lead detective in the investigation of her best friend’s murder. When the case was intentionally steered in a direction away from the truth, it was Detective Sullivan who single-handedly kept it on course. In the process she nearly lost her life – at the hands of the same man who tried to end Camille’s.

  The bond that formed between them in the aftermath was instant. And though she had lost contact with Chloe recently, she somehow always knew that the detective was never very far away.

  Her appearance here only solidified that notion. But it also made Camille unspeakably nervous.

  “I’m not here in an official capacity,” Chloe said with a thin smile that did little to mask her concern. “I was in my car
and I heard the call come in over dispatch. It goes without saying that I got here as fast as I could.”

  “Thank you,” Camille said, though her nerves were no less frayed than before.

  “I was getting some background outside from Ms. Park. She says the man currently in custody claims that your father was abducted.”

  Camille could only nod.

  “She says that her colleague, a man by the name of Jacob Deaver, was also abducted. Presumably by the same person.”

  “Has he said anything else?” Meredith asked with a shaken voice.

  “You mean Daniel MacPherson? As far as I know, he’s been uncooperative so far. But the Q&A has only started.”

  “What am I supposed to do in the meantime?” Camille cried. “I can’t just sit here, knowing my father is out there somewhere. Give me another chance with Daniel. All I need is a few minutes.”

  “In your current state I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Chloe advised. “We have plenty of people talking to him now. If there is information to get out of him, they’ll find a way to get it.” She put a hand on Camille’s shoulder. “Is there anything I can do for you now?”

  “Aside from finding my father and Jacob Deaver, no.” Then she looked Chloe in the eye. “But I do appreciate you coming here.”

  “Of course. Beyond the fact that Paul is your father, he’s also a part of the DPD family. A very important part. That makes this personal for all of us. Me especially. Trust me when I say we’ll find him.”

  Just then, three forensics techs walked through the front door. Two of them fanned out to opposite corners of the house to begin their work while the third approached Camille and Chloe.

  “Detective Sullivan. Ms. Grisham.”

  Chloe smiled. “This is CSI Robert Franklin. I called him and his team in as a special favor.”

  “Thank you,” Camille said to the tech.

  “Happy to help, Ms. Grisham. If there is anything here that points the finger at a potential abductor we’ll pick it up.”