The Butcher

by Jennifer Hillier

  “How’s the restaurant?”

  “Extremely busy.”

  “And the food trucks? My buddy Howard from the old farts’ home said he stopped by your truck at the Fremont Market when he was there with his grandkids. They loved the lumpia, said they were better than Chinese spring rolls.”

  “That’s because they are.”

  “You should be very proud. You’ve worked very hard. Your lola is beaming up in heaven.”

  “You must miss her.”

  There was a pause, and then Edward said softly, “Every day.”

  “Did she know?” Matt asked. After five beers and three shots of whiskey—or was it four? he’d lost count—on a mostly empty stomach, his words were beginning to slur, and it was hard to stay focused on the Chief’s face.

  “Know what?”

  “Who you really are.”

  “And who is that?”

  “I know you know what I’m talking about.”

  Edward sucked on his cigar, then blew out a long stream of smoke. “She knew only what she needed to know. Nothing more. Nothing less. She never asked questions. Wasn’t her business. Your lola knew her place.”

  “And what’s mine?” Matt said. “What’s my place, Chief?”

  His grandfather’s gaze was steady through the smoke that swirled around his face. “It’s whatever you want it to be. But you’re a lot like me, Matthew. Always have been. I find it amusing that you fight it. You didn’t want to follow in my footsteps and go into law enforcement; you wanted to do your own thing, run your own ship, excel at something that’s just yours, all the while thinking that would make you less like me. What you don’t realize is that it makes you exactly like me.”

  A silence fell between them as Matt tried to process this through his drunken haze. Finally he said, “Why, Chief? Why’d you do it?”

  Edward thoughtfully watched the smoke curl in the air before meeting Matt’s gaze. “That’s a deep question, kid. Why does anyone do anything? I do what I do because I want to. And because I can. Same as you.”

  “Who was Rufus Wedge?”

  “He was a piece of shit.”

  “And what does that make you?”

  The Chief leaned back in his chair, appraising him. “It makes me the former chief of police of Seattle. It makes me a hero who won commendations from the mayor. It makes me a man who kept the streets of this city safe by putting away hundreds and hundreds of criminals.”

  “It makes you a monster.”

  A pause. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “How could I possibly?” The room was spinning and Matt’s stomach was beginning to churn. The few bites of pizza he’d ingested suddenly didn’t seem to be mingling well with the alcohol. “How could anyone?”

  “Why do you eat?”

  “What?” Matt said, confused. “What do you mean?”

  “Answer the question.” The Chief puffed on his cigar. “When you eat, why do you eat?”

  “Because I have to. Because I’m hungry. Because I’ll starve if I don’t.”

  “Same thing.”

  Matt felt his face flush. “Not remotely. And you’re a psychopath if that’s how you feel.”

  His grandfather waved a hand. “You asked. That’s my answer.”

  “It’s sick.”

  “So what are you planning to do?” Edward asked. “You’ve obviously been thinking about it.”

  “I haven’t decided.”

  “Sure you have.” The Chief laughed, but he wasn’t amused. “You won’t do anything. Because you have everything to lose.”

  “So do you.”

  “My reputation.” His grandfather shrugged. “My legacy. But who’s to say which legacy I want to leave behind? We can all choose how we want to be remembered. I’ve been retired for fifteen years now. I’m on the downward slide to dead, kid. I’m forgotten. And I think about that every day.”

  “Ever consider turning yourself in?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because it’s the right thing. And I thought you, of all people, would understand the difference between right and wrong.”

  “They weren’t angels, you know,” the Chief said. “None of them were what you would call ‘good girls.’ They were the dregs of society. Drug addicts. Prostitutes. Teenage whores. A waste of good taxpayers’ money.”

  “It was still wrong.” Matt’s hands began to shake as the nausea welled up in his gut. “You . . . you hurt them. You didn’t just kill them. You made sure . . . you made sure they suffered.”

  “How is that any different from the spider you trapped when you were five years old?” Edward took another drag on his cigar. “You kept it in a jar for days until it died a slow and painful death. You watched it suffer. I remember that glint in your eye because I know how you felt. You enjoyed it.”

  “I was five, and it was a goddamned spider. Not a human being.”

  “Life is life, Matthew. We all play God in whatever way we can.” The Chief pushed his chair back and stood up. “I would hate to see you lose everything on account of me. They’re long dead, all of them. Telling the truth isn’t going to bring them back.”

  “Did you want me to find the crate?” Matt asked. He could taste stomach acid, and he tried to swallow so the burning in his throat would go away.

  “Yes,” Edward said simply. “It’s a big secret to keep. The older I get, the more I realize how important it is that you know me. And to know me, you have to know my secrets. You’re the only family I have left.”

  “Your secrets are terrible,” Matt whispered, looking up at him. “They’re terrible, Chief. They’re a burden.” His head spun and he took a deep breath. In a stronger voice, he said, “I want that shit out of my house. I don’t care what you do with it, but get rid of it. I don’t want it here.”

  “Fine.”

  “None of this makes any sense.”

  “It doesn’t have to,” the Chief said. “The why doesn’t matter. It never did. After almost four decades in law enforcement, that’s one of the most important things I learned. It never matters why.”

  “So what will you do?” Matt looked up at his grandfather with bleary eyes. “What happens now?”

  “Now? Now I’m going to do what I always do. Go back to the old farts’ home. Go to sleep. And wake up tomorrow knowing it’s a brand-new day, and that there aren’t many of them left. So I’m going to make the best of it, and then, like all great men, go out with a bang.”

  Matt had no idea what that meant.

  Edward looked down at him. “And what will you do?”

  Matt poured himself another shot of whiskey with unsteady hands. “I’m going to finish this bottle of Jameson. Puke my guts out. And then pass out, hoping that when I wake up tomorrow, this will all just be a nightmare I’ve already forgotten.”

  He closed his eyes and downed the shot, savoring the burn on his raw throat. When he opened his eyes again, the Chief was gone.

  10

  Sam liked Bonnie. A lot. Which was probably a bit premature since she’d only known the woman for two hours.

  But Bonnie Tidwell was the closest thing to her mother Sam would ever get, and she wasn’t about to waste the opportunity to learn everything she could about her teenage mom and her mom’s best friend. It was almost too good to be true, but the Internet was an amazing place. You just never knew who was out there, and who would find you.

  Bonnie had more photos of Sarah at home in Sacramento, but it obviously never occurred to her to bring them, as she hadn’t known she would be meeting Sarah’s daughter. The two women were now sitting on Sam’s sofa, finishing off the last of the Pinot Grigio Sam had poured. In Bonnie’s hand was the framed photograph of Sam and her mother, and the older woman stared at it, smiling, before putting it back on the table.

  “Pike Place market. That had to have been . . .” Bonnie frowned, thinking for a moment. “August 1987. I still remember that day. You were so little. Do you remember my nickname for
you?”

  Sam shook her head.

  “I called you Dumpling,” Bonnie said, and Sam laughed. “Because you were so cute and chubby. I wanted to eat you up.”

  “I don’t remember.” A wave of sadness washed over Sam. It was that feeling again, that sense of longing for something she couldn’t remember ever having.

  “It was me who took the picture, you know. I had this camera I’d saved up to buy.” The older woman took a sip of her wine and smiled at the memory. “I knew back then I wanted to be a professional photographer, and there was a guy who had a camera he didn’t use anymore. I can’t tell you how many hours I worked at McDonald’s to pay for it.”

  “Is that where you met my mom?”

  “Yes. I found her crying in the bathroom at the end of my shift. She’d just learned she was pregnant and her boyfriend had left her. She didn’t want to go home because she was afraid her parents—your grandparents—would make her give you up for adoption. I took her in and got her a job. I was already living in a house with two other girls, and I figured, what was one more? And then she had you.” Bonnie smiled. “A lot of girls under one roof, and it was chaos, but we were like family. We looked out for each other.”

  “Do you know who my father is?” Sam held her breath.

  “I wish I did, honey. Sarah never told me. All she said was that he was a boy from the wrong side of the tracks, and that the only good thing he ever gave her was you.”

  Sam worked at processing this. After years of knowing next to nothing, it was all a lot to take in. “You know, I tried looking for my grandparents after I aged out of foster care. They were both dead. Grandfather had a heart attack; grandmother died of cancer.”

  “And of course Sarah was an only child.” Bonnie squeezed her arm. “You must have felt so alone.”

  “Still do sometimes.”

  “That friend of yours, Jason, seems to really care about you.” The older woman’s tone was sly.

  Sam laughed. “I’ve known him since the fifth grade. I was living next door to him with a foster family, and so we were neighbors for two years. Then the foster family moved out of state, and of course I couldn’t go with them, and so Child Services placed me with a new family. Jase and I kept in touch, though. He’d write me from time to time, and I’d write him. But he’s a couple of years older than me, and we lost touch when he started high school. A few years later, we ran into each other at Puget Sound State, where we both went to college. By then he was a huge football star, and gearing up for the NFL. We reconnected and have been close ever since.”

  “But you never dated?”

  “No way.” Sam laughed again. “I always thought he was cute, but in college, he was so full of himself, total ladies’ man. And still kind of is. We’re best friends, though, and he introduced me to my boyfriend, Matt. They were roommates in college.”

  “Ah,” Bonnie said with a grin. “So you do have a boyfriend.”

  “Three years now. He owns his own restaurant. He’s very successful.” Sam smiled. It wasn’t hard to brag about Matt.

  “He sounds like a catch. But why I do a sense a but . . . ?”

  “That’s exactly it. But. Is it that obvious?” Sam sighed. “He’s not ready for anything more. I have a feeling he never will be.”

  “If you feel that way, honey, then unfortunately it’s probably true.”

  “So why were you on the forum?” Sam changed the subject. It was so easy to talk to Bonnie about her personal life, but there was still so much about her mother and the Butcher she wanted to know. “I assumed, like everyone else on that site, that you were just a nutty conspiracy theorist with an unhealthy interest in serial murder.” Bonnie’s eyes widened, and Sam held up a hand. “Hey, I’m guilty of it myself. Takes one to know one.”

  “I wouldn’t say your interest is unhealthy. You write books about them. It’s research.” Bonnie hesitated. “For me, it’s personal.”

  “It’s personal for me, too.”

  “Because you believe the Butcher killed Sarah.”

  “Yes. I always have. So what makes you agree with me?” Sam asked. “My mother’s hand wasn’t chopped off. And you know she died two years after Wedge was shot.”

  “I can only guess why her hand was still intact,” Bonnie said. “But I know for certain Rufus Wedge wasn’t the Butcher.”

  “Are you going to tell me how you know?”

  “It’s because I met him.”

  “Rufus Wedge?” Sam was confused.

  “No. The Butcher.”

  There was a small silence as Sam digested this. Finally she said, “Please tell me what happened.”

  “I noticed him at first because he was tall.” The older woman’s jaw clenched, but her eyes took on a slightly faraway look as she remembered. “Sarah took his order at McDonald’s a couple of nights before she died. He seemed harmless; mainly he just watched her while she worked, but that wasn’t anything unusual. Your mom was pretty; a lot of guys noticed her. This guy, though, he seemed to like brunettes. He complimented her dark hair a few times.” Bonnie fingered an auburn curl. “After our shift was over, we saw him outside the restaurant near the bus stop, sitting in his car, as if he was waiting for her. When he saw she was with me, he drove off.

  “A couple of nights after that, she was killed. I was actually with you the night she died. Babysitting. She was scheduled to be home around eleven, but she never made it. I called the McDonald’s we worked at, but it was already closed for the night. I didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t like her to not come straight home, and I was worried. But I knew if I called the cops and reported her missing, it could put you at risk. She was only seventeen. Even if Sarah turned up okay, what if they thought she was unfit to raise you? So I waited.” Bonnie closed her eyes. “And then the next morning, the cops showed up. Told me that she’d been found dead. She’d been seen giving water and french fries to a homeless man at the end of her shift, they said, and they thought maybe he was the one who’d killed her. They asked me if Sarah had any enemies, and of course I said she didn’t. She was the nicest girl, always giving stuff to homeless people. I mentioned the man who’d been watching her before, and gave them a description, but nothing came of it. Then a social services caseworker showed up and took you away that same day. That was the last time I saw you.”

  “Wow.” Sam didn’t know what to say for a moment. Bonnie stayed quiet, allowing time to let everything sink in. After a long silence, Sam said, “Robert Sanchez was one of the police officers who notified you. He’s the one who was first on the scene.”

  “That’s right.” Bonnie looked surprised. “How do you remember that? You were just a toddler.”

  “He’s kept tabs on me over the years. Made sure I was never mistreated at any of the foster homes I lived in. He’s been a good friend, pretty much the closest thing I’ve had to a parent.”

  “It eats at me, you know,” Bonnie said, her eyes moist. “The guilt. Wondering if I did the right thing. What if I had called the police right away? What if they’d found her before she was murdered? But I didn’t call, and she died.”

  Sam wasn’t sure how she felt about this, either, but it wouldn’t help either of them to say so. Instead she put a hand on the older woman’s arm. “You didn’t call because you were protecting me. You weren’t sure what happened, and you didn’t want anyone to take me away from my mother. I understand.”

  Another small silence fell between them. Gathering her thoughts, Sam said, “How do you know the man at the McDonald’s was the man who killed my mother?”

  “Because he tried to kill me, too. Two days after they found your mom. He was waiting for me outside the restaurant, and he grabbed me. Stuck a rag over my face with something that stank really bad.”

  “Oh my God.” Sam put a hand over her mouth, horrified. “Chloroform?”

  “Whatever it was, it knocked me out.” Bonnie shuddered. “When I came to, I was in the woods somewhere. I had no idea how much time had passed
, but it was cold and dark, and when I realized he was on top of me, I tried to scream. But he’d stuffed something in my mouth and I couldn’t make a sound. That was when he held up the cleaver, and he put it right in my face. The light from the moon caught it and I saw how sharp the blade was, and I wet myself.” It took Bonnie a moment to catch her breath. “He didn’t cut my hand off, though. Obviously. It’s like he knew he couldn’t, because the Butcher was supposed to be dead. It’s probably why he didn’t chop off Sarah’s, either. But he sure as hell wanted me to see it. He asked if I knew who he was. I said I did, and he smiled.”

  “But you got away,” Sam whispered. “Holy shit.”

  “Pure luck. If you can believe it, there was a bear.”

  “A what?” Sam wasn’t sure she heard her correctly.

  The older woman nodded, her hands moving to her throat. Finding her pendant, she rolled it between two fingers. “You heard me right. There was a bear, of all things. Not so crazy when you think about how we were in the woods, but crazy because of the timing. A giant black bear just came out of nowhere. I remember hearing the dried leaves crunching under its feet. It just came sauntering out, and then it stopped and sniffed a tree about twenty feet away. The Butcher, he froze when he saw it, and whispered to me not to move, that it would maul us if I did. But what did I care? I was about to be carved up anyway, and I started freaking out. I started kicking, squirming, screaming. It caught the bear’s attention because it started walking toward us. That’s when the Butcher rolled off me. And as soon as he did, I got to my feet and ran like hell.”

  Her eyes misted over. “I’m not religious, but sometimes I swear that bear was God.” She held up the little gold bear and the pendant glinted in the soft living room light. The choice of jewelry now made sense.

  Sam, who wasn’t religious, either, nodded. “I don’t blame you. I probably would, too.”

  “The Butcher didn’t chase me. I wasn’t sure what happened to him, but I prayed the bear had mauled him. I found the road and hitched a ride to a friend’s house, because I knew if he wasn’t dead, he’d come looking for me. I hid out there the whole next day, trying to figure out what to do. I was scared to leave the house, too scared to even go to the police station because I was sure he’d grab me again. And then . . . I saw him on the news. And that’s when I learned the Butcher’s real identity. Thirty minutes later, I was on a bus out of town.”