Barry looked at me. There was a split second of trying to place me within this environment. I looked familiar, and I was in his subdivision, at the mailbox, therefore I must be a neighbor. That lasted only long enough for him to take a better look. Then, with a flash of recognition, he finally placed me. Dismay, fear, and apprehension flickered over his face.
“Hello, Barry,” I said.
He glanced over his shoulder, presumably considering a fast retreat. Gabriel stood a half-dozen steps away. Barry’s arms tightened around his dog, who wriggled in annoyance.
“I want to talk to you about some calls you’ve been making,” I said.
A look crossed his face, feigned confusion. “Calls?”
“About my father.”
“Calls about your father?” That look of confusion again. Then it vanished with a slight widening of his eyes, as if he’d missed a cue. His eyes shuttered. “I’m afraid I don’t know who you mean. Does your dad live around here?”
I said nothing. He looked back at Gabriel, who was now on his phone, appearing to have stopped paying attention, but Barry knew better than to test that. When he looked back at me, his Adam’s apple bobbed.
“You’ll need to tell me who your father is, miss,” he said. “We’ve only lived here a year and…”
He trailed off as he saw the look on my own face. The one that said I wasn’t falling for this, wasn’t playing along.
“Your brother,” I said, and that was all it took. He couldn’t hold in his emotions then. His face practically exploded with them—hate, rage and then, fear.
After a moment, he collected himself and said, “I don’t know what this is about, but I really must be going.”
“Must you?” I said as he turned. “That’s odd. Your brother has been missing for twenty-five years. His body has just been discovered. Now a stranger shows up talking about him, and you turn away? One would think you’d be eager for information, for clues as to how he died. Turning away like that…” I purse my lips. “It’s almost as if you already know.”
Now he pivoted slowly back to me. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Someone placed an anonymous call to the police, leading them to your brother’s body.”
“What?”
“You seem surprised. Weird, when it was right there, in the news.”
“I haven’t read the news. I don’t want to see what they have to say.”
“About Greg? Why not? He didn’t do anything wrong, did he?”
Barry flinched.
I continued. “The reason I’m here is that someone is connecting your murdered brother to my father. Someone planted a fake business card in Greg’s pocket, one supposedly belonging to Todd Larsen…only it was printed just a few weeks ago.”
Emotions fluttered, too fast for me to catch. “I-I don’t know—”
“Laura Simmons,” I said.
“Wh-what?” He choked the word out, and there was no confusion on his face now, no lack of recognition. With that name, his face drained of blood, and he could barely stammer out the question.
I stepped toward him and lowered my voice. “You watched your brother strangle her. She begged you for help. Begged. And you watched. You enjoyed watching.”
He couldn’t even form words, mouth opening and closing as he tried. Sweat trickled down his brow, and his dog whimpered as he clutched it tight.
“I-I don’t know what—” he managed, his voice squeaking.
“You watched. You liked watching. You sick son-of-a-bitch.”
“No. No.” He was shaking now. “I don’t know who told you—”
“No one needed to tell me.” I leaned forward and whispered details. Where it happened. What he’d been wearing. What his brother did. Barry didn’t ask how I knew. He was too panicked to think of that.
“I’ve changed,” he said. “I never—I never did anything. Never hurt anyone. Whatever sickness I had, it’s cured. I found God, and he saved me, and I’m a different man now. A good man.”
“A good man?” I laughed. “A good man would have gone to the police and told them the truth. A good man would have given those families closure. A good man would have let his brother go down in history as a killer. That’s justice. That’s righteousness. Your God doesn’t exist to shield you from your shitty choices, Barry. Don’t hide behind him. I’m sure he doesn’t appreciate it.”
Barry Kirkman just kept gibbering excuses and insistences that he was a good man, that he’d changed, that he’d never actually done anything.
“Right,” I said. “You didn’t do anything. You watched your brother murder a girl, and then you kept his secret so he could do it again. When he ended up dead, you found his body, and you decided to plant my father’s business card on it. You knew they’d worked together, and you’re such a damned coward that you wanted my father in prison for your brother’s crimes, so there was no chance your family name would be tarnished. No chance anyone would ever take a closer look at you.”
I’d reworked the story this way, framing it to avoid anything actually connecting my father to Kirkman’s death. Of course, if Barry had been there, he knew who killed his brother. But he only mewled weak denials.
“You knew where to find your brother’s body.”
“Yes, but I didn’t tell—”
“You knew where to find his body,” I said.
“I saw…” He ran one hand through his thinning hair. “I-I don’t even know what I saw that night. I was staying with Greg. He’d been out, and I heard him come home and go straight into the forest. I followed and…”
He looked at me. He could say he saw Todd murder Greg, but he seemed to realize that might not be the right move here.
“I…I don’t even know what I saw. I just wanted it to go away. Whatever happened, whatever my brother did, it’s over.”
“Someone called the police two days ago to report your brother’s body and link it to my father.”
“It wasn’t me. I was at a retreat. No phones. No electronics. I needed a few days of peace when…” When your father got out. That’s what he meant. Instead, he said, “I needed peace.”
“Who did you tell about your brother’s burial place?”
“No one. I wouldn’t…”
He trailed off, and his eyes widened.
“You told someone,” I said. “Tell me who it was.”
Twenty-two
Olivia
I couldn’t get Ricky or my father on the phone. There were others I could have called in Cainsville. I didn’t. Gabriel drove as fast as he could, and I kept speed-dialing Ricky and Todd, telling myself it was fine; they were probably out back with a beer and had left their phones inside. Except Ricky never left his phone anywhere. Ever.
The alternative, though, was that they were unable to call because someone was in Cainsville. A young man who wanted my father to pay for killing his uncle.
Matthew Kirkman. Barry’s twenty-year-old son. That was who he’d told four years ago in a drunken rant. It seemed that while Barry had found religion, he hadn’t managed to locate sobriety. On what would have been his brother’s birthday, he’d gotten loaded on a fishing trip with Matt and told him the whole story. Well, told him a variation of it.
In this version, good old Uncle Greg had tried to stop that maniac, Todd Larsen, from killing a young woman. Before Barry could intervene, Todd murdered Greg. While burying Greg a few miles away, Todd caught Barry watching and warned that if he told anyone, he’d kill his entire family. Does this make any sense? Of course not. Later, when Barry sobered up and Matt confronted him, he had the sense to backpedal. It wasn’t true—just a nightmare he’d had once, and it came back when he drank. He’d thought Matt accepted the nightmare excuse. Obviously not.
I could notify Patrick or one of the other elders, but what we were dealing with here was more dangerous than any fae. It was a very angry young man, one who had been gifted a handgun when he went off to college in Chicago.
We left Barry
assuring us that his son wasn’t a threat and that he’d speak to him. We didn’t push further, so he took that to mean we’d leave the matter in his hands. Then we found Matt’s cell phone number online. That’s surprisingly easy to do with a twenty-year-old college student. We called and got voice mail, which assured us this was “Matt” and he’d call back as soon as he finished whatever he was doing.
We found out soon enough what he was doing. Exactly what I’d feared. The whole way home, I’d kept telling myself I was being paranoid. What were the chances that Matt Kirkman would strike against my father now? Just as we uncovered the identity of our threat? Pretty good, it seemed.
Like Detective Parsons said, Matt was pissed. The police weren’t moving, and when you’re twenty years old, and you have a gun, you don’t sit around hoping the cops change their mind.
Matt was in the parlor with Todd. I could see figures through the side window, and that window was cracked open enough for us to catch voices. I couldn’t make out what Matt was saying.
Where was Ricky? Presumably there, either incapacitated or keeping quiet. When I moved, I thought I saw a third figure on the sofa. That must be Ricky.
Gabriel motioned for me to go around and see whether the back door was open. He’d take the front.
I eased open the rear gate and jogged through and onto the back deck, where a couple of nearly empty beers said Dad and Ricky had been out here at some point. They’d failed to secure the patio door. Well, they’d locked it, but they hadn’t braced the sliding glass door, which meant my key opened it.
Through the kitchen door, I could see the security panel, all blinking green. I slipped inside.
Voices drifted out. Matt was telling his father’s side of the story. When he paused for breath, Todd said, “Does that make sense?” and I winced.
Don’t, Dad. Don’t question him. Just hold on, and keep him talking.
I adjusted my grip on my gun. Through the front door window, Gabriel spotted me. He motioned that he’d come around the back. I continued creeping toward the parlor.
“What?” Matt said.
“Does it make any sense?” Todd said, his voice soothing, calm. “Can you really see your father hiding while he watched me kill his brother?”
“He was young. He was scared.”
“He was about your age, right? Would you have hid?”
“I—”
“So, he hid and then calmly followed to see where I buried your uncle? How many times would he have had the opportunity to sneak up and take me down? Or to see that I’d be stuck a while, digging a grave, and run to call the police?”
No, Dad. Please. Just stop.
“Are you suggesting my father lied to me?” Matt said.
“Yes, I’m sorry, son, but I am. I’m suggesting I wasn’t the one who murdered that girl.”
I clenched my teeth. What the hell was my father doing? I took another two steps along the front hall. Then I stopped. Through the parlor doorway, I could see Matt’s arm. I could see the gun. I could tell he was facing my way, and as soon as I took another step, he’d spot me.
I turned around as Gabriel stepped inside. I quickly motioned for him to return to the front door.
Todd—damn him—was still talking. “I’m going to suggest, son, that the real killer was your uncle.”
“What the hell?” Matt’s voice rose. “Are you accusing my father—?”
“—of killing your uncle, yes.”
“What the hell?” It came out shrill now.
Was Dad trying to provoke the kid into shooting him? If so, he was doing an excellent job of it.
I aimed my own weapon, ready to step forward.
Todd continued. “I believe the version that makes sense is a true tragedy, one I played no part in. Your father stumbled over your uncle with that girl. She wasn’t the first body found in those woods, or so the police tell me. Your dad found your uncle, and he tried to save the girl, and in doing that, he killed your uncle. He failed to save that poor girl, but he did stop your father. He’s a hero.”
“Then why the hell wouldn’t he just say that?”
“Because he killed his own brother. The sin of Cain, isn’t it? You said your father has become religious, and if I recall my Bible right, that’s right there. Fratricide. The first murder ever committed. Of course, in this case, your father did the right thing, trying to save that girl. But if he comes forward, he has to admit he killed his brother. He also has to admit his brother was a serial killer. Wouldn’t it be better if another serial killer was responsible for all those deaths? One who was in prison for life already? He must have heard your uncle mention my name—we worked on a job together—and when I was arrested, your dad had the perfect scapegoat if anyone found your uncle’s body. He’d worked it out to the point where maybe he even believed it himself.”
“I…” Matt trailed off, and that gun lowered, dropping to his side as if he didn’t realize he was lowering it.
“Doesn’t that fit your father better? The hero forced to kill his own brother to save others? So racked with guilt over that biblical crime that he blames a convicted serial killer instead?”
“I…”
Todd continued, his already soothing voice taking on a hypnotic note. “I’m afraid your uncle wasn’t a good man. I knew that when I met him. Maybe I should have said something. I didn’t. Your father is the one who stopped him, and now he’s been forced to live with that for twenty-five years.”
Silence from Matt, but that gun stayed at his side, hanging from his hand.
“I didn’t kill those girls,” Todd said. “When the police came to me yesterday, my lawyer looked up his notes. We have very, very good notes on my whereabouts leading up to my alleged crimes. At the time that girl disappeared, I was in Wisconsin with my wife and daughter on a weeklong job. I did not kill her, just like I didn’t kill those four couples.”
Movement. I tensed, but it was just Todd stepping forward to take the gun from Matt, who let him have it.
“Let’s sit down and talk,” Todd said.
As much as I wanted to run in there and resolve this, I knew Todd had it under control. Having Gabriel and me join would only spook the kid. Still, I did call after I’d slipped back outside. Todd’s cell phone rang from just inside the back door, and when he came to answer it, he saw me, told Matt that he had to take the call and then came outside, watching through the kitchen doorway in case the kid bolted.
“I heard everything,” I said. “We were coming to rescue you but…”
“I didn’t need it?” Todd said with a smile.
“Yeah, sorry.”
He handed me Matt’s gun. “I’ll let you take this. I think he’ll be fine—I’ve talked him down. But I was just about to take a break and call you. You need to find Ricky.”
My gut seized. “He’s not with you?”
Todd shook his head, and Gabriel stepped up behind me as I said, “What happened?”
“Something fae,” Todd said. “Ricky saw the kid, knew he was following us and spotted the gun. He hustled me out of the hardware store. We were making tracks back here. I was in front. I heard something. I looked back and…I’m not even sure what I saw. Something had him.”
“Something?” My voice went tight.
“Someone,” he corrected quickly. “A fae. I only caught a blur. Ricky was in the air and—”
“The air?”
Gabriel’s hand gripped my shoulder, reassurance but also a warning to let my father finish.
“It happened fast,” Todd said. “A fae had him. I took off after them, but they disappeared. I’d left my phone here, so I ran to get it and call you, and I forgot about the kid. He caught up. I’m sure Ricky’s fine. It’s Cainsville. There are fae, and one just made a mistake.”
“We’ll find him,” Gabriel said.
Twenty-three
Olivia
I ran for Veronica’s house. The wards had obviously been broken, and there was no harm in waking her. I’d
reached the next corner before I realized driving would have been faster. Gabriel’s car pulled up beside me.
I hopped in.
“Veronica?” he said.
As I nodded, my phone buzzed with a text. I fumbled with it, hoping for Ricky or even for Todd telling me he remembered something else. Instead, it was Patrick, and I would have put the phone down again if I hadn’t seen Ricky’s name in that first line of the text.
I opened the text and skimmed it. It seemed Ricky had sent Patrick a photo of a young man, asking if he was local. Patrick had said the boy wasn’t local, and he’d texted for more, to satisfy his curiosity, but Ricky hadn’t answered. So he was trying me.
I called. Patrick answered on the first ring.
“What are you kids up to this—?” he began.
“Cainsville,” I said. “Flying fae.”
When he didn’t answer fast enough, I said, “Patrick. Flying fae in Cainsville. What do you know?”
“Flying…? Fae don’t fly, Liv. I would make a joke about Tinkerbell wings, but I can tell by your voice that this is not the—”
“It isn’t. A fae attacked Ricky behind the hardware store. It flew off with him.”
“Flew off?” Silence. Then, he swore, “Cach.”
“Patrick…”
“Damn, Grace. I told her—”
“I don’t care about Grace right now. What took Ricky?”
He exhaled. “You’re in the car, yes? I hear the motor. Are you in Cainsville?”
“Heading to speak to Veronica.”
“Turn onto Walnut. Take Peach to the end. There’s an abandoned house there.”
“At the end of Peach? Bullshit, Patrick. I jog that way all the time. It’s a dead end. There’s nothing—”
“Just go there. Park and wait for me. Don’t go any farther. Wait for me. Understand?”
I made a noise of assent and hung up.
Cruel Fate Page 14
