by Tim McBain
Loshak’s shoulders rose as he took a deep breath. He rubbed above his top lip with a finger, a classic nervous tic, and shot Darger a guarded look.
“We’re not really supposed to talk about that.”
Emily stared at them for a few seconds, mouth slightly agape. Trying to decide if Loshak was being serious.
Finally, she laughed.
“Shut up! You’re messing with me.”
Loshak grinned and shrugged.
“It probably goes without saying that the less you speak of our involvement, the better,” Loshak said, squatting on the edge of an ottoman upholstered in patterned velvet.
“We don’t want him to know you’re pulling the strings, in other words,” Lois said. “The killer, I mean.”
“Exactly. And for the most part, we won’t be. We want it to come off as natural as possible. Whatever you already have planned shouldn’t need to change much. This is still, first and foremost, a memorial service for your daughter. The last thing we want to do is to get in the way of that.”
“Of course,” Lois said. “But as I told Casey, anything we can do to assist, we’re happy to help.”
Loshak’s mouth formed into a gracious smile.
“And we thank you for that. Why don’t you start by taking us through what you have planned?”
The memorial service would begin in the auditorium at the university, where the pastor from the Worthingtons’ church would lead a group prayer. Fiona’s mother, father, and sister would all speak, as well as a few close friends and relatives. Preliminary plans for the Fiona Worthington Memorial Garden would be announced, which was to be housed somewhere on the university campus.
Candles would be passed out to the crowd as people left the auditorium, and then a candlelight procession would make its way to Fiona’s grave site.
“Our congregation is preparing hundreds of luminaries to set up along the sidewalks to light the way,” Lois said.
“That’ll be pretty,” Violet said.
Fiona’s mother beamed.
“Do you have a route already planned? For the procession from the college to the cemetery?” Loshak asked.
“I do,” Lois said, reaching for an iPad resting out of sight. She brought up a map and showed it to them.
“That’s good. Perfect,” Loshak said. “Could you possibly email that to me? That way, we’ll know where to have our people set up.”
“Absolutely,” Fiona’s mother said and the two spent the next several minutes bumbling through the exchange of email addresses and trying to remember how to attach a file to an email.
There was a lot of “I think if you…” and “Here try this…” before Emily had finally had enough. She rolled her eyes and wrenched the tablet from her mother’s hand. In under thirty seconds, she was handing the device back to her mother, the job complete.
“I was hoping I might ask your opinion about something,” Lois said, clasping her hands together. “Emily keeps telling me I’m being neurotic.”
“Because you are,” Emily said, not lifting her eyes from her phone.
Lois huffed playfully before continuing.
“I know that people like to bring mementos to leave at the grave,” Lois went on. “And well… I just keep picturing all those things — pictures, letters, stuffed animals — out there in the rain and the snow. Getting all dirty and mildewed, and well, eventually turning into litter. I mean, does someone clean that up? At the cemetery?”
It seemed to be a mostly rhetorical question, so neither Darger nor Loshak answered.
“Anyway, it all seems a bit wasteful to me. So I’ve been thinking of encouraging people to bring flowers if they want to leave something. Or donating to a worthy cause in Fiona’s name instead.”
Darger deferred to Loshak, who was stroking his chin while he thought.
“You know, I think that’s a great idea. On a multitude of levels. And you’ve just given me a thought, so I’m going to excuse myself for a moment.”
Darger followed Loshak through the winding path back to the foyer. He slid open the closet door and reached for the hanger holding his coat.
“How long before the reporter’s supposed to show up?” Loshak asked, heading for the door.
Darger looked at her watch.
“Three hours. Why?”
“If she beats me here, try to stall.”
“What? Where are you going?”
“I have an errand to run.” He turned back to her, scratching his eyebrow. “That a problem?”
“No,” she said. “I guess not.”
“Call me if she gets here before I do.”
“OK,” Darger said, barely attempting to hide her exasperation. Of course he couldn’t tell her what he was up to. She thought of how Cal had described Loshak as not being a team player, but she had started to suspect that his reticence was just as much about creating a spectacle. Keeping those around him in a permanent state of suspense. Cloaking himself with an air of mystery and intrigue. Loshak liked a dramatic reveal.
The door swung shut behind him, and Darger felt a familiar discomfort settle over her. Loshak must have been a buffer of sorts before. She could forget about the way the Worthingtons’ home made her feel and focus on the task at hand. Now that he was gone though, that protection was fading.
On her way back to the living room, she passed a stairwell. She heard voices coming from above. Emily and her mother, from the sounds of it.
“I don’t understand. Why can’t I have it if no one else is using it?”
Lois’ voice was tense.
“You know what, Emily? I’m tired of having this discussion.”
What sounded like a cabinet door to Darger slammed loudly.
Darger froze, stuck between unintentionally eavesdropping and making her presence known and risking an even more uncomfortable moment.
“You want your sister’s car? Take it. I’m done.”
Footsteps moved off.
“Mom, don’t act like that—”
The voices retreated, and Darger let out a breath. Still, the encounter jarred something unpleasant in her memory.
She had two step-siblings, Colin and Jenna. They were older, already moved out of the house and attending college when her mother married their father. They had always been polite to Violet. And yet still they’d never felt like family.
Witnessing the argument between Emily and Lois, Violet recounted a Thanksgiving visit from the siblings. The three of them were in the den watching TV when they started squabbling over the things in the house.
“When dad dies, I get the Chinese desk in his study,” Jenna said.
It had come seemingly out of nowhere, at least for Violet. Maybe this was something they often discussed among themselves. She wouldn’t have known.
Completely unperturbed, Colin countered.
“Fine, but then I have dibs on the Porsche.”
“What? That’s not a fair deal at all. The Porsche is like ten times as valuable as the desk.”
Colin shrugged.
Maybe that was the heart of it all, Violet thought. Why she’d never been at home there and felt so ill at ease here in the Worthington’s house. The worship of the material was so apparent. So abundant. She felt like she was suffocating in the gluttony of Things.
It wasn’t fair, she knew, to be judging the Worthingtons that way. Emily was young. To her, it was just a car. She might as well use it. And on the whole, they seemed to be kind people.
“What are you up to?”
The voice came from behind her, and she jerked around to see Casey watching her from down the hall.
“Nothing,” she stuttered.
“Where’s Loshak?” he asked, glancing around like he might appear from a hidden chamber behind a bookcase or something.
“He said he had to run an errand. Said he’d try to be back before the reporter showed up.”
Detective Luck nodded, and the conversation died. Why had Loshak left her here alone?
&n
bsp; It was an hour and a half later when her phone rang. By then, Fiona’s father had returned from work and joined them. Violet had been trying to explain that no one from the family should address the killer directly in any of their interviews.
“But I’d like to ask him why,” Bill Worthington was saying, handing his wife a tissue. “Why her? Why did he have to take our Fiona?”
“I understand that, Mr. Worthington. I do. But it’s important right now that Detective Luck be the only person talking to him, so to speak. We want a singular focus.”
“Think of me like a lightning rod,” Luck offered, and Darger thought she saw Emily smirk to herself. “After we catch him, I promise you’ll get a chance to ask him whatever you want.”
Darger excused herself from the discussion when she saw it was Loshak calling.
“Reporter’s not there yet, right?”
“No, not for at least another hour,” Darger said.
“Meet me at the front door.”
Back through the labyrinth of rooms Darger went. When she reached the front of the house, she opened the door and found Loshak outside, clutching a large shopping bag under one arm.
“What’s that?”
“I’ll explain, and then I gotta take off.”
“Again?”
“This new idea means more moving parts. More things the task force needs to be watching out for. So take this,” he said, shoving the bag into her hands, “and listen.”
When she returned to the living room a few minutes later, Luck’s eyes were the first to fall on the newest member of their group. It was a giant stuffed elephant, probably as tall as Darger stretched from trunk to tail.
“Whatcha got there, Agent Darger?” Luck asked, hardly concealing his amusement. “Did you just duck out for a quick trip to the carnival or what?”
“No. This is Fiona’s favorite stuffed animal,” Violet said.
Mr. Worthington frowned.
“I beg your pardon?”
“She slept with it every night since she was four,” Violet said, wiggling one of the fur-covered ears. “The way I understand it, anyway.”
Emily sat forward, the first to catch on.
“Yeah. I remember. His name is Mister Toots.”
Violet snapped her fingers and pointed.
“A name. That’s good.”
“I’m sorry, but could someone please explain to the senile old lady in the room what in good heavens is going on?” Lois asked, starting to look a little frazzled.
“It’s bait,” Luck said. “If we make it sound like this really important thing that Fiona loved and cherished, he’ll want it.”
“You’re saying the killer will try to take it?” Fiona’s father asked.
“Hopefully,” Darger said. “They like tokens. Trinkets. It’s like a symbol of her. A reminder. If we feature Mister Toots here in the newspaper articles, the stories on TV, he might not be able to resist.”
Darger sat down, lowering the elephant to the floor beside her.
“That is, if you’re comfortable with it. I know it probably sounds strange to be asking you to do this. To lie about a stuffed animal.”
She plucked at the trunk, which flopped back to the ground when she released it.
“We have other things in motion. You can say no.”
Lois moistened her lips with her tongue, blinking at the elephant on the floor for a long while. She and her husband exchanged a look. No words passed between them, but Darger knew an entire conversation was being had nonetheless. Couples who had been happily married as long as the Worthingtons often seemed to have that kind of almost psychic connection.
Finally, Fiona’s mother folded her hands in her lap and fixed Darger with a matter-of-fact stare.
“Let’s do it.”
Chapter 57
He looks to the passenger seat often. Half of him expecting to find the duffel bag there. Its lips parted.
But no. She’s gone. Gone for good. And he’s never going to be alright.
The distance pulls him away from the hurt. Away from the world.
He leaves the car. Steps into the night. The air cool around him. There’s still work to be done.
He walks now in his mother’s home. His childhood home. The wretched decor surrounding him. That smell of potpourri and the faintest hint of mildew.
His mother nags him about his appearance. About his problems and how she’s disappointed.
But her words don’t quite filter through. They cannot breach the gulf between him and her. Not anymore.
What does she want? What did she ever hope to accomplish? To shame him? For what? He’s not sure. That’s the great mystery of life, eh? What are these control freaks hoping to accomplish when they run everyone down?
She must want to feel powerful. Degrading him must do that for her.
Maybe this apple didn’t fall so far from the tree.
With the diarrhea of nag fully tuned out, he moves to get what he came here for. Newspapers.
The press conference on the news merely whet his appetite for that kind of content. The media pitching in to make him feel the way he wants to feel. And that Detective — Luck — was pretty good. Maybe the two of them understood each other. Opposite sides of the coin and all.
The newspapers wouldn’t be as good as that. But they were something.
He leafs through the papers stacked up under the sink awaiting their exit via the recycling bin. So many stories about him. Big bold headlines that make his heart flutter.
Doll Parts Killer terrorizes Athens County
FBI assisting in Doll Parts case
Family remembers Athens victim
This last one catches his eye. Even if it’s not about him directly.
The article details the large-scale memorial for Fiona Worthington that Luck mentioned. Funny. She was a stuck-up, la-de-da bitch in school. School. Yes. Would the police be able to make that connection? He doesn’t know. It seems possible.
But he’s a clever boy. He always was. He’d made it complicated for them.
The picture next to the article makes his eyes go wide for a second. The face looks just like hers did in high school, but it’s not. It’s her sister. Emily. The girl holds a stuffed elephant. Mister Toots, according to the caption. Fiona’s favorite. It will be among the mementos present at the memorial service.
He licks his lips. Can’t resist. He creases the page. Tears carefully along the fold. Shoves the picture deep into his pocket.
Chapter 58
Darger, Loshak, and Luck spent Friday morning fine-tuning the plan for the memorial that would take place the following week.
“I’ll see if the Athens office can spare some of our people to do the first round of watching the grave site,” Loshak said. “I don’t know if O’Day and Haden will be too wild about the idea of approving another round of stakeouts. Besides, they’re already doing the bulk of the surveillance during the vigil.”
“Have you asked the Bureau about giving us a tracking device for the elephant?” Darger asked.
“I talked the resident office here in Athens into lending us one.”
Loshak fluffed the hair on top of his head with a pencil.
“Doubt we’ll really need it since the damn thing’s so big,” he mused. “That’s why I picked that one in particular. No one’s going to be sneaking off with that in their pocket.”
“Better safe than sorry,” Luck said.
By afternoon, they’d outlined another press release for Detective Luck’s next news conference. They were expecting twice as many crews as the first one, as affiliates from farther outside the Athens area had contacted them, wanting to be notified of any future endeavors.
They had called it a day and were tidying up the interview room when Luck paused. He had been flipping through his notepad.
“Agent Loshak, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Luck started, then hesitated. He fiddled with the button on his suit jacket.
“What is it?”
; “I just wondered if you thought the body position at the time of death had any significance or not.”
“What about it?” Loshak asked, and Darger immediately realized she’d made a mistake.
She vaguely recalled Casey mentioning that Fiona, unlike the others, had signs suggesting she’d been face down after death. Luck thought it might mean something, and Violet had said she’d mention it to Loshak. Only the thing was, in all the confusion since then, she had completely overlooked it.
“Fiona Worthington being different than the other three, I mean,” Luck said.
His eyes flicked over to Darger, and she knew he’d figured it out now. His jaw muscles tensed. He seemed to wrestle with some decision. Whether to call her out or not, most likely. He turned his body away from her, squaring himself toward Loshak. Cutting her out.
“It was only a theory, or not even. Just something I noticed, really. But the lividity marks on Fiona Worthington indicated her being facedown after death, while the other three were face up, and it got me thinking… maybe he didn’t want her looking when he did his work.”
Loshak’s mouth was working as if he were sucking on a piece of candy.
“Show me,” he finally said.
“I have the file in my van.”
Violet walked behind them as they made their way out of the building and down the cement steps to the parking lot. She continued to hang back while they pored over the autopsy photos of the four girls.
“Well damn,” Loshak said. “I didn’t even notice it. Good eye, Luck.”
“You think it means something?”
“It could. And if it does — if it means that Fiona was significant to him somehow — then even more reason for everything we have planned. We might have a real chance at getting him to walk right into the trap.”
They parted ways then, Loshak and Darger heading back to the motel.
“That Detective Luck is smarter than the average Athens county bear,” Loshak said as they drove.
Darger kept her mouth shut. It wasn’t that she thought Luck was wrong. She’d just started to get this sense that maybe people were a little too eager to give all the attention to Fiona Worthington when the fact was, there were three other victims. They hadn’t been as rich or educated or pretty as Fiona, but that didn’t make them any less worthwhile as human beings.
