Karen rubbed her forehead. "What a sordid web this is. My head already hurts like hell, and trying to make sense of all this is just making it worse."
"Yeah, but I think we're definitely onto something here. Jeremiah was a pretty confused kid, just ripe for being seduced by a teacher he respected. Both he and MacDonald might initially have been willing participants in those sex videos, but I'm guessing Jantz and Weld used the videos as blackmail to keep them involved. Maybe Connor secretly taped them all with his iPhone, which is why it went missing. Jantz took it. Connor was in love with Jeremiah and maybe he was trying to force Jeremiah to cut loose from all the sex games."
"But he didn't know the hold Weld had on him."
"Right. And he also underestimated what a sadistic monster Paul Weld is. This is a guy who killed not only MacDonald and Thomas but also his sex buddy, Jantz. All to keep his little secrets from getting exposed."
"DWR_forever," Karen said. "What would a biology teacher who moonlights as a football coach use as his handle?"
All at once, Gage knew. "Darwin! Darwin Was Right! He told me himself! Remember the article he said Jeremiah wrote in high school, the one about evolution? And Connor's drawing, the one with DWR and all the animals—that fits too."
"Darwin was right … forever." Karen nodded. "It seems like a pretty good bet. Survival of the fittest. Maybe that's the way he sees himself. But now what are you going to do about it? He's not just going to admit to murder if you accuse him."
"No. And it's pretty likely that there's no evidence at that sex dungeon linking him to any of this. Or anywhere, for that matter. And the only witness is currently sitting in jail, having confessed to murder. Even if Jeremiah agreed to point the finger at Weld, who would believe him?"
"We would," Karen said.
"And we'd be the only ones. No, I've got to find another way, and I've got to find it quickly … All right, I think I have an idea. Can you post on that website, SpacedOut?"
Karen brought up her phone and, with a few clicks, was ready to go. "Of course. But what kind of message are you going to send him? Meet me at the O.K. Corral at high noon? He doesn't need to meet you at all right now. He can just sit back and wait for the net to close around you. He's not really afraid of being caught at this point."
"Yes, he could. But I don't think being caught is what he fears most. Not if we judge him by all that he's done lately. There's something he fears a lot more."
"What's that?"
"Being exposed. This is a respected small-town biology teacher, a beloved assistant coach. Rumors can be a lot more deadly than the police. And if a rumor has enough truth to it that it can plausibly be true? It's even worse."
"Okay. So what do you want to message him?"
"Oh, I didn't say I wanted to message him. I asked if you could post on the site."
"Post on the site?"
"Yep." Gage crossed over to her, sitting on the bed. "Out in public for all to read. It's going to be about a small-town biology teacher who was very, very bad."
"You know," Karen said, "there is a chance you're wrong about this. If you are, you could ruin an innocent man's—"
"Oh, I'm not going to use his name. Not yet. That'll be Part 2, the coming attraction. If this works right, we won't need to go that far."
"What are you hoping he'll do?"
"I'm hoping he shows up for a shoot-out at the O.K. Corral."
"You're not serious?"
"I'm completely serious. Part 1 is going to be the general details, including a teaser about Part 2—which will include not only his name but pictures of his lair."
"But where is his lair?"
"Somewhere at BBCC. There are probably only a couple of buildings that might have a basement like that. The dorm. The library. The student union. I might have to sneak into a few."
"How do you know he's left anything behind?"
"He probably hasn't. It won't matter. When he sees we haven't posted pictures yet, it will gnaw at him. His first instinct will be to go there just to make sure he hasn't left anything that will incriminate him."
"But—"
"Trust me. I don't have enough evidence to put him behind bars. I need to take matters into my own hands. Don't post the message quite yet, though. I'm going to need to get over there and find that sex dungeon first. I just want you to have the post ready when I tell you to put it up."
"How do we know he'll see it?"
With a smile, Gage pointed at her phone. "Because you're going to message him and tell him it's there."
Chapter 22
Gage knew he had the right place. The basement beneath the library had the feel of a dungeon—dusty floors, exposed pipes, one odd-shaped room after another dimly lit by fluorescent panel lights, half of which didn't work. He was only in there a moment when he realized why the word dungeon was the first thing that came to mind, and why the place seemed oddly familiar. Except for minor differences—there were no chains affixed to the walls, after all—it matched the drawing he'd seen in Connor's sketch pad, the one of the detailed dungeon.
Connor had left them another clue in plain sight.
Gage shuffled from room to room, the disposable 35-mm he'd bought at the mini-mart in hand, his leather jacket still dripping water on the floor. He'd taken a couple of pictures, just for the heck of it, but there wasn't anything of note except for hundreds of blue plastic totes full of boxes of student records dating back half a century. Gage was in the central room, where he'd been for some time, when he heard the telltale creak of the door at the top of the stairs. Shortly after that, he heard footsteps.
When he turned, there was Paul Weld, dressed in his green windbreaker and matching baseball cap. The slick jacket glistened. Seeing Gage, he paused halfway down the flight of stairs, the two of them sizing each other up, the basement as silent as a crypt. It was raining when Gage had entered the basement, but it could have been a snowstorm outside for all he knew. There was no way to tell.
"There's nothing here," Weld said.
Gage surveyed his surroundings, as if taking them in for the first time. "I can see that," he said.
"I'm guessing you're disappointed."
"A little. It looked so different in the movie. Must be the magic of Hollywood, huh?"
Weld responded with a limp smile, then continued down the steps, keeping his gaze locked on Gage the entire time. The smile might have been limp, but the eyes were as focused as a tiger's. Gage raised the camera, thinking he'd snap a photo, but Weld was out with a Ruger revolver before Gage had even centered Weld in the photo.
"Put it on the floor," Weld said.
"Wow," Gage said, "I'm a little camera shy myself, but this is taking it a bit far."
"Put the camera on the floor. Now."
Now the voice was as deadly as the eyes. His other hand raised where Weld could see it, Gage lowered the camera to the floor.
"Kick it over here," Weld said.
"What?"
"You heard me."
Gage gave it a gentle kick. He hadn't given the kick much force, but the plastic box still skidded across the concrete floor like a hockey puck. Weld stopped it with his foot. Without looking away from Gage and keeping the revolver pointed at Gage the entire time, he eased himself to the floor and picked up the camera.
"A little old-school, isn't it?" Weld said. "What, you were going to get these developed at Walmart, scan them, then load them on the Internet?"
"What's the Internet?"
"Very funny. All right, now your gun. Take it out, very easy, and slide it on the floor too."
"I don't have a gun."
"Do it."
Gage, taking his time about it, reached behind him and under the jacket, bringing out the Glock he'd borrowed from Karen. Weld tightened his grip and zeroed his aim on the center of Gage's chest. Keeping the gun at arm's length, held by the barrel and not the grip, Gage lowered it to the concrete a foot away from him, then kicked it across the floor. Weld picked it up, eyed it fo
r a moment, then shrugged and slipped it into the side pocket of his windbreaker.
"Too easy," Weld said. He looked at the camera again. "You got any pictures of your lady friend on here? I mean, from before. She's not so photogenic now, is she? Terrible accident, that was. A lot of crazy drivers in this town."
"Crazy indeed," Gage said. "Especially when they're driving stolen Hummers. How about you, Paul? You drive any Hummers lately?"
Weld shook his head. "I don't know exactly what you were trying to accomplish here. Did you really think you would find something here to implicate me? Did you really think you'd just waltz in here and find everything you needed to clear your name and put me behind bars?"
"A man can hope," Gage said.
"You're a fool."
"I've been called worse."
Weld smiled, and this time it wasn't a limp smile at all, but a deeply sinister one that revealed a man who was fully capable of trying to run someone off the road with a Hummer, as well as much worse. "How about a murderer? A twisted homosexual? A blackmailer and a recorder of disturbing sex videos?"
"What?"
"Let me guess," Weld said. "You have a tape recorder of some kind in your pocket? Or a video camera positioned somewhere on one of these boxes? Maybe you thought if I showed up, you'd get me to confess, is that it? You'd get me to confess on camera to all of those terrible things I supposedly did, then you'd just call the police and let the law run its course. Was that the plan?"
Gage said nothing.
"Don't worry," Weld said, "after you're dead, I'll find anything you've got on you—or anything you've placed in the room. Oh, does that surprise you? Yes, you're going to die, Gage. Not only that, but I'll be the hero that saved the town from a sadistic monster. All of those things you were hoping to find down here? They're in my car. And when you're dead, I'll bring them down here, so when the police arrive, there will be plenty of proof that you were the one teaming up with the poor unfortunate Patrick Jantz, who of course isn't around anymore to say anything differently. In fact, no one is around who will say differently."
"Jeremiah is," Gage said.
"No one would believe him even if he did. And besides, he's a murderer himself. He confessed, didn't you hear?"
"I don't believe it. What do you have over him?"
"Believe anything you want," Weld said. "The boy's a murderer. When his pretty little friend threatened to expose his, um, after-hours habits, well, Jeremiah couldn't have that, could he? It would absolutely destroy Arne and Jeanie. Now, I want you to give me the password so I can erase that terrible lie you posted on the Internet. I don't think it will cause too many problems—if someone has seen it, I'll just say you were trying to blackmail me—but better that it goes away."
"I'm not telling you anything," Gage said.
Weld shook his head. "You know, before I followed you from the hospital, I stopped by the Turret House looking for you. Zoe was there. She was sleeping. She didn't even know I was in the house with her. Very pretty girl."
Gage clenched his fists but didn't say anything. Now, more than ever, he needed to remain in control.
"Ah," Weld said, "I see I got to you. I can't promise you that lady friend of yours will, um, survive her injuries, but Zoe, well, she doesn't have to die."
"Bastard," Gage said. "How dare you threaten her."
"I'm not threatening anyone. I'm just saying that the ones you love may die before their time. Oh, and that frumpy old bookseller friend of yours? He might get very depressed at losing you and drive off one of the bluffs. Awful things happen, Gage."
"Why are you doing all this? What made you this twisted?"
"The password."
"I don't know it."
"Liar."
"Why would I know it? It's Karen's account."
"Give it to me or I'll cut your daughter into little pieces."
"You shouldn't make threats like that," Gage said. "The police are in the other room right now. They're hearing every word."
Weld laughed. "Desperate. You surprise me again, Gage. I'd heard such great things about you. Of course I was waiting outside when you got here. I waited a good long while to make sure you were alone. Though I don't know why I bothered, really. You're alone, Gage. You're a suspected murderer on the run. And more than that, no one in this town likes you. They don't like you and they don't want you here. They're all going to be willing to believe the worst. So you really blundered into this one, Gage." He snickered. "The great Garrison Gage, who turned out to be a sexual deviant and a murderer. It kind of erases all those laudatory things that have been written about you in the press, doesn't it?"
"But why MacDonald and Thomas? Why kill them?"
"Hmm? I don't know what you're talking about."
"You needed to tidy up those loose ends, too?"
"Could have been a break-in, I suppose."
"You must be ashamed," Gage said.
"What?"
"Even now, you won't admit to what you've done?" Gage said. "You're going to kill me and you won't admit it? You must be ashamed of it all. You may be a sick perverted bastard, but you must realize you're a sick perverted bastard. How's that for evolution. Do you think Darwin would see it the same way?"
Weld's face changed. That limp smile, that placid expression, it began to melt away, leaving something more brittle underneath. "You'd best stop talking now. I was going to shoot you in the heart, but I think I'll shoot you in the stomach instead. Let you bleed out on the floor for a while before I put you out of your misery."
"What did you have on MacDonald? You take pictures of him with his lovers and threaten to go public with them unless he played your twisted game?"
"Stop."
"Or how about Jeremiah? You've known him since he was little, haven't you? I bet this didn't start with the college. I bet you're a child molester too."
"No! It was never like that. I—I loved them. I loved them all."
"But you killed them."
"No, I—"
"Do you always kill the people you love?"
"I didn't—"
"It was you Jeremiah was talking about when I first found him on the beach, wasn't it? He called himself a coward, and I thought it was because he couldn't commit suicide, but it was really because he couldn't kill you. How does it feel to have him spend the rest of his life behind prison for a murder you committed? Is that what love is?"
"I didn't do that! I—"
"What a pathetic liar you are," Gage said. "Do you actually believe—"
The revolver fired. Gage took the shot like a punch to the stomach—or more like a baseball bat, from how the blow felt. He got a glimpse of Weld's surprised face before he stumbled backward, then crumpled into a heap and landed hard on his back. If there was any air left in his lungs, the fall would have knocked it out of him, but the bullet had already done the trick.
Gasping for breath, he clutched at his chest and groped around the hole in the leather.
No blood.
Thank God there was no blood. Gage couldn't breathe, his ears were ringing, but there was no blood.
"I don't—I don't—" Weld began, but then he was cut short by the shouts of men and the stampede of feet.
There were the sounds of struggle, the clatter of Weld's gun hitting the floor, then the clink of handcuffs. By the time Gage, who could finally breathe again, summoned the strength to sit up, Chief Quinn was kneeling at his side. Behind him, Brisbane and Trenton flanked Weld, who had his hands cuffed behind him. Two twitchy-faced cops, young enough that they were probably wearing diapers under their uniforms, still had their guns out, though at least they had the decency to point them away from everyone.
"You all right?" Quinn asked.
"I was just shot," Gage said. "What do you think?"
"Technically, the bulletproof vest was shot. You seem to be okay."
"Details, details. You know, you and your friends took your time there."
"Needed to make sure we had enough pro
of, you know that."
"Or maybe you just wanted to see me shot."
"There could be some of that. Let me help you up."
It wasn't easy to stand up straight, not with the pain burning in the center of his chest like the tip of a branding iron, but Gage managed. He refused to look weak in front of Weld, who was staring at Gage with the kind of astonishment that could only come from someone whose view of the world had been turned upside down. Handcuffed with his arms behind him, surrounded by cops, he looked so much smaller and more pathetic than he had even moments ago.
"But I—I watched the library," he sputtered. "I saw—saw you come in. Nobody followed."
"I called them before we posted the message at SpacedOut," Gage said.
"You—you called the police? When you're a suspected murderer?"
"It was a risky move," Gage said. "But you were wrong, Weld. Barnacle Bluffs is my home now. You may have grown up here, but it's not home to you, not the way it is to me. I decided to see if the other people who see it as their home too would give me one more chance. Even if they didn't like me all that much. For once, I didn't need to go it alone."
"All right, enough with the Hallmark moments," Quinn said, then stepped in and read Weld his Miranda rights.
Whatever fury was left in Weld drained out of him; his face hardened into a blank white plaster mold. When Brisbane and Trenton led him to the stairs, Gage couldn't help but wonder how long a sick deviant like Weld would last in a maximum-security prison. When his new friends found out what Weld had been doing with Jeremiah when Jeremiah was still a minor, they might not be too forgiving about it. Even the most hardened criminals had their standards.
"Two weeks, tops," Gage said.
"What?" Quinn said.
"Nothing. Thanks for coming through for me, by the way. I know I don't say that word enough."
"Thanks? Yeah, I didn't know it was in your vocabulary. You don't make it easy to help you, you know that."
"It's my nature."
"Yeah, well, you're lucky it's not my nature. I keep looking for a reason to help someone even if they don't want it."
"Everyone has their flaws," Gage said.
The Lovely Wicked Rain: An Oregon Coast Mystery (Garrison Gage Series) Page 23
