As I passed through the living room and into the kitchen, I glanced out the front window to see if there were any unrecognizable cars. The street was vacant aside from a black sedan that seemed vaguely familiar to me. The only other vehicles in sight were my car and her truck.
Once inside the kitchen, I checked the pantry. Clear. I checked alongside the refrigerator. Clear. And then I saw the back door wide open. I raised my gun to eye level and peered through the screen door to make sure the scene was clear before going outside. The light in the detached garage was on, which seemed odd. Ali said she used the garage for storage, but I couldn’t imagine what would be out there that she needed to pack.
With only a little sunlight peeking through the heavy clouds, I walked through the backyard toward the right side of the garage, my shoes sticking to the damp grass. The lump in my throat had started to subside by the time I reached the side door of the garage. The window was covered in grime, making it difficult to see inside. I could make out a long wooden table along the far wall. It looked empty—with the exception of several stacks of newspapers, which seemed odd, considering Ali told me on our first date that she never read the paper.
As I placed my gun back in its holster, I walked into the garage, keeping my eyes locked on the table across from me. In my peripheral vision, I could see a shovel and a few garden tools. Other than that, the garage was empty. She didn’t seem to have much in the way of storage. I felt the warmth from the single bulb that hung from a loose cord above my head. The closer I got to the table, the more I realized that Ali did, indeed, follow the papers.
Stories about the Vantage Woods killer had been cut out and taped to the table. The most recent articles had yet to be added. Starting at the far left corner, clippings about every murder that had taken place in Lyons during the past three years had been placed in chronological order. The table was a timeline.
Above the table, pinned to a corkboard loosely tied to the garage wall, was a detailed map of Vantage Woods. It was the same map found on the inside of the Visitors Guide brochure. It listed the names of the restaurants along the edge of town—near where Vantage Woods began—along with the only convenience store, which was located at the other end of the woods. Pariah’s had been circled in red ink, and there were several Xs marked along the map’s hiking trails. I studied the location of each X, all four shockingly familiar: where bodies had been found during the past two years.
The names of the hiking trails had been published in the media, so it was considered common knowledge among the locals to know roughly where the bodies had been discovered. But to have a map with this much detail, marking the precise location of each crime scene? That wasn’t typical behavior. It was the behavior of someone who had a vested interest in the murders. And aside from the police, the only other person who could know or care this much was the person who committed the murders.
I took a step back and looked at the table again. I picked up a clipping sitting atop the stack of papers closest to me. It was dated the day after Tara’s body had been found: “Police captain’s daughter dead: Officials suspect foul play” with Tara’s graduation photo under the headline.
The tips of my fingers went numb as I let go of the thin piece of newsprint. It floated like a fall leaf toward the floor as the rest of the articles on the table became a black-and-white blur. I felt my body start to sway from side to side as the lump in my throat expanded and I could no longer breathe.
For a moment, the room went dark. I felt myself moving in slow motion as the stench of betrayal filled my lungs. I gasped for air. I placed my hand on my stomach and hurled forward, steadying myself on the edge of the table so as not to topple over. I began to choke on the bile making its way up my esophagus, but nothing came out. I wiped my eyes and tried in vain to gain my balance as the room started to spin. Feeling almost paralyzed, I forced myself to stand up straight and stumbled back in an attempt to leave the space.
“I can explain,” Ali said softly, coming out from the shadows of the garage. With less than ten feet between us, she walked toward the side door, blocking the only exit.
“I swear on everything, I will shoot you,” I managed to say through clenched teeth as I pulled my gun back out of its holster and aimed it at her heart. With tears streaming down my face, I used my right thumb to click off the safety. There was nothing stopping me from pulling the trigger.
“Lace, please, let me explain—”
“Don’t you call me that. You don’t get to call me that.” My voice and hands shook as I took a step closer. I didn’t want to be anywhere near her, but I had to. My tears were blurring my vision, and I could barely see her clearly to make a clean shot. I could feel my arms start to shake as I tightened my grip on my gun.
“Please. Put the gun down.” Ali raised her hands in surrender. “It’s not what it seems.”
“‘Not what it seems?’” I screamed. “What is all this?” I kept my gun pointed right at her. “Why do you have articles about Tara? And these women?” I felt the vomit rise again in the back of my throat.
“It’s me,” she said. “You know me. Just put the gun down,” she pleaded.
“I don’t know you at all,” I sobbed. The Ali I knew could never be capable of this. The Ali I knew was patient and kind and made me feel like there was something left to look forward to in this life. The Ali I knew made me feel alive—and could never be responsible for this much death. “Fuck!” I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to clear away the tears.
When I opened my eyes, I felt all my remaining strength leave my fingertips. I lowered my gun and walked backward until I could lean against the edge of the table. I looked at Ali in utter disbelief. Every emotion I had ever felt completely drained from my body. Numb wasn’t even an option.
“It’s not me,” Ali said. “I didn’t do this.” She walked toward me, and I raised my gun. Then I lowered it. Then I raised it again. As she got closer to me, I could see she was just as heartbroken as I was—although I couldn’t understand why. “I can explain in the car. But we have to go. Right now.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I shouted as I steadied my stance. “Why do you have these?”
“I know who’s behind these murders. At least I think I do. But we have to go now,” she repeated.
“Tell me, who?” I took a step toward her, my gun only a foot from her forehead.
“Babe, please, let’s just—” But before she could finish her plea, a dark figure rushed into the garage, knocked Ali aside, and lunged at me.
We tumbled backward, my lower spine slamming against the edge of the table. I gasped in pain and suddenly recognized my attacker—Keegan, the lanky attendant from the gas station. We locked eyes for a moment as he hovered above me, the malice in his smile growing as he wrapped one hand around my throat and the other around the barrel of my gun. We fought for possession of the weapon, his grasp crushing my throat. The tug-of-war ended when my kneecap connected with his crotch. He doubled over in pain, and I pushed him off me.
As I gasped for breath, I looked behind him and saw Ali frantically trying to get up. I got to my knees and tried to stand. Keegan threw himself on top of me, and he and I both fell to the ground again. Even with all the adrenaline flowing through me, I wasn’t strong enough. Keegan gathered the front of my shirt in his fist and yanked me toward him. He used his left fist to pummel my right cheek, and I tasted blood as it filled my mouth. The blow knocked the gun from my hand, and I heard it skid across the garage floor.
He cocked his fist for another punch. Right before I closed my eyes, I saw Ali standing above us. She raised a shovel above her shoulder and swung it like a baseball bat. It hit Keegan across his right side and knocked him off me. As I turned over and crawled toward my gun, I heard a loud smack and saw Ali fall to the ground.
I rolled back around and aimed my gun at Keegan. I managed to shoot a single round in his direction, skimming the left side of his biceps as he retreated toward the door. As he stumbled outside, I made my
way over to Ali. She was barely conscious but still breathing.
Without even thinking to call for backup, I ran outside after Keegan. As I rounded the front of Ali’s house, my ears filled with the ringing of sirens and the clapping of thunder. I saw several squad cars parked in the yard, their red and blue flashes lighting the cloud-covered sky. Two officers had their weapons drawn. They aimed at Keegan, who was on his knees with his hands clasped behind his head as a third officer handcuffed him.
As more officers arrived on the scene, I saw Bishop get out of his black sedan and make his way toward me. Without saying a word, I collapsed into his chest. He walked me onto Ali’s front porch. He asked me if I wanted to sit down. Against my better judgment, I declined. He ordered me to keep my back turned away from the street where Keegan was being escorted into a police cruiser.
“We got him,” he said, smoothing back my hair. “He’s being arrested.” I took a step back and glanced over my shoulder. Keegan was in the back of a patrol car. “You should have the paramedics check that out,” Bishop said, rubbing his thumb over my right cheekbone. I pulled away at the sharp sting, and he led me toward an ambulance as he placed his jacket over my shoulders.
In less than thirty minutes, the paramedics had placed a bandage over my hand where I’d apparently scraped it against the garage floor while wrestling with Keegan. They patched up my cheek, too, and gave me a few aspirin to numb the pain—but it wasn’t my face that hurt.
The paramedics recommended I go to the hospital for a CAT scan. Bishop insisted.
“All right, I’ll go.” I forced a smile, but it was too painful to fake. As I sat in the back of the ambulance, an officer approached.
“Sir?” he said to Bishop. “We’re just about finished here. We’ve taken the suspect into custody, and the woman is headed to the hospital.” He must have been referring to Ali. “There’s just one small matter,” he added.
“What’s that?” Bishop asked.
The officer had Viggo cradled in his arms. “Should I take him to a shelter?” Viggo started to whimper. Bishop turned to me with a sympathetic smile.
Before I could say a word, Bishop took Ali’s dog from the officer’s arms and placed him on my lap.
Chapter Fifteen
After I stopped by my house to drop off Viggo, I decided to go to the station to see if I could be of any assistance. I arrived about an hour after Bishop had returned from Ali’s house. Surely, I was still kicked off the case—especially given the recent discovery of Ali’s potential involvement—but I wanted to be available to give a statement.
I walked down the hallway toward the interview room, the heels of my shoes clicking on the floor. The cream-colored walls were blank except for a few framed documents of the town’s history. A large black-and-white photo of the first judge appointed to Lyons County hung next to the door that led to the interview room.
As I opened the door and walked into the witness room, I could see behind the one-way mirror where Bishop and Braxton were interrogating Keegan. The speaker was on, and I could hear Keegan answering the detectives’ questions in a monotone voice, as if he were telling them how to peel paint off a wall. I stood behind the glass and watched as Keegan smirked while Braxton read the names of the victims whom we believed he’d murdered. I was surprised to hear Braxton mention Hillary Palmer.
“Behind Pariah’s, sure,” Keegan replied. He looked Braxton dead in the eyes, as if daring him to keep going. I watched Bishop next to Braxton. He was writing down the victims’ names as Keegan casually confirmed his guilt.
“Tammy Davis?” Braxton asked.
“Sure.” Keegan nodded. “Sure did luck out with that one.” He stifled a laugh. “I didn’t know who she was until the news said she was a reporter. Thanks for that bit of information.”
“You didn’t know she was a reporter?” Braxton broke from character.
“Nope,” he said, popping the “p” sound while slowly shaking his head. The blatant lack of remorse for his actions was almost unbearable to watch. “And Jessica Reynolds?” Braxton asked, clenching his teeth.
With a mere nod, Keegan claimed her too.
“You forgot one,” Keegan said.
“Who’s that?” Braxton sat back in his chair as Bishop looked up from his notes with quasi-concern.
Keegan, still cuffed to the table, suddenly stood from his chair and lifted his shirt. Across his waistline, almost a dozen names were permanently etched into his skin, with all the skill and sophistication of jailhouse tattoos. He turned from side to side, showing off the names while simultaneously apologizing for his “indecency”. I watched as Keegan gleefully toyed with Braxton and Bishop, as if they were part of a bonus level in his sick, twisted game.
I couldn’t make out the names on his tattooed torso, so I glanced toward Braxton and Bishop to gauge their reactions. Within seconds, Bishop went from morbid curiosity to full-blown rage. His face, which was typically fair-skinned, turned a dark red resembling the color of blood. He reached across the table and wrapped his hands around Keegan’s neck. Braxton quickly dove on top of Bishop’s arms in an effort to break the chokehold.
Impulsively, I darted into the interview room to help Braxton get a hold of Bishop. As I grabbed Bishop’s hands to loosen his grasp on Keegan, I looked down and caught a glimpse of the only name that could’ve sent Bishop into such frenzy: Tara Bishop, scrawled across Keegan’s stomach, just under his rib cage, in a font that looked like a child’s handwriting. Half-dazed, I slowly let go of Bishop’s hands and stepped backward.
The activity in the room started to move in slow motion—although I knew everything was actually happening at lightning speed. Braxton struggled to keep Bishop away from Keegan, but Bishop outweighed him by nearly forty pounds, which didn’t even include the weight of Bishop’s anger. Keegan just stood there, a sadistic smirk across his face while he welcomed Bishop’s attempted assault. Braxton looked in my direction, pleading with his eyes for me to help him.
But I just stood there.
I wanted Bishop to kill Keegan. Because if he didn’t, I knew I would.
I could feel my throat close as the contents of my stomach raced up my esophagus. Tears started to build in my eyes, and I began to choke. But I was too paralyzed with disbelief to gasp for air.
“Bishop!” Braxton yelled. I finally turned around and saw three officers run into the room. Together, they dragged Bishop away from the table and out the door. Braxton looked at me, still in shock, and ordered me to leave.
“Let her stay,” Keegan hissed, a hint of seduction in his voice. He looked at me and an uncontrollable shiver ran up my spine. “I’m not finished with her yet,” he purred.
Before I could speak, Braxton placed his hand firmly under my left arm and pulled me out of the room. He let go when we reached the hallway. Bishop was there too, being held against the wall by the three officers who’d escorted him out. He was shouting at the officers to let him go yet reassuring them he was in control of his anger.
The officers reluctantly let Bishop go when Braxton walked over. But Braxton’s attempts to calm Bishop down only served to start a heated discussion. Bishop might’ve been Braxton’s superior, but Braxton was leading the conversation.
They stopped speaking when I approached.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” Braxton snapped and pointed his finger in my face. He had never spoken so harshly to me before.
“You may be lead on this case, Braxton, but you will not speak to her—or me—like that again,” Bishop replied on my behalf, his tone equally abrasive. “You understand me?”
“You’re right, Captain. I’m sorry.” Braxton paused. “But it’s best for the investigation if you both leave,” he calmly added. He looked me up and down with sorrow in his eyes. “I’m really sorry, Mills.”
Before I had a chance to respond, Braxton swung open the door to the interview room and walked back inside. For a moment, I could see Keegan sitting peacefully at the table, as if non
e of this had even happened. He seemed completely at ease.
“I’ve been taken off the case too,” Bishop said after the door closed behind Braxton. He slumped against the wall and stared at the floor. “As soon as he admitted killing Tara—and more than a dozen other women—I was taken off the case.” He began to tear up. “Braxton thinks she was his first victim, not Crystal Yui, like we thought. Keegan probably didn’t even know she was my daughter.”
I just stood there as he started to cry. I couldn’t think of anything to say that would comfort him.
He continued, “Braxton threw me out of the room because he knew I was going to kill him. With my bare hands. I was going to kill him.” He began to wipe the tears from his eyes. “I had no idea Brax was so strong,” he added dryly.
“I know. I saw.”
“You did?” He seemed surprised.
“I was in the room, just now—”
“You shouldn’t be here,” he snapped.
“I thought I might be able to help,” I said, trying to defend my actions.
“You can help by letting us do our jobs,” he said and burst into tears again. For a man usually so together, he was definitely broken.
“Where’s Ali?” I finally asked, trying to change the subject.
“She’s at the hospital,” he replied, still sobbing. He cleared his throat and wiped the tears from his face again, trying to gain composure once more. “What about you? What did the doctor say?”
“I haven’t been yet,” I admitted hesitantly. “I went home to drop off the dog, then came straight here.”
“Damn it, Mills,” he said, his frustration with me clearly taking over. “Go to the hospital right now and get that head of yours examined. That’s an order,” he added.
“I’m going.” I put both hands up to let him know I surrendered and that he’d won this round. I turned to walk down the hallway toward the parking garage. With each step I took, I could feel tears burning behind my eyes. I couldn’t let myself cry—not yet. There was still work that needed to be done. We had to put this psychotic man behind bars. I couldn’t let my emotions get to me. I had to be strong.
Sight Lines Page 14
