But the first girl was a misstep. And that failure now marred the perfection of his premiere. He needed to remedy the mistake.
If at first you don’t succeed…
With the runner, he had planned ahead and didn’t act as rashly. When the idea first came to him and he imagined its execution, he had chosen a setting where things were familiar and safe. He had wandered the halls and moved among the students. He knew the layout, had visited the bathroom prior to the act and thought he’d known what to expect. Yet, all his knowledge, his anticipations, had failed him.
This time he’s chosen a different school.
He had rehearsed so much the movements were smooth and easy; he no longer had to think it through, his body flowed with the rhythm of his victim. They could exist together in the moment, adjusting to each step, each action leading to a new and exciting reaction, until they reached the catharsis together, where they could go no higher, and their moment together would come to its resolution.
After the runner, he knew he had to re-stage the first act and rectify his mistake. His chosen setting was a school that had been built in the city’s southwest to accommodate the influx of families that had moved into the new subdivision in recent years.
He arrives in the afternoon to get his bearings, but not early enough to attract attention. He had scouted the location the morning before, watched as the students went inside, and took notes on how they dressed. Jeans and a tee-shirt, and he would be set for the role. There were also a lot of baseball caps at this school, but it felt like they drew attention to his desire to be inconspicuous. He opted for a hoodie instead, which worked as camouflage for his body type. He had copied a schedule of his brother’s and altered it with names and classes from the school’s website in case a teacher asks why he is wandering the halls.
He slips into the library, going to the stacks to grab a book by Cormac McCarthy before sitting down at a cubicle in the corner to wait. When the bell finally rings, he’s read through a couple of chapters and reminds himself to pick it up after he’s finished here. Outside the library, he finds his way to the gymnasium. Boys’ basketball occupies both courts, so he moves on. There’s likely someone in the girl’s change room too, so he proceeds down the hall.
The main office is at the end of the hallway he’s in, two teachers stand outside. He’s running out of options if he wants to remain inconspicuous. Turning down the next corridor, he sees a brunette—most likely a senior—come out of a classroom, backpack slung over her shoulder. She turns off the light, locks the door, and looks over at him with a brief smile before turning away to leave.
That suits him just fine. His pulse kicks up a notch.
He saunters to a water fountain and takes a long, slow drink, waiting for her to disappear from view. When she turns a corner, he goes after her.
But the next hallway appears empty and silent, and he is surprised by the depth of his disappointment. Then he spots her at the far end, half hidden by an open locker door.
He watches, hoping she’ll be the one, and his heartbeat steadies at its new pace.
She closes her locker, crossing the hallway to go into the bathroom.
He smiles and follows.
chapter 37
It’s late and the hard work is done. He waits in the darkness of the bathroom because the janitors clock out at 11:00. When he’s certain they’re in another part of the school, he opens the door and peers down the darkened hallway in both directions. The exit signs glow like beacons. He holds himself motionless, making sure that he is alone, that he has all the time in the world.
In the girl’s bag is a set of car keys.
When he scouted the school the previous day, he had noticed the shop doors on the east side, so he heads in that direction now. He should be able to find something he can use to move the body.
He’s still cautious. There is always the chance that a teacher has come back late to work. He doubts it but if he is wrong, if his luck turns bad, then he’ll have to make a choice. If they’re strong—a coach or gym teacher, say—he’ll have to run and hope to hell he can get away. An art or science teacher, he could probably overpower. Either way, a confrontation is not part of the story he’s imagined and the possibility of an unpremeditated moment is worrying.
It’s best to be careful.
But he encounters no one on his way to the industrial arts area. The door is locked and he doesn’t want to leave any trace of his presence, so he decides not to break the glass window to get inside. He checks the garage next and finds it shut tight as well. He considers the options. The maintenance rooms will likely be secure, as well as the gym. He moves stealthily back down the hall toward the library. There’s a set of double doors with a wide gap between them and he pulls out his jackknife and slides it in and against the latch. By wiggling it back and forth, he slowly pushes the bolt past the strike plate. The door swings open and he walks inside.
Behind the checkout desk is a back room. Its door is unlocked. In the back corner, a projector squats on a cart. Perfect. He lifts it off and pulls the cart out of the library, wheeling it down the halls back to the bathroom.
The girl’s heels drag on the tiles as he pulls her out from the back stall. Lifting and shoving, he manoeuvres her onto the cart, careful to tuck her hair under her so that it won’t catch in the wheels. Rigor mortis makes her easier to load but unwieldy to move on the projector cart, and he makes a mental note to give the cart lots of room going around corners and through doors. Tugging a thin bedsheet out of his backpack, he covers her. As he pushes the cart around and out of the room, he catches sight of his reflection in the mirror and smiles to himself. He wheels the cart and its burden steadily toward the student entrance on high alert.
He looks out the thick-paned glass doors, considering. If the doors close behind him, he won’t be able to retreat to the safety of the school. He thinks a moment more, then reaches up to adjust the hinged arm at the top, forcing the door to stay open. Across the street, light fills the windows of houses that look like they’ve been cloned. Down the street, though, construction is still in its early stages, the bare framework of new homes caught in the cold, clean radiance of the streetlamps.
He presses a button on the car keys. Parking lights flare in the near distance. There is no one out there but him.
And her.
He moves carefully and quickly across the student parking lot. At her car, he opens the back door and hauls her body inside.
A quick glance around—still no one—and he takes the cart back into the building, wiping it down with his sleeve before making sure the door shuts firmly behind him.
He drives to a row of unfinished houses where he can take his time and make things right, turning off the headlights to glide through the concrete and wood skeletons.
It feels like he’s travelling into the past. Soon that first performance—a bad audition, really—will vanish from view. Vanish as if it never existed.
chapter 38
I wake up every hour on the hour through the night. I’m off my game. I’m tired. I’m anxious. Thoughts spiral in my head: images of the trails, of that echoing bathroom, of Sheri. I miss her so much. I finally give in to the morning before my alarm clock sounds.
I sit up, rubbing my face, and grab my phone. Just a couple of texts from Mike, checking in. I figure I should go through the motions of a regular day, get everyone off my back. And maybe I need a break from the drama of all of this garbage, too. I’m conflicted.
I get dressed and make my way downstairs. Ollie is lying on a mat in the kitchen. No sign of anyone else. Heather’s at school, but Mom and Dad are usually around in the mornings. I guess not today. I’m curious about where they are but more grateful for the silence.
I open the fridge and get out the soy milk. It feels like a punishment but I pour it on my cereal anyhow. Dad’s left a note on the counter, which I read wh
ile silently crunching my breakfast. Taking Mom’s car for an oil change. Here’s $10 for the day. The money’s underneath and I realize it’s a peace offering of sorts. There’s nothing from Mom. I feel bad, but I’ll have to make amends with her later. I stuff the money in my pocket and head for the door, hoping for an ordinary day at school.
When I open it, Detective Gekas is standing there.
Shit.
“Hello, Anthony.”
I smile and it’s awkward.
“Your parents gone for the day?”
“They’ll be back later.”
She nods in acceptance. “You don’t have to answer now, but what were you up to last night?”
“Why? Did something happen?” I feel a twist in my gut, a defensiveness.
“There’s—”
“Another girl gone missing?”
“No—”
“Then why are you coming to me?”
“They found a body, Tony.”
My stomach twists up sideways and I grab hold of the door frame.
“No, it’s not Sheri. Someone else.”
I look at Gekas. “Another?”
She nods.
My head swirls. Charlie said he didn’t think Sheri was the first—or the last. And if they found one body…
I shut my mind to the thought.
“I don’t think you’re the one doing this, Tony. But I do think there’s something you’re not telling me. Something that might be important to the case.” She stands there, leaving a big canyon of silence for me to fall into.
I stare back, holding my ground, waiting for her to continue.
“All right…” she says finally. “If you think of anything, can you give me a call?”
“I have your card.”
She nods and is halfway down the steps before she turns back. “Now that this body’s shown up, there’ll be a lot more rumours floating around. Don’t let them get to you, okay?”
I nod. Maybe she’s trying to be nice and I’ve been completely resistant to her up to this point.
She nods again, looking down at her hand where it rests on the railing before turning to leave.
For the first time, I consider that she’s struggling to find some way forward in the investigation.
She’s at her car when I call out, “Detective Gekas? If I hear about anything, I’ll let you know.”
Gekas turns back and smiles.
Now, I only hope I can help.
chapter 39
School this morning hits all new levels of crap.
I arrive early to talk to Coach about my absence. He says the team needs me but I can get back to practice when I’m ready. I tell him I’ll start fresh on Monday and he’s cool, but the truth is I don’t want him to be nice. I want him to be hard on me, to push me, to be the coach and not let me be lazy or, worse, scared.
Mike shows up at my locker and encourages me to party with him on Friday. Jessica sends me a text:
Paul thinks u should come out.
We’re heading to the Coffee House.
Maybe the dunes after.
I appreciate the support my friends are offering but I’d far rather stick my head under my pillow and stay there until everything blows over—or the end of the school year rolls around—whichever comes first.
That’s when it happens.
A couple of Grade 10 girls are looking at me, whispering, and I know the story of Gekas’s dead girl has gotten out. Everyone’s talking, looking at their phones, and it moves at a supersonic pace through the hallways. Radio and tv news crews are on the scene, streaming live. Social websites drone with speculation as the few details filter out.
Maggie Phelps was a senior at Ashworth Comp, the new school in the southwest of the city. A blue-collar type found her in a ditch at a construction site early this morning. Not much else is being said and a makeshift tent was erected to shield the girl’s body from the cameras.
It doesn’t take long for the questions to start: Is there a connection between Maggie Phelps’s death and the missing girl, Sheri Beckman? The police spokeswoman offers no comment. The next question skirts what’s on everyone’s mind: Does this indicate foul play in Sheri’s disappearance?
No one says it, but I can just about see the thought bubbling up out of everyone’s brain. The thing I’ve been avoiding for so long, even when Charlie and I walked the trails yesterday. The thing I don’t want to believe, the thing Sheri’s parents don’t want to hear.
Her parents. In no time, I’m sure, news crews will be dispatched to their home, asking more uncomfortable questions. All the pain and anguish they’d tried to tuck away during the search will now spill over.
Everyone seems to have one of two reactions when they see me in the halls: steer clear or get right in my face. I avoid some people, but others collide into me, knocking me into the lockers.
I’m pissed and I want to fight, but there’s judgment in enough eyes—the odds are against me. I’d lose.
By afternoon, grief counselors are set up in the office for people dealing with the unexpressed emotions created by Sheri’s disappearance and Maggie’s death. I come back from psychology—even Ms. Statten couldn’t get me out of my funk—I find that somebody has taken a Sharpie and written on my locker: killer.
Everyone’s looking but I don’t care anymore. I stare at it, shocked that someone would be bold enough in all this tragedy to be such a dick. And, like that, I’m done for the day. I toss my bag inside my locker and slam the door.
I’m halfway down the hall when I hear, “Shepherd!”
I turn, ready for a fight, but Charlie’s standing there, holding a box from the local doughnut shop.
“What are you doing here?”
His eyebrows shoot up behind his hair and he mocks my tone. “What am I doing here? Are you serious? We got a new lead.”
“What? When?”
“The girl. Come on.”
“Where?”
“Scene of the crime.”
chapter 40
Charlie and I drive across town. He’s opened his box of deep-fried, gooey goodness and is already digging into a Boston cream. He hasn’t offered me one, not that I’d take it, but they sure smell good.
“Ashworth Comp? Why the hell do we need to go there?”
“Far as I can tell, the cops haven’t considered that Maggie may have been killed at the school.”
“But the news didn’t say anything about Ashworth. Why would you even think that?”
“Because that’s our guy’s mo.”
“What is?”
“The news says the last anybody saw her was when she was working after school in the student council office. They also found her car not too far from where her body was discovered. The assumption is that she left, our guy saw her and attacked her or took her out to the construction site, then killed her.”
Again, that word.
“But you don’t think that?”
“My sources—”
“Your sources?”
“Yes,” he says impatiently. “My sources say that a janitor said he saw her leaving—”
“But you don’t believe that?”
“Hell, no! People suck at remembering stuff like that. Eyewitness accounts are, like, fifty per cent accurate.”
“And you get this statistic from where?”
He ignores my question and goes on. “The janitors are out of there by 10:00 or 11:00 at the latest. That means our killer”—I feel myself wince—“needed maybe four or five hours to lay low.”
“So what are you looking for?”
“Proof of the pattern, man!”
I stare at him. I’m not really sure I know what he’s talking about.
“And why am I here?”
“Because we’re a team!”
News to me.
chapter 41
I stop the car a block away from the school. The street is swarming with news vans, worried parents, and cops. Lots and lots of cops.
Charlie stares at the activity. “Shit.”
“What?”
“They might mess up our crime scene.”
“What? This isn’t ours—this is theirs. We should let them do their job.”
“And how’s that working so far? For Sheri.”
“This isn’t a game.”
“No, it isn’t. We’re trying to stop a killer.”
I can’t deal with this anymore. “Stop.”
“What?”
“Stop using that word.”
“What? Killer?” He stares at me for a second, then, “Okay, I pussyfooted around it yesterday, but it’s time we face this. Whoever did this to Maggie is likely the same guy that killed Sheri.”
There it is. The two words, side by side.
I’ve known it all this time but haven’t wanted to say it. I chew my lip, staring past Charlie to the chaos at the front of the school. There’d been a similar scene at Sheri’s school only a few days ago. It had been broadcast all over the news, Facebook, and Twitter.
Charlie keeps at me. “The sooner you quit deluding yourself and face that truth, the sooner we can find whoever did it. That is what you want?”
I’m nodding without thinking. “Yes.”
“Good. So let’s go in—”
“Whoa.” I’m upset but not crazy. “I can’t go waltzing into that school on a day like today.”
“Why not?”
“Gekas may not think I… May not connect me to what happened with Sheri or Maggie, but every angry parent and teenager will be looking for someone to blame.”
“Good point.”
Along Comes a Wolfe Page 10
