The guard paused in front of a dark green door that had a large screened window set in the middle. Through the glass, Kendra could see a table, painted the same green as the door, and several mismatched chairs.
“The prisoner will be brought in as soon as you’re ready,” the guard told them. “I’ll be right here the entire time you’re in there with him.”
“Thanks,” Adam nodded.
The guard ushered the two of them into the room, and pushed a button that resulted in a muffled buzz somewhere behind the door, which was set to one side of the back wall. The door opened, and Edward Paul Webster, in ankle shackles, his hands cuffed behind him, shuffled in. He looked over his visitors without comment, then seated himself opposite Kendra and stared at her from lifeless brown eyes.
Finally, she said, “Do you know who I am?”
“They told me that you’re the sister of one of the boys they say I killed.” His face, pale and pocked with old acne scars, was without expression. “I did not kill him or that other boy, let’s get that out of the way right up front.”
He turned to Adam and sneered, “Hear that, Mr. FBI?”
“You were tried and convicted by a jury—” Adam pointed out.
“It was all bullshit,” Webster interrupted, the surface of his raw anger scratched. His fleshy lips curled upward on one side and his face distorted into an ugly mask. “There were no bodies, no evidence to even link me to either of them. I was railroaded. My biggest crime that day was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Well, that, and stealing that car . . .”
“What about Christopher Moss?” Kendra asked with a touch of sarcasm. “Have you forgotten about him?”
“No, I haven’t forgotten about him,” he singsonged his response, mocking her. “That kid was a basket case when I picked him up on the side of the road. He was crying and shaking and babbling and clutching that jacket, just like I told the police then. I’m telling you the same. I never saw your brother or that other kid, I never touched the Moss boy. I stopped to give him a ride because he looked like, well, he looked like he’d seen a ghost or something, okay? Like something had spooked him big time.”
“The police thought maybe you had spooked him, Webster.” Adam rested his arms on the table. “The jury believed that you were responsible for Christopher’s hysteria.”
“That kid hadn’t been in my car for more than five minutes when the police stopped me.”
“The car was reported stolen from one of the campsites that was located in the immediate area where the boys were hiking.”
“Yeah, I stole the car. I never denied that. The keys were in the ignition, I was tired of walking, it was hot, I figured what the hell.”
“What were you doing up there? Up there in the hills?” Adam continued his questioning.
“Well, Mr. FBI, I’m willing to bet if you thought it was important enough to make this trip, that you’ve already read the file your boys have on this case.”
“You were hanging out with friends,” Adam said dryly.
“That’s right.”
“The police were never able to find those friends to talk to them.”
“Maybe they didn’t want to be found.”
“Maybe they were underage boys.”
“Maybe they were.” Webster shrugged. “So what?”
“Wouldn’t that have been a violation of your parole?” Adam asked.
“Maybe so.” Webster smirked. “So, what’s the point of this?”
“I was hoping you’d . . .” Kendra sighed.
“What? Confess?” He laughed out loud. “Lady, I have nothing to confess. Not about those boys, anyway. I said when I was arrested, I said when I was tried. When I was sentenced. When that lady came out here—the mother of one of those kids later became a senator or something and she made my life a living—”
“She was my mother,” Kendra interjected.
“She still a senator?”
“She died a few years ago.”
“Gee, I’m real sorry to hear that,” Webster said with neither sympathy nor sincerity.
“I can see that you are.”
The two stared at each other for several long minutes. Neither of them blinked.
“Look, we were just hoping that you’d give us an idea of where the bodies were—” Adam began.
“You deaf, buddy? I don’t know anything about those boys. And what’s the big deal now, anyway? Why’s this coming up again now?”
“There’ve been a series of murders out East,” Adam told him. “Young women. Seven of them, in a short period of time.”
“What’s that got to do with me?”
“Ian Smith’s watch was found under the body of the last victim,” Adam told him.
“So what?”
“So Ian would have had the watch with him when he was killed, and—”
“And you think I took the watch, maybe gave it to someone?” Webster snorted in disgust. “I don’t know how many times I have to say it. I never saw your brother or his stupid watch. And just for the record, most of my friends don’t do women.”
Kendra looked up at Adam. Webster was not going to give them an inch on this.
“Look, I will tell you what I told the cops who arrested me. I done a lot of things in my life. Things that don’t fit your idea of what’s, well, let’s just say that things maybe you wouldn’t do. But that’s my business and I ain’t in here for none of that.” He looked at Adam. “But I never killed no one. I never saw those two boys. I didn’t touch that kid—Moss.”
“Then why was he crying hysterically when the police pulled you over?”
“I don’t know, and frankly, at this point, I don’t give a shit.” Webster stood up. “I got nothing more to say.”
Without looking back, Webster walked to the door at the back of the room and the guard on the other side of the glass opened it as he approached.
“Well, that was enlightening.” Kendra sighed and stood up. “Let’s get out of here.”
* * *
“I can’t remember the last time I was so happy to see sunlight,” she said after they’d signed out and walked through the front doors of the prison. “And what an ugly man he was. I don’t mean just physically. I mean everything about him. Smirking, creepy, mean-spirited . . .”
“I agree,” Adam said as he unlocked the car. “And I hate to say this, but maybe we should consider the possibility that he’s telling the truth.”
“Are you crazy? That is one mean son of a bitch in there.”
“I agree. But being a mean son of a bitch doesn’t necessarily make him a murderer.”
“He was convicted—”
“On purely circumstantial evidence. From what I read in the reports that were in Gamble’s file, emotions were running pretty high about this case. Two boys missing and presumed dead, the only witness the killer and an emotionally disturbed young man who was found in the company of a man who’d been convicted in several states, over several decades, of raping and beating young boys.”
Kendra stared straight ahead as Adam slowed on his approach to the gatehouse, where he returned their guest passes to the guard.
“Frankly, I believe Edward Paul Webster should spend the rest of his natural life behind bars,” Adam continued. “He’s done some heinous things in his day. He’s a predator and nothing will ever change what he is and what he’d do again if he got the chance. If they let him out tomorrow, I’d bet my last dollar that the first thing he’d do is look for some young boy to assault. I’ve yet to see a reformed pedophile. But I don’t know that he’s a killer. I don’t know that I believe he killed Ian and Zach. Why not admit it? He isn’t going anywhere, either way. Ever. Life without parole means just that. So it shouldn’t matter. He’s already been convicted. Why wouldn’t he admit it if it’s true?”
“But if Webster didn’t kill them,” she swallowed hard, “that would mean . . .”
She hesitated, the thought incomprehensible to her.
; “Yes,” Adam said. “That would mean that the person responsible for Ian and Zach’s deaths is still out there.”
Chapter
Eighteen
“Do you realize what you’re saying?” Kendra’s eyes had widened at the thought. “It never occurred to anyone that Webster could be telling the truth. That all these years, he’s been in prison . . .”
“Where he does undoubtedly belong,” Adam muttered, “if not for this crime, then for all the others.”
“While someone else has been free, all this time.”
He’d been silent for a while then, his mind quickly processing the possibilities. He hadn’t liked what he’d come up with.
Adam’s earliest opportunity for a bit of privacy hadn’t come until they reached the airport in Tucson. He used it to first call John Mancini, then Miranda Cahill. After a brief chat, he’d tersely asked her to meet their flight when they landed at Philadelphia International Airport later that evening.
“Something important?” Kendra asked when she emerged from a trip to the ladies’ room to find Adam standing as if in a trance, staring out the window, his cell phone still in his hand.
“What? Oh, maybe. Look, they’re letting passengers on board our flight. Let’s get ourselves settled in, maybe we can grab a little rest between here and Philly.” He took her arm.
“Is that your way of telling me that you’re not going to tell me what’s going on?”
“It’s my way of telling you that I will tell you once I’ve put it all together.”
She’d been tempted to ask, but didn’t. Once seated on the plane, she closed her eyes and tried to relax. When she fell asleep, her dreams were a murky collage of faces, of mouths moving but no words emanating forth. Edward Paul Webster and Christopher Moss. Her brother, her mother, Emmy Moss. Father Tim. Adam . . .
It wasn’t until they arrived in Philadelphia and Kendra saw Miranda Cahill waiting for them at the gate that she began to sense that Adam was keeping more than his suppositions from her.
“Where did you leave your car?” Adam asked Miranda, the appropriate greetings having been exchanged.
“Right outside the terminal door.”
“I thought no one was permitted to leave cars unattended in the airports anymore,” Kendra noted.
“It’s not unattended,” Miranda told her. “One of Philly’s finest is standing guard waiting for us to claim it.”
They entered the concourse, Kendra walking between the two agents, trying to keep up with their long strides, wondering when Adam was going to tell her what was going on and why Miranda was waiting for them when their plane touched down.
“Is this it?” Adam asked, pointing to a Taurus sedan next to which stood a uniformed police officer.
“Yes.” Miranda nodded.
When Adam asked “May I have the key?” Miranda tossed it to him, then paused to have a few words with the officer who’d been watching the car.
Adam unlocked the passenger side door, and held it open for Kendra, then went around to the driver’s side. Once behind the wheel of the car, Kendra in the front seat next to him, Adam asked, “How would you feel about a little company for a few days?”
“Company? At my house?” A smile tilted her lips. After the intensity of the past few days, a little down time with Adam in the midst of the Pines could be just what the doctor ordered.
“That’s right.”
“You mean, you?”
“No, I mean Miranda.”
“Oh,” she said, trying not to let her disappointment show. Whoopee.
He was watching Miranda chat with the police officer she’d left in charge of the car.
“Adam, would you please tell me what’s going on?”
“Roll your window down and tell her time’s up, will you?” was all he said.
She did, and moments later, Miranda was sliding into the backseat, waving good-bye to her admirer.
“Did you pack a bag with clothes for a few days?” Adam asked.
“Yes, it’s in the trunk. Now are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“You don’t know either?” Kendra turned in the seat, somewhat hampered by her shoulder restraint.
“No. All he said was to pack for a few nights and get a rental car and meet your flight.”
“Miranda’s going to stay with you for a few days,” Adam told them both.
“I already got that much. Why?” Kendra demanded.
“Because I don’t like the way this whole thing is playing out.” Adam drove onto I-95 and headed south. “Let’s start putting things into perspective, shall we?”
He accelerated, passing a white stretch limousine, before continuing.
“Six months ago, Kendra moves back East. A few months later, a serial killer starts leaving bodies all within the area she’d be covering if the Bureau called in a compositor. And she was called in. She’s seen on television wearing a small gold cross around her neck. Within twenty-four hours, corpses start showing up wearing similar crosses. And then Miranda does a little investigating and finds that the earlier victims all had tiny plastic tortoiseshell butterfly clips in their hair, which their nearest and dearest have confirmed they never saw these women wear, by the way.” He paused, trying to gauge what effect his words were having on Kendra, but her face was inscrutable.
He went on. “A little deeper investigation on Agent Cahill’s part turns up a photo of you that ran in a West Coast newspaper a little more than eighteen months ago, showing you wearing those tiny plastic butterflies in your hair. All this information was relayed to John Mancini. Guess what he found.”
“I’m afraid to ask.” Kendra’s voice was just barely above a whisper.
“There are four unsolved murders in the area between Seattle and Redding, California. The first victim was found almost a year and a half ago. Four beautiful blond women. All single mothers. All were raped, then strangled. All were found with—”
“Small plastic butterflies in their hair,” Kendra completed the sentence.
“You got it. Now, let’s see if you can guess when those killings stopped?”
“I’m almost afraid to.” Kendra’s eyes grew wide.
“The last one was in December of last year. Right after you moved back East. The first one here was four months later.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying it took him a few months to figure out you’d left the West Coast, and another month or so to figure out where you’d gone.”
“And you are positive it’s the same man?”
“All signs point to it,” Adam said, following the signs for the airport. “The only difference is that in the West Coast killings he left no DNA. He must have used condoms for the rapes, and was careful not to let the victims scratch him.”
“Why do you suppose he got careless after he moved east?”
“I don’t think he got careless. I think he got cocky. There’s a difference. I think he believes we will never be able to find him.”
“Adam, what are you doing?” Kendra protested. “You’re headed right back in to the airport.”
“That’s where my car is,” Adam told her as he drove into the garage and pulled the sedan directly behind the Audi. “Now, which of you ladies is going to drive to Kendra’s?”
“I can drive, since I know the way.” Kendra turned to Miranda.
“I don’t mind.” Miranda shook her head. “But Adam, I think we need to finish the conversation.”
“First let me fill you in on where Kendra and I have been for the past several days.”
Adam told her all that had happened from the time he and Kendra met with Sheriff Gamble right through their meeting with Edward Paul Webster.
“So the question remains,” Adam concluded, “if we suppose for a minute that Webster is telling the truth, who killed Ian and Zach?”
“The someone who’s trying to get Kendra’s attention now,” Miranda said without thinking.
Kendra frowned, the phra
se ringing in her ears. Someone had said that recently.
I’ve been trying to get your attention. . . .
“The phone call,” Kendra said aloud. “At the hotel. He said something about trying to get my attention.”
“Who did?” Adam and Miranda both asked at the same time.
“The man on the phone, the first night I stayed at the hotel.” She looked at Adam. “The night I fell asleep on the sofa, and woke up and went back to my room. There was a message for me, some man whose voice I didn’t recognize. All friendly, as if he was chatting with an old friend. And the message was exactly what you’d leave for an old friend.” She frowned. “I can’t remember what else he said, but that was the tone. I just didn’t pay that much attention because I assumed he’d left the message on the wrong extension. But when I mentioned it to the desk, they said there was no record of the call, that it had come from inside . . .”
“I’ll have someone check that out with the hotel,” Adam said. “It could have been our killer.”
“Who may hold the key to Ian’s death as well as these most recent killings,” Miranda noted. “He may have you in his sights now, Kendra.”
“Isn’t that a bit of a leap?” Kendra turned around in her seat to glare at Miranda. “Even if you assume that there’s a connection between my brother’s death and the death of all these women, why would it follow that he’s after me?”
“Let’s start with the fact that he’s definitely fixated on you, and has been for years. The murders out on the coast stopped as soon as you left the area. And then, there’s the matter of Ian’s watch,” Miranda reminded her. “If we can figure out why, we can figure out who.”
“He might be fixated, as you say, in some way, but the women he’s killing, they’re nothing like me. I’m not blond, I don’t have children, so I’ve never done the super-mom thing . . .”
“That may just be a part of it. Maybe he’s trying to get your attention by attacking women of a certain type for a reason that has nothing to do with you.”
Until Dark Page 21
