by James Hunt
Susan nodded, but prodded forward gently, not wanting to go too fast too soon. “And did you have any contact with your daughter when she was on the street?”
“Only twice,” Hathaway answered. “The first time she called was a few days after she left. She wanted us to know that she was safe, but that she wasn’t coming home. Her mother and I tried to convince her otherwise, to let us know where she was so we could come and pick her up, but she wouldn’t tell us.”
“And the second time?” Susan asked.
“A few weeks before she died,” Hathaway answered. “She sounded different on the phone. Was really quiet and meek-sounding. It was like she was another world away.”
“What did the two of you talk about?”
“She wanted money.”
“Did you give her any?”
“I told her that the only way she was going to get money from me was in person,” Hathaway said, adding some salt to the pasta. “Then she hung up on me.”
Susan nodded. That final conversation had probably been played in his mind for a very long time, and she couldn’t imagine the misplaced guilt that he had put on himself after his daughter had died. She suspected that it had put a strain on their marriage.
“Do you remember anyone that Sarah might have hung around with right before she ran away?” Susan asked, walking to the kitchen table, where she saw a stack of bills piled up high. Most of them were stamped with past due notices. “Anyone she might have mentioned.”
“There was a boy she started hanging around with,” Hathaway said. “Donny, or Donald, or something like that. Late twenties. He came by the house to pick her up once for a date, and the moment I saw him sitting behind the wheel of that car, I knew he was trouble. Sarah said he was nice, but I told her that there is only one thing that a twenty something is looking for from a seventeen-year-old girl. I tried to have the police press charges on him, but they said I couldn’t do anything until there was substantial evidence of sexual coercion. And my daughter stood by his side.”
“This man, Donny, was she involved with your daughter wanting to run away?” Susan asked.
“Probably,” Hathaway said, then dropped the spoon back on the skillet and cleared his throat. “Why are you asking all of this stuff? My daughter died over a year ago, and I’ve already gone through all of this with the police when they came and told me—” He cut himself off and looked to the floor and then away as he composed himself for a minute before he faced her again. “This isn’t something I want to relive.”
“I understand that this is difficult,” Susan said.
“Do you?” Hathaway asked. “Tell me how you understand? Tell me how many daughters that you’ve lost?”
Susan was quiet and hoped that Mr. Hathaway’s anger would calm before he kicked her out. It was only after he returned to the stove and removed the boiling pasta from the pot and dumped it into a strainer that she spoke again.
“I’ve never lost a daughter,” Susan said. “But I lost a father.”
Hathaway turned from the sink, steam rising from the freshly boiled pasta.
“He was an alcoholic,” Susan said. “He was like that all my life. Even when I was little. At first, I thought he was that way because of me. Like there was something that I did to make them that way, and it made me try everything within my power to help him, to make him stop, but I couldn’t.” She shrugged. “It’s an incurable disease.”
Hathaway was quiet, and then he nodded and walked to the kitchen table, setting the still-dripping strainer of pasta next to the pile of overdue bills. “I can’t tell you how many nights I’ve stayed up wondering what would have happened if I had just agreed to give her the money. I wonder where she went to get it again, and what she did to get it.” He gripped the back of the chair with both hands and then bowed his head. “I shouldn’t have tried to be so stern with her. I just thought that…” He sighed. “I don’t know what I thought.”
“If you had given her the money, she would have bought more drugs,” Susan said. “Just like no matter how many times I tried to hide the bottle of booze from my father when he was passed out, he would just buy another one. You didn’t kill your daughter, Mr. Hathaway.”
The man kept his head bowed, but only shook his head. “It doesn’t feel that way.”
Susan knew that telling him that his daughter might have been murdered would push the man over the edge. So she decided to bend the truth a little. “I think that your daughter was involved in a case that I’m working.”
Hathaway pushed himself off the chair and grabbed the skillet of sauce from his stove, then grabbed a plate from the counter and returned to the kitchen table. “So what do you need from me?”
“Did your daughter go anywhere or speak to anyone in particular either right before she ran away or during her time on the streets? Besides the boyfriend you mentioned.”
“We tried looking for her, but the only two times that I spoke to her were over the phone.” Hathaway combined the sauce and the noodles onto his plate and then sat down with a fork, spinning the concoction in a swirl on his plate. “We found out a few places she was living, but she’d only stayed there a couple of nights.”
“Do you remember the name of the place?” Susan asked.
“No.”
“What about the name Ancient Oaks. Does that sound familiar?”
“No.” Hathaway glanced up from his plate and looked at Susan’s hands. “You guys don’t write things down anymore?”
Susan didn’t think she was going to get anything else from him. “I appreciate your time, Mr. Hathaway.” She turned to leave but stopped at the door. “If I have any more questions for you, I’ll be in touch.”
Hathaway nodded, and Susan stepped outside. She might be able to talk with the officer who worked the Sarah Hathaway’s crime scene, but unless he had a good memory she didn’t think it would lead anywhere.
Susan climbed behind the wheel of the car when her phone rang. She thought it might be Lieutenant Balker, upset that she checked out a car after not being on the clock, but it wasn’t the LT. It was Nate.
“Hey,” Susan said, hoping that he might have something. “What’s up?”
“Susan, I need to talk to you,” Nate said, his tone stressed.
Susan frowned. “What’s—”
“I know, Susan,” Nate said, exhausted. “I know you’re using. One of the nurses that I work with down at the hospital told me she saw you.”
The color drained from Susan’s cheeks. She thought no one had seen. She thought she’d been careful and put the paraphernalia away. Wasn’t that what happened? Her mouth gaped open like a dead fish. She didn’t know how to respond. “Nate, I don’t—”
“I want to help,” Nate said. “But it has to be now. Either you come to me, or I go to Lieutenant Williams, and we order you to take a drug test right now.” He waited. “What’s it gonna be?”
Susan sat there for a minute, contemplating. She grabbed hold of the steering wheel and squeezed it tight to help keep her steady.
“Susie?” Nate asked.
“Okay,” Susan said. “I’ll meet you.”
38
When Susan reached Nate’s house, she didn’t know what to expect, but she was uncharacteristically nervous. She hadn’t heard him talk like that before on the phone, and when she walked up the driveway, she couldn’t hide the tremble of her hand.
Susan knocked on the door, and Nate answered with a sad smile.
“Hey.” Nate stepped aside, leaving her a gap so she could pass, then shut the door behind her when she entered. “Are you thirsty? Hungry?”
“No. I’m fine.” Susan had never been to Nate’s house before, but she was surprised to find it so… homely. For a younger guy, a bachelor no less, she would have expected something a little more barren.
But the living room was fully furnished. Pictures hung from the wall. A small but solid wood dining table sat off to the left of a modest kitchen that needed an update. From her pos
ition at the front door, she could see a hallway that led toward the back of the house where she suspected were the bedrooms and bathroom. It felt like a real home.
“Please, have a seat.” Nate gestured to the couch, and the pair walked over together.
The cushions buckled when the pair sat down, and Susan inched away when Nate sat a little too close. She folded her hands, and for the first time in a long time, she felt like she was being interrogated. A coffee table was in front of the couch, and beneath it rested albums and books, along with a remote for the television.
Nate held his tongue for a moment, drumming his fingers on his leg, but then finally pressed forward. “How long has it been since your last hit?”
Susan wasn’t sure how much to tell him. If he decided to tell Williams or make this some kind of an official visit, then that badge she’d just had returned to her would disappear. And that terrified her. But she couldn’t run from the truth any longer. “This morning. At the hospital, as the nurse said.” The tears came quickly and unexpectedly. Embarrassed, she wiped them away. “I’m sorry.” She shook her head and then covered her eyes.
“It’s okay,” Nate said. “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”
Susan had been hiding for a long time, and a part of her believed that she wanted to be found. She wanted to be caught. Despite telling herself that she could quit anytime, she knew that was only denial.
“The burden of secrets can be the hardest to carry,” Nate said, remaining understanding and sympathetic. “But you don’t have to walk down that path alone.”
“It feels like I do,” Susan said, sniffling and wiping her nose with her sleeve. “It feels that’s all I’ve ever had to do. Go it alone. At home. At work. Everything. And I’ve done it for so long that I don’t think I know how to do it any different.” She looked into Nate’s eyes and saw the understanding.
“You know,” he said. “My sister was a lot like you. It’s always kind of surprised me how much you remind me of her. She was your age when she died. God, it seems like only yesterday.” He reached beneath the coffee table and removed one of the albums, flipping it open and showing it to Susan, pointing to a picture of a pretty dark-haired girl in a backyard wearing a bathing suit and a sun hat. “There she is. My Kat.”
Susan smiled. “She’s beautiful.”
“She was,” Nate said. “You can’t imagine how many boys my dad had to scare away at the door.” He laughed, but it faded quickly. “She was always the charmer. Smart too. I know it sounds like the classic cliché of good girl turned addict, but… that’s the way the story unfolded.”
Susan looked up from the photographs and at Nate when he paused. “How long?”
Nate sighed. “She started using in college. But it wasn’t a year later that she flunked out and moved out on the streets. My parents tried convincing her to just come home, I tried too, but she wouldn’t listen. She kept saying that she needed to do it alone, that it was the only way for her to beat it.” He shook his head. “If I had known then what I know now, I—” He turned away and then composed himself.
“It’s a disease,” Susan said.
Nate faced her again, then nodded. “Yes. But you, like my sister, don’t have to go in alone. And I don’t want to watch another good person die because of what they can’t control.”
Deep down, Susan knew that he was right. It was high time that she got help, and while now wasn’t the best time, she knew that there would never be a good time. There were only excuses.
“I didn’t mean to scare you the way that I did, but—”
“No,” Susan said, sounding confident. “No, you were right. And I appreciate you coming to me before going to Williams. I think he might know that I used when I was undercover, but I don’t think he believes it carried over.”
“How did you hide it from the academy?” Nate asked with curiosity.
“I got clean,” Susan answered. “Really. I did. I guess I wanted to be a cop more than I wanted a needle.” She stared down at the badge around her neck. “Maybe I forgot that along the way.”
“Hey,” Nate said. “Better late than never.”
Susan laughed. “Right.”
“You sure you don’t want some water or something?” Nate asked.
“Actually, yeah,” Susan answered. “That would be great.”
“Be right back.”
Nate disappeared into the kitchen and Susan returned to the photographs. She had never had any family albums growing up, but she wished she did. Seeing the smiling face of Nate’s sister only made what happened to her even more tragic.
“Lemon?” Nate yelled from the kitchen.
“Sure.” Susan turned the page in the album, and her eyes caught a flicker of a familiar pattern in the bottom right-hand corner of the page. She recognized it immediately. It was a dress that she had seen three times. Once on Katy Matthews. Once on Ginny Burtz. And once on Allie. And Nate’s sister was wearing the same dress in the picture.
“My ice machine is on the fritz so I hope you don’t mind—” Nate had two glasses in each hand when he turned the corner, and then stopped when he saw Susan’s face. He glanced down at the album, then quickly back up at Susan.
The realization hung between them in the air, causing time to stand still, until Susan made the first move.
“Nate, don’t—” Susan stood just as he chucked the glasses at her, one shattering on the wall, the second landing harmlessly on the couch. He bolted for the back door, but Susan was close behind, reaching for her weapon as he disappeared into one of the bedrooms, then shut and locked the door.
Susan rammed the door with her shoulder, but it did nothing. She pounded her fist against it. “Nate, open it now!” But realizing that he wasn’t going to comply, she stepped back and put two rounds through the lock, and then kicked the door in.
Gun up and aimed, Susan entered an empty bedroom, the window open, with the screen popped out. She hurried to the windowsill, but when she looked out into the backyard, he was gone.
39
The feeling was dread, and it was an emotion that Nate hadn’t experienced in a very, very long time. The moment he turned the corner, the moment he saw her look at him with the photo album in her hands, he knew she knew.
It was stupid, stupid to forget that Kat was wearing the dress in one of those pictures. But he had gotten cocky. He had thought that he had broken the meddling bitch after he killed that prostitute.
Only she hadn’t quit. She kept pressing him, kept pursuing him, and now he was on the run from his own house, and a manhunt would be issued to find him. The jig was up.
Still, even though Nate understood his fate, he continued to run, continued to flee the scene, adding distance between himself and capture for as long as he could muster.
Fatigue eventually slowed him after a few miles, but he had made good time. Now it would be important to figure out his next steps. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he was fucked.
The media would blast his photograph across the internet. He would be front and center of every phone and computer screen across the country. There would be no quarter given to him, no mercy shown.
“Fuck!” Nate screamed, raking his fingers through his hair in frustration. It was all her fault. He had even tried to help her, to convince her to give up her ways of addiction. But he had been too lenient with her. Not anymore.
No more hiding, no more turning around, no more lurking. He was out now, and it was time for him to do what he wanted. It had been a long time since he’d been able to make that decision.
Nate’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he jumped, startled by the sudden intrusion of his thoughts. He removed the phone from his pocket, but before he snapped the SIM card in half to erase any possibility of them using it to track him, he checked the number.
Susan.
Nate smiled at the sight of her number. She was trying to stop him, to convince him to come back, to turn himself in. She
must have thought he was dumb and desperate. But he was quite the opposite.
Nate snapped the SIM and flipped the collar of his jacket up and continued moving south. In the distance, there were chopper blades, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before the police helicopters circled overhead. But he had time to figure out his next move.
He couldn’t go after the other girls, the police would eventually find his lab once they searched his house. He would have to find a new target, someone that he hadn’t gone after before.
And just like that, a small thought pricked the back of Nate’s head, and he smiled. It was sinister, it was cruel, but it would be oh so beautiful. It would be the exclamation point to his final act. And it would make the score with Officer Susan Quinton even.
40
The neighborhood came alive when the chopper started doing its passes overhead. The whine of the high powered turbine engine grew louder and quiet against the backdrop of the sky.
An APB was sent out, and with every eye in the city searching for Nate, Susan suspected that it wouldn’t be long before the man was caught.
Palmer walked out of the house and joined Susan in the street where they remained on the inside of the crime scene tape. He glanced over her head to the media vans that were parked fifty yards from the crime scene, which also happened to be outside of the neighborhood.
Susan had her arms crossed over her chest and was staring at Nate’s house, a fire in her belly. “He was in our building. We paid for him. Gave him an office. The bastard was using us as a way to get to girls.”
“Sometimes it's hard to find the person that’s hiding in plain sight,” Palmer said, mirroring Susan’s stance. “You want to go and check out the other address?”
Susan had called Palmer first after Nate fled, and then she, him, and Winterguard took a look inside the house before forensics showed up. They looked for anything that might give them insight into where Nate might have gone, and they found a billing address for a property in a fake name. A little digging and they even found separate bank accounts for the same name.
