“I don’t know. I can’t remember. I think he smiled at me.”
“Smiled at you?”
“Yes, I think right before he killed Jerry, he smiled at me.”
Jesus, thought Adams, this guy is sicker than I thought.
The sheriff’s radio crackled to life.
“Adams, Bryson here.”
“Whuddya got, Bryson.”
“Nothing. I think the whole trail maker thing is a prank. Nothing to worry about. A bunch of kids. And the missing hiker stuff, I’m sure they’ll turn up.”
“You think so, Bryson?”
“Yeah, sheriff,” replied Bryson “And that college kid, that hippie with the hair, I’m sure he’s just stoned somewhere, stuck in a bush or something. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Okay, Bryson. I guess you’re right.” Adams walked away from the woman at the table and lowered his voice. “Right now I’m questioning the roadside assault victim. I’m not getting much. She said the killer wore a red shirt.”
“Red shirt? That could be anyone.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Listen, I’m sure this guy was just a traveling drifter, probably a hundred miles from here now.”
“Yeah, Bryson, I guess you’re right. Still, keep your eyes open.”
“Will do, sheriff.”
“Over and out.”
“Over and out.”
Adams returned to the woman slumped at the table. She rummaged through her bag and pulled out an orange prescription bottle. She shook three white pills into her palm and swallowed them without water.
Adams started to sit down, then stopped, thinking about the conversation with Bryson. Bryson was never one to give up on a case. Never one to propose the “traveling drifter” theory. Bryson liked police work. It was usually Adams, after a heavy night of drinking, who would scapegoat a crime on a traveling drifter.
Bryson had mentioned a missing hippie kid. No missing hippie kid had ever been reported to headquarters.
What was he talking about? Just what the hell does Bryson know?
Chapter Forty-Two
Like an animal. Martin moved through the woods like an animal. He stopped to smell the air. He paused with each sound to locate the source, assessing the danger, the excitement. Mostly squirrels. Sometimes deer. Once in a while, a human.
Those were the happy times. He wasn’t always motivated by killing hikers. Looking at them was fascinating, too. The satisfaction of knowing that they couldn’t see him. Didn’t know he was there. Invisible in the woods.
It was funny how people acted when they didn’t know they were being watched. When they thought they were alone. How their faces looked slack, bored, lifeless. Their features were not composed to greet other humans. For once, their faces were not lying.
Martin thought about this as he carried the hiker’s body down the trail on his way to the lake. The body remained wrapped in the altar cloth. If Martin encountered other hikers, he would merely dismiss the enshrouded carcass as a deer.
He doubted he’d see anyone on the trail. The sun was dropping fast now, and most hikers were setting up their tents for the night. The vacationers were all back in their rented log cabins, drinking cocktails on their deck or playing pool in their renovated game rooms.
Just the thought of the vacationers made him sick. They treated the woods like a giant amusement park, a place to enjoy and then discard, left to disappear in the rear view mirror until the next vacation.
Last week, he had come across just such a cabin. Family of four. Wealthy. Loud. Healthy. Happy. That night he had sliced open the belly of their golden retriever and smirked as the guts of the wretched animal spilled out all over their front porch.
He wondered how the family had reacted in the morning. He wondered how the father would explain away all the sins of the world to his children.
Martin hiked faster. It was difficult keeping up a decent pace. His leg hurt. The left leg. The one he lacerated. He had learned the pleasure of self-mutilation as a child, when he spent days locked inside his parents backyard woodshed. By now, the cutting came naturally, like breathing.
He bounded over another hill, and then found himself on the gentle down slope of the trail, winding gradually towards the bank of the lake. One boat remained on the water. He wondered about its occupants.
“Howdy.”
Martin spun around to see a man, about forty, with short brown hair, smiling by the side of the trail.
“Hey.”
“Whatcha got there, a buck?”
“Yeah.”
“Where’d ya shoot him?”
“Not too far from here.”
“And you’re carrying it? Jesus, you must be one strong son-of-a-bitch.”
Martin didn’t know how this man had surprised him. This stranger had appeared from nowhere. Martin wanted the man to leave. Needed the man to leave.
Martin readjusted the load on his shoulder. His back hurt and his legs started to weaken. When he shifted the body, a bony arm escaped from under the sheet and hung limply down his back.
The man on the trail stood still and yawned, unaware of the exposed arm.
“I gotta go,” Martin said.
“Alright, friend. Good luck with that buck.”
Martin edged by, keeping his front to the man as he passed. Once the stranger was out of sight, he went on toward the lake. He could feel the dangling arm bouncing up and down with each step, as if waving goodbye.
Chapter Forty-Three
Kim’s foot felt better, but her pride still hurt. She couldn’t understand why Scott wouldn’t pay attention to her. Sure, Scott’s wife was with them, but a wife had never stopped Kim before.
Am I losing it? Kim wondered. She pulled out a pocket mirror and inspected her face. Naa. She still had it. Kim never wanted to get old. Never wanted to stop running. What was that saying? A rolling stone gathers no moss. That was Kim’s life—just keep moving. Never let time catch up.
Susan was a few years older than Kim. Growing old. Kim smiled. Scott could have someone younger. All he had to do was ask.
Kim didn’t like to think about her life too much, because she usually didn’t like what she discovered when she analyzed herself. Directionless. Aimless. Petty. Short-tempered. And vain. God, I’m vain, and I know it.
Kim remembered a play she had read in high school called A Streetcar Named Desire. She reminded herself of the character Blanche. In the play, Blanche seduced men, but her powers and looks were fading fast. Kim wouldn’t say that she was fading, but she didn’t know how much longer she could pull off seduction. Her looks had to last, it was the only thing she had.
Susan was kind. Scott was smart. Even Jack could be funny and charming, in his own stupid way. Kim had nothing but looks. I’ve always depended on the kindness of strangers, she thought. Christ, I’m full of quotes today.
It was a sexy play, A Streetcar Named Desire. She had watched the movie version starring Marlon Brando in class. Now there was a real man. Strong. Handsome. Serious. Scott and Jack both fell short of Brando, but that’s just the way it was.
As you get older, Kim thought, you gotta keep lowering your standards.
Kim had lowered her standards in high school. She didn’t get Marlon Brando, but she did fuck her English teacher.
Scott returned to the campsite with more firewood.
“Hey, Scott,” Kim said.
“Hey. Where’s Jack and Susan?”
“I don’t know.”
“Listen,” Scott said. “Why did you scream earlier?”
Kim looked at Scott and then looked away. “I told you, I thought I saw a bear.”
Scott considered Kim’s answer for a minute. “But you were in the tent with Jack. How could you have seen a bear from inside the tent?”
Kim didn’t like his tone. He was interrogating her. She wanted Scott to be flirtatious and sweet. Not mean. “I don’t know, Scott. I thought I saw a bear. Or maybe I felt it br
ush against the tent. Either way, something freaked me out.”
“Okay, okay, I was just wondering. I think we have to be alert around here. With those missing hikers.”
“The missing hikers,” Kim repeated. She felt her chest tighten. “Scott, do you think something happened to them?”
“I don’t know. I doubt it. They’re probably just lost. But we’d better be careful, just in case. Stay safe.”
“Oh, I plan on being safe.”
“How’s that?” asked Scott, relaxing a bit.
“I’m always very safe.”
“Really?” asked Scott.
“Of course,” said Kim, smiling. “In fact, let me show you how safe I am.” She unzipped her blue suitcase, felt through her clothes, and then began searching frantically. “My gun,” she said. “It’s gone!”
Chapter Forty-Four
Officer Bryson flipped on the headlights in his patrol car. A truck passing in the opposite direction turned its lights on as well. Bryson smiled. It’s funny how people act around cops, he thought. People always did stuff like that around him. Turned their headlights on. Came to full stops at stop signs. Displayed uncharacteristic patience with crossing pedestrians. Tucked their Coors Light cans under their jackets.
The human behavior Bryson witnessed amused him, but also made him feel isolated and alone. It was as if he were some sort of freak show, some strange creature that everyone had to tiptoe around. Everyone had to act like someone else. They forgot that he was human, too.
I guess that’s one of the trade-offs of becoming a police officer, Bryson thought. You give up your humanity.
Bryson had fucked up. He had mentioned the hippie kid to Sheriff Adams. As soon as he said it, he wished he had the words back. That murdered hippie hadn’t been reported to headquarters. It was one of Martin Levy’s secret kills. Well, secret until now.
The bodies were starting to accumulate, and Bryson wasn’t sure how long he could keep everything concealed. The hiker. The hippie. The tourists. The old couple. The college girl. Or was it two college girls? Bryson had a hard time keeping it straight in his mind.
That’s when you get caught, Bryson thought. When you get sloppy. He’d investigated enough murders from the other side of the law to know that criminals always make mistakes. Always get sloppy. The key was to catch the killer before he killed again. Stringing all of the mistakes together ahead of the next moment of bloodshed.
Bryson pulled the patrol car into the parking lot of headquarters. He saw the sheriff’s cruiser parked in the spot marked “Sheriff.” Bryson stopped his car in an unmarked spot. He still wasn’t sure what he’d say to Adams. Did anything really need to be said? Had Adams realized Bryson’s slip-up? There was a good chance Adams had missed it completely.
Adams was the king of slop. He was shortsighted, erratic, and foolish. He had a serious drinking problem, too. Still, Adams scared Bryson. The sheriff did have a nose for police work. He would sniff out hunches. He could follow leads. And he listened. That was the reason Adams had held on to his job as long as he had—Adams listened.
“Evening, Cindy,” Bryson said, as he entered the building and removed his jacket.
“Hey Glen,” Cindy said. Cindy was the police department receptionist. She was about twenty-five, with blonde hair, big red lips, and a deep tan that lasted all-year-round. She was married but didn’t have any kids.
Bryson often wondered about her marriage, about the occasional bruises on her arms that she tried to conceal with long sweaters. He didn’t ask. He did enough for this community. He couldn’t save everyone. Cindy was too close to his world to save.
“I heard there’s a storm coming,” Cindy said. She was always good for a weather report or town gossip.
“Oh yeah,” Bryson said. “Big one?”
“They didn’t say…just said a storm.”
“Oh yeah, thanks, Cindy. Good to know. Sheriff Adams in his office?”
“Yeah, he’s in there. And I think he wants to talk to you.”
Bryson’s stomach tightened. “Okay, Cindy. Thanks.”
Bryson walked down the hall and stood in front of the sheriff’s office. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
“That you, Bryson?”
“It’s me.”
“Come in.”
Bryson opened the door and saw Adams sitting deep in his chair with his feet thrown up on his desk. He had a smirk on his face.
“Bryson,” Adams said. “What does the name Martin Levy mean to you?”
Chapter Forty-Five
“Wow,” said Jack. “Wow,” he repeated, and stumbled backwards, away from Susan.
For years he’d imagined what it would be like to kiss her again, but his imagination was not even close to the real thing. This kiss was very different from the one in the laundry room. That kiss had been beautiful, but rushed and secretive and not nearly long enough. Today’s kiss was different. Susan didn’t rush at all. Jack sensed contentment in her muscles. She was not afraid that they might get caught. That Scott might see them.
Perhaps Jack was reading too much into the kiss, but he almost felt like Susan wanted to get caught. The kiss felt defiant, brazen, a statement. And God, did it feel good. Kim kissed like a slut. Sloppy, wet, unsophisticated. Susan revealed her soul by the way she kissed. Caring, deep, and warm.
Jack didn’t know what to say, so he just stood there staring at Susan. For the first time in his life he was caught without a joke.
“That was nice,” Susan said.
“Yeah, that was nice.”
“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”
“You did?” Jack asked. “I’m amazed.”
Susan laughed. “Why are you so amazed?”
“I don’t know. I just didn’t think…well…I never thought it would happen.”
“So you thought about it happening, too?” Susan asked. “It wasn’t just me.”
“Of course not. I think about kissing you pretty much every time I see you.”
Susan blushed a little and turned away.
“Jack?”
“Yeah.”
“Remember the laundry room?”
Jack looked into Susan’s eyes. “Of course I remember the laundry room. I still think about that, too.”
“So do I,” Susan admitted.
Jack stood motionless for a few moments. He noticed the sun was almost completely gone behind the mountain. They would need to find Kim and Scott soon and prepare for the night. Susan looked down, kicking a pebble on the trail.
Now it was Jack’s turn to ask questions. “Susan, what I’ve always wondered about college was, why did you go with Scott? I mean, we had that kiss at the party, and I found you a week later, in our house dating Scott. I mean, what happened?”
Susan continued to look down at the trail. “Oh, Jack. I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
“Well, I don’t know if I was hurt. But I was definitely confused. Seriously, what happened?”
“Jack, Jack…” she sighed. “Remember I told you my college nickname?”
“Sure. You said it was Mom.”
“That’s right, Mom. Well, I guess I really started to believe that stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“You know,” Susan said. “That I’m supposed to be a mom.”
“That still doesn’t explain why you left me.”
“Well, I guess I started to look at my life, and I tried to surround myself with people that I thought could help me reach my goal.”
“Your goal of being a mom?”
“Yeah.”
“And so you picked Scott?”
“Yes, I guess it seems like a stupid decision now. But I thought that Scott would have a good career…and that he’d make a good father.”
“And what sort of father do you think he’d make now?”
“A shitty one.”
Jack took a deep breath. “And what sort of father do you think I’d make?”
Susan glanced down at the trail again, and then looked directly into Jack’s eyes.
“A great one.”
Chapter Forty-Six
After Sheriff Adams left, Nicole went about cleaning her house. She always cleaned when she was confused, and the sheriff’s visit had left Nicole plenty confused.
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