by Julia Shupe
“Tell me more about the trial,” Jacob pressed, changing the subject, which irritated me. “It couldn’t have been easy to face him in court.”
“True. It wasn’t. But somehow I got through it. I focused on all the other women out there, on people who’d suffer if I didn’t see it through.”
This woman was strong. I liked her, which of course made it harder to ask my next question, the question for which I was dying to know the answer. “The end of that trial is famous, Meghan: the last thing he said to you when they dragged him off to prison. If he had said that during the trial, or on record, he might have received a harsher sentence.”
Gil shook his head. “There wasn’t a harsher sentence, Ness. Not back then. Tubbs didn’t kill anyone.”
“But it would have shown intent,” I objected. “Doesn’t that count for something?” Tubbs’ sentence had been ridiculously light, and after all these years, it was still difficult to accept. With eighteen dead girls in a field back home, I was finding it nearly impossible. “Do you think Carlton meant what he said?” I asked Meghan. “About finding you? About finishing what he started?”
“I was sure at the time, and it ruined my life. I’ve never gotten past it. It keeps me in hiding. Those last few words changed my life in the worst way possible, in a way that cut deeper than his knife ever did. Carlton Tubbs left me without the use of my feet. Oh—I still have my left foot, of course. But when he flayed the skin, he exposed the nerves. He took too much of the muscle, too. My foot can’t support the full weight of my body. I’ll never live a life without pain. And those, detectives, are just the physical scars. The emotional ones are even worse. When he said he’d come back to finish me off, he effectively killed me. I may as well have died. He stole my innocence and my faith in humanity. He took my freedom. Those words were a curse. When he said them, he effectively stole my future. It was what he intended to do. He won.” She raised her face and I felt my heart pinch. For a moment, she looked like a woman half her age. Half her face was cloaked in shadow, and the other half was twisted in gut-wrenching sorrow. “I have to say,” she went on, calmly. “I’m not at all surprised you’re here. I’m not surprised by any of this. I think, all my life, I’ve been waiting for this to happen.” She pinned her eyes on Jacob. “People don’t change, Agent Forest. They might try to change, but ultimately, they can’t. They get stuck in the same old patterns. They’re like warped records on old record players. The needle continually gets caught in the grooves.”
“And what groove do you think Tubbs is stuck in?”
“I think he’s a terribly damaged man. And trust me: I’m not excusing his actions. I’ll never forgive him. I’m not capable of that. But I’ve read about him. Many books have been written.”
“Including yours,” I pointed out.
“Including mine. Studying Tubbs was cathartic for me. It was a journey of strength and growth. It took a long time to gain the courage to even look at his picture. But once I did, it dispelled some of the mystery. It humanized him. It brought him down to my level. Once I studied his life and his past, I stopped giving him so much power. I saw his true face instead of the face of a demon. The more I studied him, the more sense his actions made. When Tubbs attacked me, he was really attacking his mother. How crazy is that? She must have been a real piece of work. Can you imagine what led him to hate her so much? What abuses she inflicted on him? What mistreatments? I wonder what she thinks of him now. I wonder what she thinks about the monster she created?”
“She’s probably not thinking about anything,” Gil answered. “She’s probably dead. We don’t know. We’re not sure. She disappeared years ago.”
“Or he killed her,” Meghan pointed out.
“Yes,” Gil said. “Or he killed her. But what you said about his face interests me. Let’s go back to that for a moment. While attacking you, Carlton didn’t wear a mask. That was always an interesting fact to me.”
“Yeah,” she cut in. “And it’s easy to explain. He didn’t expect me to live.”
“You’re probably right,” Gil allowed. “But you were able to see every emotion on his face, every nuance, every detail, every flicker in his eyes. Are you absolutely certain—and please, think hard before you answer. Is it possible Carlton Tubbs had an accomplice?”
She gave Gil a look that could turn a man to stone. “Why are you so damn focused on that? Does it make the crime that much easier to solve, accept, or digest? Are the new crimes all that different than what was done to me? They must be somewhat similar or you wouldn’t be sitting in my house right now.” When Gil didn’t answer, she turned her attention back to Jacob. “I know you can’t give me specifics about the crime—or crimes—but they have to be relevant or you wouldn’t be here. You took a damn airplane to get here.” She took an exasperated breath. “Agent Forest, I said that people follow the same patterns. I never said they didn’t change, evolve, or try new things. I don’t think Carlton Tubbs had an accomplice. It’s a cop-out. It’s too easy to say ‘the devil made me do it’. People are always blaming others for their mistakes. There’s always an outside influence, or another, some faceless demon that makes us do the things we do. When will people start holding themselves accountable? When will they own their actions?
“When it comes to Carlton Tubbs,” she continued, “there are enough outside influences we can point to. We can cite his childhood, his mother, her drug use, his abusive father, an impoverished childhood, a lack of intimacy during his most formative years. But all of that is according to him! His father never came forward to corroborate it.”
“So you think he acted alone,” I clarified. “You’re absolutely sure.” We were straying too far from the original question. It was an important one. I wanted an answer.
“I suppose—given my mindset at the time—I can’t be absolutely sure.” Meghan frowned. “But I do know this: an accomplice isn’t likely. It’s too far-fetched. Given the profile I just outlined, it doesn’t make sense. Isn’t it likelier Tubbs acted alone? Can’t you see what he’s doing? He’s taking revenge for past abuses. It’s a personal thing. It’s personal to him. I don’t know why you’re here, detectives, but whatever Carlton is doing right now is an updated version of the original crime. Tubbs is a very sick man. Don’t get hung up on the whispering stuff. There was no accomplice. You’re reading too much into it. That day in woods, he was arguing with himself. If someone is out there raping women and chopping off their feet, you should look no further than Carlton Tubbs.”
Chapter 16
“Why did you ask to use her bathroom before we left?”
I responded by pointing to my phone. We’d left Meghan Newton’s apartment over two hours ago, checked into a crappy hotel, and then found an even crappier diner down the street.
“Sorry,” Jacob whispered. “Didn’t know you were making a call.”
Relief swept through me when I heard Danny’s voice. Having witnessed Meghan’s pain and torment up close, I needed a warm ray of sunshine.
“Hi, honey!”
“Mom! Are you coming home tonight?”
“Not tonight, but in a few days, I am. How are you doing? Are you holding down the fort?”
“Mom, we don’t live in a fort,” he countered. “And our house is stuck to the ground already. Why do I need to hold it down? But a fort sounds fun. Can we do that? When you get back, can we build one?”
“Let’s do it. How’s Aunt Lin?”
“Good. We baked lemon bars last night.”
“Lemon bars? But you just had birthday cake yesterday. Have your teeth fallen out yet? Have you grown as big as a house?”
He giggled and it melted my heart. “No. That won’t happen to me, Mom. I can eat anything I want. I’m a growing boy.”
“Is that so?” I smiled. He was such a good kid it broke my heart. “I thought growing boys were supposed to eat their fruits and vegetables.”
“Mom, am I going to Dad’s tomorrow?”
“Nice change of top
ic, son, but yes. You’re going to Dad’s tomorrow, and I’ll pick you up when I get back. How’s that sound?”
Of course, to Danny, it sounded fabulous. He loved his father’s house, much to my chagrin. I bit back the words I wanted to say, and for a few more minutes, enjoyed the easy conversation, the normalcy of it, the comfort and routine. After the day I’d had, the simplicity was heartening. Danny prattled on about video games and Aunt Linda’s cooking, about the materials we’d use to build our fort. I listened to his voice and let it heal me.
“Sounds like a good kid,” Jacob said when I disconnected the line.
“He is. He’s the best. And he’s been through a lot. Do you have kids, Jake?” I didn’t think he’d ever actually married, and I was almost certain he didn’t have children, but it felt impolite not to ask.
He shook his head. “Nope. Never had kids. Never been married, either.”
Why was his answer so satisfying to me? I did my best to cover it up. “Never?” I asked, feigning as much surprise as I could believably muster.
“You say that like I’m sixty-five years old, like I’m rolling down the hill toward decrepitude. We’re only thirty-seven, Ness, and thirty-seven’s the new twenty-five. Haven’t you heard?” He smiled. “I’ve never been married. I think it’s the job.” He steepled his fingers over his half-empty plate. “It takes a special kind of woman to put up with this crap: the long hours, the negativity. You should know. It’s tough not to bring it all home. Besides,” he added, his grin dimpling his cheeks. “You married someone else. You left me all alone one day, and you never came back. What was I supposed to do with that?”
I picked at my burger and ignored his last comment. There were many decisions I regretted in life, but I wasn’t yet ready to analyze that particular one. “Yeah. I’m starting to get the special-kind-of-spouse thing.” I made a tent of my napkin across my plate. “Jacob, can I ask you a personal question?” Without waiting for his permission, I plowed on. “Do you think our jobs infect us? Do you think they leave permanent scars on our souls? Can people like us ever live normal lives? The things we see…the darkest sides of human nature. Do you think those things leave stains?”
“That wasn’t one question, Vanessa. That was four.” He sipped his beer, and I waited. It was difficult to believe he was sitting in front of me, that I could reach out and touch him, or ruffle his hair. The man I had once called the great love of my life was no more than an arms-length away.
“In some ways, yes,” he said slowly. “But there’s something we have to own up to as well. The job might tarnish us, but we’re the ones who chose it. So what does that say about us? There’s a reason we both got into this business, and I think that’s the part people struggle with the most. The choice. The fact that we put ourselves here. We chose this particular path, did we not? No one forced us to be here. We could have done anything we wanted with our lives, but we chose to spend them chasing monsters. We examine blood, bone, and death for a living. It’s what we’re good at.” He shrugged. “At least I know why you made the choice. Yours makes sense. Mine isn’t as exciting, or altruistic. I’m just followed in my old man’s footsteps.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” I said, pointedly. “Has the job infected you? Has it changed you into someone else?”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “That wasn’t the question you asked.”
“Okay. Then I’m asking it now. I’d really like to know. Has the blood, bone, and death left behind a permanent stain?”
He spoke carefully, like he’d put thought into his answer long before I’d asked the question. “I’m definitely more cynical than other people my age. And I’m definitely more paranoid, more suspicious of other people. I’m sure Dr. Phil would have a field day with that. But I really don’t think I’m infected. I’m not tainted by it. I’m not untouchable. I’m not sullen or ruined or tarnished. I can still see the good in people—in the world, actually, and I’m still interested in living a happy and fulfilling life. The problem with me is companionship. I’m not afraid of commitment, or anything. It just takes a special kind of person to have a relationship with.” He nodded in the direction of the hotel down the street. “Your partner seems to have found something good. How many times did he call his wife today?”
Gil had chosen to stay behind, at the hotel. He’d said he wanted to use the gym. It was horseshit. When was the last time Gil had used a gym? He’d probably spend his night talking to Abbie. That, I frowned, or this was his attempt at playing cupid again. He was always trying to hook me up, and his choices were usually less than stellar. But he cared about me, and in truth, it meant a lot. This was his way of looking out for my best interests. I appreciated it. Altruism was rare. He and Abbie were happy together; they wanted other people to experience the same kind of joy.
I peered at Jacob from across the table. “Gil and Abbie aren’t normal,” I said. “There’s a connection there, something rare, something real. It’s something most people don’t ever get to experience.”
He stared at me, but didn’t respond, and I let myself stare back. He was so damn familiar, so much like home. The years that had passed had barely changed him. What little work Mother Nature had done had softened his rough edges. He was so unlike the boy I’d known in high school, yet similar to him in all the ways that mattered most. I remembered the first time we actually slept together. It was the night of our high school graduation, at a party, in a stranger’s backyard, beneath a star-speckled sky. I recalled the connection, as well as the regret, and the crushing disappointment that came later. People seldom regret the things they say or do. Frustration arises from missed opportunities. It’s the things we don’t do, the missed chances, the perfect hindsight: those are the things that become heavy baggage. Jacob and I had grown up together. We’d always been closer than friends. But for some stupid reason, we kept it secret from other people. I still wasn’t exactly sure why. We should have lived it, owned it, bared it all for the world to see. We should have waited to see what road it led to, and then taken it bravely, without giving it a second thought. It was only years after our night beneath the stars that I began to lament the wasted time. Why had we hidden our relationship?
Looking into his eyes, I remembered the day I left for college, as well as the day I came home to find him gone. He’d gone to the FBI academy, in Quantico, Virginia. He’d left me behind, but hadn’t I left him first? That was the rub, and I knew it. He’d given me a chance, and I’d blown it. Before committing to Virginia, he’d visited me once. He’d come to Gainesville and stayed in my apartment. It was a very strange trip. I was in a dark place. My mother had been taken, and I wasn’t handling it well. He was feeling things out, making plans. He was trying to decide what to do with his life, where he would spend it, and with whom. I should have known. I was the one who had ruined everything.
“What are you thinking about?” His voice made me jump.
Shaking my head, I came up with a quick lie. “That maybe we should put Meghan in protective custody.”
“Why did you use her bathroom before we left? I didn’t hear the toilet flush.”
“You were listening?” I asked. “That’s intrusive, Agent Forrest. Not to mention perverted. But you’re right. I didn’t flush the toilet. I didn’t use the facilities at all, actually. I just wanted to get a feel for who Meghan is. I wanted to see who the woman behind the closed and locked doors is—or in Meghan’s case, the pinned curtains.”
His smile was wry. “So tell me, Detective Stone. What did you find behind the curtains?” He lifted a brow. “Or behind the medicine cabinet?” I blushed. He knew me so well. “Relative to her toiletries, who is Meghan Newton?”
“As it turns out, her toiletries didn’t have much to say, but the bottles of Prazosin and Zoloft certainly did.”
I didn’t want to mention the other reason I’d left the room. I was a cop. I was used to seeing people at their worst, but Meghan’s story, her vibe, had wor
n me down. Sitting in that cold dark room, watching her eyes dart from corner to shadowed corner, had suddenly become too much for me to handle. The sights, the sounds, and the smells had threatened to choke me: the sound of the attack dog, huffing down the hall; the ghastly sight of Meghan’s bouncing prosthesis; the incessant buzzing of the cheap refrigerator. The combination had made me feel sick. The woman had all but imprisoned herself. She was a caged animal, and Tubbs held the key. I’d just needed some air, some light, and a moment alone with my thoughts. I was accustomed to working with dead bodies and broken things, but rarely had I interviewed a victim of such severe trauma. The experience, frankly, had felt too personal. After all, I had thought, watching Meghan cower in her overstuffed chair, this could easily be my mother. It was difficult not to draw comparisons, and impossible to prevent my imagination from running wild. Had my mother lived through something similar? Some sick kind of torture at the hands of a psychotic madman? Had she experienced pain and unrelenting torture? Things beyond the scope of human endurance?
Jacob whistled under his breath, pulling my thoughts from Meghan’s dark apartment into this greasy diner. “Prazosin,” he said. “That’s some serious stuff.”
“It’s used to treat nightmares in people with severe PTSD,” I said. “To be honest, I would have expected Meghan to be past that stuff. It’s been decades since her experience. I would think she’d have ditched medications by now.” I shook my head. “It threw me for a loop. It’s been thirty years since Meghan met Carlton Tubbs. Can a person ever get past this stuff? It’s almost too depressing to say out loud.”
“I don’t know,” he replied, spooning a unappetizing glob of chocolate pudding into his mouth. “You heard what she said. It’s not that simple for her. She doesn’t consider her situation normal. If Carlton Tubbs were locked up in jail, and if she knew he was secure and never getting out, she might be a different person right now. I think it’s that—the not knowing part—that tortures her. She lives life beneath the constant threat of his words. He promised revenge, and she thinks he’ll deliver. And then, of course, there’s us. One day, out of the blue, we come knocking on her door and confirm her worst nightmares. Not only is Carlton Tubbs killing again, but none of us knows where he is.”
