“Steps,” I say stupidly, before remembering that I’m talking to a serial killer.
A wide smile blossoms on his face and his gaze lingers a moment before turning away. “Sheriff Gant,” he finishes as he takes in the giant lawman. “Nice of you all to visit me.” His voice may be weak, but his words are coated in sarcasm and contempt.
“You know why we’re here,” Jimmy says without emotion. “There are two women still missing and we need to find them, it’s that simple. You know that Susan Ault has a small daughter; you saw her; you were in her room. Maybe you know that her name is Sarah and that she’s two years old. Did you know that Sarah lost her father in a car accident when she was just three months old? No, I bet you didn’t know that. Do you really want to make this little girl an orphan? This is an opportunity for you to help yourself.”
Zell takes it all in; he’s quiet a moment … and then he chuckles. “Help myself? Sure. Let’s see if we can balance the scales. On one side we have the two women you’re still looking for. On the other side are—count them—twenty-one bodies?”
“Twenty-one!” I feel gut-kicked, and it shows on my face.
His smile is sickening, gloating.
“You didn’t honestly think you found them all, did you?” The sentence ends in a coughing spasm. Stacy jumps from her seat but then stops abruptly and slowly lowers herself back into the chair.
When the coughing subsides, Jimmy presses close. “Give them peace, Zell. Give yourself peace. Do the right thing here.”
“Right thing,” the monster scoffs indignantly. “I’ll die before I tell you anything. I’m doing right by me, just like those women did right by me.” He tries to shake his head, but the effort ends in failure. “You won’t find them,” he says, his voice weaker now. As he continues to speak, we lean in close for the words. “They’re tucked away in a nice dark place … I wanted you to know … they’re in a place you won’t find.… You lose.”
My head is suddenly splitting.
Taking my glasses off, I tuck them away, casting my eyes toward the window, the wall, the floor, anywhere but at Zell and his hideous amaranth shine.
“What kind of deal are you looking for?” Jimmy presses, refusing to back away. “There’s got to be something you want in exchange for Lauren and Susan.”
“I want my lawyer,” Zells says, forcing an end to our conversation.
Just like that, it’s over.
As I trail behind Walt and Jimmy from the room, Zell’s voice rises up, stronger than ever. “Aww, why the sad face, Steps?”
Anger ignites every nerve ending in my body and I whirl on him, my mouth already open to respond—and then I see it: movement near the ceiling. The colors blend and mix and then separate again in a slow-moving vortex of shine. It’s something I’ve never seen before, and for a moment it stuns me to silence. I missed it during the short interview. I had my glasses on when we entered the room, and I was too focused on Zell.
Now, through unfiltered eyes, I see them waiting over the hospital bed, like ethereal vultures over otherworldly roadkill. Perhaps a better description would be vengeful spirits over the condemned.
I shiver—a long and deep tremble that shakes every extremity.
Above the gloating, unremorseful Sad Face Killer, waiting, I count six separate shines. Three of them I recognize: Valerie Heagle, Leah Daniels, and Natalie Shoemaker. The other three I’ve never seen before.
Zell fights off a hard coughing fit after his parting outburst. Regaining his breath and his composure, he stares at me and then grows curious and befuddled. His eyes follow mine to the ceiling and then back down.
“What?” he croaks.
My gaze falls to the evil before me and I smile.
Jimmy’s watching me; he’s just as puzzled as Zell. Before he can stop me, I stride across the room to the side of the hospital bed and place my words in the killer’s ear.
“I have a special ability,” I hiss. “It lets me see things that others can’t. That’s how I know you killed Lauren three days ago at exactly twelve forty-seven P.M. It’s also how I know Susan Ault is still alive.” The look on Zell’s face is priceless, but I’m not finished.
Pulling back, I turn my face slowly to the ceiling, linger a moment, and then turn slowly back from the dead to the dying. “I know what’s waiting for you,” I whisper.
As Zell erupts in a violent coughing fit that sends his body into spasms, I turn and make my way to the door.
I don’t look back.
July 8, 3:17 P.M.
Forty miles west of Redding and snug up against Interstate 36 stands the tiny community of Platina. Founded as Noble’s Station in 1902 by local resident Dan Noble, it served as a stop for stagecoaches traveling to and from Red Bluff, Knob, Hayfork, and other destinations. A boardinghouse, general store, and post office completed the tiny settlement.
The Roaring Twenties brought a new discovery—and a new name—to Noble’s Station when Dan Noble and others discovered platinum in Beegum Creek. Soon after, the locals took to calling the place Platina, after a native alloy of platinum.
It didn’t change their fortunes much.
In 1968 a monastic community of the Serbian Orthodox Church founded the Saint Herman of Alaska Monastery. With its adobe walls and bulbous onion-dome spires, the monastery is beautiful and humble among the hills and trees.
Today the town is little-changed from these earlier days, except now a serial killer’s hideout lies hidden somewhere in the hills to the north.
A little piece of luck led us here.
After the initial search of Zell’s property turned up nothing, Jimmy found a cell phone on the seat of the shot-up Ford pickup. It was one of the pay-as-you-go phones—a throwaway phone, in cop vernacular—which explains why we never found a phone number associated with Zell. With throwaways, it’s nearly impossible to link the number to the user, or vice versa … unless you have the phone.