I didn't want to go there. My father was obsessive, paranoid, and systematic.
That still did not mean he was a killer.
Except maybe he wasn't even Russell Granger?
My temples started to throb again, the beginnings of a first-class headache that had started twenty-five years ago and now threatened to go on without end. I didn't know what to do. I just wanted… I just wished…
"Hello."
The voice startled me so badly, I squeaked, twirled, and nearly fell. A strong hand grabbed my arm, held me upright.
Bella barked excitedly as I belatedly turned around to discover the old man from Boston State Mental standing beside me. Charlie Marvin. Bella barked louder. Far from being concerned, Charlie simply bent down and held out his hand.
"Beautiful dog," he murmured, waiting until Bella gave up barking long enough to sniff his hand. Another tentative sniff, then she stepped toward him, wagging her tail.
Charlie, apparently, was a dog person. "Oh, there's a good girl. Aren't you beautiful? Look at those markings. You must be an Australian shepherd. Not a lot of sheep around here for herding, I'm afraid. Would you settle for taxis? What do you think? You look like a fast girl. I bet you catch a lot of taxis."
Bella seemed to think this was a fine idea. She pressed herself against Charlie, while eyeing me for approval. The man had totally and completely won over my dog.
He finally straightened from his squat, smiling ruefully as his knees creaked, and he had to grab my arm for support.
"Sorry," he said cheerfully "It's one thing to get down. Quite another to get up."
"What are you doing here?" I asked, voice sharp, making no apologies.
His blue eyes crinkled at the corners. He seemed to find my concern amusing. He held up both hands in a gesture of mea culpa. "Remember how I said you looked familiar?"
I nodded grudgingly
"I kept thinking about it, remembered from where. This park. You run through here with your dog. Generally a bit earlier than this, but I've spotted you quite a few times. I never forget a face, particularly a pretty one." He glanced down, tickled Bella under the chin. "Of course I'm talking about you, sweetheart," he crooned.
I couldn't help myself, I finally smiled. Then hastily pulled it together. "And why are you in the park so often?"
He jerked his head toward the corner of Atlantic Avenue. "Working with the homeless. Just because you don't have a roof over your head doesn't mean you should be denied the word of God."
I couldn't think of an argument for that.
"Anyhooo," he drawled, rocking back on his heels, cramming his hands into his pockets, "I'll confess, I've been looking for you."
I didn't say anything, but felt my pulse quicken as I went on high alert.
"You're not with the police," he stated.
No answer.
"But they took you to the crime scene." He cocked his head, regarding me steadily "So I figure maybe you're another kind of expert. Botanist, bone person. I don't really know anything, I just watch Court TV. But I am a good judge of people and I don't think you're a scientist any more than you're a cop. Which means… I'm thinking relative. Of one of those poor girls. But you're too young to be a mother. So maybe a sister? That's my theory, at least. you knew one of the girls whose body has been discovered, and for that I am very sad."
Very slowly, I nodded. Sister. That seemed close enough.
Charlie smiled. "Phew!" He made an exaggerated motion of wiping his brow "I really am blowing things out my arse, you know. Then again, more often than not, I'm right. The Lord has given me a gift. For now, I am using it for His work. Minute this gig is done, however, that's it. I'm hitting the poker tables. In my old age, I'm gonna get myself a Cadillac!"
His smile was too infectious. I found myself smiling back, while Bella pranced around us, clearly infatuated with her newfound friend.
"All right," I said. "So I'm a relative. What's your interest?"
Charlie sobered up instantly, shaking his head mournfully "I can't sleep. I know that might sound crazy. I'm a minister. If I don't know the true evil man is capable of, then who does? But I'm an idealist. The times I've been around genuine evil, I knew it. I could feel it, touch it, smell it. Christopher Eola reeked of it.