I spend the rest of the morning compiling evidence in Conrad’s attempted murder. There’s a lot of it, a shocking amount really, all of it further proof that I’m dealing with a rank amateur. That describes most killers, even those who’ve done it before.
I got away with murder once, as a stupid nineteen-year-old who went to confront her ex-boyfriend with a gun. When we’d been attacked in an alley—because of something he did—he fled and left me to a presumably fatal beating. So I took a gun to confront him. I had no intention of firing it, but instead of apologizing, he blamed me.
Even as I pulled the trigger, I hadn’t intended to kill him. My rage reacted for me, zero forethought involved. I didn’t hide his body. I didn’t clean up the crime scene. I walked away without even checking to see whether I left footprints. All I did was dispose of the gun, my police cadet training giving me enough insight to do that. The rest was dumb luck.
My ex obviously hadn’t told anyone he was going to see me, and I hadn’t told anyone I was going to see him. Either I didn’t leave footprints or there were too many to choose from. He’d been a small-time drug dealer—a privileged college kid who swiped dope from his dad’s pharmacy. In his arrogance and stupidity, he’d pissed off dangerous people, and it was presumed one of them killed him.
Dumb luck for me, yes, but not unusual. Of the murders I investigated down south, at least a third of the time they were only solved because the killer talked to someone who talked to us.
With the attack on Conrad, people are happy to talk. Gloria for one. I reinterview her, and she gives me everything she can. She doesn’t know who his accomplice was, but she can confirm that Conrad himself broke into Anders’s place.
She can also confirm that, as far as she knows, he doesn’t have any other resident backgrounds. He got Anders’s from “a reliable source”—in other words, Jen under the influence. His entire plan had been to expose Anders in revenge for jealousy and various trifling offenses, like warning Conrad about “accidentally” dropping litter and warning him about “borrowing” from a neighbor’s woodpile. In other word, Anders had the audacity to call him out—very politely and respectfully—on minor offenses, none of which resulted in charges.
Conrad had asked doped-up Jen for dirt on any of the inner circle of Rockton. What he got was too good to reserve for mere blackmail. It was a chance for petty revenge.
When Conrad had Gloria post the sign, he won Rockton’s variety of fame, with the town buzzing about how someone “exposed” a cover-up. His revenge became the act of a crusader, and he quickly gained fans. The smart thing to do at this point would have been to remain the masked avenger. Bask in the accolades without revealing his identity.
This is where the superhero stories get it wrong. The true power of all those heroes must be the bulletproof egos that allow them to go about their everyday life, enduring everyday injustices, and not scream “But I’m really a superhero!” No way in hell was Conrad’s ego letting him do that. So he allowed a few people into his confidence. He started his own fan club.
The problem with fans is that they want more from you. That was great, but what’s your next act? Conrad pretended he had more when he did not. That’s why he jumped at that note luring him into the woods.
As for the note, I have that, too. It was in Conrad’s damn pocket. I’d planned to search his apartment for it this morning, because clearly he’d have the sense to hide it. Nope. The note was still in his pocket, neatly folded.
Talking to Gloria was first on my list. Next up is examining the note and those boot treads found at the scene. I’m heading back to the station when Nicole hails me.
“Hey!” I say, giving her a quick embrace.
“Two hugs in less than a day?” she says. “Clearly I need to disappear into the woods more often.”
“Yeah, yeah. Did you get to see April?”
“I did, and your sister is as endearing as ever.”
I laugh. “Makes me look warm and cuddly.”
“She does indeed. Were you heading to the station?”
“I was.”
“I’ll walk with you then.”
We continue on. No one stops us. A few look askance at Nicole, only to decide she’s just another forest dweller allowed into town for medical help.
“How quickly things change,” she murmurs as someone gives her a vague nod. “When I came back after my ordeal, I marveled at all the new faces. There were plenty I knew, though. This time it’s barely been a year, and there are only a handful of faces I recognize.”
“They’re shutting us down.”
She looks over. “What?”
“It isn’t official yet, but it’s coming. No one’s getting extensions. We’ve gotten less than a half dozen new residents in the past few months. I was new when we got you back, and now I’m the old guard.”
“What are you guys going to do?”
I shrug. “Whatever we can. Right now, we just want the council to admit they’re closing us down, so we have something to fight. We’re boxing shadows at this point.” I inhale. “So, on a happier note, I’m guessing April gave you a clean bill of health?”
“She did. I felt as if everything was fine, but I’m past thirty, first baby, and there was the … one I lost.”
The one her captor beat out of her. I don’t let my expression change, just nod in understanding. This is how we bonded. We had our ordeals—hers so much more horrific than mine—and we just want to move on. To live as regular people, our pasts put behind us.
She continues, “No issues that April can see, although she reminded me—not less than three times—that she isn’t a gynecologist.”
I sigh. “She does that.”
“With a laundry list of qualifications and conditions, she is ‘allowing’ us to return to the forest. Which is why I caught up. There’s a lot going on here, and Jacob would prefer not to linger. You guys are obviously busy. We’ll be back in a few weeks—April wants twice-monthly checkups—and hopefully things will be calm enough for a proper visit.”
I want to protest. I don’t. The atmosphere in town right now will make Jacob uneasy. Dalton won’t be pleased about them leaving so soon. Yet they are right about the timing. We don’t have any attention to spare. Not right now.
“I think I’m wrapping up the case,” I say. “I know who exposed Will’s background. I have enough evidence on his attacker that I can expect to make an arrest soon. Yes, you should go, but do come back. Please.”
She puts an arm around my shoulders. “We will.”
* * *