“If she’s still alive, I may as well try.”
He turned to a kitchen drawer, riffled through it for a notepad and a pen. He wrote something down and handed it to me. It was his phone number. “I can’t give you the case file, because that would be breaking the rules,” he said. “But if you have questions, or you need me, then call me anytime. I’ll tell you everything I can.”
I took the number. “Why are you helping me? Is it because of Beth?” I didn’t like that idea—that Beth was hovering over every aspect of what I was doing, jerking all of the strings.
For the first time, Black’s expression went a little hard, and I glimpsed the man who had faced down some of the worst of humanity without fear. “I agreed to this meeting because I wanted to meet the only person my top suspect has ever called me about,” he said. “But that’s not why I’m helping you. I’m helping you because you’re Girl A.”
My heart hammered in my chest. “I’m what?”
“We couldn’t identify you by name in our analysis of the Sherry Haines case,” Black said. “You were too young, and your identity was protected. But the murder file, the file I worked on, contained your name. I knew your name because I met you. I’m giving you the best chance to finally solve this case because you’re Girl A. Because in forty years, you’re the only one Beth has decided to talk to. If anyone can find what the truth is, I think it’s you.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
September 2017
SHEA
All that week, I had strange dreams. I’d see the Greer mansion sitting in the rainy gloom, dark and silent, framed by the black-branched trees. I’d see the bleak view out the back windows, looking over the edge of the rise to the ocean, and I’d see the imprints of footprints in the grass. As if someone wanted in—or could already come and go at will—and nothing I could do would stop them.
I’d see someone falling over that cliff. A pair of feet leaving the edge, sailing into the cold air above the ocean. I’d feel a cold gust of air from a broken-in door, and I’d see blood spiraling in that sink, red turning pinkish in the water.
I’d wake up certain that the taps in my bathroom were turned on, that the curtains on my window had changed position. Then I’d lie awake, alone in the dark, listening for sounds. Was that a footstep? A tap on the roof, as if someone were walking there? Was there someone in my living room right now, prowling quietly? If there was, how stupid was I to get out of bed and go look?
By day, I’d sit at the reception desk and wonder if the file cabinets behind me were opening while my back was turned, if the papers were moving from one side of the desk to the other. By night, I waded into the Book of Cold Cases and used my online searching skills to find Sylvia Bledsoe, the woman who had once worked as Julian Greer’s secretary. Because there had to be answers out there somewhere. Anywhere.
“Come to dinner,” Esther said to me on the phone one night after work.
“I don’t think I can,” I said. “I’m kind of busy.”
“Doing what?”
I hadn’t told Esther about my meetings with Beth Greer. She wouldn’t know who Beth was, and once I told her, she would probably have an anxiety attack. “My usual stuff.”
“Shea, I’m playing my sister card. You know I don’t do it often. Come to dinner.”
I caved. I really was tired of sitting here alone, wondering what those sounds were. “Okay. Tomorrow. I’ll come after work.”
“Yay!” She actually said that, unironically, as a thirty-three-year-old woman. “I’ll make chicken tetrazzini.”
“You don’t have to do that.” She knew that was my favorite meal, but it wasn’t simple to make. Esther made the sauce from scratch, which immediately made me feel bad. “We’ll order in. You don’t have to cook. It’s fine.”
“I’d like to do it. Besides, we eat out all the time anyway. Will is going to be overjoyed.”
I sighed. They were going to make a fuss, or at least Esther was.
“You know, Will has a cute coworker,” Esther was saying. “He’s single. Maybe I’ll invite him, too.”
Oh God. “Please don’t. I’m begging you.”
“I just think—”
“Esther, I don’t want to be set up.”
“It isn’t a setup exactly. It’s just dinner. You can’t be single forever.”
“I can. I literally can. That’s a thing.” No one understood single people. If you didn’t have a partner and babies, how were you spending your time? I’d tried the marriage thing, and I’d still been me. Except an unhappy version of me.
“Okay,” Esther said, “but being a spinster isn’t healthy. This guy is a junior lawyer. He’s really nice.”
“Did you know that Ted Bundy was executed in 1989, but they didn’t type his DNA until 2011?” I said.
Esther paused. I’d surprised her. “What?”
“No one actually knows how many women he murdered,” I said. “With DNA, they can try and close old cold cases. But it’s taking them years. We could find out about Bundy victims we didn’t even know about.”
“Shea,” my sister said.
“Did you know that Gary Ridgway’s coworkers called him Green River Gary?” I said. “They teased him about secretly being the Green River Killer. None of them knew that he actually was. He killed almost fifty women. That must have been pretty weird for those guys, reading in the paper that he was arrested, don’t you think?”
“Shea.”
“Esther, if you bring a date to this dinner, I swear I will say those exact things as dinner conversation. Is that what you want?”
“Okay, okay, I surrender. You win. It will be just us and the tetrazzini, okay? Come tomorrow.”
I opened my mouth to agree, but there was a thump in the hallway outside my door, the sound of something shifting. Then the sound of the stairwell door opening and closing. I wasn’t imagining it this time.
“I have to go,” I said to Esther. “Someone’s at the door.”
“Oh, good. Maybe it’s a neighbor coming to say hi. Maybe he’s single and good-looking.”
“Maybe it’s someone here to murder me. If it is, I leave you my worldly possessions.”
“Shea.”
“Talk soon, sis,” I said, and hung up. I let the joke fall away as I sat in silence, listening. Nothing for a long minute, and then a faint shifting sound, as if someone really was outside the door. I thought I could hear breathing.
I stood up, keeping the phone awake in my hand, ready to dial 911. I walked softly to the door, moving quietly so whoever it was wouldn’t hear me approach. I looked out my peephole but saw only the wall across the hallway.
Packages were left in the mail room, so it wasn’t UPS or FedEx. Who had a code to the front door of my building? I heard another soft sound. Someone was definitely there.
“I’m calling the police,” I said loudly. “You need to go away now.”
Silence.
“I’m not opening this door,” I said. “You can’t get in here. The police will be on their way in thirty seconds. Leave.”
Still silence, but I knew there was a presence in the hallway. I dialed nine, waited a beat, then dialed one.
Finally, there was a sound. Whiny and growly, rather pissed-off. A cat’s meow.
I blinked. Canceled the call. Then I opened the door.
In front of my door was a plastic pet carrier and two large shopping bags. As I watched, the cat carrier shifted, as if the cat inside was turning in circles, tired of being trapped.
Taped to the top of one of the bags was a note:
You were right. I decided not to come to my senses. I’m going to live with my mother for a while.
I agree he shouldn’t get the cat. Mom is allergic, so the cat is yours now. Sorry to do this to you, but he’s fixed and he doesn’t bite. I guess you can drop him at a shelter if you have to, but I couldn’t do it. If you keep him, let him sleep on the bed, because he loves it. He’ll do anything you want for tuna treats.
Sorry again,
Alison
P.S. His name is Winston Purrchill.
* * *