“It’s only a hunch,” she said, but her tone told him she thought it was more. “At this point, I don’t think we have anything to lose by checking it out. Ray Howard mentioned going there to cut wood. He knows something. Maybe he’s seen something.”
“I can’t believe you let him go.”
“He’s not the killer, Nick. But I think he might know who is.”
“You still think it’s Keller, don’t you?” He shot her a look, but in the dark he saw only that her face was turned away from him, staring again into the black night.
“Keller could have easily planted my cell phone in Howard’s room. He had access to the pickup. He keeps those strange paintings of tortured martyrs, martyrs with the sign of the cross sliced into their chests.”
“The guy has bad taste in art, that doesn’t make him a killer. Besides, anyone could have seen Keller’s paintings and gotten the idea.”
“Keller also knew all three boys.”
“Actually, all five boys,” Nick interrupted. “Lucy and Max were able to dig up lists and applications. Eric Paltrow and Aaron Harper did attend church camp the summer before they were murdered. But that means Ray Howard knew all the boys, too.”
“It’s more than that, Nick. Somehow, I think this killer believes he’s making these boys martyrs, saving them from something. Most serial killers murder for pleasure, for sexual gratification or to fill some other egocentric need. It’s like something clicks in this guy and sends him on a mission. Father Keller fits much of that profile. Who else would administer last rites to his victims but a priest? And who else would have the perfect opportunity to push Father Francis down a flight of stairs and get away with it?”
“Jesus, Maggie. You still won’t let that go?”
“Looks like I may not have a choice. The archdiocese is in charge of Father Francis’ remains, since there’s no next of kin, and they see no reason for an autopsy.”
There was silence between them. If Father Francis had been shoved down those stairs, Nick could imagine Howard being more than capable of doing it. But now he wondered what it was Father Francis wanted to share with Maggie.
“Maybe we’ve got this wrong,” Nick said, unraveling the thought as he spoke. “Maybe Keller is involved, but maybe he’s protecting someone.”
“What do you mean?”
“Father Francis couldn’t tell us about Jeffreys’ confession. Suppose the killer confessed to Father Keller?”
Maggie sat quietly. She was obviously mulling over the idea. Perhaps it wasn’t so far-fetched, Nick realized.
Suddenly, out of the darkness, Maggie said, “Did you know Ray Howard and Eddie Gillick are friends?”
Chapter 78
Christine knew it was the anger that had rendered her temporarily insane. Otherwise, why would she be climbing into Eddie Gillick’s rusted Chevy? Even his apology about the state of the vehicle sounded half-sincere. Yet, here she was with her feet kicking empty McDonald’s containers. A spring poked into her back, and crumb-filled stuffing grew out of the cushion next to her. It smelled of French fries, cigarettes and that annoying aftershave lotion. Something smelled like the back of her refrigerator.
Eddie slid into the driver’s seat, tossing his hat into the back and stealing a long glance of himself in the rearview mirror. He stuck the key in the ignition, and the loose tailpipe sent the car vibrating.
Christine wished she had changed clothes after the interview. Despite her long trench coat, it felt as if something was crawling on her bare legs. She opened her coat to make sure there weren’t black bugs skittering up her thighs. As she ran a hand over one leg, she noticed Eddie watching, smiling. She pulled her coat closed and decided bugs were better than Eddie’s eyes.
He gunned the engine, slamming her back into the seat. She reached up for the seat belt and saw it had been cut out. He sped past the turn to her street and a fresh panic sent her hand to the door handle. It broke off with a snap, and Eddie frowned at her.
“Relax, Christine. Your dad said I should get you something to eat.”
“I’m really not hungry,” she blurted quickly, the panic slipping out. “Really, I’m just tired.” That was better. She couldn’t let it sound as if she didn’t trust him.
“I can grill you up a steak that’ll make your mouth water. Just happen to have a couple in my fridge.”
Oh, God. Not his place.
“Maybe another time, Eddie.” She made her voice as sweet as possible, despite the revulsion. “I really am tired. Could you please just take me home?”
She watched his face out of the corner of her eye. His mustache twitched, then a crooked smile. Another glance at himself in the rearview mirror.
“You came on to me pretty strong that evening out by the river,” he said.
Big mistake. How could she be so stupid? Yet, other reporters did that sort of thing all the time, didn’t they?
“Look, I’m sorry about that, Eddie.” Be sincere. Don’t let him see you’re scared. “It was my first big assignment. I guess I was nervous.”
“It’s okay, Christine. I know it’s been over a year since your husband left. Hell, you don’t have to play shy with me. I know women get horny, too.”
Oh, dear God. This was not going well. She felt sick again as she watched houses pass by. A few more blocks and they’d leave streetlights behind. They were headed out of town. Her heart raced. She was beyond playing cool and calm. She shoved her weight against the door. It didn’t move. Her shoulder throbbed. Eddie scowled at her, then the scowl grew into another twisted smile, telling her it didn’t matter whether or not she played along.
His eyes were coal black to match his greased-back hair. She remembered he was about her height but muscular. After all, he had knocked Nick off his feet with two lousy punches. Of course, Nick hadn’t seen it coming. Something told Christine that was how Eddie operated. Attacking when his victims least expected. Like a spider.
“Eddie, please.” She was not above pleading. “My son’s missing. I’m really in awful shape. Please just take me home.”
“I know what you need, Christine. Take your mind off things for a while. Just relax.”
Her eyes darted around the car. Anything…was there anything she could use as a weapon? Then in the glow of the panel lights she saw a long-necked beer bottle roll out from under the seat, as though answering her prayer.
He was driving awfully fast. She needed to wait. Wait until they stopped, or they’d end up in a snow-filled ditch, stranded in the middle of nowhere. Could she contain the panic until then? Could she keep the scream that clawed at her throat from escaping her lips?
“It wouldn’t hurt you to be nice to me, Christine,” he said slowly. “If you’re nice, I might just tell you where Timmy is.”
Chapter 79
Timmy hid his feet under the covers. He scooted into the corner while the stranger paced in front of the bed. Something was wrong. The stranger seemed upset. He hadn’t said anything since he came into the room. Instead, he threw his ski jacket onto the bed and started pacing.
Timmy kept quiet and watched. Under the covers, he pulled and yanked the chain. The stranger forgot to close the door behind him, leaving it wide open. The smell of dirt and mold came in with a draft. It was black on the other side of the door.
“What happened to the lantern?” the stranger suddenly wanted to know. The glass casing still lay on the crate.
“I…I couldn’t light it, so I had to take that thing off. Sorry, I forgot to put it back on.”
The stranger took the glass and snapped it in place without looking at Timmy. When he bent over, Timmy saw black, curly hair sticking out from under his mask. Richard Nixon. That was the dead president the mask resembled. It had taken Timmy three attempts at naming the presidents before he remembered. But there was still something very familiar about Richard Nixon’s blue eyes. Something in the way they stared at him, especially tonight. As if they were apologizing.