The Edge of Normal (18 page)

“We’re not discounting anything.” Stephens snaps. “We’re keeping our minds open. The shooter could have had a grudge against Vanderholt, who knows? No one has claimed credit, so let’s work the theory that two perps were acting as a team. Meaning that our shooter might lead us to the other two girls.”

“Or to their graves,” someone mutters.

“We have a few cigarette butts, right, coming from Vanderholt’s residence?” Benioff asks.

“Right,” Myla Perkins responds, “but no DNA yet.”

“We can’t count on a match in our database, even then,” Stephens says. “So keep in mind that we need a lot more. Keep after registered sex offenders; there are a thousand of those slippery bastards. Keep working the crime scenes. And pull the owner regs for high-precision rifles, the whole gamut of sniper models.”

“That’s half the force,” an officer protests.

Lieutenant Stephens glares at him until he hunches down in his seat, then glances at Burke and continues, “Listen people, we need to find that shooter, and Vanderholt’s the key. Turn his background inside out. Known associates. Cell mates. Cousins. Hell, find out who he hung with in grade school. And bring that guy from the mall back here, Vanderholt’s boss. He’s ex-military, and I want his whole goddamn history.” Slapping his hands down on the table, he says, “So! The newshounds think we’ve just lost our only suspect? Let them. But things are heating up now, and you need to get creative. Get fierce. Find a witness. Find a lead.”

“We owe it to those girls,” Burke says. “They deserve more than lame theories and a dead suspect.”

“And don’t blab, people,” Stephens warns. “We need to keep this guy upwind.”

THIRTY-THREE

Tilly has specifically asked to be left alone. She is on the bed, curled in a fetal position.

Reeve sits on the bed next to her. “Are you okay?”

Tilly doesn’t respond.

“Would you like to go to Jamba Juice? Or a movie? How about the mall?”

Tilly glares at the wall, shakes her head.

Reeve stifles a flash of exasperation. Sure, Dr. Lerner urged her to come and try to talk to Tilly, but what’s the point of spending all this time in here if the kid won’t even speak?

Reeve gets up and walks around the room, wishing she could talk to Dr. Lerner about what is really bothering her. Envy is a petty emotion. She tries to resist, but it burrows in: Tilly’s kidnapper has been killed—how sweet that must be—and how many times has she wished that Daryl Wayne Flint were dead? She pushes the thought aside.

A few of Tilly’s old pastel drawings have been replaced with dark, moody pieces slashed with yellow. Reeve bends close to look and notices Tilly watching her. “What?” she says, straightening.

Tilly glances away,

“What? Just say the word, maybe I can help.”

Tilly exhales and sits up. “Don’t I wish.”

“What’s going on?”

Tilly shakes her head. “I just wish you knew more.”

“That makes two of us.”

“But I think I’ve told you everything I can.”

“Okay, well, how about Dr. Lerner? He’s good. You can trust him.”

“Dr. Lerner was hired by that lawyer lady, right?”

“Jackie Burke, right. He was hired as an expert witness for the prosecution, if that’s what you mean. But that’s a good thing.”

Tilly frowns. “What about you? Are you, like, are you a witness, too?”

“God no, I’m…” Reeve mentally gropes for an answer. “I’m here as moral support. Because I understand what you’re going through. On a personal level.”

“But Randy’s dead, so there’s not going to be a trial, so what happens now? Are you going away?”

“Tilly, our relationship has nothing to do with the legal system. I’m your friend. And I’ll be around as long as you want.”

Tilly clenches her hands in her lap, wearing a strange expression.

“As for Dr. Lerner, if you want him to help you, he’ll find a way to make that happen. He’s very dedicated. He commuted all the way to Seattle to see me, and I would have been a mess without him.”

Rather than soothe the girl, this seems to make her anxious. “But do you, um, do you talk to Dr. Lerner?” Tilly fidgets and averts her eyes. “About me, I mean?”

“Only in general terms.” Reeve sits on the bed and adds, “So if you want me to keep quiet about something, I will.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

Tilly considers her with wary eyes.

“You know, Dr. Lerner is very trustworthy. He doesn’t talk to me about any of the specifics that you share with him, either. Not without your permission. That would be unethical. So, whatever you want to have kept private between us is kept private.” Reeve hasn’t actually articulated this before, but as she says it, it rings true.

“So you won’t repeat anything secret that I tell you? It would be, like, confidential, just between us?”

“Unless you say otherwise, every word.” Reeve instantly recalls the prosecutor’s demand that she share every detail of their conversations, but to hell with Jackie Burke.

Tilly gets off the bed and stands in front of her, an intense woman-child with pain etched in her face. “Honest? Can I really trust you?”

“Of course.”

Tilly closes her eyes briefly. Her body seems to shudder, like a pup shaking off water, then she opens her eyes and whispers, “So you totally, absolutely promise not to tell anyone what I tell you?”

“I promise. Totally and absolutely.”

“Not anyone, not even Dr. Lerner.”

“Not a soul.”

“Swear it. I mean really, like, on your mother’s grave.”

Reeve blinks at her, then slowly raises a palm. “Yes, Tilly Cavanaugh, I do hereby solemnly swear not to tell a soul whatever you are going to tell me. On my mother’s grave.”

Tilly stares unflinchingly, and Reeve stares back, waiting.

Tilly swallows. “Randy Vanderholt wasn’t the worst.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“There was another man.”

“Another man? You mean, another man at the house?”

Tilly gives one solemn nod.

“With Vanderholt? Or before that?”

“With Vanderholt.”

“Someone else that hurt you? Another kidnapper?” Reeve’s voice hits a high pitch.

“Yeah, but not like, when I was taken. He came later, after I was locked in the dungeon.”

“Two men? God, Tilly, have you told anyone else about this?”

She looks away, shaking her head.

“Why not?” Reeve can hardly believe what she’s hearing.

“Because he’s out there. He’s watching.”

“But Tilly,” she says, taking her by the shoulders, “you have to tell them. You’re home safe now, and it’s important that you tell them.”

Till shakes her off. “No! I can’t!”

“Tilly, you have to. The police will protect you.”

“No! He said he would hurt us if I told.”

“But—”

“You don’t understand! He’s a cop!” Tilly spits out, glaring at her.

Reeve opens her mouth to speak but chokes on the words.

“You promised not to tell.” Tilly’s voice is ragged. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“But you’ve got to tell your parents,” Reeve says, shaking her head in disbelief.

“No! That would be the worst. They’d go straight to the cops.”

“But Tilly, why do you think he’s a cop?”

“Because Randy said so.”

“What kind of cop? Police? Highway patrol?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you see a uniform?”

“No.”

“Or a badge?”

“No.”

“Well, there are lots of different kinds of cops. And maybe he was lying.”

“Randy said that he was a dirty cop and that I should do whatever he says or he’ll make it worse on both of us.”

“But Tilly, if you tell your parents—”

“Don’t you get it? He’s watching! He warned me, he said if I ever rat him out, he’ll kill me and he’ll kill my family!”

The terrible logic hits Reeve like a slap. The girl appears free but she’s trapped. “Tell me about this man. What’s his name?”

“I don’t know. He made me call him Master.” She scoffs. “But to me, he was always Mister Monster.”

“What does he look like?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I was always blindfolded.”

“What?”

“Before he came downstairs, Randy would always come down first and blindfold me, handcuff my hands. It was, like, Mister Monster’s orders.”

“You were blindfolded?”

“Usually. Either that, or sometimes he wore a mask.” Tilly grimaces.

“He wh—What kind of mask?”

“Like a mask in the movies. Black, with eye holes.”

Reeve inhales sharply. “Like a ski mask? Or like an executioner’s mask?”

“Yeah, like that.”

“Oh, god.”

“It freaked me out. That’s why he did it, I think. He liked to scare me. And he did these,” she says, rubbing the pattern of scars on her arm.

“And Vanderholt didn’t smoke.”

Tilly looks down at her arm and stops rubbing. “Mister Monster smokes Marlboro Lights, I saw that.”

“Okay, that’s good. Is there anything else you remember?”

“Why? It’s not like you can do anything,” she says bitterly.

“Just watch me.”

“What?”

“I’ll do something,” she mutters. “I’ve got to do something.”

“But you promised! You swore on your mother’s grave!”

“Yes, I promise I won’t tell anyone.” She grabs Tilly’s hand and squeezes. “But that man has to be stopped. So I don’t know what, exactly, but I’ll do something. I’ll figure it out. At least I can promise you that.”

The room is charged with tension. “I can’t sit,” Reeve says, and begins pacing around the room. “How old is he?”

“I don’t know. Old.”

“Does he have gray hair?”

“No. I don’t know. I was blindfolded, or he wore that mask. But he had dark hair, you know, everywhere.” Tilly swallows. “But I’m pretty sure they won’t find any DNA or anything.”

“Why not?”

She makes a face. “Because he always used condoms, for one thing. Plus, he was, like, hyperclean. Paranoid clean. He always brought a sheet with him and made Randy spread it out on the bed before he came in. Then, when he was finished, he’d fold up the sheet and take it with him.”

Reeve groans. He was smart and careful, this guy. “What else do you remember about him?”

“Nothing.… Oh, but he has brown eyes.”

“Okay.”

“And a mean voice.”

“Like some kind of accent?”

“No, he just had a mean kind of voice.”

“What about height and weight?”

“Tall. Taller than my dad, I guess. But not fat or thin, just, you know, with muscles.”

“Bulky? Like a bodybuilder?”

“No, more in a regular kind of way. But really strong.”

“Did he have any moles or scars?”

“I don’t know why you’re asking all this,” Tilly snaps. “It’s not like you’re going to see him naked. You can’t recognize him.”

Reeve squints at her. “But what else do you remember?”

“Um, he smelled bad, like garlic and cigarettes. And he had a tattoo. Right around here,” Tilly says, indicating her left bicep.

“What kind of tattoo?”

“Of barbed wire. It went around his arm, like this,” she says, encircling her thin arm.

“That’s good. What else?”

“Why are you asking all this? You can’t do anything. You promised not to say anything!”

“He’s your enemy, so he’s my enemy,” Reeve says, smacking a fist in her palm.

“No! I just want you to tell my parents that we need to move. That I need to change my name, and we need to move, like you did. You have to help me get out of Jefferson.”

“Yes, I promise. I’ll do what I can.” Reeve glances around the ordinary-looking room, with its girly knickknacks and yellow wallpaper, which seemed so safe just minutes ago. This conversation cannot be happening.

Jolted by a sudden idea, she faces the girl and grabs her shoulders. “Tilly, listen to me. Do you think this guy had something to do with kidnapping those other girls?’”

Tilly shakes her off. “Maybe, but I can’t help them. They’re probably dead.”

Reeve bites her lip and studies her for a long moment.

Tilly heaves out a sigh. “Randy said, ‘Without me here to protect you, he’ll kill you.’ That’s what he always said.” Her eyes shine and her voice quakes. “And he said that if I ever tried to run away, if I—”

“But you didn’t run away. You were rescued.”

“It doesn’t matter! Don’t you get it? He’s out there watching!” She turns away and scowls at the floor. “Who do you think killed Randy? It’s like a warning. I’m next!”

Reeve reaches out, but her fingers only brush past the cotton pajamas as the girl collapses onto the bed and faces the wall, resuming her tight fetal pose.

THIRTY-FOUR

Winter cold reaches inside Reeve’s jacket and under her sweater. She shudders and clasps her arms tight as she clicks the Jeep’s locks and hustles away toward the trail. She has fled the Cavanaughs’ house saying she needs to get some air. She evaded Dr. Lerner and bolted, craving solitude, needing to get away from everyone to grapple with Tilly’s awful disclosures.

She jogs away from the road, across a footbridge, and finds the trail that heads upriver.

How could she have been so dim, so self-absorbed? All this time, while she’s been missing her mother and envying Tilly’s intact family, the poor kid was wrestling with a double dose of terror. Two kidnappers!

A lone runner darts past without making eye contact and Reeve hurries on, keeping a brisk pace, carrying Tilly’s secret with her. The trail follows the rush of green water winding through the winter landscape. Thick, ominous clouds mass overhead and the twisted limbs of huge oaks claw the air. She pauses to catch her breath. A single duck wings low over the river’s surface. The air smells of rotting foliage, of wood smoke.

She shivers and pushes on, following the trail farther along. Pines darken and sway overhead. The trail turns right, away from the rapids, climbs, then dips to where it crosses a swollen stream. She hesitates on the bank, choosing her path, then starts across, wobbling, navigating from rock to slippery rock, stepping unavoidably into the mud on the other side.

The path narrows and abruptly climbs higher. Her skin warms as the trail rises in steep switchbacks.