Vail 01 - The 7th Victim (29 page)
“That’s Uncle Charlie—my Uncle Charlie—and his father, Nate. Nate was from Ireland. Nate O’Toole. Half the people on his side had red hair. Probably where you got yours from.” She pointed to another photo. “And that’s Mary Ellen, she used to live next door to us in Brooklyn, before Gramps moved us all out here.”
A teapot whistled in the distance. “Oh. Do either of you want some tea?”
Robby nodded. “Sure.”
“I’ll go tend to it, then.” She handed the album back to Vail, then disappeared down the hall.
“She’s very sweet,” Robby said.
“She was a good mother.” Vail studied the photo she still held in her hand. “When she loses her memory completely, she’ll take a good part of our family history with her.”
“I’ve got a buddy I work with, an investigator who’s been with VPD for fifteen years. He’s got this software to make your own family tree. Works on it every day. Traced his roots all the way back to the Native Americans who lived in Virginia. Pretty cool. Maybe you should do one. Before it’s too late.”
“I hardly know anything about my family. Would’ve been good to get all this info together before they started dying off.” Vail suddenly became aware of the teapot’s building whistle. She looked at Robby. “She should’ve poured the tea by now, don’t you think?”
They headed downstairs and found Emma sitting in the living room on the edge of the easy chair, staring at the blank television.
“I’ll get it,” Robby said above the shrill noise.
“Ma,” Vail said, kneeling beside Emma. “Ma, what are you doing? You went to pour us some tea.”
Emma’s face turned hard. “You’re always yelling at me. Why can’t you just leave me alone!”
“Ma, I’m not yelling at you.” But she knew that trying to reason with a person afflicted with Alzheimer’s was futile. “I’m sorry,” Vail said. “I won’t yell anymore.”
“I can’t find my glasses,” Emma said. She grabbed the arms of the chair. “I can’t find my glasses.” She looked at Vail, then reached out to touch her face. “Nellie, is that you?” She smiled. “Can you help me find my glasses?”
Tears pooled in Vail’s eyes as she looked at Emma. She set the old photo on the coffee table, knelt at Emma’s feet, and took her hand in hers. She had been so wrapped up with her own affairs the past year she hardly had any quality contact with her mother. Now, as she looked at Emma’s wrinkled face and felt her knobbed, arthritic hand, guilt crept into her thoughts. After so many years of dealing with victims’ families, the phrase “I should have” was ingrained in her brain like acid on stone. Now she felt herself uttering the same words.
I should’ve spent more time with her. I should’ve made her move closer to me. I should’ve brought Jonathan here more often.
I should’ve spent more time with her. I should’ve made her move closer to me. I should’ve brought Jonathan here more often.
“Did you find Papa’s watch? He’s going to be angry with us if we lost it,” Emma said. She took her daughter’s cheeks in her hands and looked at Vail’s face as if she hadn’t seen it in years, studying every square inch.
Then, as if someone had waved a wand over her head, Emma’s eyes changed. Vail struggled to define what had happened. A narrowing, maybe, or perhaps it was something more. The sharpness had returned. “Ma?”
“What’s wrong?” Emma asked. “Why are you kneeling in front of me, Kari? Did I faint?”
“Ma, who’s Nellie?”
Emma’s gaze rose above Vail’s shoulder. Vail thought she had lost her again, but Emma spoke: “Nellie?”
“You were just talking about her. And I found this.” She reached beside her and scooped up the old picture. “It says ‘Me and Nellie’ on the back. She looks a lot like you.”
Robby appeared in the doorway. Vail’s gaze met his and told him not to come any closer. He set the tea cups down and hovered in the background.
“Ma, is Nellie a relative of ours?”
Emma’s eyes teared. “My sister.”
Vail waited for her to elaborate, but she remained silent. Emma pulled her hand from Vail’s and interlocked her fingers in her lap.
“Ma, you don’t have a sister.”
Emma’s eyes met Vail’s. “I don’t feel like talking about it.”
Vail leaned forward. She felt pressured to elicit the story before her mother drifted back into another Alzheimer-induced fog. “Please, tell me. About Nellie.”
Emma must have sensed Robby’s presence, because she turned suddenly, rose from her chair, and pointed an arthritic finger. “Who are you! What are you doing in my house?”
Robby looked at Vail, who wore a look of chagrin.
“Ma, calm down, that’s my friend Robby. You met him before. He’s a detective, a police officer.” She helped Emma sit back in her seat.
Robby reached into his shirt pocket and handed Vail a pair of glasses. “They were in the freezer, in the ice cube tray.”
Vail handed them to Emma. “Look, Ma, Robby found your glasses.”
“I told you the police would find them.” She looked up at Robby. “Thank you, Officer.”
He smiled. “Just call me Robby.”
Then Emma’s eyes teared up and she held a hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Vail sat on the adjacent couch and rested a reassuring hand on her mother’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Ma. I understand.” She knew this was not a good time to press the issue, but as had always been the case, she had a difficult time controlling her curiosity. “Ma,” she said softly, “you were going to tell me about Nellie.”
“Nellie? Your mother?”
Vail’s brow furrowed. She picked up the photo she had dropped on the floor and showed Emma. “No. Nellie, your sister. I want to know about Nellie.”
Emma’s eyes again dropped to her lap. Her hands rolled into a fist and she shook one at Vail. “How could you do that to me? You asked me to watch her for a couple of hours! What kind of a mother abandons her baby?”
Vail stared at Emma, trying to understand what she was talking about. She looked up at Robby, as if he could provide some answers. He sat down slowly beside Vail on the couch.
“She thinks I’m Nellie,” she whispered to him.
“You can’t just show up now and expect to take her back,” Emma said, her voice firm. “Ward and I raised her, she’s ours.”
Vail’s hand slid off Emma’s shoulder. She was silent for a moment, staring at Emma’s reddened face.
“Talk to her as if you’re Nellie,” Robby said softly by Vail’s ear.
“Emma,” Vail said, “I’m not here to take her from you. I’d never do that. I just came by to see you. I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too, Nell.” She reached out and gently touched Vail’s face.
“Oh, my god,” Vail whispered. She swallowed hard, then turned away from Emma and found Robby’s eyes. “Emma is my
aunt.
Nellie is my
mother.
” Vail shook her head, as if this was a bad dream and denying it would make it go away. “No. This is just an Alzheimer’s fantasy. She’s confused—”
aunt.
Nellie is my
mother.
” Vail shook her head, as if this was a bad dream and denying it would make it go away. “No. This is just an Alzheimer’s fantasy. She’s confused—”
“Karen . . . Emma is still your mother. She raised you, just like my aunt raised me.”
“But my biological mother is Nellie.” Vail turned to Emma, who was crying silently, a hand draped across her eyes. Vail pulled her close, letting Emma cry on her shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, Kari,” she said.
“It’s okay, Ma,” Vail said, then felt her own tears trickle down her cheek. “It’s okay.”
thirty-one
H
e was in a rhythm, words tumbling from his mind like rocks in a landslide. He couldn’t type as fast as he was thinking, which made it frustrating. But he continued, nevertheless, figuring he’d go back and fix the typos when he was done, before he’d send these sections off for “publication.”
e was in a rhythm, words tumbling from his mind like rocks in a landslide. He couldn’t type as fast as he was thinking, which made it frustrating. But he continued, nevertheless, figuring he’d go back and fix the typos when he was done, before he’d send these sections off for “publication.”
My needs are outgrwing my home. I can do jsut so much with a space barely larger than a tiny closet. And as I’ve gotten older and taller, the space has gotten even smller. I even took in a pet. A mouse I call Charlie. He dosn’t take up much space, other than a little cage. I take him out while I’m in there, let him roam around. He’s my only friend.But then I started thinking that I really need more room. I knocked on one of the walls, and it sounded hollow. So I bought a saw with money I made at the slaughterhose down the road. It’s my job to feed the cattle and clean up after them as they get ready to be sliced and diced. It’s not a great job, but it’s money under the table, and if you have money you can do things.Then I borrowed a book from the library. I didn’t really borrow it, I more like stole it. But tht’s okay, because it has exactly what I need. I do my sawing in the afternoon, right after I get home from school—or on days when I stay home and skip. I don’t have any friends at school, so it’s not like I’m missing anyhting. To me, school is a lot like being with the prick. It’s all about control. Teeachers tell you where you can and can’t go, what you can and can’t do. They don’t hit you like a father does, but it’s not a whole lot different. One day I’m going to stab the pretty little whore teacher right in the stomach and watch her twist in pain. She yelled at me the other day, and I yelled back. Almost got suspended. As if I care.She should know I’m different from most twelve year olds. The prick shouldv’e told her that.I like the way my place is turning out. I ran some wire in and now have a bare bulb light. Charlie likes it better too. I still have to put up a littel plywood, but I can finish that tomorrow if I can find a way of getting the plywood home. I can get my hands on a shopping cart and load it in, then push it home. It’s a few miles, but if you want somehting bad enough, you find a way.I also need some things to decorate the space, but that’ll come. I have a Playboy centerfold I plan to hang. I can hang it with pushpins, right through her eyes. Yeah, that’ll be good. Through the eyes. Like most whores, she’s got evil eyes—
It had never come out so fast. What does that mean? It probably means something, because expanding his hideaway marked the beginning of his escape, another step on the road to freedom. Maybe he should’ve celebrated at the time, because it turned out to be so significant. Damn, he wished he could write like that all the time. Maybe this was one he’d keep to himself. At least for now. Too much information to give Super Agent Vail and her cohort, Paul Bledsoe. But what a name for a detective! How perfect that he’d be assigned to this case. “Gee, I’m really sorry she died, Detective, but she just bled so! What can you do?”
He took one more look at the passage he wrote and realized he’d have to go back and fix the spelling errors. But not now—he was too riled up. He opened the freezer door and the cold air hit his bare feet like a pail of water. He shivered. The fog crawled around his ankles.
He reached into the freezer and removed two Tupperware containers, the special ones he’d bought just for this purpose.
He pulled open the lid on the first one and removed the Ziploc freezer bag. Inside, rolled in gauze, were his prizes. Slight ice crystals had formed and the cotton stuck a little as he peeled it away.
He set the hands on the table in front of him. He was amassing quite a collection. But was it too much? Was this getting out of hand? Ha! Out of hand, that was a good one. He looked over each of them, marveling at his work. He’d had to cauterize the veins and arteries to prevent the blood from draining out completely. Then the hand would shrivel and wouldn’t be the same. They needed to look as close to the way they looked when he’d harvested them.
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