“You should call the cops.”
“I’m not going to do that.”
“This is clearly evidence. The guy was stalking every single one of these women. With these notebooks they could throw out that hokey confession all together. No jury on the planet would say he was innocent.”
“Is that what we want?” Bess asked. “I don’t know that he’s guilty. But I know the cops sure want him to be. I give them this and the case is shut for good and we never find Amy.”
“Do you really think you can find her?” Carol asked.
“I really don’t know.”
Bess pulled another spiral notebook from the pile and opened it to another profile: Daniel Mills.
She skimmed the small neat print for the highlighted passages. This time, each highlight corresponded with something she’d seen in the profiles of the victims.
“Do you think this could be a suspect?’ Bess asked.
Carol raised an eyebrow. “You know exactly what I think. This is police work—not the job of a bookseller.”
Bess frowned and kept reading. There were snapshots stuck in with some of the passages, what appeared to be surveillance photos—taken from around corners and over the tops of tables. Covert.
“Tam was following this guy,” Bess said.
“The same way he was following all the victims.”
“But he didn’t have photos of any of them. Nothing like this. He’s got dates and times. He was definitely tailing him for some reason.”
“You know what? I think I’m tired. I’m going to head home.”
“What? Are you serious?” Bess couldn’t believe what she was hearing. They’d been delivered the most exciting package possible, and Carol wanted to leave.
Carol’s eyes were steady and dry. “I’ve had enough of this. I don’t want it.”
“I’m sorry,” Bess said, although she didn’t know what she was apologizing for. For telling Carol all her secrets, for involving her in this. “But you can’t tell the police. I’ll tell them myself if I feel like I should. But not yet. Let me do it my way.”
“What happens when your way gets you killed?” Carol asked.
“It won’t happen.”
Carol left a short time later, promising to return the next morning as planned. Bess lay down across her couch and pulled a blanket up around her face. She’d never felt so incredibly alone. She’d had a partner for an entire hour. Someone in this mess with her instead of the sea of people against her. She hadn’t realized how good it would feel to share everything. How much she needed to unload.
Carol was her boss first. And maybe Bess had blurred that line a little too much today; blurred it past Carol’s comfort zone, certainly. Bess swallowed hard and told herself she wasn’t going to cry. She hadn’t lost anything today.
In fact, she’d gained something. Now she had the box of notes, and as angry as she was with Winnie, she couldn’t help but feel compelled by it. The profiles of the victims were damning, but Bess didn’t believe they were the notes of a stalker any more than her notes out in the garage were the ravings of a mad woman. If she believed she wasn’t crazy, and for whatever reason she still did, then she was willing to extend that same leniency to Tam Gillis and Winnie Tate.
The maps inside the box were mainly road maps of Antioch he’d printed off from Google or Yahoo. They contained little red ink symbols with a key beneath to tell you what each represented. Margot Cooper found. Ashley Bunkirk found. Brandy Leroy found. Emily Baker found. Olivia Terry found. Bethany Ladd found. Bess could see no correlations connecting the dots.
On a separate map he’d plotted out key points for Daniel Mills. Where he lived and banked and ate and worked. Bess glanced back and forth between the “found” map and the Daniel Mills map, but again saw no patterns. She wondered if Tam saw something she didn’t, or if he’d also been disappointed.
Bess spent the night on her couch reading over the lives of the six victims. But mostly she read about Daniel Mills. Daniel was the leader of the young adult’s ministry at First Baptist of Antioch—the same church Margot Cooper and her family attended. The same Bible study Wayne kept inviting her to. During the week he worked in the lawn and garden section of Lowe’s. And if he used his employee discount to buy PVC pipes, well, the bio Bess had in front of her didn’t mention it. He lived alone and didn’t have any relatives in Antioch. He’d moved here nine years ago, when he was thirty-four, and immediately joined the church. This appeared to be his only true social circle.
Bess had been careful to set plenty of alarms for herself in case she fell asleep so Carol wouldn’t catch her off guard in the morning. She was dressed and guzzling coffee when a car pulled up in front of her home. But it wasn’t Carol’s dark blue compact. Instead it was a bright green hybrid that Bess wished she didn’t recognize.
Lucy was out of the car and up the drive before Bess had a chance to rinse her coffee cup in the sink and grab her purse. She lightly tapped and called, “Knock knock,” rising up on her tippy toes to look through the glass at the top of the door. Bess yanked it open, purposely hoping to knock Lucy over. Not hurt her. No, nothing too serious.
“Yikes,” Lucy exclaimed, stumbling back a couple steps. “Sorry, Carol asked me if I could get you. She’s not feeling good I guess—blah blah. Here I am!”
“Here you are,” Bess said, smiling. Carol had clearly felt too uncomfortable afterlast night to come back to Bess’s house. Bess set her jaw in stony defiance against the feelings that tried to well up inside her.
Once they were in the car, Bess closed her eyes and said a silent prayer to Saint Margaret that they could pass the time in silence.
“Wayne told me you were going to talk to Tam Gillis.”
Fucking good for nothing saints. “Did he?”
“He sure did. Now tell me everything. Do you think he’s innocent? Because you know I do.” Lucy was a morning person like no other.
“I really don’t know what I think. I needed to see for myself, you know?”
“Absolutely. I totally get it. Do you have any theories? You know, about who really did it?”
“Why? Do you have theories?”
“I have more theories than I can count at this point. I was talking to Carol about it this morning.”
“Before or after she asked you to pick me up?”
“Uh, it was before, I think. No, I’m sure. Before,” Lucy answered.
Bess smiled. Carol wasn’t avoiding her, she was trying to set her up with someone more her type. “What’s your best theory?” she asked.
“My suspect number one is Hector Bowman,” Lucy said proudly.
“Hector, as in our UPS driver?” Bess asked.
“Absolutely, he’s creepy. He’s got that big truck; he could be hiding anything in there.”
“UPS isn’t exactly a small business; other people load his truck. And he has to stick to a tight schedule. Pretty sure he doesn’t get to drive the truck in his down time either.”
It was taking longer than usual to get to the bookstore. Traffic in Antioch had changed from nonexistent to a nuisance. Not only had the media rolled in, but the news had brought with it a strange sort of tourist. Serial killer enthusiasts were having unofficial walking tours through downtown. Bess wondered if Winnie was seeing an uptick in visitors at the historical society. It seemed murder was good for the economy.
“You have to admit he’s a creep.”
“He’s a pervert,” Bess said. “I can’t deny that. But I’m not positive that makes him a murderer. Who else do you have in mind?”
“Well, I’m not sure.” Lucy was sulking. “I’d really been thinking it was Hector.” Lucy was quiet for a minute before she continued. “Really anyone with a truck could do it. I mean, local plumbers—they’d have access to lots of PVC pipe, right? Is that what PVC pipe is for? Plumbing?”