“What was he?”
“Himself. That’s all he was. He was merely himself.”
How profound. How authentic. Heartfelt, penetrating. The laugh was there in my belly, wanting out. I thought, And if he was terrifying or pathetic or suicidal he wouldn’t have been himself? No wonder they’d found each other. They were both seriously nuts.
“He responded to my letters. They were… genuine. He takes the world on its own terms. His letters are direct but conscientious. You can read them if you like.”
“Christ, no.”
“I began to visit him. Due only to curiosity, of course, at first. I thought I might submit an article for a magazine. I dabble with journalistic writing. I was full of hate. I wanted to vent it. I wanted to put it down on paper, but more than that I wanted to show him for what he was, whatever that might be. I decided I should face him. I craved a chance to dig into him and make him feel something. I didn’t realize that he felt everything, just like the rest of us. I’ve never met a man more emotionally honest and accepting.”
“You don’t get out much, lady.”
She looked at me evenly. “It took months before the hate dropped away. I eventually began to look forward to seeing him. I fell in love with him. We can’t ever truly know when it happens or why. We don’t choose who we love, Terry.”
“You’re too easy on yourself.”
She lowered her eyes. “Trust me, I’m not.”
Trust was too hard to come by. I went to the painting again. I thought, Maybe that’s where I need to go. That’s where a man could get lost. They had world-class pickpockets there. I’d promised everyone in my family that I’d never run again, but maybe it waht s the only answer.
“Excuse me?” she said.
“What?”
“You whispered something.”
I cleared my throat and coughed up the question. It was the same question. It was the only question.
“Why did he do it?” I asked.
There was a lengthy pause. “He doesn’t know why. He just did. That’s all there is.”
“You sound exactly like him. He bought his gun the day before, did you know that? You don’t plan something spontaneous and irrational. He must’ve said something about what happened that night.”
“No,” Lin said, and she watched me like she was watching a little brother who’d skinned a knee, as if she wanted to put a bandage on a little scrape, give it a kiss. “He never has. He simply says he did what he did and that’s all.”
“That’s not good enough. Not nearly.”
“It doesn’t have to be good enough for you, Terry. You can keep asking, keep looking for answers, but you’re only going to be hurting yourself. Don’t you see that?”
“He’s lying.”
“Collie doesn’t lie.”
I rushed forward, grabbed her by the shoulders, and pulled her out of her seat. The glass went flying and hit the floor but didn’t break. The spilled wine almost looked like it could be blood in this light. “You don’t know shit about my brother. You’re just one of those nutso fans who dig on serial killers because you think they’re romantic outlaws. Marriage behind bars to a convicted murderer-do you know how pathetic you are? I know your kind. Every asshole on death row has fifty of you writing him every day, espousing love.”
An expression of pity crossed her face. “You don’t understand, Terry.”
She wasn’t bothered at all by my outburst. “Well, no shit, lady! I don’t know you and I don’t want to know you.”
She took my hand and rubbed my wrist softly, the way you might touch a traumatized child. In a strange way it helped.
I managed to force the words out. “He kissed them. His victims. That day. On the forehead. He put his lips to their foreheads.”
Nodding, she said, “I know.”
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“But Becky wasn’t kissed. There’s evidence of that. That works in his favor, I think. Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“It’s in the files. I thought you understood.”
“I thought you talked to Gilmore.”
“I did. I begged him to check the evidence. He said he had but that he still wasn’t convinced. He’s… personally invested. He feels very betrayed by Collie. And by you, for that matter. I think… he almost wishes he was a part of your family. That he was your brother as well.”
“He acts like it. Collie always stabbed me in the back. Gilmore goes for my kidneys.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“You don’t need to. So Collie told you? About him… putting his lips on his victims?”
“Kissing them. Yes.”
“When did he do it? When did he kiss them? Before or after he murdered them?”
She took a deep breath. “After.”
“That rotten prick. That insane scumbag prick.”
She kept rubbing my wrist. “This isn’t good for you, Terry. You’re going to make yourself sick.”
I snapped my arm away. “Oh, shut up! You’re calling me sick? You?” I dodged toward the door like I was going to run, then I turned and got up in her face again. “You? Your bridal suite was an eight-by-ten cell. Your husband ices little girls.”
Again, that look of sympathy swam in her eyes. “You try to hide your pain by being as abrasive as you can.”
I lifted my hands as if to put them on her shoulders. Or around her neck. She didn’t flinch. My hands got closer. The pulse in her throat was in sync with my own heartbeat. I hissed, “You could have done it yourself. You could have snuffed those girls.”
Her jaw muscles tightened. Her eyes lost that profoundly sad sheen. “That’s ridiculous!”
“You could’ve done it just to help him out. Just to make the cops think there was another murderer out there. Drug users, meth-heads, prostitutes. Those sound like the kind of people you’d run into while working Child Services. How many crack babies were you visiting on a daily basis? How many skells did you run into out in Riverhead?”
Nothing I said rattled her. Maybe she really was an icy-blooded psycho like Collie. She said, “These other murders aren’t helping him. Nothing can help him. He’s doomed. He’s going to die for what he did. He’s all right with that.”
“And are you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why do you care about Becky Clarke? And these others, assuming they are connected?”
“Because there’s someone else out there killing women. It has to be stopped. You looked at the data I’ve collated-”
She grabbed for the folder again. She smacked it against my chest. She reached for my hand and forced me to take it.
“There’s nothing here.”
“They’re going to murder him,” she said.
I’d used the same word while I’d stood in line to get into the prison to see him the first time. “It’s not murder. Murder is an unlawful killing. He’s the murderer. This is an execution. He deserves to die.”
“He’s your brother.”
“He’s an asshole. And you worked Child Protective Services? You should be mortified. Hang your head, lady. Put your nose to the ground.”
“He wants you there, Terry. At the execution. He wants you to be a witness. Maybe he’ll give you the reason you need then. Maybe they’ll be his last words.”
“Fuck the both of you.”
I threw down the paperwork and beelined out the door. I swept past her garden, got in my car, and tore ass o9;vut of the lot with the tires smoking and squealing. I went over the curb and the shocks took such a hit that my head bounced hard off the roof. I saw white stars that turned red and ran into the gutters.
22
I went home and Gilmore was sitting out on the porch with my father. I was surprised to hear my old man laughing, but there it was. It sounded real.