Never Knowing

The policewoman said, “I’ll take it,” then led me to a door with a metal plate reading “Interview Room” and motioned me in. It was bare except for a long table and two hard plastic chairs. On the table was a pad of paper, a phone book, and a phone.

She settled in a chair and leaned far back. Now that she was facing me I saw her name badge: “S. Taylor.”

“How can I help you?”

It occurred to me that what I was about to say was going to sound crazy as all get-out. I was just going to have to give her the facts and hope she believed me.

“My name’s Sara Gallagher. I’m adopted and I recently found my biological mother in Victoria. Then I hired a private investigator and he found out she’s Karen Christianson.…”

She stared at me blankly.

“You know, the Campsite Killer’s only living victim?”

She sat up straight.

“The private investigator thinks the Campsite Killer’s probably my father. Then the Web site Nanaimo News for Now somehow got hold of the information and it spread all over the Internet. Yesterday I got a prank call from teenagers pretending to be my father. Then this morning a man called, also saying he was my father. But this time he said he had her earrings.” “Did you recognize his voice?”

I shook my head.

“What about the phone number?”

“He called from a 250 area code, but the prefix was 374 or 376, something like that. I wrote everything down but I forgot the paper and—”

“Did he tell you why he was calling?”

“He said he wanted to get to know me better.” I made a face. “I know it’s probably just a joke, but I have a daughter, and—”

“Has your birth mother confirmed you were conceived in the process of a sexual assault?”

“Not in so many words, but yeah.”

“I’d like to record your statement.”

“Oh, okay. Sure.”

She stood up. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

While I waited for her I glanced around the interview room and fiddled with my cell phone.

The door whipped open. She sat down, set a small recorder on the table in front of me, and pulled her chair close. She said her name, my name, and the date, then asked me to repeat my full name and address. My mouth went dry and my face felt hot.

“In your own words, I’d like you to tell me why you think the Campsite Killer is your biological father and the details of the phone calls you received recently.” Her serious tone made me even more nervous and my heart sped up.

She said, “Go ahead.”

I did the best I could, but I occasionally meandered off course and she brought me back with a quick “And what did he say next?” She even wanted to know Julia’s address and any information I had on her. I felt weird giving it, considering I basically got the information by stalking her. I also told her we’d been trying to reach the PI and that he’s a former cop. Her neutral expression never changed.

When we were done I said, “So what happens now?”

“We’ll look into this.”

“But you don’t think it’s actually the Campsite Killer calling?”

“When we have more information we’ll let you know. Someone will be in touch soon.”

“What if he calls again? Should I change my number?”

“Do you have call display and voice mail?”

“Yeah, but I have a business, and—”

“Don’t answer any calls from unfamiliar numbers and let it go to voice mail. Make note of the number and time, then let us know ASAP.” She handed me her business card, then moved to stand by the door.

In a daze, I followed her down the hallway.

To her back I said, “But do you think it’s just someone trying to scare me? And you have to take it seriously because of the Campsite Killer connection?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “I can’t really say until we look into it, but be careful. And thanks for coming in. If you have any questions give me a call.”

Out in the parking lot, I sat in the Cherokee and stared at the business card in my hand. My body was shivering. I’d hoped the police would tell me I had nothing to worry about, but Constable Taylor had passed up every opportunity to reassure me. Now I was terrified it really was the Campsite Killer calling.

Were the police going to talk to Julia? How long was it going to take before they got in touch with me? How was I going to make it through another couple of days not knowing? I thought about what the man had said about Karen’s earrings. Wasn’t that the quickest way to prove him a liar? But if I called Julia, she’d just hang up before I could ask her anything.

I glanced at the clock. It was only nine in the morning — time enough to get down to Victoria and still be back to pick Ally up from school.

Because it was Friday and not yet lunchtime I thought Julia might be at the university, so I headed straight to the campus. I spent the entire drive rehearsing ways to tell her what was going on, but first I had to actually get her to talk to me. I hoped showing up at her workplace would mean she couldn’t slam the door in my face. But when I called her office from a pay phone, an assistant told me she didn’t have any classes that day and she didn’t know when she’d be back.

I was going to have to go to her house.

As I drove down Dallas Road, I started to second-guess the brilliance of my plan. I was crazy. Julia was going to flip at the sight of me. I should just leave it to the police. But still I found myself parked on the road in front of Julia’s house, staring at her front door.

I had to let her know what was going on. She was the only person who knew about the earrings. I had a right to ask — the safety of my family depended on it. Her safety depended on it.

When I knocked on her door my heart kicked into high gear and my throat tightened. She didn’t answer, but her car was in the driveway. Had she seen me walk up to the house? What should I say if Katharine’s home? This was a bad idea. Then I heard voices from the back of the house.

As I came around the corner I saw Julia and an older man standing by a basement window at the far end of the house. The man was carrying a clipboard and Julia was pointing at the window, her face pale and strained. I stopped, wondering if I should leave. I picked up part of their conversation, something about steel bars. Now I remembered seeing a van for a security company on the street. The man said something as he shook Julia’s hand, but she seemed distracted. She was still staring at the window as he walked past me with a nod. I waited until he was down the driveway, then cleared my throat. Her head snapped in my direction.

“Hi, I need to talk to—”

“That’s it. I’m calling the police.” She stalked toward a back deck.

“That’s why I’m here — it’s about the police.”

That stopped her. She turned around.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been getting calls from newspapers and—”

“What do you think my life is like?” Her face was flushed and angry. “I had to cancel classes today because reporters are harassing my students and waiting in the parking lot. My home number and address are unlisted, but it won’t take them long to get that information. Or did you already tell them that too?” “I never—”

“Are you trying to make money off this? Is that what you’re here for?” She started