abduction victims.
“Our theory now is that he buried the women outside his home in the woods and periodically interred them, laying them to rest in different areas in and around Mount Desolation. That is, until finally laying them to rest down inside that basement after he was released from prison. That would explain why we never uncovered remains inside his house all those years ago. It’s not that he was always one step ahead of us. It’s just that we just didn’t have the technology we have at our disposal nowadays.
“All morning long I thought about it. If the bones didn’t belong to Whalen, there was a good chance he’d survived the damage inflicted to his head by Francis. Which meant he might still be out there, waiting to strike again.”
“What about the black and white photo you returned to me along with a note?”
He shook his head, vehemently.
“That’s just it. I jumped the gun when I sent that out yesterday afternoon. It dawned on me that Whalen’s prints didn’t have to be on that photograph for it to have been in his recent possession. The man spent thirty years in prison. It’s not difficult to scrape away the prints on your fingers given the time. Anyone can do it with a common household disposable razor blade. Or even if he had left prints, it’s not impossible for him to dissolve them from the picture’s face before planting it on your folk’s porch floor.”
“And the jimmied window? That was Whalen’s handiwork?”
“I can only imagine that he wanted to get a personal feel for your childhood home. You know, step into the footsteps of his beloved Molly and Rebecca; his two little kittens. I now believe he broke into the home many times over the past six months. He scoured the place and came up with the photo. On the day you went out to Brunswick to have a face to face with Caroline Scaramuzzi, Whalen followed you, planted the pic in a spot you were likely to find it. Call it his way of playing with your head on top of those cryptic text messages.”
“But how did Franny paint that exact image of us back in the seventies if he never had access to the photo?”
“That’s just it,” Harris said. “He did have access to it. In fact, dozens of people did.”
I didn’t quite understand what he was getting at, until he reached into the Jeep’s glove box, pulled something out. “Caroline gave this to me yesterday after I’d already FedEx’d the original to you.”
He handed it to me.
It was a Christmas card. A postcard-sized Christmas card with a reproduction of that same black and white photo of Molly and me printed beside the words “Happy Holidays.” Written in my mother’s unmistakable ballpoint, “Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from the Underhills.” It was dated December 3, 1976.
That was the reason Franny was able to paint Molly and me all those years ago.
“But how did you know Whalen was coming back for me here at my apartment? How did you know he was going to do it tonight?”
“Intuition, plus a little help from your friends, the Scaramuzzis.”
I shook my head as if I didn’t comprehend him.
“Caroline called me on my cell as soon as you left her house last evening. She didn’t want you to know that she called me. But she felt it would be the prudent thing to do, considering Whalen hadn’t been officially declared dead yet and this was the first night you’d be alone since the incident on the mountain.
“I acted on a hunch. Instead of going home last night, I parked outside your apartment. I was just about to leave this morning when I noticed a FedEx truck pull up to your building. At the same time, I also noticed a strange looking individual walking around the back toward your terrace door. He was dressed in blue overalls like a maintenance man. I didn’t like the looks of it. I followed him, right into the apartment.” He took another sip of coffee. “The rest you know.”
I sat back, felt my hands, warm around the cup of tea.
“I never knew,” I exhaled. “Never had a clue you were out there.”
“I guess I’ve still got the touch.” He grinned. “Maybe I’ll go private when retirement kicks in.”
“By the looks of it, you’re only a few X’s away.”
It was over. Finally. No more Whalen. Still, I didn’t feel as relieved as I should have felt. Maybe relief would come when the events of the morning finally settled in. Who knew how long that would take?
Harris was about to turn away when I stopped him.
“Detective,” I said out the open window. “What about the cell phones? Had Whalen been stealing them from the Hollywood Carwash like we thought?”
He nodded. “Stealing them, but not enough of them to make it seem suspicious. From what the manager told me, four or five phones were reported missing by various customers over a period of about six months. When you consider that the manager gets calls on a daily basis about a missing this or a missing that, he never would have suspected a pattern.”
“Until you pointed it out to him.”
“Exactly. In any case, it certainly explains how Whalen texted you without having to acquire his own cell phone account.”
I took in a breath.
“Thank you, Detective.” I smiled.
Harris left me alone again.
I sat in the backseat, stared out onto the apartment parking lot and all the people that had gathered there. I looked on the scene until the people began to disperse along with the police and the EMTs. I stared until all that was left were Franny and Caroline amidst a backdrop of ivy-covered brick buildings.
When Harris came back to the Jeep, he told me he had to get back downtown. I slipped on out, gave him a hug.
“Thank you again.”
“Thank you for being strong,” he said. “For all these years.”
I looked into his eyes.
“You never told me that you knew my father,” I added.
He cocked his head.
“I knew all about what your dad discovered in that house in the woods back in ’63. I figured if he never told you, and you had never found out about it on your own, then why should I be the one to do it. By the looks of it, your father didn’t want you to know. He wanted to protect you, Rebecca. You and Molly. He wanted to protect you from Whalen’s evil.”
He told me that he would be in touch. That he would need to question me further later on in the week. But for now my statement on the incident inside my apartment bathroom would do nicely. After all, he’d been there to witness the event himself.
With a smile on his face, he got back into the Jeep and took off.
I could only assume that for a man on the verge of retirement, he too had realized some serious closure this morning with Whalen’s death-with having personally put a bullet in the monster; the devil. I know I did. But then why did I feel so sad about the apparent source of all those texts? Had I ever really believed that they’d somehow come from Molly? Was it possible I could believe in something heaven sent? It was all a question of faith.
Standing in the parking lot I faced my friends.
“You guys want to come in?” I asked. “Get out of the cold?”
Franny smiled. It was a rare event to see him smile. It made me feel good to see it.
“We’ll go inside your apartment,” Caroline exclaimed. “It’s a crime scene now. We’ll pack up your things and move them back to the farm. My farm.”
I took a look back around at the apartment building. I pictured the torn away shower curtain, the blood stains, the yellow police ribbon that blocked off access to the bathroom. I would help Caroline pack my things. But I would never return to the place again.
Like Whalen, and that now burned down house in the woods, it was all a part of the past. All that remained was to move on.
“Have you eaten?” Caroline asked.
“I had breakfast,” I said, setting my hand on my stomach. “I’m not sure where I’m getting my appetite, but I could definitely eat again.”
“Pancakes,” Franny said, that smile still illuminating his round face. “Pancakes and blueberries and
