this was before that.”
“Go on, Brandon.”
“So, anyway, Ellie and I had basically passed out on a couch downstairs, and, suddenly, upstairs, Cassie and Gwen are having some knock-down, drag-out fight. I mean, everyone was pretty fucked up. I’m not sure Ellie even woke up. But, anyway, yeah, there was this big fight, and, by the time I’m on my feet, realizing what’s going on, Cassie’s running down the stairs and out of the house. She jumps in her car and drives away.”
“Why were they fighting?” Stoletti asks.
He shrugs. “I never knew. She wouldn’t talk about it. And, honestly, the next day, for me, it was back to studying. I needed to do well. Ellie and Cassie, they didn’t need grades. They had all this money. But not me. I had to cram for finals.”
“Point being,” McDermott says, trying to move it along, “you never really got the scoop.”
“Right. I have to say, the rest of that week, Cassie was even moodier than usual. Normally, I’d hang with her more, get her to open up to me. But not that week. I was afraid I might flunk Sociology.”
“And you told this to the intruder.”
“Yeah.” He clears his throat painfully, his face in a grimace. “Yeah, it wasn’t quite as calm as now, but, yeah-I told him they had a fight, I didn’t know why. Then he was like, ‘What else about Gwendolyn, what else about Gwendolyn, tell me, tell me, tell me’-I mean, this guy was whacked-out. Meanwhile, he’s cutting my skin, muffling my shouts. I mean, this guy was, like, totally out of control, but, y‘know, totally in control, too. In control of me, at least.”
McDermott rolls his hand to keep Mitchum on story.
“Well, then, I’m telling the guy, I never saw Gwendolyn again after that-I mean, like, couple weeks later there was the murders, and then, y‘know, there’d be no reason I’d ever see her again, I guess. She was Cassie’s cousin, and Ellie’s friend. I wouldn’t have expected her to look me up again.”
“All right-”
“So then it’s on to Cassie, and he’s doing the same shit. ‘Tell me, tell me, tell me.’ Man, I didn’t even know how to answer that. But then he says to me, ‘Fucking father, fucking father, fucking father,’ and then I know what he’s talking about.”
McDermott rocks on his toes.
“He goes into this ramble. First he says ‘Fucking father,’ like, eight times, then he says ‘Evelyn, Evelyn, Evelyn, Evelyn,’ then ‘What did she say, what did you say’-I mean, this guy. I thought he was going to do it right there, just stick that blade in my eye or slit my throat or something. He cut me again on the chest.”
“So what did you tell him about the ‘fucking father’ thing?”
“The truth. See, that week, that week of the fight, Cassie was all upset, like I said. Worse than usual, and she was always a troubled girl. Sweet as candy but really unhappy. So, anyway, I heard her on the phone, in her dorm room. I’m walking by, and she’s yelling into the phone. At least, the last part she’s yelling. She says, ‘You’re the fucking father!’ And I walk in, and I‘m, like, ‘What’s wrong?’ But she wouldn’t talk about it.”
“Yeah, he knew about that. He must have gotten it from Evelyn. Because
Makes sense. Brandon told Evelyn, and Evelyn must have told the offender, probably under compulsion. So now the offender wanted to get the full story from Brandon.
“Okay,” Stoletti chimes in. “You told the intruder about the ‘fucking father’ story. Then what?”
“This guys says to me ‘Who’s the father, who’s the father,’ going on like that. But then he freezes, he covers my mouth and looks at the door. I could hear it, too. Footsteps. Then Mr. Riley is banging on the door, and I think he yelled out ‘Police,’ which was pretty smart of him.”
“And then what?”
“Well, I saw it as my chance. He took one swipe at me with the blade, and I think he was trying to kill me, but I moved, y‘know? He caught my face. Then he was off and running, and Mr. Riley came in, and Mr. Riley went running after him, and then-well, that was it.”
McDermott nods. “What took place between Riley and the intruder?”
Brandon shakes his head. “I was so freaked-out, I couldn’t tell you. I thought I was gonna pass out, and Mr. Riley ran in and called 911, and put a towel on my face and talked to me.” He blows out a nervous sigh. “Thank God for that guy. He saved my life.”
The door pops open. A doctor walks in. He wants a moment to check on the patient. McDermott nods to Stoletti. They’re not done, but it’s not a bad time for a break.
Out in the hallway, Stoletti walks in a small circle, a habit when she’s lost in thought. Usually, she does two or three laps, then comes up with something good.
“Maybe this idea of Cassie being pregnant isn’t such a bad one,” McDermott says. “Sounds like Cassie had an angry phone call with the father of her child.”
Stoletti stops and says, “The offender was doing the same thing to Mitchum that he did to Ciancio and to Evelyn Pendry. The superficial wounds. But now we have a different context for it.”
McDermott agrees. “We thought he was torturing them for fun. We were wrong.”
She nods. “He was interrogating them. He wanted to know what
“This isn’t a copycat, Ricki.” McDermott looks up at the ceiling. “This is a cover-up.”
35
WITH TREMBLING HANDS, Leo tapes the photograph on the bathroom mirror in the hotel room. He calms himself, uses a breathing exercise Dr. Pollard taught him, straightens himself, and tries to smile at the photograph. She needs him to be calm.
It’s a double from a high school yearbook photo. Her head is tilted in a slightly unnatural way, her focus just off center. She is wearing a simple, pink V-neck sweater with a charm necklace. Her hair is freshly cut, above her shoulder, her smile simply angelic.
You look pretty.
In his mind, the conversation is fluid:
Yes, you do. I promise, you look pretty. And I don’t want you to worry. I’m going to take care of everything. They’re going to say things about you, but I will stop them. I won’t let anyone find out.
I know he is, my love, my beautiful, but I have a plan now.
He traces his finger over the outline of her face. Very pretty, so very pretty.
And I love you, Cassandra.
