He leveled his gaze at me and smiled slightly. “Do I strike you as a serial killer?”
He didn’t. He sounded like a reasonable, intelligent, hungry, dirty, smelly person. Was it possible that he was some kind of psychopath? One of those people you read about who acts perfectly normal and then goes out and kills people? And all the neighbors say he was such a nice, quiet man who wouldn’t hurt a fly?
“Do you have a name?” I asked.
“Ethan Landers.”
“And you’re on the run?”
He smirked. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
I realized I could add “sense of humor” to his description. No, he didn’t seem like a psychopath at all.
“Why don’t you just go to the police and tell them the truth?” I asked.
“You mean, go to them and say, ‘Hey, guys, despite the evidence you have against me, I’m really innocent’? Now there’s a novel idea. Wonder if it’s ever been tried before?” The words seethed with ironic bitterness. “I was set up to make it look like I killed Megan. You can’t believe something like that could actually happen in real life, and then it does and it’s just uncomprehendable. And maybe the police don’t have all the evidence against me that they’d like to have, but they have enough to charge me and make me stand trial. And then I either have to hire an experienced lawyer, which costs a fortune and there’s no way I can afford it, or I have to put my fate in the hands of some overworked, inexperienced public defender. Think about it. Your entire life in the hands of some guy or girl who just got out of law school six months ago, has way more cases than he can possibly handle, probably little or no experience with murder cases, and he’s supposed to defend you for a killing you didn’t even commit? It’s like something out of Kafka. Would you take that chance?”
I shook my head. He sounded as rational and logical as anyone I knew.
“Yeah, well, neither would I,” he said. “Running from the law is probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, but at least I feel like my fate is in my hands. At least this way I have a chance to prove I’m innocent and show them what’s really going on.”
“And what is really going on?”
He told me.
* * *
Ethan was the one whose footsteps I’d heard in the boatyard, where he’d been hiding in the dry-docked boats ever since he’d arrived in Soundview. It was he who’d left the notes and slashed my tires. He’d done it to make sure I didn’t go to Courtney’s the night she’d had that get-together. He was worried that something bad might happen to me.
“Why me?”
“I’d heard about you. You sounded like my best chance at finding someone I could trust. I need someone on the inside. Someone who knows everyone and can tell me what’s going on.”
It all sounded logical and plausible. Why do we believe one stranger and not another? I wondered. What made me think I was smart enough to tell the difference between honesty and a well-disguised lie? Could I take that chance?
He seemed to know what I was thinking. “Give me ten minutes on your computer, okay? Let me show you what I know. Then you can decide for yourself what to do.”
To let him use my computer would mean letting him into my bedroom, and I didn’t want to do that. “You can use my mom’s.” I pointed at the laptop in her office beside the kitchen.
Ethan sat down. I stood behind him. Now that he’d been inside for a while and had warmed up, the sour scent of his body odor was even stronger.
“Have you heard about any break-ins at veterinary clinics around here?” he asked as he searched for sites.
“The police have been asking veterinarians about halothane. And it was mentioned in the newspaper story I read.”
“That’s what she uses to knock out her victims. Any news about people finding animals with their eyes gouged out?”
The thought was revolting. But not as horrible as the realization that followed. “Oh my God!”
Ethan looked quizzically over his shoulder at me. I had to sit down. My stomach turned inside out and I crossed my arms and doubled over.
“You okay?” Ethan asked.
“There’s this person who sends me anonymous messages,” I said. “I don’t know if it’s a guy or a girl. The last message I got asked if I could believe what they did to my friend’s eyes. The one they found near school. I didn’t know what that meant.”
Ethan nodded grimly. “I’m sorry.”
My eyes teared up and I squeezed them shut.
“I don’t know if you want to read this.” He pointed at the computer screen. I stood up and looked. It was an article from the
“Wait,” I said. “The newspaper article I read about Megan’s friend Molly said something about a mutilation, too.”
Ethan nodded knowingly. “If you go back and search for instances of break-ins in veterinary clinics, and you match them to stories about finding animals with their eyes gouged out, you’ll find matches in Florida, the state of Washington, southern California, and Kansas, where I’m from.”
“What about Megan?” I asked.
Ethan shrugged and said sadly, “Who knows? They’ve never found her.”
“Oh, God, this is awful,” I said.
Ethan started a new search, talking to me as he typed. “Have you ever heard of Nemesis?”
“It’s a word.”
“It’s also the Greek goddess of revenge,” Ethan said. “She’s got some kind of connection to it. After Molly disappeared, Megan told me she’d gotten a couple of really strange e-mails from someone calling themselves Nemesis.”
Results began to appear in the screen—comments on blogs, but nothing that appeared recognizable.
“Try
Ethan typed. Results began to pop up. The word
Then I saw something scroll past on the screen. “Stop! Go back.”
Ethan went back.
Str-S-d #7
about how Lucy Cunningham has disappeared. Some people think Lucy … wish I could make some of the kids around heeere disappeeear.
People get what they deserve.
Why be sorry?
“What is that?” I asked.
“Looks like a blog.” Ethan clicked on the link and a new page appeared:
Str-S-d #1
Today at school Lucy Cunningham looked at me like I was something the cat coughed up. I don’t have to explain who Lucy is. You already know, because there’s only one kind of girl who would look at anyone that
