Never Knowing

“Hello?”

“Hi, Sara. How are you?” He sounded excited — eager.

“Why do you keep calling me?” My body began to vibrate and I sat down at the kitchen table. Sandy and Billy eased themselves into chairs across from me.

“Because I’m your dad.”

“I have a dad.”

He was silent. Sandy’s hand balled on the table like it was taking all her strength not to rip the phone from my hand.

“You can call me John for now.”

I didn’t say anything.

He said, “You got my present?”

“Yes. How did you get this number?”

“It was on the Internet.” Of course, my business was listed on a Web site directory. That must’ve been how he found me in the first place. Too late I remembered Evan’s warning, You sure you want your cell number on there?

“Do you like the earrings?”

“Where did you get them from?” I knew I sounded angry, but I couldn’t stop the emotion from leaking into my voice. I glanced at Billy and he mouthed, Keep going. I didn’t look at Sandy.

John said, “Karen gave them to me.” I closed my eyes against the image his words created. He said something else, but it was drowned out by a roar from a vehicle going by.

He said, “Sorry about the background noise. I’m in my truck.”

“Where are you?”

He paused for a moment, then said, “It won’t work like that, Sara. I know you’ve probably called the cops and your landline’s tapped. But I won’t reveal anything they can use. Even if they trace this call, I know the Interior like the back of my hand. They’ll never find me.” I stared at the two cops sitting at the table with me. Did he really know I’d called them or was he just bluffing? My pulse beat loud in my ear. I had to answer fast. “I didn’t tell anyone. I thought it was just a prank.”

He paused for a moment, then said, “I guess you probably got a few prank calls. Your family must be upset. Is that why you told the papers Karen Christianson wasn’t really your mother?”

My stomach muscles tightened at the intimate tone in his voice, his casual way of speaking about my family. Then I realized I’d found my way out.

“She’s not my mother. It was just a rumor someone started. I told you—”

“I saw your Facebook photo. You’re my daughter.”

My Facebook photo. How many others did he see? Did he know about Ally? My mind scrambled, trying to remember my profile settings.

He said, “And I saw Julia’s photo in the paper. I know she’s Karen Christianson. She hit me in the head.” The last sentence he said with grudging respect.

“Is that what this is about? You’re trying to find her?”

“I have no interest in her anymore.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I have to talk to you whenever I have the urge. It’s the only way I might be able to stop.”

“What … what will you stop?”

“Hurting people.”

I sucked in my breath as my thoughts scattered.

He said, “I have to go now. We’ll talk more next time — keep your phone with you.”

“I can’t always answer when you—”

“You have to answer.”

“But I may not be able to. Sometimes I’m busy and—”

“If you don’t answer, then I’ll have to do something else.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll have to find someone.”

“No! No, don’t do that. I’ll keep my phone on—”

“I’m not bad, Sara. You’ll see.” He hung up.

He hasn’t called since. I know I should be happy — no news is good news, right? But I walk around in a constant state of anxiety. The first thing I did was check Facebook. Thankfully he could only see my profile picture because the rest were set to private, but I still removed everything. Billy and Sandy stayed until I’d calmed down, or as calm as I could be given what had just happened, and we went over what to do if he calls again. They want me to continue denying I told the police anything. Billy said the more confident John is, the more likely he’ll make a mistake. But I think he has good reason to feel confident.

The police weren’t able to triangulate the call because he’d made it from somewhere west of Williams Lake and they could only get a signal from one tower. It took almost an hour for the local police to get there, and by then he could’ve been anywhere. All they could do was patrol the main highway and back roads, stopping vehicles, asking homeowners if they’d seen any strangers in the area. But without a vehicle description they don’t have much to go on. He was also using a stolen phone, which sent them on another wild goose chase as they tried to track down the owner.

I’ve traveled through BC and I know the more populated towns are in the southern part of the Interior, the Okanagan region, but when you’re in the Central and Northern Interior, most of the towns are small. They’re also hours apart, with nothing but mountains and valleys surrounding them. You don’t have to drive far to disappear into the wilderness. And if the remoteness of the terrain wasn’t bad enough, Billy said there can be delays getting information from the service provider, and sometimes the signal even pings off the wrong tower. I asked about GPS, but apparently he can just turn that feature off.

Billy thinks John knew exactly how long it would take for the police to get to the area. Even the pay phones he’d called me from were all remote locations like old campsites and rest areas, which meant no witnesses or cameras. They also think he makes sure there are multiple routes to the location, so he’s never fenced in. The police still seem sure they’ll find him, but I’m having some serious doubts. They don’t think he realizes they can tap my cell, but he said it himself, it doesn’t matter what I told them or if they traced the call, he knows the Interior like the back of his hand. He’s been getting away with this for over thirty years. What’s going to stop him now?

When I told Evan what happened he freaked out and wanted me to tell the cops I wouldn’t do it. I told him they thought I was their only chance to find him, and if they didn’t he’d keep killing. Finally we agreed I’d take it one day at a time. He came home on Monday — God, I was happy to see him — but I still couldn’t relax. We finally sat down and did the guest list, but then Billy called to see how I was doing. I left the table so I could talk to him out in my shop and when I came back in Evan said, “One of your boyfriends?” “Ha, ha. It was that cop I met the other day. Sorry for taking so long — we were talking about John.”

“No worries.”

But I was worried. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I should say next time John called. We went for a long walk with Ally and Moose that night and rented a comedy, but I couldn’t tell you one thing that happened in that movie.

Evan said he hates seeing me so scared and upset, but I can’t help it. While I’m making dinner for Ally, while I’m tucking her in at night, while we’re brushing our teeth in the morning, all I’m thinking about is whether the police will catch John before he kills someone.

I’ve read every article on his victims. I know about Samantha, the pretty blond nineteen-year-old who was camping in a provincial park with her boyfriend. He was shot twice in the back as he tried to escape. They found Samantha’s body a couple of miles into the park. Her arm was broken in three places from a fall, and as she fled through the woods something jabbed straight through her cheek. The Campsite Killer covered her face with her Nike T-shirt, then raped and strangled her. I used to have the same shirt.

I know about Erin, the brunette softball player who decided to go camping by herself and was found two