'I realize this is, now, most likely going straight to law enforcement officials,' he begins. 'A temporary problem, let me assure you. There are too many ways to get the truth out. Having said that, let us discuss the relationship of truth and time, as it is apropos here. Truth is not concerned with age. A child is a child, yes, but a soul is a soul is a soul, and truth applies to all. The devil can come in many guises, and whether you are ten or eighty, confession and contrition will always be your one and only salvation. And that is the purpose of this particular part of my opus, to demonstrate two things: truth is ageless, but that truth without contrition is a lie all its own.' He rubs the rosary with a thumb. 'Valerie Cavanaugh comes from a good family. She has God-fearing parents. They demand much from her, and by all appearances, she has provided. Valerie has always been a straight-A student. She practices her piano lesson one hour a day, every day. She is on a swim team, and has brought home trophies. She has been active with her parents in volunteer activities, helping those less fortunate.'
'All true,' Alvarez notes.
'Appearances can be deceiving,' the Preacher continues. 'And confession to the greatest crimes without remorse makes a lie of confession itself.'
THE SINS
of
VALERIE CAVANAUGH
33
'LOOK AT ME, KITTY,' VALERIE SAYS.
The cat turns toward her voice, meows once. The cat has beautiful green eyes and Valerie smiles.
'Good kitty,' she says, and pets the cat behind the ears. It's a pretty nice day. The sun is out but the heat isn't oppressive. Daddy calls it a 'California fall.' There's a slight breeze. Valerie closes her eyes and turns her face up to the sky, letting the breeze cool her skin and ruffle her hair with its wind-fingers. She continues to rub the cat behind the ears.
Valerie is in the backyard of her house. Mommy and Daddy are out for the day, and Emma, the babysitter, is snoozing on the couch. It's one of the few times Valerie finds herself alone, and she cherishes the moment.
The backyard is large. They have a patio and a pool and a lot of green green grass. Mommy spent a lot of time designing the landscaping herself and supervising the workers. (Do things halfway and you'll end up a halfway person, Mommy always says.) Valerie is sitting behind a line of hedges that forms a barrier between the rest of the yard and one of the tall, painted cinder-block walls that divides them from the world outside.
'Good kitty,' she murmurs again.
The cat meows. It's not a happy meow, and Valerie can't really blame the poor kitty. She's all wrapped up in a towel, after all.
'Sorry, kitty,' she says, 'but I can't have you scratching me all up.'
Valerie wants to wait longer, to enjoy the solitude for a few moments more, but she knows she can't count on Emma sleeping forever. She sighs.
'Better get to it, kitty. Do things halfway and you'll be a halfway person.'
She places the towel-wrapped cat on its back in her lap and puts her hands around the cat's neck. She begins to squeeze. She doesn't squeeze too hard or too fast--she doesn't want the kitty to die too quick, after all. Part of the fun is savoring the moment. Valerie keeps her eyes on the cat's eyes the entire time. She's not sure what it is she's looking for. Maybe that exact moment of death, when the spark of life goes out. Who knows? But it's an endless source of fascination.
She can feel the cat struggling against her, trying to escape the towel.
Sorry, kitty, but I know what I'm doing. You'll never get free. She giggles, once.
Valerie is aware of her heart beating fast in her chest. There's a somewhat undefinable sensation running through her. A kind of excitement she can't classify. She doesn't try all that hard to figure it out. The doing of the thing and the feeling it gives her is enough. The cat's struggles become frantic. Valerie's heart beats and that excitement keeps pace. Another moment passes, and the cat expires. Valerie continues to squeeze, unaware that her eyes are wide and that her tongue is protruding from between her lips.
The moment passes. The cat is seeing nothing. Valerie relaxes her grip. She'd been holding her breath; she exhales.
'Good kitty,' she says again, and scratches the dead cat behind the ears.
She likes that there is no meow in response now. She likes that a lot.
Valerie gives herself a minute to relax, to luxuriate in this brief moment of being her true self.
It's hard acting like a normal girl all the time, she reflects. This is when I feel the most free.
But Valerie knows, even at ten, that she has to keep her real face hidden. She's been very careful, since she started killing the cats. She's paced herself, and she's made sure to bury the bodies here, behind the hedge. It's been difficult, true, but she can wait. She's seen the future. She'll get older, and someday she'll have a lot more freedom. Someday, she thinks, she'll even be able to drive. Who knows what she'll be able to start killing then?
She's unaware that these thoughts have brought a grin to her face. Those white teeth flash in the sun and her blonde hair flutters in the breeze, and she pets the dead cat in her lap as she dreams.
'JESUS CHRIST,' ALAN MUTTERS.
I'm silent, as is Callie.
It was obvious that Valerie was unaware she was being videotaped. The video itself was black-and-white and high quality. The angle it had been shot at gives me an idea. I stand up and march to the sliding glass door leading into the backyard.
Once outside, I stand and look. I see the pool, clean and blue. The grass is green and cut and perfect. I see the row of hedges on the right and left. They form an unbroken line going from the front of the yard to the back on either side. There's about a one foot space between the hedges and the cinder-block walls that act as a fence. Not much space, but enough for a ten-year-old.
I choose the line on the right and walk over. Short as I am, I have trouble seeing past the hedge tops, so I lean forward, placing my hands against the wall and stand on my tiptoes.
The grass ends at the hedges, which come all the way down to the ground. Beyond the hedge line is plain dirt. I can see little patches of turned earth that had been patted flat.
Eight or ten, I think. Probably all dead cats.
Valerie Cavanaugh, sweet blonde Valerie of the perfect hair and teeth, had been a little psychopath.
I close my eyes and recall the video, that angle. I open them again and turn to the right. I march along the hedge line to the end and lean forward. I see what I was looking for.
*
*
*
'THERE'S A PINHOLE CAMERA PLACED near the end of the hedge line,' I say, walking back into the house. 'She had no idea he was watching her.'
'How'd he know where to put it?' Alvarez asks.
'Not sure,' I lie.
Callie raises a single eyebrow but says nothing. Alan studies his fingernails.
'Let's finish the clip,' I say, taking a seat again. Callie had paused it when I went into the backyard. She hits play again now.
We watch as Valerie digs a hole with a gardening trowel. She removes the towel from around the dead cat. She holds the cat's corpse up by the scruff of its neck, stares into its eyes for a moment, shrugs, and drops it into the hole. She fills it back in and takes care to feather the dirt and pat it flat. She folds the towel. We see her face once before she stands up to exit the hedgerow. She looks blissful and beautiful, untroubled and at peace.
The video holds for a minute, recording the cinder-block wall, the hedges, that slightly turned earth, before
