Meeker’s shoulders started to shake beneath the blanket. Leo couldn’t quite tell if he was laughing or crying. Then he realized it was a little bit of both. “Susan will tell you that my mother died in a car accident,” he said. “But the truth is that one March afternoon, she locked herself in the family station wagon inside the garage, and she left the motor running. Guess who found her. Me, that’s who. She didn’t leave a note or anything—nothing at all.”
“So you have a pretty good idea what it’s like to lose a mother very suddenly,” Leo said quietly.
“That doesn’t make me a murderer,” Meeker said. “In fact, I sympathize with those kids whose mothers were killed.”
“Is that why you left each one of us a toy?” Jordan asked.
“I never killed anybody!” he cried. “You were right earlier, okay? I was making up everything, because I thought if I confessed, you’d turn me over to the police. Listen to me—for the last time, I’m not a murderer. I’m a nice guy, damn it! Ask anyone!” He glanced at Leo. “You said you were going to wrap this up. Well, when?”
Leo nodded. “Just a few more minutes, okay? We were talking about your mother. You said she didn’t leave a note when she killed herself. You—um, after all these years, you must have come up with some idea about why she committed suicide.”
Meeker pressed his forehead against the table again. He said nothing.
“Why do you think she killed herself, Allen?”
“I don’t know,” he muttered
“You must have been pretty angry at her for deserting you at such a young age,” Leo said quietly.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Well, don’t kids sometimes resent a parent who dies on them?” Leo pointed out. “My father was killed in Iraq when his jeep ended up in a ditch two years ago. And when I think about it, I still kind of get pissed off at him for dying on me. I know it sounds crazy. But I sometimes think he should have tried to get out of going overseas or he should have been more careful behind the wheel. This grief counselor the army fixed us up with—she said it was perfectly normal to have that kind of anger and resentment. She said that with some therapy, I’ll get over it. But I think maybe I feel that way because I really miss him.” He gazed at Meeker. “Weren’t you ever angry at your mother for killing herself?”
The man slowly shook his head. “Nice try. I know where you’re going with this. Because I’m mad at my dead mother, I go out and kill all these mothers, right? Where’d you get this shit, Psychology 101?”
“You’re not answering his question!” Jordan piped up from the stairs.
Leo didn’t want to admit it, but Meeker pretty much had his number. He did hope to make a connection between Mama’s Boy and this man who felt some resentment for a mother who had abandoned him. He also wanted to find out if Meeker had been abused as a child—by either parent.
“Weren’t you angry at your mother?” Leo pressed. “Didn’t you miss her enough to be angry, Allen?”
Meeker said nothing.
“Maybe you were happy to see her die,” Leo dared to say. “Was that it? Did she beat you or something?”
“My mother was a sweet, gentle woman,” Meeker said steadily. “She never laid a hand on me.”
“But did she ever raise a hand to defend you?” Leo asked, hoping he might hit on something. It was worth a shot. “I’m—I’m talking about when your dad came after you. Didn’t she ever try to stop him?”
“Of course she tried to stop him!” Meeker blurted out. “He was much worse on her than he ever was on me. He beat the shit out of that frail, little woman. The son of a bitch once threw her across the kitchen, and she hit her head against the edge of the refrigerator. She got thirteen stitches that time. She always took the blows meant for me. She was like his goddamn punching bag. He—” Meeker seemed to choke on his words. He suddenly clammed up and glared at Leo.
“But then she killed herself and left you all alone with him. You didn’t have your mother to run interference. It must have been a nightmare. And you can’t admit you’re mad at her for that?”
“Screw you!” Meeker yelled. He had tears in his eyes. “Think you’re so goddamn clever. So what’s your point? Just because I had it tough as a kid, I’m supposed to be some kind of serial killer? That’s ridiculous. You have your head up your ass….”
Leo turned to his friend. But Jordan was looking toward the basement window. “Oh, shit,” he murmured, quickly getting to his feet. He rushed toward the worktable.
It took Leo a moment to realize what was happening. Then he heard tires squealing and a car engine purring outside.
Meeker must have heard it as well, because he started to yell out: “HELP! HELP ME! OH, GOD, PLEASE…!”
Jordan nearly plowed into Leo to get to their captive. He yanked the blanket off Meeker’s shoulders and tried to stuff one corner of it into his mouth. Meeker kept turning his head. He frantically tugged at the rope, and the whole table shook. He wouldn’t stop screaming.
Leo hurried to the window. Through the dirt-streaked glass, he could see the cop car in the driveway. “Oh God, it’s the police….”
This made Meeker shout even louder—until Jordan punched him in the face. Their prisoner let out an aborted cry and then slumped against the table.
Leo could only see part of the patrol car, but he heard the door open and shut. He turned to his friend, who hastily stuffed one corner of the blanket into Meeker’s mouth. “Jordan, here’s our chance,” he said. “Let’s hand him over to the cops now. We’ve gone as far as we can with this guy. We have enough on him to make the cops
But Jordan was shaking his head. He pulled at the rope around Meeker’s wrists to make sure it was tight. “We can’t quit now, Leo,” he said, out of breath. “He’s finally starting to crack and tell the truth. He—”
A knock on the front door upstairs interrupted him.
Jordan grabbed Leo’s arm and pulled him close. “Please, Leo,” he whispered, his mouth against his ear. “Don’t screw this up for me. I’m counting on you. Please…just wait down here….”
He turned and pulled the gun out from the back of his jeans. He checked it, then tucked it back under his shirttail and hurried up the cellar stairs.
The rapping on the front door only got louder and more intense.
At the bottom of the basement stairs, Leo listened to Jordan’s footsteps above. Why had he checked the gun like that? In his crazy plan to keep this man his prisoner at any cost, did Jordan actually consider shooting a policeman an option?
Leo glanced over at Meeker—his eyes closed, lifelessly sprawled over the worktable. One corner of the old blanket was stuffed in his mouth. If he hadn’t seen him breathing, Leo would have sworn the man was dead.
He heard the front door opening, and then Jordan’s voice—with strained cheerfulness. “Well, hey, hi again. I hope I’m not in trouble or anything….”
Then there was some muttering from the cop, but Leo couldn’t make out what he was saying. He crept up the stairs and quietly opened the basement door to hear them better.
“Well, it’s just like the lady told you,” Jordan was saying. “We were in the store at the same time—around noon. He didn’t say squat to me. I saw him get into his car and drive toward town. End of story. I don’t know what else I can tell you.”
“Where did you go after you left the store?” the cop asked.
“Here, I came here—but, um, my friends were gone, so I decided to go exploring. Then I ran into you….”
“At the old Chemerica plant,” the cop said. “You just went there to
“Yeah—I mean, yes sir.”
“Sure you weren’t up to something else?”
“Nope,” Jordan said. “I was just hanging out, killing time.”
“A lot of kids go there to get high….”
“Well, not me. I don’t do drugs.”
“Oh, yeah, I guess you got your fill of drugs back when they put you in that institution—or
