“Okay,” agreed Jamie, relieved.
A full-on fit had been averted, at least for the moment.
* * *
Cooper scrolled through old newspaper clippings on his home desktop. He often brought work home and could log on to his department account remotely. He scoured around for phone numbers and addresses pertaining to whatever case he was working on, drudge work that sucked up time on the job, but killed hours when he was home alone. His sister, who lived in Toronto, was bent on having him get a pet. A dog. He’d managed to put her off so far, but one day he imagined she would bully him into a rescue animal, as Jeannie’s burning mission was to save every animal on the planet. Like Cooper, she’d never had children. Unlike Cooper, she professed a dislike for them. Only animals held her heart.
Today he had a beer, which was growing warm as he web surfed, looking up files from the summer and fall when Emma Whelan was attacked. Jamie’s appearance in town had flickered through his thoughts off and on since he’d seen her in the flesh on Friday, and encountering her again had in turn reminded him of the events of that year.
Emma’s was the third of the three infamous “Babysitter Stalker” attacks. The first girl was killed in Vancouver, an apparent botched robbery attempt that had left Tyra DeProspero dead. The second was in Gresham, where the babysitter, Muriel Carrell-Wendt, fell from the second-story balcony to her death. Initially, it was thought she’d been chased by a would-be killer, but then it was concluded that she was actually trying to hide her boyfriend from the returning parents. She’d helped him onto the roof and he’d crab-walked to the front of the house, where it was only one story above the ground. He’d gotten himself down and taken off. Unfortunately, Muriel lost her balance and tumbled two and a half stories to the cliff side. The boyfriend had eventually come forward and told the truth, but the urban myth that she was the second victim of the “Babysitter Stalker” still persisted in some circles.
And then there was Emma, who had escaped death, but had been mentally compromised ever since. Nothing appeared to have been stolen from the Ryerson house, except for the knife that was used in the attack, so the prevailing theory was that Emma had thwarted a burglary.
Was any of it true? Were the attacks connected in some way, as unlikely as that seemed? At least the one in Vancouver and Emma’s, as they were both home invasions? It was more credible that they were three separate incidents that occurred coincidentally within a couple of months of one another when each time the victim was a babysitter. The first was a burglary, the second a tragic accident, and Emma’s attack? Again, a burglary? Unless it was something more personal, where Emma was the target . . . or Jamie.
A lesser-explored theory was that Emma’s attack was because the would-be thief was searching for drugs because Dr. William Ryerson had been rumored to be a bit of a “pill doctor.” The reason this scenario was discounted was because, whether Ryerson’s label was deserved or not, it was unlikely he would have the “stash” at his residence . . . though a desperate addict might not logically come to that conclusion.
Cooper leaned back in his chair. He thought about the guys he’d gone with to the Ryerson house to spook Emma. He could still see her standing on the porch, calling them out as “fourth-graders,” her chin held high, her posture defiant, her tone more dismissive than scared. Yeah, yeah, yeah. You guys are scaring me. I’m really, really scared.
He wished one of them had stayed that night. With almost religious fervor, he wished he’d been there, looking out for her, when her attacker had stabbed her in the back.
If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.
The girl he knew was gone. Seeing Jamie, so much like the Emma he remembered, had gotten to him in ways he hadn’t believed still possible.
He got up and prowled around the room. He felt, probably unjustifiably so, that he was partially to blame for what had happened to her. He’d been the one to invite Jamie to the Stillwell party that night. He’d seen her in the halls, a freshman or sophomore maybe, while he’d been a senior, in his last year and happy to be getting the hell out of River Glen. That had been his mantra in those days. Gotta get outta this hole. All his friends sang the same tune, like they had any clue at all what life had in store for them. High school had been some of the best years of their lives. They just hadn’t known it then, maybe didn’t still. But if he hadn’t invited Emma’s younger sister, she wouldn’t have been in harm’s way babysitting for the Ryersons.
But Jamie would’ve . . . maybe, if the attack was as random as everyone seemed to believe.
Cooper shook his head, physically putting that thought aside. There was no reason to heap further blame on himself and his friends, more than he already did.
He thought about those friends now. More acquaintances today than friends. Mark Norquist was dead, and Robbie was the phys ed teacher at River Glen High. Tim Merchel lived in Sacramento. Had gone into law and worked at the California state capitol. Race Stillwell, and his younger brother, Deon, were living in their parents’ home, like Cooper was in his. The Stillwell parents had died in a small plane crash, leaving their home and business to their sons. Deon had fathered a child with a woman named Alicia, who’d moved from Portland to River Glen. She apparently had lived with Deon and the child at the Stillwell estate for a number of years before she’d either left or been forced out. Whatever the
