Steel swore. She’d found his case notes—all the information he’d gathered about the overdose deaths that stretched back to thirteen years ago.
He pulled back, gathered his thoughts and peeked again. Marion didn’t look armed. She was definitely dangerous to his peace of mind, though. With a sigh he stepped into the small room, shut the door behind him and holstered his pistol, making sure she got a good look at it.
“Don’t think you’re scaring me, Cooper,” she said. “I’ve been dead a long time; my body just hasn’t caught up to my soul yet. You put a bullet in me, you’d be doing me a favor.”
“Why are you in my house?”
“Why are you photographing dead girls?” she countered, holding up the binder.
“I’m not photographing dead girls.” He wouldn’t be spurred into letting any information slip, but his gut had knotted up good. The information in that binder wouldn’t help his image.
“Girls who ended up dead, then,” Marion said. She flipped through the photocopied pages. “Beth Wright, Lori Means, Cecilia Foster, Rena Klein.” She raised an eyebrow at him, her lined face hard with contempt. “Bet the sheriff would be interested to know about this. Were you the one who lured Sue Hill to her death? Did you give her the drugs she overdosed on? Were they tainted?”
“Ask me the real question you want to ask.” He could see it in her eyes, a disgust that went beyond the general contempt she’d show a drug dealer.
“Did you kill her?” she spat out.
“No. And I didn’t kill any of the others, either.” Steel came to a decision, one he’d hoped never to have to make. Once one civilian knew about him, it was only a matter of time before everyone else did, but he had a hunch about Marion. She knew everything. He had no doubt she disseminated as many rumors as she soaked up, but something was keeping her on her porch.
What?
“I don’t believe you,” Marion said. “I remember your father; he was just like you. Always hanging around. Meeting people on the sly. Offering them things.”
“You were here when my dad was alive?” He knew she was, but he wanted to keep her talking.
“Right here. Place was different then,” she said.
“Different how?”
“Full of nice people. Respectable families. Maybe we didn’t have much, but we didn’t live in squalor.” She waved a hand at his empty living room. A couple of pizza cartons he hadn’t taken out to the trash. He wasn’t the neatest man in the world, but you could hardly call this squalor. Marion was still talking, though.
“It was safe here. Silver Falls was a good town. People were happy. Healthy. Girls grew up, got work where they could. Married and had families. And then it all went to hell.”
Steel wasn’t sure what made him ask, “Did you know a girl who died—thirteen years ago, the last time this happened?”
Her lips parted in surprise, and suddenly Marion looked every one of her seventy-plus years. “My… granddaughter. Abigail. You don’t have her photo.”
“Abigail.” Steel racked his brain, but he hadn’t seen any information about a victim with that name. “When did she die?”
Marion named a year that was too early to have been included in the cluster that Dale and William had been investigating. Of course, back then they were the only ones who thought the deaths were anything but random overdoses.
“She overdosed?” he asked.
“Not on purpose,” Marion hissed. “She wouldn’t have. She was far too smart for that. She got involved in a little trouble, that was all. Then someone did her in.”
Steel made a note to look for outlier cases. Marion could be exaggerating the details. When a string of other girls died, she might have lumped those cases with Abigail’s in her mind even if they weren’t related, but Steel wondered if there were other cases they’d missed. Maybe the killer had been operating over a longer timespan than they thought.
“Your father did her in,” Marion hissed.
“No.” Steel shook his head. “Not my father. Look, I’m going to tell you something no one else knows.”
An avaricious gleam came into Marion’s eyes. She traded in secrets, and she couldn’t help herself, he supposed. He was taking a huge risk trusting her like this, but he didn’t know what else he could do. If Marion made trouble for him and the press got wind of it, he’d lose any possibility of making progress.
“I’m a sheriff’s deputy.” He reached into his pocket, drew out his wallet and showed Marion his identification. He was gratified at the little squeak of surprise she uttered. “I’m working on the cases of Beth, Lori, Cecilia, Rena—and Sue.”
“You’re finding the dealer who’s giving them bad drugs?” Marion was still looking over his identification.
“I think we both know there’s more going on than that,” Steel said. She looked up, and he went on. “There’s a serial killer out there. Someone who’s luring women to their deaths. The drugs are a part of it. He’s using overdoses to cover his tracks, but this isn’t about the drugs. It’s about power over these young women who are so desperate for his attention. That’s his high.”
Marion made another noise, like an old wound had just been torn open. Her mouth worked as if she was trying to speak, but no words came.
“I’m going to say it all, so we don’t have to say it again,” Steel said gently. “Thirteen years ago he wasn’t as bold as he’s being today. He found his victims on the fringes—girls already in trouble, like you said your granddaughter was. I think he strung them along a bit. Maybe let them think he’d help them. Then he killed them, disguising each crime as an accident.”
“What’s he doing now?” She was struggling to sound calm, but her hands were shaking.
He hadn’t spoken his theories out loud, but he might as well do so now. Maybe Marion would point out the holes in them.
“He’s gotten bolder. Now
