Carole and Blanche were stunned. They looked briefly at each other, their previous angst dissipated by Elliot’s words.
Kay leaned closer to Bill, whispering close to his ear. “She looks just like Blanche used to, when she was that girl’s age, doesn’t she?” He stiffened a little, but clenched his jaws and didn’t say a single word. “It must’ve been like you were back in time, holding Mira in your arms again, reliving the best nights of your life.”
“Mira,” he said, reaching out to Blanche, as if Kay’s mentioning her name had reminded him of her.
Still whispering, Kay continued her plea. “Blanche always loved you, Bill. You were the love of her life, just like she was yours. You made a mistake, not trusting in her love, not recognizing yourself in Dylan, but it’s understandable, and she’s already forgiven you. Look at her… She’s right here, by your side, instead of Dylan’s.” Her words flooded Bill’s eyes. He lowered his head, but otherwise made no effort to control or hide his tears. “And now, you’re making another terrible mistake. You’re letting your daughter’s killer go free.”
When he looked up at Kay, she shivered. It was as if she were staring into the eyes of a dead man. When he spoke, his words had a finality in them she didn’t understand.
“I’ll take you to him.”
55Scott
The main door was wide open, Kay impatiently waiting outside, although she couldn’t take her eyes off of Bill. The finality of his voice when he’d agreed to take them to his daughter’s killer, the expression in his sunken eyes baffled Kay. She watched Bill grab Blanche’s hand between his and raise it to his lips. He kissed it gently, while she caressed his face, whispering unintelligible words. Then he pulled away and she let him go, her hand falling limp when he’d stopped holding it, her eyes squeezed shut and brimming with tears.
Then Bill let himself be loaded into Kay’s SUV and Elliot took the wheel. A sense of calm, of inner peace had descended upon him, making her wonder how it was possible. No one really understood the psychopathic mind, although she came close. There was some mental process going on, something that helped him deal with everything that was happening. Having no remorse and knowing no fear, he still felt pain and loss like anyone else did, maybe even worse.
“Take the highway, then the next exit,” he directed, his voice steady, unfazed. “I believe I know where he is.”
Kay searched his eyes, looking for signs he might be toying with them, taking them for a ride in the metaphorical sense, but there was nothing in those barren eyes but immense grief and that sickening calm.
“You had no idea Scott had killed your daughter, did you?” she asked.
“No,” he whispered simply.
It made sense. If he was unaware Rose had discovered her true identity or was about to, he would’ve had no way to figure it out. To him, the death of his daughter had come as a complete surprise.
“Have you seen Scott since fourteen years ago?” she asked, following up on a hunch so thin it seemed invisible.
A beat. “Yes. I’ve asked him to do things for me at times,” he said, shooting her a direct gaze tinted with frustration. “Some he failed to do well.” His lip flickered with the beginning of a lopsided grin. “He was supposed to kill you.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Really? Why?”
Elliot glared at him through the rearview mirror with silent menace in his eyes.
“You were getting too close,” he sighed. “He just screwed up, I guess. It’s hard to get good help these days.”
Stunned, she tried to recall if she’d noticed Scott anywhere near her. Then she realized it must’ve been the way he found Nicole. He’d come there for her, and shot Jacob instead when he found Nicole with him.
Ignoring the pain in her shoulder, Kay turned in her seat to look at Bill. “One thing you didn’t share,” she said, grinding her teeth in anger, realizing just how close she was to losing her brother because of that man. “Why did you rape Shelley Harrelson? She looks nothing like Blanche, does she?” Kay omitted to use past tense in talking about Shelley, and held back no punches. The bastard deserved everything he had coming to him.
Bill closed his eyes and a grimace of anger washed over his face for a brief moment. When he opened them again, his irises were devoid of any emotion. “My mother and I argued one day,” he said, his words slow and relaxed as if telling a long-forgotten story over coffee and cake. “Evangeline was pregnant, and I wasn’t—” He swallowed and looked away for a moment. “We weren’t having sex anymore. But I don’t think it was about sex at all. Mother drove me insane with rage one day with her aberrant plans for my unborn daughter, her precious heiress, whose life she wanted to control minute by minute. When I left that meeting, I downed a couple of glasses of bourbon, then went into my bedroom, where the Harrelson woman was cleaning or something.” He stopped briefly, staring at the gloomy fall landscape through the side window. “It just happened… The next thing I remember was zipping up my pants, while she was crying on the floor.”
Fuming, Kay struggled for a few seconds to keep her rage bottled in and failed. “Rape doesn’t just happen, you sick son of a bitch,” she shouted. “What did you do afterward?”
He scoffed and shrugged slightly, not in the least affected by Kay’s outburst. If anything, he seemed entertained. “Nothing, really. I sent her home and took a shower. What else could I do?” He breathed calmly, totally indifferent to the facts he was recounting, the complete absence of empathy and conscience a dead giveaway, a confirmation to
