See No Evil

Emily grinned. “Air force or marines?”

Rachel laughed. Connor squeezed Julia’s shoulder as Will said, “It’s a go. Chief Causey is giving his statement to the media. I’m taking Rachel and Emily to the airport.”

“Emily,” Julia said, “does the name Michelle O’Dell mean anything to you?”

Her niece shook her head.

“No. What about Jason Ridge or Shannon Chase?”

Emily thought, then shook her head again. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Jason was a football player who died from steroid use last year. He may have been on Wishlist.”

“Why do you say that?” Will asked.

“I spoke to his mother today. It didn’t go well, but she recognized the Wishlist name.”

Will’s phone rang. He excused himself and left the room.

Julia pulled Michelle’s photo out of her purse. “Emily, do you know this girl?”

She looked at the picture. “No.”

Connor grabbed it. “She was at Bowen’s party Saturday night. She came on to me.”

“She hit on you?” Julia asked, incredulous.

“Her name was, shit, let me think.” He closed his eyes. “Cami.”

“Cami?” Julia asked, frowning. “Was she wearing a red dress?”

“Yes.”

Julia tapped the picture. “This person you call Cami is Michelle O’Dell. I spoke to her not an hour ago and she said she was at Stanford all weekend.”

Will walked in and looked at Emily. “Do you know Dennis Richardson? Nickname Skip? He’s a senior at your school.”

Emily nodded. Julia took her hand. “Why?”

“He was stabbed to death in his bedroom sometime last night,” Will said. “Gage is already on-site.”

“It’s all unraveling and it’s your fault.”

The bitch paced. He wanted to kill her.

His voice was calm. “It’s under control.”

“Where’s that psychotic kid? What’s her name, Faye?”

“I don’t know,” he lied. “I haven’t seen her.”

Damn if he was going to sic this bitch on Faye. Not when she was so weak. If Faye was at full strength, there’d be no contest. Faye would win. It’s why he loved her. No matter what life threw at her, she survived. Damaged, maybe, but she’d go on. He’d kill himself before he’d let the bitch see Faye in her current weakened state, and there was no way in hell he’d kill himself.

“She butchered Skip. Butchered him. She’s not right in the head. You’d better not be protecting her. She’s our trump card. She’ll do anything to protect you, even confess to everything. And with Robbie and Skip gone, it’s all we need.”

She stared at him. “Tell her that. To save you, she needs to confess.”

“I told you, I haven’t seen her.”

She stepped toward him. “And I told you, I don’t believe you.”

Faye hadn’t stayed put like he commanded. She was listening from the upstairs hallway. He loves me. He was protecting her, even jeopardizing his own life, his own freedom, just for her.

He truly loves me.

She knew what to do.

Creeping down the upstairs hall, she took two more of the pills he’d been feeding her throughout the day. Though she didn’t know what they were, they made her feel better. She wished she had clothes. He’d burned the bloodied stuff she’d worn when she killed Skip. Now she searched his drawers and closet until she found an old faded T-shirt shrunk enough to fit her, and some running shorts where she could tie the drawstring tight around her waist. It would be enough to get her home. There, Faye could change before finishing the plan.

She went back downstairs and slipped out the back door.

But the bitch was right: Faye knew she had to confess. And she would, to protect him.

She only regretted that she wouldn’t be able to say good-bye.

Two hours later, Faye Kessler walked into the police station and said, “I killed Victor Montgomery.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

Dillon Kincaid stared at the girl who had announced an hour before that she had killed Victor Montgomery and four others.

They were in an interrogation room. Faye Kessler was seventeen, and in a capital offense they didn’t need parental permission to talk with her. They had, though, attempted to contact her father. Will had read Faye her rights and she clearly understood them.

“I’m not stupid,” she said.

Not stupid, Dillon thought, but her eyes were dead. Staring into those dark orbs Dillon had no doubt that Faye Kessler was capable of murder.

Not only had Faye told them she’d killed five people, she had the evidence to prove it. In front of him, Will tapped the Polaroid photograph of Garrett Bowen hanging from his chandelier.

Dillon couldn’t get over how pale and slender Faye was, perhaps in the beginning stages of anorexia. She wore a long, thin sweater, its sleeves covering her hands. She played with the frayed yarn ends constantly. Her mousy brown hair was shoulder length, clean but limp. She wasn’t an attractive girl, her face too long, nose too large, and forehead too high. But her eyes drew Dillon in, so deep and empty Dillon might have been afraid of this girl if they’d met under different circumstances. He wondered if she was on drugs. He’d get her a medical exam as soon as they were done, but for now a confession came first, especially since she appeared lucid and relatively healthy.

“Why did you come in today?” Will asked, their conversation being recorded.

“I told the cop behind the desk. I killed some people.”

“Who did you kill?”

“Do you want to hear about the first one or the last one? Or the others maybe?”

“Why don’t you start with this picture?” Dillon picked up the Polaroid in front of Will and showed it to her.

She stared at the picture, her face expressionless. “That’s Dr. Bowen.”

“Yes. Did you take this photograph?”

“Yes.”

“Is this the only picture you took that night?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I wanted it to remember him by.”

“And did you kill him?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Dillon asked.

“Because.”

“Just because? You just felt like it?”

“We hated him.”

“Faye, who else hated him besides you?”

“Skip and Robbie.”

“Do you have full names for them?” Will asked.

“Skip’s real name is Dennis Richardson Jr. No one calls him Dennis, though, not even his parents. Robbie is Robert Haxton.”

“Where are they now?”