“If you need anything, I’m right outside,” the guard told her. “But we have to keep the door locked.”
“I understand,” Bess said.
Once they were alone, Bess stared at Tam. She had no idea how to begin.
“Are you a reporter?” he asked her.
“No,” she replied. “I’m no one,” and the sound of it made her feel nauseous.
“Why’re you here?”
“I wanted to ask… if you were guilty.” It was the most honest answer she knew.
“Do you think that if I was, I’d tell you?” He leaned ever so slightly forward with his elbows on his knees. His hands folded together as if in prayer.
“I don’t know. But I still have to ask.”
“Why do you have to ask?”
Bess considered this for a moment. “It’s kind of a long story.”
“Well, I didn’t kill anybody.”
“Then why did you confess?”
“I didn’t.”
“No, you did. I saw it myself. You did confess.”
“You saw what they let you see. That cop.” He paused, unsure of his words. “That cop kept saying he needed me to say things. Needed me to say stuff so he could help me. He… god damn. I don’t know how to explain it. I don’t even understand myself. But I swear, I never thought I was confessing to anything.” For the first time his eyes slid away and Bess became uncomfortably aware of how young he was. He looked afraid. He smelled of it.
“So, if it’s not you, then who is it?”
“That’s what I want to find out! Fucking hell, there’s nothing I can do in here and no one would listen to me even if I gave them the killer’s home address.” Sandy blond hair tumbled into his eyes as he spoke. He brushed it back awkwardly with his restrained hands, using them like a club to bat at the hairs.
Bess didn’t know why she was here. This all suddenly seemed absurd. “Well, do you know anything? Can you help me at all?”
“Help you do what?”
“I don’t know. Find out who the killer really is?”
He studied her face, his young mouth set firm. He was sizing her up. And whether it was to lie to her or trust her, Bess did not know. “I was trying to find him. That’s why I was at the funerals,” he said finally. “They’re making a big deal because people saw me at the funerals, but that’s because I was looking for him.”
“Why get yourself involved in a murder investigation at all?”
“A lot of reasons. I don’t know. I knew Ashley. She was… she was nice.”
“Does that mean you wanted to fuck her?”
Tam blushed hard, his fair skin burning. “I didn’t.”
“You make ‘didn’t’ sound an awful lot like ‘did.’”
“I loved her,” Tam said quietly. “She came into the café all the time and she was so beautiful but so nice too. I couldn’t have hurt her. Not ever.”
“The police said you were a Satan worshiper,” Bess said, choosing to ignore his declaration.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Why?”
“I don’t even believe in the devil.”
“So then what’s all this stuff they said they found? Noises? Herbs? Whatever. Explain it.”
“Why the fuck should I explain anything to you? I don’t even know who you are. And I’m not supposed to be talking to anyone without my lawyer.”
“I’m not a cop, you don’t need a lawyer. My name’s Bess. I want to help.”
Tam sighed. He chewed at the chapped skin of his lower lip. “The music is just music,” he said. “It’s not the ’80s, metal doesn’t equal satanic. And yeah, I have some books. But it’s real light stuff, nothing you can’t get from Barnes and Noble. I like reading about the occult. But I don’t believe it, let alone worship anything. I’m a god damned atheist.”
Bess smiled a little. She could see it. A young kid rejecting god in all his forms, checking out his alternatives. Rebelling like the little nerd he clearly was, by reading books. “What do you know about the Dragon?”
Tam perked up. She’d said the magic words, the ones that seemed to make everyone in this town take notice. “You know something, too,” he said, a sly grin spreading across his face.
“I know there’s a dragon, and I know you ain’t him. So if you know more than that, tell me. Help me get you out of here. Help me save Amy.”
“You think Amy Eckhardt’s still alive?”
“Well, they haven’t found her head yet, so I’m keeping my fingers crossed.”
“Okay. I have some notes. A profile, you know? On some traits he probably has, who it might be. My aunt has all that stuff now. Go talk to her. She can give you everything.” His eyes were gleaming.
“And who is your aunt? Where do I find her?”
“At the historical society mostly, her name’s Winnie Tate.”
“I know Winnie! I’ve already met her. Why the hell didn’t she tell me?” Bess realized her voice was rising and caught herself before she actually started to yell. She glanced back toward the door, thinking of the guard outside. She scolded herself for getting too emotional.
“Look, please go talk to Aunt Winnie. She can give you all my notes.”
“Why do you trust me?”
“I don’t have anyone else. Aunt Winnie believes me, but she’s old. The cops want to solve this and pretend to be heroes. I heard the FBI wanted to take the case over and our good old APD has been holding them off for a year. They need this solved in order to keep outsiders away from Antioch. They’re going to lock me up forever. They’re going to put me in a hole in the ground and never let me out again. I need to trust someone.”
“Tam, I hope I can help you.”
Bess knocked on the door. A smiling guard appeared and let her out. “I hope he was real polite to you,” he said as she passed by.
“Of course, a regular gentleman.”
She walked as fast as she could without actually breaking into a run. Once outside she picked up the pace, making it a skip-jog sort of hybrid. The reporter from earlier was waiting for her on the sidewalk. Bess put her head down, kept her eyes on the pavement as she rushed back to where she’d left her car.
As she approached her Oldsmobile Bess slowed down. Someone was leaning against the driver side door. It was Detective Howland.
“Were you out here waiting for me?” she asked.
“Nope, just a happy coincidence.” He smiled and waved the cigarette he was smoking at her. “Stopped here for a smoke. Although, I did hear a rumor that a beautiful young woman was here today visiting our young serial murderer.”
“Is there a law against that?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Not at all.” He took a slow drag from his cigarette and exhaled back away from her. “I hope you haven’t gotten the wrong idea about things, Miss Jackson. I don’t dislike you. The opposite, in fact. I want you to be okay. I worry about you.”
“I appreciate that, Detective. I never thought you didn’t like me.” She forced a smile.
“I asked you before, call me Scott. I’d say we know each other well enough at this point. Let’s be Scott and Bess. How’s that sound?” Bess could smell his cologne ever so slightly on the breeze, the same scent from when she’d first visited his office. Something clean and masculine, and the smell stirred something inside her.
“Okay, I appreciate that, Scott.”
“Yeah, I like the way that sounds.” He leaned against the side of her car, casually, but Bess couldn’t help but notice he was blocking the door. “If I came across as a little gruff before, it’s because Antioch doesn’t get a lot of cases like this. None, actually. And the press is already calling us a bunch of bumpkins. This is national news. The whole country is looking at us thinking we can’t catch a god damn killer in a town so small you’d think we’d be able to find the motherfucker by default or something. Find the one guy I don’t personally know and it’s probably him.”