They both sat there listening to me. They didn’t move. I don’t think they were even breathing at that point.
“But I don’t think Darryl King killed her, either.”
They both just looked at me.
“What are you talking about?” Grayson said. “Have you seriously lost your mind?”
“That’s the second time I’ve been asked that,” I said. “But no.”
“He confessed,” Paige said. “He confessed to the crime and then he signed it and then he went to prison. Where he should have stayed.”
“I know he confessed,” I said, “but I think there’s something else going on here. I’m still not sure what.”
They both leaned back in their chairs. The body language was clear. They wanted nothing to do with this. I spent the next solid hour trying to explain it to them. All of my gut instincts coming together, the questions I had asked, the way the story fit together if you could just believe that Darryl King had confessed to a crime he didn’t really commit. How if you were willing to go that far, the next step would be to look at all of the other murders that had been occurring over the years, murders with the exact same characteristics. All of them unsolved.
“What you’re really saying,” Paige said, when I was finally done, “is that Elana was really murdered by a mass murderer?”
“By definition, he would be a serial killer,” I said. “Someone who kills one person at a time. From what I can tell, Elana might have been his first victim.”
“How many others?” Paige said.
“Maybe seven, that we know of. Four women in the Midwest, three more down south during the winter months. And now Detective Bateman, which is different from his pattern, of course. Although I think Arnie might have been killed for a whole different reason.”
“Is this supposed to make us feel better?” Grayson asked. “This idea that Elana might have been the first of many? Because if it is, I’d really like to know how.”
“I don’t imagine it will make you feel better, no. All I’m asking at this point is that you keep an open mind. That you not destroy your life going after someone who may ultimately be an innocent man.”
“Wow,” Grayson said, shaking his head. “That’s all I can say. Just, wow.”
“I know it’s a lot to take in all at once.”
“So why are you here?” Paige said. “Are you trying to prove this wild theory of yours?”
I raised both hands in surrender. “Look,” I said, “the FBI is already on these other murders. I heard that from an agent myself. If Elana’s case can give them a new angle, then maybe they can all-”
“Stop,” Paige said. “Just stop. I apologize. This has obviously shaken us both up, but we shouldn’t take it out on you. If there’s something to this idea, then we should both want to learn the truth just as much as you, right?”
“Yes.”
“So okay. Please accept my apology.”
“Accepted. No problem.”
We all settled back for a few moments and finished our beers.
“So,” Grayson finally said, “this is what you do nowadays? Go dig up old cases?”
“I don’t make a habit of it,” I said. “But I was part of this case, back in the day. And now, especially with Arnie getting killed… Well, I guess I’m just trying to help make things right.”
Darryl’s own words, from our brief conversation on the phone. It was my own version of making things right, while I had the chance.
“Does that mean you’re going to go look for this serial killer?”
“Hell, no,” I said. “I’ll let the FBI do that, thank you. If I can just help out Mrs. King, I’ll be happy.”
“But what if that means you run into the killer?”
“Then I’ll probably wish I had brought my gun with me.”
“I think you’re probably crazy,” he said. “Where are you staying, anyway? Is it someplace safe, at least?”
“I’m in a motel down on Michigan Avenue. I’m fine.”
“I’ve still got the house in Southfield. You were there, you know how big it is. Now that it’s empty…”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m fine, really.”
“Well, let me know if you change your mind. You’d have a whole room to yourself. Hell, half the house.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.”
I was glad we left that bar on good terms, at least. I promised them both that I would call them immediately if I found out anything concrete. They both promised me that they would stop watching the house. I guess that’s all any of us could have hoped for.
Grayson got in his minivan and drove home. Tanner Paige gave me a ride back to Mrs. King’s house. He looked tired and more than a little shell-shocked. Not that I could blame him.
When he pulled up in front of the house, he looked out at the sagging porch. “You’re seriously telling me that the man who lived here is maybe not the same man who killed my Elana.”
“I’m going to try to find that out,” I said. “By the way, I never got the chance to tell you this before. Back when I was a cop trying to solve that case. But I was married then, too, and my wife was taking classes at Wayne State.”
“Really? Did she know Elana?”
“No, she didn’t. I’m just saying, I realized it just as easily could have been my wife and not yours. If it had been, I’m not even sure what I would have done. But I know I can’t blame you or your brother-in-law for whatever crazy things you might have come up with over the years, even sitting down there at the end of the street like a couple of undercover cops.”
He shook his head.
“If the sun’s in front of you,” I said, “make sure you don’t flash your binoculars. A little tip for next time.”
“There won’t be a next time,” he said. “But hey, thanks for everything you told us today. Even if it didn’t seem like we wanted to hear it. Please be careful.”
“You, too. Keep an eye on that brother-in-law of yours.”
He said he would. I watched him drive away, wondering what other surprises this day would have in store for me. When I went back into the house, Mrs. King took one look at me, sat me down at the kitchen table, then went to get the first aid supplies.
“What in heaven’s name did you ever do to your arms?” she said as she pulled her chair up to mine and started dabbing me with disinfectant. This close to her I could see how hard the years had been on her. She wore it on her face, around her eyes that had seen too much. She wore it in her hands, that had worked too hard for her to be sitting every night in an empty house.
“What were you doing running around in that back field, anyway?”
“I thought there might be somebody watching your house,” I said. “So I wanted to see who.”
“Did you catch them?”
“I did, but they won’t be coming around anymore. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“They were looking for Darryl,” she said. Not a question.
I looked out the back window, toward the back edge of the property, where I had just recently gone stumbling through the weeds. There was something missing.
The big tree.
I could see the stump. I flashed back to that day, when I spotted the gray shirt on the clothesline and came wandering back here to talk to Mrs. King. The tree gave shade to the whole backyard. A makeshift swing hung from the low branch.
There was a girl who came out the back door to stand by her mother.
There was a boy on the swing.
There was a boy on the swing.
My God, I said to myself, if you are not the biggest idiot who ever lived on this earth. It was just like Ryan Grayson said…
Being a good brother is the most important job in the world.
CHAPTER TWENTY