“And you can’t see what’s right in front of your face.”
“So maybe the guy didn’t kill your sister. That still doesn’t account for the hair and the photos that were found in his car. How do you explain that?”
“Easy,” I said. “They were planted. It’s not like that kind of thing hasn’t happened before.”
Giovanni, who up until that time seemed amused by the back and forth banter between us, turned toward his brother and placed his hand on his shoulder.
“If she says it’s not him Carlo, I believe her.”
“Since when do you let a woman cloud your judgment Gio?” Agent Luciana said.
“Never,” Giovanni replied. “What does that tell you?”
CHAPTER 34
Sam Reids watched the news on the television unfold. A reporter announced a man had been arrested and was being held for questioning in the Sinnerman murders. Sam was delighted by this and proud of his latest coup. Everything worked out just the way he wanted. He relished the thought of it and hoped tomorrow would afford him the opportunity he needed to secure his grand prize. The wait was almost over. In the meantime, he needed to tend to a different matter.
Sam climbed into his car, revved the engine a few times and drove six miles away to the local gas station. It was dark out when he arrived, but in the pale glow of the street light, he could make out her frail frame which blended in with the shadows of the monstrous trees next to her.
“Took you long enough,” she said when he exited the car.
He glared at her but didn’t speak.
“You got my money?” she said.
Sam lifted his wallet from his back pocket, opened it, and took out a series of bills and held them out to the woman. She stared down at the money he presented to her with a foolish grin on her face. The money called out to her like the drugs she couldn’t resist, and she didn’t fight it. All she wanted to do was grab it and stuff it inside her leopard-patterned bra. She reached her hand out and wrapped it around the top of the bills and pulled back. Sam tightened his grip and clutched the money tight in his hand.
“What gives?” she said.
In a whisper, he said, “First I want to know how the other day went.”
“I did what you said.”
He gripped the money tighter.
“Details.”
“Alright, fine. I went to the station at the time you told me to, and when the guy came out of the room with those cops all cuffed and everything, I told them he was the one who attacked me. And then they had me come into a room and give them a statement.”
“And did they believe you?”
“The vultures ate up every word of it,” she said.
“Is that it?”
“That’s it,” she said.
“And the cops were the only ones you spoke to?”
“Just one other person, but it wasn’t a big deal.”
Sam’s nostrils flared, and he balled both hands into fists but was careful not to strike.
Through gritted teeth he said, “I told you not to speak to anyone else.”
“There wasn’t nothin’ I could do about it. She just started talking to me and wouldn’t shut up.”
“She—who?”
“Some woman who sat by me in the waiting room before all the drama went down. Said her name was Simone, I think.”
Sam felt his body temperature fluctuate, and a sensation of hot and then cold coarse through his veins. His face perspired, and both hands exuded tiny beads of moisture.
“Was it Sloane?”
“Oh hey yeah, that was it,” she said. “How’d you know?”
Sam sealed his eyes shut and tried to suppress the rage that had built in his body. He thought about how nice it would be to kill her—right then, right there. But after a moment, he assured himself that it didn’t matter. Sloane wouldn’t be able to figure things out—she couldn’t.
“What did you say to her?”
“Why do you wanna know?” she said.
“What did you say!”
The woman took a step back from the man. She didn’t like the look on his face. It reminded her of the way her father looked at her when she was a child, just before she felt the sting from the back of his hand.
“Geez, calm down,” she said. “It was no big deal. She was just concerned about me and wanted to know what happened.”
“You said what we went over and nothing more?”
“Yeah, just like you said.”
“What did she say?”
“She gave me one of her cards,” she said. “And she told me to stop by her office. But that was before the guy came out of the room and things got crazy.”
“Give it to me.”
“What?” she said.
“The card.”
“Why?”
Sam’s patience had crossed the finish line. He flashed the bills in front of her face.
“You want the money,” Sam said. “Give me the card.”
She shrugged and shook her head.
“Alright then,” she said.
Sam gave her the money in exchange for the card.
“Remember,” he said, “there’s more to come after you testify. A lot more. But keep your mouth shut and stick to the story.”
The woman nodded.
“Can I ask you something?” she said. He didn’t respond so she persisted. “This guy is guilty, right? ‘Cuz he just didn’t look like the type of person to do all those horrible things.”
Sam was halfway to his car when she finished. He turned and said, “Nice dealing with you Trisha.”
CHAPTER 35
Right outside Park City is a mountain range along a dirt-filled back road that’s overspread with towering trees and wildflowers in all sorts of shapes and sizes. If you stand in a certain spot trees are all you see for miles and miles. Hiking was one of my favorite things to do in the whole world, especially on a day like today. The morning dew was still on many of the flowers, and the air had an aroma that was fresh and new, like the smell of rich Earth when I plunged my spade into the dirt and planted my summer garden. I often thought it was what a tropical rainforest must smell like.
Lord Berkeley kept pace alongside me until he spied a butterfly, and then he was off to capture it. I reached the top of the hill I’d climbed and took a deep breath in and absorbed every bit of beauty that embraced me on all sides. It was times like this when I realized just how much everyone was connected to each other in one way or another—good and evil, young and old; we all shared a part of ourselves with the universe in which we all lived. And yet, we were all so different from one another.
I thought about Sinnerman and what kind of a life could have driven him to the madness that came with his decision to take a life, or in his case, several lives. I’d studied the profiles of other killers before him, but I never grasped what must have gone through their minds the second they killed for the first time and took their first life. And that wasn’t the only thing that plagued me. The more I studied the lifestyle, the more I came across the same thing—their troubled childhoods. It wasn’t always the case, but in many instances it was, and I wondered what would have become of them had they been raised in an environment different than their own; one where they were engulfed in love. Would it have changed them from the beasts they’d later become?
I didn’t know what I would do when I came face to face with him one day. The hatred I had burned so deep within me all I could think about was seeing him dead. I pictured it in my mind over and over again. I wondered if I would be able to hold back if I ever had the chance to put an end to his wasted life. Would I take it or would I let him go—it was the one question that haunted me every day.
Halfway back to my car, I heard a sound. A twig snapped and then another. Lord Berkeley’s head shot up, and he backed up to me until his backside touched the front of my pant leg. He gnashed his teeth and sounded off a series of warnings, but the wooded area had gone quiet around us.