CHAPTER 51
Sam Reids hovered over his shelves and admired the recent additions to his trophies on the second row. There was something about the hands that mesmerized him more than the fingers he’d collected, and every now and then he swore they actually swayed in their liquid coffins and waved at him.
He wondered what Sloane thought of the note he left at the crime scene and if she cringed when she saw it. By now the anger and denial he had over the five finger discount she’d done on his notebook had subsided and was replaced with a sense of relief and acceptance—something he never thought possible. He arched his back and folded his arms and imagined Sloane in a quiet room with nothing but his words to keep her company. Now she would understand him like no one ever had, and their relationship would be forever changed.
Sam’s favorite song blared through the speakers of his Bose iPod dock. He hummed the soft melody and leaned back and allowed himself to return to a previous time in his life, where he found himself alone in a stark white room with Laurel. He was five and she was—well, significantly older. How much so Sam didn’t know at the time. He just knew she looked like a mom, even though she didn’t act like one. Laurel knelt down next to him and her soft hair fell in his face. It smelled like he’d dipped his hand in a jar of honey.
“What’s this song called, Mommy?” Sam said.
“Sinnerman.”
Sam didn’t know what that meant.
“Who’s the singer?”
“Nina Simone.”
He liked the name Nina but didn’t care much for Simone.
“Why does he have two first names?”
“Not he silly, she.”
Sam thought Nina didn’t sound like a woman at all. Her voice was low and rough, like a man’s.
“What’s it about?” he said.
Laurel knelt down and extended her right hand and pulled her fingers back toward herself. “Come here,” she said to Sam. “You want to hear a story?”
Sam nodded. Laurel never told him stories. It made him feel special. He walked over and knelt by her side.
“When Nina Simone was little, she used to go to church with her mamma, who was a Methodist,” Laurel said.
“What’s a Messosist?”
Laurel placed a finger in the middle of Sam’s lips. “Shhh,” she said. “Do you want to hear the story or not?”
He nodded.
“Well then, shush now.”
Laurel continued.
“Nina’s mamma was a minister at that church, and they used to sing this song to help sway people into confessing their sins.”
Sam was confused. He didn’t know what confess meant, but he knew if he asked, he might never hear the rest of the story.
“When Nina grew up, she became a famous singer, and she remembered this song and decided to sing it for the whole world to hear. Do you want to know what I think the song means?”
Sam nodded and pulled closer to his mother and clung to her every word.
“There was a man and his name was Sinnerman, and he spent his life running around doing bad things until one day he woke up and realized what he’d done and he was ashamed. He didn’t like who he was anymore and all he wanted to do was to run and hide. So he went out and tried to find a place where he could shield himself from the rest of the world, and he looked for someone to take him in. Only, no one wanted him. They’d all heard about this man called Sinnerman, and they thought he was up to no good. So they shut him out, and with no place to go, he sought out the Lord. But the Lord had seen all the things Sinnerman had done and he told him he couldn’t stay. He said there was only one place for him, and he pointed Sinnerman in the direction that he must go.”
“Where?”
“He was sent to live with the devil.”
The song ended and Sam snapped back to life. He didn’t like to think about Laurel or the life he used to have. His past had wasted away and any emotions he had corroded along with it. Whether he lived or died mattered little to him now. He preferred life, of course, but he also knew one day it would all come to an end, and if that was what needed to happen—so be it.
A female voice from the other room cried out in terror, and Sam rose from his chair and looked at the clock on the wall. The drugs had worn off. He didn’t like it when they talked. It made them seem so real, so human. He preferred them quiet. He grabbed a knife from the counter, walked to the room she was in and closed the door behind him.
CHAPTER 52
Agent Luciana and the chief sat on the corner of Kearns and Main in a parking lot of a place that used to be hailed the best restaurant in town.
“Where’s Giovanni?” Agent Luciana said when I drove up.
“Busy,” I said. “What have you found out?”
“The handwriting in the notebook is a match to the Sinnerman letters,” the chief said. “Almost exact even though I assume he wrote those journal entries years ago, but he hasn’t changed much over the years.”
“You’re sure?”
Agent Luciana nodded. “Without a doubt.”
“And the prints?”
The chief shook his head.
“We only found yours.”
“How’s that possible?”
He shrugged his shoulders and said, “Don’t know, but it had been wiped down.”
“Now what?” I said. “Am I the only one who feels like we take two steps forward and three steps back?”
“We’ve come a long way since I arrived,” Agent Luciana said. “We’re close, I can feel it. Pops and grandma are on their way in for questioning, and I’ve got my team on standby. Once they’re out of the house, we’ll sweep the whole thing.”
I thought about his grandmother and how it would affect her when she found out.
“I have a request.”
The chief rolled his eyes.
“Why am I not surprised?” he said.
“I’d like to talk with the grandmother for a moment before you guys get started.”
“Not a good idea,” Agent Luciana said.
“Look, I’ve already spoken to her once, and believe me when I say the news of her grandson being a killer isn’t going to be easy for her to take. It would be better coming from me, and then you can take over and ask her all the questions you want. It won’t get you anywhere, but if that’s the way you want to go—it’s not like I can stop you.”
“We’ll go easy on her. It’s not necessary for you to be there,” Agent Luciana said.
The inside of my body felt like it was in a tepid room and someone had just cranked up the heat as high as it would go.
“Neither of you would be where you are on this case if it wasn’t for me; maybe you both should take that into consideration. If anyone can get through to her it’s me. So let’s not sit here and waste more time going round and round with this.”
Breathe Sloane, breathe, I told myself. Count to fifty if you have to, but don’t lose it!
Agent Luciana turned to the chief who threw his hands up. I’d won.
“Sloane, I don’t understand what this is all about—why have they called us here?”
I sat in the chair opposite Sinnerman’s grandmother and just looked at her for a moment. Now that we were face to face, all of the sudden I didn’t want to be the one to tell her any longer. I wanted to be anywhere but in that room at that moment. But I’d asked for this, and they were watching. There was no other choice, I had to do it.
I took one of her hands and wrapped my fingers around it. “It’s about your grandson,” I said.
Her eyes lit up like she’d just screwed a shiny new light bulb into a dim-lit light.
“What—have they located him at last? Please tell me you’ve found him. But if we’re here, it must be something bad. Oh no, is he’s dead?” She retracted her hand from mine and thrust both of them toward her face and flicked her head back and forth. “Please tell me he’s not dead.”