“I believe he’s alive and well,” I said.
Or alive anyway—well wasn’t the best choice of word for someone with his degree of instability.
She pulled her hands from her face and relaxed a little.
“Thank goodness. And I’m sure we owe it all to you. Tell me where he is—can we see him?”
“I don’t know where he is,” I said.
“What do you mean? I thought—”
“It’s so hard for me to tell you this, but I wanted you to hear it from me.”
“I can see it in your face,” she said, “and in your eyes. Something’s wrong. What is it?”
“That day I was at your house, I took something from Samuel’s room.”
“What—why?”
“There was a notebook he’d kept wedged between the bed and the dresser, and I wanted to read it.”
“You should have said something.”
We were way past all that now. I leaned in closer.
“The writing in the book matched up with some of the notes your grandson sent me.”
“There’s something you aren’t saying,” she said. “I can feel it in these old tired bones of mine. What is it?”
“How much do you know about the Sinnerman murders?”
“You mean the person responsible for the lives of all those women?”
I nodded.
“I just know what I’ve read in the papers,” she said, “or saw on the news.”
“We have a lead on a suspect and believe we know who he is.”
“That’s great, but why are you telling me all this, dear?”
I took a deep breath. Slow and steady, you can do this.
“The man, Sinnerman—he’s your grandson.”
Her eyes glazed over liked she’d just won the lottery, only to find out when she arrived to claim her millions she hadn’t scratched that last number off right and that winning number six on her ticket was actually an eight.
She spoke, but not to me—to the air around her.
“This can’t be, not my Samuel, surely they’re mistaken. He’s a good boy. He’s had his problems like every other boy, but this? No, I don’t believe it. Not a word of it. You’re wrong, you have to be.”
“Please, I know this is a lot to take in, but I wouldn’t have ever told you this if I wasn’t sure. And believe me when I say I’m sorry.” I placed my hand on her wrist. “I’m so sorry.”
She was silent for a time during which her face changed from a soft pink to dull and ashen, like the life had been sucked out of her.
“When you were at my house, you said you thought my grandson knew your sister—that he was the last person to see her alive,” she said.
“That’s right.”
“How did she die?”
It was the question I hoped she wouldn’t ask, but she had every right to know the answer.
“I’m sure this has been hard on you. I don’t want to make it worse.”
“You can’t say that to an old woman,” she said. “Not after all this.”
“Alright then. My sister was murdered. She was the last woman killed in the first series of attacks a few years ago.”
“And you believe my grandson did it?”
Up until now I’d looked her in the eye, faced her, and told her the truth. I thought about the pain I’d already caused, and I couldn’t do it any longer. My eyes were so filled with liquid I couldn’t see her properly if I tried. I looked away and nodded.
A few seconds went by and we both remained silent. I felt her hand slip from mine, and when I turned to look at her, I noticed her eyes weren’t open anymore and she’d slumped down in her chair. I reached over and felt for a pulse—it wasn’t there. I raced to the door but Coop had already witnessed the commotion through the mirrored glass, and he flung the door open. He looked at the woman and then to me and said, “Way to go, Sloane. Nice job.”
CHAPTER 53
Samuel’s grandmother was transported to the hospital. She’d suffered a heart attack but was expected to get through it. The fact that I was responsible was too much for me. I needed to get out, to breathe. I put on my Band of Horses playlist on my iPod which Maddie called my “sad music” even though I disagreed, and drove to the one place I felt a connection to family.
The cemetery was quiet as usual with all its residents engaged in their eternal sleep. Some of the stones cast shadows on the grass around them. I found Gabby’s grave and positioned my body in front of it and sat down. I grasped both sides of her headstone with my hands and buried my head in the center of it and opened my mouth and let the words flow out of me.
I wish I could talk to you, Gabby—even if for a single moment. I wonder if you’re alive somewhere, living in peace in some type of afterlife, and if you’re happy. I’ve spent the last few years thinking only of you, and I don’t think I can do it anymore. I haven’t felt like myself in such a long time, and I need to move on, live my own life. I know that now. But what I don’t comprehend is how I’m supposed to do that. Here’s my promise to you: I’m going to find Samuel Reids, the person who did this to you, and then I’m going to start my life all over again. You’ll always reside in my heart, and I won’t let a day go by that I won’t think of you. But it’s time for me to let you go and for you to do the same, and maybe that way both of us can find a sense of peace.
Once I’d finished my talk with Gabby, I went back to my car. The slight chill that came with the tail end of August swept past me and reminded me it was almost long sleeve season again. Something moved in the tree next to me, and I halted and pulled my gun from its holster on my hip.
“Is anyone there?” I said.
No reply. Then the noise came again, above me. It shuffled and was restless, like the rustling of the trees in the winter wind. I pointed my gun toward the sky. An owl spread its wings and took flight.
I’d been on edge for weeks, and I needed to remember to take a breath every now and then. Giovanni’s men had my back. I was safe, and everything was going to be alright. I slipped my gun back into its holster and unlocked my car door and got in. I slid my key into the ignition and started the car.
“How touching. Did you tell your sister hi from me?”
It was like time had slowed to a halt. I swung my head around and focused on the needle that was pressed against my neck. It was filled with fluid. One wrong move and it would pierce my skin.
“I’ve waited a long time for this.”
“Me too,” I said, “and I’m not alone.”
“Correction: you weren’t alone. I’ve taken care of the others. It’s just you and me now. Feels good, doesn’t it?”
I didn’t know whether to believe him or not, but since no one had come to save me, I could only assume it was true.
“Why bother hiding yourself under that hat?” I said. “I know who you are, Samuel.”
“It’s Sam, or Sinnerman. Whichever you prefer.”
I closed my eyes and tried to not to lose myself to him. If I could just remain in control of the situation, even though it seemed like I was far from it at the moment, I might be able to save myself.
“Well Sam, you should know your grandmother is in the hospital right now fighting for her life, and that she still cares about you.”
He leaned in close, and I didn’t know whether he was going to stick me or bite me. With each word he uttered from his mouth my neck felt more and more like it was on fire. I wanted to grab my gun, but I couldn’t reach it unless I shifted my body toward the needle. It was too risky—I needed to wait.
“Don’t waste your precious words on a family I no longer have or care about. I’m here to talk about you Sloane Monroe—about us.
Us? Was that his twisted fantasy—not to kill me at all? Had he imagined we could have some sort of life together?