I’ve already asked myself this same question. “Maybe Sid has some other problems. Maybe his touch with reality isn’t too strong right now.”
David says nothing.
“Or maybe he discovered that Mike wasn’t as enamored of him as he was of Mike. Maybe Mike was only using him, the same way Karen tried to use everyone. Maybe Mike took over his sister’s blackmailing scheme and Sid finally killed him in a brokenhearted rage.”
David stays quiet, but the very lack of any denial from him tells me all I need to know.
“David, you know we can’t keep this to ourselves. I like Sid, too, and I certainly don’t want to think of him as a killer. But we can’t pretend all of this hasn’t happened.”
“I told him I’d give him a week,” David says.
“Look, it doesn’t have to come from you. I can call Steve Hurley, tell him what we know, and let him handle it from here. Sid doesn’t have to know that any of it came from you.”
David turns from the window and looks at me, his face stricken. “You’re going to just sic the police on him? Christ. Isn’t there an easier way? Can’t we give him a chance to turn himself in?”
“What if he doesn’t? What if he runs, David?”
“He’s not going to run, Mattie. Besides, he’s on call this weekend.”
Oh, yeah, like that will stop him. If nothing else convinces me how deeply disturbed David is by all this, the inanity of that comment does.
“Can’t you just wait until tomorrow?” David pleads. “Sid won’t go anywhere. I’m sure of it. And in the meantime, maybe I can figure out a way to talk him into turning himself in.”
My mind churns, trying to think it all through. I nod absently, knowing it’s what David wants. But the more I think about it, the more I want to talk to Sid for myself. Some part of my mind realizes that confronting a possible killer alone might not be the wisest thing to do. But another part of me, the part that worked side by side with Sid for nearly seven years sharing tension, laughter, and surgical instruments, refuses to believe the man will harm me.
“Okay, I won’t talk to Hurley until tomorrow,” I tell David, wincing a bit on the inside. After all, it isn’t a lie exactly, it just isn’t the whole truth.
Chapter 32
When I return to the cottage I’m relieved to see that Dom isn’t back yet. He pulls in ten minutes later and I go out to help him unload the groceries. I need to waylay our planned visit to David but I don’t want Dom to know I’ve already been there, so I tell him I want to wait to give myself more time to think things through. He seems relieved by my apparent capitulation and I feel a tiny twinge of guilt for deceiving him. I know he has my best interests at heart, but I also know that no matter how well-intentioned his motives are, his idea never would have worked.
Once the groceries are unpacked, he invites me to stay and watch a video he’s rented, bribing me with promises of a lunch that includes Sara Lee cheesecake for dessert. The offer is tempting but the issue with Sid is far more pressing, so I thank him and decline, telling him I am going to spend the afternoon at my sister’s—lie number two. I’m going to hell for sure.
Since the hospital is closer, I drive there first, cruising through the parking lot in search of Sid’s car. I don’t see it, but as I turn the corner from one row of cars to the next, I glimpse the top of a van several rows over—burgundy-and-gray. I hit the gas and go after it, but by the time I get to where it was, it has disappeared. Annoyed, I leave and head out to Sid’s house, keeping one eye on the rearview mirror the entire time.
The Carrigan home is a stately but tasteful place that sits on a hill about five miles outside of town. It isn’t overly large, but clearly shows the wealth of its owners. It has been in Sid’s family for four generations, and as the sole heir to the family fortunes, Sid took it over when he married Gina. Sid’s parents, tired of winter weather that made their arthritic bones throb and ache, moved to Arizona.
The house is over a hundred years old, and while improvements have been made on it over the years, it still retains much of its original charm and character. The front of it is done in stone, as is the circular drive and the retaining walls that grace the hills behind it. I know from prior visits that the lawn is plush, green, and amazingly soft but, at the moment, most of it is buried beneath a blanket of red and yellow leaves that have dropped from the many stately trees peppering the grounds.
Overall, the house has a mellow but dignified country look—peaceful and comfy—the exact opposite of how I feel. There is no peace, no comfort for me here today.
The garage door is closed so I have no way of knowing if Sid is home or not. I consider using my cell phone to call him first but quickly rule out that idea since I don’t want to give him a chance to decline a visit or let him know I’m coming. I want to catch him unprepared, hoping that will make it easier for me to get the truth out of him.
The truth. It’s what I want, but it scares me to death.
I park in front of the house, slip my cell phone into my jacket pocket, and walk up to ring the doorbell. I half expect one of the house staff to answer; whenever I’ve been here for parties and such, that is what usually happens. But to my surprise, Sid himself answers the door.
“Mattie! What a pleasant surprise.” His smile is warm and genuine, but he looks tired and sad despite it. “Come on in.”
He seems relaxed. If my unexpected arrival has disconcerted him in any way, it doesn’t show. At first I think this is a good sign. I mean if Sid is guilty of murder, he would look more nervous and edgy, wouldn’t he? But then it occurs to me that he might be a sociopath, a serial killer like Ted Bundy—an emotionless creature with no sense of remorse or guilt, a social charlatan who hides his true nature beneath a veneer of well-practiced charm. After all, Wisconsin has served as home to more than its fair share of serial killers, with Jeffrey Dahmer, Ed Gein, and John Wayne Gacy all conducting business within or just outside its borders. Maybe there’s something in our water.
All this flashes through my mind in the time it takes me to smile back at Sid and accept his invitation to come inside.
“What brings you out here?” he asks as he closes the door behind me.
Too late to turn back now. I’m trapped. It makes me glad I have the cell phone tucked inside my pocket. Sid gestures toward the living room, indicating I should go in and have a seat, but I stand where I am in the foyer.
“I want to talk with you, Sid. It’s about Mike Halverson.”
His expression falters, but only briefly. A split second later, that complacent smile is back in place. Then I hear a female voice that makes my heart race with panic.
“Mattie? Is that you?”
Gina. I completely forgot about her. How could I be so stupid? On the drive out here, I tried to imagine how this visit might go, playing out several different scenarios in my mind. None of them included Gina.
I turn and see her standing down the hall in the doorway to the kitchen. As usual, she looks perfectly put together, right down to the apron she is wearing over her tailored, camel-colored slacks and yellow angora sweater.
“Hello, Gina.”
“Hi there. I didn’t know you were dropping by. Forgive me,” she says, gesturing with a wooden spoon she has in her hand. “I have something simmering on the stove and can’t leave it for long. But I’ll be done in a few minutes.”
“That’s quite all right. Take your time. I’m sorry to drop by unannounced like this but something came up and I need to talk to Sid for a few minutes. I won’t be staying long.”