Kaitlan slumped onto the same end of the couch as before. Hopelessness and defeat sat in her chest. She felt old and heavy and dry. The only way to breathe was to put her mind on hold.
Margaret sat down, her nervous gaze on Kaitlan’s grandfather.
Kaitlan looked him over. He sat back, arms folded. Very still. Except for his eyes. They bounced between her and Margaret, glimmering. Weird. His vibes reminded her of eating at his table as a little girl. He’d often be distracted, impatient, his gaze flitting about. Kaitlan knew those signs—he was in his fiction world, wanting to get back to his desk and write.
Hope flickered. Maybe his mind was functioning just fine. Maybe this would work out.
“All right,” he announced. “I’ve looked at all the facts, examined the evidence. I know what happened.”
Margaret threw Kaitlan an encouraging glance.
“Kaitlan.” Her grandfather focused upon her. “Craig is the murderer.”
The words sank through her like boulders.
“Today Craig was driven to kill—again. Why he murders, I don’t know. We must discover the reason. But we’ll get back to that.”
That black hole within Kaitlan spread and gobbled up her insides until she would fall headlong into it.
“He used your apartment because he could. It’s a quiet, out-of-the-way place to commit a murder during the day. Somehow he lured his victim there. It will be interesting to see how far away her car is discovered. He got her inside and a struggle ensued. Not a long one apparently, since only a few items were knocked around in your living room. At some point she fell on the couch, grabbing the blanket. He yanked her off, and it ended up on the floor.”
No, someone else. Not Craig. Kaitlan drew goosebumped arms across her chest.
“He dragged his victim into your room, strangled her on the bed. I imagine it was over quickly. With no sexual assault, no apparent beating, he simply wants to get the job done. Which,” her grandfather raised his eyebrows, “I find quite telling. These are crimes of cold passion rather than hot.”
“What do you mean?” Kaitlan whispered.
“He kills his victims quickly and efficiently. He seems to take no warped joy in the act. Rape, you see, is an act of power and hatred against women. It has little to do with sex. Craig kills not in a rage, wielding such power, but with the quiet calculation that the woman—for some reason only his disturbed mind knows—deserves to die.”
Margaret frowned. “Wouldn’t he know not to rape because of the DNA evidence he’d leave behind? He is the police chief’s son.”
Kaitlan’s grandfather shook his head. “Killers like this are driven by their twisted desires. Even with all they might know about crime-scene evidence, they don’t think in those terms when they give way to passion. Besides, they have the ego to believe they’ll never be caught.”
“But …” Kaitlan swallowed. She still couldn’t grasp this. “He’s been so nice to me, and I just can’t …”
Her grandfather’s expression softened. “Girl, listen to me. Too often there’s a mighty fine line between truth and fiction. In my stories, the murderer is always someone you’d never expect. Those stories are a reflection of the real world. How many times have you heard about a serial killer being apprehended, and everyone who knew him is shocked?”
“I know, but still …”
“Kaitlan. Do you want me to save your life? Because that’s what’s at stake here.”
She clutched her hands, running one thumb over another until it whitened. Deep inside a part of herself was shriveling up and dying.
“But the book he’s writing,” she blurted. “How would he ever expect to publish it? All those scenes in the killer’s head. If he did this, if those scenes are true, readers from around here would know.”
“Vanity, granddaughter. A person like this does not think of getting caught. Besides, don’t believe everything he’s writing is true. Or even fifty percent of it. The scenes could be predicated on his own experience and motivation for killing. But details will be masked, many completely changed. That’s what I’m telling you about fiction—it arises from truth about humanity, the world, but then veers off into imagination. In reading a novel, you may form a picture of the author’s worldview, but don’t forget the characters are fictional.”
“I just thought … I don’t know.” Kaitlan tried to imagine reading Craig’s manuscript. If he was a real killer, would reading his work help her understand him better or only throw her off course, since she wouldn’t know what was true and what wasn’t? Especially if over fifty percent turned out to be made up …
She fisted both hands and pressed them underneath her chin. This whole thing was too awful. She couldn’t grasp it.
The party. Kaitlan checked her watch. Oh, no, it was late. She had no time to wrestle with this.
She took a deep breath. “So what do we do about the body? And I have to call Craig. How do I keep him from coming over and ‘discovering’it?”
“No.”
“No, what?”
“You’re not going to call him.”
“I have—”
“Stop.” Her grandfather raised his hand. “Listen to me. You were right about Craig’s suspicious tone when he called you. He doesn’t think you’re coming home from work soon. He knows you found the body two and a half hours ago.”
“But—”
“He knows, Kaitlan.” Her grandfather leaned forward, his words coming more rapidly. “He was there when you got home. He had just killed the woman. You wonder why he left her in your apartment? The answer—it was never his plan. He heard you coming and slipped out the back. When he phoned you, he was somewhere close to your house.”
“Oh!” Margaret’s hand flew to her mouth.
Kaitlan’s lungs swelled. “Then he’ll kill me too! Why would he let me live?”
Her grandfather ignored her. “The reason he called you? He wanted to see how you’d react. What you were thinking.”
“What I was thinking? Like—congratulations on your latest success?”
“Don’t be stupid,” her grandfather snapped. “He needed to know how pliable you’d be. Were you quick to suspect him, or had you already convinced yourself he could never do such a thing? And you failed his test. Had you screamed about the body in your house, he’d have come to your rescue, played the innocent. But you claimed you were still at work. You acted normal. Which immediately told him you suspected he was responsible and were too petrified of what he’d do if you let on.”
Kaitlan covered her face. This couldn’t be. Even though everything made so much sense. Even as she realized the sickening truth had screamed at her from the moment she’d answered that call.
Heat radiated down her limbs. One thing she could cling to. Her grandfather had figured this out while she hadn’t. He was thinking clearly. “What am I supposed to do?”
“What time is it?”
“Um.” Her body felt so flushed, so hot. “Five-forty.”
“Then you’ll have to hurry. You need time to fix your makeup.”
“Wh-where am I going?”
“Home. You have a dinner party to attend.”
She stared at him. “There’s a body on my bed!”
“It’ll be gone. Your place will be cleaned up, just like you left it this morning.”
This was insane. “But if he knows I saw it—”
“Craig’s waiting to see what you’ll do. He knows you ran from your place like a scared rabbit. Believe me, the minute you were gone, he took care of all the evidence, so even if you did go to the police there’d be no proof. You failed his first test—your life depends on passing the second. You play your part now, he’ll play his. As long as he believes you’ll keep his secret, you’ll be safe.”
“Safe? Dating a killer?”
“D.,” Margaret sounded aghast, “you can’t possibly—”
“Silence!” His face darkened. He glared from Margaret to Kaitlan. “Your charade won’t have to last long. Wherever he dumped the body, it will soon be found. This time he’ll be caught, no matter whose son he is. Because we”—he pointed from himself to Kaitlan—“are going to flush him out. We’re going to play his game, all the while planning to expose him in a way that leaves no doubt he’s the killer. And no one on the force, including his father, will be able to cover for him.”
“And just how are we going to do that?”
Her grandfather lifted his chin. “I haven’t figured that out yet. It will come.”
“It’ll come.” Kaitlan almost laughed. She shoved off the couch, feeling like an escaped fly told to return to the spider’s web. “So while you sit here and ‘figure it out,’ I’m supposed to play lovebird with a maniac!”
“You got a better idea?”
“Yeah! Forget this. I go to the police right now!”
“And what are you going to say when you take them to your apartment and there’s no body?”
“It’ll be there. It will!”
“No, Kaitlan.” His voice sharpened. “It won’t. And you’ll have lost all chance of credibility with the police. Plus Craig will see the need to silence you.”
Kaitlan’s eyes filled with tears. She swiveled toward Margaret. “Tell him I can’t do this.”
Margaret’s mouth flopped open like a fish out of water. She spread her hands in helplessness.
Kaitlan’s grandfather slid forward in his chair. “Kaitlan, go. If you don’t leave right now it’ll be too late.”
“No, I’m not going.” To even think of being alone with Craig. Letting him touch her. Kiss her …
“Margaret, see her to the door.”
“I’m not going!”
Anger flicked across her grandfather’s face. He snatched his cane from the floor, fumbled to his feet. “Don’t trust me above your boyfriend, do you?” His tone could have cut steel. “Think I’m a doddering old man? One who’d play with his only granddaughter’s life? Fine, then. But you’re not staying here. Run off again—you obviously know how to do that. But if you have an ounce of brain in your head, you’ll at least return to your apartment and see if I’m right. I dare you. Go see if you find a body. If it’s gone—you just might want to believe me and do what I say!”
He turned and stalked from the room.
“Oh, Lord help us,” Margaret whispered.
Kaitlan stared at the floor. Her brain wouldn’t work.
She had no time to think. The clock just ran out. It was either run away to the streets, not knowing the truth, or follow this crazy plan.
Nausea knifed her stomach. The baby.
If she fell back in with her old friends, returned to drugs, what would happen to her baby?
I dare you. See if you find a body …
Maybe she would find it still on her bed. Maybe even now there was hope Craig didn’t do this.
Mind and body numb, Kaitlan walked out of the library.
“No, don’t go!” Margaret cried.
Kaitlan ignored her.
At the front door she picked up her purse.
“Wait, wait.” Margaret hustled to her. “At least listen for a minute …”
Moments later Kaitlan perched stiff-backed behind the wheel of her Corolla, gunning its engine to life.