The Stranger
Page 64
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
In the end, the core group had been five—Eduardo, Gabrielle, Merton, Ingrid, and Chris. Eduardo had wanted to do everything online. Make the threat online. Reveal the secret via an untraceable e-mail. Keep it completely anonymous. But Chris didn’t agree. What they were doing, like it or not, was devastating people. You were changing lives in a flash. You could dress it up all you wanted, but the person was one thing before his visit, and something entirely different after. You needed to do that face-to-face. You needed to do that with compassion and with a human touch. The secret protectors were faceless websites, machines, robots.
They would be different.
Chris read Adam Price’s business card and Gabrielle’s short message again: HE KNOWS
In a sense, the shoe had been put on the other foot. Chris now had a secret, didn’t he? But no, his was different. His secret was not for the sake of deception but protection—or was that just what he told himself? Was he, like so many of the people he encountered, simply rationalizing the secret?
Chris had known that what they were doing was dangerous, that they were making enemies, that some would not understand the good and want to retaliate or continue to live in their “secrets” bubble.
Now Ingrid was dead. Murdered.
HE KNOWS
And so the response was obvious: He had to be stopped.
Chapter 46
Kimberly Dann’s dorm room was in a seemingly ultrahip section of Greenwich Village in New York City. Beachwood wasn’t Hicksville, not even close. Many of their residents had migrated from New York City, wanting to escape the hustle and bustle and live a somewhat more financially comfortable life in a place with lower property values and tax rates. But Beachwood certainly wasn’t Manhattan, either. Johanna had done enough traveling—this was her sixth time here—to know that there was no place like this isle. The city did indeed sleep and rest and all that, but when you are here, your senses were always alive. You were plugged in. You felt the constant surges and crackles.
The door flung open the moment Johanna knocked, as though Kimberly had been standing by the door, hand on the knob, waiting.
“Oh, Aunt Johanna!”
Tears streamed down Kimberly’s face. She collapsed onto Johanna and sobbed. Johanna held her up and let her cry. She stroked her hair down to her back the way she’d seen Heidi do a dozen times, like when Kimberly fell at the zoo and scraped her knee or when that jerk Frank Velle down the block had taken back his invitation to the prom because he was “upgrading” to Nicola Shindler.
Holding her friend’s daughter, Johanna felt her own heart start to break anew. She closed her eyes and made what she hoped were comforting shushing sounds. She didn’t say, “It’s going to be okay,” or offer false words of comfort. She just held her and let her cry. Then Johanna let herself cry too. Why not? Why the hell pretend that this wasn’t crushing her too?
What Johanna needed to do would come soon enough. Let them both have their cries in the meantime.
After some time had passed, Kimberly let go and took a step back. “I got my bag,” she said. “When is our flight?”
“Let’s sit and talk first, okay?”
They looked for places to sit, but since this was a dorm room, Johanna took the corner of the bed while Kimberly collapsed on what looked like an upscale beanbag chair. It was true that Johanna had come on her own dime to interrogate Adam Price, but she was here for more than that. She’d promised Marty that she’d accompany Kimberly back home for Heidi’s funeral. “Kimmy’s so upset,” Marty had said. “I don’t want her traveling alone, you know?”
Johanna knew.
“I need to ask you something,” Johanna said.
Kimberly was still drying her face. “Okay.”
“The night before your mom was killed, you two talked on the phone, right?”
Kimberly started to cry again.
“Kimberly?”
“I miss her so much.”
“I know you do, honey. We all do. But I need you to focus for a second, okay?”
Kimberly nodded through the tears.
“What did you and your mom talk about?”
“What difference does it make?”
“I’m looking into who murdered her.”
Kimberly started to cry again.
“Kimberly?”
“Didn’t Mom interrupt a robbery?”
That was one of the county boys’ hypotheses. Drug fiends desperate for money had broken in, and before they could find anything of value, Heidi had interrupted them and gotten killed for her trouble.
“No, honey, that’s not what happened.”
“Then what?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Kimberly, listen to me. Another woman was murdered by the same person.”
Kimberly blinked like someone had whacked her with a two-by-four. “What?”
“I need you to tell me what you and your mom talked about.”
Kimberly’s eyes started dancing around the room. “It was nothing.”
“I don’t believe that, Kimberly.”
Kimberly started crying again.
“I checked the phone records. You and your mom exchanged a bunch of texts, but you’ve only talked on the phone three times this semester. The first call lasted six minutes. The second, only four. But the night before she was murdered, the call between you two lasted more than two hours. What did you two talk about?”
“Please, Aunt Johanna, it doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Like hell it doesn’t.” There was steel in Johanna’s voice now. “Tell me.”
“I can’t. . . .”
Johanna dropped off the bed and knelt in front of Kimberly. She took the girl’s face in her hands and forced her to look directly at her. “Look at me.”
It took some time, but Kimberly did.
“Whatever happened to your mother, it’s not your fault. You hear me? She loved you and she would want you to go on and live the best life you can. I’ll be there for you. Always. Because that’s what your mother would have wanted. Do you hear me?”
The girl nodded.
“So now,” Johanna said, “I need you to tell me about her last phone call.”
Chapter 47
Adam watched from what he hoped was a safe distance as Gabrielle Dunbar hurriedly packed a suitcase in the trunk of her car.
A half hour ago, Adam had decided to take one more run at Gabrielle on his way to work. But as he turned down her street, Gabrielle Dunbar was throwing a suitcase in the trunk. Her two children—Adam estimated them to be about twelve and ten—lugged smaller bags. He pulled his car to the side, kept a safe distance, and watched.
They would be different.
Chris read Adam Price’s business card and Gabrielle’s short message again: HE KNOWS
In a sense, the shoe had been put on the other foot. Chris now had a secret, didn’t he? But no, his was different. His secret was not for the sake of deception but protection—or was that just what he told himself? Was he, like so many of the people he encountered, simply rationalizing the secret?
Chris had known that what they were doing was dangerous, that they were making enemies, that some would not understand the good and want to retaliate or continue to live in their “secrets” bubble.
Now Ingrid was dead. Murdered.
HE KNOWS
And so the response was obvious: He had to be stopped.
Chapter 46
Kimberly Dann’s dorm room was in a seemingly ultrahip section of Greenwich Village in New York City. Beachwood wasn’t Hicksville, not even close. Many of their residents had migrated from New York City, wanting to escape the hustle and bustle and live a somewhat more financially comfortable life in a place with lower property values and tax rates. But Beachwood certainly wasn’t Manhattan, either. Johanna had done enough traveling—this was her sixth time here—to know that there was no place like this isle. The city did indeed sleep and rest and all that, but when you are here, your senses were always alive. You were plugged in. You felt the constant surges and crackles.
The door flung open the moment Johanna knocked, as though Kimberly had been standing by the door, hand on the knob, waiting.
“Oh, Aunt Johanna!”
Tears streamed down Kimberly’s face. She collapsed onto Johanna and sobbed. Johanna held her up and let her cry. She stroked her hair down to her back the way she’d seen Heidi do a dozen times, like when Kimberly fell at the zoo and scraped her knee or when that jerk Frank Velle down the block had taken back his invitation to the prom because he was “upgrading” to Nicola Shindler.
Holding her friend’s daughter, Johanna felt her own heart start to break anew. She closed her eyes and made what she hoped were comforting shushing sounds. She didn’t say, “It’s going to be okay,” or offer false words of comfort. She just held her and let her cry. Then Johanna let herself cry too. Why not? Why the hell pretend that this wasn’t crushing her too?
What Johanna needed to do would come soon enough. Let them both have their cries in the meantime.
After some time had passed, Kimberly let go and took a step back. “I got my bag,” she said. “When is our flight?”
“Let’s sit and talk first, okay?”
They looked for places to sit, but since this was a dorm room, Johanna took the corner of the bed while Kimberly collapsed on what looked like an upscale beanbag chair. It was true that Johanna had come on her own dime to interrogate Adam Price, but she was here for more than that. She’d promised Marty that she’d accompany Kimberly back home for Heidi’s funeral. “Kimmy’s so upset,” Marty had said. “I don’t want her traveling alone, you know?”
Johanna knew.
“I need to ask you something,” Johanna said.
Kimberly was still drying her face. “Okay.”
“The night before your mom was killed, you two talked on the phone, right?”
Kimberly started to cry again.
“Kimberly?”
“I miss her so much.”
“I know you do, honey. We all do. But I need you to focus for a second, okay?”
Kimberly nodded through the tears.
“What did you and your mom talk about?”
“What difference does it make?”
“I’m looking into who murdered her.”
Kimberly started to cry again.
“Kimberly?”
“Didn’t Mom interrupt a robbery?”
That was one of the county boys’ hypotheses. Drug fiends desperate for money had broken in, and before they could find anything of value, Heidi had interrupted them and gotten killed for her trouble.
“No, honey, that’s not what happened.”
“Then what?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Kimberly, listen to me. Another woman was murdered by the same person.”
Kimberly blinked like someone had whacked her with a two-by-four. “What?”
“I need you to tell me what you and your mom talked about.”
Kimberly’s eyes started dancing around the room. “It was nothing.”
“I don’t believe that, Kimberly.”
Kimberly started crying again.
“I checked the phone records. You and your mom exchanged a bunch of texts, but you’ve only talked on the phone three times this semester. The first call lasted six minutes. The second, only four. But the night before she was murdered, the call between you two lasted more than two hours. What did you two talk about?”
“Please, Aunt Johanna, it doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Like hell it doesn’t.” There was steel in Johanna’s voice now. “Tell me.”
“I can’t. . . .”
Johanna dropped off the bed and knelt in front of Kimberly. She took the girl’s face in her hands and forced her to look directly at her. “Look at me.”
It took some time, but Kimberly did.
“Whatever happened to your mother, it’s not your fault. You hear me? She loved you and she would want you to go on and live the best life you can. I’ll be there for you. Always. Because that’s what your mother would have wanted. Do you hear me?”
The girl nodded.
“So now,” Johanna said, “I need you to tell me about her last phone call.”
Chapter 47
Adam watched from what he hoped was a safe distance as Gabrielle Dunbar hurriedly packed a suitcase in the trunk of her car.
A half hour ago, Adam had decided to take one more run at Gabrielle on his way to work. But as he turned down her street, Gabrielle Dunbar was throwing a suitcase in the trunk. Her two children—Adam estimated them to be about twelve and ten—lugged smaller bags. He pulled his car to the side, kept a safe distance, and watched.
