Billy had already filled me in on how John was able to abduct Ally in the first place. He’d started a fire down the road in someone’s woodshed so the officer parked outside our house had to investigate. Then he hid his truck in our next-door neighbor’s driveway and doubled back through our yards. He was in our backyard, probably planning to break in, when Sandy turned the alarm off and opened the sliding glass door to let Moose out for a pee. John jumped her and she was down, though not without drawing her gun. He’d left the back gate open and Moose fled the scene—a neighbor found him later that day.
Ally was in her bedroom when the “bad man” came in and told her Sandy wanted him to take her to her mommy up at the hospital. Ally didn’t believe him at first, but he said Moose was already in the truck. That did it.
The cops weren’t impressed with me for taking off after Sandy was hurt, but there’s not much they can do about it now. I had to give a statement about killing John, though, and the Crown has to investigate, but Billy said there’s no way it won’t be ruled self-defense.
Evan also gave me hell for going after Ally myself and not waiting for the cops, but he let it go—I think he was pretty shook up by how close we all came to losing one another. He’s not the only one.
* * *
Guess I’m even more like my father than we thought. I know it was self-defense, but I still killed a man. And not just any man, my own father. I wonder how God will feel about that one. I’m still not sure how I feel about it myself. I think what scares me the most is not that I did it, but that I didn’t even hesitate.
SESSION TWENTY-THREE
I’m so frustrated right now. What pisses me off the most is that after our last session I was actually starting to feel good again. I was just so glad everything was over that life took on this euphoric cast. The media frenzy died down. Evan and I never fought, my child could do no wrong, I loved my family and every one of them loved me back. Food even tasted better. But the more normal things turn, the more things, well, turn back to normal.
* * *
This morning Melanie came over to pick up the song list Evan and I made for the wedding. I’d spent the weekend ripping apart the house trying to find the CD she gave me, to no avail, so we decided it was just easier to let Kyle do it than have a family war. Right now I’m all about easier. But then last night Evan found the CD—I’d managed to put it back in the wrong case after still not playing it. We listened to it and turns out they aren’t half bad, but the real standout was this woman singing in the background. Her voice was amazing, sort of Sara McLachlan meets Stevie Nicks.
When Melanie arrived I was in the backyard trying to water my pathetic attempt at a garden. We went inside and I gave her the list.
“On the CD there’s a woman in the background,” I said while her eyes scanned the page. “Do you know how to contact her?”
Her head jerked up. “Why?”
“I was hoping she’d sing at the wedding too.”
Melanie’s face flushed and she stared down at the CD.
I said, “Was that you?”
She looked up and her eyes flashed. “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”
“Well, I am. You’ve never sung before—that I know of.”
She shrugged. “I sing at the pub sometimes.”
“You should totally pursue singing, Melanie. You could really be something.”
“Instead of just a bartender?”
“That’s not what I meant.” I remember the vow I made since my near-death: to be more patient and forgiving. “But I’m sorry if it came across like that. I just think you sound incredible. I’d love it if you sang at the wedding. Please?”
She looked at me, then shrugged.
“If you want. But not all the songs, because I still want to dance.”
“Thanks, that would be great.” We were quiet for a minute and I said, “So you want to stay for a coffee?”
She looked startled. “Sure.”
We took our mugs into the living room and sat on opposite couches, glancing at each other, taking a sip, then looking away. The silence built. Something had been bothering me recently that I wanted to ask her about, but I didn’t want to start a fight. Evan told me to let it go. I agreed with him at the time, but she was here now and we seemed to be getting along. I lasted another two seconds.
“Did you see the photos in the paper of my birth father?” She nodded. “You ever see him in the bar?”
She shook her head. “Why?”
“He just knew some stuff about Ally, and I was wondering—”
“Unfuckingbelievable. You still think I’m the one who told that Web site, and now you think I told a serial killer about Ally.” She set her coffee down with a crash and stood up.
“No! I just thought you might not have known who he was and—”
“You think I’m stupid enough to tell a stranger about my niece?”
“It has nothing to do with being stupid. He seemed like a nice guy and he might have been able to get stuff out of you without you even—”
“Believe it or not, Sara, when I’m working, I’m working—not chatting with freaks at the bar. But thanks for blaming me once again.”
“I’m not blaming you, Melanie. I’m just trying to tie up a loose end.”
She laughed as she picked up her coffee and walked to the kitchen.
I stood up and followed her. “Where are you going?”
“Somewhere people don’t accuse me of getting their kid abducted.” She set the mug on the counter with a thud.
“Melanie, you’re totally blowing this out of proportion. I didn’t—”
“You’re one to talk—you’re the freak-out queen.” She picked up her purse from the counter and walked out, slamming the door behind her.
* * *
I was still fuming when Billy called a half hour later. I thought once John was dead that would be that, but they’re still working backward to learn more about him—Billy said it helps them with other serial killers. They’ve found out quite a bit, but not what I’d expected, which was a basement full of corpses and stacks of porn tapes. His house was tidy, in a bachelor kind of way, and the only tapes he had were videos on hunting. But it doesn’t look like he spent much time there. He didn’t have anything personal around, no photos or keepsakes, and he slept in a sleeping bag on top of his mattress.
They tried to match some missing-women cases up to where John may have been during certain years—he lived a nomadic life—but nothing connected. People who’d hired him said he was pleasant enough and always had a joke at the ready. But he got in fights with a few customers over the years who he felt had “tricked” him out of his payments. We were right about one thing: he was known in most of the towns he’d called me from. He was also an avid gun collector and a member of a few gun clubs.
I said, “Did you find the one he used to shoot Evan?”
“The ballistic report said the shell casing recovered at the scene was from a Remington .223. It matched up with some found at other crime scenes, so we know he was shot from the same gun, but it wasn’t with John’s belongings. We’re checking with a few gun dealers, but I doubt we’ll ever find it. By the way, did you ever finish that cherry table you were working on? I saw one just like it at an antique store the other day that needs refinishing. Think you could look at it sometime and tell me what you think?”
“Sure, how much did they want?”
The rest of the call we talked about antiques, then Evan beeped in to ask me something, so I had to go. But later, when I was trying to clean up the shop, I remembered John telling me the Remington .223 was his favorite—and that it was being repaired. How did he shoot Evan with a gun he didn’t have?
* * *
The front door banged. Evan was home. While he packed his hockey bag with clothes to take to the lodge, I sat on the bed and told him about my morning, starting with the fight with Melanie.
“I can’t believe she acted like that when I asked her
about John.”
“I told you to let it go.” He rummaged through his drawers, tossing socks into his bag with his good hand—his left arm was still in a sling.
“I just asked her a simple question.”
He glanced over his shoulder with his eyebrows raised.
“Sara, your questions are never simple.”
“I wish you weren’t going back to the lodge.”
“Me too. I have to get a ride up with Jason and he drives like an old man.” He laughed, but I glowered. “Baby, come on, I haven’t been up there in weeks and everything’s a mess. You said you wanted to get back to work too.”
“I tried after Melanie left, but then Billy called and I started obsessing again.”
“About what?
“Billy said the shell casing they found at your lodge was from John’s Remington .223, but they can’t find the gun. Then I was thinking about it later and John said that gun was getting repaired. Don’t you think that’s weird?”
“He probably had a couple of them and ditched one right after he shot me.”
“Maybe … but I got the feeling he really loved that gun. Why would anybody have two?”
“Well, no one else would’ve shot me.”
I paused for a moment. “You know, it’s weird that John only injured you. I got the impression he was a good shot—he never missed a victim before.”
“Baby, it was him.” Evan went into the walk-in closet, came out with a few pairs of jeans, shoved them in his bag.
“I know. Just saying the gun thing’s weird.… We still don’t know for sure he attacked Nadine—she wasn’t shot, which was totally John’s style, just hit in the back of the head. And she never saw who did it. I wonder if they ever followed up on any of her patients. Maybe I should talk to Billy and see what he thinks.”
“Sara, leave the guy alone.”
“What does that mean?”
“You must be driving the police nuts. The case is over but you’re still pestering them.” He went back into the closet and came out with another pair of jeans. “Where’s my Nike baseball cap—you were wearing it yesterday?”
“I don’t know, but I can’t believe you just said that. I’m not pestering them, I’m helping them. I have to tell Billy about the gun. They could match it up with an old case or something. What if John killed a woman they didn’t know about and her family’s been searching for her for years and—”
“Sara, you’re driving me nuts. I just packed six pairs of jeans and no shirts.”
“Fine. I’ll get out of your way, then.” I stood up.
“You don’t have to leave, just talk about something else.” But I was already walking out of the room.
* * *
I was staring at a table in my shop, thinking about everything Evan had said and working myself into a complete lather, when he came to find me.
He said, “I’m going.”
I studied the grains in the wood, traced them with my fingers.
“Come on,” he said.
He came over and wrapped his arms around me.
I was stiff in his arms. “I’m pissed at you.”
“I know, but give me a hug anyway.”
“I hate that you don’t take anything I say seriously.”
“That’s not true, Sara. I just wish you didn’t read so much into everything.”
“So you think I’m just overreacting?”
“Let’s see, you accused your sister of chatting up a serial killer and now you think someone else shot me for no reason? Hey, maybe it was Melanie who shot me.”
Tears of frustration stung my eyes. “I’m just saying we don’t know—”
“Baby, Jason’s waiting outside. I’ll call you tonight, okay?”
“Fine, go.”
* * *
He left a couple of hours ago, and I was so riled up I spent the entire time until our appointment going over the case in my mind again. I even went back over all my notes, the time line, everything. This gun thing is making me insane.
So maybe I’m just grasping at straws, mostly because Evan didn’t take me seriously, and maybe the gun thing isn’t important, but I called Billy and told him something was bugging me about the case. He was in the middle of a meeting but said he’d stop by later. Why can’t Evan be like that? Billy never makes me feel like I’m some drama addict.
SESSION TWENTY-FOUR
Now you’re going to make me cry. I understand you need some time off before you decide whether to move your practice to Victoria—you’ve been through a lot yourself in the last while. God, I don’t know how you kept seeing clients during everything. And thanks for the referral to your friend. I’ll probably give him a try, at least until you decide what you’re doing. But I can’t believe this might be the last time I sit on your couch, the last time I’m in this office. I hope it’s not. But I guess time will tell. Time tells a lot of things. My whole life I’ve bucked against time—usually because it wasn’t going fast enough for me. But then there are moments when it’s hurtling toward you and you’d give anything to stop the clock.
* * *
Billy came over after Ally was in bed. As I let him in I told him to sit at the table while I finished up some dishes, but he grabbed a tea towel.
We worked in companionable silence for a minute or two, then he said, “So where’s Evan tonight?”
“He had to go back to the lodge.” I snorted. “He couldn’t wait to get out of here.”
“Uh-oh. You guys fighting?”
“It’s just the usual stuff.” I sighed. “He wants me to move on and forget about the case, but it’s not that easy for me. The loose ends are driving me nuts.”
“So what’s bugging you?”
“Remember when you said Evan was shot with John’s Remington .223? Well, I remembered later that John told me his gun was in the shop—the firing pin was broken.”
“Huh. Interesting, but he probably had another one.”
“Evan said the same thing, but John always talked about that one being his favorite, like it was the only one for him. I mean, you heard the tapes. He talked about guns like they were girlfriends. Then I started thinking … look, I know this sounds crazy, but how do we know for sure he shot Evan?”
His eyebrows shot up. “Who else did you have in mind?”
“Yeah, that’s the hole in my theory.” I made a face and grinned. “The only other person who’d want Evan out of the way is Sandy.”
“Wow, Sara. I know you don’t like her, but that’s harsh.”
“It’s not that I don’t like her—she doesn’t like me. I hate that! Anyway, I know it wasn’t her, I’m just saying it’s weird about the gun. He probably had two, like you said, but can you look into it so I can stop obsessing? If he was part of those collector groups maybe he had to list all his guns for them?”
“Sure, I’ll look into it. But just for argument’s sake, if it wasn’t John, who else had a motive to shoot Evan? Don’t forget a shell from John’s gun was found at the scene.”
“I know John’s the only possible suspect, but the gun thing doesn’t fit.” I laughed. “It’s like OJ’s gloves.”
As Billy finished drying the last dish, I took the tea towel from him.
“I’ll put the dishes away. Sit.”
He turned and pulled out a chair at the table.
“Just out of curiosity, why did you think Sandy wanted Evan out of the way?”
I shrugged. “She was obsessed with catching John and she knew Evan was the reason I wouldn’t meet with him—she also thought my therapist was advising me against meeting him. It would’ve been easy for her to plant a shell at the scene and frame John. Three for three.”
“That’s it?”
I reached to put away the last plate. “Well, it was after my last fight with Sandy that Nadine was attacked. John always shot people—he didn’t jump them in parking lots. When John called me at the hospital he was really keyed up and kept saying he had to meet me. Not like he was an
xious, like he was scared.”
I hung up the tea towel. Billy was watching me intently, his head tilted to the side. God, it was nice to talk to a man who actually listened and didn’t just tell me to let it go.
I said, “And I was thinking tonight that it’s weird he went straight to my house that day after he called me at the hospital. How did he know Ally was here and only one officer was watching her? Plus he knew I’d been talking to the police—he said he was going to explain later but he never got the chance. Maybe he’d been doing countersurveillance like you said and he saw something.” Moose came downstairs from Ally’s room and I let him out the sliding door. “Don’t you think some of that stuff is weird?”
I sat down at the table in front of Billy. He heaved a sigh.
“In cases where the suspect dies it’s hard to fit every piece together, Sara. But that doesn’t mean there’s more to it—it just means we don’t have all the answers. I’ll check into the gun, but I wonder if you’re having a hard time letting go for another reason.”
“What do you mean?”
His voice was cautious. “You might still be trying to deal with John’s death. Or maybe you’re having a hard time facing some other things in your life. Your wedding is coming up, and—”
“It’s not that. It’s just all these little mysteries really bug me. They make me feel like it’s not completely over yet. I’m going to go online later and look at some gun forums. John spent a lot of time on the computer—bet I can find something.”
“It’s pretty unlikely John would list unregistered guns, or use his real name on a forum. Even if we did find a list somewhere, we’ll never know if it’s accurate. There’s no way to verify how many guns he owned.”