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“But don’t you want to find out what happened?”
“Sure I do. More than anything. But if there isn’t anything to go on, no clues, not much saying she didn’t just run off, what can I do? I’ve exhausted many an avenue. All I can do now is keep my nose close to the ground. . . wait to stumble upon something. If there’s foul play, something’ll turn up. These things don’t keep secret for long.”
“Think the FBI’ll figure out what happened to Tiffany first?”
“Maybe. Look, am I a great detective? Hell no,” he said, “never said I was. But would I have been able to find out what happened to the Perron girl if there were any signs of foul play. Sure as shit I would have. Hell, if there were any signs of foul play, Lafayette would’ve sent boys down here to help me. But funding don’t grow on trees, sweetheart.”
“So you think Tiffany could have just run away?”
“She could have, I suppose. But it’s doubtful. Now c’mon. If you’re coming, seal those lips of yours. Don’t slow me down.”
Erica followed Guitreaux as he moved through the woods. Several times he stopped and looked around. Erica looked around too, not seeing anything out of the ordinary, but at the same time knowing better then to ask more questions.
Rays of sunlight coursed through the endless web of branches, casting shadows on the far sections of the woods as they plodded slowly along. Locusts buzzed loudly absorbing the last of the day’s sun.
As Erica reached to pull a branch out of her way, a slender moccasin darted in front of her, then scurried beneath leaves. Erica flinched, but kept pace behind Guitreaux.
Not a hundred yards from the Anderson’s, Guitreaux stopped dead in his tracks once again. Erica waited patiently, now familiar with his pattern. She waited for him to start up again, but this time he bent down.
He reached out and touched a leaf. Then his head shot up and he looked straight ahead at a tall oak. Erica’s stare followed his. Her breath caught in her throat.
Blood was splattered everywhere. Across the tree trunk, droplets dotting the surrounding leaves. The ground was also barren in spots as though something had been dragged across it. Her eyes moved another foot to the right and she saw a pair of legs, the feet bare and bloodied on the bottoms.
Guitreaux made the sign of the cross across his chest and whispered, “Lord Almighty, look what we got here. A clue.”
Chapter 61
HE WAS BECOMING unraveled. Undone. Half dragging, half carrying Chris’s body through a thousand feet of woods had been pure horror. Chris, from what little he knew, was a good ole boy, someone who would never hurt anyone.
Killing him had been more than unpla
He wondered how his mother had managed to do it time and time again. He knew for a fact that the man that night hadn’t been her first. Or her last. There’d been several.
He quickly wrapped Chris in the lawn bags, careful not to look at the man’s eyes. He waded into the water and, several feet out, he let go.
Chris’s body disappeared instantly.
Back on land, he gazed up at the sky. Blood covered his clothes and skin, and tears ran down his cheeks. “Please. . . I was forced to,” he said, pleading to the God he feared. He knew he was getting closer to the end, and it frightened him as much as his mother did.
“Forgive me. Please,” he pleaded again. “I. . . I didn’t have a choice.”
The sun set and the sky became a radiant, peaceful blue. But there was a storm brewing inside him. One that he knew would never die down.
It was the storm.
The one that would finally end him.
***
FOR HOURS, HE paced the woods near his mother’s house, paralyzed with fear. He couldn’t bring himself to go back for Tom’s body. It was too dangerous. And he was almost certain it had already been found. People were still combing the woods for Sarah Greene. Someone had to have stumbled upon it.
He looked down at the blood on his clothes. The pond water had only done so much to cleanse him of the men’s blood.
Shivering, he walked to the house. A light was on inside. Had he left it on? Or was it them? Had they already come to get him? Allie couldn’t be home, could she? No, he told himself. She’d be out somewhere si
The FBI agents were much more thorough than the detective, and they seemed to be able to see right through him.
Earlier that afternoon, they stopped by the house. His mother had screamed inside his head, and he could have sworn they heard her and saw the pain in his eyes. Sweat had formed along the length of his back and many times during the interview he felt like ru
The woman agent told him that he should be commended for raising a teenage sister alone. Something hardly anyone in town even knew he’d been forced to do. Then they had left.
But he was certain they had put two and two together by now. That they’d realize what they’d seen in his eyes, know that he was the one.
He reluctantly entered through the back door. Allie stood in front of the stove, her back to him. She wore a purple half-shirt and a short blue jean skirt.
He wondered if he could get by without her seeing. But after two careful steps into the kitchen, she whirled around, holding the spatula out as though it were a knife. “You nearly scared the piss out of me!” she screamed. She turned back around to stir her brew. “Shit,” she muttered and forced air from her lungs in a loud sigh.
He studied her back, knowing she’d know what he had been up to. The damp clothes, the blood stains that couldn’t be washed away. She’d put everything together and run for help. She’d love to be the one to tell. She’d revel in watching them lead him away. His heart crashed against his chest so hard it felt as though it were tearing at the bone.
“I’m making sloppy joes,” she a
As she licked tomato sauce off the spatula, she turned to face him again. Her eyes took him in slowly, from head to toe. “Holy shit. What happened to you?”
He didn’t have an answer, so he just stood there. He knew he should move, but he couldn’t. And he was afraid to talk. He didn’t know what would come out.
A strong wind was now raging outside. The screen door behind him slammed shut, opened, slammed shut. The racket reminded him of his mother. Of the night when he was a boy and had seen her in the yard.
“Cat got your tongue?” she asked.
There was a rustling next to her. She looked down and his eyes followed. Ian emerged from behind the counter and wrapped his matted tail around her slutty clear platform heels. Her cherry red toes.
“What the—” he gasped.
“It likes me,” Allie beamed. “I’ve been giving it the spoiled milk from the fridge. It even likes beer.”
Ian watched him, a murderous look in its eyes.
“How. . . how long have you been feeding it?” he demanded, his voice wavering.
“Couple of months maybe? It’s so ski