Evil Never Dies

“If who finds out?”

The woman fidgeted in the high-back chair, clearly out of sorts.

“Are you talking about your next-door neighbor?” Lizzy asked. “The boy you saw kill his little sister?”

Kathryn closed her eyes and gave a subtle nod. “I thought I had managed to get rid of any trace of the paper I wrote.”

“Is that why you wanted to talk to Jared? Because you thought your neighbor might’ve grown into the killer the police have been looking for?”

“Yes. My plan at the time was to tell Mr. Shayne what I had seen.” She swallowed and cast her eyes around the room, as though the killer might be hiding behind the couch or the heavy living room curtains.

Lizzy fought to hide her disappointment. “But now you’re having doubts about what you saw?”

“Not doubts, exactly. It just all began to seem so farfetched. The incident by the pool happened a long time ago. I was going with my instincts. I guess I was hoping that Jared, with his training . . .” She faded off.

“He could work wonders,” Lizzy said. “But yes. Something more tangible would be helpful.”

“Something tangible.” Kathryn sighed, then straightened in her seat. “I have something. It’s not much, but it is, at least, that.”

Lizzy followed her across plush carpet, past the kitchen, and down a long hallway that led them through open French doors into a massive study. The room was dimly lit. A desk, front and center, was covered with papers.

As Kathryn opened the top drawer, Lizzy noticed the oil painting hanging on the wall behind the desk. The female in the picture was done in a Picasso fashion with an arm where the leg should be and three eyes instead of two. The hair appeared to be stalks of wheat. Earrings decorated enlarged ears, and a melted clock dripped through the woman’s fingers.

Kathryn handed Lizzy a piece of paper.

After reading the note, which appeared to be nothing more than instructions on how to take care of some pets while the person was away, along with quite skillful sketches of a cat, a dog, and a bird in the margins, Lizzy said, “What is this?”

“It’s from the same boy who drowned his sister.”

“What’s his name?”

“Zachary Tucker.”

The name didn’t mean anything to Lizzy. “Why would you save this?”

“Because of the drawings, I think. And because Zachary did them.”

Lizzy lifted her eyebrows, telling her to go on.

“As you know, we were neighbors. When my mother offered to drive Zachary to school every morning, I was afraid of him at first.”

“Did you tell anyone what you had witnessed?”

“No. I was young, I was scared, and at first I thought he would kill me, too.”

“And then?”

“And then I met him face-to-face, and I decided he was just a normal boy. He was fu

Lizzy stared at the note. “I still don’t understand why you would save this.”

“I did what most girls do when they have a mad crush on a boy. I saved every little thing he gave me.”

“You had a crush,” Lizzy said, “on the boy you might’ve seen drown his sister.”

“Like I said, I had put that memory away by then.” She drew in a deep breath and then let it out. “I wasn’t very popular at school, but Zachary always made me feel special. I kept every note and letter in a shoe box I decorated with wrapping paper. As the years passed, I all but forgot about the box.”

However Kathryn might explain it, Lizzy was surprised the woman could feel anything for the boy after what she’d seen—or even suspected she might have seen. But just as she’d said, she’d been a child at the time, so Lizzy kept her thoughts to herself.

“I was an adult by the time the memories came back to me so vividly,” Kathryn continued. “It wasn’t until I attended a fund-raiser for families of murder victims that I saw Jared Shayne being interviewed about a killer in Sacramento and felt compelled to talk to him.”

“Why?”

“I felt a tremendous need to tell someone what I had seen.” She rubbed her temple. “There were other things, too, little things that Zachary would say and do.”

“For instance?”

“A few years after the death of his sister, dogs and cats were being slaughtered in our neighborhood. For months, people kept their pets inside. When I talked to Zachary about it one day, he had a smirk on his face that I’ll never forget. His reaction was nothing more than a shrug. And that’s not all. Once he had his driver’s license, he would drive me to school. I was looking for a pen in his glove compartment, and I saw a newspaper clipping about the murder of a little girl at a rest stop.”

“Did you question him?”

“No.” She sighed. “I didn’t begin to co

“So you gave Jared your number?”

She nodded. “That night I slipped Mr. Shayne a piece of paper letting him know I needed to talk with him. We talked once, but I didn’t feel comfortable giving him Zachary’s name over the phone.”

“You grant this Zachary a great deal of power, don’t you think? Worrying that he might somehow hear you whisper his name into the phone?”

Kathryn didn’t blink at this. “Zachary’s never needed me or anyone to grant him any power,” she said, her voice low and charged. “You forget. I’ve seen what he can do.” She licked her parched lips. “And he was just a little boy then.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Today, Kitally decided to help Lizzy at the downtown office. They had files at both the house and the office on J Street. This particular office was a mess, and Kitally figured she was the only one who cared enough to bother with straightening up the place. But that wasn’t the only reason she had wanted to come to the office today. She needed to talk to Lizzy about Salma, let her know she had taken a taxi from the hospital and she and her baby were moving in for a while. Before Kitally could start up a conversation with Lizzy, a man popped his head inside the door and waved a colorful flyer at them. “Mind if I hang this on your window?”

“I don’t know,” Lizzy said. “What is it?”

He stepped inside and let the door shut behind him.

Kitally guessed him to be in his late thirties. When he looked at her, it was his intense-looking eyes that struck her first. He was cleanly shaven—a preppy-looking guy with neatly combed hair, a crooked nose, and a square jaw.

He handed the flyer to Lizzy. As she read it over, he picked up a handcrafted pencil holder made of pottery and painted in fine detail and said, “This is striking. Exquisite, actually. May I ask where you found it?”

Although he was clearly going overboard with the praise, Lizzy decided to go with it. “My niece made that years ago. You’re right, though, she’s a creative genius.” Lizzy held up the flyer. “In fact, she might enjoy visiting some of these galleries. Go ahead and hang it up, and maybe we’ll see you there.”

“I appreciate it.” He looked around. “Do you mind if I hang it inside the window, so it doesn’t blow away?”

“Not a problem.”

He had to lean over Lizzy’s desk to get the flyer on the window. When he was done, he apologized for interrupting their workday. He was about to head out when Lizzy said, “Are you one of the artists who will be exhibiting?”

“How did you know?”

“You’ve got paint on your elbow.”

He looked at the spot and then laughed. “You’re very perceptive.”

“So I’ve been told. What’s your name?”