Linger: Dying is a Wild Night (A Linger Thriller Book 1) Read online

  The line rang three times before it was picked up. “Stokes County District Attorney’s Office. How may I direct your call?”

  “Lieutenant Kate Messenger for Charles Dillman.”

  “Just a moment, please, I’ll see if he’s available.”

  She waited that moment, then the line came alive with a cool but gentle North Carolina drawl. “Well now, that was mighty quick. You get our boy to confess?”

  Kate huffed. “Getting him to do much of anything is a minor miracle.”

  “Don’t I know it. Weston’s got a mind of his own. So what can I do for you this time?”

  “I need to know something about the condition of the Weston family bodies. Something that wasn’t mentioned in the news accounts.”

  “Something Weston told you?”

  “No, but the coincidences are piling up and I don’t like it.”

  “Well don’t keep me in suspense.”

  “The victims tongues,” she said. “Did Anna Weston and her daughters have their tongues cut out?”

  There was a long silence. Too long.

  “Mr. Dillman?”

  “Are you saying that your victims had their tongues cut out?”

  “No. They were brutalized but not like that. I don’t think there’s any connection between the two cases at all, other than Weston’s presence at my crime scene.”

  “Then I don’t understand. If there’s no connection and Weston didn’t say anything, where are you getting this from?”

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  He was silent again. Then he said, “The answer is yes. They all had their tongues cut out with what our forensics people believe was a three-quarter-inch bimetal bandsaw blade—the kind you find in saw mills the world over.” He paused. “Weston owned a saw mill. One of the biggest in Stokes County.”

  Kate felt a chill run through her. “Did you find the blade?”

  “Not a sign of it anywhere. But we withheld all these details from the press, redacted it from the forensic files. And since Weston claimed to have found the bodies, it seemed reasonable that he might know about the tongue cutting, but we made a point of never mentioning the specific weapon involved, in hopes he’d slip up in one of the interviews. He never did.”

  “He doesn’t strike me as a guy who slips up very often.”

  “All it takes is once,” Dillman said. “Are you sure there’s no connection between these two crimes?”

  “I’m sure. We already have a person of interest. It may be a dead end, but my gut tells me it isn’t.”

  “Then I still don’t understand. How do you know about the tongues?”

  Kate crossed to her desk. “Because of a case up in Tacoma three months ago you might not have heard about if you weren’t watching the bulletins. I don’t know if it involves bandsaw blades, but it’s my understanding from an inside source that the victims also had their tongues removed.”

  She opened Weston’s file, took out the sketch book, and began flipping through the pages, studying the drawings.

  Damn, they were good.

  “Now that is interesting,” Dillman said. “But I’m still a little confused. If your case isn’t connected, what on earth compelled you to ask about our victims’ tongues?”

  Kate spotted a drawing that grabbed her attention and stopped on the page. “You remember the boy I mentioned? The blind one, who’s traveling with him?”

  “Oh, yes I do. Weston never struck me as a kiddie diddler, but I suppose a man who’s capable of murdering his entire family is capable of just about anything.”

  “Well, my guy from CPS tells me the boy’s also had his tongue cut out.”

  Kate was greeted with the longest silence yet, and she had a feeling the cool, unflappable man she’d been dealing with up until now had just had his foundation rocked. She looked down at the drawing in front of her and saw a detailed sketch of a wooden post with a sign that read WELCOME TO TACOMA.

  “What’s strange,” she went on, “is that it looks as if the boy was hurt several years before the Weston murders. So I can’t quite figure out how he fits in.”

  When Dillman found his voice, he said, “I can see why you’re concerned about coincidences. It’s obvious I’ve got a bit of work ahead of me.”

  She studied the sketch. “We both do.”

  “I take it you haven’t identified this boy?”

  “Not yet. But I’m having him brought up for an interview, and if we can find a way to communicate, I’m hoping I can fill in some missing details.”

  “And I’m hoping you’re right,” Dillman said. “Let me know how it goes.”

  Kate told him she would and was about to hang up when Dillman stopped her.

  “When you talk to Weston again, mention those tongues and see if you can get him to bring up that bandsaw blade. I want to nail this guy something bad.”

  Maybe a little too bad, Kate thought, then bid him goodbye and hung up.

  19

  _____

  WHILE SHE WAITED FOR DAN to return with Christopher, Kate got on her phone again and called Curt Clark, one of the juniors she’d sent to chase down Chucho Soriano. According to Soriano’s file, his last known address was a walk-up apartment building in an area of West Santa Flora that wasn’t known for its easygoing lifestyle. It didn’t quite qualify as a slum, but you wouldn’t want to be strolling around there at midnight.

  Even noon was iffy.

  “You having any luck?” she asked Clark.

  “The LKA was a bust. But the woman next door used to hang with Soriano sometimes and says he’s got a brother lives near the Greyhound station, so we’re headed that way.”

  “What’s the brother’s name?”

  “Emilio. Supposedly some kind of computer geek, designs porn websites. Soriano showed a couple to the neighbor one time and told her she should think about modeling.”

  “Classy,” Kate said.

  Had he done the same to Bree Branford?

  “It’s been a few months since he left the location, so there’s no guarantee he’ll be at Emilio’s.”

  The fear, of course, was that Soriano had skipped town altogether. And if that was the case, they’d have to cast a wide net and maybe even get the press involved—which Kate would rather avoid.

  “If he isn’t there, put some pressure on the brother. We need to find this guy.”

  “How much pressure?”

  “Use your best judgment,” she said, “but don’t get carried away.”

  “You got it, lieutenant. We’ll be in touch.”

  ∙ ∙ ∙

  A moment later, the door opened and Dan escorted Christopher inside and sat him in the same chair Kate had occupied earlier. He looked smaller than she remembered, and a bit forlorn, reminding her of one of those Save the Children commercials full of kids with soulful, hungry stares.

  Except that wasn’t quite right, was it?

  This particular kid had a stare as vacant as a dormant computer screen, and gave no indication whether he wanted to be saved or simply left alone. His gaze was fixed on the window behind her desk as he quietly rocked, and she wondered what he saw.

  Light and dark? Indistinct shapes? Nothing at all?

  “I assume you want me to stay,” Dan said.

  “Absolutely.”

  He nodded and perched on the edge of her desk as Kate moved around it to the chair next to Christopher.

  As she sat, Dan made a gesture with his hand as if to say, be gentle, which—as he well knew—wasn’t a state of being that came naturally to Kate. She thought of the most gentle person she’d ever known and channeled the spirit of her mother.

  “Good morning, Christopher. I’m Kate. I came to your motel room last night, remember?”

  The boy rocked, giving no indication she existed.

  “Dr. Brennan says you were very cooperative during your check-up this morning, so I know you can hear me. Can you nod for me? Show me you’re listening?”

  Still nothi
ng. She may as well have been talking to an animatronic robot.

  She looked up at Dan.

  “Give him time,” he said. “Let him warm up to you.”

  Kate nodded and was about to try again when a thought struck her. Getting to her feet, she crossed to a corner of her office where she had stowed the boy’s suitcase. She unlatched it and pulled it open, taking out the small pink photo album with the name Lucy scrawled across it.

  She went back to her chair, sat down, and placed a hand on Christopher’s knee. He flinched again—just as he had last night—but he still didn’t acknowledge her presence.

  “I’ve got something of yours, and I’m thinking you may want it.” She took hold of his hand and placed the album on his palm. “I’ll bet you’ve been missing this.”

  His reaction was swift. He stopped rocking, grabbed hold of it with both hands and smiled, pulling it to his chest. Then he brought it up to his nose and breathed it in as if it gave him life.

  And in a way, it had.

  “I’m sure Dr. Brennan told you there’s nothing to be afraid of, but I need you to listen to me like you did to him. Can you do that? Can you listen?”

  She half expected him to ignore her again, but he lowered the album and nodded.

  Relieved, Kate smiled. “Good. That’s really good.” She glanced at Dan, who gave her a thumbs up. “Now I’m going ask to you some questions. And since I know this is hard for you, all you have to do is nod your head or shake it. Yes or no. Can you do that for me?”

  Another delay, then another nod.

  “Excellent,” she said. “I know all this must be very confusing for you, but—”

  He shook his head suddenly and Kate paused.

  “Are you saying it isn’t confusing?”

  He nodded.

  “Then you know why you’re here?”

  He nodded again and she again looked at Dan. “What did you tell him?”

  “I just assured him he wasn’t in any kind of trouble and that we were only doing what we felt was best for him.”

  She turned. “Do you understand that, Christopher? That we’re only trying to do what’s best for you?”

  He nodded. And though she couldn’t explain the near trancelike states until now, she suspected he was neither autistic nor mentally challenged.

  He was smart. And very aware.

  He knew exactly what was going on.

  “Have you been through something like this before?”

  Another nod.

  “With Mr. Weston? Have the two of you been in trouble with the police?”

  This time he shook his head, but then he did something that startled Kate.

  Leaning forward slightly, he opened his mouth and wiggled the pink stub of his tongue at her. The sight was both horrifying and heartbreaking and she knew immediately what he was trying to say.

  “You spent time with the police after you were hurt.”

  He nodded, then closed his mouth and sat upright. Message sent.

  She paused. “Who hurt you, Christopher? Was it Mr. Weston?”

  He shook his head, vigorously this time, but she wasn’t all that surprised. She’d already come to this conclusion herself. If Dan was right about the timing of the injury, Weston would’ve had to have done it a couple of years before he slaughtered his own family—which made little sense. And while she had humored Dillman in his belief that Weston was a murderer, her gut told her he was wrong. Sure, the man was infuriating and evasive and wired a little differently than your average human being, and yes, that sketch on her desk indicated that they’d been to Tacoma, but the more she considered it, the less she was willing to tag him with that particular label.

  “Can we talk about what happened to you, Christopher? About how you got hurt?”

  The boy hesitated, and she knew this had to be difficult for him.

  “Would you rather we talk about Mr. Weston instead? Maybe you can help me understand why the two of you were at my crime—”

  The boy reached forward and pressed his fingers to her lips.

  With another vigorous shake of his head, he swiveled in Dan’s direction, then took his hand from her mouth and made a quick gesture, bringing his fingers down to touch his thumb as if he were closing the mouth of a sock puppet.

  Kate had no idea what this meant, but Dan’s expression said that he did. “He’s using sign language. He wants me to leave.”

  Kate frowned. “But he’s blind. How does he know sign language?”

  “He’s also speech-impaired, so someone must have taught it to him.”

  Kate thought about the labor intensive task of teaching sign language to a boy who couldn’t see, but didn’t pursue any of the questions this brought to mind. Instead she simply said, “Is that what you mean, Christopher? You want Dr. Brennan to leave?”

  He nodded and made the gesture again.

  “But if he leaves and you use sign language, I won’t be able to understand what you’re—”

  He gestured a third time, making it clear that he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  Kate didn’t know why this was so important to him, but she wasn’t sure sending Dan away was a good idea. Allowing yourself to be left alone with a witness or a suspect was a recipe for disaster. All kinds of claims could be made that might derail your career.

  Especially by eleven-year-old boys.

  And after their stunt at the Branford house last night, Kate didn’t know if she could trust Christopher any more than she trusted Weston. There might be another surprise waiting for her the moment Dan stepped out of the room.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Dan said, “but I doubt it’s anything to be concerned about. And if my absence will help our young friend here open up even more, then it’s worth the risk.”

  Easy for you to say, Kate thought.

  But he was right. Curiosity was not the only thing driving her now. She wanted to get to the truth.

  “All right,” she said. “But don’t go too far.”

  Dan stood up, patted Christopher’s shoulder and headed for the door. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

  “Thanks,” she said, then watched him exit and close the door behind him.

  As she turned to face Christopher again, she was struck by the thought that something about him had changed—and abruptly at that. He sat in the same position, his milky eyes fixed in her direction, but there was a sudden stillness to him that hadn’t been evident before.

  He wasn’t ignoring her like before. Just the opposite, in fact. He was very much present in the room, rendered immobile by a kind of fixed concentration, as if he were centering all of his focus outward.

  Toward her.

  She was about to ask him if he was okay, when a voice inside her head—a voice that was clearly not hers—said: Etak, su fo eno er’uoy.

  20

  _____

  KATE BLINKED, SUCKED IN A breath, and drew back as if she’d been confronted by a perp with a weapon. For a moment she thought Christopher had spoken aloud, but she knew that was impossible.

  She’d seen why it was impossible.

  Yako, s’ti. Diarfa eb t’nod.

  There it was again—the same voice she’d heard last night, yet stronger. More invasive. Not some nebulous radio transmission, but clear and clean as if he were whispering directly in her ear.

  But this time Kate couldn’t blame stress or anxiety or sleep deprivation. This time she knew that what she was hearing was as real as the chair she sat in. The boy was speaking to her with his mind, for Christ’s sake, projecting his thoughts directly into her.

  Em dnatsrednu uoy od?

  Kate couldn’t move. Didn’t want to move. Sat transfixed as he continued to speak.

  Dnatsrednu uoy ekam ot deen i.

  And that language. Where had she heard it before? It sounded so oddly familiar. As if… As if…

  As if he were speaking backwards.

  Yes. That was it.

  She thought of the ma
ny times she had rewound surveillance tapes on one of those old reel-to-reels, back when the department was still using equipment that had been purchased during the Nixon administration. She’d put a finger to a reel to drag the tape across the playhead, rewinding it slowly, trying to isolate a particular phrase. The sound coming from Christopher had the same strange, musical cadence and she assumed that somewhere in the transition from his brain to hers, the signal had gotten…

  Jesus. What was she thinking?

  She was acting as if this was normal. As if it was just another interview with a witness.

  She knew she should have been blown away, or writing it off as some kind of parlor trick, but this was no trick, and in an odd sort of way, it did feel normal.

  Was she dreaming?

  This was real, wasn’t it?

  As if he had been reading her thoughts, Christopher furrowed his brow, concentrating harder, then spoke again. And Kate wasn’t sure why, but this time he managed to get the words through to her unscrambled: Do you… understand me?

  She blinked at him, barely able to speak, but slowly nodded. “…Yes.”

  I would’ve talked to you at the motel last night… but those policemen were there. I need you to see something, Kate. That’s why I told Doctor Brennan to leave.

  He sounded young, but there was a maturity to his tone that surprised Kate. He was certainly well beyond any eleven-year-old she’d ever encountered. But then he wasn’t your average eleven-year-old, was he?

  She swallowed, not sure what to do with herself. Still not completely convinced she hadn’t taken a dive into a shallow pool and smacked her head.

  Just talk to me like you did before. That’s how Noah does it.

  Kate nodded again and still had trouble finding her voice. “Promise me I’m not going crazy. Because I’ve gotta tell you, I’m on the fence right now.”

  You aren’t crazy.

  “But how is this even possible? How are you doing this?”

  Noah thinks I was born this way. He thinks we both were.

  Was that why Weston hadn’t been concerned about Christopher? Had they been in psychic contact ever since they were separated?