Even In Darkness--An American Murder Mystery Thriller (19 page)

‘Even if I do that, I don't think he's going to like what I've got to say.'

‘Really? Don't you want your granddaughter back alive?'

G
oodwin opens his briefcase, an old-fashioned mail carrier's leather bag, scratched and worn. He puts a picture out on the coffee table just inches from the remains of my doughnut and a few drops of spilled juice. ‘Is that him?'

I feel the life draining out of me, as if my wrists have been slit. Leo lifts his head and puts his nose on my knee.

‘How would I know?'

Goodwin waits patiently, not saying a word. Leo presses his head into my lap. If Goodwin is trying to wait me out, we're going to be sitting a while.

He cocks his head sideways, and his voice is gentle. ‘It's obvious that you recognize the man in this picture.'

‘Mr Goodwin, I've had a hell of a week. If you're here to play games with me, then leave, and take your doughnuts with you.'

He sighs deeply. ‘Mrs Miller, you
know
this man, and we both know that you do. Even if you hadn't recognized the picture, which clearly you have, it's obvious that there's some kind of history between you.'

I stroke Leo's ears. Normally he'd tuck his head in my lap, but for now he is keeping watch.

‘You must know that Woods keeps you under loose surveillance, right? They don't have a detail on you every minute but they check up on you regularly, intercept your mail, keep track of your cell phone and e-mail.'

Goodwin leans toward me and I sit further back on the couch. Leo growls very faintly, something I feel more than hear, a vibration deep in his chest.

‘There are two possibilities here. One. You and the kidnapper are working together. You've brooded for years and gone over the edge and you're exacting your revenge at last. That's the working theory for Russ and Mavis, and they're not in love with it, but it is what makes the most sense, when they factor everything in.' He shrugs. ‘Start coloring outside the lines, and the FBI has no idea what to do. There hasn't been a ransom note. They don't understand why, and when they don't understand something, they don't like it.'

‘And is that what you think?' I ask him. ‘That I'm the mastermind behind some convoluted plot? That I burned down my own house? Wait, don't tell me. That's revenge too, against Marsha for cheating with my husband way the hell back when.'

‘Me? No, Mrs Miller, I think the whole idea is ludicrous.' He waves a hand. ‘That means we go to option two. That you know this guy, somehow, some way, something in your past, but there's a reason you're afraid to give us the connection. A good reason. That's the one I like.'

He's right, of course. I give him credit for that.

‘That's why I'm here, Mrs Miller. To ask you to give me the back story. Whatever it is that you're afraid to tell, I promise you – I give you my word – it isn't going to come back on you in any way. We don't care what happened between the two of you, except as it pertains to
this
case. And I'm convinced that whatever the connection is, that's going to be the key that unravels this mess.' He leans toward me. ‘Right now we've got two teams working your granddaughter's disappearance, and they're all off track. They're looking at
you
and by the time they get their heads out of their asses, it might just be too late for an
optimal
conclusion
. Which is how Woods will word it in the final report.'

Goodwin holds a hand up to stop me, though I haven't said a word. ‘Here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to start by telling you what
I
know. What I've put together about this man in the years I've been following his trail. And it's a nasty trail, Mrs Miller, a bloody one. Don't kid yourself. A guy like this – no way someone like you can handle him. You put together all the resources they've got in law enforcement these days, and he still may just beat them at the game. And while I talk you'll have time to think. If it's a risk for you, I'm sorry. But if you love your granddaughter – and I have no doubt you do – it's a risk you're going to have to take.'

Then Goodwin laces his fingers over his large loose stomach and tells me what he wants me to know.

‘His name is Cletus Purcell and he was born in Jackson, Kentucky.' Goodwin rubs his forehead. He is frowning, like he is somewhere else in his head. I suppose, in a way, he is.

Like any good psychiatrist, Goodwin focuses his initial attention on Purcell's childhood. ‘If you want a sure fire recipe for creating a sociopath, place them in seven different foster homes before the age of three.'

‘Seven?'

Goodwin nods. ‘Before the age of three. He stayed with number seven until he was fifteen, then he ran away and after that he was out of the system. It was a bad placement. The Hermans. They kept an average of five foster children, all coming and going constantly, all considered “at risk”.

‘The Hermans were fundamentalist Christians whose motto was “spare the rod, spoil the child”. The father was a skinny guy with bad asthma, Benedict Herman. He actually started his own little church. Lana Herman was a mountain girl, and she was the disciplinarian. Every child I've interviewed who was placed in that home talks about her with a air of what you might misunderstand to be respect, but is actually terror. They look at her the way small animals look at predators.

‘Two years after Cletus Purcell ran away, the Hermans were investigated by social services and shut down. All their placements were removed, and in a few months' time the couple were put under indictment. None of the charges went anywhere in court, even though they were abusing and neglecting their kids. They were also suspected of trading children back and forth with other foster parents who were involved with their church. The children received no medical care, the Hermans didn't bother to use benefits that wouldn't have cost them a cent. The kids wore hand-me-down charity clothes and got precious little food. As far as the investigators could tell, the Hermans didn't spend money on themselves either. Their social service checks were growing in a savings account at their bank that had an interest rate of one percent.

‘Four months to the day after all charges against the Hermans were dropped, they were found dead in their living room, both of them shot in the throat.'

I pick up the picture of Cletus Purcell. He looks about twelve, skinny and tall, stooping slightly at the shoulders, head canted to one side, a matchstick in the side of his mouth. Even then his eyes are black and malevolent. Impossible to stare down. The next is a regulation mug shot, and this is the man who lurks in my subconscious. He stares straight into the lens of the camera with a look of deadness and menace that I have seen up close.

‘Do you know what the statistics are, for sociopaths in the general population?' Goodwin asks.

I nod. ‘One in a hundred, roughly one percent. Fairly accurate, I think, though there are some who think that statistic is overly conservative, and put it higher.'

He nods, and I see a glint of surprise. People never seem to realize that in my line of work the good is always balanced with the bad.

Goodwin runs a hand through his hair. ‘Now we take our second ingredient, a simple one but a standard. Take one budding young sociopath and add some variation of the following three ingredients – abuse, brain damage and mental illness.

‘We know Purcell was abused by the Hermans. There's no telling what happened to him in the initial series of early foster homes. But we know that he was riding on the back of a friend's ATV at the age of fourteen and that they crashed it into a tree. The hospital records mention a broken rib and a head injury, to the prefrontal lobe of his brain, resulting in unconsciousness and severe concussion. Mental illness? That's anyone's guess. His foster care records describe a colicky infant who cried continuously and could not be comforted. By the time he was eighteen months old he had frequent temper tantrums, and by age nine was labeled sullen and withdrawn.

‘End result? A boy grows into a man looking for empowerment and ways to get even. All that's needed is a trigger, and a serial killer is born.'

‘And the trigger?' I ask. ‘Do you have that in your files and records?'

‘I imagine his years with the Hermans gave him all the triggers he'd need. And even under their care he didn't become any kind of a discipline problem until he was twelve. At that point it was only minor stuff – small time episodes, immature, juvenile delinquent kinds of things, nothing hardcore. According to early foster care records he was attached to and loving with animals. In fact, in one of his early placements, the couple reported that the only thing that would calm him down, when he was upset, was curling up with the family cat.'

‘Too bad that one didn't keep him.'

‘The wife died suddenly, and the husband couldn't take care of a toddler and work his job.'

Purcell's childhood history twists like a bad bedtime story. Is it a good sign that Purcell didn't hurt Caro's dog, Ruby? It was to Purcell's advantage to leave Ruby alive, but there were other ways to get his message across.

I notice that Goodwin stares off in the distance as if he is watching a movie only he can see. His eyes seem different, then he seems to come back to himself, and the moment reminds me of something – the nictitating membrane in the eyes of a snake. I see it in Dr Jonathan Goodwin, the same thing I see in people I've counseled and what I see, just a little, in myself. The dark side of the world infects you. Takes your innocence and files it away.

‘Purcell's first conviction was for felony assault. Somebody rear-ended his van at a stop sign. It was nothing more than a fender bender, but he nearly beat the man to death. After that, he went into the business of murder for hire. Nothing personal – just a sociopath making a living doing a job he enjoys.' Goodwin purses his lips. ‘I can't say definitively that he's been inactive, but he's either slowed way down over the last few years or has been flying under the radar. Some of them do wind down as they age, some stop killing altogether.'

‘Why do you think that is?'

‘Less testosterone.'

‘Testosterone seems like a hell of a burden, the more I understand about men.'

Goodwin narrows his eyes at me in a way that makes me feel like a particularly bright student. ‘Let's say it's powerful, and like anything powerful it's got its good and bad sides. Evidently, Purcell
isn't
suffering from a loss of testosterone. In the last eighteen months he's been active again, but he's gone from murder for hire to this new religious quest. Which makes him unpredictable and even more dangerous. And it's also where you come in.'

‘Those evangelists who died, and all the pictures I got in the mail. Has the FBI confirmed the killings were done by Purcell?'

‘They knew it all along, they've got DNA evidence. What they had to confirm was if it was actually Purcell who kidnapped your granddaughter and daughter-in-law. One of the many theories about you was the possibility you were using the deaths of the evangelists as a cover for your revenge. Can't you see, Mrs Miller, how everything always comes down to you? Purcell has killed three evangelists who were classmates of yours in seminary, and there's no coincidence there. Now he's kidnapped two members of your family. There's been no ransom note, though he's gone to great pains to establish that both Caroline and Andee are still alive. He wants
something
. Something only you can give him. We can't solve this case unless you tell us why he is fixated on you.'

I take a deep breath, then let it out slowly. ‘Let's say for argument's sake you're right. Consider the following scenario. I tell you everything, Agent Woods gets the connection he needs to have me arrested. Once in custody, I'm not in a position to give Purcell what he wants, and Andee and Caro get killed.'

‘So that's it.' Goodwin stands up and paces to the kitchen and back. He stops abruptly, puts his hands in his pockets and bounces up and down on the balls of his feet. ‘Why would you assume that Woods would arrest you?'

‘Because Woods has wanted to put me under arrest since the first time I was questioned. He's convinced I hired Purcell to take revenge on my daughter-in-law.'

‘That theory doesn't hold. Even Woods should be able to see that. Purcell doesn't just have Caroline, he's got Andee. And why would you have them kidnapped? Why not just have your daughter-in-law killed? And what about those pictures you got in the mail? The other evangelists? How does that connect?'

‘You're asking me?'

‘The only reason Woods won't let go of that theory is he knows you're not telling him everything. And he can't think of any other reason for your refusal to tell him the truth. I don't see a choice for you here. You want this guy caught, don't you, Joy? You want your family back safe? Do you honestly believe you can pull that off by yourself?'

‘I might think exactly that.'

‘You'd be wrong. And it's not like Purcell doesn't know you've gone to the Feds,' Goodwin says dryly. ‘You might as well make use of us.'

He walks close to me and Leo springs to his feet. There is an invisible line that only Leo sees but it's one he won't allow Goodwin to cross.

‘What's it going to be, Mrs Miller? You going to talk, or let your dog snack on me for lunch? Keep in mind, please, that Caroline and Andee have been gone for five days already, and the trail is going cold. But by all means take whatever time you need to think.'

‘I need a bathroom break.'

Goodwin opens his mouth, then closes it. He shrugs. ‘Truthfully, I could use one myself.'

J
ohnny Goodwin sits quietly, both hands in his lap. He watches me as if I'm a wild animal and can easily be scared away.