Stay of Execution (20 page)

 

Chapter Sixty-­One

J
ULIA GRIPPED THE
steering wheel. She focused on the road, her eyes scanning the signs for Route 539. It came up suddenly, and she made a right turn before bringing the car to a stop. She studied her handwritten directions, the paper shaking in her hand as she read. After another mile, she would take a left and follow a dirt road to the end. He would be there.

Julia's hands dropped into her lap. He'd been clear. Come alone. It was the only way he would tell her the story, the whole story. What she already knew was enough to get everybody's attention and potentially turn everything on its head, but it wasn't the whole story. Not for the first time, she questioned her motivation, her willingness to meet a man she knew was a killer. It was a fact now, one he had given her when he placed the diaries in her hands. What she didn't understand was why.

Leo has done the unthinkable.

The words on the page had barely been legible, the handwriting spidery.

He hasn't told me why, but I think I know. After the first girl, I suspected, of course, but I didn't want to hear. After the second, though, I couldn't stay quiet. He told me it was true. He wasn't always this way—­so distant, so cold. He told me he did his best to make it as painless as possible for the girls. God help me, I believe him. I don't think he planned to kill them, but it doesn't matter now. He did. My son is a murderer.

She rubbed her arms. What did Brenda know about why Leo killed those girls? What did he mean when he said he tried to make it painless? Julia blinked at the colorless sky. Thick clouds had rolled in, low and heavy. She needed to hurry to get there, before the rain. She pulled out a tape recorder from her canvas bag. It held a fresh tape, almost two hours of time. It would have to be enough. She slipped the machine into her jacket pocket.

Turning left on the dirt road, she slowed to avoid deep ruts and heavy brush. Trees lined the road and hung low over her car. Newly cut branches lay on each side where someone, Leo maybe, had recently cleared this old road. It took almost five minutes to reach the end, where a small, wooden structure, barely bigger than a shack, stood. The cabin's one square window had been covered by something dark, blocking any view inside. A stack of two-­by-­fours lay near the door. New wood had recently replaced old and rotted pieces.

Leo stood in the doorway, waiting. He watched as she climbed from the car, his eyes darting over her shoulder, down the dirt road. He cocked his head slightly and appeared to listen. Canvas bag thrown over her shoulder, she walked slowly toward the run-­down cabin. Once inside, he closed the door behind her.

She took in the compact room. The rising sun provided the only light. It streamed in through the cracks and chinks in the wooden walls. The window was covered with black plastic; underneath stood a single bed. A table stacked with canned goods and two chairs was pushed against the far wall. Several cases of bottled water were piled in the corner. A small woodstove provided heat and a place to cook.

“Did anyone follow you?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. She shivered in the cabin's dampness.

“Did you tell anyone where you were going?”

Julia could feel his eyes on her and raised her head to meet his gaze. “I haven't spoken to anyone since you asked me to come here.” He nodded, satisfied. Julia exhaled.

Julia touched her hand to her pocket, feeling the outline of the tape recorder. “Nice place you got here. Did you build it yourself?” She pressed the record button as she spoke.

“I was always good with my hands. Learned how to fix things, build things. Kids with no dad have to do that.” He looked away, his voice husky with nostalgia. “I found this place in high school. It was abandoned, so I rebuilt it. I used to come here to be alone. It's been a long time since I've been here.”

His words reminded her she was in a remote location with a man who had already spent years in prison, who had murdered women with his bare hands. Her breathing became shallow and ragged. Her skin screamed with the pain of unseen pricks, and she had to fight the urge to run. Concentrating, she closed her hand around the tape recorder and turned the microphone upward toward Leo. “You said if I came here, you would tell me the truth.” She struggled to keep her voice steady. “Everything about what happened back then.”

He stared at her. “I like you, Julia.” She thought she saw his light eyes glisten, but when he blinked, any emotion she'd imagined was gone. Leo went to the table, pulling out two chairs. He moved with a pantherlike grace, a quality she'd noticed the first time she'd seen him. He'd looked like an aloof movie star at the press conference. Jesus, she'd even found him attractive. Not now. He was remote and cold and maybe something worse. She shivered.

“Yes, I promised you the truth.” He hesitated and gestured to the empty chair. After she sat, he said, “I've done terrible things.” His voice was matter-­of-­fact but tinged with unexpected sadness. “I killed those girls. You read the diaries. You know that now. Soon, everyone will know.”

“Bu-­but why?”

“I had my reasons. Reasons my mother couldn't understand, wouldn't understand.”

The words spilled out then, every detail. He didn't spare her feelings or stop when she gasped in horror. He kept talking in a measured and detached tone. She didn't want to listen, but she did. After an hour, he finished and a chill stole over Julia's body. He'd laid it all out, told her everything. She sat perfectly still.

“You understand you can't be allowed to live?”

Her lips moved, but she couldn't speak, nodding instead.

“I'm sorry.” He stood slowly, his eyes glowing in the gray light. Julia gasped at the heavy rope in his hands. “I'm so sorry.”

 

Chapter Sixty-­Two

H
E DROVE EAST,
sipping convenience store coffee. He passed the exit for Little Springs and the next two for the college. A few miles later, he pulled off, turning onto a narrow route that led to the hunting and fishing lodge on the mountain. Julia's compact four-­cylinder strained at the incline, and he pressed the gas to the floor. The road was narrow and bumpy, well suited for trucks and SUVs, not cheap rental cars. He pulled into the gravel parking lot, which was less than half full. He parked at the far end, farthest from the lodge and near the tree line.

He got out of the car and looked down the mountain, his eyes following the path of the water. The first girl, Cheryl Fornak, had been found there, at the bottom of the trail, on the banks of the Thompson River. He remembered her well. They'd met at a college bar and dated briefly. She'd been pretty and energetic in a chirpy, singsong way that at first had seemed pleasant but turned grating after a short while. Still, he hadn't anticipated the way it would end. Even when he'd seen the life slip from her eyes and felt her body relax under the pressure of his hands, he'd felt almost nothing. A life ended seemed like no big deal. Later, he'd thought maybe it wasn't nothing he'd felt, but rather the absence of anything. Was he was trying to fill an emptiness? It didn't matter now. He'd long ago accepted he wasn't normal. It wasn't an excuse. It was a fact. The emptiness could never be filled. It had grown until it was the only thing. It was part of him. He gazed down at the trail lined with tall trees. In another few weeks, the trees would be bare, their gnarled branches shorn of leaves. He'd be gone by then. He had to fix everything now. It was the only way.

He opened the trunk and removed a fishing rod, a tackle box, and a large black backpack. He slung the pack over his shoulder. The weight of it pressed into his back as he reached in to grab another jacket. It would grow colder as the day wore on, and it was not a short hike down the mountain. He raised his face to the sky, glad to see the clouds moving in. Rain would suit his purposes well. A ­couple of men came out of the lodge. Baseball hat pulled low, he spun around and busied himself inside the trunk. When he heard the engine rev and the men drive away, he slammed the trunk closed. He stood for a moment. Both Little Springs and the college were barely visible in the haze. He turned toward the thick trees and the trail signs. He would stay on foot.

He took the blue trail, the most difficult and least traveled. He pulled out the cell phone he'd purchased shortly after his release. He'd stored only a few numbers, but they were the ones that mattered. Julia's name appeared near the top of the short list. He shook his head. He didn't want to think about her. To clear his mind, he breathed in and out, pushing away everything that could distract him. A frigid wind blew across the mountain, ruffling the branches. He threw his head back, letting the wind blow his jacket from his shoulders. He put the phone back in his pocket and picked up his pace. It was time.

 

Chapter Sixty-­Three

“A
RE YOU SURE
you don't want to come with us?” Allison asked.

Nikki shook her head, loose curls swinging. “You know I'm not big on church, what with my dad and all. Besides, you should spend time with your parents without me tagging along.” She lay on the twin bed, stretching her long arms and legs under a quilt. She glanced at the clock. Ser­vices would start soon. Allison wore a dark brown dress, brown boots, and her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail—­just right for ser­vices at St. Benedict Catholic Church. “You look nice,” she said.

“Thanks.” Allison hesitated. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but I wish you wouldn't stay here alone.”

Nikki smiled. She'd known Allison since their first day at Blue Hill, one of the only friends who seemed to understand her issues with religion and her famous father. She didn't treat Nikki like a freak or a celebrity. Best of all, she didn't want anything from her. A thoughtful and quiet girl, she rarely voiced her opinion, but when she did, Nikki listened. This time, however, she wasn't concerned. The gun she'd taken was in her book bag, loaded, and she knew how to use it.

“You'll be gone for what? An hour? I'll be fine. I promise to lock all the doors. Anyway, no one knows I'm here, remember?” Allison did not look convinced. “And if you want, I'll make pancakes for you and your parents while you're gone.”

“Geez, Nik. Why do you always have to be so stubborn? You shouldn't be alone.”

“I'll be fine. I promise.”

“I don't know. It doesn't feel right.”

“I may be stubborn, but you're a worrier.” Nikki sat up and tossed a pillow at her friend's head with a laugh. “I'll make blueberry. Your favorite.”

Allison smiled then. “Oh, all right. You win. I'll tell my mom and dad.”

When they'd gone, Nikki went down the stairs to the kitchen, her backpack on her shoulder. She welcomed the extra weight of the gun, grateful to have it nearby. He'd followed her before, she was sure. He'd been watching her. Maybe he knew she was there. She'd read up on him. He was a smart man. He could even be watching her right now. A shiver shot up her spine, and she tightened her grip on the bag. Then she shook her head. She was being ridiculous. He couldn't possibly know where she was. Allison and all her worries were getting to her.

She let her hand drop and checked her cell phone. Frowning, she saw four new messages, one from her mother and three from her dad. She clicked on her mother's first, read it and responded.

I'm fine, Mom. I'm sorry I can't come home.

She paused, then added,

I love you and hope you understand. Don't worry.

She went back to the list of texts. Squaring her shoulders, she read her father's messages.

I'm thinking you should come home. Let us know when we can expect you.

An hour later, he had typed:

Haven't heard from you. Phoned President Sinclair. I know they've evacuated campus. You should be home by now. Don't let me down.

And then:

You are making me look bad. Everyone knows what's going on there. A loving daughter would be home with her family. You're hurting your mother, you know. Get home NOW!

She almost laughed at his desperation, using her mother that way, but her amusement faded. Nikki wasn't afraid anymore. She did feel badly about not being with her mother, but not for the reasons he implied. Her mother could leave at any time. Nikki had begged her to more than once. She silenced her phone and tossed it on the counter. No way would she give him the satisfaction of a response.

Searching the cabinets, Nikki found a large bowl and pancake supplies. She flipped on the TV that stood perched on a corner of the counter to cut the quiet. The first station was televising a religious ser­vice. She changed the channel twice more. Groaning, she recognized a preacher on the third station, a long-­time friend of her dad's. Apparently, Allison's family did not have cable in the kitchen. She hit the off button and put her headphones in her ears. The music lightened her step around the kitchen. Relaxing, she slipped the backpack from her shoulder and laid it on the counter near the bowl. She unzipped it and pulled the gun to the top, leaving the bag open. She smiled. Allison wouldn't be so worried if she knew Nikki had a gun only an arm's length away.

She heated up the griddle and mixed flour, eggs, and milk. She added vanilla and folded in a cup of blueberries. When the batter was smooth, she dribbled water on the hot pan. When it popped, she spooned on batter and waited for the bubbles on top before flipping, the way her mother had taught her.

Nikki sang along with the song playing in her ears, waving the spatula in the air. Wiggling her hips, she tapped her foot in time with the beat. A moment later, her feet were taken out from under her, and the spatula flew across the room. One strong arm held her at the waist. She screamed, but a large hand over her mouth muffled any sound. Wild-­eyed, she reached for her backpack. He jerked her body upward, and her fingers found the edge of the mixing bowl. It skidded across the counter, landing on the floor in a puddle of batter and broken glass. She picked up her right foot and brought it up hard against his knee.

Her headphones were ripped from her ears and the music player clattered to the floor. She brought her foot up again, but before she could make contact, he picked her up and threw her to the floor, her head slamming into the tile. In the seconds before she lost consciousness, she reached up, her fingers clawing at empty air.