The Christopher Killer (11 page)

“That was in seventh grade.”

Jessica’s voice was dramatic. “But it hurts, you know?”

It saddened Cameryn to realize most of Rachel’s true friends had already graduated. These weren’t her real ones; they were just the curious kids who hadn’t really known Rachel, the ones who were fishing for information so they could get on a television spot.

Jessica opened the door for her and the two of them stepped into the dim hallway. The air was musty, the way buildings smelled whenever they had been closed for any length of time, but it wasn’t because it hadn’t been used. It was because Silverton’s ancient school was almost as old as the town. It possessed a gloom all its own, from dust clinging to the high foyer ceiling to the beveled windows that cast tiny rainbows against the walls.

Cameryn heard lockers slam down the hall, machine gun–like, and saw two smaller girls hurrying into the restroom. A knot of teachers eyed her, stopped talking, then dissolved into the front office.

Jessica kept the same intimate tone as they passed the drinking fountain. “Okay, now that we’re alone I’ve got to ask. Are you going to be interviewed? ’Cause if you were, I could, like, go with you.”

“I would never do that,” Cameryn said.

“Okay, don’t get so hostile, I was just trying to help. Things are going crazy, rumors are flying. Things in this town are just wild right now.”

Her ears pricked. “What do you mean—what kind of rumors?”

“One says it’s a trucker who makes a run from Durango to Ouray, and one says it’s probably an ex-priest. Then there’s a rumor that says the killer is that demented kid, Adam. I’ve been looking for him. We all have.” Her eyes searched the hallway. “I wondered if he’d show up today but so far he’s not here.”

Cameryn’s heart gave a frog-kick inside her ribs. “Why would anybody think it’s Adam?”

“Why not? Everyone knows he’s bizarre. And it’s going around that his boss fired him. Anyway, listen, if you change your mind about the TV thing”—she crooked her thumb and her index finger and held them to her mouth and ear—“call me.” Then she hurried off.

In a daze, Cameryn made her way to room 101 and slid onto her seat, a stool behind a counter lined with empty beakers. She tucked her feet behind the bottom rung. Had the story of the Adam’s pictures of Rachel already been leaked? Gossip traveled like brushfire in a small town, so he might have been branded in the exact way he feared. But then, another more sinister thought worked in her mind, unsettling her. What if the rumor was right?

The majority of kids were already in their seats. Her science teacher was speaking to them, so Cameryn shook herself and tried to focus, but he was only repeating the same lines every adult said at a time like this—they were here to help and to come to any teacher or school official if they needed to, or knew anything. Mr. Ward was tall and thin, with short hair buzzed into a square that mirrored his square jaw. The final bell shrilled and Mr. Ward droned on.

Cameryn’s mind kept drifting back to Adam. A sick feeling was spreading in the pit of her stomach. Had she been too quick to believe him when he declared his innocence? Worse, she’d left him alone in the truck with Lyric. Could her friend be in danger? Most of the time, those who knew serial killers would swear up and down that their friend could never have done it. One of the worst of them, John Wayne Gacy, had dressed up like a clown before brutally murdering over thirty young men. But Adam couldn’t have gone all around the country, leaving new victims in his wake. Unless…A new thought jarred her. Adam could be a copycat killer.

A copycat. It was possible. The Christopher Killer had been in every magazine and paper for the last year. It wouldn’t have been hard for Adam to read the details. Other thoughts worked in the corners of her mind, like spiders in the dark. Adam had a photo lab, which meant he worked with chemicals. Could something used in the process cause that faint stain she’d seen on Rachel’s hands? Maybe there was a link there. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

She raised her hand. “Mr. Ward,” she said. “I need to leave.”

“Not yet, please. There’s an announcement coming you should hear.”

“But—”

The intercom crackled to life and the starchy voice of Mrs. Kellogg, their principal, filled the room.

“Good morning, students, teachers, and staff. I will be brief. As all of you undoubtedly know, we have lost one of our own. The memory of Rachel Geller will include all the good and generous things she has done, for her family, her school, and her community.”

Mr. Ward listened, head bowed as if in prayer.

Cameryn glanced around the room again, and this time she noticed the other students, the girls hunched over, seemingly ready to cry while the boys stared ahead, their faces blank. Iggy, a large iguana kept in a glass aquarium, raised his head to the warming light
.
With one eye he seemed to stare at Cameryn; he blinked, then stretched his creped neck toward the manufactured sun. Beyond his tank sat a row of three computers hooked to the Internet.

Cameryn raised her hand again. “Mr. Ward?” she whispered loudly. “Could I at least go online really quick?” She had it in mind to check out the chemicals used to process film. But Mr. Ward shook his head no and held his finger to his lips.

“…because of the distressing nature of this occurrence, I have decided to dismiss school for the rest of the day, as well as tomorrow.”

An eruption rose then, from her class and down the hall—cheering, clapping, and an occasional “Shut up, I’m trying to hear” from other students whose classroom door had been left open as well.

Finally the bell was rung, class was dismissed, and school, such as it was, was over. Hurrying out of the building, Cameryn rushed into the parking lot to the tucked-away spot Adam had parked the truck. It was still beneath a stand of pine trees in the corner lot, almost hidden by a brown Dumpster. Half-running, Cameryn went to the passenger side and knocked on the window.

“Oh my—you scared me stiff!” Lyric cried. “Don’t sneak up like that—I almost had a coronary. What happened—did they call off school?”

Ignoring the question, Cameryn asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Lyric frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be? Hurry, get in the truck. Adam and I were talking and I think I’ve got a plan. It’s genius.”

Adam still wore his haunted look, his skin paled to the point of translucence. “Lyric says it’ll work,” he said. “But I don’t know.”

“Of course it will work,” Lyric said. “There’s only one way to prove he’s completely innocent, and that’s to find out who’s guilty. And I just realized the answer is at the Grand, right this very minute. See, Dr. Jewel has been talking with Rachel’s spirit. I know how that kind of energy works. So does Adam. I think Rachel will talk to us and tell us who killed her.”

Cameryn recoiled. “Oh, come
on
!”

“I got us in!” Lyric said, barely containing her excitement. “Tomorrow morning, first thing, we’re going to
Shadow of Death
for a reading with Dr. Jewel.”

“I’M SORRY, KIDS, THE GRAND’S
closed. No one’s allowed in here unless they’re with the show,” a large man said, his arms folded across his thickly muscled chest. He wore a business suit with a silver nametag on his lapel that read
PAUL PACHECO
. Olive-complected, Paul had thinning black hair that had been combed straight back. His bull neck seemed to rise out of his shoulders, while his biceps strained against the suit’s fabric, creating tiny accordion pleats and a gaping lapel. He stepped in front of the door to block it.

“But we’re supposed to be in there!” Lyric protested. “I got clearance!”

“Yeah?” Paul thrust out his chin. “From who?”

“From Dr. Jewel. My mom, Daphne Larson, called yesterday and we’ve been invited to a private reading. Go ask Dr. Jewel if you don’t believe me!”

Paul’s face relaxed. “Oh, yeah, yeah, Daphne—I met her earlier. Nice lady. You should’ve said something right off.” Pressing into the door with his shoulder, he explained, “Half the town’s trying to get in there and Jewel’s not ready for the public. But you guys go right on in.” With a small bow he swept the three of them inside.

“Wow,” Cameryn breathed when she stepped inside the restaurant, “it’s so different in here. George must have done this for the television show. I can’t believe the transformation!”

It was no longer dim inside the Grand. Bright, incandescent light flooded every corner. Poles with lights on top lined the walls, like rows of giant sunflowers, and the air seemed to vibrate in their cast-off heat. Cameryn’s boss had removed all the tables and reset the seats so that the front section of the restaurant had rows fifteen chairs deep and ten chairs wide, complete with an aisle planted right down the center. Beyond the chairs, Cameryn could see the back section of the restaurant, decked out like a talk-show set. Four plush chairs the color of plums had been dragged in from the hotel side of the Grand, and a table in the background bloomed with flowers so tall they seemed to fan the ceiling. Two huge cameras hunkered in the corners. A black woman paced back and forth, reviewing notes. Daphne was nowhere to be seen.

The black woman looked up and eyed them coolly. “Can I help you?”

“You—you’re Stephanie Kinde, aren’t you?” Lyric asked, obviously starstruck. “I watch your program all the time. Wow—you’re a lot smaller in person than I thought you’d be!”

The woman was petite, reed-thin, and perfectly dressed, with her hair pulled back in a knot so tight her scalp gleamed like black silk. She wore a well-tailored navy suit with a crisp white blouse. A string of pearls encircled her neck and two more pearls dotted her small lobes. Chopstick hairpins had been stabbed through the bun, each pearl-tipped, and Cameryn thought they made her look as though she had some sort of antenna, perhaps to better channel the voices of the dead.

“Who are you?” the woman demanded.

Lyric flushed. “Uh, I’m Lyric Larson, and this is Cameryn Mahoney and Adam Stinson. We’re here for a reading with Dr. Jewel.”

The coolness vanished and the woman broke into a sudden smile. “Oh yes, you’re with Daphne—she just stepped out for a moment to get some tea. Welcome to
Shadow of Death
,” she said, extending her hand to Lyric, who pumped it enthusiastically, to Adam, and then to Cameryn, who felt Stephanie’s nails dig into her palm, clawlike. “Please, have a seat and I’ll let Dr. Jewel know you’re here. You do understand that he’s a very busy man and won’t be able to talk too long. We’re interviewing with NBC later today.”

“Oh, we know that,” Lyric said. “We just need to get in touch with Rachel’s spirit.”

“Then you’ve come to the right place,” Stephanie answered. “Dr. Jewel has spoken to Rachel on several occasions since she first came to him in Santa Fe, and she has a lot to say about what happened to her. Later today we’ll film a full show, but after speaking to your mother Dr. Jewel wanted to offer you a private reading. Would you mind if we filmed your session?”

“Film—like, in
film
you might use on your show?” Lyric gasped.

“Yes, as in our show. Of course, depending on what happens we may or may not use it. We just like to record the doctor’s private readings. Our crew can set up quickly and you’ll hardly know they’re there. What do you say?”

“Absolutely!” Lyric, once again, answered for them all.

“Excellent. Wait here and I’ll be right back.” With that, Stephanie turned on a stiletto heel and disappeared though the door that connected the restaurant to the Grand Hotel.

Adam bit his lip nervously. “You didn’t tell anyone we were coming here, did you?” he asked.

“No,” Lyric replied. “Just my mom. I had to because she’s the one who could get us in here.”

“What about you, Cameryn?”

“I didn’t tell anyone, either.” There was no way Cameryn wanted to admit to anyone she was here. Once again delayed, her father was scheduled to come home that afternoon, and the two of them had more important issues to deal with than psychics. If her mammaw knew, she’d just give her grief. No, Cameryn had thought it best to keep this under wraps.

Adam looked relived. “Good,” he said.

It was then that Cameryn realized he had on the same outfit he’d worn yesterday. His hair looked grimy and unwashed, his clothes seemed rumpled. “You haven’t been home, have you?” Cameryn asked.

“I swung home quick and grabbed a sleeping bag and some food, and then I stayed in my truck. I figure the sheriff has to find me to arrest me.”

“I already told you, Sheriff Jacobs won’t arrest you for having pictures.”
Or anything else,
she silently added. Last night she’d been busy on her own Internet search, looking up chemicals used in processing film. She’d discovered silver halide crystals, hydroquinone, catechols, and aminophenols, none of which produced either a brown tint on the skin or a garlic smell. It relieved her to find no links between Adam and the murder, but still, she felt wary of him. And that feeling extended beyond Adam—she was also extremely skeptical of any so-called “help” Dr. Jewel could provide. But everyone else was a believer. This morning she was very much the odd girl out.

“So, isn’t this exciting?” Lyric asked. “If you ever watched
Shadow of Death
, Cammie, you’d realize Stephanie’s a real psychic, too. She helps Dr. Jewel on his show.”

“It she’s a real psychic then why did we have to introduce ourselves?” Cameryn quipped, unwilling to get sucked in.

“I don’t know.” Narrowing her eyes, Lyric said, “Don’t start, okay?”

“I’m just saying that if Stephanie was a true psychic then she should have
known
you were Lyric and I was Cameryn.”

“You’re not going to be so cynical when Dr. Jewel arrives, are you?” a voice from behind her asked. Turning, Cameryn looked directly into Daphne Larson’s smiling face. “Darling,” she said, “you must remember that psychic energy is drained away by unbelief. You’ve always been such a closed shell. You’ve got to open your mind, Cammie. We can’t have your negativity affecting the reading.”

Daphne was an older version of her daughter. A heavy woman with fleshy arms, Lyric’s mother had encased herself in a tie-dyed blue-and-green muumuu that reached all the way to her sandals, which she wore year-round. Brightly colored beads cascaded down her chest like a waterfall, and her hair, long and white, curled wildly to the middle of her back. Although Cameryn didn’t believe half of what Daphne said, she liked her. She always made Cameryn feel welcome, freely offering her an abundance of natural food from her kitchen, including piles of cookies made from honey and raw milk and steaming mugs of herbal tea. Daphne insisted on being called by her first name because she claimed age should never be a barrier to friendship. “You may be young in years, Cameryn,” Daphne often told her, “but you’re an old soul.”

“Don’t worry, Daphne,” Cameryn assured her now, “I’ll behave myself. I promise. I know if it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t even be here.”

“I’m glad you appreciate that. I’ve contributed to Jewel for years, and when I told them we needed help, the
Shadow of Death
crew was right there. His private readings are normally booked years in advance.”

Stephanie reappeared then with release forms to sign, which the three of them did. A couple of ponytailed cameramen rolled out cameras and positioned themselves. Stephanie directed Cameryn to the audience chairs, Adam and Lyric to the stage chairs. More lights were pointed on Adam, who looked nervous, and Lyric, who seemed ready to burst with excitement. A moment later, Daphne joined Cameryn in the audience, which left her two friends staring at the cameras, anxious and expectant.

“You guys ready?” Stephanie asked.

“Absolutely!” Lyric replied.

Adam didn’t look as sure, but he nodded. His eyes, still lined with smudges of kohl, seemed too large in his face. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m ready.”

Stephanie became all-business. “What’s going to happen now is we’re going to film this like we would a regular taping of
Shadow of Death
.” Without breaking eye contact, she made a slight motion with her hand. A plump woman in a smock hurried to where they stood and began to powder Adam’s face.

“As you know,” Stephanie went on, “some of our shows are broadcast live, particularly after a conference like the one we had in Santa Fe. In that case we wanted to help the police find Rachel’s remains as quickly as possible. Most shows, however, are taped. That’s what will happen here. Remember, we may or may not use any of what we’re going to film now—that all depends on how compelling the reading is. So, on your part, try to pay attention and stay open to the messages from beyond.”

“What do you mean?” Adam asked. Then, to the makeup woman, he whispered,
“Stop!”

“I mean when Dr. Jewel says something that makes sense to you, for heaven’s sake,
acknowledge
him.” She pursed her lips. “In terms of a show, there’s nothing worse than doing a reading on nonresponsive people. Can you show enthusiasm?”

“I watch
Shadow of Death
all the time and I know exactly what to do,” said Lyric, who eagerly turned her face to the makeup woman’s brush. “I’m ready.”

Stephanie smiled. “Good.” She smoothed her skirt and turned to the closest camera while one of the ponytailed men behind it counted down on his fingers. When he got to only one, Stephanie’s smooth features lit up. “Welcome to a private meeting with world-renowned psychic, paranormal expert, and spiritualist,
Dr. Raymond Jewel
!”

Daphne pumped her hands together so hard her fleshy arms jiggled in waves. To Cameryn she whispered, “Whether you believe it or not, Dr. Jewel’s the real deal. Watch and learn.”

And then, to the side, a door swung open, and Dr. Jewel swept into the room. Like Stephanie, he was shorter than he appeared on TV. Jewel’s face was handsome even though his too-tanned skin had turned the color of saddle leather. Steel-gray hair, combed straight back, hung past the collar of some sort of tunic, and he wore jeans and moccasins with beaded flaps. He looked like an old hippie, only the kind with money. One detail of his appearance shouted Hollywood: When he smiled, his teeth were too white and square, like the row of bleached tile behind her grandmother’s sink. He must have paid a lot for that smile.

“Lyric, Adam, welcome to
Shadow of Death
,” Jewel said, open-armed. He leaned in and air-kissed Lyric, once on each cheek, gripped Adam’s hand hard enough to make him wince, and then graciously acknowledged his audience of two. He had a performer’s voice. Despite Cameryn’s vow to keep an open mind, her first impression was that she didn’t like the man. Perhaps he had the power to read her thoughts because from that moment on he ignored her.

Dropping into a chair, he trained his professional gaze onto Lyric. “Tell me about yourself,” he asked softly. “I’m listening.”

“Uh, what do you want me to say?” Lyric asked.

“Whatever comes to your mind.” He was smiling, relaxed. “There’s no right or wrong here. I just want to get a bead on your energy.”

For the next fifteen minutes, Dr. Jewel went from Lyric to Adam to Lyric again, probing them, and Cameryn guessed he was making mental notes, gaining their confidence. As they answered he watched them with keen eyes. Finally he said, “We’ve had a good visit here, but I think it’s time we move on. We’re going to begin taping now.” He signaled to the cameramen and the red lights of the cameras blinked on. “So, why don’t you tell me why you’re here. Who do you want to contact on the other side?”

Lyric, as usual, was the first to answer. “I’m—we’re here to reach Rachel, the Silverton girl who got killed. Murdered. She was a friend of mine. Of
ours
.” Cameryn could tell Lyric was nervous because her voice was unnaturally high, as if she’d taken a hit of helium.

“And why do you want to speak to her?”

“Because I want to see if she’ll tell you who the real killer is. An innocent person might be accused and I want to help him. I know he didn’t do it.” She looked at Adam, then back to Jewel. “If you lead the police to the real killer, then my friend will be off the hook. It’s really important that you help us find the real killer.”

“I see you have a compassionate heart,” Jewel said.

Lyric blushed. “Thank you. You’ve talked to Rachel before, right? She appeared to you in Santa Fe.”

“Yes, Rachel has spoken to me. And I can tell you that Rachel is safely over on the other side. She’s in the light. Your friend has crossed through the shadow of death.”

“I knew she’d made it,” Lyric exclaimed. “Will she mind coming back? Can you contact her now?”

“I can try. Of course you realize my gift doesn’t allow me to just place an order and have the correct spirit appear. I can ask for Rachel, but other energies are usually trying to get through as well.” Then he trained his eyes on Adam. “But before I try, I have an impression about you. I don’t mean to be offensive, but—are you the friend who is in trouble?”