“Yes, Wayne.”
“He didn’t help much. I just needed him out of the way. You see—and this might shock you, Cope—but Ira did drugs. I had pictures and proof. If it came out, his precious camp would have been ruined. So would he.”
He smiles some more.
“So when Gil and I threatened to bring it all back,” I say, “Ira got scared. Like you said, he was somewhat addle-brained then—he was a lot worse now. Paranoia clouded his thinking. You were already serving time—Gil and I could only make things worse by bringing it all back. So Ira panicked. He silenced Gil and tried to silence me.”
Another smile from Wayne.
But there is something different in the smile now.
“Wayne?”
He doesn’t speak. He just grins. I don’t like it. I replay what I’d just said. And I still don’t like it.
Wayne keeps smiling.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re missing something, Cope.”
I wait.
“Ira wasn’t the only one who helped me.”
“I know,” I say. “Gil contributed. He tied Margot up. And my sister was there too. She helped get Margot into those woods.”
Wayne squints and puts his forefinger and thumb half-an-inch part. “You’re still missing one teensy-weensy thing,” he says. “One itsy-bitsy secret I’ve kept all these years.”
I am holding my breath. He just smiles. I break the silence.
“What?” I ask again.
He leans forward and whispers, “You, Cope.”
I can’t speak.
“You’re forgetting your part in this.”
“I know my part,” I say. “I left my post.”
“Yes, true. And if you hadn’t?”
“I would have stopped you.”
“Yes,” Wayne says, drawing out the word. “Precisely.”
I wait for more. It doesn’t come.
“Is that what you wanted to hear, Wayne? That I feel partially responsible?”
“No. Nothing that simple.”
“What then?”
He shakes his head. “You’re missing the point.”
“What point?”
“Think, Cope. True, you left your post. But you said it yourself. I planned it all out.”
He cups his hands around his mouth and his voice drops to a whisper again.
“So answer me this: How did I know you wouldn’t be at your post that night?”
Lucy and I drive out to the woods.
I already got permission from Sheriff Lowell, so the security guard, the one Muse had warned me about, just waves us through. We park in the condo lot. It is strange—neither Lucy nor I had been here in two decades. This housing development hadn’t existed back then, of course. But still, after all this time, we know just where we are.
Lucy’s father, her dear Ira, had owned all this land. He had come up here all those years ago, feeling like Magellan discovering a new world. Ira probably looked out at these woods and realized his lifelong dream: a camp, a commune, a natural habitat free from the sins of man, a place of peace and harmony, whatever, something that would hold his values.
Poor Ira.
Most crimes I see start with something small. A wife angers her husband over something inconsequential—where the remote control is, a cold dinner—and then it escalates. But in this case, it was just the opposite. Something big got the ball rolling. In the end, a crazy serial killer had started it all. Wayne Steubens’s lust for blood set everything in motion.
Maybe we all facilitated him in one way or another. Fear ended up being Wayne’s best accomplice. EJ Jenrette had taught me the power of that too—if you make people fearful enough, they will acquiesce. Only it hadn’t worked in his son’s rape case. He hadn’t been able to scare Chamique Johnson. He hadn’t been able to scare me either.
Maybe that was because I had already been scared enough.
Lucy carries flowers, but she should know better. We don’t place flowers on tombstones in our tradition. We place stones. I also don’t know who the flowers are for—my mother or her father. Probably both.
We take the old trail—yes, it is still there, though it’s pretty overgrown—to where Barrett found my mother’s bones. The hole where she lay all these years is empty. The remnants of yellow crime-scene tape blow in the breeze.
Lucy kneels down. I listen to the wind, wonder if I hear the cries. I don’t. I don’t hear anything but the hollow of my heart.
“Why did we go into the woods that night, Lucy?”
She doesn’t look up at me.
“I never really thought about that. Everyone else did. Everyone wondered how I could have been so irresponsible. But to me, it was obvious. I was in love. I was sneaking away with my girlfriend. What could be more natural than that?”
She puts the flowers down carefully. She still won’t look at me.
“Ira didn’t help Wayne Steubens that night,” I say to the woman I love. “You did.”
I hear the prosecutor in my voice. I want him to shut up and go away. But he won’t.
“Wayne said it. The murders were carefully planned—so how did he know I wouldn’t be at my post? Because it was your job to make sure that I wasn’t.”
I can see her start to grow smaller, wither.
“That’s why you could never face me,” I say. “That’s why you feel like you’re still tumbling down a hill and can’t stop. It’s not that your family lost the camp or their reputation or all the money. It’s that you helped Wayne Steubens.”
I wait. Lucy lowers her head. I stand behind her. Her face drops in her hands. She sobs. Her shoulders shake. I hear her cries, and my heart breaks in two. I take a step toward her. The hell with this, I think. This time, Uncle Sosh is right. I don’t need to know everything. I don’t need to bring it all back.
I just need her. So I take that step.
Lucy holds up a hand to stop me. She gathers herself a piece at a time.
“I didn’t know what he was going to do,” she says. “He said he’d have Ira arrested if I didn’t help. I thought…I thought he was just going to scare Margot. You know. A stupid prank.”
Something catches in my throat. “Wayne knew we got separated.”
She nods.
“How did he know?”
“He saw me.”
“You,” I say. “Not us.”
She nods again.
“You found the body, didn’t you? Margot’s, I mean. That was the blood in the journal. Wayne wasn’t talking about me. He was talking about you.”