Chapter 35
To Do:
- Plan a vacation. For real this time.
- Email Dr. W for clarification on anniversary date
A barbed wirefence surrounded the walls of the penitentiary. A line of crows huddled together on the guard tower, cawing wistfully into the humid afternoon. A handful of inmates stood on a cracked asphalt basketball court. They stared, utterly still, as Luke’s car entered the grounds. Claire had not yet acquired a new car, and something about the idea of driving a van promoting “Happily Ever Afters” to a prison seemed a little too macabre.
After the explosive family dinner, Claire had decided to try honesty with Luke. She told him the truth about her visit to Barney in prison and her fears about ESA. He hadn’t taken any notes or even mentioned the documentary in light of her revelation. Maybe he had left the real Luke in California.
Her palms grew sweaty, and her heart throbbed in her throat. She slid down in her seat, avoiding the gaze of the inmates. There was no use in pretending this wasn’t going to happen. She was minutes away from facing her almost-killer. Was she ready? Could someone ever really be ready for something like this?
“It’s okay,” Luke said, reaching across the gap and squeezing her knee. “He’ll be in cuffs. The guards will be in there with you.”
She stared at him. “Yeah, and so will your mom. It’s bad enough being in a twelve-by-twelve concrete room with one person who wants to me dead, let alone two.”
“She doesn’t want you dead.” He cracked a smile. He had shown up that morning with a new haircut that, in spite of the current state of affairs, kindled something below her belt.
“That’s comforting.” She hurriedly checked her hair and makeup in the mirror. It was no use; she still looked like a sleep-deprived banshee. She had planned to face Barney looking calm and unaffected, but apparently that wasn’t in the cards.
Luke parked by a line of black sedans and unmarked police cars. Claire stepped out and slammed her door. Several of the prisoners whistled, but she didn’t acknowledge them.
“Well, if it isn’t Officer Absentia,” Luke muttered, waving at Officer Schiccitano. He sat in the front seat of a cruiser, pretending to read the newspaper. He nodded at them. A barely visible earpiece nestled in his ear.
Claire nudged him. “Hey. He does his best. The police have limited resources. He can’t watch me all the time.”
“Claire.” A masculine voice came from behind her.
She jumped. How did her father move so silently? And why hadn’t she inherited that ability? Dishes rattled in her kitchen when she walked by. He was like a panther.
“Jack.”
“Thank you for being here today,” he said, reaching for a handshake. She returned the gesture without comment. He had neglected to mention his wife’s dietary restrictions and drawn a gun during her dinner party. There was no need to be overly nice. “You’ll be in a conference room with Mr. Windsor and his attorney. A couple of guards will be present, too, but that’s it. The rest of us will be observing remotely.”
“Including Luke? You promised.”
Jack sighed. “Yes, including Luke. Here’s a tablet and pencil if you want to take notes, but you’ll want to keep all other belongings in the car. Phone, keys, wallet. Visiting rules are strict.”
Luke popped the trunk, and Claire tossed her purse inside. Leaving her lifeline to the world in a hot trunk surrounded by prisoners. No big deal. Their current clients had been instructed to contact Mindy for the day if needed, but you never knew when a proposal disaster might strike.
“Deception, control, body locations,” she whispered to herself, averting her gaze from the inmates on the basketball court. “Should have done my power stance.”
“Shall we?” Jack asked.
She nodded. Luke placed his hand on the small of her back and walked her to the entrance of the prison.
Jack opened the doors. There was desperation in the stale air. Cheap cleaning supplies mingled with high school gym smell. They were immediately faced with a metal detector. Claire walked through. She had diligently studied the visiting guidelines on the website and purposefully worn a bra without an underwire. She didn’t have time to be aggressively patted down by a handsy guard.
The rest of her crew passed through without incident. A bored-looking guard sat at a desk underneath a flickering fluorescent light.
“Name.” He was so gruff that it didn’t even sound like a question.
Claire identified herself, provided her ID, and signed in. Her heart rate climbed the deeper they went into the prison. They walked down a dimly lit hallway. A guard at another desk met her and escorted her to a small conference room. She turned back to look at Luke as she passed through the door. He nodded at her, and then she was alone.
Claire sat on the edge of a conference chair, gripping the yellow legal pad in front of her like a shield. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears. Her foot tapped incessantly, echoing in the small room.
The sound of stilettos came from the hallway. Ugh. She was coming. The dragon lady herself. The door opened, and Rachel Islestorm stalked into the room. She dropped her briefcase onto the table and pulled out an identical yellow legal pad.
“Claire,” she said simply. At least she had gotten her name right this time.
“Rachel,” Claire responded. Neither of them moved to shake hands. Claire sat her notepad down and crossed her arms over her chest.
The door opened again, and Claire flinched. Two uniformed security guards walked in wearing night sticks and stun guns. Each had a stoic expression. There was only one person left to arrive.
Outside, chains clinked together. Her heart rate went from galloping to full-on hummingbird, and the pencil she held snapped in half. She forced herself to breathe. She would not give Barney the satisfaction of dissolving into a full-blown panic attack just because his stupid ass walked down a hallway. Maybe she should have tried some of her stepmother’s hokey lavender oils. Or vodka.
The clinking and shuffling grew closer. Her fingers gripped the conference table as she breathed and tried to rearrange her facial expression.
Finally the shuffling feet dragged themselves around the corner of the doorway, and Claire came face-to-face with the man who stalked, abducted, and tortured her. The prison orange hung from his gaunt frame.
What was that smell? Fresh drywall and a dirt floor? But this prison was old. The memories of that night in the parking garage swamped her. She flinched, expecting the scratch of wedding dress lace against her skin, the burn of her arms bound in rope. The walls were closing in, weren’t they?
She gripped the arms of her chair so tightly that her knuckles ached.
“Claire,” he said with a skeevy smile.
“Bernard.” Her voice didn’t shake. Ha, suck it.
She forced herself to loosen her grip and erase what must have been a pained look from her face. She could do this. He had already failed to kill her once. And she knew more than he thought.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet me today,” he said, shooting a glance at his lawyer. “Ah, Rachel. I would introduce you, but I guess you two already know each other?”
So he had hired her because she was Luke’s mom. That was underhanded even for a psychopath.
Rachel grunted and leaned back in her chair. Barney sat next to her, directly across from Claire. He smirked, but it didn’t reach his cold, steely eyes. He trained them on Claire, and a lead fist dropped into her stomach.
Rachel cleared her throat. “Mr. Windsor, as we previously agreed, you’re not to discuss the trial or the event leading up to it.”
Barney gave Rachel a passing glance before turning his dead fish eyes back to Claire.
“You’re probably wondering why I’ve asked you here.”
Claire leaned back in her seat, drummed the stub of her pencil against the notepad. “I don’t really care why you asked me here. I’m only here because the FBI strongly suggested it.”
“A pawn, of course. How true to your nature.”
She bristled, leaning forward again. “You know nothing about my nature.”
“Oh, but I do,” Barney said, inspecting his fingernails. “You forget, I watched you for months. I know which orange juice you buy, your favorite ice cream shops, which video game your nephew is currently playing.”
“Mr. Windsor,” Rachel interrupted.
He glared at her with cold fury in his eyes before shifting back to Claire. “I know your clothing sizes. I probably paid more attention to you than that boyfriend of yours ever did. Not that you were worthy of it.”
Even though he wasn’t in the room, Claire could swear she felt tension radiating from Luke. She stared right back at Barney. “Congratulations on your complete lack of hobbies. What’s this about, Barney? I don’t have time to listen to your weird brags. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve won.”
Barney laughed, and Claire jumped. The sound was unnatural, almost animal. She clenched one fist under the table.
“You haven’t won at all. You know as well as I do that this is far from over.”
Aha!He had basically admitted to knowing that she was still being targeted.
“Please. There’s a mountain of evidence that’s going to land you major prison time for trying to kill me. And then, while you’re incarcerated, they’ll come up with a plan to charge you with six other murders.” She took a sip of water from the plastic cup the guard had brought and sat back in her chair. “Pretty sure that means I’ve won.”
Barney raised an eyebrow. “In case you haven’t noticed, I haven’t been tried for any of them. It’s pretty hard to charge someone with murder without a body or a murder weapon.” He leaned forward and stared at her intently.
Her skin crawled, but she met his unforgiving gaze.
“Have you felt safe in your bed since that night in the parking garage?”
“Mr. Windsor,” Rachel said sharply.
He ignored her and continued. “Do you sleep soundly? Can you walk down the street without looking over your shoulder?” His voice was quiet, dangerous.
Rachel sighed and tossed her legal pad back into her briefcase. She sat straight as a nail and stared at something on the table. Her expression wasn’t as severe as it had been on entry.
He smirked, leaned closer, and propped his elbows on the table. “Do you still like to read for an hour before bed?”
Claire bristled. That was enough of this shit. “Tell me why I’m here, or I’m leaving. Did you just want to observe your greatest failure up close and in person, or is there something else?”
The mask of calm had started to slip from his face. His eyes bulged slightly, and his face was turning red. His gaze moved from her face to her collar. They were probing desperately.
“I want to see your scar,” he said.
Gross.
“Why?” Claire said flatly, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I just need to see it.” His hands reached as if to tug her collar aside himself. One of the guards rapped on Barney’s chair with his nightstick.
“If you show it to me, I will give you one body location,” he added.
“Mr. Windsor,” Rachel warned.
“Shut it,” he hissed at her.
Claire glanced at the camera blinking in the corner of the room. Images of Kayley Herrold’s family weeping on camera, begging for information, sprang into her mind. Barney was definitely trying to manipulate her, even as he sat in chains. But this was what she signed up for. Closure for the families was worth more than a moment of lost dignity.
“How do I know you won’t lie?”
“What’s the point in lying? You’re so confident that I’ll be in prison for the rest of my life,” he said, gesturing to the handcuffs that bound his wrists.
She didn’t believe him for a second. But she had to try. Since it looked like he was willing to cooperate with a body location, maybe it was time for her to extend a small olive branch to Luke. Not much about Barney’s childhood was public record. Some probing questions could make a real difference in the documentary.
“All right. I’ll let you see the scar. But first,” Claire began, holding her stub of pencil to the notepad, “I’d like you to tell me about your mother.”
Rachel looked up from the table and narrowed her eyes. Barney blinked in surprise, finally breaking his unwavering eye contact.
“My mother? Why?”
“I’m just trying to understand why you are the way you are.” Claire tried to sound nonchalant as she scribbled on the legal pad. “Call it a morbid curiosity. What was your childhood like?”
Barney stiffened, eyes still probing her collar.
“I answer your questions, and then you show me the scar.”
“You answer my questions, you tell me the body location, and then I’ll show you the scar,” Claire ordered. “Was she a nurturing mother?” She continued, broken pencil poised. She shot a glance at Rachel, who was busy rolling her eyes at the concrete walls.
He scoffed. “She was too busy working to be a nurturing mother.”
“What does she do?” she asked even though she already knew the answer.
“She’s a nurse.”
“That explains why she worked so much. That’s a very demanding career.”
“I suppose. It’s one of the Acceptables,” he said, sounding as though he was questioning everything he knew.
Acceptables? What fresh hell was this? “What do you mean, one of the ‘Acceptables?’”
“One of the five acceptable feminine careers.”
Claire steeled herself. The misogyny was already taking center stage. “There are only five?”
“Yes. Hospitality, teaching, nursing, secretary, and retail,” he said, ticking them off on his abnormally long fingers. “And being a stay-at-home mother, of course. Telling men how to woo women is not on that list, incidentally.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “Remind me. Who hired me to plan your proposal?”
Barney glowered and declined to respond.
“Who decided these were the only acceptable careers for women?” Maybe a different tactic would get the answer she wanted.
“Someone much wiser than you.”
Time to twist the knife. “Did your mother teach you to sew?”
“I don’t sew.” He looked offended by the very thought.
“Sure you do. I vividly remember the charming quilt you made out of your victim’s undergarments. I specifically remember you zooming in to show me the pair that said ‘Slut’ in sparkly gold letters. I’m going to take a wild guess that those belonged to Courtney. Was the quilt hand stitched or machine quilted? Either way, really unique work. It must be hard to get those patches just right.”
His cold eyes burned, but he didn’t say anything.
“So, your mother was a single mom.”
“Yes, and I was a child born out of an affair with a married man. He paid her to terminate her pregnancy, but instead she took the money and lied. She kept me. Lucky me.”
“You didn’t have a happy childhood?”
“I found some joy here and there. I liked animals. I liked killing them more. It was good practice.”
Rachel pursed her lips. It could have been Claire’s imagination, but it seemed like she had shifted an inch away from Barney.
Claire raised her eyebrows, made a checkmark on her tablet, and consulted the next criterion Jack had given her.
“You used to wet the bed,” she stated. It was not a question.
Barney bristled and straightened. The handcuffs on his wrists clinked together.
“Nocturia is completely normal in childhood, even in adolescence.”
“Sure, it’s normal if you’re a serial killer,” Claire muttered.
“What was that?” he snapped. His eyes bulged even wider.
“Nothing,” she said with a smile. She slowly, deliberately unbuttoned the top button of her shirt.
His hands twitched. He stared at the spot where he knew her scar was.
“Here you go.” She swept her hair off her shoulder and instead showed him the symbol of Priapus that he had carved into her neck.
“Cover it. I don’t want to see that one,” he hissed through gritted teeth. He clenched the edge of the metal table so tightly that the tension radiating across it was almost palpable.
Interesting. Maybe he and his ESA pals were less than simpatico at the moment.
“Oh, you mean the stab wound,” she said and let her hair fall back into place. Her fingers paused at her buttons. “You left me with so many charming body decorations it’s hard to pick the right one.”
She leaned forward and stared directly into the cold, hard eyes of her almost-killer.
“Tell me where the bodies are.”
“I’ll never tell.”
She glanced at her notepad. It was time to deploy some deception. Would this risk pay off, or would it be a disaster? “That’s right. You won’t. Do you want to know why?”
“What do you mean?”
“The feds have one of your friends. You know, from ESA.”
Rachel glanced up from the table. Somewhere in the building, Jack Hartley was probably throwing a chair through a window.
Barney’s nostrils flared. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do. Epsilon Sigma Alpha. The lamest frat on Venor’s campus. But anyway, the feds have picked up a—oh, what do you call them? Incinerators?”
“Eradicators,” he hissed.
Bingo. Idiot.
“Right, an eradicator. Turns out he’s taking credit for your kills.”
She held her breath. This was a gigantic, risky leap. All she had was circumstantial evidence. Was it going to pay off?
His face went from red to purple. “That’s impossible.”
Claire leaned forward. Her fingers were poised on her buttons. “As it turns out, it is possible. He’s claiming all of them. I sure hope you didn’t tell anyone where the bodies are, or nothing will stop him from taking your legacy and becoming the West Haven Widowmaker.”
Barney’s expression darkened. Silence stretched between them. The clock in the corner was practically screaming as the seconds ticked by.
“You recall Kayley Herrold,” he said.
“I do,” she said calmly, hands still on her buttons.
“Her head is buried in the state park between Victoria’s house and the West Haven Heirloom location.”
Her stomach lurched. Victoria was Barney’s fiancée. The feds had tried to use her television interview to guilt Barney into revealing body locations, but no dice.
“Where in the park?”
“I’ve given you enough.” His eye twitched.
Claire withdrew her hands, crossed her arms.
“Why so close to Victoria’s house?”
“I passed that spot every day when I drove to work. I got to relive every moment. And now I can’t because I’m in a fucking cage,” he said, almost shouting the last word.
“Where in the park is she?”
“About seventy yards off the highway, straight out from mile marker 107 on Route 45.”
Holy shit. She had done it. It was time for her to hold up her end of the bargain. She unbuttoned a second button and pulled her top to the side, exposing the place where Barney had thrust a knife into her chest.
His demeanor changed immediately. He zeroed in on her wound, then threw his head back, eyes closed for a moment. When he opened them, she recognized the same look he had had in the parking garage. Bloodthirsty. Evil. And totally sweaty.
“Get on your knees,” he spat at her.
“Excuse me?”
“On your knees. Beg me not to hurt you. And I’ll tell you where the rest of her body is.”
“Not a chance,” Claire said, standing up and pushing her chair back. She held the notepad protectively in front of her.
As the guards reached for Barney, Claire turned. Maybe there was time for one more quick probe about ESA. The feds couldn’t ignore her forever if Barney admitted to being part of the cult. Could they?
“They’re not happy with you, you know,” she said suddenly, staring at Barney.
“The feds? No, I can’t imagine they are,” he said nonchalantly. He was still staring at her collar.
“Not them. Your friends. ESA,” she said. She would show her father just how devastating a group of frat boys could be. “I caught one of them following me. What an idiot. All I had to do was tail him for a quarter mile and he gave away everything. They’re ashamed of you, just like your mother is.” She put both hands on the conference table and leaned forward. Her voice was low, but everyone in the room trained their eyes on her.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Bullshit. You wouldn’t have caught them.”
“I know they said you went rogue, ruined everything with a personal vendetta. Killed a couple of women in one of the ‘acceptable feminine careers,’ even.”
Another wild guess. Ariel had been a waitress.
“You were sloppy, and your targets were personal. You didn’t stay true to the mission. You betrayed the brotherhood and all that it stands for. No wonder they’re letting someone else take credit for your kills.”
Barney’s eyes suddenly blazed in a way that she hadn’t seen since the night of the kidnapping. His face was full-on scarlet now, and his hands shook.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, hissing like a cat backed into a corner.
“That’s why they haven’t visited you.” More assumptions—though she’d bet it was true. Her tone was mocking, though her knees were shaking. “You’re dead to them. It’s going to be awfully lonely in here without any of your buddies.”
She turned and walked to the door. “No friends, no hotels, no legacy. No power. I feel bad for you. Toodles. Don’t drop the soap.”
The knob was cold in her hand. Just a thin door separated her from freedom.
“Claire,” he shouted, trying to get out of his seat. The armed guards, who had been standing in the corner the entire time, hastily restrained him, pressing his face into the conference table.
Her stilettos struck the concrete floor as she exited the room without a backward glance. She had some misogynists to catch.