Chapter 81
When I wake up, my vision is disjointed and out of sync. As the drug-induced haze clears, I see that I’m sitting in another chair, this time in my apartment on the fourth floor.
I’m surprised they haven’t killed me . . . yet. I’m also surprised to discover that I’m still not restrained.
Jennifer is sitting on the sofa, facing me. She’s holding a pistol. We’re alone, but Jennifer soon dispels any notion I might have to flee.
“The gun is self-explanatory,” she says.
“But you should also know that the apartment door is locked, and you won’t be able to open it.
Likewise, the slider leading out onto the balcony.
Catherine and Ron had some unique modifications made to this apartment when they renovated the building, and I assure you that escape is impossible.
There’s no way out of this room for you. ”
“Where are the others?” I ask. My throat is dry and a dull ache throbs behind my eyes, which I suspect is thanks to the drug they administered.
“They’ll be here soon enough.” The gun rests in Jennifer’s lap. “You need to be awake for what comes next.”
“You drugged me, then waited for me to wake up, just so you can kill me?”
“We need you conscious before you die; otherwise it won’t look right.”
“You people are nuts.” I glance toward the door, even though I believe what Jennifer’s just told me.
Not that it matters. I’d never make it that far.
Unless Jennifer hesitates to shoot me, because I’m not convinced that she has what it takes, but I’m not quite willing to test that assumption.
“I’m not responsible for what my father did. And anyway, he was just doing his job.”
“Ah, yes. An answer used to justify so many atrocities.” Jennifer sighs deeply.
“And how many atrocities have you committed?” I ask.
“What about Jacqueline Burke and Mark McGlocklin, and who knows how many other people you’ve killed in this apartment?
Because I don’t believe for one second that Jackie vanished on her way home after a night out or that Mark killed himself after having a psychotic break.
It was you and Catherine and the others, wasn’t it? ”
“I can’t deny my involvement.” There’s a note of sadness in Jennifer’s voice.
“And what was their crime?” Despite my terror, I can’t keep the disgust from my voice. “Did you kill them, too, because they were related to someone involved with the Back Bay Butcher’s trial?”
“The lead prosecutor’s daughter. The judge’s son. The jury foreperson’s granddaughter. They were all complicit in letting that bastard escape justice.” Jennifer won’t make eye contact with me as she speaks. “I wanted them to feel the pain of losing someone like that. We all did.”
Her admission takes me by surprise. They haven’t killed two people.
They’ve killed at least three. This apartment really is a slaughterhouse, and I’ve been living in it, blissfully unaware of the horrors that have occurred within its walls.
Worse, they’ve gotten away with it by hiding their crimes.
A disappearance. A suicide. Who knows how they covered up the other murder.
That explains the lack of restraints. A good pathologist might notice the marks from the rope or adhesive from the tape on my wrists and ankles and become suspicious.
“What’s your plan for me? How are you going to cover up my murder? ”
Jennifer looks back up. “They’re going to make it look like an overdose.
Prescription medication and alcohol. Eventually, someone will come looking for you.
Your parents or Sam. They’ll find you in the soaking tub.
It will look like you ran a bath, climbed in, and washed down a whole thirty-day supply of antidepressants with a bottle of wine.
A pretty easy sell, considering the miscarriage and your subsequent struggles.
There will be a suicide note, of course.
Just a few carefully chosen words typed out on your computer screen to seal the deal. ”
An undignified scene plays in my mind’s eye, of me lying naked and dead in a pool of cold bathwater. Of strangers photographing me and lifting my corpse out of the tub and putting me on a gurney. Of that being my family’s last memory of me. Sam’s last memory of me. “Why not just shoot me?”
“Two people dying the same way in the same apartment? Too obvious . . . and too messy. The last time we did that, it ruined the floorboards.”
If her words were not so chilling, they would be funny. Here we are, talking about a cold-blooded murder, and she’s worried about the floorboards. “One problem with your little plan. I don’t have a prescription for antidepressants.”
“Yes, you do. It comes in handy to have a doctor in the building. He wrote you a prescription last week after you went to him and said that you were feeling depressed.”
“Right. Like I’d go to some random doctor I barely know instead of my father. He’s a psychiatrist, remember? No one will believe it.”
“Yes, they will, because you also told him you were too embarrassed to go to your father. That you didn’t want him to know you were suffering from depression.”
“I didn’t tell him any of those things.”
“True, but no one else knows that. Trust me, Jordan, Catherine has this all figured out.” Jennifer reaches into her pocket and pulls out the photo of her daughter.
She gazes at it for a moment. “Amanda was an only child. I wanted to have another, but I couldn’t.
After two miscarriages, I gave up. She was our miracle.
Smart, too. She loved to read, majored in literature at college.
Graduated top of her class. Her dream was to be a writer.
She was working on a novel when she died, and it would’ve been so good.
I have the pages in my nightstand drawer.
I take them out sometimes and read them, because it helps me feel close to her.
That half-finished book is a little part of Amanda that no one can ever take away. ”
Despite my predicament, a lump rises in my throat. I’m all too familiar with the pain of losing a baby. This woman lost two, then had her only daughter taken away. It doesn’t give her the right to do this, though. “You’re going to kill me. Why are you telling me all this?”
“Because it’s important that you realize exactly what Philip Arthur Munson stole from us when he murdered Amanda.
He snuffed a light from this world. Someone who would have made a difference.
A beautiful soul who didn’t deserve to die.
He left a hole in our lives that can never be filled.
That’s why I’m telling you. I want you to know why Frank and I got involved in this.
We aren’t monsters. We’re just grieving parents, and I need you to understand that. ”
“Jennifer, what happened to your family is awful. What that man did to Amanda is awful. But killing me won’t get her back. It’s not going to give you the justice you desire.”
“I know.” Jennifer nods slowly and meets my gaze. “Which is why you shouldn’t have gone to Dawn and Jamie tonight. You should have kept running after you saw that apartment. You should have run as fast as you could and never come back.”