Chapter 11
The sheeting rain thinned to a lazy drizzle outside the gazebo—the damp late March weather the perfect reflection of Connor’s mood. Brick columns encased Ben and him inside the dry structure, but the wind barreled through the open space as they waited for Simon to arrive.
“Why couldn’t we meet this guy at his place?” Connor asked as he blew into cupped hands. Hoboken was the last place he wanted to be, especially in the middle of Church Square Park. “Doesn’t he live nearby?”
“Probably has a woman or something and doesn’t want to relive his past with her around.” Ben kept his gaze focused on the few pedestrians who braved the dreary day.
Connor paced along the perimeter of the gazebo. Simon should have been here by now. Connor had enough to deal with.
“I think that’s him,” Ben tilted his head toward a man with hunched shoulders and a clipped pace.
The tall, slender man with ginger colored hair matched the pictures they’d found the night before. Dampness clung to him in a shimmering sheet, but the man didn’t seem to notice—didn’t even wipe away the moisture from around his blue eyes.
“We appreciate you coming out in this weather.” Ben kept his voice as steady as his narrowed gaze.
“No problem. If I can help find your sister, I want to. But I’m not sure what an accident I had eleven years ago will do for you.” Simon rubbed his hands over the long sleeves of his striped sweater, the puffer vest he wore clearly not enough to keep him warm.
“We’ve spoken with two women you went to school with. They mentioned it had been insinuated Gabriel Wilson pushed you into traffic, and that’s why your parents pulled you out of school.” Connor decided to leave Evelyn’s and Lacey’s names out of it. “Did you believe Gabriel was responsible?”
Simon blew out a long breath and sat on the abandoned bench. “It wouldn’t surprise me. He always had a twisted sense of humor.”
“You think he’d try to hurt you to be funny?”
Simon quirked his lips to the side. “Funny might not be the right word. More like entertaining.”
Connor sank down on the far end of the bench and faced the mouth of the gazebo. He kept his gaze fixed on the tiny drips of rain running down from the top of the structure as he talked, not wanting to intimidate Simon. “Sounds like a sick sonofabitch. Why did you spend time with him?”
“I was young, stupid, and didn’t have any other friends. I didn’t realize how messed up he really was until right before the accident.” Simon’s voice thickened, and hesitation made his words slow.
“What was he like before the accident?” Ben asked, drawing Simon’s attention to the PI.
“Weird. Dark. Obsessed.”
The description made Connor’s skin crawl. “Obsessed with what?”
“He loved using his hands to create things. Especially anything with wood. When we were in junior high, his parents would buy him those little car model kits. He’d put them together so easily, he started making his own kits.
He’d shape these small pieces of wood then fit them all together to make the most amazing wooden cars I’d ever seen.
By the time we reached high school, he’d become obsessed with building birdhouses. ”
That explained the woodworking book he’d found, but why the hell was Simon telling him all this? He bit back his frustration. “How so? Obsessed with making them better? More ornate?”
“Everything. He wanted each one to be better than the last, and he made dozens.”
Ben stepped closer to the center of the gazebo and shoved his hands in his front pockets. “What did he do with them?”
Simon stared vacantly into the distance.
“He put them on the roof of his building. We always checked on them after school. I thought it was kinda cool he’d be concerned about the birds.
That he’d give them a place to escape the cold.
But then, one day I went up by myself to look for Gabriel.
His parents said he’d finished a new house and had already gone outside.
I stepped onto the roof and this really beautiful birdhouse sat on the edge of the building with the door open.
I wish I’d never looked inside that damn birdhouse.
” A shuddering breath tore through Simon, and he dropped his gaze to his fisted hands.
“What was inside?” Connor asked, unable to hide the apprehension in his voice.
“A bird.” Disgust softened his voice, and Connor leaned in to hear him. “Something, or someone, had broken its neck.”’
Ben whistled low and long.
Simon shrugged and lifted his gaze to meet Ben.
“I checked the next one. Another bird with a broken neck. I couldn’t believe what I saw.
I ran from birdhouse to birdhouse, yanking open the tiny doors and hoping like hell I wouldn’t find another dead bird inside.
But I did. Thirty- three birdhouses. Thirty-three dead birds with broken necks. ”
Connor rubbed the palm of his hand over his mouth. Gabriel had been a sick fuck for a very long time. “What happened next?”
“I had to get out of there. I yanked open the exit door, but before I could get off the roof, I heard laughing. I turned around and spotted Gabriel. He just stood there with a dead bird crushed in his fist, laughing at me. The next day I was pushed into traffic and hit by a car.”
“That’s one hell of a coincidence,” Connor said with a snort. “Did you tell anyone else what you saw?”
“I told my parents. My dad went over to talk to Gabriel’s parents but, when they went to the roof, nothing was up there. They searched Gabriel’s room and all they found were the cars he used to build. Not a single birdhouse in the whole apartment.”
Ben took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “Do you think his parents covered for him?”
“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t doubt it. Gabriel could talk anyone into doing anything back then.”
Sanders’s words came rushing back to Connor.
She’d implied Gabriel could have someone helping him, which is why he had an alibi for the nights Monica and Hayley went missing.
If Gabriel could talk his parents into covering up his messed-up pastime of killing birds and keeping them in houses, could he convince someone to help him with murder?