CHAPTER TWENTY
Kate and Marcus made a narrow escape from Patricia Lowe's house, barely avoiding an enterprising newswoman who led her team in between the fences separating Lowe's property from her next-door neighbor.
Kate caught a glimpse of a man holding a shoulder-mounted camera stumbling onto the rear neighbor's yard just as their car turned the corner.
“He’s escalating,” Marcus said. “Douglas Hale was murdered five days after Warren Schulz. Patricia Lowe was murdered three days after Douglas Hale. He’s picking up speed.”
“He’s getting impatient,” Kate said. “I’m not figuring out the message like I’m supposed to.”
Marcus glanced at her. “Enough of that shit. This isn’t your fault. In any way.”
Kate’s brow furrowed. “Pull over.”
Marcus frowned. “What?”
“Pull over. There’s a fast-food place ahead. Pull over and get us some lunch.”
“I take it you don’t want to sit in the drive-through.”
“You can if you want to, but I need to make a phone call.”
Marcus looked at her. “To who?”
“To whom,” Kate corrected.
“Screw you. Who are you calling?”
Kate’s lips thinned. “Can you just pull over?”
“Who are you calling?”
She rolled her eyes. “My mother.”
“No. Kate, God damn it, this is not your fault! Do you want to fall off the deep end again? Huh? Is that what you want? You want Cox to lead you to some rendezvous in some old ruin again so the third time can be the charm, and he can sacrifice you?”
“Marcus, I’m not doing this right now. People’s lives are in danger.”
“Yeah, your life is in danger. This has nothing to do with you and nothing to do with your father.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do!” he snapped. “Kate, Elijah Cox is a serial killer. If you never existed, he’d still find someone else to fixate on because then he doesn’t have to come to terms with the fact that he’s nothing more than a violent asshole.
He’s not special. He’s just a prick. That’s what he can’t accept, and that’s why he’s concocted this whole bullshit about you being the spotted calf or the lamb of God or the scapegoat or whatever he wants to call it. ”
“But he has come up with it.”
“Yeah, but…” Marcus tapped the steering wheel. “I don’t want you to throw your life away, and if you do this, you’re definitely going to throw your life away. Maybe not this time but eventually. You need to stop treating this like some personal war between you and Cox.”
“And you need to stop treating me like the goddamned kid you’re babysitting,” Kate clapped back.
“I want to talk to my mother, and I don’t want you to hear whatever she’s about to confess about my father.
Will you please excuse me and let me have a private family conversation while you buy us some goddamned tacos? ”
Marcus stared ahead. He took the exit without a word, his face stony. Kate sighed and opened her mouth to explain herself, to soften the blow somehow so he wouldn’t take it so personally.
She didn’t bother. There was nothing she could say and nothing Marcus would hear except the version of the truth he knew was false but so desperately wished was real.
He pulled the car to a stop in the parking lot of the café, a run-down mom-and-pop called Mama Teresa’s that, judging by the drive-through line wrapping around the building, seemed to enjoy a brisk business despite its worn appearance.
He said nothing as Kate stepped outside and accelerated faster than he needed to once she was safely away.
Kate’s hands shook slightly, but she wasn’t about to feel sore over Marcus’s attitude right now. She had a job to do, and her emotions had gotten in the way of that enough. She pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed her mom’s number.
The call went to voicemail. Catherine must be in class. Kate started to leave a message, but her phone buzzed. Her mom was calling her back.
She ended the first call and answered. “Hi, Mom.”
“Kate!” Catherine cried. “So good to hear from you! How have you been?”
Her mother was far more exuberant than she needed to be, and there was a thickness to her voice that suggested she had either just finished crying or was just about to start. A lump formed in Kate’s throat, but she didn’t have time to confront those emotions either.
“Mom, I need to ask you a question about Dad, and I need you to be honest.”
“Of course,” Catherine replied. “When have I ever not been honest with you, Kate? I know sometimes I’ve kept things from you, and I know it was wrong of me, but we talked about this. I don’t hide things from you anymore. Is that why you haven’t talked to me?”
Catherine’s hurt, accusatory tone tightened the lump in Kate’s throat. She blinked away the tears forming in her eyes and said, “That’s not it, Mom.”
“Then why? I love you. I miss you.”
Kate took a steadying breath. “I miss you too, and we can see each other when I’m done with this. We can talk about everything and get it all out in the open, but right now, I need you to answer my question.”
“Does this have something to do with Cox? Is he harassing you again?”
“Jesus, Mom, can you just answer the goddamned question?”
A family walking to their car looked across the parking lot at Kate. She waved an apology and started walking toward the supermarket on the other end, just to move her feet.
“You haven’t asked a question, dear,” Catherine replied stiffly.
Well, you haven’t given me a chance.
Kate stifled that reply. She would just get dragged into another argument, and God knew she was in no shape to deal with that right now. “Did Dad ever steal anything?”
“Did your father ever steal anything?” Catherine repeated.
“Yes. Money, equipment… Maybe he took credit for someone else’s work or took the lion’s share of the credit for a joint project.”
“Are you seriously asking me if your father was a thief, Kate?”
“Mom…”
Weariness washed over Kate. Her shoulders slumped, and she sank to the curb of an island in the middle of the parking lot. A carefully pruned maple filtered the sunlight over her, leaving bruise-colored shadows on the bare skin of her forearms.
“Mom, please. Everyone’s questioning me right now.
Everyone’s treating me like I’m fragile and on the verge of collapsing or like I’m deluded and can’t tell up from down.
I can’t deal with it right now. I can’t explain every reason for everything I do.
Can you just please answer my question, and can we have the rest of the conversation when I’m not trying to catch a serial killer? Please?”
Catherine was quiet for a moment. Her voice was gentle when she replied, “Your father never stole anything, Kate. He insisted on giving everyone credit for their contributions to his research, and if he ever borrowed a stethoscope without asking, I’m sure he returned it with an apology letter and a muffin basket.
Your father was always attentive to everyone’s feelings except… ”
She caught herself too late. Except us.
Kate wondered if that was Cox’s message. Her father stole time and affection that belonged to his family and gave it to others.
But no, Cox had covered that with the Fifth Commandment killer.
Honor thy father and mother. He'd pointed out her father's flaws in Quinn Marsh's mission, hidden behind the supposed message that Kate was flawed for not honoring him regardless. If he wanted to dig that up again, he would have made Olivia Prentiss’s photograph the centerpiece. Instead, the evidence of Gloria’s wronging of her family was ignored in favor of a meaningless object taken from a stranger.
So what the hell was he trying to tell her? What was she supposed to see?
“Kate… I just don’t want you to feel angry with him. Especially when he did nothing to deserve it. Cox is a liar, Kate, and he’s manipulating you. He’s trying to make you see things that aren’t there.”
Kate sighed and pressed a hand to her temple. “Okay. Thank you, Mom.”
“Kate, please.”
“Later. I have to go.”
She hung up and sighed heavily, staring up through the leaves. Sunlight speared through the leaves, searing her eyes. She imagined each one was a letter opener piercing her vision, shooting rays of accusatory light straight into her brain.
Kate tilted her head. The objects flitted through her mind one at a time. All of them are positioned in carefully chosen locations. All of them are pointing at the windows.
No, not at windows. Through them.
She sat bolt upright. The car pulled in front of her, and Marcus—who had apparently caught her movement—rolled down the window and called, “Kate? Are you all right?”
“I think I get it now,” she said. “I think I know what he’s trying to say.”
“What?”
“Get us a hotel room,” she said, hopping to her feet and into the passenger seat of the car.
“Are we spending the night?”
“Marcus, I love you, but please be the first person to just say, ‘Yes, Kate’ when I ask for something. Just this once.”
“Yes, Kate.” He pulled out of the parking lot, a pensive expression on his face. After a minute, he said, “Did you… um… did you mean that?”
“With all my heart,” she replied. “I just need a little bit of trust instead of everyone questioning every single thing I do.”
Marcus slumped. “Oh. Right. Yeah, you got it.”
Kate frowned. “Are you all right? Look, I’m sorry for being angry with you. I’ve just been tired of having everything I think, say, or do, scoured for any sign of irrationality.”
“Yeah, totally. I’m fine. And I understand.” He gave her a smile that almost seemed genuine. “Yes, Kate.”
She returned a smile of her own. “Thank you.”
He pulled into the parking lot of the first hotel they came to, a Motel 6. The backlight was broken behind the L, so the street sign advertised Mote 6, Double, King, Free Wi-Fi.
It wasn’t until Marcus got the keys to the room that Kate realized what he had really asked her in the car.