Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
“He was my childhood best friend,” Chief Wells explained. “Norm had a hard life at home, spent most of his days at my family’s growing up. When we talked to him about the Ellen Harrison assault years ago, all we had was the white van tip, and I thought to myself it could never be Norm.”
As Seth listened, he maneuvered around a street corner.
All over Fairview, banners dangled between street lights and over buildings, advertising the Fourth of July fair this Friday—the annual chili and corn cookoff.
Seth had been pushing for the town to cancel it, but there’d been resistance at every corner.
Apparently, it was their “only shot at a tourist season.”
“I mean, back then, Norm was just on a list of names of people who had a white van,” Wells went on.
“Plus, Ellen Harrison, the poor thing, couldn’t definitively tell us if a white van did kidnap her.
Just that she’d noticed one near her in the days leading up to the attack.
There was no evidence against Norm, no evidence against anyone who lived in town. ”
If Seth had to guess, the drifter theory had won back then. Ellen Harrison made the problem disappear by moving away. No other woman was assaulted, so the police could keep living their lives, pretending that the only evil in Fairview was in some street crime and hard drugs.
“So what’s different now?” Seth asked. “You’re not defending Norm.”
Wells was quiet. Her lips pursed, dark skin crinkled with regret.
“Sometime last year, my littlest granddaughter, Alessa—and that girl is smart, let me tell you—said something that made my heart sink. She said Uncle Norm stared at her ‘funny.’ Which, coming from a little girl, that’s the kind of thing you should listen to.
Plus, with what I know about Norm’s upbringing…
sometimes history likes to repeat itself, if you catch my drift. ”
“People can become their abusers. The cycle of trauma continues.”
“That’s right. I’ve always thought Norm was the sweetest soul, but he never married. Never made friends outside from myself and his own sisters. He dedicated his life to that... place, Mr. Giggles, surrounded by kids and teenagers. At a certain point, you have to be objective.”
Push comes to shove, he recalled. He respected Chief Wells for working with him, not against him on this. But they weren’t just looking for a person with deviant behavior; they were looking for a person with a fixation on women who matched the profile of the victims.
“What about the writing? Does that seem like something he’d do?”
“Maybe. He used to express frustration at the world, like he deserved more than what he had.”
“’It should have been me’ who received something someone else did. Maybe a blonde woman from his past. Did he know Celine Dyer?”
Wells shot him a look. “You’re still thinking about that phone call? Norm barely knew Celine, but who knows what secrets a man keeps. I remember he helped with the search. Everyone did.”
Speaking of secrets. “I saw an old camcorder in Norm’s office. Seemed odd. You know anything about that?”
Chief Wells’s expression turned grim. “Now that you mention it, yeah, he used to film birthday parties to give VHS tapes to the parents, even long after VHS was out of style. One of the mothers complained.”
“Complained about what?”
Wells was touching her necklace again. “Just that the whole thing made her uncomfortable. I never got the specifics. Wasn’t really formal, but Norm stopped doing the videos. That would’ve been two years before the Ellen Harrison case.”
“Interesting timing,” Seth muttered.
Wells pointed to the right, but Seth already knew which house it was—the one with the white work van. “It’s up here, Detective. Number 43.”
Seth pulled outside of the house. A nice suburban street, sprinklers on, hopscotch drawn on the sidewalk, a basketball net on the cul-de-sac at the end.
“Family neighborhood,” Seth noted as he parked outside. He went to get out, but Wells hesitated.
“There is one thing. Norm moved to this house twenty years ago, and I’ve only ever been in his basement once, when my late husband and I helped him move in. He’s secretive about it.”
“Sounds like something I should check out.”
Wells nodded. Her brown eyes fell on him, dire. “He’ll welcome us inside the house if I ask.”
“And then?”
“Then you do whatever it is you need to do.”
Without another word, Chief Wells got out.
Seth followed suit, stepping into the summer heat.
Norm’s house looked like any other on the street—two stories, a mix of red brick and siding—but with each step up the concrete porch, Seth became increasingly aware of the gun on his belt.
There was no telling how Norm might react.
Chief Wells rang the doorbell, and a long bing reverberated through the house.
Moments later, the door opened, sending a breath of near-polar air from the air conditioning out.
Norman Stanfield wore a smile on his face.
He had flushed white skin and a mustache, wearing jeans and a white knitted sweater.
A strange smell wafted from inside, like gas station hand soap or some sort of disinfectant.
“Roslyn! This is a surprise.”
“Hey, Norm,” Chief Wells said, trying to keep a chipper edge to her voice, but Seth could hear the regret beneath. “This is Detective Winslow, the new face in town.”
Seth held out a hand. Norm firmly shook it. His palm was unnervingly soft, not to mention cold—probably from blasting his house with that air conditioner so he could keep wearing wool in summer. “Good to meet ya,” Norm said.
“Likewise,” Seth replied, taking his hand back. He did not like that feeling at all.
“Mind if we come in for a sec?” Chief Wells asked.
Although Norm appeared caught off guard, he said, “Oh, uh, sure, come on in.”
They stepped inside the foyer. Beneath that layer of disinfectant was a woody smell, antiques. Like Mr. Giggles, the inside of the house was a time warp; floral couches that went out of style decades ago, shag carpet discolored around the walls. But it was also remarkably clean.
Norm settled in front of a closed door in the hall and faced them with a too-eager smile. “So, what can I do to help you folks?”
“It’s probably nothing, Norm,” Wells said, “but we’ve received an anonymous tip about some break-ins on this street.
As you know, someone has killed two girls in town now, and we’re concerned the incidents are related.
The killer, scoping out houses for his next victim, stealing supplies for his crimes.
You mind if we check around for anything out of place? ”
“You think a murderer broke into my home? I think I would notice, Ros.”
“We just want to check around.”
“Okay, sure—you know what, I did think I heard a weird noise upstairs the other night while I was sleeping down here on the couch.” He finally moved from in front of that closed door, slipping past them to the staircase. “Follow me up here.”
“Actually, these reports have mostly been about basements,” Seth said. “We better check downstairs first so we can get out of your hair faster.”
Their excuse was flimsy at best, but Norm was blindsided enough for it to pass. Seth slipped in front of the door, but didn’t open it, waiting for Norm’s approval. A momentary darkness flickered over his features before he smiled again, rubbing his palms on his jeans.
“You know what, I’m not so sure that we need to do that. Honestly, Ros, I’m not worried about this break-in thing.”
“It’s okay, Norm,” Wells cut in, moving to the other side of Norm, so he had one of them on each side of him. “We won’t take up too much of your time. It’s just a quick look in the basement, then we’ll be out of your hair.”
“All right. But there’s not much down there.”
They were walking a grey line here, but Norm had technically consented, so Seth went first, aware of Norm’s tense energy behind him as he descended the staircase.
If upstairs was cold, this was even colder—reminiscent of a meat locker, something Seth didn’t care to think about right now. Norm tugged at a string, and a single bulb lit up the basement. Wells joined them, her body blocking the exit.
At first, it looked like a standard unfinished basement; boxes of old junk, plastic totes overflowing with holiday supplies. Deeper in, bolted to the ceiling board, was a bracket for a punching bag—with no punching bag attached. Ellen Harrison had remembered waking up tied to a ceiling.
That wasn’t the only strange thing. Next to the bracket was an area that churned Seth’s stomach. An old tube TV on a cabinet filled with VHSs. There was a floral loveseat in front of it, straight out of another era.
Seth stole a glance at Norm, whose posture had gone tense. But he kept that gummy smile on.
“See? Nothing down here.”
Ignoring him, Seth went over to the TV. He could practically feel Norm’s energy building behind him.
“That old thing,” he said. “I don’t think it even works anymore.”
“Disney fan, huh? This is an impressive collection. Most people have hopped on the streaming train these days.”
This time, when Seth looked at Norm, his face had gone paler. “Yes, well, it’s for when my nieces and nephews come over. I want them to see the classics, give them an appreciation for how far things have come. It wasn’t always iPads and Netflix, Detective.”
“I know. I grew up with this stuff. My mom never had the money to keep up with technology. We were late on DVD too.” Seth scanned the row of VHSs until he spotted a title he knew too well.
He picked up the VHS and held it fondly.
“The Lion King. Classic. I always found myself coming back to this one. Something about the whole found family thing.”
He slid the VHS out of the cardboard, but instead of being met with the nostalgic cover he genuinely did remember from his childhood, there was a piece of masking tape on the face. S.L. was scribbled in permanent marker.
“That’s odd, mine didn’t look like this. What’s S.L. stand for?” He met Norm’s nervous gaze. “Simba, Lion?”
Norm scratched the back of his head. “You know, the kids do whatever they want with these things.”
“Yeah, forget it.” Seth swiped the remote off the edge of the cabinet with his free hand. “Let’s just watch and see.”
He went to turn on the TV, but Norm went to dash right at him. Seth straightened up, his hand automatically moving toward his weapon, which turned Norm to stone. Norm glanced back at Chief Wells, who guarded the staircase with the same warning.
“Whoa, whoa, okay,” Norm said, laughing. “Let’s cool it for a second. A man is entitled to his privacy, all right? Besides, I am pretty sure you need a warrant to look through my things… right, Ros?”
“Why would we need a warrant to watch The Lion King, Norm?” Seth asked, emboldened. “Unless that’s not what’s on the tape.”
Norm’s hands trembled. He glanced back at Chief Wells, whose face had gone cold with the same realization Seth had.
“Roslyn, what is this?” Norm stammered. “We’re friends, I invited you into my home…”
“What’s on the tape, Norm?” Chief Wells asked, dead-pan.
“Okay, okay, fine! Fine, it’s—it’s a sex thing. But it’s all legal. You don’t want to see that, do you?”
“Norm,” Wells warned, and Seth could see the hurt on her—the disappointment, the heartbreak of watching someone you know die right in front of you, while still breathing.
And Norm must have seen it too—because he dashed toward the staircase and shoved Chief Wells into a pile of boxes.
“Son of a bitch,” Seth said, drawing his gun. He ran past Chief Wells, who clambered to her feet, clearly shaken, but fine. Seth charged up the stairs after Norm, who made a mad dash to the front door. He raised his gun. “Norm! Don’t move!”
Norm slammed the front door open anyway, not realizing there was a gun on him. Damn it. Seth chased him outside, onto the driveway as Norm scrambled toward his van. Seth pointed his gun right at Norm and cocked it. The click registered, and that finally turned Norm to stone.
At the same time, a family walking past on the sidewalk stopped to look over in shock.
“It’s over, Norm,” Seth said. “On your knees. Hands behind your head.”
Slowly, Norm dropped down to his knees. Seth moved toward him with cuffs. They had him.
Outside, for all the neighbors to see.