Final Breath (3 page)

"I--I don't think so."

"Erin, please, if--if you know what she planned on doing before the movie, and Molly asked you to keep it a secret--"

"I swear, Molly didn't say anything to me," Erin cut in. She didn't know Molly well enough yet that they'd share secrets. She wondered if perhaps Molly might have gone to the hospital to visit Warren without her. But hell, if Molly's car was found five blocks from her house, then she must not have even reached the hospital.

The hand dryer shut itself off, and all Erin heard was the sound of the faucet dripping in the restroom sink. She figured the silver-haired woman had left.

"Will you call me if you hear from Molly?" Mrs. Gerrard asked on the other end of the line.

A shadow suddenly swept across the tiled floor, distracting Erin for a moment. She couldn't see anyone's feet in the gap beneath the stall door, but obviously somebody else was there. Was that crazy lady still in the bathroom?

"Erin?" Molly's mother said.

"Um, of course, I'll call you the minute I hear from Molly, Mrs. Gerrard," she said, at last. "I--I'm sure Molly's all right. Could you have her call me when she gets in?"

"I will," Mrs. Gerrard said with a tremor in her voice. "I hope that's soon. Thank you, honey."

Erin heard a click on the other end. Someone passed by the stall again. She spotted a shadowy figure--so briefly--through the crack in the stall door, where it was hinged. Whoever it was, they hadn't gone into the other stall or used the sink. So why were they sneaking around in there? She could still hear the faucet dripping, but no footsteps.

Maybe it was the disconcerting news about Molly that unnerved her, or the fact that two people had just chewed her out for using her cell phone. But she had a feeling something was horribly wrong. She'd had that same awful sensation in her gut last week when she'd been sitting next to Warren Tunny in fifth period study hall.

With the phone tightly clutched in her hand, Erin leaned toward the hinged side of the stall door. Something darted past the door again, and Erin gasped.

It was a man. She saw him this time, but she didn't get a look at his face. He moved too fast--toward the stall behind her. It looked like he was wearing one of those clear, thin, plastic rain jackets over his dark clothes.

"Who's there?" she called out, her voice quivering.

No response--just the sound of that faucet dripping steadily.

"I know someone's there!" Erin said loudly. "I'm gonna scream in a minute, I mean it!" She turned and glanced down at the gap under the stall partition and the floor. It didn't look like he'd ducked in to the next cubicle. If someone was playing a perverse joke on her, he certainly would have given himself up by now.

But this was no joke.

Trying to catch her breath, Erin focused on the phone in her hand. For the second time in a week, she dialed 9-1-1. She was about to press the
SEND
button when something flew over the top of the stall.

Startled, Erin recoiled. The small lightweight object bounced off her shoulder, then landed on the tiled floor--right by the base of the toilet.

Erin saw what it was, and all at once she couldn't breathe or move. Paralyzed, she stared down at the pair of glasses with square tortoiseshell frames.

One of the lenses to Molly's new glasses was cracked.

"Oh, my God..."
Erin whispered. With a shaky hand, she punched the
SEND
button on her cell phone.

Suddenly, she felt something sting her just above the ankle. Crying out, Erin looked down and saw a rubber-gloved hand reaching beneath the stall partition. She saw the glint of a knife. It slashed at her ankle again. She felt the blade scrape against her bone this time. Blood sprayed across the black-and-white tiled floor.

Erin screamed. She tried to back away. But like a snake, the gloved hand darted under the partition and grabbed her by the ankle. All at once, the cell phone flew out of Erin's hand and fell into the toilet. Water splashed out of the bowl. Erin struggled to keep her balance, but it was impossible. She slammed against the partition wall and then tumbled to the wet, tiled floor. She screamed and kicked. The more she kicked, the more blood spurted from the wounds across her ankle.

But he wouldn't let go. He was pulling her through the gap under the stall divider and dragging her across the floor. He still had the knife in his other hand. Terrified, Erin struggled and cried out for help.

But her shrieks were muted by a thunderous wave of laughter from the audience in the theater upstairs.

No one else heard her screams.

Only him.

Lisa Briscoe noticed the two police cars parked in front of the Gerrards' white stucco--three lots down from her own house. She was walking Toby, the family's miniature schnauzer. That was what she got for working late tonight. Her husband had taken the kids out to the Olympia Pizza and Spaghetti House. He'd called from the restaurant five minutes ago, saying none of the kids had walked Toby yet, and he'd bring her back an order of cannelloni.

With one hand clutching the collar of her winter coat and the other holding Toby's extendable leash, Lisa passed the Gerrards' house. She'd heard the Gerrards had been hounded by snoops and people driving by the house at all hours. Some of them even snuck across the lawn and tried to peek into the windows. They wanted to look at Molly, the pretty--and now famous--seventeen-year-old who had been on the TV news and in the papers for thwarting a possible massacre at James Madison High School last week. Lisa had heard the Gerrards had phoned the police twice last week because of those obnoxious people skulking around outside their house. Lisa couldn't believe it was still going on.

The residents of this quiet, upscale neighborhood in northeast Capital Hill weren't used to a lot of activity, much less police activity. The houses, ranging from charmingly quaint to old-world impressive, were close together and not far from the street. While walking Toby, Lisa could see the bell tower of nearby St. Joseph's Catholic Church looming over the tops of the bare trees. She could also see her breath. Shivering, she buttoned up her coat.

Lisa approached her usual stopping point: Interlaken Drive, a dark, winding road through dense woods--with the occasional secluded, ridiculously expensive home. Lisa took Toby only to the edge of Interlaken because those woods were full of possums and raccoons, and she didn't want Toby chasing after one. He was no match for such creatures. Ages ago, when she was a kid, her dad had told her how he'd once seen a German shepherd try to tussle with a raccoon--only to be torn apart in seconds. Lisa had steered clear of raccoons ever since.

There was something else about the dark, lonely, snakelike road that scared her. "Sometimes when I'm on this road, I half-expect to find some guy standing there around the next curve," her husband had said, steering down Interlaken late one night after a party. "I can see the headlights suddenly illuminating this dude in a hockey mask, carrying a meat cleaver. And then, farther up the road, there's this car with a hacked-up body in it..."

"Well, gee, thanks for that image, hon," Lisa had said, squirming in the passenger seat. As a joke, she and her husband often referred to Interlaken as "Hockey Mask Lane."

So, raccoons and possums weren't the only reason she rarely took Toby beyond the edge of Interlaken Drive.

But on this December night, Toby still hadn't pooped. Plus it was early, and the cops were parked in front of the Gerrards' house--only two blocks away. So Lisa started down Interlaken with Toby. She pulled a small flashlight out of her purse and switched it on. She would give Toby until the first curve in the road, and if he still hadn't done his business by then, she'd turn around. "C'mon, Toby, this is your last half block," she muttered, glancing at the darkened woods around her. "Time to shit or get off the pot."

There was no sidewalk on the road, and the thicket came right up to the curb. A chilly wind rattled the tree limbs. Bushes swayed slightly and dead leaves scattered across the pavement. Toby strained on the leash. He eagerly sniffed at the base of practically every tree and shrub they passed. Suddenly he stopped, raised a paw, and looked deeper into the woods as if he saw something moving in there. He strained at the leash again.

Lisa gazed over in the same direction. Through the trees, she noticed an eerie red glow in the distance--perhaps around the next curve in the road, or maybe even farther. Was it a car with its parking lights on?

Toby was still staring in that direction. His ears moved, and his little body seemed to stiffen.

Lisa shined the flashlight into the woods. The beam cast strange, flickering shadows as Lisa directed it across the trees and shrubs. She couldn't see anything. "Okay, kiddo," she said, in a shaky voice. "Here's where we do a U-turn..." She tugged at the leash, but Toby wouldn't budge. "C'mon now, there's nothing out there..."

But there was.

A few yards away, deeper into the woods, her flashlight's beam caught a shrub moving--as if someone might have just ducked behind it. She heard twigs snapping.

Lisa tugged at the leash again. But Toby was immobile, still staring in that direction. He let out a yelp. Again, Lisa saw something move amid the shadowy trees. She directed the flashlight's beam past the base of a tree. Close to the forest floor, she saw two eyes staring back at her. They glinted in the light.

"Oh, my God," Lisa gasped.

The raccoon didn't seem startled or riled. He merely glanced up from his meal for a moment. Then he went back to gnawing at the bloody slash across the dead girl's throat. The pale cadaver was clad in just a bra and panties.

Lisa couldn't move. She watched in horror as the raccoon half-stood on its hind legs, hovering over his feast. Tresses of the girl's long black hair were caught in the creature's claws, and her head turned a little when he moved again.

In the flashlight's beam, Lisa could see her face now.

She recognized the dead girl--even though Molly Gerrard wasn't wearing her glasses.

"The person you are calling is not available,"
said the recording on the other end of the line.
"This call is being forwarded to an automated voice system. Please leave a message for..."
Erin's voice chimed in for two words: "Erin Travino." Then the recorded generic voice took over again:
"...after the tone."

Standing on the stairway landing of the movie theater's lobby, Kim held the cell phone to her ear and waited for the beep. On the wall behind her was a huge old poster of Gene Kelly dancing with Leslie Caron in
An American in Paris
.

She only reached the automated voice system when Erin switched off her cell phone or her battery was dead, and Erin practically
never
switched off her phone. Erin's regular message had her own voice with rock music in the background:
"Hey, this is Erin, and you know what to do!"

But right now, Kim didn't know what to do.

She'd been sitting in the theater for the last fifteen minutes with an empty seat beside her and Erin's coat draped over the armrest. One of the guys behind her had stepped out and come back in the duration, but that had been at least ten minutes ago. Finally, Kim had gotten up and hurried to the lobby, but she hadn't seen Erin anywhere. So Kim had pulled out her cell phone, dialed Erin's number, and started up the stairs to the women's restroom.

Beep.

"Hello, Erin?" she said, holding the phone to her ear as she continued up the stairs. "Where are you? Did you ditch me or something? I can't believe this. You've totally ruined a really good movie for me. You're not in the lobby, so I'm about to check the restroom. I'm hoping you're there." She let out an exasperated sigh. "If not, for God's sakes, call me, okay?"

Kim clicked off the line as she approached the women's restroom on the second floor. Pushing open the door, she stopped suddenly. The light was off. As far as she could tell, no one was in there. Past some muffled rapid Italian dialogue from the film showing upstairs, Kim only heard the rhythmic drip of a leaky faucet. She felt along the wall for the light switch.

Her hand brushed against something wet on the wall. Shuddering, she stepped back and gazed at her fingertips. Blood.

He paid for his latte, and then politely asked the barista for the bathroom key.

No one in the Joe Bar Cafe paid much attention to him. As far as he could tell, none of the other customers in the bistro had seen him emerge from the old, three-story brick building that housed the movie theater across the street.

He found a small table by the window, with a view of the theater entrance and the lighted marquee. Leaving his latte on the table, he asked the bearded twenty-something man with a laptop notebook at the next table to make sure no one took his spot while he was in the washroom.

"Sure, no sweat," the guy said, barely looking up from his notebook.

He thanked the man, then carried his Nordstrom bag into the bathroom at one side of the barista counter. It was tiny, with a narrow door and barely enough room for the sink and toilet. The walls were painted burnt orange, and the management had posted a reminder above the sink that all employees had to wash their hands after using the facilities. Above that little sign hung a mirror.

He studied his reflection for a moment. His face was clean, and his hair appeared slightly damp. With a sigh, he lowered the toilet seat lid and set down his bag. Then he turned to the mirror again. With his hand, he pressed down on the top of his head, mashing the hair against his scalp. Drops of blood slithered down his forehead.

He quickly grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser above the toilet and dabbed up the blood. Then he ran the paper towel over his head, and glanced at the crimson streaks soaked into the fiber sheet.

He should have worn a shower cap when he'd killed her.

Earlier, in the women's lavatory at the movie theater, he'd quickly rinsed off his face. He'd shucked off the blood-spattered, plastic rain jacket and gloves. They were now in a dark plastic bag stuffed inside the Nordstrom tote. He hadn't much time to clean up in that theater washroom, and the job on Erin had been messy.