Unspeakable (17 page)

The cat jumped into her lap, and Mrs. Pollack-Martin absently stroked its silver coat. Collin felt a bit self-conscious, because she kept looking right at him. Tears filled her eyes.

“A little before ten, I thought I heard someone whispering right outside our window. I put my ear to the connecting door, and heard the TV still going. I figured it was nothing. The Hotel Aurora Vista was long and L-shaped, with two floors. Every room had an outside entrance with a window beside it. We had a second-floor corner unit, near the stairs outside. So—it wasn't so alarming to hear voices or doors closing. People passed by our window to get to their rooms. Still, I told the police about it later. I don't think they cared. They were fixated on the fact that when I left our room, my husband was lighting up a Newport. We'd decided to have a nightcap, and I'd volunteered to go fetch the ice. I left the door open a crack. I remember I had on Capri pants, sandals, and a sleeveless top. When I stepped out of our room with the ice bucket, I smelled gasoline. I thought someone's car had a leak or something. Our room looked down on the parking lot, but we had a Space Needle view, too. The rooms in back of us were poolside. The ice and vending machines were there—on the opposite corner of the hotel. I lingered a couple of minutes by the pool. It was such a beautiful night.

“On my way back to our room, I spotted the young man from the fair. He was heading out of the parking lot—on foot. He looked over his shoulder back at the hotel. I don't know if he noticed me or not. But he ducked behind some bushes. A few moments later, I heard tires screeching. I thought he must have come there looking for Loretta. That was when I smelled the smoke. Then, at the bottom of the stairs, I heard a crackling noise . . . and my children . . .”

Mrs. Pollack-Martin winced, and her voice became shaky. “My kids, they were screaming. I raced up the stairs, and saw in the windows of both rooms that the curtains were on fire. Everything else was just black from all the smoke trapped in there. I dropped the ice bucket and reached for the door to my kids' room. The knob singed my hand, but I tried to open it anyway. I pushed and pulled—and nothing. Then I tried my husband's and my room. It was the same thing. I remember calling to my children to get down on the floor. They were coughing and—and screaming for me. . . .”

Mrs. Pollack-Martin started to cry. “I banged on the window, and finally grabbed the ice bucket. It was one of those heavy, clunky insulated things. I used it to smash the glass. It just made the fire worse, and the flames shot out. It was like an explosion. I could barely see anything, but I reached into where the fire and black smoke billowed out. I could smell my flesh burning. At the same time, I felt one of my children's hands grab mine. But it was only for a few seconds, and then they let go. I'll never know if it was Brian or Felicia. . . .”

She took a napkin from the holder on the tabletop, then wiped her eyes. “Some other hotel guests had come out of their rooms. One of them had called the fire department. With all the smoke, I couldn't see anyone—and I could hardly breathe. All I wanted to do was climb in there and get to my kids. I didn't even realize my blouse had caught on fire until someone knocked me down and covered me with a blanket. Most of my hair burnt off, too.”

She sighed and shook her head. “If that person hadn't rescued me, maybe I could have pulled one of my children out of the fire. But I doubt it.”

“I'm so sorry,” Collin whispered.

“I spent nearly four months in the hospital,” Mrs. Pollack-Martin continued, more controlled now. “The investigators said it appeared as if my husband might have hit his head on a table in the room. They think he stumbled, knocked himself out, and the cigarette he was smoking started the fire.”

She dabbed her eyes, and frowned. “Brandon had a couple of drinks that night, but he wasn't stumbling, staggering drunk. And I'm sorry, but I wasn't gone very long. A stray cigarette couldn't have started a fire of that magnitude. Both rooms were swallowed up in flames in a matter of minutes. The fires must have started near the doors, otherwise the doorknobs on the outside wouldn't have gotten scorching-hot so quickly. I told the investigators that from my hospital bed. And I told them about the young man from the fair.

“You know, talking to the police was so strange, because I couldn't see their faces. They all had to wear surgical masks in my room. Burn patients are very susceptible to germs. One little drop of saliva can botch up the entire healing process, maybe even kill you. So everything around me had to be sterilized, and everyone had to wear hospital gowns and surgical masks. I was so lonely and isolated. I didn't see anyone's face for months—except on TV.”

She let out a long sigh, and Smike jumped off her lap. “Anyway, the newspapers called it an
accident
and turned the whole thing into a cautionary tale for the tourists.
Don't smoke in your hotel bed
. The burns on my arms and torso were horribly painful, but what hurt even more was having everyone think my sweet husband had gotten drunk, fallen, and started that fire.”

“Didn't they try to track down the guy from the fair?” Collin asked.

Mrs. Pollack-Martin took another swallow of wine, draining the glass. “They took me seriously enough to show me some mug shots of juvenile delinquents—based on my description of the young man. But I didn't see him in any of the photos. I heard they had a suspect, this young man who might have killed another family at a hotel, but he was hit by a train. That was happening when I was having skin graft operations, so I was pretty out of it at the time.”

“Did you ever see a photo of the guy who was hit by a train?” Collin asked.

She shrugged. “He could have been in one of those mug shots the police showed me, I don't know. That entire period is like a fog to me now. I was in so much agony, physically and mentally. Plus I was loopy from pain medications. By the time I got out of the hospital, I'd become numb to everything. You'd think a good mother wouldn't give up, that she'd dedicate herself to finding the killer of her family. But I was weak—and so uncertain. I mean, I'll never know if that young man really had anything to do with the fire. Did he let himself into our room—after I'd left the door open? Did he hit my husband over the head, and then set fire to the kids' and our room? Why in the world would he have done that? Because my sister-in-law had flirted with him? It doesn't make sense. I realized I'd drive myself crazy if I didn't put it all behind me and move on.

“So—I went back to Wenatchee, taught school, got married again, and I wrote some children's books—based on stories I used to tell Brian, Felicia, and Audrey.” She seemed to work up a smile. “I guess that's what you really came here to discuss. I'm sorry to go on and on about the fire. Except for my second husband, Jim, I haven't talked about it with anyone else. I don't know why I picked you to unload on. I'm sorry, Collin.”

He shook his head. “No, it's okay. I'm glad you told me.” He squirmed in the kitchen chair. “About this young man, you never saw him again? The police didn't give you any more leads or anything?”

She reached over and patted his arm. He could see the scars on her hand now.

“No, nothing,” she answered. “I stopped thinking about him. I even managed to forget what he looked like . . .”

Collin looked up, and her eyes locked with his.

“. . . until I saw you,” she said.

F
rom the railing along the ferry's top deck, Collin stared at the terminal lights in the distance. A chilly wind off the choppy gray water whipped through him, and he turned up the collar of his red fall jacket. The setting sun left streaks of orange, gold, and scarlet on the darkening horizon.

A twenty-something couple with their arms around each other came and stood beside him. Collin heard the girl tell her boyfriend: “Wow, it looks like the sky is on fire.”

He thought of Mrs. Pollack's family, and remembered the scars on her arm and her hand. He remembered how she'd looked into his eyes as she'd told him about the fatal hotel fire. Walking him to her door, she'd apologized again. She'd wondered aloud why she had unburdened herself on him, a complete stranger.

Collin thought about it, and realized he wasn't a stranger. She'd first seen him fifty years ago. So maybe Mrs. Pollack needed to look in the face of the young man who had taken her family away from her—and tell him just what he'd destroyed.

Collin moved away from the nuzzling couple so he could be alone.

Why was this happening to him? He couldn't help wondering if he'd been Wade Grinnell in a former life. Did he really look like the guy—or had Mrs. Pollack-Martin just seen something inside him?

It didn't make sense. As far-fetched as it seemed, he thought about reincarnation. But if he'd been Wade Grinnell in a previous life, wouldn't he have recognized the family he'd killed? Four hours ago, he'd looked at their photos and felt nothing but pity. He certainly should have had some kind of flashback or recall studying Loretta's photo. But she didn't look familiar at all.

From the Seattle ferry terminal earlier, he'd called his grandparents. He'd told his grandmother that he was busy with a class project at the school library and he would be home around six-thirtyish. She'd seemed to believe him.

Collin shivered. It was cold out on the top deck. He thought about telling his grandparents what was going on—or at least some of it. But they'd been through enough with his mother's murder three months ago. They really didn't need to hear he was going crazy.

He heard a bell sound, and then a recorded voice came over the loudspeaker:
“Your attention, please. We're now arriving at our destination. Please take a few moments to make sure you have all your personal belongings before disembarking the vessel. Drivers and passengers, please return to your vehicles at this time. Walk-on passengers, disembark using the overhead walkway. . . .”

The twenty-something couple at the deck railing turned and strolled away, their arms still around each other. Collin took one last look at the ferry terminal and all the lights—looming straight ahead. Then he ducked into the main cabin, where he got a welcome blast of warm air. Shuddering gratefully, he headed for the stairwell to the parking deck.

He found the Taurus and noticed a folded piece of paper on the windshield, tucked under the wiper. Mystified, Collin grabbed the slip of paper and unfolded it. The note was written in block letters:

Collin glanced around, wondering if somebody was sitting inside one of the cars, watching him right now. He thought about that solitary boat out on the bay for so many nights in the last several weeks.

Suddenly, his cell phone rang. It startled him. He grabbed the phone out of his jacket pocket. He thought it must be the person who had left him the note. Obviously, they were still around here on the ferry someplace.

But Gail's name and number came up on the caller ID screen. After how he'd behaved toward her yesterday in the car, Collin was glad she still wanted to talk with him. He shoved the note inside his pants pocket, and then clicked on his phone.

“Hey, Gail,” he said.

“Was it you?” she asked, a bit shrill.

“What?” He put a finger in his other ear. On either side of him, drivers and passengers were climbing into their cars. All the talking and door-slamming seemed to echo in the parking deck area. Collin looked around one more time for anyone who might be spying on him.

“Was it you?” she repeated.

He unlocked his car and climbed inside, behind the wheel. “Was it me—what?”

“You've been acting so weird, and you weren't in school today,” she said edgily. “The other night you were asking where my mother keeps her purse. I just want to give you a chance to be honest with me before I say something to my parents or the police.”

“What? Is this about yesterday in the car when you hypnotized me?”

“No, I'm talking about
today
, Collin. Someone broke into our house. They stole a bunch of stuff. . . .”

“My God,” he murmured. “Is everyone okay?”

“Yes, we'll live. But my bedroom got the worst of it.” Her voice cracked. “They tore the place apart, and stole my laptop. They even went through my journal. Was it you?”

“God, no, it wasn't me, Gail. I swear.”

“Why weren't you at school today? Where were you?”

“I drove to Central Washington,” he said. “I've been gone all day. I'm on the ferry right now. It's just pulling into the dock. In fact, I need to hang up soon. The lane I'm parked in is about to start moving. . . .” Up ahead, he could see the ferry crew directing the traffic off the boat. The drivers in front of him in line were gunning their engines.

“I'm not sure I believe you,” she said.

“Can't you hear the other cars?” he asked—over all the rumbling.

“What were you doing over in Central Washington?”

“Following a lead I had about that—that slimy guy I turned into when you hypnotized me. It wasn't an act, Gail.”

“Well, if you really have a split personality and you can't remember some of the shit you say and do, how can you be so sure you didn't break into our house?”

“Like I told you, I've been off the island since eight o'clock this morning.” He switched the phone to his other ear, put the key in the ignition, and started up the car. “Listen, I've got to hang up. Can I swing by? I'd really like to talk with you. I'll explain everything.”

“Fine, yeah,” she said. “I'd like to look you in the eye when you tell me again you had nothing to do with our house getting broken into.”

“All right, then I'll see you in a few minutes,” Collin said. “Okay?”

There was no response.

“Gail?” He realized she'd hung up.

The car in front of him started moving. Rattled, Collin clicked off the phone, and tossed it on the passenger seat cushion. Then he followed the other cars off the boat.

 

 

“Hey, guess what?” said Chris Pelham, swinging open the front door. Gail's ten-year-old brother had a big, excited smile on his freckled face. He didn't wait for Collin to answer. “We were robbed! The police were here and everything, Collin. You just missed them. . . .”

Standing on the Pelhams' front porch, he nodded soberly. “Yeah, I know. Gail told me. I'm really sorry to hear it.”

“They didn't steal anything from my room,” Chris said. “All my Xbox games are still here, and—”

“Christopher, don't leave Collin standing outside in the cold,” Mrs. Pelham said, coming up behind her son. She was heavyset with near-shoulder-length beige hair and a pleasant, dimpled smile. She wore a loose, untucked navy blouse over a pair of jeans. Collin liked Gail's mother, who possessed a sort of laid-back, down-to-earth poise. But tonight she seemed haggard and tense. “Invite him in, honey,” she said, patting Chris on the shoulder. “And run upstairs and tell your sister Collin's waiting for her.”

“HEY, GAIL!” the boy yelled, turning away and bolting toward the stairs. “Hey, Gail, Collin's here! Gail?”

Mrs. Pelham managed a weak smile. “Hi, Collin, come on in. We're all a little—
discombobulated
right now. Mr. Pelham's on the phone with the insurance company, and Gail's upstairs, cleaning up the mess in there. We're still trying to figure out what's missing. . . .”

Collin stepped into their front hall and glanced toward the dining room on his right. The breakfront cabinet doors were open, and some of the drawers were still sticking out. To his left, their hall closet door was open, too, and the light was on. Collin remembered finding all the closet doors open with the lights on in the rental house the morning after his mother's murder.

“When did it happen?” he asked.

“Sometime today while I was at work,” she sighed. “I came back with Chris after picking him up from band practice, and the place was turned upside down. Anyway, now all of us have to change our Social Security numbers—and any account numbers they might have seen. There's a whole concern about identity theft. Oh, Collin, this has been so horrible, awful . . . ,” she trailed off, and put a hand to her forehead. “I'm just glad you're here. Gail could really use a friend right now. . . .”

Collin looked up and saw Gail slowly descending the stairs. Her red hair was in a ponytail. She wore jeans and a black, long-sleeved T-shirt. She was glaring at him.

“Hi,” Collin said.

She just nodded. Then she brushed past her mother and took a jacket out of the open closet. She put it on.

“Where are you off to?” Mrs. Pelham asked her.

“I'm just going outside to talk with Collin.”

“Don't be silly,” her mother said. “If you want privacy, you can talk downstairs. Collin, would you like something to drink? Water? A soda?”

“He's not staying long, Mom,” Gail said coolly. Then she opened the front door for him.

Collin turned to her mother. “Thanks anyway, Mrs. Pelham.”

He followed Gail outside. She closed the door behind him. She stopped on their front porch, folded her arms, and glowered at him.

Collin pulled some receipts out of his pocket. “Okay, first of all, here,” he said, handing her one receipt after another. “My ferry ticket stubs . . . eight-fifteen this morning and just about an hour ago in Seattle, dated today. There's a gas station receipt from a Chevron on Highway 2 in Monroe at ten o'clock this morning. And here's a receipt from Starbucks at one-fifty this afternoon. Look at the location, Leavenworth, Washington, and the date, today, October first.” He watched Gail examine the scraps of paper. “I was off the island all day. I couldn't have come back here and robbed your house.”

With a sigh, Gail stuffed the receipts back into his hand. “Okay, so maybe you didn't,” she murmured. “But why did they pick on me? They took some silver from the dining room, and some jewelry from my mom's dresser. But I got the worst of it, Collin. They stole my laptop and iPod station, and, like I said, they even looked in my diary—for God's sake—at least, I think they did. I found it opened up on my bedroom floor. Why would a burglar want to read my diary? And there was stuff on my computer I didn't want anyone else to see. Why me?” She started to tear up, and quickly wiped her eyes. “You know what else they stole? My Pluto snow globe. I've had it since I was a little girl. What good is that to some burglar? Why would they take that? It's not worth much.”

She glanced toward the front yard. “You know, I can't help feeling like they're still around here, watching this house, watching me.” She turned to him. “Do you think it was someone from school? I mean, some of those girls really hate me. Do you think they could have talked one of their dumbass boyfriends into doing this?”

Collin shrugged helplessly. “Maybe, only—well, I hate to admit it, but you might be right to think I had something to do with this.”

She squinted at him. “Now what are you telling me?”

“Seeing how they left your house—with the drawers and the closet doors open, it reminded me of when it happened to me and my mother in the last place I lived in—in Seattle.”

“You got robbed, too?” she asked.

“That was just part of it,” he said, moving over to the porch railing. He gazed out at their front lawn. The trees were half-bare, and a light wind scattered a few leaves across their lawn. “Listen, Gail, I haven't been completely honest with you and Fernando—or anyone else at school. My mother didn't die in a car accident. Someone broke into our rental house in July. They stole some stuff, and they killed my mother and her boyfriend.”

“Are you serious?” he heard Gail murmur.

Collin nodded. “I was asleep upstairs the whole time.” He looked through the front window into the Pelhams' empty living room. He didn't want anyone inside the house to hear him. “My mom's boyfriend was this scuzzy drug dealer. The police were pretty sure the killings were drug-related. Supposedly, the guys who did it are dead now themselves. . . .”

“Wait a minute,” she said. “I know about this. I saw it on TV. That didn't happen to you. That happened to Collin Cox. . . .”

He half-smiled at her. “The Stamplers are my grandparents. It's my mom's maiden name. I decided to enroll as Collin Stampler so people at school wouldn't treat me like a freak.”

A hand over her mouth, Gail gaped at him. “My God, you're
Collin Cox
. All this time . . . I can't believe I didn't recognize you. . . .”

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I was kind of working up to it.”

“This is incredible.
Collin Cox
. I've been hanging out with Collin Cox. . . .”

“Nice to meet you,” he said glumly. He stuck out his hand.