Unspeakable (32 page)

“My God,” Collin murmured, staring at the article. “You know, he hinted in the second session with Gail that there were others. But I had no idea. He killed all these people?”

Olivia allowed him some time to skim over the feature. “I'm not sure why they didn't mention the other fire and the other murders in the timeline. Maybe it was a mistake or it was intentionally buried. Who knows? The author of that article you're looking at, he gave me access to his files this afternoon. I also heard a tape of Wade being interviewed by the police. And it's the exact same voice coming out of you when you're in a trance.”

Collin looked up from the news story.

“I'd like to try a little experiment,” Olivia said, taking out her iPhone. She pulled up Google and carefully typed in “Lawrence of Arabia, Premiere
.”
“I want to ask you some of the questions I asked Wade. It's just a comparison thing.”

“Go ahead,” he said.

“This is right up your alley. It has to do with movies. What year did
Lawrence of Arabia
come out?”

Adjusting the ice on his wrist, Collin nodded immediately. “1962, it won Best Picture.”

“Who was the president that year?”

“John F. Kennedy?”

She nodded. “Who was vice president?”

He squinted at her. “Nixon?”

“Actually, it was Lyndon Johnson,” Olivia said. “Wade made the same mistake.”

Collin frowned. “So what does that mean? Do you think I'm faking?”

“I don't think you're faking, Collin.” She glanced at the top search result on Google and clicked on it. “From what I could tell, Wade still thinks it's 1962. And when he was alive, I'm assuming he was no brain trust. So—maybe he didn't know who the vice president was at the time. But the thing is, you both made the same mistake.” She glanced at her iPhone again.

“What are you looking up anyway?” he asked.

“Something else Wade got wrong,” she said. “He told me the last movie he saw was
Lawrence of Arabia
.”

“Yeah, well, it came out in 1962, I'm almost positive.”

With her eyes on the phone screen, she nodded. “It says here the film had its royal premiere on December 10, 1962, and its U.S. premiere on December 16, 1962.”

“So?”

She gazed at him and slowly shook her head. “Collin, by then, Wade had already been dead for two months.”

C
ollin studied the mug shot of Wade Grinnell again. Sixteen years old and the guy looked practically thirty. Of course, teenagers looked older back then. He and Fernando had found online a sex education video from the mid-fifties about VD. Between laughing hysterically, they'd also marveled at how all the teenage girls resembled mousy housewives, and the guys looked like doofus junior executives. Or maybe they just couldn't cast anyone under eighteen in those things. Whatever, Wade Grinnell didn't look like a juvenile delinquent. Instead, he could have passed for someone who had already done hard time in prison.

In fact, he looked like someone who might have murdered eighteen people.

Sitting in the car, waiting in the ferry terminal parking lot, he had the interior light on. He kept looking at the photo, and then at the rearview mirror—to see if there was any resemblance at all. He didn't know what Mrs. Pollack-Martin had seen—except possibly something inside him.

He was supposed to meet Olivia again at the same time tomorrow. He'd have to make up yet another lie to explain to his grandparents why he wouldn't be home until dinnertime. It was worth it. He couldn't believe Olivia refused to take his money.

Switching off the interior light, Collin looked in the rearview mirror again, and gasped.

About five cars behind him, a man stood outside his vehicle, holding a pair of binoculars up to his face. He looked like the man from the boat at night behind his grandparents' house. He wore a navy-blue Windbreaker and khakis.

His cell phone rang. Ignoring it, Collin opened the door and jumped out of the car. He turned around and the man with the binoculars was gone.

Collin started down the aisle between the rows of waiting cars. All the while, his phone kept ringing. He finally dug it out of his pocket and saw it was his grandparents' number. He let it go to voice mail, and kept walking down the aisle, eyeing people inside their cars. After passing by nine vehicles, he still hadn't spotted the man in the blue Windbreaker.

Collin realized the guy must have left his car in another aisle. He heard the boat horn blowing as the ferry came into the terminal. He started back toward his Taurus, but kept glancing around for the blue-Windbreaker man. Was it possible he just looked familiar because of the binoculars? The body type seemed the same.

Climbing behind the wheel, Collin shut his door. He was about to retrieve the message from his grandparents when his cell rang again. It was their number.

Clicking on the phone, he glanced in the rearview mirror again. “Grandpa?”

“Collin?” It was his grandmother, sounding frazzled. “Where are you right now, honey?”

“Um, the—the school library,” he lied. “Why? Did something happen? Did that prowler from last night come back?”

“No, it's your grandfather. He had a little spell about a half hour ago—and he refuses to go to the hospital. . . .”

“Where is he?”
Collin heard his grandfather yell in the background.

“He's at school, Andy,” she answered, her voice slightly muffled. “Listen, sweetie,” she said. “I think you should come home and try to talk some sense into him. He won't let me call the doctor. He doesn't want to go to the emergency room—”

“I had a dizzy spell!”
his grandfather barked in the distance.
“It's no big deal!”

“And your speech was slurred!” she shot back. Then she spoke into the phone again: “I'm worried he had a ministroke or something.”

“Call his doctor. If Grandpa won't budge, get the doctor to come over.”

“I'm going to do that right now. In the meantime, hurry home, okay?”

Collin glanced ahead at the ferry docking. “Um, I'll be about an hour. I'm sorry, I—”

“An hour? Whoever's keeping you there, tell them you have a family emergency. . . .”

“Actually, I—I loaned my car to someone,” Collin lied. “They won't be back for another forty-five minutes. But as soon as they get back, I'll . . .” He trailed off. He could hear Dee talking to his grandfather.

“He let a friend borrow the car,” she said.

Collin squirmed in the driver's seat at his grandfather's response:
“WHAT?”

A moment later, Old Andy came on the line. “What is this I hear about you letting a friend use the Taurus?” he asked hotly. “And you're not in the car with him? Collin, we aren't insured for that kind of thing. What in the name of all that's holy are you thinking? What if he has an accident?”

“It was kind of an emergency,” he lied. He thought his grandfather might have another ministroke right there. “Grandpa, let Dee call your doctor. I'll be there as soon I can. Okay?”

There was no response.

“Grandpa, are you still there?”

“Collin, honey,” his grandmother said. “He just handed off the phone to me. He's okay, just upset. Come on home as soon as you can. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said. Then he listened to the click on the other end.

 

 

Sitting at the wheel, he listened to all the car doors shutting. The din echoed in the ferry's tunnel-like parking level. Collin kept looking around at the passengers getting out of their cars. He still didn't see the man in the blue Windbreaker. Maybe the guy had pulled into one of the other two parking areas.

The boat started to pull away from the terminal. It looked like most everyone who was getting out of their cars had already gone up to the main cabin. Collin thought about making a car-by-car search—for a pair of binoculars on someone's front seat. But there were hundreds of vehicles, and scores of tourists took the ferries every day—half of them had binoculars.

Collin decided instead to go upstairs to the restroom. After that Big Gulp in the park, he really had to go. Climbing out of the car, he looked over at the stairwell access, and he froze.

A dark-haired man in a blue jacket hovered in the alcove doorway. All at once, he quickly ducked toward the steps. Collin didn't get a look at his face.

He shut his car door, made sure it was locked, and started toward the stairwell access. He was shaking. An announcement came over the loudspeaker:
“Welcome aboard Washington State Ferries. Please listen to these very important announcements. . . .”

Approaching the stairwell access, Collin peeked around the corner toward the stairs. Near the top of the steps, he saw a shadow sweep across the wall—then ripple down the stairs. It stopped suddenly. He couldn't help thinking someone was up there waiting for him.

With a glance over his shoulder, Collin noticed the access to the other stairwell, closer to the bow. He took one more look at the shadow overhead. It moved, swaying back and forth a little. Whoever was up there, they seemed impatient.

Collin turned and ran to the other stairway access. He hurried up the narrow staircase to the main cabin. Weaving around other passengers, he rushed down the aisle to the front stairwell. The swinging door at the top of it was still moving back and forth a little.

Catching his breath, he looked around at the other passengers in the vicinity. He didn't see anyone wearing a blue Windbreaker in the crowd.

With a sigh, Collin retreated into the men's room. The place smelled so gag-awful he tried to hold his breath while peeing. He didn't see anyone in a blue jacket. Quickly washing his hands, he wiped them dry on the front of his pants and hurried out of the restroom. Then he finally took a big breath of air.

He glanced around at the other passengers once more, looking for that man in the blue Windbreaker. No luck.

Collin headed to the stairwell again. He wanted to get an update on his grandfather. But he needed to phone his grandparents from inside the car, where it was quieter. He had to keep up the pretense that he was calling from the school library. He didn't even want to think about how he'd cope if his grandfather's condition was serious. Old Andy was just about the only stable force in his life right now. Even though Collin was doing things behind his grandfather's back, he'd come to depend on him, too. He didn't want to think about him becoming sick and feeble.

With a sad, scared pang gnawing at his stomach, he plodded down the stairwell to the parking level. He saw a man in a blue Windbreaker prowling among the cars.

Collin stopped in his tracks and watched him. He couldn't see his face, but the guy was headed toward the Taurus. He took a piece of paper out of his pocket.

Quickly glancing around, Collin noticed some people still in their cars. He wasn't totally alone down here with the man. He swallowed hard, and took a few steps forward. “Are you leaving me another note?” he called in a shaky voice.

The man swiveled around and stared at him. He was tall and thin, with black hair and a slightly pinched look to his face. Collin guessed he was about forty. He looked familiar.

“Well, hello, Collin,” the man said, smiling at him. He furtively slipped the piece of paper back inside the pocket of his Windbreaker.

Threading around a couple of cars to get closer, Collin recognized Rick, the weirdo who had cornered him in the alley behind Hot Shots Java three months before. Ian had said the guy was stalking him. He'd even been poking around the rental house where his mom and Chance had been murdered.

“I know you,” Collin said, stopping between the bumpers of two parked cars.

The man laughed. “Well, I'm flattered you'd remember me.”

“Yes, your name's Rick, and you've seen all my movies and TV appearances. And for a long time now, you've been following me around. . . .”

Rick shrugged, and stepped toward Collin. The trunk of a parked Camry was between them. “I wouldn't say I've been
following
you. We just happen to travel in the same circles.”

“But don't you live in Seattle?”

He laughed again. “Wow, you know where I used to live? I really am flattered. . . .”

“Ian told me. He said you were stalking me. He told me a lot about you.”

“Well, I wouldn't believe everything that hotheaded cop has told you. Talk about a stalker. It's a good thing me and my family moved to Poulsbo two months ago—so I could keep an eye out for you occasionally.” He looked around, and then smiled at him. “Look, Collin, this is silly, standing here talking and choking on gas fumes. Why don't we go upstairs and chat where it's warm and comfortable?”

“I'd rather choke on gas fumes,” Collin muttered.

Rick sighed. “I should be hurt, but you really don't know me that well, not the way I know you. So I don't blame you. You probably think I had something to do with your friends getting killed. But I didn't, Collin. I wasn't jealous of them or anything, honest. In fact, I was glad to see you making friends. You don't believe me, do you?”

Collin stared at him. He wasn't sure.

Rick took a step toward him. “You were right earlier. I left a note on your car last Tuesday. Imagine my surprise when I was coming back from my skin doctor's appointment in Seattle and spotted you on the ferry—instead of in school. I almost came up and talked with you while you were on the outside deck, but you looked so pensive. I decided to leave you a note instead. If you want, I can dig up the receipt from my skin doctor showing the time of my appointment. That would put me in Seattle the afternoon your friend, Fernando, was murdered and when the Pelham house was burglarized. My wife, Michelle, could tell you, we had another incident with Kelsey. He's five and still wets the bed. It happened around four in the morning on Tuesday. Isn't that around the time the newspapers said your friend's house caught fire?”

Collin nodded. A part of him believed the guy, but he was still wary—and put off. “Where are your binoculars?” he asked pointedly.

“In the car,” Rick replied, half-smirking. “You must have spotted me earlier at the ferry terminal in Seattle. I thought you had.”

“I've seen you at night, too—on the bay, on that boat behind my grandparents' house.”

Rick shook his head. “I don't own a boat, Collin.”

“Right,” he replied sarcastically. “And you didn't send me those emails either, the ones with the smiley face.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Bullshit! The way you're talking right now—those emails are just like something you'd send! It's the same tone and everything.”

Rick let out a bewildered laugh. “I've never emailed you, Collin. I don't know anything about a boat. . . .”

“You were sneaking around outside my grandparents' house last night, weren't you?”

“I wouldn't do anything like that.”

“What's the new message?” Collin asked hotly. “You admitted you left me a note last time we were on the ferry together. You had a piece of paper in your hand earlier. You were going to leave it on my car. What does it say?”

Rick turned away and walked between the vehicles to the railing. Collin followed him. In the night darkness, he could see only the silvery ripples on the black water below. Rick took his hand out of his pocket and offered him the folded piece of paper.

Collin unfolded the note: