Page 172 of Secrets Along the Shore
“Teresa Anders,” I whisper.
Matt squeezes his eyes shut, and his shoulders begin to shake.
“Oh, Matty. No…”
He sniffs. “I knew about your case against Fogerty—that you were trying to prove he killed those first two girls. I knew about the Perfect Princess thing and the writing on their arms, so I made it look like he killed Kam too. But I messed some things up. Like the tarp—I thought it would make it easier to move her. But that was different from his other ones. And I didn’t take any jewelry from her—I didn’t know about Fogerty taking jewelry from them at that point. I didn’t find out about that until later.”
A prickle crawls across my skin.
How did he learn about the trophies at all?
No one outside of the investigation knew about that prior to Fogerty’s trial. We held back that information on purpose. So how did Matthew know about them when he killed Teresa Anders?
“Matty, howdidyou know about the jewelry? How did you know to take Teresa’s earring…”
The question dies on my lips, because I realize the answer.
I told James everything about the cases.
“James?” I ask.
Matthew holds up a hand, as if trying to stop my train of thought. “He didn’t mean anything by it! It was just talk, you know? But he didn’t mention the trophy thing until after I’d already…well…”—his frame sags—“until after Kam. So…I didn’t know I was supposed to take something.
“Plus, it dawned on me that her…location…was different from the first two. I left her more than a mile off the highway, and the other two, he left them so close to it. The night it happened, I didn’t think through all that. I just…acted. That combined with not taking any jewelry…”
I don’t interrupt him to say that we had no way of knowing what jewelry Kam was wearing when she was killed, so we had no way of knowing whether something had actually been taken or not. The only reason we knew about the ring and earrings from the earlier victims was because Aria’s familytoldus the ring she always wore wasn’t found with her, and Haley and Teresa were found with orphan earrings.
“…If you all went looking for another killer besides Fogerty, I knew you’d probably find me. I panicked…came up with the idea to try one more time—to frame Fogerty so well that no one would question it…” His words float away, and he searches my face, a haunted expression wrenching his features.
What exactly does he want from me?
Understanding? Absolution? There’s probably a textbook answer for what you should say to de-escalate this situation. Whatever it is, it’s not coming to me. My instincts tell me to keep quiet and let him squirm. Let him give in to the need to fill the silence. I press my lips together and wait.
“So I did it again.” The admission buckles his knees, and for a second, I think he might crumble. “I used a tarp and left her farther from the highway, like Kam, so they would match. So it would look like Fogerty just changed his behavior up a little. And then…I took her earring…the last girl’s…and a few hairs, and hid them at his place. I would’ve done Kam too, but it felt too risky to go back.”
When I still don’t speak, when I don’t offer any solace, his face reddens and words burst from him like shrapnel from an explosion. “I didn’t want to do it! You have to believe me! You weren’t getting anywhere in the investigation into Fogerty. You thought it was him,knew it, the way you told it—the way James told it—you just couldn’tprove it. Ineededit to be him so you—so everyone—would think you had your killer.”
In my mind’s eye, I see the faces of Teresa Anders’s parents. Their little girl died so Matthew could keep his horrible secret.
Revulsion breaks to the surface, and I know he can see it on my face.
His head cocks, lips quivering, his mouth fighting against itself to hold back the emotion overtaking him. “I had to, Soph.” He pauses, sucking in a quick, agonized breath. “I had to,” he whispers.
An overwhelming urge to rail at him rips through me—to scream, condemn, and shame. Every fiber yearns to emotionally eviscerate him. Physically punch him so hard he can’t breathe. Kick him until he stays down. Inflict the pain his victims never got the chance to.
But I won’t. I couldn’t if he closed his eyes and told me to take my best shot. It’s not who I am, even if my lesser angel sometimes wishes it’s who I would be.
The edges of my vision are less fuzzy now. My thinking is clearing. My goal should be leaving here still breathing. I focus.
His rationale—the rationale that led to Teresa’s death—is so flawed. No matter how alike the scenes were, the victims were, the evidence was, there would have been an independent investigation—which is what happened and how we got where we are now. But I can’t point out that killing Teresa changed nothing, regardless of how much I want to. That won’t get him where I need him to be.
“If you’d just left it alone,” he says, stepping closer and turning the pistol on me again, but holding it loosely. “Kurt Fogerty was evil. If you’d just let him take the blame?—”
A phone buzzes and he freezes momentarily before extracting it from his pants pocket. He glances at the screen, then at me, then at the phone when it buzzes again.
“Matty?” I prod gently.
From somewhere on the other side of the front door, a voice calls out, “Matthew?”
