Page 17 of 1st Shock
He scratches his ear, makes a face. "Mary? Ann? Jane? I don't recall, but I do remember killing her."
"Where? Did you find her at the park like Tonya?"
He shrugs. "Sounds about right."
"You're lying," Meg says. "You never saw this girl, and you certainly didn't kill her."
She may be an artist, but she's got the instincts of a profiler.
I remove the boxes and rise from my chair. "You're right, Mickey, this interview is over."
His shackles jangle as he lunges for me, the evil look firmly in place once more. "You goddamn bitch!"
I hustle Meg to the door and throw a smile at Mickey. "It'sDr.Goddamn Bitch to you."
9
Meg
Idon't know what it is about Thursday, but lately I can't seem to stay on schedule.
Today, the morning after the Mickey visit that left me with a sleepless and extremely creeped out night, I'm exhausted. Emotionally and physically drained to the point where hours of meditation won't help.
And, I started the day with a call from my mother.
My parents live in Cedarwood Cove, Maryland, a small town an hour out of D.C. where Charlie and I grew up. Mom had big news to share. Apparently, skeletal remains had been found along the Silver Tail, a hundred mile long river that flows through our hometown.
For Mom, that equals a barrel—possibly two—of catnip. Before Charlie and I barged into her world, Mom was a journalist for the Annapolis Capital. It was a role she cherished, absolutely thrived on, but gave up to be a stay-at-home mom. As grateful as I am that she was home each day and always available, she shouldn't have given up her career. Even as a kid, I sensed something in her. A loss I didn't quite understand until I became an adult.
Not that she'd been a bad mother. She's great. Rock-solid in all the ways one should be. Even if she took the PTA president to task over a bake sale that somehow discriminated against boys.
Hey, I never said she wasn't nuts.
As honorable as sacrificing her career had been, there was a hunger within her that couldn't be satisfied by life as a stay-at-home mom. I sensed an emotional void in her. That down deep she really didn’t want to be home. She may have been there physically, but I needed more. I needed to talk to her about…whatever…boys, my friends, things bothering me, the color of the sky and why I loved it and she always seemed preoccupied. Studying the newspaper for stories she could’ve written, corruption cases she could have chased. Murderers she may have helped catch. Even when Mom was home she wasn’t present. She’d be deep in her journal making notes about Gayle, our neighbor across the street.
That hunger still exists and manifests itself by her spying on Gayle, who keeps odd hours. Dad used to joke that a man with that name had to be out all night because during the day too many people tormented him for having a woman's name.
Suspicious of said hours, Mom started watching him. Keeping an eye out, as she'd say.
And taking notes.
In her mind, Gayle could have been up to anything. Weapons smuggling, drug trafficking, female slavery. When it came to him, my mother's imagination ran wild and fueled her need to dig, to find the truth. To this day, years later, she's still searching.
She has journals dedicated to his daily activities. When he came home, when he left, the day he cleared six garbage bags from his garage leaving Mom to think he could be disposing of a dismembered body.
She has no real proof of this, but the man's unusual schedule ran headlong into her desire to have her career back and created the perfect storm of insanity.
So, on this Thursday morning, when skeletal remains were found on the banks of the Silver Tail, well, Mom called me, convinced it might be one of Gayle's victims.
At which point, I decided a trip to my hometown was in order before my mother ran to the cops with fifteen years’ worth of journals and accused the quirky man of murder.
Talk about creating a problem with your neighbor.
It took Dad and I over an hour to convince Mom to hold off, to see where the investigation led before she approached law enforcement with her theories. By the time we were done, Dad looked as if he'd climbed Everest. He may have even sprouted a few extra gray hairs.
But, phew. Close one. She’s as crazy as can be, but I love her. She’s family and for me, that’s what is most important. When things go south, the only people I know I can count on are my parents and Charlie. I think that’s what drives me on these cold cases. If one of them went missing, I’d lose my mind. It would rip a chunk out of me I’d never get back.
When I think of Emily and all those lost kids from when I was in the sixth grade, that’s what I feel. I could have been one of those kids and their families have no idea where they are. I can’t live with that.
