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Like how he never made a sound until he tasted my blood. Or the cutting. I didn’t tell them that. Did I?
“Why did he go to New York before Christmas?” Rusk asks.
I’m pretty sure I answered that question a dozen times, but maybe the sheriff’s questions are blending with the deputy’s and then with the FBI’s. I rub my temples, my head in my hands. “I asked him if it was business or pleasure, and he said both. I assumed it was for Doctors Without Borders but he never said specifically.”
“And when the alarm went off that night and he called, you could hear voices in the background.”
“Yes.”
Matheson consults her notes. “At approximately two in the morning.”
“Yes.”
Rusk paces between the kitchen and eating area. “He does work for Doctors Without Borders, but only for the past year. What did he do before that?”
“He said he used to work for Blake Enterprises too, but I got the impression that was years ago.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I don’t know,” I groan, rubbing my head harder. “Tasker. He said he hadn’t seen Tasker in almost five years. There was weight and age to his story that didn’t feel recent.”
“If he told her a single element of truth,” Rusk retorts, whirling around to pace back the other way. “This could all be a wild goose chase.”
“No.” I drop my hands, planting my palms on the table. “He never lied to me.”
Rusk laughs. “Oh, that’s rich. The serial killer never told a lie. Sure, I believe that. The murderer we threw behind bars last week said the exact same fucking thing.” He turns toward me, raising his hands, and says in a falsetto voice, “I’m innocent! It wasn’t me! It was the one-armed man!”
Slowly, I rise to my feet. I keep my hands flat on the table and focus all my will and belief into my voice. “He never lied to me. He always keeps his promises. That much I will always believe. Always. I don’t care how many horrible pictures you show me.”
“All right,” Matheson replies evenly. “Then tell us what he promised. Tell us what he said, so we can decide the truth for ourselves.”
Wearily, I sit back down, although all I want to do is crawl to bed. “He said he would make me strong when I felt weak. If he was bad for me, he’d let me go. That he’d never lie, no matter how awful the truth was.”
Matheson nods. “I can see why you trusted him. What did he tell you about his past? About his childhood? Anything that might help us clear his name.”
“His mother called him Charlie, so that has to be his real name. His brother was MIA twenty years ago. His father…” She nods again, encouraging me to continue.Oh Charlie. Forgive me if I say something that gets you in more trouble. But you made me promise to tell the truth.“His father killed his mother when he was seventeen but didn’t kill him.”
“No fucking way,” Rusk whispers, staring at me. “It can’t be.”
“What?” Matheson asks. “Do you know who she’s talking about?”
“Did he ever say he was in the FBI?”
I stare at him.No, I say in my mind. I can hear my snide tone. My confidence.No.I try to make my mouth say the word, but I physically cannot get my mouth to move. Not in a lie. Not when my Master ordered me to tell the truth.Give them exactly what they want, kitten.
“Yes.” The word rips out of me.
His lips curve in a slow, knowing smile that screams,I’ve got you now, Charlie.
“Son of a bitch. Our serial killer is my old partner, Charlie Gyres.”
30
“Wait, wait, wait.” Matheson laughs, shaking her head. “No way. Not after all of the psychological profiling we go through. I don’t believe it.”
“The smarter you are, the easier it is to get around the psych tests. Plus Charlie came in with a bunch of military awards. That carried a lot of weight.”
“So you’re saying a smart serial killer could talk his way around the psych tests and kill right under our noses.”
