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“My prison? No, not quite. This all took place back in 1989, and you’re forgetting that things were a little different back then. NCI had an affiliate program called the Day Institute. It was where the more psychotic inmates were taken. I was drafted there for a while. And please, I shouldn’t have to spell it out for you. What other reason might there be for Crawler’s records to be completely sealed – even to law enforcement?”
Ella pushed her fingertips to her eyes and racked her brain. It should be obvious. There was only a handful of reasons certain records might not be public, but none of them applied here.
“Come on, Miss Dark. You’re thinking too hard. It should be obvious.”
There was only one obvious reason.
Could it be?
This strange incident took place in 1989, and even now the killer was still strong enough to hoist a grown woman over a tree. That meant age hadn’t deteriorated his strength.
“Because he was just a child,” Ella said.
“Bingo. And now this man-child is back, looking for vengeance on the place that shunned him. In prison, Crawler was weak, bullied, made fun of. His target was a young girl who lived in a house on Coalville Street. That didn’t go over well with some of the other inmates at the Institute.”
“What house was it?”
“I’m not sure. Crawler wouldn’t tell. Is this enough to get me my old job back?”
No it wasn’t. Ella needed much more. She needed to know this man’s life inside out and follow it all the way back to his childhood.
“Nowhere close. If I can’t find him, I can’t solve this case. There must be something else.”
Chuck scratched his beard and turned to look out of the cell window. He sighed heavily then said, ‘Go through the files on my desk. The ones at my cabin. I have one of Crawler’s old prison diaries in there. A lot of it is gibberish, but you might find something useful.”
Better than nothing, Ella thought. She thanked Chuck and went on her way, back upstairs. She had a good idea where this person might be, but she had to make sure she was right.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Back in the office, Ella found Ripley waiting for her. She explained everything she’d learned and that Chuck Pierce was innocent. One of the officers brought in a box of Chuck’s belongings from his home. Ella devoured it until she found an old, stained leather diary. She opened it up and compared the handwriting to the letter the killer had sent to the precinct.
“Ripley, look. The handwriting is the same.”
“I don’t know Dark. I think it’s still more likely Chuck is our guy.”
But Ella was already lost in the notebook’s contents. It began in October 1989 and ran until January 1999. One entry every month on average.
February 11, 1994. I recall the day my father beat me so badly I blacked out. To this day, my mind never woke up. Yesterday I endured a similar attack from the thugs in H Block.
July 19, 1995. I find comfort in poetry, in the scholars that describe my life to me better than I could describe it myself.
December 25, 1995. All is not lost, the unconquerable will, and study of revenge, immortal hate, and the courage never to submit or yield.
November 18, 1997. I’m no monster, but each night, I remember his bloody face brings me great joy. That same night, I left HDG for good and found WB. All I wanted was a friend.
Ella read every single word of every page, some of it drivel, some of it worth extracting and putting into the psychological profile.
“Dark? Are you still with me?” Ripley asked.
Ella broke out of her trance and realized she’d been silent while she consumed the entire diary. “Sorry. When I mentioned zero victims to Chuck, he didn’t respond at all. You saw this yourself. He just pretended to be our killer so he could go back to NCI. Not to mention he basically just admitted he was innocent while I was down there talking to him.”
“Right, so now you’re chasing a phantom instead. A guy you have no proof even exists.”
“Yes. Just give me until tonight. I can feel myself getting closer to him, Ripley.” Ella flipped back through the book to an entry she found in November 1997 that was a huge wall of text from the poem Paradise Lost – just like he’d written in his letter. The Crawler seemed to be obsessed with it.
What was it about the poem?
The themes? The historical references? The religious discussions? Maybe even the author himself.
