To Catch a Killer(83)

—VICTOR FLEMMING


Spam and I get out of the car. I step quickly toward the front, hoping to get a look inside the van. The back doors are closed and I don’t see anyone, inside or out.

“Erin and Samantha. The two of you showing up together makes my job much easier.” He points the gun at us. “Keep your hands where I can see them and hand over those cell phones.”

I pull my phone out of my pocket and hold it up high. Spam scampers over to my side, clutching my jacket with one hand and holding her cell phone up high with the other. One glance at her screen tells me two things: One, she’s calling Lysa on FaceTime, but she’s reversed the camera so that it’s pointing at Mr. Roberts and his gun. And two: She set the speaker to mute.

I need to stall for time and hope Lysa picks up.

“Where are they, Carl?” I stick out my hip and give him a hard glare. This is not a brave-girl act. I’ve imagined this moment my whole life. He can’t hurt me any more than he already has.

“Oh, listen to the bravado on you,” he says. “If you’d rather call me Carl than Principal Roberts … or Dad … then be my guest.”

“What?” My voice cracks. So I was wrong. He found the one word that could destroy me. I glance at Spam.

Her face crumbles. “Mr. Roberts is your dad?”

I see a glimpse of Lysa’s face on the screen just before Spam kills the connection. At least now she knows something’s wrong.

“I don’t believe you. There’s no way. I have red hair.…” It’s a struggle, but I manage to keep my voice steady.

“Your hair is the spitting image of my Aunt Grace’s.” Mr. Roberts keeps the gun on us as he moves in and takes our phones. He tucks mine in one pocket and Spam’s in the other.

“Step over here and I’ll reunite you with your friends.”

Spam and I cling to each other and take small steps closer to the back of the van. Principal Roberts swings open the back doors, revealing Victor and Journey slumped inside. Both of their eyes are closed.

I let out a yelp and start toward them.

“Not so fast,” Principal Roberts says, raising the gun. “Come and sit on this bumper where I can take care of you properly.”

I sidestep toward the van. Spam clutches my arm so hard she’s squeezing the life out of it, and yet she stubbornly refuses to lift her feet. I’m dragging her along just to keep moving. I shift my gaze between Victor and Principal Roberts. Then I steal a glance at Journey and my heart drops. A trickle of blood outlines the side of his face.

“Are they dead?” Spam worries. “Are they? You’ve got to tell me.”

Almost everything I care about is right here—almost.

Except for Rachel and Lysa.

We have to make it out of this. If for no other reason than for Rachel. She can’t go through something like this again.

Spam and I help each other hop up onto the bumper of the van. I glance over my shoulder at Victor. His eyes flutter open and link to mine. He pinches his lips together, a silent signal for me to stay quiet.

Principal Roberts picks up a pair of industrial-strength plastic zip ties, already looped together like handcuffs. “Let’s see those hands, little lady.”

I stick my hands out in front of me. A sob catches in my throat. How can he do this using the pet name he always had for me?

“Behind,” he orders.

I put my hands behind me and he tightens the loops around my wrists. Next he moves behind Spam. “Reach back and stick your hands through here,” he orders.

She complies, but clenches her fists and extends her middle finger on both hands. He yanks on the ends, tightening the loops around her wrists.

“Not so tight, a-hole,” she says.

“Oh, Samantha, really? Your mouth is atrocious,” he says.

“And your mouth looks like a cat’s butt,” she retorts.

“You’re disgusting,” Mr. Roberts says.

“Bite me,” Spam replies.

I’m happy to hear the famous Spam spitfire attitude. We’re going to need it, plus every bit of guts and bravado I can muster to get out of this alive. I notice how he keeps the gun trained on me nearly the whole time and I decide that’s something I can work with.

“So, what’s the deal, Mr. Roberts? You say you’re my dad but now you want to kill me. That’s not very fatherly.”

“Don’t go there, Erin,” Victor says from inside the van. “And whatever you do, don’t make any deals with him. You can’t trust him.”

I’m relieved to hear Victor speak. He sounds okay. But his hands are bound behind his back and his feet are lashed together, too.

“Aww, Vic,” Principal Roberts says. “You always thought you were better than me. It must’ve hurt when she chose me over you.”

“Let the kids go, Carl,” Victor says. “If this is about Sarah, we can keep it between you and me.”

Sarah? What are they saying?

Principal Roberts shoves his gun right into our faces. “Erin. Samantha. Now scoot back into the van and stick your feet out so I can bind them, too.”

“How do you think this is going to end, Carl?” Victor asks. “Someone is going to figure this out.”

Out of the corner of my eye I can tell he’s working to get out of the bindings.