Eight Perfect Murders(31)

The more I thought about it, the more I became convinced that Charlie, who’d staged the A.B.C. murders, and the train murder from Double Indemnity, and probably scared Elaine Johnson to death up in Rockland, Maine, was the same man who’d shot Eric Atwell for me.

He knew me.

And his actions had brought the FBI to my door. Maybe that was his intention, as well.

Charlie, what is it that you want?

I thought some more about Strangers on a Train. The book wasn’t about the people who were murdered. It was about Bruno and Guy, the murderers, and their relationship with each other. Maybe whoever I contacted through that website felt as though we were in a relationship as well. I remembered the commenter on my blog post, Doctor Sheppard. It was clear he wanted to know me, and that he wanted me to know him.

My cell phone rang. I looked and saw it was Gwen.

“Hello,” I said.

“Sorry I’m calling you so late. Were you up?”

“It’s fine,” I said. “I’m up.”

“Great. A couple of things. I did some more poking around in the case of Elaine Johnson, the heart attack victim.”

“Right.”

“I spoke with the police detective who attended the scene, and she told me that the house was absolutely packed with books.”

“I’m not surprised.”

Gwen paused, then said, “I have a request of you. I know it’s strange, but I think it would be helpful. I’m driving to Rockland tomorrow afternoon. Could you come with me?”

“I suppose I could,” I said, “but I’m not sure I’d be any help. What would I be able to see that you wouldn’t be able to?”

“I’ve already thought about this,” Gwen said. “Maybe you’d see nothing, but maybe you’d see a lot. You knew her. I’m not sure it would be helpful, but I don’t think it could hurt. Does that make any sense to you?”

“A little bit,” I said.

“So you’ll come?”

“Sure, I guess. When are you leaving?”

“Excellent. I have to be here in New Haven all morning, and then I thought I could leave around noon. I’ll swing through Boston and pick you up one thirtyish and we’ll get to Rockland about five in the afternoon. Will that work?”

“Okay,” I said. “I can get coverage at the store. Will we be there overnight?”

“I hadn’t even thought of that. I just decided five minutes ago to make this trip.” She thought for a moment. “Let’s plan on spending the night. The detective said she’d meet us there at five, but we might want to take more than one look at the house, and there might be other witnesses I can interview the next day. Is an overnight okay?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Perfect. I’ll text you when I’m leaving New Haven. Should I pick you up at the store, or at your apartment?”

I told her I’d be at the store, and we ended the call.

I stood for a moment, then went and grabbed a beer from the fridge. I didn’t really know why Gwen wanted me to come along with her to Elaine Johnson’s house. She was grasping at straws. Maybe she was ambitious and thought I’d help her take down a serial killer. Maybe she wanted me there because she was hoping I’d tip my hand, that confronted with a crime scene I’d give myself away. Of course, her impulse was correct. Elaine Johnson was one of the murders on the list. The same man, my shadow, who killed Eric Atwell, had decided to keep killing people, and to use my list. And he was reaching out to me; that was made clear by his choosing Elaine as one of the victims. But how exactly did he know about her, know that she used to frequent the bookstore? How close was he to me?

I didn’t have the answers to those questions, but I did know, in my gut, that Gwen Mulvey was going to figure it out. She’d put it all together so far and she was going to continue to put it together. And it was going to lead back to me, to the murder of Eric Atwell, and to what I’d done to Norman Chaney in New Hampshire. She was going to find me. And that meant I needed to find my shadow first. I needed to beat her to it.





Chapter 14




The next day I woke early, packed an overnight bag, and went to Old Devils. I hadn’t slept well. I’d been thinking about him, of course. I realize that I need to decide on a formal name for this man. I had always thought of him as my shadow, but that sounds a little too much like a comic book character. I think, instead, I’ll go with Charlie, the name that Gwen and I came up with together. Charlie works.

After I unlocked the store’s front door, Nero came bounding through his cat door that led to the half basement. It was where he sometimes slept, down near the furnace, but he never spent time there if people were around. He dropped and lolled in front of me, and I bent and rubbed his chest, and under his chin. I thought there might be a point in my life when Nero would stretch out to get attention and I wouldn’t think of Norman Chaney’s bloodied corpse, but it hadn’t happened yet.

I went to the store computer and checked emails, then wrote a quick one to Brandon, asking if he’d be willing to close up the shop after his afternoon shift. I knew he’d do it, but I just wanted to make sure. It was Sunday morning, early, so I didn’t expect an email back anytime soon.

I drank coffee and thought some more about my plan for that morning. I figured that by nine o’clock, or maybe even eight thirty, it would be a decent time to call Marty Kingship, a former police officer I know who was now working part-time as a security consultant for one of the big downtown hotels. I met Marty three years ago when he came into the store during a Dennis Lehane signing. He stayed long after Lehane left, asking me questions about crime novels, saying that he was thinking of writing one himself since he’d been on the force. Before he left that night, he asked me if I wanted to grab a drink with him sometime. I told him I would and was surprised when he immediately suggested a place and a time: a bar called Marliave on the other side of the park on the next Thursday night at eight.