It Takes a Killer (7 page)

To answer, Hannah sat beside Father Tompkins.  She could smell his aftershave, musky and dark, and knew he had only shaved out of habit.  He wore that collar out of habit, came to church out of habit.  Her mother had always said people survived after tragedy because of their faith, in God and in themselves, but Hannah knew better.  They survived because that’s what the human race had to do—it was ingrained in them to keep going, and to keep doing what they always did.  People didn’t change because of tragedy, they were simply revealed.

“Where is everyone?” Hannah finally asked, breaking the silence.  It bothered her that they weren’t in church.

“There’s a vigil being held at the hotel.”  Father Tompkins shifted against the hard wood. 

A vigil for Dane but not for Bart
, Hannah thought.  That’s what happens when you’re found with a bunch of stolen wallets.  “And you’re not going?”

“I couldn’t find the strength.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t understand,” he said.  Father Tompkins leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he clasped his hands together beneath his nose.  “It wouldn’t be right for me to go.”

“Because of Bart?” Hannah asked.

“Because of judgment,” Father Tompkins replied.  “I’m sure you’ve noticed a change in those around you.  Your own mother confessed to me she is afraid of you.”

Hannah’s eyes darted towards the confessional box.  “I thought you were sworn to secrecy.”

“She didn’t tell me that in confession.”  He sighed leaned back, eyes forward.  It seemed like nobody was going to look Hannah in the eyes again, either because they didn’t want to or they couldn’t.  Hannah felt the latter was a better option.  She furrowed her brow and looked towards the front, folding her hands in her lap.

Father Tompkins went on without provocation.  “You were a child when your mother began to fear you, you know.  I thought it so strange that a mother would fear her own child.”

Hannah blinked at the dozens of candles in front of her, unable to say anything.  He said, “Do you remember what happened?”

Hannah’s head turned slightly.  She then shook it, completely baffled by the fact that her mother feared her.  She would never do anything to harm her family—what did they have to fear?

“She always said you had the devil in you,” he admitted.  “After you killed a cat.”

“I never killed a cat,” Hannah denied, appalled at the idea.  While she wasn’t about to have any pets, she didn’t wish them harm.  She faced the preacher, challenging him.

“I didn’t think you would remember,” he said, “you were young.  Your mother never told me the story, but your father did.  He was hoping I might have some insight for Jessica about the situation but…I suppose nothing could convince her it was the act of an innocent child.”

Hannah gulped.  “I never killed a cat,” she repeated.

“I don’t believe you were malicious in the act.”  Father Tompkins faced her, his brown eyes exactly like Bart’s.  Small but knowing.  Certain but…lost.  “You found it dying on your front porch; you knew it was sick and wasn’t going to make it, so you put it out of it’s misery.  A merciful act, according to your father.”

Rubbing her hands over her arms Hannah was suddenly chilled.  There was a flash in her memory of a white kitten on her porch, but she didn’t know why.  She couldn’t tell if it was her imagination concocting the image or an actual memory.  It felt like the weathered words on a gravestone—something that should have lasted forever but didn’t.  Something she could almost understand, but unable to read.

Father Tompkins leaned an arm on the back of the pews, opening up to Hannah.  “Your mother knew it wouldn’t be the only time you killed something.  I told her that couldn’t be true and now…”  He shook his head and inched back on the wood.  “I didn’t know what to tell her now.”

Hannah trembled in the pews.  She held herself, unable to deny what the preacher was telling her, but unable to agree with it as well.  Her heart was beating so hard she thought it might give out, or give up.  It whispered to her that this was the truth.  “Why are you telling me this?”

Unlike Jessica, Hannah didn’t hold any blind trust in people, not even Father Tompkins.  And while he had never lied to her, Hannah knew he was capable of it; but this wasn’t a lie.

This was a confession.  A confession of fear towards her, a confession that he knew even when she was a child that she was capable of terrible things.

“What I did wasn’t wrong,” Hannah said, standing.  “I did what I had to do to protect my friend.  I’m sorry somebody had to die, but I’m not sorry I killed that man!”

Father Tompkins flinched back, eyes wide.  The words echoed around them like a chorus but when they came back to Hannah she had to cover her mouth.  A chill ran through her body, making every hair stand on end.

A footstep drew their attention.  They each turned towards the doorway where a group of people stood; among them was Jessica and Jonathan Best.  Jonathan shook his head while Jessica clutched at her dress.  Her sandy blonde hair was tied back in a bun, like it always was.  As soon as Hannah met her eyes they darted away, ashamed of her daughter.

Hannah looked over the few faces that stared at her.  Her lips pursed, and that pinch in her chest came back.  She resisted wrinkling her nose, because that would only add fuel to the flames that surrounded her.  The holy ground she stood on felt tainted, but not by her presence.  By theirs.

Head held high, Hannah did her best to walk forward.  With each click of her heel on the carpet Hannah felt worse and worse.  Her own parents feared her, shunned her.  Her best friend refused to talk to her.  And now she was certain she was going to become a plague on the town she called home.  Maybe she already was; there had been two more deaths after all, ones she was somehow connected to.

It couldn’t have been a coincidence, Hannah thought, that Bart and Dane were each killed after being with her.  It wasn’t coincidence that a note was left with Bart; she was the common link between them all.

Somebody was killing on her behalf.

Going to the police with the idea that she could help them catch a killer made Hannah feel hollow.  She wanted to stop this person, but having them in police custody made her feel somehow defeated.  Like she blinked.  But the lessons her father taught her since she was a child commanded her body to go to the station and talk to Martin about what she’d realized, what the officer already realized.

Predictably, she was put into an interrogation room.  It was obvious since the beginning that Martin wanted to get Hannah into handcuffs, but since that couldn’t happen without some kind of evidence, the beige walls and unwelcoming metal chair would have to do.  Hannah stood behind the chair and hated to think of all the people that had sat in it.  It was an easy weapon; heavy and hard, and not bolted to the ground as it should have been.  Garnet’s Lake had never needed to bolt their chairs down—bad things didn’t happen here.

Growing impatient, Hannah moved towards the two-way mirror.  She kept to the edges and peered at that way it wasn’t built into the wall—she held up two fingers and found it was mounted.  Not a two-way then.  She huffed and spun on her heel, looking casually to the camera that sat in the corner.  If she stood below it nobody would see her, so she did just that and pretended to look out the barred window.

The door clicked as it opened behind her.  “I know what you’re thinking,” Martin said, stepping inside.  “What kind of interrogation room has a window?”

Hannah looked to her and shrugged.  “I know the police station doesn’t see many dangerous criminals.”

Martin gave her a tight smile, as if that were an insult.  “It’s usually peaceful around here, but not anymore, right?  That’s what you’re here about. 
Take a seat
.”

Hannah eyed the chair disdainfully.  “I’m more comfortable standing.”

“All right,” Martin replied.  She slapped a brown folder on the table with the label “Hemlock” on the front.  It was in big blocky letters, an obvious tease towards Hannah.  Hannah pretended not to be too interested in it, since she knew nothing important would be kept in it.  She looked out the window again, counting the two police cruisers that sat in the lot.  Garnet’s Lake only had three, and she assumed the third was either out patrolling or watching the area where Dane had been found.

“You wanted to talk yet you’re not talking,” Martin said.  Her tone was a little more relaxed here, more in control than when Hannah had seen her before.  This is her territory, and Hannah was no longer a threat but rather potential prey.  Hannah looked at Martin over her shoulder and gave a single nod.

“I was just at the church talking with Father Tompkins when I realized something,” Hannah admitted.

“What’s that?”

“I think you already know.”  Hannah turned, leaning her back against the window frame.  “I’m the only connection—I didn’t want to admit that but…maybe there’s something to it.”

Martin quirked a pale eyebrow.  “I’m surprised it took you so long to admit.  You don’t seem like the type to live in denial.”

Hannah inhaled deeply through her nose.  “You’ve clearly never met my mother.”  That earned her a chuckle from Martin.  Feeling more at ease, Hannah decided to move forward and sit in the chair.  It was just as uncomfortable as she imagined, but it made Martin sit down as well. 
A level playing field
, Hannah thought. 
Much better
. 

“I was with Dane the night he died,” she said.  Martin nodded.  “I imagine Mariana Tern was the one that gave you that information.”

Martin didn’t make any motion, a perfectly still face that Hannah gave her credit for; not something easily accomplished.  But Hannah didn’t need her to make any kind of move to know that Mariana was the one that had turned her in.  “She was jealous.”

“Of your relationship with Dane Hemlock?”

Hannah nodded, twice she counted.  It felt strange to do so more than once, but she found it appropriate for the setting.  “He’d taken an interest in me since I killed Belleveau.  She’s always had a crush on him.”

“From what I hear all women at the hotel do,” Martin said.  “Did you?”

Hannah gave another shrug.  “I was flattered, but not interested.  He wasn’t looking for a relationship, and he was only interested because of what I did.  That’s why I took him into the alley—to prove it wasn’t him and it was the alley I wanted.”

“You mean to prove it wasn’t you, it was what happened, you mean,” Martin corrected.

Hannah furrowed her brow.  “Is that not what I said?”

“No,” Martin replied.  Hannah thought of her words and things began to grow jumbled.  She held up her hand and pinched between her eyes.  “I’m sorry I haven’t been sleeping well lately.  I keep having nightmares.”

“Understandable,” Martin said, her voice softening.  Whatever hunter instincts Martin had were dwindling, replaced with the kind caring that most people in town harboured for each other.  Hannah remained as calm as she could, ensuring her hands didn’t start to shake with the thought that she was actually fooling an officer of the law.  Martin, the woman that had been so determined to prove Hannah was an intentional murderer, was letting her guard down.

“Dane is…
was
a charming man,” Hannah admitted.  “I was caught up in the moment and when he kissed me I kissed back, but I regretted it and left.  I knew how Mariana felt but…”  She shook her head and lowered her hands to her lap, keeping her eyes focused there.  The cherry red nail polish was almost gone, either picked away by her other hand or worn off from daily use.  She noted that she would have to repaint them when she got home.  “I don’t know how it happened.”

“Witnesses say you initiated the kiss,” Martin added.

Hannah huffed through her nose.  “Maybe I did.  I was mad at Mariana—she won’t talk to me anymore.  Nobody will.  All I did was defend myself and now…”  She hiccupped, finding a shred of real emotion for herself over what had happened.  Hannah really did hate that nobody was talking to her, especially Mariana and her parents.  She hated that they feared her, because they were the ones that had nothing to fear.

Martin shifted on her chair as she leaned her elbows on the table.  Hannah listened intently, trying to gauge what kind of expression she must have.  Soon Hannah looked up and found Martin watching her with soft eyes, the complete opposite of what Hannah had previously seen.  Martin said, “There’s something you need to see.”

She pulled the brown file closer to herself and opened it, fingering through a small stack of reports before coming to a thin plastic bag.  Inside it was a piece of paper, with writing scrawled elegantly across it.

“What’s that?” Hannah asked, already knowing the answer.

“A note was found with Dane,” Martin told her.  “We have reason to believe that he was killed because of his interaction with you.  It seems you have an admirer.”  She slid the note towards Hannah.

“He’s been cleansed and soon so will you,” Hannah read, “I’ll show you the light.”  Hannah leaned back.  Whoever had written those words had nearly pierced the paper on every word.  “That doesn’t mean it’s about me.”

“It was found pinned with this,” Martin said, pushing another bag forward.  In this one was a photograph of Hannah standing in front of the hotel from a few nights ago, waiting for a taxi.  She was looking down the road beneath the streetlamp, her bag hanging low in front of her as she held it with both hands.  It would have been a nice candid shot, if it hadn’t been pinned to a dead body.