Authors: Neal Baer

Kill Switch (24 page)

BOOK: Kill Switch

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Now it was Claire's turn to smile. “And you think the Canadian government will honor that deal? When they find out how many innocent children you murdered on those âbusiness trips' of yours?”

“If anyone had any evidence against me, I suppose I would've found out by now,” Lewis replied.

“They didn't, but they will soon,” Claire said. “Your son gave a sample of his DNA.”

Lewis's face dropped. “He did
w-what
?” he stammered.

“He gave the police and the FBI permission to compare his DNA to any unsolved murder of a little girl. And since half his DNA comes from you, they'll be able to use it to prove you're the murdering bastard we all know you are.”

“You bitch!” Lewis yelled.

Then he found a sudden burst of energy and, shackles and all, sprang across the table and tackled Claire to the ground.

“I'll kill you with my bare hands!” he screamed.

Claire dug her fingernails into his face, being sure to draw blood. Lewis screamed as three guards pulled them apart, every head in the visiting room now turned in their direction.

One of the guards hustled Claire out of harm's way. “Stand back against the wall!” he ordered Lewis.

Lewis was struggling against the other two guards restraining him. “Get her out of here!” he bellowed, his eyes shooting daggers at Claire.

Claire showed the first chink in her emotional armor. “Please!” she shouted to Lewis. “Tell me where you buried Amy!”

“You denied me,” Lewis snarled, “so now I'm denying you. I'll never tell you! Never!”

A second later, he was pulled through the door by the guards. And gone with him, Claire feared, was any chance of ever finding Amy's remains.

C
HAPTER
24

“I
'm sorry,” Claire said quietly. “I screwed up.” It was six hours later and she was sitting with Nick, Al Hart, and Doug Lewis back in Rochester Police Headquarters. The plan to meet at the hotel in downtown Kingston had been scuttled as soon as Nick and Hart heard of Lewis's outburst at the prison. Though Claire was allowed to leave Kingston Pen with little more than an apology from the prison authorities, the two cops didn't want to hang around in case Lewis told his attorney or, worse, the Canadian police about the “deal” Claire had offered him.

So the foursome headed immediately in their two separate cars for the nearby border, crossing back into the United States before the Canadians had time to react. Together now, in the cramped room they'd been assigned, Nick tried to relieve Claire's guilt.

“You stuck to the plan,” he said, pulling out a metal chair for her. “You didn't know he would go loony tunes on you.”

“And you couldn't have known about his agreement with the Canadians,” Doug added. “Hell, I'm his son and I didn't even know.”

“All I know,” Claire said with sadness, sitting down, “is that we'll never find Amy's remains.”

“Then we regroup,” Hart offered, a strangely confident tone in his voice.

Claire looked up at him. “You're not giving up?” she asked.

“Give up? This case was cold for more than two decades until you came along, and in just a couple of days we found the perp. Now we've just got to work backward.”

He shot a glance toward Doug. “Are you still game to help us out?”

Doug, for his part, was undeterred, as if seeing the monster his father had become gave him new strength of conviction. “In any way I can,” he replied.

“Okay, then,” said Nick, reenergized. “We need to go back to when you were a kid, to see what you remember.”

“I'll do my best,” he promised.

Nick, Hart, and Doug pulled out the other metal chairs, and they sat around one of the small metal tables, Nick and Hart facing Doug and Claire.

“The day after the thunderstorm, back in eighty-nine,” Nick began. “Your dad said he was out celebrating with the guys. Any idea where he might've gone?”

Doug put his palm to his forehead and thought for a moment, trying to picture the past. “Actually, I remember thinking how weird it was for him to say that. I don't recall my father having a lot of friends.”

“Did you ever meet any of the people he worked with at the chemical company here in town?” asked Hart.

“Sure,” Doug answered, “but if you asked me their names, I wouldn't be able to tell you. The company still exists, though. We could probably get some names through their human resources department.”

“Normally that's exactly what we'd do,” Nick offered. “But if someone leaks it to the press, the Canadian authorities will know we conned them.”

“Wait a minute,” Claire interjected. “Let's take this step by step.” She looked at Doug. “The day of the thunderstorm. You told us what happened when you got home from camp. But was your father there before you left the house that morning?”

Doug bit his bottom lip, thinking. “Yeah, he was. I'm pretty sure he woke me up like usual and made me breakfast.”

“And he came to my house in the middle of the afternoon,” Claire recalled. “The reason he kidnapped Amy that day is beginning to make sense.”

Nick caught on. “Because he was fired from his job,” he offered. “Why would that push him to do something so horrible?” asked Doug.

“The same reason people drink, smoke, use drugs, or act promiscuously. Your father was under enormous stress and had always been attracted to young girls. He was probably able to fight the urge, but losing his job put him into a tailspin. He needed a fix to make himself feel better.”

“And that fix was you,” Doug concluded, shaking his head at the horror of it all. “So, what? Did he just drive around until he saw two girls your age?”

“I don't think so,” said Claire. She thought for moment, reviewing her encounter with Lewis. “You were there when I called your father âMr. Winslow.' Did you see how he responded?”

“Oh my God,” exclaimed Doug. “He called you âClaire.' He said it as if he remembered you. But how did he know who you were back then?”

“He stalked you,” Nick said to Claire. “He saw you somewhere, followed you home, and then waited for his chance.”

“But where?” Claire asked, trying to remember if she'd seen Lewis before that July day in her front yard. She looked at Doug. “You didn't live in the city proper, did you?”

“Brighton,” said Doug, referring to the affluent suburb adjacent to the southeast part of Rochester. “Off Elmwood, right near Twelve Corners.”

“And you grew up off Park Avenue,” added Hart, looking up at Claire, “which is only a couple miles away at most. There's a hundred places you and Lewis could've crossed paths. You were eight years old, and unless you had eyes in the back of your head, this guy could've been staring you down and you'd never have known it.”

Claire knew Hart had a point. Still, she wasn't about to give up. She turned to Doug. “Were there any special places your father liked to take you back then?”

“Jeez,” Doug replied, “we used to go to parks, the zoo, beaches. Anywhere around here you'd go to have fun as a kid is where we went.”

“Claire,” Nick said, “I know where you're going with this. But we've got to narrow it down. We can't dig up all of Rochester.”

Claire flashed Nick a look. “Let me ask you this,” she said to Doug. “After your father went to prison, when you left Pickering and moved to Maine. What happened to all of his belongings?”

“I thought about that,” Doug said. “But the lawyers took care of selling the house and packing up. Mom instructed them to get rid of everything that belonged to my father. She never wanted to see any of it ever again... .”

He stopped, as if he remembered something.

“What is it?” Claire asked hopefully.

Doug looked at her. “I almost forgot. I have the transcripts of my father's court proceedings. From before he went to prison.”

“Your mother kept
those
?” Hart asked incredulously.

“No,” Doug answered. “I requested them from the Canadians about ten years ago. I thought I wanted to read about what happened. But after they arrived at my house, I could barely bring myself to look at them. I only got through a few pages before I put them in the basement.”

“And you're sure they're still there?” asked Nick.

“Yes,” Doug replied. “I haven't touched them since.”

“Can we see them?” asked Claire, standing up.

“Of course,” offered Doug. “Any time you want.”

“Now,” Claire said.

“Please excuse the house,” Doug apologized as he unlocked the front door of his nondescript, single-story white ranch house. “I haven't exactly had time to clean up.”

It had been a short drive from downtown Rochester to Doug's home, just east of the city in the quiet suburb of Penfield. As Claire entered with Nick and Hart behind her, she realized Doug's idea of a mess was apparently an empty bag from a local restaurant on the kitchen counter and two dishes in the sink. To her, the place appeared perfectly neat.

And nearly barren. A few random prints hung on the walls. An old blue sofa and love seat occupied the living room, in front of a huge RCA console television that outdated both Claire and Doug. She couldn't help but think that he'd been so busy trying to outrun his past he barely built a present, let alone a future. She pegged him as a guy who went to work every day, came home, and fell asleep watching that ancient TV.

He wasn't kidding when he said he didn't have much of a life,
Claire thought.
He's been hiding from his pastâlike me.

“Can I get you guys anything to eat or drink?” Doug offered, though Claire could hardly imagine there was anything in the refrigerator.

Hart and Nick both shook their heads in the negative. “Why don't we get the transcripts and then we'll grab a bite,” Claire suggested.

Doug opened the door to the basement. “I can bring everything up,” he said, “because it's a little messy down there.”

“Nah,” Nick replied, “we'll give you a hand.”

“Enter at your own risk,” Doug said, flipping on a light switch and heading down the wooden stairs.

As Claire followed him, it became apparent that this time Doug wasn't exaggerating. The unfinished room was filled with file boxes, covered furniture, and who knew what else under tarps and old blankets.

Everything's neat on the surface, but behind closed doors and inside drawers, it's all a mess.
The place reminded her of Tammy Sorenson's apartmentâsunny and calm on the outside covering up a storm on the inside.

Doug seemed to sense what they were thinking. “Bought the place a few years ago because I needed a tax deduction,” he said. “Organized everything but never really had a chance to go through all the boxes.”

Indeed, Claire could see that every carton was clearly labeled with its contents.

“You sure you know where to look?” Hart asked dubiously.

Doug answered by pulling two aging bankers' boxes off the top of a pile. “Right here,” he answered, handing one each to Hart and Nick.

“This is all of it?” Nick asked.

“The whole court proceeding lasted only two days,” Doug answered. “From the little I read, my father pleaded insanity. Most of the testimony is the prosecution's shrink arguing that Dad might've been a sicko, but he knew what he did to that girl was wrong.”

Hart headed for the stairs. “Let's get this stuff downtownâ”

“Hold on,” Nick interrupted. “Where's Claire?”

“Over here,” said Claire from across the room, with a shakiness that prompted Hart and Nick to put their boxes down and hurry in the direction of her voice.

Doug reached her first, in a corner of the basement barely visible from where they found the boxes. “What is it?” Doug asked. Even in the shadows he could see that her face was ashen.

Claire pointed, her hand shaking. “Where did you get that?” she asked in a breaking voice.

Nick and Hart joined them just as Doug began to explain. “It's a kite. From when I was a kid.”

The two detectives took in the kite. It looked like one of those long Chinese-dragon kites, though this one was red and blue with squiggly lines painted across like fish scales. It flared out to display a single, huge bloodshot eye atop a large mouth open in a wicked smile with pointy, threatening teeth, flanked by short wings. Or fins.

Claire looked like she was scared to death.

“Where did you get it?”

“I don't know. I think my father got it for me.”

“Are you okay?” Nick asked her.

But all Claire could hear was the sound of her own voice as a little girl.

“Daddy, I don't like that monster.”

“It's okay, sweetie. It won't hurt you. It's not real.”

She looked up. The eye hung over her against the clear blue sky, an evil force, watching her every move.

“I can pull it down if you want,” came another voiceâfrom a man behind her.

Little Claire turned around and looked up. The man was smiling, but just from the corner of his mouth.

Oh, God.

“You're very pretty, you know,” the man said as he reeled in the scary kite.

She backed away as the eye came closer and closer. Until the man grabbed the kite and folded it up.

“I promise, it will never hurt you,” the man said.

“I'm sorry,” said Claire's father. “I don't know what got into her.”

“Please don't worry,” the man replied. “I don't want to scare your daughter. Have a nice day.”

But Little Claire couldn't help but think there was something about the man she didn't like.

And then the man turned back to her and flashed that same, strange smile again. Little Claire turned away. And she saw the reservoir right across the roadâ

The reservoir.

Then it hit Claire. She looked right at Doug.

“You said your father worked for the water company after PhotoChem fired him?” she asked, her voice unsteady.

BOOK: Kill Switch

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