Me, Myself and Why? (23 page)

“—screaming, I’m screaming and Mama’s screaming oh she’s so
mad.
”

“Yes. She saw your father scare the three-year-old on purpose. She has been off her meds for over a month. She is angry at the terror she sees on her child’s face. She—”

“The cake. Pink. It’s pink.”

“Yes. She throws the cake at him. He tries to duck and one of his hands leaves the wheel. He’s off balance.”

“Mama knocked him down.”

“That’s right. She was able to surprise him, and knock him off the small tractor. And then, in an attempt to protect you and avenge herself, she—”

“She runned over him. Like he runned over the goose. Stop screaming! Nobody can
think
if you don’t stop screaming!”

“You’re not screaming, Cadence. You’re watching. You’re seeing your father injured at first.”

“Just his arm, the first time.”

“Did he get angry?”

“Oh yes. That’s when Mama and him start fighting for real. He gets up with one arm and reaches for her throat. She knocks him back. He looks over at me and comes for me. He blames me. My cake. My mother. He’ll take care of her, by taking care of me.”

“He’s looking for someone he can defeat. He can’t defeat her.”

“No one can. Especially not on a mower. First she knocks him down with a tree branch. He doesn’t move much, even when she gets back on the tractor . . . and she . . . and she . . .”

“She finishes the job. And the three-year-old, she saw it all. The birthday girl saw it all, saw the fighting, saw the father’s calculated cruelty, saw your mother help you in the only way she could think of. But it’s too much, Cadence. For the birthday girl.”

“I don’t—I don’t know where I’m going.”

“That’s right, Cadence. In a minute, the movie won’t pick up for another seven months. Because Adrienne is being born. Adrienne does what the birthday girl could not—she screams and she yells and she cries and she hurts anyone who gets too close. And also during those months—”

“Shiro comes.”

“Yes. If Adrienne’s job is to help the birthday girl have an outlet for her rage, then Shiro’s job is to remember. And to fight. To keep the birthday girl safe. It is the last time you were ever a whole person.”

“I told him! I told him to watch out for the goose and he
didn’t
! And then Mama runned over him and—and—”

“And when the birthday girl came back that spring, her mother was dead also.”

“She wanted to fly. Like the geese.”

“Yes. She was facing a lifetime of punishment for what she did. Worst of all, she would never see her daughter again. She managed to get to a roof without anyone stopping her and then leapt to her death. Shiro saw this; the birthday girl never did. Adrienne is your outlet for fear; Shiro is your memory. Shiro remembers
everything
.”

Chapter Eighty-two

“I do not want to be.”

“I know, Shiro.”

“I wish I did not.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“I do not
want
to be the birthday girl’s memory. I do not want to remember anything. But there is no way to escape. Even if I try not to look, I can still see. I see everything. I see the girl and the goose and the leaves and Daddy all red on the ground.”

“Yes. But I am speaking with Cadence right now. Your task is to watch and listen. So Cadence will come back out in five seconds. But thank you, Shiro. Thank you for allowing Cadence to see into your earliest memory.”

“No.”

“This is Cadence’s time, Shiro. You will all have your turn.”

“Do not send me away. The dark and the screaming never, ever stop.”

“You’re all safe here. Shiro, listen: five. Four. Three. Two. One.”

Chapter Eighty-three

I was on my knees. I was on my knees and my face was wet. So were my fingers. I was—I had been crying. Was still crying. But Dr. Nessman was there. He was down on one knee beside me, making the girasol shine.

“She wasn’t bad,” I sobbed. I turned my hands over and saw with no surprise that there were four crescents on each palm, bloody crescents from Shiro clenching our fists. “She wasn’t! She was just trying to give me a cake. Just trying to be a mom. Even when she rode him down on that tractor.”

“Yes, Cadence.” He handed me some Kleenex. “That’s exactly right. Your mother did all she could, but in a way, what happened that September destroyed you all. Your family was never, ever the same. And neither were you. And you know something else now, don’t you?”

I didn’t say anything. But Nessman was kindly relentless. “Cadence?”

I took a deep breath and wiped my eyes. “It wasn’t my fault. His choice and her choice weren’t my fault. I was just a little kid.”

“That’s right. You were a very young child and your third birthday is your first conscious memory. But it blew your psyche into pieces, and more than two decades later, you’re still trying to finish the puzzle.”

I was still on my knees. I blew my nose and dully observed that my hands were shaking. “She had red hair. My mother. She had red hair.”

“Yes. You honored her at that time the only way you could—you invested Adrienne with your mother’s crazy reckless courage, her coloring, even some of her personality. Adrienne is the monument you built to preserve the memory of your mother.”

I cried harder. I couldn’t seem to stop. Maybe that was going to be my new job. Crying all the time.

Oh, Mama.

Chapter Eighty-four

When I returned to work the next day, I don’t think I was imagining it when people where a bit nicer to me. Pam, sporting pajamas with unicorns riding unicycles, had thoughtfully removed all appointments from my day. Beth swung by with a dozen different recipes for cakes and brownies—she didn’t know I was dating a millionaire baker, the famous Aunt Jane. Frick and Frack were nowhere to be found.

Michaela took me out to lunch at a sushi restaurant, where she glared at the bar chef as he chopped tuna rolls and sliced salmon.

“Manhunt for George has gone nationwide,” she informed me. “We’ve also advised border agents with Canada and Mexico of the risk he presents. TSA is also aware; but we don’t think he’d try to fly anywhere.”

“Not unless he could drive the plane,” I agreed. I marked my sushi menu carefully: two orders nigiri hamachi, two orders sashimi sake. That and a miso soup would do me.

“We’ve got local law enforcement crawling all over his house in Wayzata. Hasn’t been back. I wish we knew where he was.”

I shrugged. “He takes pride in being unpredictable. And of course, he knows our procedures. I imagine he’s one or two states away, in a hotel in some suburban area where the staff aren’t going to be looking for a killer. He’d have enough cash reserves to stay off the electronic grid; and using a cash deposit is still common enough that it’s hard to look—”

Michaela’s cell rang. “It’s Pam.” She flipped it open, listened, and flipped it closed.

“He’s still in Minneapolis. A lone cop spotted him on Hennepin Avenue and tracked him for about half a block before losing him. We’re putting a quiet cordon around the neighborhood.”

“He could be trying to stay close so he can attack witnesses.”

“Scherzo’s closer, but North Minneapolis is still a ways off. Plus, neither witness really has much to offer anymore.”

“George doesn’t know that. In fact, he’s proven it by attacking Jeremy once already. I’d feel more comfortable if you told me to go.”

“Go, then. I’ll find an agent to rendezvous with you. Then get to Ms. Carr. Get them both back to HQ and secure them for the next twenty-four hours. I’m heading to Hennepin with most everyone else.”

Chapter Eighty-five

To my surprise and delight, I didn’t have to find Tracy. She was with Jeremy.

“Agent Jones!”

I returned her smile. “I wasn’t expecting to find you here. But I’m glad. Jeremy’s here, too?”

He was. A simple bandage on the back of his shaved head was the only visible sign of the trauma he had suffered the last time I was there. I thought wistfully of the Dobermans, who had tried so hard to kill me.

“So you know each other?”

“Tj-tj-just recently. At your office.”

“After you interviewed me, Jeremy was still hanging around,” Tracy explained. “We’ve kinda hit it off. I hope that’s okay?”

I shrugged. “You don’t need federal permission to date in this country. At least not yet.”

They giggled. “Dr-dr-Tracy and I spent some time talking to your janitor. Uh-uh-Opus. Nice guy.”

“I think the proper term is ‘custodian.’ ” Tracy was smiling, but it was thin and I could see that she didn’t care for the topic of Opus. “Jeremy, I doubt Cadence cares much about all the staff we met at the office.”

“No, I like Opus!”

“Yeah. He sz-sz-says he’s pretty taken with you, too. I d-d-think he has a crush on you.”

I searched Jeremy’s face for any sign of cruelty or teasing, but saw none. Yeah, I guess Opus did seem sort of sweet on me. It irritated me that there were so few people at BOFFO who were nice enough to the guy for him to focus romantic energy on them. Sure, we were a cluster of freaks, perverts, obsessives, isolationists, and sociopaths. But we were federal employees! It was time to hold ourselves to a higher standard.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Tracy offered. “I think Jeremy has a beer or two in his fridge. I’ve had one already.”

“No thanks.” I turned and looked out the window, down the street. I could almost make out the liquor store Adrienne had broken into. But that’s not where my mind was.

“Jeez, Trace. She’s aw-aw-aw-on duty. Hey, I kt-kt-can get you a water if that’s b-b-better.”

I tried to keep my voice light. “Sounds super!” I was sweating in any case. It didn’t help that I was standing right about where George’s necktie had been.

Finding articles of clothing at a crime scene does not constitute airtight evidence that the owner did it.

Jeremy and Tracy had gotten awfully tight, awfully quickly. They shared a few attributes, to be sure: a “survival” experience with the ThreeFer Killer, some minor personality quirks, the ability to make it through an interview with a federal agent without giving much useful detail, and apparently a familiarity with the contents of Jeremy’s refrigerator.

And now he’s calling her “Trace” within twenty-four hours of allegedly meeting her, even though she’s never offered it up as a nickname to me through two or three substantial and friendly conversations.

Didn’t he say those dogs belonged to a sister? Wasn’t she moving around? Didn’t those dogs try to rip your throat out?

Ice crept up my spine. Hearing the water pour out of the kitchen faucet behind me made me want to pee. Bad.

The two of them had stopped the friendly conversation. They were watching me, I knew.

Has she figured it out? Is she going to break?

I couldn’t turn around to face them. Terror was actually clogging my throat; in fact, terror felt an awful lot like cotton wads jammed past my tonsils. I couldn’t move. I almost couldn’t think. I didn’t know—

Hang on, sister.

What?

I am coming. Right now. Just stand still. Try to smile. Say something sappy. Laugh if you can.

I said, “Boy, this neighborhood is beautiful!” then broke into a coughing fit.

I suppose you are doing the best you can,
Shiro said from the side of my brain.
Relax. I am

Chapter Eighty-six

Here. I was right here.

I took a deep, steadying breath to lose Cadence’s cough. I could understand her terror; the last clues had dropped on her like cluster bombs.

Jeremy and Tracy were, of course, the ThreeFer Killers.

Things fell into place with near-sickening rapidity. Like any test question, once you knew the answer, everything else was obvious. The evidence was still circumstantial—but far stronger than it had been with George.

Tracy hadn’t been a living victim—she was in on it. She had been planted. And while we were all looking the other way, her accomplice, Jeremy, was already in place making mischief and muddying the waters.

Were they siblings, as Jeremy’s comment about the dogs suggested? Lovers? A killer team-up of murderers, like Bianchi and Buono, the Hillside Strangler? Or Carol Bundy and Doug Clark, the Sunset Strip Killer?

Time to mull over that later. For now, for this small spot of time, Tracy and Jeremy must not must not
must not
suspect I was driving the body. They would not understand this quirk in a federal agent and they would immediately become suspicious. They had to believe I was still Cadence: giddy and charming and not at all disturbed by their company, or much of anything else.

“—something to eat?”

Eh? Ah. Jeremy, doubtless trying to trick me into ingesting something that would make me sleep, so he and Trace could drag me—us—to some fetid alley where he could cut our throats and then draw things with our blood.

Keep underestimating me, Jeremy
. “I would rather—uh—that, that—yeah, that would be super fantastic neato!” I tried to sound as enthusiastic as a cheerleader cheering for—er—whatever it was in sports a cheerleader cheered for. “Just golly—gadget cool!”

“Jeremy just offered to make steaks for me,” Tracy suggested. “You like steaks, right?”

“Absolutely niftilicious! Jeepers, that sounds tasty.” If I had to keep this up much longer, I was going to need an insulin shot. “Ah, but here’s the problem: I have got—ahem, I gotta get you guys outta here, stat! My boss will be soooo mad at me if you get yourselves killed and all. You know, because we stayed here. With the ThreeFer Killer.”

They looked at each other.

“You know, George Pinkman! He’s, ah, still at large. Still walkin’ around out there.” It felt good to inject as much truth as I could into this charade. “Cop just spotted him on Hennepin less than an hour ago. Guy could be on the way here. So this isn’t safe.” I circled the kitchen with my fingers. “Nothing here is safe. We gotta get all out of here and stuff.”