The Serial Killer's Wife (8 page)

Elizabeth realized she was still holding the screwdriver. She set it on the trunk of her car as she slipped the BlackBerry back into her pocket.
 

“I need your keys,” she said, starting toward Todd.
 

He immediately began walking backward, shaking his head. “Stay away.”
 

The parking lot was blessedly deserted, at least from what she could tell. She took another step toward Todd, and he took another step back.
 

“I need your keys,” she repeated.
 

“What’s going on? Who was that on the phone? What did you mean, ‘killing him would bring too many complications’?”
 

“Do you care for Matthew?”
 

This made him pause. “Well, yes, of course I do. But what does—”
 

“If you don’t help me, Matthew will die.”
 

“What are you talking about? I thought you said Matthew was taking a nap.”
 

“Your keys, Todd. Give them to me.”
 

She had backed him up against the Prius, just another testament to his gentle nature. He said he’d bought it the week after he watched the Al Gore documentary on global warming, just doing his part to help keep the world spinning a little bit longer.
 

Todd glanced past her at the apartment building. “So ... he isn’t napping?”
 

“No.”
 

“Where is he?”
 

“I don’t know, but I intend to find out. That’s why I need your help.”
 

“My ... help?”
 

“Yes.”
 

“But I ... I don’t understand.”
 

“That’s okay. I’ll explain everything. Just please, give me your keys.”
 

She was bullying him, forcing him up against his own car, and she hated herself for doing it. But she had no choice. She was doing this for his sake now, too. Otherwise she would have to do what Cain wanted—she would have to kill him—because right now she was going to do whatever it took to get her son back.
 

Todd hesitantly reached into his pocket, brought out his keys. He stared down at them as if they possessed the knowledge of the universe, and then looked up at her.
 

“I’m ... scared,” he said quietly, and placed the keys in her open palm.

CHAPTER 17

“W
E
HAVE
TO
call the police.”
 

“No.”
 

“Sarah, from what you’ve just told me, a madman kidnapped your son and is holding him ransom. There’s no arguing here. We have to call the police.”
 

She’d told him just the basics—about Cain, about what he had done to Matthew, about how he wanted something from her—but that was it. They had left Oakville, were now on I-70 headed east.
 

“If we go to the police, he’ll kill Matthew. He has a bomb strapped around my son’s neck, for Christ’s sake.”
 

Todd shook his head. “I don’t buy it. The guy’s definitely crazy but he’s not that crazy. He wouldn’t actually kill anybody, especially a little boy.”
 

She glanced briefly at him in the passenger seat but hesitated in speaking.
 

“What?”
 

“He’s not bluffing.”
 

“What makes you say that?”
 

“He’s already killed someone.”
 

“
What?
”
 

“This guy, Cain, he sent me to Reginald Moore’s house.”
 

The mention of the child molester’s name caused a deep furrow in Todd’s brow—the two of them, concerned parents, had discussed Moore before—but that deep furrow quickly changed to confusion as he said, “What are you talking about?”
 

“Reginald Moore is dead. Cain killed him.”
 

“How?”
 

She told him about the pictures scattered on the floor of Reginald Moore’s house, how they led her down to the basement where she found the child molester tied up to a chair, an explosive collar around his neck. She told him how the alarm clock began to count down, and how Cain had detonated the bomb.
 

“Jesus Christ.” Todd shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “And this psycho has one of those things strapped around Matthew’s neck, too?”
 

She nodded, glancing for the first time at the speedometer and realizing she was going much too fast. The last thing she needed was to be pulled over again for speeding, especially now that the police would be looking for her.
 

Todd said, “You need to call the police.”
 

She tightened her grip around the steering wheel, shook her head.
 

“Then I’ll call them for you.”
 

He pulled out his cell phone from his pocket.
 

“Todd, please, don’t do this.”
 

He ignored her, began dialing the three numbers that would connect him to the police, and before she knew it she had ripped the phone from his hand, lowered her window, and threw it out.
 

“What the heck?” Todd shouted. He was more incredulous than angry. “Why did you do that, Sarah?”
 

“For starters, my name isn’t Sarah.”
 

“Say that again?”
 

“It’s Elizabeth. Elizabeth Piccioni. My husband is Edward Piccioni.”
 

The incredulity on Todd’s face quickly turned to confusion. He shook his head as if to clear it. “Wait. Slow down. Your name’s not—”
 

“Edward Piccioni was arrested and convicted five years ago for raping and murdering six women. The man who abducted Matthew, he wants the things my husband took from his victims.”
 

“What things?” Todd asked, his voice soft, but before Elizabeth could tell him the BlackBerry dinged.
 

She had set it on the middle console so it would be easy to grab when Cain called. This was how Todd was able to grab it before she could. He now had a determined look on his face as he pressed a button and stared down at the screen. But soon that look of determination faded, and his face began to pale.
 

“My God,” he whispered.
 

“What? What is it?”
 

He hand visibly shaking, he tilted the BlackBerry so she could see the picture on the screen: Matthew, again tied to the bed, again with the tape over his mouth and the blindfold over his eyes, the bright glowing digits above him now reading
99:00:00
.

CHAPTER 18

J
UST
BEFORE
THEY
reached St. Louis, they stopped for gas.
 

They hadn’t spoken a word since the first picture of Matthew was sent—the BlackBerry dinged one hour later, as promised, with another picture—but when Elizabeth pulled up next to the pumps, she asked Todd if he had his ATM card with him.
 

“Of course.”
 

“And your credit cards?”
 

“Yes. I have everything.”
 

“Use the credit card to pay for the gas, then take out as much money as you can with your ATM card.”
 

Todd had opened his wallet and was staring down at the loose bills and credit cards. Now he looked up at her. “Why?”
 

“Because when the FBI gets involved, they’ll be able to track our movements with your credit card.”
 

“How would they even know I’m with you?”
 

Elizabeth shrugged. “I’m just trying to cover all our bases.”
 

She was hesitant to let him out of her sight, fearing he might try to call the police while inside. But she trusted him, and she had seen the look in his eyes when she explained what had happened to Matthew, how his life was in danger, and she knew Todd would do whatever it took to get him back.
 

Todd returned two minutes later with a filled plastic bag showing the gas station’s logo.
 

“I got you a Diet Coke,” he said. “You know, in case you’re thirsty.”
 

She didn’t realize until they were back on the road just how thirsty she really was. She drained the soda in nearly five swallows. Todd offered his bottle of water but she declined. He took something from the plastic bag and opened it and immediately the car was filled with the smell of coffee.
 

“What is that?”
 

“Coffee beans. Breakfast Blend.” He placed one in his mouth. “You want one?”
 

“You’re
eating
them?”
 

Todd shrugged. “My dad chewed coffee beans when we went on road trips. He said it was healthier and cheaper than smoking. He’d let me try some and I eventually came to love them. Now when I drive long distances, I can’t do it without chewing some kind of coffee bean. What—you look surprised.”
 

“I’m just surprised that gas station actually had coffee beans.”
 

“They did, and they were expensive, too. Are you sure you don’t want one?”
 

“I’m sure.”
 

There was a silence. Elizabeth felt unnerved by the exchange. It seemed too conversational for the situation at hand. Still, they had a long drive ahead of them, and Elizabeth didn’t want Todd to feel more uncomfortable than he was already, so she said:
 

“You know, you never mentioned your father before.”
 

“I haven’t?”
 

“Not once since I’ve known you. I always just assumed he was dead.”
 

She flinched when she said that last word.
 

Todd said, “Are you okay?”
 

“I’m fine.”
 

“We don’t have to talk about this.”
 

“No, really, it’s okay. What were you going to say?”
 

Todd studied her for a long moment before speaking. “My father, he might as well have been dead. When I was in high school he ran away with this woman he met at the gym, she was like ten years younger than him. He left me and my sister to take care of my mom. She had MS.”
 

“I’m sorry,” Elizabeth said, at once thinking of her own mother. “You never mentioned that either.”
 

Todd produced an ironic smile. “What can I say—I don’t like to be a downer.”
 

They drove for another minute in silence.
 

Elizabeth said, “My father died when I was very young. He was healthy, kept himself in shape, but he still had a heart attack. It was a strange case, but the doctors admitted that it does happen.”
 

“You know,” Todd said, “that’s the very first time you mentioned your father.”
 

“I know.”
 

“I’m assuming you’re talking about your real father.”
 

“Yes.”
 

“What about your real mother?”
 

“Breast cancer. She found a lump one day and decided not to do anything about it. Apparently she had been in a kind of depression ever since my father’s heart attack. She wasn’t suicidal, per se, but just didn’t have the will to continue living. So she found the lump and let it go and it wasn’t until one of her regular checkups did the doctor find it. He wanted to start treatment immediately, but she refused.”
 

“So what happened?”
 

“In the end the doctor did something he probably shouldn’t have done: he called me. Right after that I got my brother involved and we pretty much forced her to start treatment.”
 

“I didn’t know you had a brother either.”
 

“Jim,” she said. “I never even had a chance to say goodbye to him. He was in Africa when the FBI came for my husband.”
 

“Africa?”
 

“He was in the Peace Corps. He called me up, apologizing, saying it was all his fault.”
 

“His fault?”
 

“He and my husband were college roommates. That’s how we met. Jim set the two of us up together, and Eddie and I immediately hit it off.”
 

“Eddie is your husband?”
 

She nodded. “Edward Piccioni.”
 

Todd was quiet for another moment. “So your brother blames himself for you marrying a serial killer.”
 

“Pretty much.”
 

“Do you blame him?”
 

“Of course not. How was he supposed to know? I was closer to Eddie—had been close for almost seven years—and even I didn’t know.”
 

Todd reached into the bag of coffee beans between his legs, plucked out a bean, went to put it in his mouth but paused and offered it to her.
 

“Sure you don’t want one?”
 

She shook her head. “No thanks.”
 

“Are you positive? They’re not that bad once you get used to them.”
 

“I drink coffee, Todd. I don’t eat it.”
 

He popped the bean in his mouth, chewed it like a mint, and said, “So what about your mother?”
 

“What about her?”
 

“You said you and your brother forced her into treatment.”