Faceless (22 page)

He sat back down, tilting the chair back and letting it balance on the back legs.

“Isn’t it unusual for a serial killer to be female?” he asked. “I mean, aren’t they all white males, between thirty and fifty years old, or am I stereotyping?

Hope
took the jug of milk from him, wiped off the lid with a paper towel, and put it back in the fridge. She turned around and took inventory of the kitchen. Everything was in its place. She made a few last minute attempts to straighten up so she could go to bed without thinking she had left the kitchen untidy.

“There have been women, Marty, that have been labeled serial killers,” she told him. “They normally tend to use methods such as what is happening in this particular case. Poisoning is a very popular method for females to use to commit murder, and from what you have told me so far, this is very personal, this is up close and personal. Whoever is doing this is dealing with some very strong anger issues. It could be they don’t know the girls at all, and are just using transference.”

She noticed a look of confusion on his face, so she began to explain it using layman’s terms “The killer can be looking at the victims as someone that has caused them emotional pain in the past. It’s not impossible at all that the person who has committed these murders is female. It is unusual, though, for a girl Katie’s age to engage in this type of crime, but I have seen a lot of anger, in even younger girls than her. If Katie is suffering from some sort of psychotic disorder, she could be responsible. Pretty girls can kill just as easily as not-so-pretty ones.”

She carefully placed a towel on the oven door handle and shut off the kitchen light. He got the hint, picked up his holster and gun, and followed her to the bedroom.

They undressed as the conversation continued. Hope walked into the bathroom and started to brush her teeth. With a mouth full of foam, she asked for more information.

“What do you know about her family life? Do you think she was abused or is being abused? I mean, it probably would have to be a female that she is having a problem with, or has had a problem with. Whoever is doing this is most likely directing their anger toward a female.”

“I didn’t have the feeling that there was any kind of problem with her mother,” Marty replied. “They seemed comfortable with each other. Something weird may be going on with her stepfather, our esteemed mayor, and certainly something weird is going on with her stepbrother.”

He sat on the bed after stripping down to his jockey shorts and leaned up against the pillow. Hope was watching his reflection in the mirror. She was admiring the fact that not one roll of fat accumulated over the waistband. Jealous, yet proud, Hope rinsed, spat and then joined him on the bed.

“Do you think she could consider these girls as competition? I mean, you said that the two girls who were killed were very pretty. Is it possible that there was some sort of jealously involved?” Hope slid under the top sheet and turned off the bedside lamp, which was the last remaining light in the room. It took her awhile to adjust her eyes so she was able to see him in the darkness.

He turned his head to look at her.

“I don’t think Katie Hepburn considers anyone a threat. I don’t know, maybe I am totally off base. Maybe there is some freak out there somewhere. I just hope whoever it is quits now, or takes their deviant behavior somewhere else.”

He turned his back and rolled over on his side so he was no longer facing her. “I’ve got to get some sleep, Hope.”

She was wide-awake and really didn’t want to leave their earlier conversation up in the air, but she knew him too well. This wasn’t the time to push him, or even try and explain her position on the proposal. So she turned off the lamp and cozied up to him, her arms around his waist and her belly up against the small of his back. She felt his muscles stiffen but she chose to ignore it. Her eyes closed and within seconds, they both fell into a deep slumber.

***

I held my breath and my head was spinning as I turned the doorknob leading to a room full of angry hormones bursting out of the developing body of my fourteen-year old child. Bethany was somewhere in that empty void between a girl and woman. I had absolutely no idea how I was going to handle this confrontation with her, so I just jumped into it blind and unscripted.

She was not asleep, as Glenn had thought, but prone on her bed, typing away furiously on her laptop.

The minute she heard us enter, she slammed the lid down. That immediately got the hairs on the back of my neck standing at attention and ignited an anger that had actually started to subside. To me, that was a simple act of conspiracy and evasiveness, and I wasn’t exactly thrilled about it.

I was about to grab the laptop from her hands when she turned toward me and I saw the residual redness from my hand on her right cheek. I hadn’t thought I’d hit her that hard. Seeing it now made my stomach turn.

Worse than that, though, was the look in her eyes. Those beautiful big brown eyes were puffy and swollen from crying. I couldn’t tell if it was fear or hate looking at back at me, because my own vision became blurred as my own eyes started fill with tears.

Bethany
turned away from me and focused on her father. She looked at him as if she was pleading for him to come to her rescue. I had seen that look many times before, but it was often reserved for me. I used to be her best friend and confidant. I wondered whether I would ever have her look at me like that again.

“Bethany, look at me.” I got no response so I repeated it this time with a little more directive.

“Bethany, look at me!” I don’t know whether it was my tone or the fact that her father gave her a non-verbal command, but she did turn her face toward me. She was making a conscious effort to keep from looking at me directly. Her eyes still avoiding mine.

“Why?” I asked. “Can you please tell me why you didn’t come to me and tell me what you knew? What would possess you to keep something so critically important from me?”

I could tell she was about to break down. Her shoulders gave a slight shudder and she shook her head. Blonde curls swayed in front of her face.

“Bethany, look at me!” I tried to be gentle in my tone, but I was losing the battle. I was trying so hard to contain my anger and it was slipping away from me. Here I was
,
still able to look at my beautiful daughter’s face, into those beautiful eyes, when there were two grieving mothers out there that would never have that same privilege ever again.

I reached out and put my hand under her chin. She gave a short jerk to pull away, but must have changed her mind and stopped when I spoke.

“Kimberly Weston died a few minutes ago.” I informed her.

“It wasn’t Dylan, he didn’t hurt her.” She was adamant.

“You know Bethany, right now I don’t give a damn whether it was Dylan or not. What I care about is the fact that you didn’t come to me the minute you knew that someone was in trouble; why you felt the need to conceal that fact that you knew someone was brutally murdered. Do you realize you could be considered an accessory to murder and face prosecution? Do you have any idea of what the consequences of your actions could be?”

She didn’t respond. I could tell though that it was all finally coming into focus for her. I could still read my daughter’s facial expressions and I knew that look. I had seen it before many times while she was diligently doing her schoolwork. Math was her weakness, and there were times she would ponder an equation for what would seem like hours and suddenly it would click and she would get the answer. When she was happy, her face would light up like a Christmas tree. When something was puzzling her or she was sad, it would become dim, as if someone had flipped a switch.

“He needed my help, Mom. You don’t understand. He knew everyone would think it was him, and he didn’t do anything wrong. Dylan needed my help. We were going to tell you, but he just needed some time. He was so upset about seeing her like that, and he was crying so hard, and I had to help him. We were going to tell you. I called you. You promised me!” Tears flowed forming a wet streak down both sides of her cheeks.

It hit me hard just then. All this time, I thought my daughter was so mature, so responsible. I never really treated her like a child, but spoke to her as a peer and expected her to act and behave like one. Maybe all the times that Joe would tease me about my children being perfect was just a façade that I had created in my own mind. She suddenly looked so young and vulnerable to me, yet now she was becoming a woman. It was too late to for me to treat her like a baby and expect her to be the little girl I never really let her be.

“Did you have sex with him, Bethany? Did you sleep with Dylan?” My hand was still in the vicinity of her chin and I held onto her jaw and forced her to look at me. I realized that her father was in the room and I had often imagined what this moment would be like, but I never pictured myself asking my daughter this question with her father in the room.

Now, it was her dad’s eyes she was avoiding. She replied at first by shaking her head no. After a few seconds passed she found her voice. It was timid and soft.

“No, we didn’t have sex. No, I swear.” She looked up at her father and it was then I knew she was telling the truth. She would never be able to look Glenn in the eyes if she was lying to us.

“He was so upset. You don’t understand what he’s been through. First, his father dies, and then his mom got sick. He was working at the supermarket after school to help his mom with her bills, but he got laid off last week. His whole world has been coming apart, and he got behind in his classes because he had to take care of his brother and baby sister because his grandma had to go to work.”

“That’s all very noble of him, Bethany, but that’s no excuse for what he did, or what you did. He left the scene of a crime, and you helped him conceal information that was pertinent to a criminal investigation.”

I picked up her laptop. She started to protest, but her father was giving her a piercing, grave look. It was so intense I was afraid her forehead would start to smoke from the burning stare.

“Until I have more information and I can rule Dylan out completely as a suspect, you are not to have any contact with him. Do you understand?”

I handed the computer to Glenn as I stood up.

She began to protest. “Dylan didn’t even know that Kimberly was hurt. I was the one that told him. That’s when we called you.”

“Honey, we don’t know yet exactly when Kimberly was attacked. You weren’t with him the whole time. We still cannot rule him out. This isn’t up for discussion. Dylan Silver had a relationship with both these girls and now they are dead. I don’t want you to be the third.”

“Mom, please! That’s not fair! If I don’t help him with his science, he’ll fail and they’ll throw him out of St. Mary’s,” she protested angrily.

“No, I am sorry, Bethany. This isn’t a minor infraction, we are talking about two homicides—two very grisly homicides. There is some very sick individual out there targeting pretty girls and mutilating their bodies. Until that person is caught, you are not to go anywhere with anyone but your father or me. I will take you to school and pick you up, and then you will stay in this house until your father or I come home. Is that understood?”

She reluctantly nodded her head. I held out my hand. She knew exactly what I wanted and she didn’t want to, but pulled out her cell phone from under her pillow and handed it me.

“You know I love you, Bethany, but I am so disappointed right now in how you have handled this. I think you really need to spend some time thinking about those girl’s families and what they have lost. If you would have come to me immediately, it is very possible that Kimberly Weston might be alive right now. You do understand that, don’t you?”