Kill You Twice (35 page)

“This is a Beauty Killer case,” Henry explained. He handed him a task force business card. “It’s ours now. No one gets in but our people.”

The cop nodded and wiped his chin. He looked glad to have an important job, a way to redeem himself.

As Archie and Henry entered the room, Archie could hear the cop’s voice rising with authority.
Beauty Killer. Restricted. Task force.
They watched where they stepped. Archie scanned
the room. There was something on the dresser. As he got closer he saw that it was a dirty red wallet. Archie plucked a pen out of his pocket and nudged it open. It was empty.

“What is it?” Henry asked.

“Toss me an evidence bag,” Archie said.

Henry did and Archie slid the wallet into the bag and sealed it. Underneath the caked dirt, he could barely make out a faint gold monogram.
GS.

When Archie had asked Gretchen about the name Gretchen Stevens, she had said that Stevens was dead. She had buried her on Sauvie Island, she said. According to the DCS file, when Gretchen had
turned up in St. Helens, she had been both bloody and dirty. She had come from the island, where she had buried her past. And now she had gone back, and she had dug it up.

“It’s something she buried a long time ago,” Archie said.

Archie carried the wallet over to where Henry stood next to the bed. Colin’s mouth was taped shut. His eyes were pushed open unnaturally wide, the upper lid folded over the lashes.
She’d used superglue, Archie realized, to keep Colin’s eyes open, so he wouldn’t miss a minute. Then used a triangular incision to carve out Colin’s nose, in the style of a
Halloween jack-o’-lantern.

“He got what he wanted,” Archie said. “He got to see her again.”

Henry grunted. “He doesn’t look very happy about it.”

“True,” Archie said.

Henry paused and then looked around. “Where is it?”

“What, his nose?” Archie said. They hadn’t seen it on the carpet.

“Yeah.” Henry bent down to look under the bed.

Archie studied Colin’s face, his cheek, where the flesh bulged out on one side, like a squirrel with a nut. “I think it’s in his mouth,” Archie said.

“Archie.”

Archie recognized that tone. It was never good. He looked up and Henry nodded at Colin Beaton’s chest.

It was pale, and scattered with brown hair. And over his left nipple was a heart-shaped scar, just like Archie’s. Archie was intimately familiar with the life span of scars. He knew what
they looked like when they were raw and sore and fresh; he knew what they looked like months later, when they were dark pink and tender; and he knew what they looked like after years had passed and
they healed to a thick thread of pearly pink tissue. Colin Beaton had had this scar for years. If Gretchen had carved it on him, she had done it long before she had ever taken a scalpel to
Archie.

“You want protection?” Henry asked quietly.

Archie sighed and glanced up at the heart she’d drawn in blood on the wall. He could see her fingerprints in it, the path of her delicate hands as she lovingly painted in blood. “If
she wanted to kill me,” he said. “I’d be dead.”

CHAPTER

W
hen Archie got
out of the elevator, he could see Susan sitting on the floor in front of his apartment door. She stood
up when she saw him, and gave him a little wave.

“Henry said you’d be home soon,” she said. “I texted you.” She held up an iPhone. “I got a new phone. Same number. And I got an extension on my story. The
editor wants five thousand more words.”

He could tell that she’d been crying. Her eyes were red. She wasn’t wearing makeup. Her orange hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. She was wearing a short black dress and
silver Doc Martens. Even at the end of the summer, her legs were still pale.

He got to his door and leaned against it. “Colin is dead,” he said. “You and your mom can go back to the house.”

She nodded. “I heard.”

She looked at him, like she wanted him to say something.

“Yes?” he said.

“Leo told me,” she said. “Some.”

At least she knew now. He wanted to tell her how much he’d struggled with it, how often he’d considered jeopardizing the DEA’s entire operation. He wanted her to understand
that it hadn’t been a casual decision, not telling her. But, of course, he couldn’t say any of that. “I can’t talk about that with you. I’m sorry.”

He fumbled for his keys. “I need to sleep,” he said.

Susan leaned the side of her head against his door and looked at him. “How did Colin find Pearl at our house, do you think?”

“I don’t know,” Archie said. “We may never know. He might have been following her there to begin with.”

“They’re saying that Gretchen killed Colin,” Susan said. She narrowed her green eyes, studying him. “Why did she do that, Archie?”

Archie rubbed his face, his keys still in his hand. “I think she had her reasons.”

“Is she going to kill you?” Susan asked. Her eyes were glassy, filled with tears. He could see her struggling not to blink.

Archie was filled with tenderness for her. That was why she had come. She was worried about him. He lifted his hand and touched her cheek. “No.”

Her eyes widened and then she blinked and tears ran down her freckled cheeks.

Archie moved his hand from her cheek into her wet orange hair and pulled her to him, and she lifted her mouth to his. He could feel her tears against his face, the warmth of her mouth, her
tongue. Her damp hair was thick under his fingers. He moved his arm around the small of her back, and she reached her arms around the back of his neck. He kissed her gently. It took self-control.
His body was hungry for her, and finally being there, tasting her cigarettes and coffee, the smell of her sweet shampoo and peppermint soap, he had to consciously hold himself back. He didn’t
want to be rough with her. He didn’t want it to be like it had been with Gretchen.

But Susan seemed to have other ideas. She lifted herself up onto her toes, pushing her tongue deeper into his mouth, circling his tongue and tickling his throat. Her fingertips scratched the
back of his scalp, and neck, and then along the edges of his ears. He moved his hands down her body to her hips and backed her up against the wall, and then lifted her and pressed his body against
hers, so that she was supported between him and the wall. He could feel her under him, the slightness of her, her hip bones and pelvis, her dress bunched up under his hands, barely covering her.
His brain felt like it was buzzing, his hands heavy and clumsy.

His whole body was trembling. He kissed her deeper, willing himself to compose himself. Her hands glided under his earlobes along his jaw, her fingers against his cheeks.

He wasn’t shaking; Susan was.

He let himself forget sometimes how vulnerable she was.

He pulled his mouth from hers, and stepped back, and lowered her to the floor.

She looked at him, confused, cheeks flushed, her lips still parted.

He wiped his mouth. What had he done?

“I’m sorry,” he said. He hadn’t meant to do that. He was exhausted. He wasn’t himself. He wasn’t strong.

“Why?” she asked.

He pressed his forehead into the door and tried to figure out a way to say it, how to explain it to her. He took a deep breath and then turned to look at her, face-to-face. “Because I care
about you,” he said. “And this is not a good idea.”

But she was happy. She was glowing. She laid a hand on the front of his shirt. “I know how fucked up you are. I don’t care.”

“Thanks,” Archie said.

She blushed. “You know what I mean.”

“This isn’t a good idea,” Archie said. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

“I’m an adult, Archie,” Susan said.

“I’m not over her yet,” Archie said.

He waited.

Susan’s face fell. But she nodded. She seemed to understand. “Your wife,” she said.

Archie gave her a look.

Susan’s eyes widened. Then she looked away. “Oh,” she said.

“Yeah,” Archie said.

Archie was standing
at the kitchen counter drinking a double shot of whiskey when there was a knock at his door. He smiled. He had told himself, if
Susan came back, even after what he’d told her, that he would let her in, that he could take a chance. But when he opened the door, it was Rachel, not Susan, who stared back at him.

She was wearing her white satin robe, and he got the feeling that she wasn’t wearing anything else.

“You’re all over the TV,” Rachel said. “A big hero. I came here as a citizen, to express my gratitude.”

“Really,” Archie said.

Rachel slipped past him into the apartment. “I thought I’d start with your cock,” she said.

Archie nearly choked on a sip of whiskey. “I usually just get some sort of commendation.”

He closed the door and when he turned back into the apartment, Rachel had dropped the robe and was standing naked in his living room. Every time Archie saw her body, it made him weak in the
knees.

“I was planning on just going to bed,” Archie said.

Rachel smiled and wetted her bottom lip with her tongue. “I’ll meet you there,” she said, and she turned and walked into the bedroom.

Archie looked at the empty glass in his hand, and then walked to the kitchen counter again and poured himself some more whiskey. Then he took his holster off his hip and laid it on the counter
next to the bottle. And then he took his phone out of his pants pocket. He had a text message from Susan, just as she’d said:
Coming over. Need to see you.

He scanned through all the previous texts from her, all of them checking in, letting him know that Pearl was fine; everything was fine.

Archie lifted the whiskey glass to his lips.

Rachel put her arms around his waist from behind. “What’s taking you so long?”

Archie took another swig of whiskey. “Just finishing some stuff up,” he said.

She turned him around so they were facing each other and then she spun slowly around for him.

“Tell me the story of the heart tattoo again,” he said.

She put her finger on his mouth. “Don’t ask so many questions. Do you want to fuck me, or not?”

He let his eyes graze over her. Her blond hair, blue eyes, the cheekbones and chin, the dip of her collarbone and curve of her breasts and hips. “You look like someone I know, have I told
you that?” he said.

“Yes,” she said. “But you didn’t say if that was good or bad.”

Archie considered this. “A little of both.”

Rachel grinned and lifted her hand to her mouth, and pushed three fingers deeply into her mouth and slowly pulled them out. Then she walked them down Archie’s shirt and slid them into his
pants.

“You like that?” she whispered.

Archie took another sip of whiskey.

“Very much,” he said.

Archie awoke to
Rachel’s gentle prodding. “Your phone’s ringing,” she said.

He pulled it off the bedside table, looked at it, and sat up in bed in the dark. Then he lifted the phone to his ear. “Hello, Patrick,” he said.

“Are you all right?” Patrick asked.

The kid had seen the news. He sounded panicked. Archie swung his bare feet on the floor and stood up and walked to his north bedroom window. “I’m fine,” Archie assured him.

The bedroom was dark. The red IKEA gooseneck lamp was off.

Archie looked out the window, at the stars in the sky and the bridge lights over the dark scar of the Willamette River. The city’s buildings glowed. The interstate stretched north and
south. Streetlights twinkled. From this view, standing in the dark room, the city looked brighter.

“I’m ready to tell you my secret,” Patrick said.

“I’m here.”

Patrick exhaled a long, sad breath. “Sometimes I miss him,” he said. Archie heard the words catch in Patrick’s throat. “Sometimes I want him to come back for
me.”

“I know,” Archie said. “It’s okay. I promise,” he said. “You’ll be okay.”

Archie wanted to believe that it was true.

CHAPTER

W
hen Archie woke
up in the morning, Rachel was gone, and he had a headache from the whiskey. He took a shower, drank
some coffee, got dressed, and drove to Sauvie Island.