Sleeping Beauty (6 page)

Terri was aware that Joshua's second novel,
The Wishing Well,
had received poor reviews and sold dismally. She thought it was okay but nowhere near the quality of
A Tourist in Babylon.
Joshua Maxfield had been hailed as a new voice of his generation when his first novel was published. Within a year of the publication of his second novel it was rare to find any mention of him.

“What did you think of that excerpt Mr. Maxfield read?” Terri asked.

“Talk about unmitigated crap. Garbage like that is destroying literature. Publishers don't want to read anything with depth and characterization anymore. They're all looking at the bottom line. Dismember a naked woman and they'll give you a million dollars, but write about the soul of man, what makes us human…forget it. You should see some of the rejection letters I've gotten from those morons in New York. Do you think Camus, Sartre, or Stendhal would get a book contract today?”

Terri forced a laugh. “I guess you didn't write that bloodbath, then?”

Dorrigan looked appalled. “I wouldn't use those pages to wipe my ass.”

Terri caught up with Lori Ryan and Mindy Krauss in the parking lot. “What did you think of the first class?” Terri asked.

“It was great,” Mindy answered. “I took so many notes my hand cramped.”

“He's such a terrific teacher,” Lori gushed.

“That wasn't your mystery he read, was it?” Terri asked.

The women laughed. “Ours is set in a bridge group,” Mindy told her.

“Someone is murdering the members and leaving a card pinned to the bodies,” Lori said.

“The clue is so clever,” Mindy said. “If you make a hand out of….”

“Don't tell the ending,” Lori jumped in. “It will spoil it for her.”

“You're right,” Mindy sighed, frustrated at not being able to reveal the clever solution to their mystery.

Terri said good-bye to the women and got in her car. She started it just as Joshua Maxfield left the building. He was carrying a briefcase and strolling toward his cottage as if he hadn't a care in the world. Terri felt sick. She was fairly certain that none of the members of the class had written the excerpt. Maxfield had told her that he critiqued manuscripts
for a fee. The chapter could have been from a manuscript that he was editing. But Maxfield had also said that he was working on a new book. And he lived on the Academy grounds. Terri looked toward Ashley's dormitory. She wanted to run to her daughter and take her away from the Academy and Joshua Maxfield, but Ashley was doing so well. If she took Ashley home she would have to explain why, and that could undo all of the healing that had occurred. No, Terri decided, she would not act until she had investigated more thoroughly. She was a reporter. She knew how to develop a lead into a story; she knew how to nail down facts.

T
he Detective Division of the Portland Police Bureau took up one side of the thirteenth floor of the Justice Center, a modern, sixteen-story building located across the park from the Multnomah County Courthouse. Each detective had a workspace separated from the other detectives by a chest-high divider. When the receptionist told Larry Birch that Terri Spencer was in the waiting room, he came out to the front counter and escorted her to his cubicle.

“Sit down,” Birch said, gesturing toward a chair that sat next to a gunmetal-gray desk piled high with reports, correspondence, and depart-mental memos. A picture of Birch with a woman and two small children stood on one corner.

“How are you, Mrs. Spencer?” he asked when Terri was seated.

“I'm okay,” she answered, but Birch didn't think so. He thought that she looked drawn, pale, and very nervous.

“How's Ashley doing?”

“Fine. She's going to a new school, the Oregon Academy. I thought the change—you know, starting over in a new place—would help her.”

“It sounds like a good idea. And it's working out?”

“She doesn't start classes until the fall, but she's a counselor at a soccer clinic out there, teaching young children. She seems to enjoy it.”

“She's a top player, right?”

“All-State. Several colleges are looking at her.”

“Well, that's great.”

All the time she'd been talking Terri had been shifting nervously in her seat. Birch waited patiently for her to tell him why she wanted to see him.

“I was wondering if there was any progress. If you have any idea who….”

Terri's voice trailed off. Thinking about what had happened to her husband was too hard on her.

“I'll be honest with you, Mrs. Spencer, we have made some progress but we're nowhere near an arrest.”

“What does that mean?”

“We asked the FBI in on this and they came up with something.”

“What?”

Birch hesitated for a moment. Then he looked Terri in the eye. “You're a reporter, right?”

“Not where my husband's murder is concerned.”

Birch nodded. “Okay. But I need to know that you will absolutely not tell anyone else what I tell you.”

“Of course.”

“The FBI thinks that the person who murdered your husband and Tanya Jones has committed other crimes in several states over the past few years.”

“A serial killer?”

“That's what they think. But they have no clue to the killer's identity.”

“Why do they think it's a serial killer? What are the common threads?”

“Duct tape was used to bind the victims instead of rope. The FBI has established that the same company manufactured the duct tape used in all of the crimes and they've made a physical match between the duct tape used in a case in Michigan and another in Arizona. For obvious reasons, this is something we're not telling the public.”

“Are there any other clues you're keeping from the public?” Terri asked, fighting to keep her tone neutral.

“Why do you want to know that?”

“I don't want to leak anything unintentionally.”

“You know the killer ate a piece of chocolate cake at your house?”

Terri nodded.

“He ate a piece of pie during a murder in Connecticut.”

Terri felt the blood drain from her face. She averted her eyes. “So only the investigators know about the snack at our house? You haven't released the information to the public?”

“That's right.”

“Are they keeping the snack a secret in Connecticut too?”

Birch nodded.

“Where were the other murders?”

“They started in New England about five years ago. Then there were a few in other parts of the country.” Birch listed the cities.

“What…what does he do?”

“They're like your house, Mrs. Spencer. There's always a teenage daughter. He murders the adults and rapes the daughter before killing her. Ashley is a very lucky young woman. She's the only person who has survived his attacks.”

 

Ashley stayed after the clinic session ended to help a seventh-grade girl with her passing skills. The kid was good, and she would get better because she cared about technique. The girl's mother had waited patiently while Ashley and her student put in an extra twenty minutes. When they were through, she thanked Ashley for taking the extra time to help her daughter. The praise felt good. On the way out of the gym Ashley was wondering if she wanted to teach or coach as a career when a man's voice interrupted her reverie.

“It's Ashley, right?”

Ashley looked up. Joshua Maxfield was standing in front of her. He was dressed in a T-shirt and athletic shorts and looked like he'd just finished a workout.

“I hope I didn't interrupt any great thoughts,” the teacher said. “You looked like you were in a trance.”

Ashley blushed. “It's okay,” she mumbled.

“I'm Joshua Maxfield. I teach creative writing. We met when Dean Van Meter was showing you and your mother around the school.”

“I remember.”

Maxfield gave her a warm smile. “Your mother's in my critique group. She says you've decided to come to the Academy in the fall.”

Ashley nodded.

“Well, that's terrific. I hope you'll think about taking my class. Your mother's work is very good. Do you do any creative writing?”

“Not really. I mean, I had assignments in school but I don't do any on my own. I'm pretty busy with soccer all year.”

“That's right. You're a counselor at the summer clinic. You must be pretty good. Our girls have a good team, don't they?”

“Yeah. They won state's the last two years.”

“Are you going to start?”

“I don't know. I hope so.”

“I'm sure you will,” he said, smiling. “Well, I'm going to hit the shower. It's nice seeing you again.”

T
erri was shown into Casey Van Meter's office a little after four. The dean was wearing an elegantly tailored black silk suit, and her hair and makeup were perfect.

“Sit down, Terri. I'm glad you dropped by. I'm getting glowing reports about Ashley.”

“Thank you. She's having a great time. Living in the dorm with the other girls and working with the children has been a wonder cure.”

“I'm glad to hear that. So, what brings you here?”

“I wanted to talk to you about one of your teachers but I don't want the teacher to know that I've been investigating.”

“Investigating? That sounds serious.”

“It is. But before I tell you anything more I want to make sure that you'll treat the inquiry confidentially.”

“I'm not certain that I can do that without knowing why you're asking. The welfare of our students is paramount.”

Terri wasn't sure how to proceed. She had promised Detective Birch that she would keep his confidences but she needed to know more about Joshua Maxfield, and Dean Van Meter might have some of the information she needed.

“I'm in a funny position,” Terri explained. “I have suspicions about
one of your faculty but I don't want to tell you why, right now, because I don't want to get this person in trouble if I'm wrong.”

“Whom are we talking about?”

“Joshua Maxfield. I'd like to know if there's anything in his background that's…suspicious.”

The dean sighed. She even looked a bit relieved. “You'd find out anyway with a little digging, and I don't want you to think that the Academy is hiding anything. Joshua did not leave his teaching position at Eton College voluntarily. He was forced to resign.”

“What happened?”

“His first novel did very well but his second book was a failure both critically and financially. Then Joshua developed a terrible case of writer's block. He'd been given an advance for another novel but he couldn't write it. A conglomerate bought his original publisher. The new owners demanded that Joshua meet his deadline or return his advance. Unfortunately, he'd spent the money. He was desperate for a job. Eton College was looking for a creative writing teacher. He applied. Joshua's name was still golden in academic circles but he didn't know that so he made an unfortunate decision.”

“What did he do?”

“He doctored his résumé. It was totally unnecessary but Joshua wasn't thinking clearly. He claimed that he had an MFA from the Iowa Writers' Workshop when, in fact, he had attended for less than a semester.”

“How did the school find out?'

“Joshua was under tremendous pressure to repay the advance. The publisher was threatening a lawsuit. He started drinking and acting erratically. He was depressed, not writing, that sort of thing. He missed classes. Then there was an incident with a student….”

“What sort of incident?”

“She claimed he offered to give her an A if she slept with him. During the inquiry the school discovered the discrepancy on his résumé. He was given the choice of resigning or being fired.”

“Why did you hire him if you knew all this?”

“Joshua came to us more than a year or so after he left New England. He was completely open with us about his problems at Eton. He admitted propositioning the coed. He said he did it when he was drunk and depressed after getting another letter from a lawyer about the advance. We felt that it was worth the risk to have a writer of Joshua's caliber on our faculty. To our knowledge, he has not betrayed our trust.”

“What I'm concerned about is a lot more serious than lying on a résumé.”

Casey looked confused. “Please be more specific.”

Terri hesitated. Her evidence was far from overwhelming.

“Will you promise to keep what I tell you between us?”

“All right, but I'm only agreeing because I need to know if there is any possibility that our students might be affected.”

“I'm taking Joshua's writing class. We're supposed to submit something we're working on. Each week, he's going to read our submissions, then the class critiques the work.”

“Yes?” Casey asked impatiently.

“He read a very disturbing piece at the first class. It was in the first person. It was about a serial killer and it went into detail about the rape and dismemberment of a girl Ashley's age and her parents. It was horrible and very graphic.”

“I can see how that would be disturbing but….”

“Anyone who could write something like that has to be sick.”

“Joshua is a novelist, Terri. There's a book featuring a serial killer on every bestseller list. Do you think those authors are murderers?”

“You don't understand. Maxfield knew things that happened in my house when Ashley was attacked that the police never released to the public.”

Casey's look was halfway between shock and amusement, as if she was unsure if she was the butt of a practical joke. Terri looked grim.

“You're serious?” the dean said.

Terri told Casey Van Meter about the snack. The dean paid close attention. When Terri was through, Casey shook her head.

“I'm not convinced. How do you know that Joshua was reading something he'd written?”

“I know it wasn't written by any of the other students. I talked to all of them. And he told me that he's working on a new book.”

“Yes, but….” Casey stopped. She shook her head. “I find this very hard to believe. I know Joshua….”

“You think you know him. I've been reading about the pathology of serial killers. People assume that it would be easy to spot the type of person who could…could kill my husband and attack two helpless teenage girls but you can't tell just by looking at them. Ann Rule worked side by side with Ted Bundy on the rape hotline in Seattle while she had a contract to write about the murders he was committing as soon as the case was solved. She never suspected that she was a friend of the man who would become the subject of her first bestseller. And think about the usual reaction of neighbors when they learn they've been living next door to someone like John Wayne Gacy. They can't believe that the nice guy they've chatted with about mundane things like their lawn or a favorite TV show could be a monster.”

“That may be true, but I'm sure you're wrong about Joshua.”

“There was the incident with the female student at Eton College.”

“He didn't murder her, Terri. He made an indecent proposition. That's very different from serial murder.”

“Then how did he know about the snack?”

Casey remembered what Maxfield had said when she asked him if he really knew how to plant a bomb in a car.

“He's a writer of fiction. He's very creative. He earns his living by making up scenes that we could never conceive because we don't have his imagination.”

“No, I don't buy it. That would be too much of a coincidence.”

Casey paused. She looked upset. “Why did you come to me, Terri? Let's assume that you're right, that Joshua is a killer. What do you expect me to do?”

“You have access to Maxfield's personnel file. There have been other murders in New England, the Midwest, Montana, and Idaho. Maybe there's something in his file.”

Casey looked concerned. “You're so emotionally involved that I don't
think you've thought this through clearly. Have you told your suspicions to the police?”

“No.”

Casey took a deep breath. “Thank goodness. Think of the harm you'd do to this school's reputation if one of our teachers was wrongly accused of any kind of crime, let alone being a serial killer who preys on children the same age as our students.”

“I don't intend to talk to anyone about my suspicions until I'm certain I'm right. That's why I've come to you. Let me take a look at Maxfield's file….”

“Certainly not.”

“Then you review it. Now that you know what I'm looking for, something you thought was unimportant may look totally different.”

Casey hesitated for a moment, then made a decision.

“All right. I can see how concerned you are about this. I'll take another look at his file. If I find something I'll tell you. But you have to promise me that you won't go any further with this unless you have hard evidence. The damage to the Academy and Joshua would be irreparable.”

“I don't want to hurt Joshua if he's innocent but I'll do everything I can to put him in prison if he killed my husband.”

 

Waves of doubt assailed Terri during the drive home. Was she jumping to conclusions because of a work of fiction? Was she right to break her promise to Larry Birch? Would there be consequences to the police investigation because she had revealed the information about the snack to Casey Van Meter? Should she take Ashley out of school immediately? If Joshua Maxfield was a serial killer, her daughter was in grave peril.

Terri heard the phone a moment after she opened the front door to her house. She rushed into the kitchen and picked up on the fifth ring.

“Terri, thank God I caught you,” Casey Van Meter said. She sounded short of breath and very tense.

“What's wrong?”

“I've got to talk to you. I went through Joshua's file. There's something in it.”

“What?”

“I can't talk now. Can you come to the school, tonight?”

“Of course.”

“I don't want to meet in my office. Do you know how to get to the boathouse by the service road?”

“No.”

“Go a quarter of a mile past the main entrance. There's a gravel road that follows the river and ends at the boathouse. Meet me at eight.”

Terri started to ask another question but the dean said she couldn't talk and hung up. Terri sat down at the kitchen table. Energy coursed through her. If Casey Van Meter had discovered something solid, she could take it to Larry Birch. There was no way that Maxfield's arrest could bring Norman back, but Ashley would be safe if his killer was behind bars. Terri looked at her watch. It was almost six. In two hours she would know if she was closer to putting her husband's killer in prison.