The Other Daniel - A Camille Grisham Novella (7 page)

Tears were running down Meredith’s face
faster than she could wipe them away. “Where is he?”

“As I said, the ‘where’ isn’t really my
concern. I’m more of a ‘why’ and ‘how’ kind of person. But the last
time I saw him he was lurking outside of Camille’s apartment
building.”

“How did you know he would be outside my
apartment building?”

“Because he told me he would be. You see, in
the process of intruding on our lives with his heartless questions
about my sister’s final days on earth, he had somehow gotten the
idea that we had become friends. So I decided to play along, build
trust, learn everything I could about his true objective. We
exchanged emails. I’d supply him with anecdotes about Candace, he’d
give me regular status reports on the book. Since I was the only
person he talked to who would actually give him or his book the
time of day, he was more than happy to keep me in the loop. Things
weren’t going so well for a while, as you knew all-too-well,
Meredith. Then came the brilliant idea of interviewing Camille.
That was your idea, wasn’t it?”

Meredith looked at Camille with embarrassed
eyes.

“Yep, I believe it was,” the Jacob Deaver
imposter continued. “At any rate, he couldn’t have been happier to
make the trip out here. Told me he’d finally found his bestseller.
Having a vested interest in Ms. Grisham’s story myself, I couldn’t
disagree with him. But I also knew it couldn’t happen. Not the way
he envisioned it anyway. It was bad enough that he wanted to
glorify my sister’s killer at my sister’s expense. Now he wanted to
glorify the woman who allowed my sister to be killed. What kind of
brother would I be if I allowed that to happen? So I decided to
make the trip out here too.”

Camille remained calm as she took another
step toward the man she now knew to be Daniel MacPherson, the older
brother of Candace MacPherson – one of the two co-eds killed in
Sykes’ basement on the day he was apprehended.

As far as she knew, Daniel had never been
interviewed or photographed, but she did see his name in the
‘survived by’ section of his sister’s obituary. She distinctly
remembered the obituary, and the guilt she felt that a young man of
only twenty-two would have to endure such an indescribable
loss.

Right now her feelings were very
different.

“Do you really think this will honor her
memory? Doesn’t she deserve better?”

Daniel laughed. “The old mind-fucking
technique. I’ve heard you FBI profilers just love to do that. Of
course you aren’t an FBI profiler anymore. From my perspective, you
were never much of one to begin with.”

Camille’s reserve of calm had suddenly run
out. “Where the hell is my father?”

“Why does everybody keep asking me that?
I’ve already told you, I don’t know. What you need to concern
yourself with more is who has him.”

“Tell me who.”

“In due time.”

Camille grabbed the smaller man by the shirt
collar and threw him against the hood of her car. “Damn it, you’re
going to tell me now!”

Daniel gasped for air as she squeezed his
windpipe. “He’s someone just like me, except that killing comes
more naturally to him. I’ve never hurt anyone in my entire
life.”

Camille squeezed harder. “Bullshit.”

“Okay, I’ve never actually killed anyone.
But he has. Four that I know of so far, not counting your father or
Meredith’s author friend.”

When Daniel’s eyes began to bulge Camille
released her grip. He staggered off the car hood in a desperate
search for breath.

Meredith put a hand on Camille’s shoulder in
a vain effort to comfort her. “We’ll find them. Let’s just call the
police and get this monster locked up first.”

Camille pulled out her cell phone and dialed
her father’s number. She bristled when it went to voice mail.
“Jesus dad, why aren’t you answering?”

“Camille please,” Meredith reiterated.

Daniel’s face twisted with amusement. “He
isn’t going to answer. Not now, perhaps not ever. I don’t know what
the ultimate plan is for him. But I do know what it is for you.
It’s been in the making for a long time now. And this book, this
Daniel Sykes love-fest that that piece of garbage Jacob Deaver
wanted to write, was the vehicle that we needed. Sykes may have
been ultimately responsible, but you were the one who allowed him
to roam free. You were the one who could have stopped him. And now
you’re the one who has to pay.”

“And how is she supposed to pay?” Meredith
cried. “Hasn’t she, haven’t you, been through enough already?”

“No she hasn’t been through enough. Not by a
long shot. And as far as how she’s going to pay? I can’t really
answer that. I’m merely the messenger. The message has been
delivered, which means my work is finished. The ones who can answer
your question are the ones you aren’t going to see. Not until it’s
too late anyway.” He paused as he turned his now lifeless eyes to
Camille. “I wish I had it in me to end you myself. But everyone has
their role in life.”

“And what is your role?”

“The catalyst.”

Jacob smiled wide as Camille dialed 911. It
was a hideous smile that reeked of smug satisfaction.

“Are you even going to try to run?” she
asked him when she hung up the phone.

“I’ve done everything I was called to do. It
doesn’t matter what happens to me now. Besides, the police can’t do
anything to me that you haven’t done one hundred times over.” He
took a step toward her. “All that matters to me is that you
suffer.”

His ghastly smile
returned. It only took one punch for Camille to knock it clean off
his face
.

CHAPTER SEVEN

AN OLD FRIEND/ A NEW THREAT

The police had already
arrived by the time she
made it back to
her father’s house. The absence of yellow tape meant that they had
thus far found nothing to indicate that an actual crime had been
committed. It also meant that Camille could breathe a tentative
sigh of relief.

She raced up the driveway to the sight of
two uniformed officers standing on the front porch. The door was
open.

“Did you go inside?” Camille asked the
female officer who approached her.

“Yes ma’am we did. The house is empty.”

“Did you check everywhere?”

“Top to bottom. The front door was open when
we arrived. No obvious forcible entry. And it didn’t appear as if
anything inside was disturbed.”

Camille strained her neck to look around the
officers and into the house. “Can I go and look around myself?”

“We need to first ask you some questions
about—”

Camille had sprinted up the front steps and
into the house before the officer could finish her statement. In
contrast to the early spring warmth of the air outside, the air
inside the house was cold and empty. She rushed into the kitchen
then down the stairs into the basement, then outside into the
backyard. No sign of her father anywhere. With precious little
oxygen remaining in her lungs, she made her way into his office,
checking every nook, cranny, and closet along the way. “Dad?” It
was as futile-sounding a word as she had ever uttered.

Finally she climbed the staircase, moving
quickly past her childhood bedroom and into his. The bed was made
with the same crisp edges that he always insisted on. His shoes
were stacked neatly in the corner the same as they always were. Her
mother’s young, smiling face looked at her from a frame on top of
the nightstand the same as she always had. Beyond that, there was
not a single indicator that her father had ever been here.

Hollow legs carried her back down the
staircase. When she reached the bottom, she saw Meredith standing
near the front door, her face a sad, quivering mess. Camille
imagined her own looked ten times worse.

“He’s not here.”

“We know,” a female voice not belonging to
Meredith said.

Camille swung her head to the right as a
familiar face stared at her from the kitchen entryway.

“Detective Sullivan.”

“Hi Camille.”

“What are you doing here?” Camille asked
wearily, though not because she was unhappy to see her.

Detective Chloe Sullivan was the lead
detective in the investigation of her best friend’s murder. When
the case was intentionally steered in a direction away from the
truth, it was Detective Sullivan who single-handedly kept it on
course. In the process she nearly lost her life – at the hands of
the same man who tried to end Camille’s.

The bond that formed between them in the
aftermath was instant. And though she had lost contact with Chloe
recently, she somehow always knew that the detective was never very
far away.

Her appearance here only solidified that
notion. But it also made Camille unspeakably nervous.

“I’m not here in an official capacity,”
Chloe said with a thin smile that did little to mask her concern.
“I was in my car and I heard the call come in over dispatch. It
goes without saying that I got here as fast as I could.”

“Thank you,” Camille said, though her nerves
were no less frayed than before.

“I was getting some background outside from
Ms. Park. She says the man currently in custody claims that your
father was abducted.”

Camille could only nod.

“She says that her colleague, a man by the
name of Jacob Deaver, was also abducted. Presumably by the same
person.”

“Has he said anything else?” Meredith asked
with a shaken voice.

“You mean Daniel MacPherson? As far as I
know, he’s been uncooperative so far. But the Q&A has only
started.”

“What am I supposed to do in the meantime?”
Camille cried. “I can’t just sit here, knowing my father is out
there somewhere. Give me another chance with Daniel. All I need is
a few minutes.”

“In your current state I don’t think that’s
such a good idea,” Chloe advised. “We have plenty of people talking
to him now. If there is information to get out of him, they’ll find
a way to get it.” She put a hand on Camille’s shoulder. “Is there
anything I can do for you now?”

“Aside from finding my father and Jacob
Deaver, no.” Then she looked Chloe in the eye. “But I do appreciate
you coming here.”

“Of course. Beyond the fact that Paul is
your father, he’s also a part of the DPD family. A very important
part. That makes this personal for all of us. Me especially. Trust
me when I say we’ll find him.”

Just then, three forensics techs walked
through the front door. Two of them fanned out to opposite corners
of the house to begin their work while the third approached Camille
and Chloe.

“Detective Sullivan. Ms. Grisham.”

Chloe smiled. “This is CSI Robert Franklin.
I called him and his team in as a special favor.”

“Thank you,” Camille said to the tech.

“Happy to help, Ms. Grisham. If there is
anything here that points the finger at a potential abductor we’ll
pick it up.”

Camille could only hope that was true as the
tech walked away to survey his own corner of the house. She then
began her own search; looking for even the slightest thing that
might have been missing or out of place. From what she could tell,
everything was as she remembered it before she left for the Brown
Palace, right down to her father’s car keys and wallet sitting in
their usual spot near the kitchen table.

She continued her methodical walk through
the house as the CSI techs worked around her. She wasn’t sure what
they were supposed to find, but she appreciated their presence, as
well as the gesture by a good friend that brought them here in the
first place. Had the promise to find her father been made by anyone
other than Chloe, it would have felt hollow. But Detective Sullivan
was as good as they came. And if she promised a positive outcome,
Camille had no choice but to believe her.

As she trailed the techs through the house,
she was finding very little to sustain that belief. Then she came
upon the delivery box on top of the foyer end table. Aside from the
fact that it hadn’t been here when she and Meredith left the house,
what most caught her eye was the plain white shipping label with
its crude scribbling of her name. She instinctively reached for it
but quickly stopped herself.

“Chloe, come look at this.”

The detective rushed over. Her eyes were
already fixed on the box. “What is it?”

Camille shrugged. “Apparently it was
delivered this afternoon while I was gone.”

“Were you expecting a package?”

“No.”

Chloe called over her shoulder. “Hey Rob,
check this out.”

The tech walked over, adjusting his latex
gloves as he did. “What is it?”

“We’re not sure,” Chloe answered. “It was
delivered this afternoon.”

Robert picked up the small box. “It’s light.
Feels like paper inside.”

“It could be pictures my dad ordered for all
I know,” Camille said, not believing one word of it.

“Or it could be something else,” Chloe
warned.

Camille nodded and held her breath as the
tech took out a Swiss Army knife and cut gently along the edge of
the box.

“Definitely looks like a piece of paper,”
the tech confirmed as he peeled back the top. “Odd one,
though.”

“What do you mean by odd?” Chloe asked,
craning her neck to get a better look.

Her question was answered when the tech took
out a pair of tweezers and lifted the paper out of the box.

“My God, are those blood stains?” Meredith
asked, her voice muffled by the hand covering her mouth.

“Four of them,” the tech confirmed.

“Spatter?” Chloe asked as she inspected the
black page dotted with red.

“No. The pattern is precise, almost as if
they came out of a dropper.”

“And the names written underneath?”

The tech shrugged. “No idea.”

The group turned to Camille.