what? The Thief got spooked by Gacy’s arrest?”
“Correct. Police activity picked up. The public was more diligent. And if the authorities had any ability to see patterns, they would have picked up on this one.” Angela tapped her homemade chart again. “So he changed from a killer to a thief. He still kills these women, I’m certain of it. He just hides their bodies better.”
“Angela, sweetheart,” Catherine said. “I don’t really know what to say. If this is correct, even if it’s only partially accurate, you need to take this to the police.”
Angela looked at Catherine again. “That’s why I need your help.”
“Anything.”
“I can’t go to the police. They’ll look at me . . .” Angela made brief eye contact again. “You know what they’ll think.”
“Bring Thomas with you.”
Angela was already shaking her head. “I can’t tell Thomas about this. He’s already worried about how I spend my days. If he knows I’ve been obsessing—”
The sound of her own voice uttering that word again caused Angela to scratch her shoulder through the fabric of her shirt. Frustration flared when her benign fingernails, clipped to the nubs, were unable to produce the searing pain she hoped for.
“Thomas would think this is an unhealthy way for me to spend my time.”
“But if it’s true, Angela. If what you’ve discovered is true, this transcends what Thomas thinks about how you spend your time.” Catherine tapped the graph. “If this is true, then telling the police could save lives.”
The front door opened and Catherine’s husband yelled into the house.
“Catherine, you home?”
“In here, hon.”
In a panic, Angela began gathering her research and stuffing pages back into the file folder as Bill Blackwell walked into the kitchen. He wore dirty jeans and a shirt covered in bits of concrete. Angela immediately recognized the appearance, since it was how Thomas often came home after work. Catherine’s husband wore a bandana, which hung loose around his neck. Angela remembered the red marks on his skin and his remarks from the other night about mosquitoes and an allergic reaction and his foreman quitting, which forced Bill to run the crews. Angela hadn’t even been aware that night, preoccupied as she was with her thoughts of the missing women, that she had comprehended Bill Blackwell’s words. Angela’s mind worked that way, absorbing everything around her and storing it all in the deep recesses of her brain. The catalogued information randomly floated from her subconscious until she was aware of its presence. It happened to her often. Her mind would whisper to her that she was aware of something, even if she didn’t quite grasp precisely what it was she understood. Then, later, the stored image or nugget of knowledge would break loose from the anchor in her mind and rise to the surface. But there was something else that caught her attention now. Angela tried not to look, tunneling her vision to the task of organizing her papers so she could leave as quickly as possible.
“Angela,” Bill said. “How are you? I didn’t know you guys were getting together today.”
Angela smiled and offered a quick glance at Bill Blackwell. Then the other image that had caught her attention came into focus. She saw another man in the background.
“This is Leonard Williams,” Bill said as the man walked into the kitchen. “He’s been working up at the Kenosha shop for me. I stopped home for a quick bite to eat before heading out to a job on the west side.”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
