what happened, if that’s what you mean. I was in Cory’s tent with him. The idea was to talk to him, to keep telling him everything was going to be okay. In reality, I’m not sure he even knew there was someone there, let alone that he could understand what we were saying. He was out of his mind with pain. I had my flashlight and my book with me and I was reading to him. Then I felt a blow to my head and I blacked out. Sometime later, the next person came into the tent to sit with Cory. They found I was unconscious with a head wound, and Cory was dead. He had been suffocated. We didn’t know that for sure until the inquest. We thought—hoped, even—that he could have died in his sleep.”
“Did you have any idea who did it?” Vincente asked. Although he was focused on what Beth was saying, part of his mind was on the warm weight of his little girl against his arm. He had started this day not knowing she existed and now having her there felt like the most natural thing in the world. If Beth was right and someone was threatening her, threatening them both...
What he felt for Lia went way beyond the natural protectiveness any normal adult felt toward a child. Within minutes of meeting her, his hard, outer shell had melted, leaving him with a new vulnerability. He had a family to care for now. The thought of anything, or anyone, harming a hair of his daughter’s head had him snarling inside like a tiger. He pressed his cheek against her hair, breathing in the scents of shampoo and baby powder, feeling the hook that connected his heart to hers digging in a little deeper.
He looked up to see Beth watching him. She came within his protective sphere, as well. She always had.
“No. We thought—” she bit her lip as she answered his question “—this sounds awful, but we thought someone had done it as a sort of kindness.”
“A misguided way of ending his misery?” It was a horrible idea, but he understood what she meant.
Beth nodded, tears filling her eyes. “It can’t ever be right to take a life, but anyone who heard his cries couldn’t fail to be moved. The storm was over by then and Rick found a place to get a signal. He called the Stillwater Ranger Service and they sent an emergency team. Once it was known how Cory had died, there was a police investigation, but no one was ever charged with his murder. It got a lot of press attention.”
“Did you bear the brunt of it because you were with him when he died?” Vincente had been out of the country at the time, so he hadn’t seen the news reports.
“Some of it was brutal, suggesting that I knew what happened, that I colluded with the person who killed him, even that I did it. The attention died down eventually.” Beth bit her lip. “But the memories took a lot longer to fade. I couldn’t go rock climbing again after that. I think some of the club members still got together—maybe they do even now—but I couldn’t face seeing any of them. Talking about what happened just seemed all wrong. Anyway, it had started to fade naturally into the background. I still thought about it, but less and less often. Then I got this.”
She reached for the brown envelope that she’d brought downstairs with her. Opening it, she withdrew an old newspaper cutting. It had been written a day or two after Cory’s death. The headline was Climbers’ Death Storm Horror. Whoever had sent it to her had taken a red pen and carefully scratched out the words climber and climbers throughout the text, replacing them instead with the words murderer and murderers.
“When were you sent this?” Lia had drained her bottle and was struggling to be put down. Vincente dredged up a memory of babies and feeding. “Doesn’t she need to be burped or something?”
“No, she’s older now. She’ll be fine.” Lia crawled with surprising agility over to a box of toys. Beth’s eyes followed her and remained on her as Lia settled down to play. “About two years ago.” She returned to his question.
“Why didn’t you tell me at the time?” His earlier anger had given way to a nagging feeling of anxiety. His worries about Beth were growing by the minute, settling in his gut as a physical ache. He had a feeling it wasn’t going to shift any time soon.
She withdrew the other items from the envelope and pushed them toward him. “Because of these. The letter, and the first photograph were sent a month after the newspaper article.”
There were four photographs, all similar to the one that had been left in Lia’s crib, and a short letter. Vincente read the letter first.
Greetings, Murderers,
When you killed Cory Taylor, you took away my life. Now I’ll take yours. One by one. You don’t know who I’ll come for first. You don’t know who’ll be next. Don’t tell. I’ll know if you do, and I’ll come after the ones you love. Enjoy looking over your shoulder. One day, I’ll be there.
“Beth, this is sick, but you can’t let it get to you. You should have gone straight to the police.” Vincente was outraged to think that she’d been living in fear all this time because of this.
He was shaken to the core at what he was seeing and hearing. Beth had run from her life in Stillwater, from him, because of this hateful letter? Part of him wanted to ask why she hadn’t trusted him enough to share what she’d been going through, but the haunted look in her eyes told him all he needed to know. Beth hadn’t been capable of thinking of anything beyond the sheer terror caused by these threats.
Although his initial reaction was to give in to the rage he felt, Vincente knew he had to deal with this differently. Storming out of the house in search of the person who had written those words wasn’t going to help Beth, or protect her and Lia.
Beth was so fragile; any wrong move on his part could tip her over the edge. He had to show her she could trust him. No matter how much he wanted to punch the wall, he had to act with compassion.
“Look at the photographs, Vincente.” Beth lined them up in front of him on the table. “This is a group photograph, taken just before we set off on the climb. We all had a copy of it as a memento of the expedition. This was my copy—” She tapped an unmarked version of the picture with one fingertip before moving along to the next photograph. “And this is the one that was sent to me with that letter. It’s the same photograph, but in this one there is a red X over Cory’s face.”
Vincente could see the pattern that was emerging along the line of photographs. “A month later, I was sent this picture.” Beth pointed to the next photograph. “In this version, there are two red Xs. As well as Cory’s face being crossed out, there is a red X over the face of Andy Smith, one of the other climbers.” She moved on to the next picture. “I got this picture the day before I left Stillwater. Three Xs. This time, the expedition leader, Rick Sterling, has his face crossed out.”
Vincente had a feeling he wasn’t going to like the answer to his next question. “Did you get in touch with Andy and Rick after you received these pictures?”
She lifted her eyes to his face. “I tried, but they are both dead.”
Vincente took a moment to let that information sink in. “What about the police, or anyone else who was on the climb? Did you try to contact them?”
“You saw what the letter says.” Her face was ashen. “Once I heard Andy and Rick were dead, I knew it wasn’t an idle threat. If I’d tried to speak to anyone, I’d have been putting you in danger. The only thing I could do was leave.”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен
