course I need to go.” She gestured to the manila folder on the desk. “What happened to those young women isn’t right. They’re pawns in a sick game, and if there’s anything I can do to stop this from happening to someone else, I need to do it.”
The look on Jerry’s face told her he was choosing his wordscarefully. Finally he pushed his chair back and stood up. “Okay, we’ll go. But be honest with me. What do you really think, looking back on it now? You still think Ethan was telling the truth? That Abby masterminded all those killings, and that his only role was the disposal of the bodies?”
“It wasn’t his only role, remember. Let’s not forget that he hunted them and raped them, too.” Sheila’s voice was hard. “During my time with Ethan in the basement, yes, I really did believe he was telling me the truth. It all seemed entirely plausible that Abby was running the show, especially after she—” She glanced at Jerry’s throat and decided not to finish the sentence. “And then she took off, and was on the run for weeks. Of course it all made her seem incredibly guilty.”
“And now?”
“You know what they say about hindsight.” Sheila shut down her computer and reached for her purse. “When I look back on it now, it’s clear Ethan would have said anything to get me to feel sorry for him. He was so manipulative and he lied about almost everything else—why not Abby? He wanted my sympathy, my understanding. He had every reason to lie about her. But that doesn’t mean she wasn’t involved somehow.”
Jerry nodded and followed her out of the office.
“So what does she want?” Sheila said as she locked the door behind her. “Obviously she couldn’t have killed these two women herself because she’s been in prison for the last year. But if it turns out she does know something about it, what does she expect in return?” They made their way toward the elevators.
Jerry looked away before answering. “I would assume she wants to cut a deal before her murder trial starts next month. And she’ll probably want immunity so she can’t be charged with the murders of the women found in Ethan’s basement.”
Sheila felt her mouth fall open. “And you’re okay with this?”
Pulling down the collar of his turtleneck, Jerry showed her his scar. In the fluorescent light of the hallway, it was raw and fat and purple, and much worse than Sheila imagined. She’d only seen it once before, shortly after he’d left the hospital a year earlier, and it pained her to see it didn’t look much better now. He must pick at it twice a day , she thought.
“I know how it looks.” Jerry’s voice was strangled. “I know how it looks because I live with it every day. I sound like Marlon Brando when I talk because she permanently damaged my vocal cords.” He let go of his collar. The knit material bounced back, but not all the way. “So in answer to your question, no, I am not okay with any of this. But it’s not about me now, is it? It’s about the women who are turning up dead with her name carved into them.”
He was angry, but Sheila understood it wasn’t directed toward her. She pushed the down button for the elevator.
“Listen,” Jerry said. “Are you really sure about this? Because if Morris—”
“It’s not up for discussion, Jerry.”
He opened his mouth to respond, then a second later snapped it shut.
They stepped into the elevator, Jerry not saying another word, as Sheila knew he wouldn’t. After fifteen years of marriage, he had to know damn well you couldn’t argue with a woman once she’d made up her mind.
chapter 7
ROSEDALE PENITENTIARY WAS just outside Gig Harbor, about an hour south of Seattle. Sheila and Jerry made the drive in record time, but the stress of facing Abby Maddox had caused Jerry to scratch his throat the entire way. When they finally arrived at the prison, his scar was bleeding and his collar was sagging.
They sat in the parking lot as Jerry
The look on Jerry’s face told her he was choosing his wordscarefully. Finally he pushed his chair back and stood up. “Okay, we’ll go. But be honest with me. What do you really think, looking back on it now? You still think Ethan was telling the truth? That Abby masterminded all those killings, and that his only role was the disposal of the bodies?”
“It wasn’t his only role, remember. Let’s not forget that he hunted them and raped them, too.” Sheila’s voice was hard. “During my time with Ethan in the basement, yes, I really did believe he was telling me the truth. It all seemed entirely plausible that Abby was running the show, especially after she—” She glanced at Jerry’s throat and decided not to finish the sentence. “And then she took off, and was on the run for weeks. Of course it all made her seem incredibly guilty.”
“And now?”
“You know what they say about hindsight.” Sheila shut down her computer and reached for her purse. “When I look back on it now, it’s clear Ethan would have said anything to get me to feel sorry for him. He was so manipulative and he lied about almost everything else—why not Abby? He wanted my sympathy, my understanding. He had every reason to lie about her. But that doesn’t mean she wasn’t involved somehow.”
Jerry nodded and followed her out of the office.
“So what does she want?” Sheila said as she locked the door behind her. “Obviously she couldn’t have killed these two women herself because she’s been in prison for the last year. But if it turns out she does know something about it, what does she expect in return?” They made their way toward the elevators.
Jerry looked away before answering. “I would assume she wants to cut a deal before her murder trial starts next month. And she’ll probably want immunity so she can’t be charged with the murders of the women found in Ethan’s basement.”
Sheila felt her mouth fall open. “And you’re okay with this?”
Pulling down the collar of his turtleneck, Jerry showed her his scar. In the fluorescent light of the hallway, it was raw and fat and purple, and much worse than Sheila imagined. She’d only seen it once before, shortly after he’d left the hospital a year earlier, and it pained her to see it didn’t look much better now. He must pick at it twice a day , she thought.
“I know how it looks.” Jerry’s voice was strangled. “I know how it looks because I live with it every day. I sound like Marlon Brando when I talk because she permanently damaged my vocal cords.” He let go of his collar. The knit material bounced back, but not all the way. “So in answer to your question, no, I am not okay with any of this. But it’s not about me now, is it? It’s about the women who are turning up dead with her name carved into them.”
He was angry, but Sheila understood it wasn’t directed toward her. She pushed the down button for the elevator.
“Listen,” Jerry said. “Are you really sure about this? Because if Morris—”
“It’s not up for discussion, Jerry.”
He opened his mouth to respond, then a second later snapped it shut.
They stepped into the elevator, Jerry not saying another word, as Sheila knew he wouldn’t. After fifteen years of marriage, he had to know damn well you couldn’t argue with a woman once she’d made up her mind.
chapter 7
ROSEDALE PENITENTIARY WAS just outside Gig Harbor, about an hour south of Seattle. Sheila and Jerry made the drive in record time, but the stress of facing Abby Maddox had caused Jerry to scratch his throat the entire way. When they finally arrived at the prison, his scar was bleeding and his collar was sagging.
They sat in the parking lot as Jerry
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