. . . and the funny thing was, she just didn’t get it at first. I mean, I think she thought I was playing some funky little love game with her.”
The chuckle that followed sent a chill up Leah’s spine and caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand straight up. From the moment she’d sat down across from Ethan and he had turned on the first tape, her stomach had been in the tightest of knots and her hands had not stopped shaking.
She and Ethan had not made eye contact since Lambert’s voice had first drifted forth from the small plastic machine that sat between the two of them on the trestle table Leah used for dining in a corner of the great room. Lambert spoke almost melodramatically, as if for effect, and in great detail about where he’d been and what he’d done and who he’d done it to, animated in the way a younger man might describe his sexual conquests to his fraternity brothers. Lambert’s detachment from the torment he’d inflicted, his relish at relating all the gruesome details, his joking about what this victim said or that one did, had a surreal quality that left Leah unnerved and repelled.
She could barely imagine what it might be doing to Ethan.
Ethan had hardly moved a muscle since the tape had been turned on earlier that morning. He and Leah had risen about the same time, spent an hour or so making breakfast and chatting over coffee, but their conversation was the nervous, distracted sort of patter that people make while on their way to the doctor’s office for a dreaded diagnosis. When Leah had finally suggested that they take their coffee into the great room, it was with that same reluctance.
Leah had placed the small tape recorder in the center of the trestle table, which overlooked the back of the property, rather than on the coffee table or in the kitchen, so that Ethan would have a place to turn to if he needed a calming view or something to gaze upon that could, for a moment, let his mind escape from the ugliness that would spew forth and surround him. Leah would, herself, seek the solace of the late winter scene that spread out serenely on the other side of the window nearly as many times as Ethan would before the day ended.
Lambert’s voice droned on and on throughout the morning, the tape occasionally silent while Ethan asked a question in the background.
“I’m sorry, Ethan,” Leah whispered, “what did you just ask him?”
Ethan cleared his throat.
“I asked him if he was still talking about Joann Stivens there, in that last part. I believe he answered by nodding.”
“And that was in—”
“The Austin area.”
Leah nodded and fell silent as Lambert began to speak again.
“Now, did I tell you about her funeral? Damn, I never did see such a sight.” On the tape, Lambert whistled long and low, and slipped into a modified Texas drawl. “Oooh, baby, the whole town was there. I did tell you, did I not, that her old man was some kind of bigwig down there? Well, he was. The coffin was polished walnut—so shiny I could see my face in it—and lined in pale pink satin. Don’t that sound pretty? And there were pink and white flowers everywhere. And after the services—after the burial and all that at the cemetery—everyone was invited back to their house for a big catered luncheon. I never did see such a spread—”
“He went there? To her house?” Leah gasped.
An expressionless Ethan nodded. “Keep listening. It gets worse.”
“. . . course I didn’t know which room was hers, so I had to sort of pop open this door and that. Well, what do you suppose I found behind door number three? Can you guess, now, Ethan?” Lambert was taunting him here.
“No. No, Raymond, I have no idea what was behind door number three.” Ethan’s voice was flat, emotionless, exhausted.
“Why, Joann’s little sister … she couldn’t have been more than fifteen or so. Sitting on her pretty pink bed, crying her baby blue eyes out. Damn, if it wasn’t all I could do not to do her right there. I thought about it, I gotta tell you the truth—that’s what this book is all about, right? The truth?—but a few of her friends came in and the moment was gone and I just went about my business.”
Leah stopped the tape with shaking fingers.
“Let me get this straight. Lambert not only went to this girl’s funeral, but he went back to the house with the other mourners for a luncheon, during the course of which he considered killing her little sister? Did I understand that correctly?”
“You got it.”
“What does he mean, he went about his business?”
Ethan turned the tape back on.
“. . . and I did eventually find her room and I left her glasses right there on her bedside table, right on top of the book she’d last been reading. Nice touch, don’t you think?” Lambert began to giggle. “And whoa! You shoulda seen the newspapers when the glasses were found, just the next day! Well, they figured out right quick that I’d been in the house. And after I was caught, of course, the other sister and her friends talked about seeing me, I’d been as close to them as I am to you. What a stir that did cause, I gotta tell you, Ethan. It really was soooo funny. Of course, hardly anyone else saw the humor in the situation.”
“Who else could think something like that is funny?” Leah said angrily, turning off the tape with a snap.
“Other like-minded souls.”
“Do you really think there are others like that?” She pointed to the tape.
“Oh, sure.” Ethan nodded slowly. “Most serial killers are never caught. They move around. They change their MO. They die before they’re arrested. Lambert didn’t invent this game, Leah. He’s just another player.”
“He’s even sicker than I thought.”
Ethan shook his head. “Lambert wasn’t sick. He was evil. There’s a difference. Someone who is sick doesn’t realize what he’s doing. Lambert knew, planned, reveled in his killings. Reveled in the pain he caused the victim’s family. I think he took every bit as much pleasure from making me listen to all this as he did from strangling Libby.”
“Ethan, I am so sorry. I hate that you are going through this.” Leah reached across the small table and took one of his hands in hers. “If there was any other way—”
“I know,” he said simply, “but it doesn’t appear that there is. Let’s keep going.”
Ethan hit the play button and the room was once again filled with the voice Leah was learning to dread.
“Now, did I tell you about Penny Gaines? I met up with her down in Galveston. Pretty Penny. Bright and shiny as her name. Her old man owned a bunch of pharmacies, her old lady liked to hold court at the country club …”
And on, and on. How Penny Gaines had first come to his attention while he was parking cars at the country club. How he had watched her long enough to know her routine. How one day he saw his chance when she came to the club alone and he parked her car. He’d driven it to the far end of the lot, then climbed into the back when his shift was over and waited for her.
From Penny Gaines to Ellie Henderson to Lindy Philips, so passed the morning. Finally, Leah turned off the tape and said, “You look like you could use a break.”
Ethan nodded.
“How ’bout lunch, then a walk?” She stood and stretched the kinks out.
“How ’bout a walk, then lunch?” Ethan stood and did the same.
“You’re on.”
“Road or field?” Leah asked as she locked the door behind her.
“What?” Ethan asked, as if just tuning back in.
“Do you want to stick to the road, or would you rather walk across the field?”
“Field, I guess. I can always see what’s down the road later.”
“This way, then.” She motioned for him to follow her across the road to the field beyond.
They passed behind the area where his car was parked, and as they reached the top of a slight hill, Ethan paused and filled his lungs with the fresh cool air, as if by taking in the new, he could expel the old, along with the demons that had seemed to seep beneath his skin. His eyes held the same haunted look Leah had seen when she’d first met him, when he’d first told her that his connection was much like her own, only so much more intimate.
It nearly broke Leah’s heart to see him so, making no effort to hide his pain and his vulnerability from her, and she reached out a hand to offer solace. He took it, his long fingers wrapping around her smaller ones, and wordlessly they walked down the incline and across the field.
Much of the snow that had fallen the previous weeks had melted, turning the plowed ridges into sharp mounds with muddy sides. Their boots sank into the mud, making sluicing sounds as they walked. The sun at midpoint in the sky spoke of noon, a fact she hadn’t noticed on any of the cabin’s clocks. The morning had passed in a fog of inestimable sadness as the voice described acts committed without pity, without conscience, without mercy. The very telling had fouled the air, had fouled the minds and senses of those who had listened, and it helped to breathe clean air and see the trees and shrubs in bud, to see the freshness of spring as it spread out before them. Early spring flowers—crocuses and snowdrops—patterned the sides of the fields, and the colors were welcome after a bleak morning. It wasn’t until she and Ethan began to walk, putting some space between themselves and the voice, that she realized she’d been biting the inside of her lip on one side so much that it had bled. Touching her tongue to it as they walked without speaking through the Connecticut countryside, she tasted the remnants of her own blood and wondered how long it had been bleeding.
Ethan stopped midway across the field and watched a flock of birds pass over on their way to a nearby tree where each took its place on this branch or that. A hawk that had been riding a thermal began a lazy descent in wide circles, still high above the tree but drifting ever closer. The birds gathered on the tree branches began to flutter slightly, the hawk’s proximity not going unnoticed.
“If they all stay where they are, they’ll all be safe,” Ethan observed. “He can’t take them all on. But if one gets nervous and tries to flee on its own, he’s lunch.”
They watched as the birds huddled closer together.
Ethan tugged at Leah’s hand and said, “I’ve had my fill of predatory behavior for one day. Let’s not hang around to see if any of those birds gets antsy enough to try to make a run for it.”
Leah nodded, thinking to mention that the hawk stalked and hunted for survival, that there was nothing evil in his intentions toward the birds—though the birds would surely debate that if they could—but she said nothing.
The morning had been more stressful than she realized, and when they reached the end of the field, she took the lead down the paved road into the small crossroads town that lay ahead. They walked in silence, their hands still locked together, as if together they could walk off what they’d heard. When they reached the outskirts of the small village, Ethan stopped to read the sign.
“Welcome to Danner. Established seventeen-oh-three.” He turned to Leah. “Do you suppose Danner has a place to buy lunch?”
“It has a small deli that makes sandwiches.”
“Let’s stop there and pick up something, then head on back.”
“Good idea. If memory serves, they make a mean honey maple turkey and coleslaw on a big fluffy roll.”
“Sounds good. Lead the way.”
The deli was only two short blocks in on the narrow street that served as the main road of Danner. A bell over the door announced their arrival, and while Ethan ordered sandwiches, Leah poked through the magazines and the short selection of paperback books. When she arrived with the local newspaper in hand at the counter where the old cash register sat, she realized she had not a penny on her. Ethan took the paper and added a bag of potato chips to the pile, and was eyeing a display of commercially baked brownies wrapped in cellophane when Leah leaned over and whispered, “If it’s brownies you’re craving, you should know that I make a kickin’ brownie.”
Ethan smiled for the first time that day and squeezed her shoulder.
“I will hold you to that.”
Leah thanked the woman behind the counter by name as they gathered their purchases and prepared to leave, standing aside while the next batch of shoppers filed in through the narrow door and greeted Leah and Ethan.
“Friendly place,” Ethan observed as they strolled past the few storefronts that made up the shopping district.
“All these little towns are pretty much the same up here,” Leah said with a nod. “Most of the residents have connections to the area that go back several hundred years. Over the years you just get to know who people are. My great-great-grandfather was a farmer up here. My great-great-grandmother sold her eggs in that store we just came out of. Sold them to the great-grandmother of the woman who was on the cash register, I might add.”
“So your roots really are pretty deep here.”
“About as deep as you can get.” Leah walked a little faster to keep up with Ethan, who had quickened his pace. “Besides the fact that my ancestors settled here when it really was nothing more than wilderness. I spent some of my happiest days here with my parents and my sister. I feel very much connected to this place, to our cabin. I’ll never sell it. Never. It’s my home, my sanctuary, more than any place on earth.”
“That’s how I feel about our camp. I grew up there, spent so much of my life there. It’s where I belong.”
“I thought Holly said you’d lived for a time in Atlanta.”
“We did. Libby was from Georgia. She grew up there, and wanted to move back there. She wanted to practice law in the firm that had been founded by her great-grandfather. For a while, she did. The only time she left was to go to college in Texas.”
“Did you like living in the South?” Leah asked as they fell into a steady pace along the tree-lined road.
“Yes. For the most part. I missed Maine, though. When Libby … when she died, I sold the house and packed up Holly and headed north. I couldn’t wait to get home.”
“Are Libby’s parents still in Georgia?”
“Yes. Holly goes down twice every year to stay with them for a few days. She’s the youngest grandchild, and their only granddaughter. They need to know her. And she needs to know them. It’s painful for them, though, and it seems that, the older Holly gets, the more difficult it is for them to spend time with her.”
“She must remind them of their daughter.”
“She reminds them that their daughter is gone.”
“It can’t be easy for them, either.”
“It hasn’t been.”
“Have you stayed close with them? With Libby’s family?”
Ethan shook his head. “They’ve never forgiven me for meeting with Lambert, for writing the book.”
“But surely they understand why you did it?”
“They think I did it for the money.” Ethan blew out a long breath. “As if I wanted a dime from that project. Every dollar went to a women’s shelter outside of Austin.”
Leah stepped back, pulling Ethan with her, as a dark car rounded the curve just a little faster than was necessary.
“Didn’t you tell them about Lambert’s deal, that you only did it so that their daughter … her body … could be located?”
“Yes, but then, anyone who wanted to know what had happened to her … what had been done to her … could know.”
“I don’t understand.”
“They felt that it was somehow shameful, what had happened. They were embarrassed that their friends knew just what Lambert had done to her. Somehow they felt shamed by the indignities their daughter had suffered.” Ethan’s jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. “They felt she would have been better off lost someplace, her reputation unsullied, than to have everyone in Georgia—everyone in the damned country—know that she’d been raped and strangled.”
“I’m so sorry, Ethan.” Leah took his arm and slowed her steps. “I just can’t think of another thing to say to you. After listening to those tapes this morning, I can only begin to understand what you must have gone through back then, just to return Libby to them. And to have her parents turn on you … it must have been very, very hard to take.”
“It was. But I didn’t do it for them. Hell, I didn’t do it for myself. I did it for Libby, and for Holly. So that she would never be haunted by not knowing. So that when she got older and wanted to visit her mother’s grave, she could do that.”
“Where is she buried?”
“In Georgia. In her family’s plot. Holly makes her grandparents take her there every time she visits them. She takes flowers and stories that she’s written and reads them to Libby. It’s her only connection. She never knew her mother, not really.”
“That’s so sad, Ethan.”
“Raymond Lambert spread sadness wherever he went. Libby wasn’t the only one we located through the tapes.”
“What do you mean?”
“There were others, other women, who he’d admitted killing, whose bodies hadn’t been found. He wasn’t convicted of those murders, because there had been no bodies, but he confessed to them. Through comments he made on the tapes, the FBI was able to locate several bodies that wouldn’t have been found otherwise. It was worth it to have found Libby, but finding the others was an unexpected bonus.”
“Was he later convicted of those murders too?”
“No, since he’d confessed, there was only a trial for sentencing. That was the only chance the families of the victims had to face him, but at least they knew their wife or daughter’s killer had been brought to justice. It’s little enough consolation, I assure you, but for some of us, it was all we had.”
“Genna Snow had told me there had been others who had been contacted as I had been. Others who had been found—”
“I still don’t believe Raymond Lambert ever laid eyes on your sister.”
“Then why are you doing this? Why are you putting yourself through this?”
“Because you have to know. I can tell you what I think, but until you check this out for yourself, you’ll always wonder. And there’s always the chance that I’m wrong. That maybe he did make some mention of a trip up north that I just don’t remember. I don’t think so, but as long as there’s that bit of doubt, you’ll always wonder. After all you’ve been through, I couldn’t turn you away.”
“You wanted to, though.”
“Yes. I wanted to. I tried to.”
“Has it been as difficult as you were afraid it would be?”
“We haven’t come to the hard part yet.”
Leah did not know what to say, so she said nothing, merely scuffed the toes of her boots through the dirty slush on the side of the road. His willingness to relive his own nightmare to help banish hers was the sort of gift for which there could never be adequate thanks, and it occurred to Leah that she’d never known a more selfless human being. The knowledge that Ethan had willingly endured this for her sake humbled her, and she took his hand again as they started back across the field, to the cabin, and to the rest of the tapes.
The late afternoon sun had started to disappear behind the clouds as one after another of the tapes had given up their dreadful secrets. Leah had been astounded at the number of women Lambert had abducted—none of whom had ever escaped—and at the variety of ways in which they had met their fates.
At one point she had stopped the tape and shook her head and said, “This is all making my head spin. It’s like it isn’t even real at this point.”
“That’s exactly the feeling I had, when he was relating these things to me.” Ethan drew a hand through the tumble of dark hair that had slumped onto his forehead. “It was all so surreal that my mind could not believe that it could be true.”
“Do you want to stop for the day?”
Ethan hesitated, then shook his head.
“Let’s finish up this batch of tapes today, then maybe tomorrow we’ll work on the notes for a change of pace.”
“I think I want to get something to drink while I have the chance. What about you? What can I get you? Coffee? Tea?”
“Ice water would be fine.”
Later, looking back on that moment, Leah realized that his voice had been flat and his eyes had grown clouded. It wasn’t until she had turned the tape on that she understood that Ethan had known what was imminent, and that the clouds had gathered in apprehension, in dread of what was coming.
“Now, here’s the moment you’ve been waiting for, Ethan. You want to know about Libby, don’t you?”
“I want you to tell me where she is, Lambert.”
“Ah, but I want to tell you how she got there. You need to know, Ethan. A husband should know who’s been where he’s been, if you know what I mean—”
“Oh, God, Ethan …” Leah’s eyes filled with tears. “We don’t have to listen to this.”
Her hand reached for the off button, but he stopped her. Their fingers entwined as if to anchor one another, as if to present a united front against the evil that they were about to share.
“I saw her walking through the airport, distracted, not paying attention. I hadn’t been looking for anyone that day, I feel you should know that, but there she was. I picked her out the minute she stepped through the gate. One look at her, and I didn’t see anyone else, if you know what I mean. Well, of course you do. I imagine it was the same for you, wasn’t it, the first time you saw her? What a looker! Anyway, I followed her, watched her as she waited for her luggage. She bumped into me. Never said excuse me. Just bumped into me with her elbow and looked right through me as if I wasn’t worth noticing. Well, I made her notice me. Before the day was over, I made her notice me good. Ethan, look at me … you’re not looking at me.”
Mumbled words in the background.
“You really have to know this. Because in a way, what happened next was your fault. She shouldn’t have been wandering around that airport alone, Ethan. A good-lookin’ woman like that should never travel alone. She’s just asking for trouble.” Lambert paused to inhale smoke from his cigarette and blew it out again. “So I figured, what the hell, let’s see if she’s meeting anyone. She wasn’t. So I followed her to her rental car. She never saw it coming. She leaned down to unlock the door to place her luggage in the backseat, and hey, there I was! She didn’t want to come with me, at first, but I was able to manage to persuade her to let me come along with her. She drove, by the way. I made her unbutton her blouse so that I could touch her while she was driving. I wanted her to touch me, too, but she wouldn’t. Bitch! As if she was too good to put her hands on …”
“No more.” Leah snapped off the tape. “No more.”
She got out of her seat and kneeled in front of Ethan, wiped the tears from his face with her fingers.
“I can’t do this to you,” Leah said, oblivious to her own tears. “Whatever else is on that tape, it isn’t worth what it’s doing to you.”
She stood and gathered his still frame to her and held him until both their tears had stopped.
“He’s right. She wasn’t supposed to be alone.” Ethan’s voice was flat and distant. “I was supposed to have gone with her to her reunion that weekend. But I didn’t really want to go and she didn’t force it. We canceled my ticket at the last minute and Libby went alone. I drove her to the airport that morning, and by seven o’clock that night, she was dead. I never saw her alive again.”
“Ethan, you couldn’t have changed what happened.”
“Of course I could have. It’s just like he said. He hadn’t been looking for anyone, but there she was. Alone. Easy pickins.”
“He was playing with you, don’t you see? If he’d wanted her, he’d have found a way to get to her. Haven’t you been listening to him? Libby was one of the few victims he took when she was alone. How many times over the past hours did we hear him brag about how he cut his victim from the herd? Ethan, haven’t you been listening?”
He pushed her back gently to give himself room to stand up.
“Leah, I could have stopped him. Libby would be alive today if—”
“No. No, Ethan. He’s convinced you of that and I’d bet my life that he took enormous pleasure from knowing that you believed him. But didn’t you hear what he said? He picked her out in the crowd right away. She was the only one he saw.” Leah shook her head slowly. “Ethan, he was lying when he said he wasn’t looking for anyone that day. Why else would he have been at the airport, if not to look for a victim?”
Ethan turned to stare at her, but did not speak.
“He stalked her the way he stalked all the others. If you had been there, he would have made you part of the game. He’d have waited for that moment when you turned your back. He wanted her, Ethan. He would have had her, one way or another. Whether you’d been there or not, he’d have found a way to get to her. Just like he found a way to get to all the others. Convincing you that you could have prevented it somehow was just part of his game, Ethan. It simply made you another player. He made you doubt, then he played on your guilt, don’t you see? And by doing so, you became another of his victims.”
Ethan turned his back and walked into the kitchen. Leah heard the sliding of the glass doors, felt the rush of cool air, heard his footfall on the steps that led from the deck. From the window, she could see him cross the grassy slope that led down to the stream, swollen now with the melting snow of March, but she did not follow.
Ethan needed to deal with old demons now. Leah wasn’t sure how long it would take, but she knew that when he was finished, he’d be back. She unplugged the tape player and stacked the tapes on the windowsill, and went into the kitchen to do the only thing she could think of to do.
She baked brownies.