The room is spinning. I close my eyes. When everyone thought my dad had killed my mom, it made sense that he hadn’t killed me. I was his daughter, his own blood.
“But why not?” I manage to ask. “If the killer had already murdered my parents, why didn’t he kill me?”
The detective straightens up. “You just said ‘he.’” He and the chaplain watch me closely.
“Yeah? So?”
“Does that mean you remember that the killer was a man? The police down in Medford want to know if you have any memories of what happened. Especially in light of this new evidence.”
“I don’t remember anything. It just seems likely it was a man, that’s all. What woman would stab another woman nineteen times?” I can’t imagine even stabbing someone once. In biology class last year, we had to cut an earthworm in half and then sew it back together. I’ll never forget the way the worm’s skin resisted and finally gave way with a pop.
Detective Campbell shrugs. “You’d be surprised. It could have been a woman. Maybe not a stranger, not that many times, but a woman who knew your mom and hated her. Or who panicked and felt like she had to make sure your mom was dead.” The chaplain pulls a face at the bluntness, but the detective doesn’t stop. “You’re right, though. In cases like this, it’s more than likely a male perpetrator. As to why he—or maybe she—didn’t kill you, he probably figured you were too young to say what you had seen. Or he knew you, and that held him back. Or he felt wrong killing a child. Some killers target specific victims but would never hurt someone who doesn’t meet that profile.”
“Could it have been a stranger?” I ask. “Some crazy guy they just met in the woods?”
“There are two reasons to kill someone you don’t know,” Detective Campbell says. “The primary one is because they have something you want, and you do what you need to do to take it from them. Even murder.” His voice is matter-of-fact.
I can’t imagine being that cold. “So someone might have killed my parents so they could steal from them?”
“But there’s one problem with that scenario. What would they have stolen?” He lifts his empty hands. “From what the Medford police told us, your parents didn’t have much money. And the killer didn’t do it for your dad’s truck, because it was left at the airport. And they didn’t do it for you, because they left you at the Walmart. So stealing as a motive doesn’t seem likely.”
I nod, my thoughts still spinning.
“But some people kill because they like killing. And in those cases, the murder isn’t something that just happens. It’s what you want in the first place. It’s what you live for.”
The way he says you creeps me out, as if he thinks any of us could be a person with twisted desires.
“Was my mom alive the whole time?” I’ve wondered that for years.
“There was some decomposition”—Chaplain Farben clears his throat as if warning Detective Campbell not to get too graphic, but he continues—“so they couldn’t say for sure. She could have been dead for some of it. They do know she fought back. Some of those wounds were defensive cuts to her forearms and hands.” He raises his hands over his head as if trying to shield himself. “And who knows? There’s nothing to say the killer didn’t stab your father to death, too. We don’t have enough of his body to know.”
His answer just raises another question. “Then why didn’t animals get my mom?”
“The killer wrapped her in a tarp.”
I shiver. “Why would they do that?”
“It’s not uncommon for the killer to cover the victim afterward. They feel guilty about what they’ve done. That’s one reason the Medford police thought your dad did it. That and the overkill.”
“Overkill?”
“If your goal is to kill someone, you don’t need to stab them so many times. Nineteen times tells me there was some type of passion involved. Either extreme anger or someone who loved to kill or who felt some kind of twisted love for your mom. The Medford police weren’t wrong to think it was your dad. The first person I would have looked at would be a boyfriend or a husband. A lover.”
I shiver. It’s crazy to think someone you once loved, who once loved you, could stab you and stab you and keep stabbing you. Even after you were dead.