down the street, and then another quarter-mile to the next house. The nice older lady who lived there had called the police almost immediately.
The puncture wound to Angela's torso was long but shallow. The knife had been forced in to its hilt, but the blade had ridden along the outside edge of her ribcage and stayed away from any organs or major blood vessels. After thirteen stitches—and against doctor's orders—she had checked herself out, collected her daughter, and gone home.
The new addition was sealed off by police tape, but Angela didn't want to go in anyway. She hoped the whole thing would get razed to the ground. For the time being, considering her medical condition, the police had agreed to put off the interview. She had an appointment with Frank Cooper here at the house tomorrow, and she had a lot to organize in her head, a lot to tell him.
Before leaving the hospital, she had made one visit. The room was guarded by two officers in uniform, but they knew who she was. They let her in.
Eric had been connected to a lot of tubes and monitors, but a respirator wasn't one of them. He could breath on his own, and even though they had dug one bullet out of a lung, he could talk. But Angela just looked at him.
"I don't know what to to say," was what finally came out.
"So don't say anything," he had said.
And for a long time they had sat in silence, each thinking their own thoughts, both wondering where they might overlap.
"I think I understand everything that happened," Angela said, "but I do have one question. How did you find the locket? I mean, I know you must have dug twenty holes, but even that wouldn't be enough to find it—it was tiny."
"After I saw the article and found the house," Eric said, "I started watching. It came out earlier in the national papers. Only after they picked it up did your local paper grab it too, so I was there pretty early."
He looked off into the distance.
"And I didn't have to wait very long before I saw him bury something. You all went out somewhere that night, and I dug it up."
"The locket?"
"No. It was a bracelet, or maybe an anklet, I'm not sure. But there was a family murdered that week in San Antonio, and something similar was listed as missing."
"No, that can't be right. Look, I accept that Ted did what he did to your sister ten years ago, and he had some kind of psychotic break tonight, but in between…" Angela trailed off.
"I've been reading every paper I can for years, searching for things that smell like him. It doesn't take much effort to find one."
"How can you know?"
Eric turned and looked right at her again. "When I realized what that bracelet was, I put it back in the ground. But it gave me the idea: if he really collects mementos, and if the yard is where he keeps them, maybe my sister's missing locket would be out there too."
"And it was."
"Yes."
"But still, how did you find it?"
"When I came back the night of the last storm, I didn't only bring a shovel—I brought a metal detector too."
"Oh. But wait, it still doesn't make any sense. If you had a metal detector, then why dig twenty holes?"
"Because it kept going off, Angela. It went off again and again and again." Eric turned his head stared off into space.
"I don't believe it," she said.
"He sure did spend a lot of time out in the yard, didn't he?"
"I don't believe it."
"You don't have to. I left everything else where I found it, just kicked a little dirt on top."
***
Angela had left then, found her daughter, gone home and ended up here, tucking her in.
"I don't know, sweetie," she said, answering Julie's question. "He had a sister named Gabby a long time ago, and he wanted to help her. But he couldn't."
"So he helped me instead?"
"That's right, Julie. He helped you instead."
"That's good," she said, and rolled over and went to sleep.
Angela went downstairs, poured herself a drink, and stood at the glass door looking out at the yard and watching the storm. Even now, she couldn't
The puncture wound to Angela's torso was long but shallow. The knife had been forced in to its hilt, but the blade had ridden along the outside edge of her ribcage and stayed away from any organs or major blood vessels. After thirteen stitches—and against doctor's orders—she had checked herself out, collected her daughter, and gone home.
The new addition was sealed off by police tape, but Angela didn't want to go in anyway. She hoped the whole thing would get razed to the ground. For the time being, considering her medical condition, the police had agreed to put off the interview. She had an appointment with Frank Cooper here at the house tomorrow, and she had a lot to organize in her head, a lot to tell him.
Before leaving the hospital, she had made one visit. The room was guarded by two officers in uniform, but they knew who she was. They let her in.
Eric had been connected to a lot of tubes and monitors, but a respirator wasn't one of them. He could breath on his own, and even though they had dug one bullet out of a lung, he could talk. But Angela just looked at him.
"I don't know what to to say," was what finally came out.
"So don't say anything," he had said.
And for a long time they had sat in silence, each thinking their own thoughts, both wondering where they might overlap.
"I think I understand everything that happened," Angela said, "but I do have one question. How did you find the locket? I mean, I know you must have dug twenty holes, but even that wouldn't be enough to find it—it was tiny."
"After I saw the article and found the house," Eric said, "I started watching. It came out earlier in the national papers. Only after they picked it up did your local paper grab it too, so I was there pretty early."
He looked off into the distance.
"And I didn't have to wait very long before I saw him bury something. You all went out somewhere that night, and I dug it up."
"The locket?"
"No. It was a bracelet, or maybe an anklet, I'm not sure. But there was a family murdered that week in San Antonio, and something similar was listed as missing."
"No, that can't be right. Look, I accept that Ted did what he did to your sister ten years ago, and he had some kind of psychotic break tonight, but in between…" Angela trailed off.
"I've been reading every paper I can for years, searching for things that smell like him. It doesn't take much effort to find one."
"How can you know?"
Eric turned and looked right at her again. "When I realized what that bracelet was, I put it back in the ground. But it gave me the idea: if he really collects mementos, and if the yard is where he keeps them, maybe my sister's missing locket would be out there too."
"And it was."
"Yes."
"But still, how did you find it?"
"When I came back the night of the last storm, I didn't only bring a shovel—I brought a metal detector too."
"Oh. But wait, it still doesn't make any sense. If you had a metal detector, then why dig twenty holes?"
"Because it kept going off, Angela. It went off again and again and again." Eric turned his head stared off into space.
"I don't believe it," she said.
"He sure did spend a lot of time out in the yard, didn't he?"
"I don't believe it."
"You don't have to. I left everything else where I found it, just kicked a little dirt on top."
***
Angela had left then, found her daughter, gone home and ended up here, tucking her in.
"I don't know, sweetie," she said, answering Julie's question. "He had a sister named Gabby a long time ago, and he wanted to help her. But he couldn't."
"So he helped me instead?"
"That's right, Julie. He helped you instead."
"That's good," she said, and rolled over and went to sleep.
Angela went downstairs, poured herself a drink, and stood at the glass door looking out at the yard and watching the storm. Even now, she couldn't
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