The Serial Killer's Wife Read online

  “About what happened between you and Chad Cooper.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The word is you knocked him down to the ground. Which I don’t blame you for doing one bit. The guy can be a jerk and no doubt deserved it.”

  She wondered briefly how many other variations of the story were circulating around the middle and high schools, teachers and other school staff always being ones to love good gossip, but the BlackBerry was suddenly heavier in her hand and she knew she had to make Todd leave.

  “Thank you for your concern,” she said, “but everything’s fine. I’m going to go lay back down with Matthew now.”

  Todd just stood there on the other side of the door, looking confused. He was almost ten years older than her, a divorcee with two children, his wife already remarried to a contractor in Arizona. She wasn’t in love with him but was falling for him, despite her better judgment, and every time he visited she invited him in, even if Matthew was asleep.

  “I’ll call you later,” she said.

  Todd didn’t say anything but nodded dumbly, looking lost.

  Elizabeth said goodbye and closed the door softly. She looked back out through the peephole and waited for Todd to leave. He didn’t at first, just standing there, running the conversation through his mind, probably wondering what he had said or done wrong. Finally he turned and walked away, and Elizabeth waited ten full seconds before placing the BlackBerry to her ear.

  “He’s gone.”

  “He sounds like he cares about you,” Cain said. “Is it just a schoolboy crush or are you lovers?”

  She returned to the living room but immediately stopped when she saw the television. “What is that?”

  “What is what?”

  “Above Matthew’s head.”

  “You see that now, do you? That’s because originally it wasn’t turned on.”

  “What is it?”

  “You’re a bright woman, Elizabeth. You tell me.”

  On the screen everything looked the same as it had before: Matthew tied to a bed, tape over his mouth, a blindfold over his eyes. What had changed were the bright red numbers hovering above his head:

  100:00:00

  “Don’t do this,” she whispered.

  “You have one hundred hours to get me what I want. Every hour a picture will be sent to the BlackBerry. It will show your son and the time. If you don’t get me what I want before those one hundred hours elapse, I will detonate the bomb. The last picture I’ll send will be your son’s remains.”

  Staring at the screen, at those bright red numbers, she whispered, “What do you want?”

  “Your husband’s trophies,” Cain said.

  And the numbers began to count down.

  CHAPTER 14

  THE FIRST THING she did after Cain disconnected was rush into the bathroom. She made it to the toilet just in time before the dry heaves. Nothing came up—not after she had vomited back at Reginald Moore’s house—but she still stayed there for several minutes, trying to get that image of her son out of her mind. Thinking it never should have come to this. How did it come to this?

  At some point she stood back up and went to the sink. She washed her hands, her face, even rinsed her mouth out with Listerine. She dried her mouth and face with a towel, started to turn away but paused as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

  This morning—less than eight hours ago—she had stared into this same mirror as she applied her makeup and did her hair and the thought that had gone through her mind was that she hadn’t lost it, at least not yet. Almost thirty-five years old, the starting of crow’s-feet around her eyes, she had managed to keep her looks while the rest of her body—her stomach, her thighs, her ass—had begun to grow more than she would have liked. Not that it wasn’t her fault, no longer working out, not even following along to one of those yoga DVDs she had ordered from Amazon, all her attention focused on Matthew and work, work and Matthew, and now Todd, that she just didn’t have the extra time.

  Thinking of Todd now, how she had pushed him away, forced him to leave when she needed him most, she touched her stomach, could feel the scars through the fabric, the strange patchwork that—

  No, stop it. She didn’t have time to think about that. The clock was literally ticking, right above her son’s head. She had to hurry.

  Back out in the living room, she stared one last time at her son on the screen—doing her best to ignore those red glowing digits—before turning the television off.

  She went into the kitchen and opened the junk drawer. She sorted through the clutter and pulled out a Phillips head screwdriver. She wished she had a gun, some kind of weapon, but the closest thing would be one of the steak knives in the other drawer, and even those were pretty dull. She realized she had nothing to take with her other than the BlackBerry right now in her pocket (she’d ditched her own cell), so she grabbed her keys off the floor and hurried toward the door.

  A glance through the peephole told her nobody was in the hallway. She disengaged the chain, opened the door, checked both ends of the hall. Nothing.

  She stepped out, locked the door behind her automatically, and then hurried toward the stairs leading to the parking lot.

  As she approached her car, she kept an eye out for anything suspicious. She doubted Cain would be here in the parking lot, watching her, but she didn’t want to put it past him. She even glanced around for Todd’s Prius but didn’t see the hybrid in its regular visitor space.

  She didn’t have time to worry about people watching for what she had to do next. As Cain had explained before hanging up, it was surprisingly easy to clone cell phone numbers nowadays, and when the police tracked down the originating number of the bomb threat, it would appear as if it came from her phone. Also, now that Elizabeth had brought it to the elementary school’s attention that her son was missing, the police would definitely want to speak with her, so she had to make sure they wouldn’t be able to find her car.

  It took her only a minute to take off her license plate. Cupping the two screws in one hand, holding onto the screwdriver and license plate with the other hand, she surveyed the parking lot, deciding which vehicle to choose. She settled on a pickup truck that had been backed in to its parking space. There was cover there by the bushes, enough that she had no worry of being seen as she took off the pickup’s license plate and replaced it with her own.

  Then it was back behind her car again, the new license plate in hand, and she had just begun to tighten the first screw when a voice spoke behind her.

  “What are you doing?”

  CHAPTER 15

  ELIZABETH FROZE. At once she had the childish thought that if she didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, nobody would see her.

  “Sarah?”

  She blinked, recognizing the voice, and, knowing she had no choice, stood up and turned around.

  Todd was standing only a few feet away, a confused expression on his face. He held a bouquet of tulips at his side. Behind him was his Prius, parked in its usual space.

  Elizabeth said, “Are those for me?”

  “What are you doing?”

  “You know tulips are my favorite.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Especially the yellow ones.”

  “Sarah.”

  She was quiet for a moment, then said, “It’s not what it looks like.”

  “It looks like you’re switching license plates.”

  “Okay, then it is what it looks like.”

  Todd shook his head as if to clear it. “What’s going on?”

  Now what was she going to do? Before she’d had a door to hide behind. Here she had nothing.

  “Sarah?”

  “It’s complicated,” she said, but before she could say anything else, the BlackBerry began to ring.

  Todd’s gaze shifted down to her pocket. He waited for her to pull out the phone, and when she didn’t, he said, “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

  Elizabe
th didn’t move.

  He frowned at her. “What’s wrong? What are you hiding?”

  Elizabeth wanted to keep standing still but she knew she had no choice. She withdrew the BlackBerry and placed it to her ear.

  Cain said, “Have you reached the highway yet?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I got a slow start.”

  “A slow start? Elizabeth, that is not the answer I was hoping to hear.”

  Todd said, “Who are you talking to?”

  Elizabeth closed her eyes just as Cain said, “Who was that?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Nobody?” Todd said, taken aback.

  “Who’s with you?” Cain asked.

  She hesitated but realized the last thing she should do was lie to this madman. “It’s my friend from earlier.”

  “I thought you sent him away.”

  “I did. He came back.”

  “Why?”

  She glanced at the bouquet of tulips at Todd’s side, the petals drooping toward the ground. “To bring me flowers.”

  “Well, isn’t that sweet. A nice gesture that has now sealed his fate.”

  Todd took a step forward. “Sarah, who are you talking to?”

  “What are you talking about?” Elizabeth asked Cain.

  “I’ve spent a lot of time putting together this plan. It must go on as scheduled, and nothing—absolutely nothing—is going to ruin it. Do you understand me?”

  Elizabeth said nothing, staring back at Todd.

  “You have no choice,” Cain said, “not if you want to save your son. Your boyfriend there? Kill him.”

  CHAPTER 16

  BESIDES HER HUSBAND—or the version of her husband she had fallen in love with—Todd was the gentlest person she knew. From the very beginning she had sensed this. He always had a smile on his face, always able to look on the positive side, no matter how dark it appeared. He read books—mostly nonfiction—and was even in the middle of reading James and the Giant Peach to Matthew. While she had not yet allowed him to spend the night, Todd would come over in the evenings, about an hour before Matthew’s bedtime, and he would play board games with Matthew and help him with his homework while Elizabeth cleaned the dishes or did the laundry or tidied up the apartment. Then, at bedtime, they would sit on either side of Matthew in his bed, and all three of them would take turns reading, a round robin exercise that Matthew really seemed to love. Matthew was even seeming to love Todd, the man who Elizabeth had finally admitted was her boyfriend despite the fact they hadn’t slept together yet, the man who almost never said anything negative about anyone, who was as non-confrontational as could be. The man who right this instant was standing in front of her with a bouquet of tulips at his side, his eyes filled with fear.

  “No,” Elizabeth whispered into the phone.

  There was a pause, and then Cain said, “No?”

  “I need him. He can help.”

  “How?”

  “It’s a long drive to Pennsylvania, and you haven’t given me much time.”

  “I think I’ve been very generous with the amount of time I’ve allotted you.”

  “Besides,” Elizabeth said, keeping her gaze focused on Todd, “killing him would bring too many complications. There’s the chance I could get caught. How would you expect me to get you what you want then?”

  There was another pause, this one much longer.

  “I don’t like this.”

  “Neither do I, but right now neither of us has a choice. I need him. He’s coming with me.”

  Cain was silent for another long moment. Finally he said, “If you fuck this up, your son dies,” and disconnected.

  Elizabeth realized she was still holding the screwdriver. She set it on the trunk of her car as she slipped the BlackBerry back into her pocket.

  “I need your keys,” she said, starting toward Todd.

  He immediately began walking backward, shaking his head. “Stay away.”

  The parking lot was blessedly deserted, at least from what she could tell. She took another step toward Todd, and he took another step back.

  “I need your keys,” she repeated.

  “What’s going on? Who was that on the phone? What did you mean, ‘killing him would bring too many complications’?”

  “Do you care for Matthew?”

  This made him pause. “Well, yes, of course I do. But what does—”

  “If you don’t help me, Matthew will die.”

  “What are you talking about? I thought you said Matthew was taking a nap.”

  “Your keys, Todd. Give them to me.”

  She had backed him up against the Prius, just another testament to his gentle nature. He said he’d bought it the week after he watched the Al Gore documentary on global warming, just doing his part to help keep the world spinning a little bit longer.

  Todd glanced past her at the apartment building. “So ... he isn’t napping?”

  “No.”

  “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know, but I intend to find out. That’s why I need your help.”

  “My ... help?”

  “Yes.”

  “But I ... I don’t understand.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll explain everything. Just please, give me your keys.”

  She was bullying him, forcing him up against his own car, and she hated herself for doing it. But she had no choice. She was doing this for his sake now, too. Otherwise she would have to do what Cain wanted—she would have to kill him—because right now she was going to do whatever it took to get her son back.

  Todd hesitantly reached into his pocket, brought out his keys. He stared down at them as if they possessed the knowledge of the universe, and then looked up at her.

  “I’m ... scared,” he said quietly, and placed the keys in her open palm.

  CHAPTER 17

  “WE HAVE TO call the police.”

  “No.”

  “Sarah, from what you’ve just told me, a madman kidnapped your son and is holding him ransom. There’s no arguing here. We have to call the police.”

  She’d told him just the basics—about Cain, about what he had done to Matthew, about how he wanted something from her—but that was it. They had left Oakville, were now on I-70 headed east.

  “If we go to the police, he’ll kill Matthew. He has a bomb strapped around my son’s neck, for Christ’s sake.”

  Todd shook his head. “I don’t buy it. The guy’s definitely crazy but he’s not that crazy. He wouldn’t actually kill anybody, especially a little boy.”

  She glanced briefly at him in the passenger seat but hesitated in speaking.

  “What?”

  “He’s not bluffing.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “He’s already killed someone.”

  “What?”

  “This guy, Cain, he sent me to Reginald Moore’s house.”

  The mention of the child molester’s name caused a deep furrow in Todd’s brow—the two of them, concerned parents, had discussed Moore before—but that deep furrow quickly changed to confusion as he said, “What are you talking about?”

  “Reginald Moore is dead. Cain killed him.”

  “How?”

  She told him about the pictures scattered on the floor of Reginald Moore’s house, how they led her down to the basement where she found the child molester tied up to a chair, an explosive collar around his neck. She told him how the alarm clock began to count down, and how Cain had detonated the bomb.

  “Jesus Christ.” Todd shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “And this psycho has one of those things strapped around Matthew’s neck, too?”

  She nodded, glancing for the first time at the speedometer and realizing she was going much too fast. The last thing she needed was to be pulled over again for speeding, especially now that the police would be looking for her.

  Todd said, “You need to call the police.”

  She tightened her grip around th
e steering wheel, shook her head.

  “Then I’ll call them for you.”

  He pulled out his cell phone from his pocket.

  “Todd, please, don’t do this.”

  He ignored her, began dialing the three numbers that would connect him to the police, and before she knew it she had ripped the phone from his hand, lowered her window, and threw it out.

  “What the heck?” Todd shouted. He was more incredulous than angry. “Why did you do that, Sarah?”

  “For starters, my name isn’t Sarah.”

  “Say that again?”

  “It’s Elizabeth. Elizabeth Piccioni. My husband is Edward Piccioni.”

  The incredulity on Todd’s face quickly turned to confusion. He shook his head as if to clear it. “Wait. Slow down. Your name’s not—”

  “Edward Piccioni was arrested and convicted five years ago for raping and murdering six women. The man who abducted Matthew, he wants the things my husband took from his victims.”

  “What things?” Todd asked, his voice soft, but before Elizabeth could tell him the BlackBerry dinged.

  She had set it on the middle console so it would be easy to grab when Cain called. This was how Todd was able to grab it before she could. He now had a determined look on his face as he pressed a button and stared down at the screen. But soon that look of determination faded, and his face began to pale.

  “My God,” he whispered.

  “What? What is it?”

  He hand visibly shaking, he tilted the BlackBerry so she could see the picture on the screen: Matthew, again tied to the bed, again with the tape over his mouth and the blindfold over his eyes, the bright glowing digits above him now reading 99:00:00.

  CHAPTER 18

  JUST BEFORE THEY reached St. Louis, they stopped for gas.

  They hadn’t spoken a word since the first picture of Matthew was sent—the BlackBerry dinged one hour later, as promised, with another picture—but when Elizabeth pulled up next to the pumps, she asked Todd if he had his ATM card with him.