“Whatisit?” I say, feeling my stomach clutch. “Are you okay, Logan?”
“It’s not about me. It’s about the monster who took Mel’s life.”
My anger spikes again, like a firecracker going off this time. “Don’t tell me there’s been some kind of appeal.”
“No, worse. There’s a chance he’s not the one who murdered her.”
Chapter 3
A moan escapes my lips, an involuntary sound like something from a wounded animal.
“No,” I protest. “That’s not true, and you can’t possibly believe it.”
“I didn’twantto believe it, Bree, I swear,” Logan says. “But it seems like it might be credible. You need to look at this letter—it was meant for both of us.”
He tugs a brown leather wallet from his back pocket and withdraws a folded piece of white paper from where the bills are stored. Once he’s opened the letter, he slides it across the table to me. I see right away that the letterhead is for a law firm, but not one I recognize, and the date at the top is eight days ago. I take a ragged breath and start to read.
Dear Ms. Winter and Mr. Chase:
I’m sorry to have to insert myself in your life again, but there’s some information I need to pass along to you. As you recall, I was the lawyer who represented Calvin Ruck at his trial in Plattsburgh. He and I had not been in touch in recent years—in fact, I’m no longer with the public defender’s office—but he reached out to me a short time ago. He informed me that he had recently been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, had only a short time to live, and wanted me to come tothe Clinton Correctional Facility in Dannemora so that he could pass along critical information.
During my visit to Dannemora, he finally admitted to murdering the two women he’d been convicted of killing in Plattsburgh, Sailor Abbott and Amanda Kline, and he also claimed to have killed two other female college students, one from Ohio and another from Pennsylvania, who both have been missing for close to a decade. At his request, I immediately shared this information with the authorities in all three states involved, and included where Ruck claimed the remains of the missing women could be found. He refused to speak to the police directly.
During our meeting, Ruck also stated—vehemently—that though he had been in the Cartersville area at the time of your daughter’s death, he was never in Pebble Creek Park and didn’t murder her. Since he was forthcoming about the other homicides, it’s possible he was telling the truth in this case, though the police will draw their own conclusions.
I am sorry for whatever pain and upheaval this causes in your life, but I felt it was essential for you to know.
Sincerely,
David Schmidt
By the time I finish reading, I have the bitter taste of bile in my throat. I push the letter away and snicker, another sound that escapes of its own volition.
“Ruck’s a fucking liar,” I exclaim. “He said when he was arrested that he never murdered anyone, but hehad. He claimed he wasn’t nearCartersville, but his cell phone showed otherwise. And now he’s treating us to one more appalling lie.”
“That was my first thought, too,” Logan says, “but I called Schmidt as soon as I got this, and I have a bit more information for us to go on. The police in Ohio and Pennsylvania have now uncovered the remains of the two women, using the details Ruck provided. One girl had been a student at the University of Akron, the other at the University of Pittsburgh, and they disappeared within months of each other—during a time, it turns out, Ruck was living in Ohio. The campuses are only a couple of hours apart, but since they’re in two different states, authorities never connected the cases.”
“Okay, so that part’s true,” I scoff. “That doesn’t mean the rest is.”
“But why would Ruck confess to four murders, including two previously unknown ones, but deny responsibility for one he’d already been accused of?”
I shake my head in disbelief at Logan’s naivete—over a madman who smashed our daughter in the back of the head; ripped her clothes apart, leaving her pants at her ankles; and then strangled her to death.
“Because he’s a sadist, and he probably wanted to have some fun torturing us before he died,” I exclaim. “Remember that horrible way he used to stare at me during the trial?”
The memory alone is enough to sicken me: Ruck, sitting in his rumpled brown suit at the defense table, would sometimes turn his head ever so slightly and try to make eye contact with me and the two other mothers, letting his lips form the hint of a bloodcurdling smile.
“I know. It’s just—”
“And it doesn’t even compute. We’re supposed to accept that a serial killer with the same MO used to kill Mel was staying near Cartersville for over a week, but that he isn’t the one responsible for her death.” Blood rushes to my head. “No, I’m not buying it for a second.”
Logan reaches across the table and lays a hand over mine. My breath catches. It’s been a whole year longer than seven since we were physically intimate, and the feel of his skin is jarring.
“Bree, I’m so sorry to upset you,” he says gently. “But I felt I needed to let you know all this. And that’s the real reason I’ve come. I wasn’t planning to head to BA until after the reception, but I decided to move up the trip and tell you this in person.”
My hand, the one under his, feels an urge to twitch, and I let it. Logan clearly notices and pulls his own hand away. I know he was just being thoughtful, but I don’t want him touching me.
“Thank you, I appreciate your efforts,” I say, softening my tone. I surely can’t blame him for this brand-new nightmare. “And I know it isn’t easy for you, either.”
