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Then, for the first time since coming downstairs, his father smiled.
Chapter 47
JOHN
Flashing red and blue lights sliced through the dark cul-de-sac, flooding the quiet street with an eerie, rhythmic glare. From his front porch, John watched his father speak to a tall female detective in Holly’s driveway. The first responders had arrived less than ten minutes after John’s 911 call. Now, an array of emergency response vehicles was parked in front of Holly’s house.
A uniformed officer secured the perimeter of Holly’s driveway with yellow crime scene tape as a pair of medics emerged from her house and strode toward the ambulance parked on the street. Clearly, there was nothing they could do. John suppressed a grin, the wake of pride growing inside him. His plan had worked.
John studied his father, gesturing to their house and then Holly’s as he spoke to the detective who’d arrived in an unmarked car about fifteen minutes after the first patrol car. She jotted something down in a small notebook before flipping it closed, then said something to his dad before turning for Holly’s house.
His dad came back to their yard, looking calm but solemn when he stepped beneath the glow of the front porch lights beside John. Together they looked on at the scene unfolding next door.
“The detective I spoke with wants to get your statement too before the night is over,” his dad said. Lowering his voice, he asked, “Did you burn those articles?”
“Yes.” It had pained him to do it, but John knew his father had been right. It was too risky to keep them. It had been childish of him to think he could openly display articles of their kills in their house.
Someday, he’d take his own photographs of his kills and hide them somewhere the police would never find them.
“Why’d you kill your teacher?” His father kept his voice barely above a whisper.
John shrugged. Did his dad really have to ask? “Because I’m just like you. You made me like this. Killing gives me a rush. A thrill. Makes me feel powerful, just like it does for you. And I’m good at it.” He withheld the fact they were sleeping together, although he guessed his father already knew.
“Don’t get cocky,” his dad warned, keeping his gaze trained on the crime scene responders next door. “That’s how you get caught.”
The tall detective emerged from Holly’s house and said something to the officer standing out front. He pointed at John and his dad on their porch. As the detective made her way toward their property line, John’s dad put his arm around John.
“Remember to act the part. This was traumatic for you, son. Remember what you’re going to say?”
“Of course. I came up with it.” His dad should be thanking him, not coaching him. He hadn’t seen Holly’s wall like John had. At least not as closely. Having Holly next door was a ticking time bomb. It wouldn’t have taken Holly long to start suspectinghis dad. She’d already looked up his mother’s death at the library. John suppressed a shudder. His dad had no idea how close he’d come to getting caught.
As the detective crossed their front yard and started up the porch steps, John brought tears to his eyes, thinking about the part inThe Call of the Wildwhen Buck stands by Thornton’s grave, howling into the wilderness, forever loyal even in death. It got to him every time.
The auburn-haired detective extended a hand to John. “I’m Detective Amanda Corrado with Tacoma Homicide. I spoke with your father already.”
John assessed her, noting that her eyes were red. Almost as if she’d been crying.
“Homicide?” John croaked, leaning against his father. “You mean she’s—” His voice broke so convincingly that he wondered if he should enroll in drama. His father pulled his arm tighter around John’s shoulders.
“I’m afraid so.” Her mouth turned down into a grim frown. “Can you tell me what happened before you made the 911 call tonight?” She pulled out a small notebook from the inside pocket of her suit jacket.
His dad placed a palm on John’s upper back. “You’re doing great, son. I know this is hard.”
John blew out a breath and let his gaze fall to the ground before meeting the detective’s sharp green eyes. With a trembling voice, John told her how he and his dad had heard a man shouting before they looked out the window to see a muscular, dark-haired man in the glow of Holly’s porch lights. He shouted Holly’s name, saying “It’s Jared,” and banged on her door relentlessly, demanding she let him in so they could talk.
“When we came outside,” John continued, “he was moving around the side of Holly’s house. From the exterior lights, it looked like he was pulling on gloves as he walked. Then weheard glass breaking and Holly’s scream a minute later. The man who called himself Jared came bolting out her front door and peeled out onto the street, not seeming to notice me and my dad standing outside.”
The detective looked up from her notebook. “Did you see what kind of car he was driving?”
“It looked to be a dark sedan, but it was too dark for me to tell more than that.”
“Could you see any damage to the passenger side of the vehicle?”
John shook his head. He couldn’t say yes, because he hadn’t seen what car Jared had been driving. But he knew from what Laurie had told his dad that Holly had been run off the bridge by a dark sedan, which was fortunately also what Jared’s roommate drove. “It sped away in such a blur. And I was worried about what had happened to Holly…she seemed like such a nice lady. I mostly remember the taillights speeding away from our street.”
The detective snapped her notebook shut. “Thank you. That’s very helpful. I knew Holly, and you’re right, she was a nice lady.” She pulled a business card out of her pocket and handed it to his dad. “If either of you think of anything else, give me a call.”
As she crossed their lawn to return to Holly’s, his father led John toward the door of their house. “Come on, son. You don’t need to see this,” he said in a voice loud enough for the detective to hear.