Jeffery Deaver - Roadside Crosses

But even though the family had its problems, those were pretty much the same problems all families had. And both father and son were accounted for during some of the attacks.

With a shrug Dance said to the Hawkens, "Finally I ran out of suspects. And came to James Chilton himself."

"Why?" he asked.

A to B to X…

"I was thinking about something a consultant of ours told me about blogs-about how dangerous they were. And I asked myself: What if Chilton wanted to kill someone? What a great weapon The Report was. Start a rumor, then let the cybermob take over. Nobody would be surprised when the bullied victim snapped. There's your perpetrator."

Hawken pointed out, "But Jim didn't say anything about Travis in the blog."

"And that's what was so brilliant; it made Chilton seem completely innocent. But he didn't need to mention Travis. He knew how the Internet works. The merest hint he'd done something wrong and the Vengeful Angels would take over.

"If Chilton was the perp, I wondered then who was the intended victim. There was nothing about the two girls, Tammy or Kelley, to suggest he wanted to kill them. Or Lyndon Strickland or Mark Watson. You were the other potential victims, of course. I thought back to everything I'd learned about the case. I remembered something odd. You told me that Chilton had hurried to your house in San Diego to be with you and the children the day your wife died. He was there within the hour."

"Right. He'd been in L.A. at a meeting. He got the next commuter flight down."

Dance said, "But he'd told his wife he was in Seattle when he heard that Sarah had died."

"Seattle?" Hawken appeared confused.

"In a meeting at Microsoft headquarters. But, no, he was actually in San Diego. He'd been there all along. He never left town after drowning Sarah. He was waiting to hear from you and to get to your house. He needed to."

"Needed to? Why?"

"You said he stayed with you, even helped you with the cleaning?"

"That's right."

"I think he wanted to go through the house and destroy anything among Sarah's possessions that suggested they were having an affair."

"Jesus," Hawken muttered.

She explained a few of the other connections between Chilton and the crimes: He was a triathlon competitor, which meant he biked. Dance recalled seeing all the sports equipment in Chilton's garage, among them several bicycles.

"Then, the soil." She explained about finding the mismatched dirt near one of the roadside crosses. "Crime Scene found identical trace on Greg Schaeffer's shoes. But the ultimate source was the gardens in Chilton's front yard. That's where Schaeffer picked it up."

Dance reflected that she'd actually gazed right at the source of the dirt when she'd first been to the blogger's house, as she examined the landscaping.

"And then there was his van, the Nissan Quest." She told them about the witness Ken Pfister seeing the state vehicle near one of the crosses. Then she gave a wry smile. "But it was actually Chilton himself who was driving-after planting the second cross."

She pointed to the blogger's van, parked nearby. It bore the bumper sticker she remembered from the first day she'd been to his house: If you DESALINATE, you DEVASTATE.

It was the last syllable on that sticker that Ken Pfister had seen as the van drove past: STATE.

"I went to the magistrate with what I'd found and got a warrant. I sent officers to search Chilton's house in Carmel. He'd discarded most of the evidence, but they found a few red rose petals and a bit of cardboard similar to what was used on the crosses. I remembered that he said he was coming here with you. So I called San Benito County and told them to send a tactical team here. The only thing I didn't guess was that Chilton was going to force Travis himself to shoot you."

She interrupted the man's effusive thanks-he seemed about to cry-with a glance at her watch. "I have to leave now. You go home, get some rest."

Lily hugged Dance. Hawken shook her hand in both of his. "I don't know what to say."

Disengaging, she walked to the Monterey County Sheriff's Office squad car, where James Chilton sat. His thinning hair was plastered to the side of his head. He watched her approach with a hurt gaze on his face. Almost a pout.

She opened the back door, leaned down.

He hissed, "I don't need shackles on my feet. Look at this. It's degrading."

Dance noted the chains. Noted them with satisfaction.

He continued, "They put them on, some deputies did, and they were smiling! Because they claimed I kept the boy shackled. This's all bullshit. This is all a mistake. I've been framed."

Dance nearly laughed. Apart from all the other evidence, there were three eyewitnesses-Hawken, his wife and Travis-to his crimes.

She recited his Miranda rights.

"Somebody did that already."

"Just making sure you really understand them. Do you?"

"My rights? Yes. Listen, back there, yes, I had a gun. But people had been out to kill me. Of course I'm going to protect myself. Somebody's setting me up. Like you said, somebody I'd posted about in my blog. I saw Travis come into the living room and I pulled out my gun-I started carrying one when you said I was in danger."

Ignoring the rambling, she said, "We're going to take you to Monterey County and book you, James. You can call your wife or your attorney then."

"Do you hear what I'm saying? I've been framed. Whatever that boy's claiming, he's unstable. I was playing along with him, with his delusions. I was going to shoot him if he'd tried to hurt Don and Lily. Of course I was."

She leaned forward, controlling her emotions as best she could. Which wasn't easy. "Why'd you target Tammy and Kelley, James? Two teenage girls who never did anything to you."

"I'm innocent," he muttered.

She continued, as if he hadn't spoken. "Why them? Because you didn't like adolescent attitude? You didn't like them tainting your precious blog with their obscenities? You didn't like bad grammar?"

He said nothing, but Dance believed there was a flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes. She pushed ahead. "And why Lyndon Strickland? And Mark Watson? You killed them just because they posted under their real names and they were easy to find, right?"

Chilton was looking away now, as if he knew he was telegraphing the truth with his eyes.

"James, those pictures you uploaded to the blog, pretending to be Travis? You drew them yourself, didn't you? I remembered from your bio in The Report that you were a graphic designer and art director in college."

He said nothing.

The anger flared hotter. "Did you enjoy drawing the one of me getting stabbed?"

Again, silence.

She stood. "I'll be by at some point to interview you. You can have your attorney present if you like."

Then he turned to her, his face imploring. "One thing, Agent Dance? Please?"

She lifted an eyebrow.

"There's something I need. It's important."

"What's that, James?"

"A computer."

"What?"

"I need access to a computer. Soon. Today."

"You get phone calls from the lockup. No computer."

"But The Report …I've got to upload my stories."

Now she couldn't contain the laugh. He was not at all concerned about his wife or children, only about the precious blog. "No, James, that's not going to happen."

"But I have to. I have to!"

Hearing those words and seeing his frantic gaze, Kathryn Dance finally understood James Chilton. The readers were nothing to him. He'd easily murdered two of them and was fully prepared to kill more.

The truth was nothing to him. He'd lied over and over again.

No, the answer was simple: Like the players in DimensionQuest, like so many people lost in the synth world, James Chilton was an addict. Addicted to his messianic mission. Addicted to the seductive power of spreading the word-his word-to the minds and hearts of people throughout the world. The more who read his musings, his rants, his praise, the more exquisite the high.