Cheryl Bradshaw - Sinnerman

Sam’s attempt to control his emotions had subsided about an hour earlier when Sloane entered his childhood home and then his room. He hadn’t foreseen her level of commitment or what Decklan and his grandmother would tell her about who he was and what had become of him. It didn’t matter. What could they possibly know?

Sam felt like he should care, but he didn’t. There was just one thing that mattered to him now: Sloane. They could say whatever they wanted. If his own father was too stupid to recognize him when he drove by in his car day after day, Sam was sure any information he offered wouldn’t make the least bit of difference, and they wouldn’t be able to track down his whereabouts. It wasn’t like they’d ever tried anyway. Sam recalled the time he rolled by Decklan on a side street and Decklan actually waved a friendly hello to his neighbor, all the while being too stupid to recognize that neighbor was his own son. It had been over two decades, of course, but just for a split second Sam thought Decklan would be able to identify him for who he was—his son. Except now Sam didn’t see himself like that at all anymore. He wasn’t his son, he was Sam, and his father wasn’t his father—Sam called him by many names; one of them, Decklan.

Sam purchased the home on the next street when he learned his grandmother moved in with Decklan. She was frail, and there wasn’t much life left in her now, and she needed someone to help look after her. Not that Decklan was ever good at that. Sam was sure it was the other way around and that her moving in would take years from her life instead of adding to them. He watched her sit on his bed for hours and pour over his old photo album. Sometimes she would cry and clutch the album tight to her heart. He liked to see her distraught and unhappy. At least someone missed him.

Today was the first time Sam felt different about his grandmother. He watched her sit and spill her guts to Sloane and was desperate to know what she’d said. He didn’t like the way it made him feel—like he’d cut himself at a crime scene and left splotches of blood behind. He tried not to panic when Sloane slipped back into his room when no one was looking and stole away his old notebook—the one he wished he hadn’t left behind. It hadn’t mattered until now. No one seemed to notice it was even there. And now Sloane had come along and abducted it from its place of eternal rest. It was unforgivable that she defiled him that way. Those were his private thoughts, the ones no one else should ever see, and she needed to be punished.

CHAPTER 46

“Did you get any information from the old woman?” Giovanni said.

I spent the next several minutes going over what Sinnerman’s grandmother told me and my theory about who he was.

When I finished he said, “Are you certain about this?”

I nodded.

“That boy’s our killer,” I said. “Only he isn’t a little boy anymore. I don’t envy his poor upbringing or what he must have suffered as a child, but it doesn’t excuse him from his actions. You can’t just go around killing people because you hate your mother and the rest of the world.”

“So where to now?” Giovanni said.

“I’m sure I won’t score any points with your brother for what I’ve done, but he needs to know all that’s happened.”

“Let me worry about him, and since it’s late, he can wait until tomorrow.”

The next day we parked in front of the last place I wanted to be, and I hoped the backlash of not letting them in on what we’d been doing wouldn’t bite me too hard in the ass. If it did, I didn’t care. It was worth it.

I pulled the notebook from my bag.

“What have you got there?” Giovanni said.

“I found this in the boy’s room. I didn’t want to hand it over until I’d had a chance to look through it.”

“They’ll want it.”

“I know,” I said. “I’ve only had the chance to flip through the pages, but it looks like a bunch of scribbled words.”

“Shove it under the seat,” Giovanni said.

“What?”

“Do it—now.”

I did what he asked, and five seconds later, Giovanni’s brother tapped on the driver side window.

“What are you two doing here?” Agent Luciana said.

“Came to see if you had lunch yet.”

“I haven’t.”

“Care to join us?” Giovanni said.

“Sure. Let me grab something from my car, and we’ll go.”

“I need to run Sloane somewhere,” Giovanni said. “Can you meet us in thirty minutes?”

We set up a place for lunch and then said goodbye.

“Thanks for the quick save,” I said when Agent Luciana had gone.

“I didn’t mean to be so firm with you, but there wasn’t time to mince words.”

“I would have done the same thing,” I said and winked at him. “Let’s run this errand.”

Giovanni took me to the local office supply store, and I photocopied all the pages in the notebook. Ten minutes later we took our places on the patio of my favorite restaurant in Kimball Junction where Agent Luciana sat in wait.

“What have you two been up to?” he said.

Giovanni crossed one leg over the other and behaved like we were a few old friends just passing the time with a casual lunch. I wondered how he stayed so calm all the time. I felt like a freight train was trying to pass through me, and I just wanted to pull on the horn and blurt it all out, consequences or no.

“I know who Sinnerman is,” I said.

I hadn’t meant to put myself on blast, but now I’d released it, and there was nothing left to do but press on. Giovanni glanced over to the side at nothing, but I could see the smirk on his face.

“You’re not serious?” Agent Luciana said.

“I assure you, she is,” Giovanni said.

“Are you going to tell me what the two of you have been up to, or do you expect me to sit here and believe it just came to you in the middle of the night?”

I explained the series of events that took place the day before which started with the discovery of the pink paper at the art school and ended with our trip to Declan Reids’ house.

“And neither of you thought it would be a good idea to inform me of this before now?” Agent Luciana said. “I can’t believe you, either of you.”

“I fail to see what the value would have been in dispersing the details until we had something solid to give you,” Giovanni said.

“And I’m supposed to be fine with that? This is my investigation, Gio. I mean, that’s great that you like this girl but that doesn’t mean you need to lose your head over her.”

Giovanni slammed his hand down on the table and fragments of bread crumbs shot through the air and landed on the pavement below.

“Watch yourself, brother,” Giovanni said.

The two stared each other down for what seemed like a full five minutes even though it couldn’t have been more than one. I’d watched a dog training show once on TV that said to establish dominance when engaged in a stare-off as these two were doing now, never to be the first one to look away; that signaled weakness. The one who held the stare without breaking first became the dominant, the leader. And Agent Luciana might have been angry, but he and I both knew who would be the first to look away.

Several seconds later, Agent Luciana turned toward me.

“Can you understand why I’m frustrated?”

I nodded.

“I expected it. I never meant to disregard you or your position; I just—”

“Can’t help yourself?” Agent Luciana said.

“I know I jump the gun sometimes, but in the past I’ve always felt like everyone wanted to know what information I had, but once I gave it, I was rewarded by being ushered to the sidelines. All that sitting has made my butt sore, and I can’t sit back—not on this one.”