Cheryl Bradshaw - Sinnerman

“I’m not like every detective you’ve worked with,” Agent Luciana said. “Maybe if you gave me a chance, you’d know you could trust me.”

“That’s just it,” I said. “I don’t trust anyone.”

“What you’ve told me gives me a lot to look into, but we’re still talking about a simple piece of paper here. There’s no other evidence that he’s our killer.”

I reached down and picked up the notebook and plopped it down on the tablecloth in front of him.

“There’s this,” I said.

I waited for the backlash that I was sure would ensue, but it didn’t.

“Where’d you find it?” Agent Luciana said.

“In the boy’s room. No one else knew it was there. It was so dusty when I picked it up I couldn’t even tell what color it was at first. And now that I’ve given you much more than evidence of a match to some silly piece of pink paper, I hope you can use it.”

CHAPTER 47

“Blows my mind,” Maddie said. “It must have felt weird to be in that house.”

“I was fine until I made the connection. And then once I realized where I was—it’s hard to describe. I’m looking at all these pictures of a young innocent kid knowing what he grew up to be. Agent Luciana can run all the tests he wants, he’s the one.”

“It’s twisted, you know? I mean this guy is one messed-up freak show. To be rejected by everyone around you except your grandmother, that’s harsh.”

“To a degree, she pushed him away too. It was obvious she had genuine feelings for him, but when it came right down to it, she was too worried about what Decklan wanted than doing what no one else would do—standing up for the boy.”

“What a nightmare,” Maddie said.

She glanced at the time on her cell phone.

“Ooh—I have to go. I’ve got dinner with Wade in an hour.”

She stood up, grabbed her bag and said, “Give Gio a big kiss for me and tell him I said bye.”

“Hilarious,” I said.

“Life’s no fun if I can’t tease you once in a while.”

After lunch was over, Agent Luciana got a warrant to search Decklan Reids’ house which I’m sure came as a shock to both him and his mother.

Surprise—your son grew up to be a fine serial killer, well done, nice job. You don’t just deserve a pat on the back for your achievements in the non-parenting category, you deserve two. Wait a minute while I find my bat so I can give them to you and then we’ll toast to Decklan and Laurel, parents of the year—thirty-plus years running.

There was this itch I’d tried not to scratch since I left Decklan’s house, an urge to find Samuel’s mother and tell her what her son had become. It passed. I knew my focus was on Sinnerman, and if I still felt the need once I’d found him, I’d make my decision then.

I sat back on the bed and bent open the copies I’d printed from the notebook. Within its pages were passages that alarmed me.

My birth was undesirable to her. I wasn’t meant to come into this world.

She’s dead to me like I am dead to her. Rest in peace Laurel, rest in peace.

I know why you didn’t want to have me. I don’t belong here. I think of things I am going to do in my mind. Not to you Laurel, but because of you. You drove me to it. You made me and one day I will show you and the rest of the world what I can do. When I look at a woman I only see their hair. Your hair. You sat in front of your mirror and brushed it for hours. Time you could have spent with me.

It’s what I have to do, and what it’s telling me to do inside me, inside my mind. It’s saying ‘you deserve this’. I want it to go out of my mind, but it can’t.

I broke the windows in Laurel’s art studio today. I threw rocks and then I watched them shatter. Dad is mad, but he doesn’t know I did it, and he’ll never know because he’s too stupid to think it was me. And then I went to the store and stole some stuff. I just picked out what I wanted and put it in my pocket. It was so easy. I didn’t even need it, I just wanted to do it because no one was watching and I could. I am starting to think I can do anything.

People will believe anything, especially girls. They’re so easy to manipulate. They seem so innocent, but they aren’t. They act like they’re nice, but just wait until they grow up and have babies. Babies they’ll give away because they can or maybe they’ll have them and then leave, just like Laurel did.

Everyone in my school wants to be me because I get into the most trouble and I show them all how to do it, how to prank, steal and get away with anything. I’m their king, the person they all look to. They’re my minions and I’m their leader. I’ll lead and you follow, I say. And it works every time.

My head hurts all the time and I can’t ever sleep. I lie awake in my room at night and think about things I shouldn’t be thinking about and sometimes I wonder if I’m no longer in control of my mind. I’m going to take a tire iron to my dad’s car tomorrow and tell him I saw the kid down the street do it. He doesn’t care about me; he only cares about his money.

I hid around a corner today while my dad was talking to my gran about me. He said I had to go and she said I could come and live at her house and he said no. He would give me money like he always had and be done with me. He was never a father to me anyway so I’ll take it and I’ll never come back. Neither one of them will ever see me again.

Yea, the light of the wicked shall be put out and the spark of his fire shall not shine. Job 18 and 5.

When I read the last passage, all I could think about was how the light of the wicked would be put out. The difference was, that light would be his, and I planned to be the one to put it out—forever.

I folded the pages up and stuck them in the side-table drawer and then wandered through the house and found Giovanni outside on his back deck with a Robert B. Parker novel in his hand and Lord Berkeley at rest by his side. There was one thing different about Lord Berkeley though. Someone had dressed him up in a double-breasted suit with a velvet jacket over the top. He looked ridiculous and hot, and I imagined any minute he would turn around and say Holmes was his new name, and that I could call him Sherlock.

I tried not to show my disapproval and faced Giovanni and said, “I didn’t know you liked to read.”

He folded the cover flap over a page and closed it and looked up at me.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

That was an understatement.

He assessed Lord Berkeley and said, “Not my idea. It was my sister. She couldn’t help herself. I can pull it off if you like; I can tell you’re not a fan.”

“I’m sure it cost her a fortune, so I expect it will be fine to leave it on him a little longer. What are you reading?”

“Looking for Rachel Wallace. I’ve found myself rereading some of his old works since he passed last year.”

“I like period novels—Austen, Bronte, Dickens, that type of thing,” I said. “I’ve collected books for years.”

“A fellow reader. We have more in common all the time.”

I sat down beside him.

“I feel like there’s still so much I don’t know about you. It’s strange just being here. I mean, we’ve only really known each other for a couple weeks.”

He leaned forward and said, “What is it you’d like to know—you can ask me anything.”

It was an offer I couldn’t refuse.

“I’ve watched you around your brother, with the men that lurk around here, and you have this massive house with all kinds of security and it seems everyone looks to you for answers, and then there’s your car and all this other stuff you own, and every room in this house is decorated with expensive things, and you—”