Angel of Death Page 21

  Think! she ordered herself again. Assess the facts. I can make it without water, but the mountains at night are freezing. Bodies can only cool off a few degrees before going into hypothermia. In this temperature I could lose a degree every couple of hours, so if I’m here all night . . .

  She longed for her coat—why hadn’t she worn it? Then her mind shifted once again to Hannah, driving away, and she grieved for what her mother must be thinking: that her only daughter hadn’t cared, an abandonment in reverse. And her father . . .

  As the darkness pressed in and the coldness wrapped around Cameryn’s flesh, she came to realize something more. The sins of her father seemed so much smaller now. There was a clarity that hadn’t been there before, as though she could see her life on a screen. Her father had tried to protect her—wrongly, maybe—but he only wanted to shield her from hurt, and in return she’d hidden from him. When she got out of here, if she got out, things would be different. With her mammaw, too. Her mammaw, who’d sought to replace her mother.

  I’m sorry, she thought. I’m so sorry.

  As time passed, Cameryn felt her extremities slowly turn to wood. The moon’s pale light pulled away from the window, and every minute became colder and darker, inside as well as out. How long had she been here? Two, maybe three hours. She guessed it was past ten o’clock, but she had no way to know for sure. Her father wouldn’t even realize she was gone, not yet. She was shivering, and she couldn’t stop it, her body’s futile way of generating heat.

  Suddenly she saw a light bouncing off the scaffolding of the branches, and she felt a surge of joy. Followed by fear. Joy, that someone was coming for her; fear that the someone was Kyle. Had he returned? He was smart, and killing her was the intelligent thing to do. Yet, inexplicably, he had spared her. Until now. Panic welled inside as she realized that the car door slamming like a gunshot could be Kyle’s, that the feet scuffing up the steps might be . . .

  Someone pounded on the front door of Kyle’s house. It wasn’t Kyle! Kyle wouldn’t do that at his own home! Cameryn knew she had to signal whoever it was before they turned and drove away, as Hannah had. Slamming her back into the cabinet as hard as she could, she made the metal drawers boom like kettle drums. Her nostrils flared as she labored to breathe, tried futilely to cry out, banging the cabinet to signal whoever was out there. Over her drumbeat she couldn’t hear the footsteps coming or the creak of the door handle, but she stopped cold when she saw the door open. A hand, white and gleaming, fumbled for the light switch, and then light flooded her eyes, burning them, and she had to squeeze them shut, but not before she saw her rescuer.

  Lyric!

  Blue hair streaming, her arms outstretched, Lyric cried, “Oh my God, Cammie! Oh my God! Hold still! Let me cut you free.” Red-and-blue lights flashed from the top of Justin’s squad car, illuminating the pines around them like a mirrored disco ball. Cameryn, now wrapped tightly in a blanket, stood with Lyric on the porch. She stared into the dark trees and shivered.

  “Aren’t you cold?” Lyric asked. “Your skin was like ice, and now you’re barely warmed up and you’re back out here. Don’t you think you should go inside?”

  “They’re going to seal it off as a crime scene. I’m fine, Lyric. Jacobs wanted to call an ambulance, but I showed him my fingers and toes. He’s convinced I’m okay. He’s a paramedic, you know.”

  “Why don’t you let me take you home?”

  “I will, after Jacobs talks to me. He’s in the chicken coop with Justin and—I’m okay,” she said. “Really.”

  The porch light flooded the deck, making the night sky almost impossible to see, but Cameryn knew the stars were out there just beyond her sight, twinkling silently in their heaven. Everything on the porch became outlined by the stark glare: the wooden railing, the empty flower boxes, and most important, Lyric’s hair, the color of lapis lazuli. Lyric, in her thick, down-filled coat, stood like a rock beside her. The rock—Cameryn’s rock. She’d pushed her away, but Lyric had come back.

  Beneath the blanket, Cameryn’s heart was still beating like a hammer as she tried to make sense of things that made no sense. It was as though she’d been on a journey out to sea in a small, ragged dinghy, and she’d made it home again.

  “Your dad’s probably driving like a bat out of hell from Ouray,” Lyric said.

  “Yes, I told him to go slow, but he sounded pretty scared.” Cameryn gathered the blanket tightly around her neck. She must have winced in doing so, because Lyric put her arm around her and pulled her into her soft torso, asking, “Does your neck hurt?”

  “It’s not too bad. It was just a prick.”

  Lyric’s voice became suddenly hard. “It’s more than a prick—Kyle was out of his freakin’ mind. You could have died in there!”

  “I know it,” Cameryn answered softly. “But the thing is, he wasn’t out of his mind. He wasn’t crazy. I . . . I think I would have been less afraid if he was.” She began to shiver again, as hard as she had before, and even with her coat and the layer of blanket, she didn’t know if she could stop. “I was so stupid, Lyric. I can’t believe I was so incredibly stupid.” Tears welled up, blurring the wooden boxes with their withered flowers, the brown stalks brittle and dead. “Everything he told me was a lie. The person I cared about didn’t even exist.”

  “He fooled everyone. You’re safe now,” Lyric told her gently. Crescent moons swung from her ears as her ring-studded fingers rubbed Cameryn’s arms. “You’ve had a trauma that would have put me in bed for weeks, but you’re still here, still standing. You’re safe,” she said again.

  The door to the outbuilding slammed, and Cameryn watched Sheriff Jacobs and Justin emerge. The sheriff had on a cap with actual earmuffs flapping against the side of his face like dog’s ears, which Cameryn would have laughed at if this had been any other time. Justin, though, seemed filled with apprehension. Even from a distance, Cameryn could tell he wanted to come to her, to be near enough to be sure she was truly all right. He’d wanted to be with her from the start, but Sheriff Jacobs had insisted they go and check the klystron tube. Always the good deputy, Justin had followed his boss, but he’d left a trail of significant looks behind. And now he was back again, his eyes boring into hers, talking to her without words.

  The sheriff’s boots clumped up the wooden steps. “Well, Angel of Death, it looks like you received a miracle tonight,” he said. “If Kyle woulda thrown that switch, you’d have fried.”

  “Don’t call her that, sir,” Justin said. “She doesn’t like it.”

  The sheriff paused, turning toward Justin. Then he grinned. “Oh she doesn’t, does she?”

  Justin thrust out his chin. “No, sir.”

  Sheriff Jacobs turned again to look straight at Cameryn. “Well,” he said, “I meant no harm. Actually, the real Angel of Death was Kyle O’Neil. We opened that cupboard, the one he taped you to. It was chock-full of animal bones. Looks like he’d been cookin’ up critters for a while. Got the tube right off eBay, if you can believe that. Fifty bucks.”

  Cameryn stayed speechless.

  “They say the crazies always start with animals, and intellectually, I knew that,” Jacobs continued. “Still, I’m telling you, it was pretty hard to see what Kyle’d done. There were at least five cats in there, plus what looked to be a couple of dogs and a bunch of chickens and Lord knows what-all. He’s one of the sickest sons of— ”

  “What about his father?” Cameryn interrupted. Concern for Donny O’Neil had been playing like a bass note in the back of her mind.

  “He’s alive, if that’s what you’re asking. He’s been picked up by the Tennessee cops. It’s still sketchy, but Donny told ’em that it’d be hard to find his son if he wants to stay hid. That part worries me—that boy is as dangerous as a Jeffrey Dahmer. In fact, I changed my mind. He’s not the Angel of Death. He’s the Devil himself.”

  Justin came to Cameryn and put his hand on her shoulder. He squeezed, just once, but Cameryn felt his warmth spread through her. The s
heriff looked at them sharply, then cleared his throat.

  “I, uh, owe you two kids an apology. Looks like Kyle actually microwaved his daddy’s dog. You two spotted it, but I didn’t believe there was a connection. I missed an important clue.”

  “It’s hard to imagine anyone as twisted as Kyle,” Cameryn answered softly.

  “That’s what’s so scary about Kyle and his kind,” said Jacobs. “That boy’s got all the signs of a sociopath. Sociopaths don’t really even have emotions. They don’t feel. They watch other people and mimic things, but it’s all acting. It’s like they’re not real human beings.”

  “He let me live,” Cameryn said.

  “That’s true. But he probably thought you would die.” Jacobs pulled on his long nose. “All of this is speculation, anyway—I haven’t even talked to him yet. Or Donny.”

  Lyric dropped her arm from Cameryn’s sleeve. Her face was working itself up into an expression Cameryn knew all too well: she’d heard the facts but they made little sense. Her brow furrowed, and her kohl-rimmed eyes narrowed as she spoke. “Sheriff,” she said, “can I ask you something?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Why couldn’t we tell? I mean, we—me and Cammie— we went to school with Kyle. He sat right beside us. We saw him every day. How could he have fooled us?”

  Before he answered, Jacobs pulled off his hat and held it between his hands. The thin hair on his head stood in swirls, like unraveled threads, as he scratched it. “I’m not sure I can really explain it, Lyric, except to say some people are chameleons. They know how to become whatever they figure folks want them to be.” He took a deep breath and stated, “If he’s what I think he is, then him and his breed are the most frightening people on our planet.”

  The four of them fell silent then. Sheriff Jacobs put his hand on the railing, his face impassive in the glare of the blue-and-red flashes. Wind shivered the pines, making them drop needles like flakes of snow as he said slowly, “The idea that he’s out there terrifies me. I gotta hope we find him soon. There’s no doubt in my mind he’ll kill again.” His glasses winked in the lights as he took them off and dropped them into his coat pocket. “Cammie, you already talked about Kyle letting you go, but I doubt you understand how truly lucky you are. Why he didn’t kill you when he had the chance baffles me. That kid wasn’t one to show mercy—a look in that cupboard tells the story. It’s amazing, truly amazing, that he left you alive.”

  “He said if I was meant to live, I would.”

  “I say you’re one lucky lady.”

  Taking a step forward, Justin said, “I’d like to ask Cameryn a couple of questions. Would that be all right, sir?” He looked from Lyric to the sheriff, who, nodding, rubbed his chin.

  “I think I can allow you to interrogate this witness,” Jacobs said. “For a few minutes, at least. Lyric, I have a couple of questions for you myself. We’ll have to sit in my squad car. The Durango cops are on their way.”

  “Oh,” Lyric said. “Right.” She gave Cameryn’s hand a quick squeeze and followed the sheriff, and suddenly Cameryn and Justin were alone. He moved to stand in front of her, looking down into her eyes. The light behind him made his face hard to read, but there was no mistaking his voice.

  “Cammie,” he said. His tone was husky. “When I heard what happened I almost went crazy. I should have known. In my gut, I always thought there was something off about Kyle, but I never thought he was capable of this.”

  “Neither did I.”

  The wind was moving his hair across his eyes, but Justin left it. “I’ve got to tell you, I was in a panic when Dr. Moore called us. Problem was, the sheriff and I didn’t know where to start looking. Your pop’s cell phone was out of area, your mammaw wasn’t home—we didn’t know where to start.” Justin’s voice shook a little. “It’s so lucky Hannah called Lyric.”

  “The day we found Mr. Oakes,” Cameryn explained,

  “Lyric told Hannah to call her if she ever couldn’t reach me. The irony was that tonight, Lyric came here because Hannah told her I wouldn’t even answer the door. Lyric thought Kyle had put me up to it, and that made her mad—she came here to yell at me. You’re right. I’ve been lucky.”

  “It’s been a night of second chances. For you, for me, and . . .” Justin put his hand on her shoulder, pressing gently. “For Hannah.”

  Her heart stopped. “What are you saying?” she whispered hoarsely.

  “She’s here, tonight. Hannah came back.”

  “Where is she?”

  He didn’t say a word. Instead, his eyes flicked to the hand-cut road beneath them. There, just beyond the squad car, stood a woman. Like a spirit, the form was barely visible, a flash of white that was the face, two moving slashes that were her legs. The closer she came, the more the shape materialized. The woman was small—the same size as Cameryn—and thin. Cameryn strained to see, and as the woman took two steps closer, she saw the same dark hair curling past her shoulders, the same gait in her step.

  “She came back,” Cameryn breathed.

  “Are you ready to meet her?”

  It took only a moment for Cameryn to nod her head. She pulled away from Justin and gazed into the darkness. Tears blurred her eyes as she saw the woman take another tentative step toward the light. The wind howled as Cameryn leaped from the porch onto the uneven dirt road and started to run. And now Hannah was running, too, crying out Cameryn’s name, her arms flung wide. Hardly daring to believe, Cameryn hurled herself forward, into the thin, strong arms.

  The arms of her mother.

  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to thank the many people who helped me explore the forensic field. You have unselfishly shared your knowledge and passion—the glimpse into your world rocked mine! I’m especially grateful to: Thomas M. Canfield, MD, Fellow at the American Academy of Forensic Sciences, Chief Medical Examiner, Office of Medical Investigations; Kristina Maxfield, Coroner; Robert C. Bux, MD, Coroner, Medical Examiner, Forensic Pathologist; David L. Bowerman, Coroner, Forensic Pathologist; Dawn Miller, Deputy Coroner; Werner Jenkins, Chief Forensic Toxicologist; Chris Clarke, Forensic Toxicologist; Sandy Way, Administrator, El Paso County Coroner’s Office; Sheriff Sue Kurtz, San Juan County Sheriff’s Office; Melody Skinner, Administrative Assistant, San Juan County Sheriff’s Office; Thomas Carr, Archeologist, Colorado Historical Society; and a special thanks to Robert Scott Mackey, D-ABMDI Deputy Coroner—an inspiriting professional and my conduit into a macabre world.

  Alane Ferguson is the author of The Christopher Killer—the first book about Cameryn Mahoney—as well as numerous novels and mysteries, including the Edgar Award-winning Show Me the Evidence. She does intensive research for her books, attending autopsies and interviewing forensic pathologists as she delves into the fascinating world of medical examiners.

  Ms. Ferguson lives with her husband Ron near the foothills of the Colorado Rockies. For more information about Ms. Ferguson and her books, please visit www.alaneferguson.com.

  Read an excerpt from

  Circle of Blood

  a Forensic Mystery by

  Alane Ferguson

  Chapter One

  CAMERYN MAHONEY WAS surprised to see the blood on her hand.

  She’d always been careful to tug on a pair of latex gloves, the whisper-thin barrier she wore every time she processed a body. Today’s accident had been worse than anything she’d experienced thus far as assistant to the coroner. The decedent had been a young man—one Benjamin Baker, organ donor. Sixteen and dead, with Christmas only weeks away. In a bizarre twist, the car’s crumpled radio had played on, some country version of “Jingle Bells.” She’d listened to it as she picked through the wreckage, trying not to step in the blood that seeped from his gaping neck into an ever-widening arc across the snow.

  Now, sitting in her driveway outside her own home, her car in neutral, Cameryn stared at the red mark on her hand. There must have been a tiny tear in her glove that had allowed the fluid to seep in. With the lightest touch of he
r fingertip, she traced the silver dollar-sized stain, a scarlet web whose threads disappeared into her finger line. Her own coroner stigmata.