Dead Even - Mariah Stewart [31]
“This is crazy. Just crazy.” Mrs. Channing walked out of the room. The agents followed.
“Mrs. Channing—”
“This is crazy talk, Agent Cahill.” Claire Channing sat at the table in the sun-filled kitchen, staring at her hands. “Curtis . . . killed those women. I know he did that. But it was because of what had happened to him so long ago, when he was just a little boy. It wasn’t for revenge or for anything like what you’re talking about.”
She looked from one agent to the other, appealing for their understanding.
“Things happened to him. Things that made him . . . not right. Not that it’s an excuse for what he did to all those women. I know nothing could excuse what he did. But if you understood what happened to him, you’d know that there was something inside him that just wasn’t right. And God help him, it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t ask for those terrible things to be done to him.”
“We know, Mrs. Channing. We’ve read the files,” Will told her gently. “We know what happened to him . . . what his mother did to him.”
“Then you know that he just . . . couldn’t help but be what he was. How could any child be right when they’ve had to endure such abominations. And at the hands of their own mother.” Tears started down her face, and she ignored them. “We tried, Marshall and I, to make it up to him. To give him a good home. Love. A family. Good times. Good memories. We tried to make up for all the bad. But it wasn’t enough, you see. It could never be enough. . . .”
“You and your husband did your best, Mrs. Channing.” Miranda knelt in front of the elderly woman and took her hands in her own. “If one thing was clear from reading the files, it’s that you and Mr. Channing were the best thing that ever happened to Curtis. He cared a great deal for you. But there’s no way that you could change what happened to him, and you weren’t responsible for that.”
“This . . . this revenge thing you’re suggesting.” Mrs. Channing shivered. “This is different. It’s colder, somehow.”
“We’re sorry to have upset you, Mrs. Channing, but we need to know if you can think of anyone from his past—from high school, even—whom Curtis would have wanted to . . . hurt.” Miranda spoke softly.
“You were going to say kill.”
“Yes.”
“I can’t think of a soul.” The elderly woman shook her head slowly. “I’m sorry. I can’t think of anyone Curtis ever had problems with.”
Miranda handed her a business card.
“My phone numbers are on here, Mrs. Channing. If you think of someone . . . someone he didn’t get along with, or someone who gave him a hard time . . .”
“I can’t think of a one. He had a few friends in school, not many. He was a loner. But he got along with everyone. I never heard him say anything negative about anyone.”
“If you remember anything . . . any incident, however small or insignificant it may seem . . .”
“Of course, Agent Cahill. I will call you.”
“Thank you.” Miranda stood. “I’m sorry we upset you.”
Claire Channing merely nodded her head.
“We’ll see ourselves out,” Will told her. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Channing.”
Once outside, Miranda exhaled a long, slow breath.
“That was painful,” she said as they walked to the car. “Poor, poor woman. After all she’s gone through, all the pain of the past few months, she finally thinks it’s all behind her, then we turn up, asking questions. Bringing it all back . . .”
“What’s the likelihood she’s forgotten?” Will asked as he unlocked the rental car.
“Oh, I’m sure it’s on her mind at least once every day. She’ll never get over it.”
She slid into the passenger seat and strapped herself in.
“How do you get over something like that?” Will started the car and checked the rearview mirror before pulling out onto the road. “You think you’re doing something wonderful, you take in this little boy who’s had such a tragic life. You give him a loving home; you treat him as if he’s your own flesh and blood, and in spite of it all, he grows up to be a serial killer.”
“She seems like such a sweet