Dead Even - Mariah Stewart [77]
Miranda handed him a card. “Will you call me if you remember anything else about Channing? Or if you think of someone who might have been on his shit list?”
“Sure thing,” he said as he stood up, “but I gotta tell you, as far as I knew, Curt Channing didn’t have a shit list. He was just a real nice, quiet guy. Never bothered anyone. That’s why when all this stuff came out, man, I just couldn’t believe it, you know? Like, I even said to my wife, they must be talking about some other Curtis Channing, because the one I knew, he just couldn’t have been what they said—a serial killer. I just can’t see him killing all those women.” He looked down at Miranda. “You’re sure it was him? Him that killed all those women?”
“We are sure. Absolutely, positively sure.”
He shook his head again. “Boy, you just never really know about people, do you?”
Archer sat on the edge of the bed and chewed his last fingernail down as far as he could go and not have a mouthful of skin, and he tried not to blubber like the baby he knew he was.
He’d spent all day out at the edge of Landry’s woods, watching the man go about his business and writing down what he did and when, just like Burt insisted. He hadn’t done it right on Monday, and Burt’s eyes had gone all thin and dark. It scared Archer when he squinted like that.
“You need to write the times down.” Burt had smacked Archer on top of the head with his open hand. “You’re looking for a pattern here, asshole. How you gonna figure out a pattern if you don’t write down the times?”
So on Tuesday, then yesterday, and again today, Archer had dutifully written down times. The time Landry came outside, the time he went into the barn, the time he came out. When he walked out to the pond, when he came back. When the other man came out to the field to call him back, when they both went inside. Archer thought it was all a waste of time, but he wasn’t about to tell Burt that.
Today on the way home, Burt had made Archer read his notes aloud.
“Hmmm,” he had said. “So the old man goes out in the morning, strolls around, then someone else comes out and makes him come back in. Wonder who that is?”
“Don’t know.” Archer had shrugged. “And then both days, a police car came up the drive around eleven, and again around one, and then around three.”
“Wonder what that’s all about.” Burt had gone quiet for a long time. “Cops coming by every couple a hours.”
“They don’t stay long or nothing. They just turn around in the drive. This morning, one of them got out and went up to the door and knocked on it. When they came by later, Mr. Landry was already outside, and they stopped and talked for a while with him and the other man. Then when the police left, Mr. Landry went into the barn and came back out with something in his hand, I couldn’t see what.”
“Time them again tomorrow,” Burt said, “then maybe we can probably nail it.”
“Huh?”
“If the pattern holds, then the day after tomorrow will be the day for you to do Landry.” Burt never turned his head; he just kept looking straight ahead, and talked as if they were planning a trip to the beach. “Once you have the pattern down, that’s all you need to know. You hit between visits from the police. All you need to know now is how and when to hit. I have an idea about that. . . .”
Archer’s palms sweated just remembering the conversation. He didn’t want to kill Mr. Landry. He didn’t want to kill anyone. He wanted to go home. That’s all. He just wanted to go home.
He searched the pockets of his jeans for his wallet. In one of the small compartments was the card Miranda Cahill had given him. He’d folded it up so that Burt couldn’t find it, if he decided to look through Archer’s wallet, and who’s to say he wouldn’t do just that one of these days? Archer unfolded the card and studied the phone number, trying to memorize it. In his jacket pocket was the cell phone Burt had given him. Archer thought about getting the phone and calling the pretty FBI agent and just telling her everything. Everything about Curtis and Vince and him and the game. About getting out of High Meadow