Stealing Faces - Michael Prescott [132]
“Because the evidence vanished. There was nothing in the garage when the police searched the house.”
“It was all gone. The girl’s face, and the jars of blood, the tapes with Indian chanting on them—everything. So nobody ever believed a word I said. They didn’t even listen.” She shook her head. “If I’d been thinking clearly, I would have taken some of it as proof, gone straight to the police. But I couldn’t think at all. After I shot him ...”
The words trailed off, and for a moment Shepherd thought she wouldn’t speak again, but then she lifted her head, determined to finish the story.
“I had no choice about it. He had backed me up against the garage wall, and he was closing in, and his eyes—I’ve never seen eyes like that, so wild and dangerous, tiger’s eyes.” She stared into some far distance, and Shepherd knew she was seeing those eyes now. “All I could do was grab a pistol off the gun rack. He always kept them loaded. I squeezed the trigger once, and it was so loud, the noise, and there was blood, a lot of blood, spraying me, my hands, all red....”
Her fingers interlaced, her wrists twisting.
“After that, I lost it. I just went away somewhere, and whatever I did, I was only going through the motions. When they found me in the desert, I was on my knees, crying, and I couldn’t say a word.”
“You were in shock, Kaylie. That’s all.”
“I thought I was insane. And when I heard all the evidence was gone, I thought maybe I’d imagined the whole thing—that maybe there never had been any woman’s face, that Justin hadn’t tried to kill me, that all of it was in my mind, and I’d killed him, murdered him, for no reason at all....” She took a breath, then added, “And Cray, of course—my therapist—Cray did his best to convince me that I was crazy. He told me I was a hopeless case, and there would never be a cure.”
“When did you start to suspect him as Justin’s accomplice?”
“Only later, after I’d escaped from Hawk Ridge. I asked myself if there was any way the evidence could have really existed and then vanished. There was only one answer. Justin had a partner—whoever he was meeting that night. And when Justin didn’t show up, his partner came to our house, found him dead, and cleaned out the garage so the police would find nothing incriminating.”
“You still didn’t know it was Cray.”
“No. I was never sure. Even after I read about Sharon Andrews—how she was found in the river, found without a face—even then, I didn’t know if Cray had been Justin’s accomplice, or if it was someone else, or if I really was deluding myself about the whole thing. But I knew Cray might be the one. Because at Hawk Ridge he’d hated me so much. And why would he hate me, unless I’d killed someone who mattered to him? He’s a loner—a lone wolf—but with Justin he found someone who understood him. Justin must have been the only person who ever meant anything to Cray. The one person he loved.”
Shepherd realized he was still holding the photograph. He took a last look at Rebecca Morgan, smiling into the abyss of her future, and then he slipped the photo back into the envelope and fastened its clasp.
“Well,” he said, “that wraps it up, I think. Case closed, after twelve years.”
“I guess so. I guess ...” Then Kaylie lifted her head, playful annoyance furrowing her brow. “Hey. You’re still holding out on me. The air shaft—remember?”
Shepherd shrugged. “It’s getting late. You can wait another few days, can’t you?”
“Tell me, or I’ll get violent. I’m good at it. Ask that poor nurse I ambushed at Hawk Ridge.”
He smiled, giving in. “It’s less of a miracle than it might have seemed. See, I was looking for you. I knew Cray was on the hunt. Then I heard the noises he was making inside the abandoned ward. Animal cries, but it was no animal. I couldn’t unlock the doors, didn’t have any keys, but I remembered Cray telling me how you’d gotten out years ago through an air shaft. I figured