Long pause.
Yes.
The jump in Narey’s chest was a cocktail. Anger. Satisfaction. Relief. Rage. She swallowed them down and typed.
Prove it to me. Where did you kill her?
Not the Highland Fling. Is that enough for you to know?
It was enough to know it was him, but it just begged more questions.
Tell me about Eloise. Why was she chosen?
She was careless. Made it easy. She left all this information about herself just lying around for anyone to see. He saw her on a dating site we both liked to trawl through. She seemed a likely candidate.
And what does that mean? A likely candidate.
There’s something we can see. A vulnerability, a need that can be exploited. Someone too trusting, too needy. It’s instinctive, maybe.
The smugness of the reply sickened her. Like he was claiming he had a superpower.
When Ethan saw that in her, he went looking for her elsewhere and found her. He looked at her Facebook page, her Twitter account, her Snapchat and Instagram. Her whole life laid out for the world to see. He took what he needed and made use of it.
So, she could have been anyone?
His response took a while. They thought he might be editing, but he was writing chapter and verse.
Anyone who made it that easy, yes. These people forget that they are in a shop window. The whole world is pressing their noses up against the glass, but they never notice. They talk about themselves as if no one else is listening. We’re all listening.
She could hear both his craziness and the sense in what he said. But she still wanted to believe there was more to it. That there was a reason, however illogical, however fucked up.
But why Eloise?
We are predators. Predators take victims. Eloise was a victim.
You utter piece of shit, she thought.
Do you want to know how she was when she died?
No.
She cried a lot. That was quite annoying. I don’t like that much. She cried, and she whimpered, and she begged. Begging I don’t mind. I actually like it when they beg, but the crying becomes a pain.
I don’t want to hear it. Where did you kill her?
I have a place I use. You’ll never find it.
She wanted to kill him. She wanted to rip his throat out. She wanted to tie him up, cut him till he bled to death.
Did you touch her? Sexually, I mean.
No. That’s not what I do.
So, it’s not sexual for you at all?
Pause.
Yes, it is. Probably. But I don’t touch them. I just get what I get from it without doing that. Sometimes, later, I think about it. When I’m alone.
The image that conjured up made her skin crawl.
You don’t get it, do you, Inspector? You don’t understand someone like me. Don’t understand someone like Ethan.
I don’t have to understand you. I don’t want to. And what do you think that is, ‘someone like you’? You keep saying it.
A long pause. Words written and rewritten.
I’m someone you’re never going to catch.
CHAPTER 40
Mike Durrant was a heavyset man of around seventy, broad shoulders and stomach hanging over his belt. His reddish beard had outlasted the hair on his head and the lines round his eyes suggested a man that laughed a lot. But not today.
When he saw Marianne Ziegler for the first time since her wedding day, he smiled warmly and took a step forward, then stopped as if unsure whether to proceed. Marianne stood and moved towards him, both offering then withdrawing a handshake, before transitioning into an awkward hug.
‘It’s been a long time, Marianne. You’re looking good.’
‘It sure has. Thanks, Mike. And you too. You haven’t changed at all.’
He smiled kindly. ‘Well, we both know that’s not true but let’s pretend it is. Are you doing okay?’
She hesitated, trying to work out if she was or not.
‘Yeah. I think I am. It’s been a lot to take in at once.’
It was Durrant’s turn to pause. ‘So, you know what’s going on? Because I sure as hell don’t. I know it’s got something to do with Ethan, but no one’s told me shit.’
Marianne turned to look helplessly at the two detectives. It couldn’t and wouldn’t be her who told him. O’Neill nodded, she’d deal with it.
‘Mr Durrant, why don’t you take a seat?’
‘Am I going to need one?’
‘Please. Just sit and we’ll talk.’
And they did. And Durrant listened, often with his mouth hanging open. He leaned forward in his chair, scratched at his beard and his thinning hair, and turned to look at Marianne for confirmation. All sure signs of growing confusion and nervousness.
Through it all, he didn’t say a word, letting his body language do the talking for him, until Salgado explained the reason for their urgency. The kidnap victim. The ticking clock.
‘Shit.’
By now he was pale, wide-eyed and shaking. When Salgado asked if he was ready to talk and help them with anything he knew, he nodded numbly.
They started him off by going over some of the ground Durrant had already covered with the Carson City sheriff, easing him into it. The family holidays, the tension between his father and his uncle, Ethan’s relationship with his mother.
‘Mike, when you met him that last time in LA, you say Ethan told you he was busy with a new partnership. Did he tell you anything else about what that partnership was all about?’
‘Nope. I got the feeling he regretted even mentioning it.’
‘What about you, Marianne? Would you know what he might have been talking about?’
Ziegler shook her head. ‘I guess it could have been a business thing, but I don’t remember anything. And I guess it could have been another woman, but I seriously doubt it.’
They doubted it too. It was Marr. It had to be.
‘Mike, you told the Carson City sheriff that Ethan blamed his mom. Was that always how he talked about her?’
Durrant looked uncomfortable but nodded. ‘Look, it’s not an easy thing to say.’ He paused and looked at Marianne. ‘Or an easy thing to hear, I guess, but Ethan hated his mother. Maybe not initially but definitely as he got older, after his father left. He blamed her for Zac leaving. He blamed her for everything, including killing herself. You probably don’t want to hear this, Marianne, but Ethan used to call his mother a whore. It was the word he used most often about her and, for my money, it came straight out of his father’s mouth.’
Marianne nodded, sadly. ‘Ethan didn’t talk about his mother a lot. But when he did . . . let’s just say there was a ton of suppressed animosity. Sometimes not so suppressed. If he was lashing out at me then I’d get compared to her. And it wasn’t pretty. Believe me, I’ve heard the word whore before.’
‘Yep,’ Durrant agreed. ‘It was always Uncle Zac with him. Always his dad rather than his mom. The two of them were thick as thieves. They’d go on these long walks and I think Zac just talked and talked, filled Ethan’s head with whatever he wanted to. If Zac said the moon was made of cheese, then Ethan would ask for a giant pack of crackers. He hated Aunt Veronica because Zac told him to.’