Heart of Ice

Chapter Seventy

Her phone was a sleeping cobra. She didn’t want to pick it up. Olivia Barton knew that it was the hardest call she’d ever make. She knew that by dialing the number of the Cherrystone Sheriff’s Department, she’d be ending the life that she had dreamed of as a child. She was going to snuff out all of it—the loving husband, the stable environment in which to raise their children, the pretty house with an orange tree in the backyard. There was no one to talk to about what she was thinking. She was alone, looking at that dangerous phone and the damage it would do. She had written down the phone number she found on the Internet. She picked it up and dialed.

It rang and Gloria Bergstrom answered.

“Cherrystone Sheriff’s office. Is this an emergency?”

“Um. I want to speak with Emily Kenyon,” she said, her words constricted in her throat. “The sheriff, please.”

“Is this about a criminal matter?”

Olivia knew that it was, but what she said next wasn’t entirely a lie.

“No, it’s personal.”

“I’ll patch you through. Hang on.”

“Sheriff Kenyon.”

“Sheriff, my name is Olivia Barton.” Her voice faded like an echo.

“Yes. Do I know you?”

Olivia tried a second time. She knew every word she had to say, and she understood the urgency that came with it. “Sheriff, I think my husband might not be well. He might be a dangerous man.”

She couldn’t bring herself to say serial killer, but it ran through her mind.

“Are you safe right now?” Emily asked.

Only because he’s not here. I think so. But your daughter isn’t.

“Yes. I’m OK. I guess.”

“Can I come to you? Where are you located?”

“No, I’m calling from Garden Grove, California.”

“All right. I must be missing something. Is there a connection to Cherrystone? Is your husband from here?”

“No, he’s not. But I think he’s up there. I think he plans on killing again.”

Emily opened a notepad, and took down Olivia Barton’s name, her husband’s, and other personal information. Although she could easily detect the genuine angst in the woman’s voice, she had serious doubts that anything she was saying was true. For all Emily knew, Olivia was a woman seeking revenge against a philandering husband. Or maybe just a crackpot with no real ax to grind? Calls like hers, less some of the drama, came in every single week.

“All right,” she said, “tell me what you’re worried about.”

“I’m worried that he’s come up to Cherrystone to kill someone.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Sheriff, I think he’s killed before. Maybe many times. I think that he…well, he might have killed a girl back east.”

Emily hadn’t a clue where this was going. The woman on the line, this supposed killer’s wife, wasn’t being direct.

“How do you know this?” she asked, firmly. “Did he tell you?”

Olivia hesitated. “Oh, no. He doesn’t even know that I know. He’s been acting strangely and I’ve been trying to find out why.” She started to cry. Hard.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Barton. Please try to tell me what I need to know.”

“He killed that sorority girl back east.”

Even though the information was conveyed in the vaguest of terms, Emily knew who she was talking about. And it sent a shiver down her spine.

“Sheraton Wilkes?”

The line was silent.

“Mrs. Barton, are you saying Sheraton Wilkes?

A loud cry came, and a single word: “Yes.”

Emily could feel her muscles tighten a little and her brow moistened. She brushed at the hair that grazed over her forehead. She wished she hadn’t blurted out the name. Perhaps she’d given the cue that the woman on the other end of the line needed to continue a false statement.

“And you know this how?”

Emily could feel Olivia Barton try to pull herself together.

“I read some things on his computer,” she said, “but mostly I’ve put two and two together.”

Oh, no. One of those women who watch Law & Order reruns by day and fight crime by night.

Emily thought of the days of the Green River Killer investigation in Seattle. She hadn’t worked it, but as an investigator on the periphery of the case that chased the killer of dozens of Seattle-area prostitutes she knew of dozens of instances when a woman tried to pin the blame on a boyfriend or a husband.

“I see. You said there was more than one victim. So you’re saying your husband is a serial killer?”

Again, more tears. “Yes, I guess. I mean, he could be. I don’t know.”

Emily didn’t want to make the same mistake twice. “Do you know who the other victim was?”

“There were two others. Tiffany Jacobs and Lily Ann Denton. They were sorority sisters. Michael’s sister killed herself last summer. She’d been trashed by the Beta Zeta girls and, I guess, from what he told me and from what I’ve read on his computer…”

When Olivia stopped, Emily pushed her to carry on.

“Go on, please. What about Beta Zeta?”

My daughter’s a BZ. She knew Tiffany, Lily Ann, and Sheraton.

“I think he wanted to pay those three girls back. I know it sounds crazy, but my husband’s had a really bad past. His sister was everything. He feels those three girls caused his sister to kill herself.”

She felt her office inhale and consume her. The room became small and dark. She knew those girls. She knew the connection they shared with her daughter.

“Sheriff Kenyon, I’m calling you because my husband made a big mistake.”

Emily drew a breath. “What kind of a mistake?”

“He didn’t mean to kill Sheraton Wilkes.”

No. No. No.

Emily set down her pen and looked at the caller ID on her phone, hoping the call was coming from somewhere in Cherrystone and not California. The area code was 714. She wasn’t sure exactly where it was, but it was a call originating in California.

“Sheriff, are you there?”

“I’m here.”

“Jenna. Your daughter. That’s who he meant to kill. I’m so sorry. Please.”

As the room constricted once more, Olivia Barton explained how her husband had been troubled by his sister’s death. Blame had somehow spun into rage. Rage became a vendetta of a kind of unimaginable evil.

“My husband is ill,” she said. “He was a good man and a good father. I’ve found out things about him that I never knew. Things that explain maybe why he’s as sick as he is. I’m sorry. I just hope I’m not too late.”

Emily felt a deep shudder of fear. Jenna and Shali were going to a movie later. Or were they going shopping? She really hadn’t paid any attention. On her trips back to Cherrystone, Jenna had tried to get in as much as she could in the way of visiting old friends.

“Mrs. Barton,” Emily said, “I’m going to call Garden Grove PD and have them send someone to see you. This will be for your protection.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m so worried about your daughter. Michael has been stalking her online. He’s been reading her blog. He knows everywhere she goes. He’s supposed to be on a business trip, but his client told his boss he never showed.”

“All right. I’m going to hang up now. Stay where you are. The local police will be there as soon as they can. This might scare your children, so if you have a place to take them, please do.”

“I took them to my mother’s this morning. I’ve driven up and down the freeway trying to figure out what to do.”

“You did the right thing,” Emily said. With that, she ended the call. She gave Gloria all of Olivia Barton’s information and told her to see if Garden Grove PD would send a car to the Barton residence immediately. She paced, wondering where Chris was with those stupid coffees. Her heart began to race.

“I’m going after Jenna,” she told Gloria. “Tell Chris to meet me at the house.”