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38

It broke Megan ’s heart in a thousand ways.

She had wondered why Ray had been so surprised by the sightings of Stewart Green. Now she understood. Ray knew that Stewart had been dead all these years. He had made the huge sacrifice, too huge really, a sacrifice and then a secret that had gnawed at him, kept him down and troubled, probably cost him a bit of his sanity. Some people can live with that kind of thing. They do what they have to do. But Ray was too sensitive. He couldn’t. Especially when you added on being abandoned by the woman you loved. Especially when you added on that you wouldn’t see that woman-the woman you made this huge sacrifice to save-or even know what became of her, not until seventeen years later.

The last thing Megan told Ray before she left the interrogation room was that she would do everything in her power to make sure he was freed. She meant it. She owed him that. She would help him, and then fair or not, she’d be gone for good.

But the first thing she said when she walked out of the room was, “Where’s my husband?”

“He’s down the hall on the left.”

She hurried toward him. When she got to the room, Dave looked up, startled, and Megan felt her heart swell with genuine love. She rushed over to him as he stood, collapsing into his arms.

It was then, being held by her husband, that she felt safe enough to wonder about how she ended up on that path that night.

Wasn’t it Lorraine who had passed on that message to meet Ray up at those ruins?

Wasn’t it Lorraine who started the rumor that Stewart Green was still alive-even though they now knew for certain he was dead?

Wasn’t it Lorraine who claimed to know where Megan had been over the past seventeen years-even though it was impossible?

She ran back toward Special Agent Angiuoni.

“Where’s Detective Broome?”

“I don’t know. He said something about a club called La Creme?”

Goldberg pointed over Erin ’ Shoulder at the computer screen. “That’s Lorraine, the barmaid at La Creme. What the hell happened?”

“She killed her abusive husband.”

“What?”

“It was declared self-defense. Open and shut.”

“Where the hell is Broome?” Goldberg snapped. “He needs to know about this.”

Lorraine said, “Drop the gun.”

“What are you talking about? I’m here to help you, Lorraine.”

“Please, Broome.” She pushed the gun harder against his head. “It’s been a long night. Drop the gun.”

Broome did as she asked.

“Now call your dispatcher. Tell them you don’t need backup, that it’s all clear.”

Still stunned, Broome did as she asked. Then he pointed to the body on the floor. “Who is that?”

“Someone Del Flynn hired.”

“What did he want?”

“To torture me into giving him information on Carlton’s whereabouts. Funny though. He was the type who could dish it out but couldn’t take it. So many men are like that.”

Broome looked at her. She met his eyes and nodded, as if encouraging him to see what was now so obvious.

“My God… it was you?”

“Yep,” she said.

“You killed all of them?”

“You got it. One per year. Always on Mardi Gras, but I didn’t think anyone would ever figure out that pattern. Most of these scumbags had no one who cared enough to report that they were missing. I’m impressed you picked up the Mardi Gras connection.”

“It was my partner,” Broome said.

“She’s your ex-wife, right? Smart woman, I bet. Kudos to her.”

He said nothing.

“Oh, don’t worry, Broome. I’m not going to kill you and go after her or any of that.” Lorraine gave him a crooked smile and stared at the gun as though it had suddenly materialized in her hand. “I imagined a hundred different ways this might end, but me holding a gun on you and explaining?” She shook her head. “It’s all so… I don’t know… meh. Are you going to try to stall time hoping someone will rescue you?”

“Not my style.”

“Good, because it would really be gauche. Don’t worry, though. It’ll all become clear soon enough.”

“What will become clear?”

“My plan. And I need to tell it my way. I need you to listen, Broome. If you ever had any feelings for me, you’ll try to open your mind a little here, okay?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“I guess not, what with me having the gun and all. But I’m tired, Broome. It’s been a good run, but it’s coming to an end. I just want… I want you to listen to me. That’s all. Let me start at the beginning and maybe you’ll see where I’m going with this, okay?”

Lorraine seemed so sincere. She waited for him to answer, so he said, “Okay.”

“You know I used to be married, right?”

“I do, yes.”

“Got hitched right out of high school. I won’t bore you with my early years in a small town with an alcoholic dad. It’s an old story, and we’ve seen the results on these streets a hundred times, haven’t we?”

Broome thought the question was rhetorical, but again Lorraine stopped, the gun still in her hand. “We have,” he said.

“I was going to be different though. I had a man who loved me. We eloped and he got a job, and then he lost the job and started beating the crap out of me. Broome, it was bad. You have no idea. He’d hit me once or twice before, you know, when we first got together. Nothing serious, you know how it is. Happens to every woman where I grew up. So I shrugged it off. But men can grow so little so fast, you know what I mean?”

Broome nodded, not sure what else to do.

“Life started pissing on my husband like he was the only urinal in the club. And how does my little man react? He pounds the hell out of the one person who still cares about him. Ironic, don’t you think?”

Broome said nothing.

Lorraine’s hair fell over her face. She pushed it away with one finger. “So guess what happened to me next, Broome? Come on, you’re a smart guy. What always happens in cases like this?”

“You got pregnant,” Broome said.

“Ding, ding, ding, correct answer. And for a few months while I was prego, peace ruled the land. All the experts were wrong, I thought-a baby can and will improve a marriage. Then one night, my future baby’s daddy complains that the steak is too chewy. He gets all pissed off and I say something stupid and he kicks me in the stomach and I fall down and then he starts stomping on me so bad I lose the baby.”

Broome stared down at the dead man on the floor, still unsure what to say.

“He stomps on me so bad, the crazy psycho, he actually ruptures my uterus. You know what that means, Broome? Do I need to spell it out for you? No kids. Not ever.” Tears came to her eyes. She blinked them away, seemingly angry at herself. “I wanted them, you know. I act otherwise and maybe now, well, I’m a girl who’s learned to make the best of my lot in life. But back then, my whole dream was to have a couple of kids and a little yard. Pathetic, right? I wasn’t asking for a mansion. Just a husband and some kids and a place we could call our own, you know?”

Broome inched closer to her, trying to find an angle where he could make a move. “I’m sorry about that, Lorraine. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“Yeah, it’s a sad story, right?” She raised the gun, and her tone changed. “Please don’t get cute, Broome. My intention here is to make the guy on the floor my final victim, not you.”

Broome stopped.

“Anyway, let’s skip ahead a few months. To Mardi Gras night. Mr. Wonderful Hubby gets pissed drunk and takes a tire iron to me. So I killed him. Just like that. And you know what, Broome?”

“What?” he said.

“It was the best thing I ever did. I was free and happy.”

“No remorse?”

“Just the opposite, Broome. What’s the opposite of remorse?” Lorraine snapped her fingers when the answer came to her. “Pure satisfaction. That’s what I felt. I moved into the city, got a job at La Creme, and well, every Mardi Gras, I celebrated my freedom, if you will, by helping another girl go free. You know the rest.”

“Not really.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t know the part where you decided to celebrate your freedom and pure satisfaction by turning into a serial killer.”

Lorraine chuckled at that. “Serial killer. Ooo. Sounds so… I don’t know… Hannibal Lecter or something. But it’s a fair point. I could remind you that every guy I killed deserved it. They were all scum, beating girls at the clubs, ruining lives. So, yeah, that was part of it. I could also remind you that by killing those losers, I gave many girls a second chance. No one missed these guys. A couple of the wives even pleaded with you not to find their husbands, didn’t they?”

“That doesn’t excuse what you did.”

“No, it doesn’t, does it? I mean, I use it as a justification, certainly. We kill innocent animals, right? These guys were worse. I had my outlet. But you’re right. It’s not really an excuse. I can only tell you this, Broome. You’ll think it’s odd, but maybe you’ll get it. You called me a serial killer before, but my theory is, and, yeah, this will sound strange”-her voice became a whisper-“but there are a lot of us out there.”

The temperature in the room dropped a few degrees.

“Think of them as sleepers, Broome. Millions of them, I bet. A lot of people are natural-born killers, serial or otherwise. They just don’t know it. I mean, how would you ever know, if you never did the deed? I had no idea, see, and then I killed Mr. Wonderful and it was like opening a floodgate. It felt so good. Not just because he deserved it. But the very act itself.”

Police sirens shattered the morning air.

Lorraine sighed. “We don’t have much time, Broome. I guess the rest of the answers will have to wait.”

“Wait for what?”

She didn’t reply. Broome wondered what that meant-what she planned on doing. Surrounding her house with police cars would not be helpful. Broome glanced down at the dead body.

“Why, Lorraine?”

“Weren’t you listening?”

“Because they deserved it.”

“Yes. And because I liked it. They needed killing. I needed to kill.”

It was, in the end, as simple as that.

A bullhorn sounded. “Lorraine Griggs? This is the police.”

Lorraine gestured toward the window. “Our time is up.”

“So what are you going to do now?”

“Do?”

“What’s your plan?” Broome spread his arms. “Are you going to, what, enjoy one more kill before they arrest you?”

“Ah Broome,” Lorraine said, giving him a smile that shattered his heart anew. “I’d never hurt you. Not in a million years.”

He looked at her, confused.

The bullhorn again: “Lorraine Griggs. This is the police…”

“I got it all planned out,” she said to him. “This is where it ends. I told you yesterday. I’m dying. I don’t want to spend my last days on the lam.”

She spun the gun on her finger. The barrel was now pointed at her.

Broome said, “Don’t.”

“What?” She looked down at the barrel. “You thought I was going to kill myself? Oh, that’s sweet, Broome, but, no, that’s not my plan.”

Lorraine handed him the gun and held up her hands. “Arrest time.”

“So that’s it? You’re just going to surrender?”

“Yep, hon, that’s it.” She once again gave him the crooked smile. “Stick a fork in me, I’m done.”

Broome just looked at her. “I don’t know what to say, Lorraine.”

Her eyes flicked to the door then back to him. “Remember how you said you’d be there when I die?”

Broome nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

“So here’s your big chance to prove you’re not a liar.” There were tears in her eyes now. “Promise me you won’t just leave me. Promise me you’ll stay close.”