I Will Come for You Read online

  Graham’s cell phone rings as he pulls away from the fast food joint. Caller ID displays his home phone number.

  “Isaac?”

  “Dad,” Isaac breathes the word through the phone. His son’s voice is thin, patchy, saturated with fear, and Graham’s heart flutters with alarm.

  “Isaac? You OK?”

  “Are you coming home?”

  “I’m on my way.”

  “Now, dad. You need to come home now.”

  Graham turns onto the coast road and presses the gas pedal to the floor. Isaac isn’t one to panic. He can count on one hand the times he son has called him at work.

  “What’s going on?”

  “There’s someone here to see you,” Isaac says. “Come home now.”

  “I am, son,” Graham tries to assure him, but the line is dead. He looks at the cell screen and sees the signal faded. He presses speed dial but when the call connects it rings without answer.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sunday, 6:22 pm

  Graham pulls the SUV into the drive way and follows it around to the back of the house. He’s out of the car before the sound of the engine fades. The air is damp and carries a chill that fast finds the gaps in his clothing and forms a vapor cloud in front of his face. He takes the steps to the deck two at a time and comes to an abrupt halt.

  Saul Doss. He sits in a lawn chair on the deck, facing the kitchen with its wall of windows from which light pours out and casts an amber glow over the man’s aged face. If he senses Graham’s arrival, he doesn’t give it away. He is staring intently at the house. Graham feels movement in that direction, sees a shifting of shadows, and follows Doss’ gaze to the French doors where Isaac is now standing, his face as closed and tense as a fist.

  “What’s going on here?” Graham steps forward, breaking the trajectory between his son and the elder.

  “Isaac’s a smart boy,” Doss says. “He’s been keeping an eye on me.”

  “You were supposed to call me,” Graham says. “I don’t do business at my home.”

  “I can’t always accommodate your schedule,” Doss says. “If you want to speak to me it can be here and now.”

  “Forget it.”

  Graham doesn’t like Doss. It’s always two steps forward, one back when questioning the elder. The man gives just enough to create the illusion that he’s trying to help without actually contributing to any forward progress.

  Doss is holding out on him. It probably has something to do with doctor-patient confidentiality. Doss continues with a private practice and sees patients at the hospital. Graham thinks it’s possible one or more of them became the KFK’s target, but Doss won’t confirm or deny this.

  “We don’t have time to waste,” Doss says. “I came to you because your message was urgent.”

  Doss stands and Graham notices the bruising on the man’s face, the bandaging of one hand. The man survived the sinking ferry less than twelve hours ago.

  “Sit down, Doss,” Graham says. “You look pretty good, considering, but no sense pushing it.”

  “I was in the water ten minutes,” Doss brushes aside Graham’s concern. “Did you learn something new this time?”

  Graham considers shutting Doss out completely. How much can he learn from a man he doesn’t trust? In the end, he decides the man’s reactions alone could be worth the effort.

  “Just a minute.” He turns to Isaac. His son is still standing at the door. His face has more color, his body less tension. Graham approaches and listens to the metallic click as Isaac frees the dead bolt.

  “You Okay?” He watches his son’s thin shoulders loosen. The fear in his eyes slowly morphs into concern.

  “He shouldn’t come in,” Isaac says.

  “He won’t. We’re going to talk out here,” Graham assures him. He intends to find out exactly what Doss said to Isaac, that made his son so wary he threw the dead bolt. “I brought dinner,” he tells Isaac. “You want to go get it?”

  His son is slow to reach for the car keys and when he does emerge from the house, he moves around Graham, keeping as much distance between him and Doss as he can.

  Graham turns to the elder. Doss is of average height. His down vest gives him more substance than Graham knows actually exists. Doss is not a physical threat, but there is a sharp edge about him that even Graham notices.

  “What did you say to my son?”

  “He knows why I’m here,” Doss says. “That’s enough to make anyone nervous.”

  “You spoke to him about Shelley Iverson?” Graham feels anger coil inside him.

  “No. And I never said her name. Isaac did,” Doss reveals.

  “She came up out of the blue?”

  “Of course not. Isaac wanted to know why I’m here. I told him you wanted to talk to me. He guessed all on his own what it’s about.” Doss leans back against the cedar railing and stuffs his hands into his front pockets. “I don’t talk to children about death, constable. At least, not unless they start the conversation. Not unless needing to know about it is the same as needing closure.”

  “Isaac doesn’t need help with closure,” Graham insists. “He knew Iverson, she was his teacher, but it was a few years ago.”

  “We all need closure. The whole island,” Doss points out. “And not all of us know how to go about that.”

  Isaac sat in Iverson’s classroom everyday for a year. She influenced his thoughts, shaped his mind. And what else?

  Nothing. There was nothing else or Graham would know about it.

  “I’ll help Isaac deal with Iverson’s death,” Graham says.

  Doss shrugs. “You should be the one,” he agrees. “Remember, the truth is healing.”

  “The truth is important to me,” Graham says and takes a step closer to Doss. “I want it to be important to you, too.” He takes another step, until he’s almost toe-to-toe with the elder. “You haven’t told me everything you know.”

  “I’ve always been honest with you,” Doss says. He props his elbows on the railing, opens himself, as if to make it clear he has nothing to hide.

  “I don’t believe you, Doss.”

  “Well, there’s nothing I can do about that.”

  “You take too long to answer my questions,” Graham continues. “You have to think too hard before you speak.”

  “Some things are not for me to say,” Doss explains. “You ask questions I can’t answer.” He shakes his head. “I can’t give you what I don’t have.”

  “Often, the truth is shared. It’s called perspective. Sometimes we’re a witness. Sometimes we’re the perpetrator.” Graham feels the muscles in his neck tighten until he’s ready to crow. “I’m starting to think I was right all along. Are you the killer we’re looking for?”

  “You know I have an alibi--”

  “I don’t put a whole lot of weight in alibis,” Graham cuts him off. “If you’re not the killer, Doss, what are you? His confessor? Is the KFK one of your patients? Maybe you counseled one of his victims? You know something,” Graham asserts. “I know you know more than you’re telling me.”

  “Let’s talk about Shelley Iverson,” Doss offers. “I knew her. I watched her grow up. Maybe I can help with that.”

  Graham takes a step back. Impatience plucks at his tendons, strums on his nerve-endings.

  “What do you know about Iverson’s death?” Graham counters.

  “Just what you released to the papers,” Doss says. “I talked to her father, of course. But he said only that Shelley looked cold, blue, and that her throat was cut. The same thing we’ve seen from the beginning.”

  “Is he one of your patients?”

  “Shelley’s father? No. We’re neighbors. Well, more than neighbors really. You know Mrs. Iverson was the closest thing to a mother my son knew growing up.”

  Robert Doss is a few years older than Graham, but he remembers as a boy that Robert was a loner, into bow hunting and rebuilding car engines. He remembers long stretches when Robert was missing from school an
d knows now that Doss’ wife wasn’t able to handle island living. She often left, sometimes taking Robert with her, sometimes not. He remembers, also, that she drank to excess and was popular at the local troughs. Which probably explains Robert’s anger. The few times Graham has run into the adult Robert, he noticed the rough edges of his personality.

  “Is Robert in town now?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  Because he knows the island. He’s an angry man with mother issues. He fits, at least

  in part, the psychological profile the RCMP put together. But then, so do hundreds of other men living on the island.

  Graham steers the conversation back to what he needs to know.

  “Was Shelley one of your patients?”

  “I don’t talk about my practice, chief.”

  “That’s not an answer,” Graham says. “This is what I’m talking about, Doss. Withholding information is not honest disclosure.”

  “A person’s privacy is my first oath.”

  “She’s dead. And I can compel the information legally. Of course, that would involve a lot more people. Word would get out. And any privacy Iverson would have had would be gone.”

  Doss wavers. “She was my patient.”

  “Why?”

  “What does that have to do with the KFK?”

  “I’m working a theory. One that starts with the victim and, if we’re lucky, will lead us to the killer.”

  Doss considers this. “That might work.”

  “Thanks for your vote of confidence.” Graham doesn’t hide his sarcasm. “Now how about some real answers. Was Iverson attracted to little boys, Doss? Was that her problem?”

  “Little boys?” In Doss’ frown his lips form a purse. He shakes his head. “No, that wasn’t her problem.”

  “Then what was?”

  Doss takes a moment to think about his response and Graham jumps on him.

  “That. Right there,” he accuses. “Don’t think, Doss. Speak.”

  “She had an active social life.”

  “You mean she slept around?”

  “Never with anyone underage. Not with anyone married, either.”

  “The woman had some scruples.”

  Doss ignores his sarcasm. “She had a lot of one night stands. Some risqué behaviors. She wanted something more meaningful but didn’t know how to go about it.”

  “How do you know she didn’t prey on children?”

  “That’s a whole different disease.”

  “We found evidence in her home that links her to children. Personal items that have nothing to do with school.”

  “I don’t know anything about that.”

  Graham lets that sink in. So far, it fits. They found no evidence of even a casual romantic relationship in her life. Her behavior explains why.

  “There’s something else,” Graham says and he watches Doss closely, willing to bet there’s more truth in his body language than his spoken words. “What do you think about the killer taking on an apprentice?”

  Doss’ face opens in surprise, then he shakes his head immediately, emphatically. “No. This guy wouldn’t let anyone in on his kill. His need for control is too strong. And he wouldn’t want to share the glory.”

  “There’s evidence at the scene of more than one intruder,” Graham reveals, careful to keep the nature of the evidence to himself. “That maybe the second person was a sympathizer.”

  “What kind of evidence?”

  Graham shakes his head. “You know I can’t give you that.”

  “Maybe someone else found her,” Doss suggests. “Left whatever you have when they discovered the body. Left before Shelley’s father arrived. Coming upon a body like that, maybe it made them a little too crazy, or too scared to report it.”

  It doesn’t feel right. That a man or woman living in King’s Ferry would leave a young woman’s dead body unreported. Island living is isolating, it creates neighbors rather than citizens; they’re a community that knows each other’s business, pays discreet attention to the most private troubles and steps in when the time is right to help. This makes a strong argument for the suspect being a mainlander. This and the infrequency of his attacks. A poacher that comes seeking easy kills and leaves with the blood of an innocent victim.

  Or maybe not innocent.

  “Chief?” Doss prompts.

  “That’s what we’re going with. For now,” Graham says.

  They pulled all the passenger lists from the ferries and airplanes that landed on Vancouver Island in the week prior to the murder. This was done in the past. In fact, the theory of the KFK being a foreigner was investigated to the point of exhaustion and the one thing they all seem to agree on is that the guy knows too much about island culture, too much about the island’s geography--enough to move around unnoticed--to be anyone but a local. But Graham doesn’t want to believe it.

  “This evidence you have, does it point to a man or a woman?”

  “A woman,” Graham says. “Maybe a boy.”

  “Someone light on their feet,” Doss says.

  “Something like that.”

  “You had an intruder, Chief, but it wasn’t an accomplice.”

  “You sound pretty sure of that.”

  “I am.” Doss starts moving toward the stairs. He stops before descending. “The KFK works alone, and that’s not likely to change.”

  There’s more. Doss is withholding. Graham can feel it in the elder’s confidence.

  “Who was it, Doss? Who found that crime scene?”

  “Go inside.” Doss nods at the house. “Start shaking the sheets, Chief. You’ll find your answers.”

  Doss turns and takes the stairs, disappearing quickly around the side of the house.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sunday, 6:40 pm

  “What happened with Doss?” his father asks.

  Isaac looks up from his plate. His father picked up chicken, mashed potatoes and coleslaw and Isaac put them out on the table, along with plates and silverware. He taps his fork against the side of his plate and thinks about telling his father that Saul Doss can hypnotize a person by just looking at them. ‘One glance, and he hooks you, dad. You better be careful.’ But his father’s not the kind of guy to put a lot of weight in super powers. Isaac thought about approaching his father with the news that he could zip around the island without bike or spaceship, and a lot faster, too, but decided his father would make him see a therapist. He would blame it on the mess with his mom. He might even think Isaac is as whacked as his mother is.

  So he keeps it to himself.

  “I don’t like him,” Isaac says.

  “Why?” His father hangs his coat over a chair, pulls a carton of milk out of the refrigerator and takes glasses down from a cupboard. “What did he say to you?”

  “That you wanted to talk to him about Ms. Iverson.”

  “He scared you.”

  Isaac shrugs. “He tried to.” He stares at his plate, moves some food around, but doesn’t try to eat.

  “How?”

  “Maybe I was over reacting,” Isaac admits. Though he doesn’t think so. Just because Doss didn’t make an effective strike against his psyche, doesn’t mean he won’t.

  “Look at me, Isaac.” Graham waits until his son lifts his head. “You don’t scare easily.”

  Isaac never lies to his father. He does have secrets, though. A kid has to have a few of those, he figures, but no outright lies.

  “I know. There’s just something about the guy. Something spooky.”

  And Isaac knows what it is: Doss’ ability to force will upon Isaac’s mind.

  He lured Isaac down stairs, to the door, and pressed upon him the will to open it. But that’s as far as Doss got. He couldn’t completely penetrate Isaac’s mind. Isaac didn’t open the door. So Doss isn’t able to take over. But he got close. Too close. What was Doss looking for?

  “He didn’t hurt you?”

  “He didn’t touch me.” Not in the physical sense.

&nb
sp; His father nods, then changes direction.

  “What do you know about Ms. Iverson?”

  Isaac thinks more about why his father is asking then his answer, “She loved nature. Even snakes and possums,” he reveals.

  His father thinks about that so long Isaac wonders if he misunderstood the question.

  He wonders if his father knows Isaac was at Ms. Iverson’s house. He returned with her blood on his clothing, could he have left something of himself behind? Something the forensic techs picked up and traced to Isaac?

  “What else?” his father presses.

  “She had a thing about lighthouses?” Isaac guesses.

  “How do you know that?”

  Isaac frowns and drops his fork. This is definitely an interrogation. He wonders what his father found at Ms. Iverson’s house and why whatever evidence they had led him to Isaac.

  “She went on lighthouse safaris every chance she got,” Isaac reveals. “She told us all about them.”

  His father nods and Isaac thinks his answer must have passed the test.

  “Did you ever see her outside school?”

  He catches his father’s gaze, feels broiled in it. For a moment he doesn’t know how to answer, because the tone in his father’s voice suggests something more than running into his old teacher at the mall.

  “Sure, dad,” Isaac baits. “Friday nights. That was our big date night.” Then he erupts in laughter, but his father is unmoved.

  “You would tell me if she hurt you, son?” his father asks.