The Final Victim, Part Two

Back in my car I tried again to call Williams again. If he didn’t answer, I was definitely going home. On the fourth buzz I started a sigh of relief and turned on the motor. Then—

“Jurgen? What’s going on?”

Damn it. I turned the car off. “Mr. Williams? You, uih, left out some information. I’m not sure I can continue with this case.” I usually try to hide my annoyance when clients lie to me. I didn’t now.

He groaned. “Those friends of his are in danger—”

“So am I. You didn’t tell me about Meyer killing people. I had to find out from his friends. They’re terrified of him. And I’m pretty scared too.”

“I’m sorry.” He coughed. “It’s just that they need to be warned—”

“Why not a phone call? Text? Facebook message? I was okay with face to face because you’re paying for my time and mileage, but not when I might run into a killer. One who can change his face.” I paused. “Another thing you forgot to tell me.”

“I didn’t think you’d believe me.”

I sighed. “That doesn’t matter. You have to tell me everything, or I can’t do a good job.”

“Meyer—his father could do the same thing. He died 20 years ago, when Meyer was a kid.”

“Wait—his father?”

“Yeah. I’m—I’m actually his stepfather. Maybe that’s why Meyer was—troubled growing up. I thought he was doing okay, but sometimes when he got angry, he, uh, changed. Became someone else.”

“You don’t mean just his personality?”

“No. His—his face changed. His body. At first I thought it was just hormones, but then one day, he got suspended from school and he was furious, and I saw him turn into his high school principal. A woman. A lot taller, and, uh—a woman. He started trashing our living room until he calmed down and changed back again.” 

He coughed again. “I stopped—I guess I pulled away from him then. His mother, too. She died his first year of college, and I think Meyer somehow thought it was my fault, along with me marrying her after his father died, and everything else. I just thought it was typical acting out when he was growing up, you know? Until I saw him change.”

“So who did he kill?”

“He never hurt anyone. I watched him at home, but I couldn’t watch him there at Strode College. He killed, uh, a professor, and three other people in the house they were all living in. The police got him, but he was clearly insane, legally insane, so he went to Loomis. Just today I found out he’s escaped. And I think he may be going back for the rest of them.”

“Why? Why can’t you just call them?”

“They wouldn’t believe me! I tried to talk to them when—when it happened, but Meyer told them all kinds of lies about me. I don’t think they would listen. I thought if it was someone else—”

Even though I was telling them that Meyer’s father—stepfather—had hired me? Well, clients don’t always think straight. And this guy was obviously not on the right side of rational. “Why would he come after them?”

“They all know about Meyer’s—ability. One of them told me, but he never told anyone else. Not the police, not the doctors. He wanted to keep it secret, I think that’s why—he did what he did. How many people have you talked to?”

“Brett Martin and Allison McCoy. They’re across the street from each other.”

“There’s only three left then? Look—” he gulped for breath. “I’ll pay you double. Whatever you want. Just warn them. Then go home. Be safe.”

We could use the money. On the other hand, Rachel might kill me if Meyer didn’t. But I had pepper spray in the glove compartment, and I can run pretty fast when I’m scared. “All right. I’ll try, at least.”

“Thank you. Be careful.” He hung up.

“Careful is my middle name,” I said to the dead phone. Along with “tenacious,” “stubborn,” and “stupid”—Rachel’s favorite—and my real middle name, Hale. I opened the glove compartment for the spray, and then checked my phone for the next address. Just a few blocks away.

I didn’t call Rachel. Maybe I would when I got to the house, or later. She knew where I was, and if anything happened to me she’d be furious—Meyer or Satan or whoever wouldn’t be able to protect themself from her wrath—but at least I wouldn’t have to listen to her yelling at me. Until later.

If there was a later. I shuddered and started the car.

 

The next house was a small bungalow. The rain had slacked off a bit, but I kept my hat tight on top of my hand as I came up the walk, one hand clutching the pepper spray in my jacket. I climbed onto the porch and rang the bell.

A man opened the door. “Yeah?”

“I’m looking for Katia Welles? My name is Tom Jurgen.” I showed my ID. “It’s about Meyer Williams.”

He took my card and closed the door. I waited, wondering if he wasn’t coming back, but a moment later the door opened again. A short young woman in jeans and a Strode College sweatshirt looked out, the man behind her. Husband? Boyfriend? “What is it?”

She had brown hair tied back in a ponytail, thin glasses, and a gold chain around her neck. I introduced myself again. “I’ve been hired by Charles Williams—Meyer’s father—to let you know that Meyer’s escaped. Charles thinks he might be here in Strode Prairie.”

Katia looked over her shoulder. “Brad? You hear anything about that?”

He shook his head. He was taller than Katia, with frizzy hair and a T-shirt for a band I’d never heard of. “No, but—who’s this Meyer guy?”

Katia looked past me to the street. Then she opened the door. “Come in.”

They led me to a small living room with thick shag capeting. A bong sat on a table, and I smelled pot in the air. A cat was curled up on a bean bag chair. Katia took a swig of wine from a glass, and Brad poured her more. He held out the bottle. “You?”

“I’m fine.” I wanted a drink, but I needed a clear mind more. 

They sat on a futon couch. I perched on the edge of a sofa with upholstery wearing thin. “What can you tell me about Meyer Williams?”

“Not too much.” Katia yawned. “We all lived together in off-campus housing, this apartment building on the edge of town. He was quiet, kept to himself.” She giggled. “:That’s just like what they say about every serial killer, right? ‘He was quiet.’” She yawned again. “He was okay. Kind of creepy, but not too weird. Just sneaking looks at the girls, trying to see us naked or in our underwear—we had to share bathrooms. Didn’t have a girlfriend of his own. He majored in, uh, math, I think. Or maybe physics. I don’t know.” 

Her eyes drifted to the bong on the table, as if she wanted a hit. I said, “What about the people he killed?”

Brad tensed up. Katia shivered and gulped some wine. “Juan was—he was having an affair with a prof at the college. Ms. Nevins. Valerie, I think, Val Nevins. Anyway, we all knew about it. He was pretty stupid about it, talking about it all the time, and I could see it bugged Meyer. He could never get a girl. You could tell it bugged him. And Juan didn’t care about Ms. Nevins getting in trouble or anything. Anyway . . .”

Katia sat back. “One night Juan brought her to the house. I thought it was crazy. She seemed nervous, but he kept telling her it was all right, she wouldn’t get in trouble, and she went upstairs with him.”

She hesitated. “Then, maybe a half hour later? Juan came in the house.”

Brad looked confused. “Wait, you said—”

“Right! He was already there!” Her eyes went wide. “And we were like—it was me and Mindy, we were just watching TV—we just looked at him, and he asked what was wrong, and we told him . . .”

She hugged her arms across herself. “He—he ran upstairs, and then we heard screams. I ran upstairs, and Juan came running out the room, holding this knife, this big knife, with blood all over it, and all over him. Megan came out of her room, and he—he—he stabbed her . . .” 

Now she was crying. “He just stabbed her, right in the throat. And then Alex came out of his room and yelled something, and Juan turned and stabbed him in the stomach, two or three times, until Alex fell over on the floor. And then he turned and looked at me—”

She grabbed for a tissue but kept talking. “And he wasn’t Juan. It was Meyer. Holding the knife, blood all over his shirt. He saw me, and I backed up and fell down the stairs. I could have broken my neck. He ran down the stairs and I was sure he was going to kill me and Mindy, but he just ran out the front door. And when we went up to the room, it was Ms. Nevins, and Juan, and she was on the bed, naked, and Juan was on the floor next to her.”

Katia had to stop. She blew her nose twice and then wiped her eyes. “It was—horrible.”

“I’m so sorry.” I said. To both of them.

“The thing is . . .” She hesitated. “Meyer told us he could change faces. We didn’t believe him, until one time he changed into, uh, William Shatner.” Despite her memories of murder, she giggled. “It was—too weird. We didn’t know what to think. So we forgot about it, I guess. That’s what I did. When I saw him there—when I figured out what happened . . .”

“Did you tell the police? That Meyer turned into Juan to bring Ms. Nevins home?”

She shook her head. “It was just too crazy. We just said we heard screaming, and Meyer came out with the knife. They caught him a few blocks away.” Her head drooped down, her shoulders shaking. 

Brad put an arm around her, glaring at me. “Are you done?”

I stood. “Thanks. I’m sorry for bothering you.”