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Omens: A Cainsville Novel by Kelley Armstrong (50)

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

I had the day shift on Friday and took a five-minute break to call Tim Marlotte. He had little interest in seeing me again . . . until I told him I’d learned a few things about Jan and Christian’s relationship, and he decided he could find time for me after all. We set up a meeting at his condo.

Our interview was not pretty. I lied, I bullied, and I charmed with an eerie deftness, and in the end he actually thanked me for persuading him to unburden himself.

I don’t believe Marlotte had known that Christian had the hots for his sister, but he did suspect their relationship was a little too close. As the years went by, I think he’d understood more, looked back, and wondered if, subconsciously, he’d known exactly what was going on and had joined Christian in manipulating Jan because it benefited him. Now he knew that deception may have played a role in her death and the death of Peter Evans. Heavy stuff.

To redeem himself, Marlotte was willing to share every vaguely sinister detail he knew about his former best friend’s life. I didn’t even need to prompt him with the “potential serial killer” checklist Evans had provided. The guy already knew the early signs from a college psychology project. Coincidence? Maybe not.

From sleepovers, Marlotte knew that Christian had been a bed-wetter until he seemed to overcome the issue around twelve. He’d never been known to kill small animals, but Marlotte did have a cat go missing once, and he seemed to recall that it happened shortly after the animal scratched Christian’s eye, a minor but extremely painful injury. While he couldn’t recall Christian committing arson, he’d been very keen on camping bonfires and always insisted on tending them. Though he’d only attended community college, he had an above-normal IQ—he just couldn’t seem to achieve the grades to match. As for his family, there were none of the obvious markers—no absent father, no domineering mother, no alcoholic parent, no unstable family life, much less time spent in institutions. His father obviously had a few loose wires, though.

All this meant Christian hit some markers on the checklist. Or grazed them. I suspect many people would. As for occult connections, Marlotte remembered that Christian enjoyed Halloween. He’d liked horror novels as a teen. He’d owned a necklace with a pentacle, bought at a rock concert and never worn because it might upset his mother. In other words, he’d been about as interested in the occult as the average person.

When I left, I hadn’t achieved any amazing breakthroughs, but I hadn’t learned anything that discounted the Christian-killed-his-sister-in-a-jealous-rage theory, either. A decent start.

 • • • 

I got home in time to make a choice. I could have dinner and read Evans’s case files. Or I could go try a karate class. I wasn’t hungry, I wasn’t ready to read those files, and my body screamed for exercise. So I opted for number two.

As I walked into the community center, I was mentally running through the Marlotte interview as if some new lead would magically leap out. I dimly heard the slam of car doors as children spilled out and shrieked past me.

In my half daze, I walked into the gym and saw a dozen figures dressed in white robes. Small figures.

They were all children.

Before I could retreat, a voice called “Liv?” and there was Gordon Webster, the hardware store owner, in a white robe with a black belt. He walked over, grinning.

“Hey,” he said. “Are you joining us?”

I looked around. “I was going to, but I think I’m a little old.”

“No, no. It’s all ages. We do have one adult—And here she is now.”

I turned to see Rose striding down the hall, kids zooming out of her path. Spotting me, she nodded and smiled.

“Olivia,” she said. “I didn’t know you were taking karate.”

“Actually, I was just leaving.”

She took off her jacket, showing her uniform underneath, complete with a brown belt. “Stay. I would love an opponent over four feet tall.”

Gordon pressed, too, and there wasn’t a graceful way to refuse. So I got my lesson. More than my money’s worth, given the time Gordon devoted to me, which had a few of the watching parents grumbling.

Afterward, Rose caught up and walked beside me.

“I’m glad to see you taking my advice on self-defense,” she said. “Particularly now that you’re working alone.”

“I know what it might look like, me showing up at your karate lesson, but I’m not trying to get you to play go-between with Gabriel.”

“I know.”

“You knew what he’d done,” I said as we began our walk to Rowan Street. “That’s why you told me to make him cookies. You thought it might make him feel guilty.”

“It was worth a try. My nephew is a manipulative, scheming, unscrupulous son of a bitch. And those are his good qualities.”

I snorted.

“Oh, I’m quite serious,” she said. “What Gabriel has accomplished in his life is phenomenal, given the circumstances. The problem is that he knows it. Arrogance is blinding, particularly in the young. When he does make a mistake, he’s slow to see it. But he made one with you. He knows that now.”

“Good. Maybe he’ll think twice before setting up paid interviews with other clients.”

Her laugh was so sharp it made me jump.

“Oh, no,” she said. “He won’t. He shouldn’t. He accepts payment for ensuring his clients get a fair shake from the media. There’s nothing wrong with that. His mistake was that you are not a normal client. The balance of power in your relationship skews in your favor. You didn’t want the interview. He should have retreated or, at the very least, apologized.”

“Maybe, but if you expect me to change my mind—”

“I don’t. I’m just offering some friendly advice. If you do decide you want to work with him, don’t wait until you need him.”

“Or he’ll know I’m desperate and the power shifts.”

“Exactly. He wants this case. Badly. He’ll try again and when he does, consider whether you truly mean for this rift to be permanent.” She waved for me to cross Main Street. “Now the subject of Gabriel ends. Come over for tea.”

“I’d rather not—”

“Did you know that my Internet provider recommends changing my wireless access password every month?”

I glowered at her.

“You’ll have tea,” she said.