The Devil's Closet Page 13

  If I had been confused and unable to ask Eric for a divorce, I wasn’t anymore. It was so utterly clear.

  For a long time I had convinced myself all that had gone on in the past year was entirely my fault. The hard reality was that even if Michael didn’t exist, Eric still would’ve fallen for Jordan. I saw problems in our marriage now that I had never seen before, years of them. This entire fiasco had opened my eyes, and we were both to blame. Equally.

  I couldn’t bear the thought of going home and sleeping in our bed, so I bought a bottle of whiskey at the nearest liquor store and drove to a park close to home.

  For the next hour, I alternately cried and shook, drinking half the bottle before I acknowledged that I was entirely too drunk, not to mention too upset, to drive home. I didn’t know what else to do but call Michael. He answered immediately, and I was so drunk and teary I could barely talk. I did my best to explain where I was and soon ended up putting the phone down and letting my head fall on the steering wheel. I was barely conscious by the time Michael arrived and put me in his car.

  When we got back to Michael’s room, he carried me in and laid me on the bed, kneeling down beside me. I opened my eyes and saw three of him. From all three views, I could see his face had bruised quite nicely from the fight with Eric. He tried to ask what had put me in such a state, but I was simply too distraught, and drunk, to answer.

  “I think I’m gonna get sick.” I tried to get up, but needed Michael’s assistance to the bathroom. I begged him to leave, but he wouldn’t.

  For at least the next hour, between crying jags, I threw up. Michael kept holding my hair back, taking a cold washcloth and wiping my forehead off while my head hung lifeless in the toilet. When he wasn’t tending to me from the neck up, he sat on the bathroom floor and rubbed my back, all the time not saying a word. The last thing I remember was the inside view of the toilet bowl.

  When I woke up, I was in bed and dressed in one of his T-shirts. I felt like I had been run over by a truck, but even that wasn’t enough to cover my embarrassment. The room was bright, and I could see Michael sitting on the edge of the bed looking down at me. I grabbed a pillow to cover my eyes. And my pounding head.

  “Michael,” I said hoarsely, “I’m sorry.”

  He actually laughed a little. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, CeeCee. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  “Why do I have your T-shirt on?” If we slept together last night, I’d missed it entirely.

  “You threw up all over yourself, clothes included.”

  Still under the pillow, I groaned. How humiliating. There’s nothing like breaking in a new relationship with an all-night throw-up marathon.

  I asked how badly soiled my jeans were, and he said they were still wet because he had rinsed them out. Since they were all I had to wear, my options were limited.

  “Honestly, just take it easy for a while and get some sleep.”

  I insisted that he take me back to the park to pick up my car. I really needed to get home. Michael winced at that.

  “Michael, I need to go home to get some things. Eric should still be awake. I’m planning to leave there today, at least until he can make other arrangements,” I said defiantly.

  I finally had to tell him what happened last night and that what upset me most was all the guilt I had been feeling, mainly because Eric was making me feel guilty. Michael simply held me. No questions, no judgments. When we were ready to leave, he handed me his room card.

  “You are coming back here, right?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “I’m not even gonna answer that. I’ll tell Kincaid you won’t be in today, and I insist you come back and get some sleep. I’ll check in on you later.”

  Michael dropped me off at my car in the park. When I got into the driver’s seat, my stomach wanted to heave again. The entire inside of the vehicle smelled like stale whiskey. Somehow, I held it in (not that I imagined there was much left to throw up), before I headed home to face off with Eric.

  He was sitting in the living room, waiting for me, his face looking as bad as Michael’s. Seeing him, I was reminded of last night’s scene between him and Jordan. As bad as I felt, I was more than ready to have it out at long last. The endless waiting would finally end.

  I walked in and sat down in a chair that faced the couch. For a few moments, we just stared at each other silently. All I could see was his anger.

  “Want to tell me where you’ve been?”

  “Yes, actually I do. I was with Michael.” There it was, out in the open.

  He was surprised to get such a bold response, and somehow found the words to throw the doors wide open.

  “Did you sleep with him?”

  “Not last night, no. Ask me about the other night I didn’t come home and you might get a different answer.” I was pushing it, painfully and deliberately, but not without a strong sense of relief.

  He stood up. “What the hell is the matter with you!”

  I unloaded. I told him everything I had seen and heard last night between him and Jordan. It was now hard to stop talking. I spewed about how this entire time I had been confused about things, but no more.

  “I saw the light last night, Eric. It was in the form of a short brunette. All this time you tried to blame Michael for our problems when you were just as much, if not more, to blame….” I paused before dropping the bomb. Even after the scene I witnessed last night, I felt my heart thud and my stomach flip at what I was about to say. “Eric… I’m filing for divorce. I’ve had enough and I want out.”

  To my surprise, he sat down heavily. It was as if someone had just driven a knife in his chest. Tears were beginning to roll down his cheeks.

  “CeeCee, no, we can fix this….”

  “It’s over, Eric. You’re just as guilty as I am.”

  I expected some combination of protest, silence, and hostility, but surprisingly, Eric began simply to talk and confess his relationship with Jordan. To an extent, I was right. He had never gotten over what happened last year and it permanently affected our relationship. Even though Michael and I hadn’t slept together, Eric was wounded just the same. So when he met Jordan and she thought the sun rose and set with him, not only did she make him feel good but also his self-respect returned.

  “With you, I always wondered if you were thinking about Michael. Every time you were quiet, or staring into space, or asleep and dreaming, I wondered.”

  He didn’t have to do that with Jordan; the slate was clean. By the time he was finished, we were both drained. Now wasn’t the best time to figure things out, as far as the house and kids went, so we agreed to talk about those details later. I already knew we would be sharing custody of the girls. Neither of us would ever want to keep them away from the other. No matter what the relationship was between Eric and me, the four of us would always remain a family.

  We would have to take things one day at a time. Eric came right out and told me to keep the house since it was the girls’ home, but that he did need some time to find a place. This was not a problem. I told him I had already made arrangements to stay somewhere until he did. Despite knowing the obvious answer, he never asked where. As I went upstairs to shower and pack a couple of bags, Eric grabbed me and held me tight. Even after seeing him with Jordan last night, we both hurt terribly. We never imagined ever being at this point.

  He remained downstairs while I showered and got some clothes together. I composed myself enough to call my mother, explaining the situation as briefly as possible. I asked her to keep the girls another week until we sorted out arrangements here. Eric and I agreed we would tell the girls together. My mother was reduced to tears and wanted to know more, but I wasn’t in the mood to get into it. Actually, I wasn’t sure I was capable of talking about it any further.

  Eric was gone when I came back downstairs. I assumed it was too hard for him to watch me leave. I wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of saying good-bye to him forever either.

>   When I got back to the hotel, I called Michael, who answered his phone before I could even hear it ring. It hadn’t occurred to me that he toyed with the notion that I might back out once I was face-to-face with Eric. Hearing the relief in his voice when I told him I was in his room said it all. I spelled out the entire conversation with Eric and when I was done he remained quiet for a while.

  “CeeCee, please make sure this is what you truly want, and that it’s best for you. I didn’t pressure you, did I? I don’t want you to resent me later.” It was a bit late if that was so, but thankfully it wasn’t the case.

  “Michael, don’t be ridiculous. This is what I’ve always wanted. It just took me this long to admit it.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We never really communicated, Michael. Have you ever heard the saying how someone can talk for an hour and say nothing? That was Eric and me. I can’t remember ever sitting down and really talking. It was always about work, the girls, and saying I love you. If I had a problem, he’d say ‘I’m sorry, I love you’ and walk away. You know how I was after Murder Mountain, desperately needing someone to talk to and understand what was happening to me. Eric was always apprehensive about discussing it because Murder Mountain reminded him of you and me. I felt very alone—more than I ever have in my entire life—although I’ve never admitted it to myself until now. We neglected each other emotionally. It was like we were together the last three or four years of our marriage for comfort reasons.” I sighed. “It’s hard to explain. And maybe the most painful of it all is that I’d heard rumors over the years, but never gave them any thought. Now, I question whether this is the only affair Eric has ever had.”

  “Don’t do that to yourself, Cee. Maybe you’ll find out, maybe you won’t, but don’t drive yourself crazy with what happened in the past. Right now, I am here for you, and I’ll do whatever it takes, or wait for however long it takes, to help you through this… I love you, kiddo.”

  We said good-bye with his promise to check on me still good. I was physically and emotionally exhausted. I must have slept for ten hours at least, because when I woke up to Michael shaking me, it was dark out.

  “CeeCee, you need to get up and come with me. There’s a problem.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  I was disoriented. I had slept so soundly I wasn’t quite sure where I was, let alone what time and day it was.Michael didn’t help. He was digging through my suitcase, grabbing clothes and tossing them at me. I looked at the clock and saw it wasn’t as late as I had thought.

  My sleep beginning to fade, I remembered the day’s events and why I was here, though it still didn’t answer what Michael was doing.

  “Michael, slow down. I’m barely awake yet.”

  “We don’t have time.”

  “Well, I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s happening.”

  “Another body’s turned up.”

  “Who?” I didn’t think I had slept through another Amber Alert; at least I hoped not.

  “I’ll explain later. Move it. Let’s go.”

  I dressed, clumsily and quickly, and followed Michael out the door. I assumed we were going to the crime scene, although he still wouldn’t respond to my questions. When we pulled into the department lot, I was still mystified.

  “I thought we’d be going to the crime scene?”

  “We are—kind of. Just follow me.”

  It wasn’t like Michael to keep me out of the loop, so his behavior was puzzling. Downstairs by the crime laboratory, the hallway outside was a circus. Everyone was there talking with—and over—one another, but the scene quieted down considerably when they saw me. Now I was beginning to get unnerved.

  My first thought was that something bad happened in my family. I started picking up my pace, walking ahead of Michael, ignoring the other agents and detectives.

  Once in front of the lab doors, I shoved them so hard, they slammed against the wall when they opened. I followed voices to one of the rooms on the far side, where I saw the sheriff first, outside the examination room door.

  “Sheriff, what’s going on?”

  “CeeCee.” He pointed into the room. “Take a look.”

  Inside, spread out and lying on a table, were bones; human bones. I learned that earlier, while Michael was leaving for the day, walking in the parking lot toward his car, a small boy, maybe nine or ten, was waiting for him holding a box. The boy said a man had paid him ten dollars to give the box to Michael. The man told the child which car to stand near, described Michael, and said to make sure not to leave until handing over the box.

  Other agents had the boy and his parents upstairs, interviewing the child in hopes of getting a solid description of the suspect. The box contained a pile of bones, one red ribbon, and a dirty old My Size doll shoe.

  I still wasn’t catching on as to the urgency of my arrival, or why I needed to know about it right this minute. After all, it wasn’t my show anymore. It was hard to get a grip as to who was in charge. I said this loudly and defiantly to Michael, and to the supervising agent standing next to him.

  “CeeCee, he left you a note inside the box,” Michael said quietly.

  “Me?” Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe.

  Michael led me to the next room and closed the door behind us. Sitting on the table right in front of me, enclosed in a clear plastic evidence bag, was a large yellow piece of paper.

  I walked over to the table and stared down on the note written in block letters in black ink. It said:

  MY DEAREST CECELIA CATHERINE GALL AGHER,

  PAY AT TENTION, CECELIA!THE KING COMMANDED, AND THEY BROUGHT DANIEL AND CAST HIM INTO THE DEN OF LIONS, AND INTO THE DEN DID DANIEL FALL. AND THE KING SAID TO DANIEL: THY GOD, WHOM THOU ALWAYS SERVEST, HE WILL DELIVER THEE.

  THAT IS THE ANSWER YOU SEEK, CECELIA.

  BY THE KING’S COMMANDMENT, THOSE MEN WERE BROUGHT WHO HAD ACCUSED DANIEL: AND THEY WERE CAST INTO THE LIONS’ DEN, THEY AND THEIR CHILDREN AND THEIR WIVES.

  TELL ME, CECELIA, HAVE YOUR CHILDREN BEEN CAST YET?

  TELL THE FBI THAT IF YOU ARE NOT NAMED IN CHARGE OF MY IMPENDING CAPTURE, ONE CHILD WILL BE TAKEN FOR EVERY DAY THEY DO NOT. I’LL BE WATCHING THE 6 O’CLOCK NEWS. AND SO IT BEGINS…

  The letter wasn’t signed. It didn’t matter because I was already walking toward the door when Michael grabbed me.

  “CeeCee, I already have the Cleveland PD standing outside your mom’s door. The girls are okay and will remain safe. I promise you nothing will happen to them.”I jerked my arm away. “You waited hours before showing me this? What is the matter with you, Michael?”

  Within minutes of reading the letter, I was in my car, Michael in the passenger seat insisting he make the fifty-minute drive with me. I’ll be damned if my daughters will be threatened, and even though I knew Michael had ensured their safety, I had to see for myself.

  To ease my mind, I had spoken to my mother just as I left the parking lot of the department. Initially, she was highly agitated, understandably, about the two uniformed officers planted outside her door. But having been the wife of a cop, she understood all too well why and what needed to be done to keep her and the girls safe.

  I knew the letter would be examined by forensic scientists, handwriting experts, and agents who specialized in decoding messages. However, they would never figure out the full answer. I, unfortunately, understood some of it already.

  “Daniel 6:16,” I said softly.

  “What?” Michael asked.

  “The passage the killer referred to in the letter. It’s Daniel 6:16, and part of Daniel 6:24, I think, in the Bible.”

  “How did you know that?” Michael sounded amazed.

  “Twelve years of Catholic school. Anyway, if memory serves, there was a part in the letter that said something like ‘into the den did Daniel fall.’ That’s not part of the scripture. The killer added that himself.”

  Our killer was more creative than any of us first thought. In the letter, he was implying that Albert
Whitfield was Daniel, a man wrongfully accused.

  But there was more to it, I was positive. The extra line the killer added meant something specific, but I just couldn’t put my finger on it. The last biblical passage frightened me more than a little as well.

  “Michael, where’s Sean?” I asked, referring to his son.

  “At home. Why?”

  “The last passage refers to Daniel’s accusers and their children being thrown into the lions’ den. I’ll get into the rest later, but consider yourself an accuser in the killer’s eyes.”

  Michael didn’t want to admit to the horror of that thought. The killer was angry that the FBI had fingered the wrong man. He wanted the limelight and didn’t want to share it with anyone else. Therefore, the ones who had accused the wrong man would pay.

  “That’s taking it too far,” Michael said, still not admitting to himself his son might be in danger. “He doesn’t know anything about me.”

  I just glanced at Michael and kept driving. After a moment or two, he grabbed his cell phone and called his ex-wife’s house to make certain the child was OK. Clearly and definitively, he told his ex-wife to take Sean to her brother’s house until she heard back. Michael talked to his son for a while and hung up.

  “Why did you tell her to go to her brother’s house?”

  “He’s a Cleveland cop.”

  “Oh.”

  We made the rest of the trip in silence, except for the one call I made to Eric. I explained what was going on and said that I would be bringing the girls back. We agreed that he would take several days off and head with them to our condominium in North Carolina until he heard from me.

  One thing I can say about Eric is that he would, without a doubt, protect our girls with his life. The call was quick and to the point, which was fine since I didn’t need any more emotional drama right now.

  It was late by the time we arrived, and I knew the girls would be in bed. My mother and stepfather lived on the seventeenth floor of a high-rise condominium on the coast of Lake Erie, just outside of downtown.