“But he’s myfather.”
“He’s nobody’s father,” she said. “That man is the devil. And no good could come out of talking to the devil.”
“But, Grandma—”
“It’s not happening.” And she would turn away from me, indicating the conversation was over. Especially compared with my mother, my grandmother was not a warm person. Although sometimes I wonder if she would have been warmer with another grandchild—one whowasn’t the daughter of Oregon’s most notorious serial killer. “Nora, when you’re eighteen, you can go and be his best friend. But while you’re living under my roof, you will not see that man.”
But by the time I was eighteen, I was a lot smarter. I knew what it meant to be Aaron Nierling’s daughter. I understood the full impact of what he had done. And for my own good, I knew it was better to stay away. My grandmother was right. No good could come out of talking tothat man.
And now, after all these years, he’s found a way to convince me to come.
I snag a seat on a flight from the San Francisco airport to Portland first thing in the morning. From Portland, I’ll have to rent a car and drive out to Salem, where the prison is located. The flight will be about an hour and a half, and the drive will be another hour. All told, the trip should take around three hours.
And then I’ll see my father.
I call ahead to make sure I’m not taking a trip for nothing. Part of me is hoping there will be some impenetrable barrier to my going to visit, but the staff at Oregon State Penitentiary informs me that my name is on the approved list of visitors for Aaron Nierling. Although the woman I speak to on the phone seems less than impressed with my intention to visit.
“Aaron Nierling?” Her voice is filled with barely concealed disgust. “You sure you want to see him, hon?”
The words send a shudder through my body. I imagine some moment in the future when somebody is asking thesame exact question about me. Brady sure got the hell out of here fast enough. If I were sent to prison, I can’t think of a single person who would come visit me. “I just have some questions for him,” I tell her. “Um, does he get a lot of visitors?”
She snorts. “I heard when he first got here, there were all sorts of weirdos trying to get in to see him. And reporters, of course. But he wouldn’t see any of them. And now… well, I guess the excitement has died down.” She pauses thoughtfully. “Although there’s that copycat killer out there now, isn’t there?”
I can’t get off the phone fast enough after that.
The next thing I do is something I never, ever do. In all my years as a surgeon, I have never once called in sick. I would rather drag myself to work half-dead than take a sick day. Philip feels the same way. But today, I’m going to take a sick day. Thank God I don’t have any surgeries scheduled. Harper can move around some of my appointments, but this is going to require a direct call to Philip.
I send Philip a text message, asking him to call me right away. Within five minutes, my phone is buzzing.
“Nora,” he says. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”
I already asked him to cover for me yesterday morning. I hate to ask again. But I have to do this. Somebody has been trying to frame me for murder, and I need to know why. “I’m not feeling great today. I’ve been throwing up all morning. Do you think you could see some of my patients for me? I’ll ask Harper to reschedule most of them.”
There’s a long pause on the other line. “Are you really sick or is something else going on?”
“I’m sick,” I say through my teeth.
“Because the other day, you were asking me about a criminal lawyer…”
“Are you going to cover me or not?”
“Of course I will.” He pauses. “Should I be worried about you, Nora?”
“I’m fine. Probably just a twenty-four-hour bug. I’ll be back by tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” he mutters. “Whatever you say.”
It seems like he doesn’t believe me, but it doesn’t matter. What I’m going to do today is none of Philip’s business. It’s better he doesn’t know.
I don’t bring anything besides my purse with me on the trip, because I will not be staying the night. I’m going to visit my father, to talk to him about what’s been going on with me, and then I’m heading straight home. There’s no way I’m spending one more night in Oregon. I’ve already got my return flight booked.
Three hours after my flight takes off, I’m driving up to the Oregon State Penitentiary. I’ve never been to a prison before, much less a maximum-security prison. The building is a pale yellow color that looks more like it should be a schoolhouse instead of a prison. There’s an ominous stop sign right before the entrance that warns me not to go any further without instruction.
I sit there in my rental car, gripping the steering wheel so hard that my knuckles are white. I was too nervous to even put on the music while I was driving. I drove in silence, broken only by the British voice of my GPS directions. For the hundredth time today, I wonder if this is a mistake.
No good could come out of talking to the devil.
I wish my grandmother were still alive. After she changed my name and we moved, she was the only person who knew my secret. She was the only person who could have given me advice.
