But what can I do?
I can’t drop it in my trashcan. Tomorrow is Friday and trash day isn’t until Monday. I don’t want a rotting hand in my trash the entire weekend, especially with that detectivesniffing around. Especially because my fingerprints are all over the scrubs. What if Barber manages to get a warrant to search my home? I’d be finished.
I suppose I could get the fireplace going and dispose of it in there, but I’ve never actually used it the entire time I’ve lived here. If I do something that attracts the fire department somehow, I’ll be in big trouble. And who knows how long traces of bones would remain in my fireplace.
I stare at the plastic bag on my kitchen counter. I’m beginning to feel like I should have called the detective from the beginning. I could have told him everything. I could’ve told him about my father’s letters and that I think somebody’s setting me up. If the detective finds the evidence in my house on his own, it will be a lot harder to explain it than if I hand it over myself.
But I don’t entirely trust Barber. Every time he looks at me, I see his mistrust. I’m the daughter of a man who murdered countless women. I’m a surgeon, who cuts into people on a daily basis. The connection between me and the two dead girls is only growing stronger. I don’t want to give him an excuse to arrest me. And if I tell him about the blood that I wiped off the floor in my basement, he almost certainly will take me in. Even if he can’t make the charges stick, the damage to my professional reputation may be irreparable.
No, I had the right idea. I’ve got to get rid of this hand.Now.
I tug my jacket back on and go out to my garage with the plastic bag. The car still smells terrible and I have tokeep all the windows cracked open as I pull out on the street, even though the wind whips at my face. I head south on El Camino Real, not entirely sure where I’m going. I’ve got to find a dumpster. Something completely unconnected to me.
After driving for about twenty minutes, I come across a Carl’s Jr. off the side of the road. I can’t remember the last thing I’ve eaten, but the thought of one of those greasy fast-food burgers with creamy sauce dripping off of it makes me sick to my stomach. I crane my neck and see the lights are out inside the restaurant—closed.
I pull into the parking lot, which is empty. Looks like the staff is long gone. So are the customers. I’m sure there’s a dumpster behind the restaurant, and there will be no one there but me.
I sit in my car for several minutes, working up the nerve to get out. I wonder if this is how my father felt when he had to dispose of one of his victims. Was he ever scared? Did he worry about getting caught? Or was he just wound up in the excitement of it all?
This isn’t exciting. Not even a little bit.
I squeeze the steering wheel with my fists, giving myself a pep talk. It’s going to be okay. Nobody will see me. Nobody is here. It’s just me.
It’s safe.
I get out of the car with the plastic bag clutched in my hand. I want to stuff it inside my coat, but the thought ofthat thingbeing close to my body is just too sickening. I spot the dumpster right behind the restaurant—the green metal bin is already filled almost to the brim with trash bags. Itwill probably be emptied tomorrow. And then the hand will be in a trash heap at the dump, where nobody will ever find it or connect it to me.
I walk briskly in the direction of the dumpster. The smell of grease and garbage intermingle as I grow closer. At least it’s better than lavender. The lid is propped up and there are bags stuffed into the bin, but there’s still room for my little plastic bag. I slip the plastic bag into a little gap between two larger bags.
I take a step back, examining the trash bin. At a glance, you can’t see the plastic bag. It’s been subsumed by the rest of the smelly garbage. And tomorrow it will all be gone—off to the local dump. I let out a breath and I’m about to walk away when I hear the sharp voice from behind me:
“What are youdoing?”
Chapter 36
My knees almost buckle beneath me.
I thought I was alone. I thought everyone was gone for the day. I was wrong. And now…
Oh God.
I turn around in the direction of the voice. It’s a man—a boy, really, although taller than I am—wearing a bright red T-shirt with a yellow star on it. His nearly hairless arms are folded across his chest, and he’s so skinny I could wrap my fingers entirely around his biceps. He’s an employee, probably locking up for the night. I don’t know why his car isn’t in the lot outside, but it doesn’t matter. He’s here.
The question is, how much did he see? Did he see me throwing away the bag or did he just notice me standing here?
I look up at his unlined face, smeared with acne on his cheeks and forehead. He doesn’t look like he’s suspicious. More like he’s curious.
I square my shoulders. Aaron Nierling was an incredible liar—he kept his crimes from everybody whoknew him, including the people who lived with him. And I am his daughter. So if I can’t deceive a scrawny teenager working at a fast-food restaurant, it would be a disgrace.
“I was eating here earlier,” I explain. “I lost my sunglasses. So I thought I would come back and look for them.”
The boy’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “In thedumpster?”
“Wishful thinking, I guess. Did anyone turn in a pair of sunglasses?”
He shakes his head thoughtfully. “No. I’ve been here all evening and I didn’t see any.”
“Oh well.” I sigh sadly. “I guess they’re gone forever.”
