“You sent me a photo.”

“A photo? What photo?”

“Of Julianne. And a message that you wanted to talk. I’m here. Let’s talk. I want to know why you killed her.”

“It wasn’t me. I didn’t send you anything.”

Neeson took a sip of his coffee. “Do you want a cup? I made enough for both us.”

“No. You need to leave.”

“Timothy, do you know anything about coffee burns? Steaming coffee can cause second-degree—even third-degree—burns if enough of it is poured onto just the right spot. Especially if it happens slowly enough. It’ll veritably melt the skin away.”

“Please. I don’t know how to help you.”

“They never found your father, did they, Timothy?”

And then a thought. And with it, a chill. “You? Are you my dad?”

“No.” Neeson laughed slightly. “No. I’m not.”

Timothy wasn’t sure if he should believe this man or not.

He’d been just a boy when his father disappeared, and the actual memories of him were difficult to separate from the fantasies he’d overlaid on them since his childhood—fabled dreams of a dad who was there for him, who loved him, who didn’t hurt anyone. Not ever.

Though the voices that wouldn’t let him alone told Timothy that he’d killed his dad, drowned him, he didn’t believe them. His father might still be living out there somewhere.

“Do you know who he is?” he asked Neeson. “Do you know where my dad is?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Listen to me.” Timothy lowered the gun slightly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about with messages and photos. I didn’t send you anything. Now, you better leave, or I’m going to call the police.”

“Well, then.” Neeson held out his cell. “Go ahead. Call them. Tell them about Julianne.”

Timothy didn’t move.

“I didn’t think so.” He pocketed the phone. “Where is she, Timothy? What did you do with her body?”

“What?”

“Don’t play games with me. I’m not in the mood, and I don’t have time to waste. Where is Julianne Springman’s body?”

Take him to the basement. The grave is already dug. Shoot him and put him in there. Then cover him up. Bury him. You can—

“No!” Timothy shouted. “I won’t do it.”

Neeson studied him, then said, “You really do hear them, don’t you?”

“Hear who?”

“The voices. The ones you told Dr. Percival about.”

Oh. So that’s where he got the information.

Could Percival be your dad? Could he be the killer?

“What did he tell you?” Timothy said.

Neeson didn’t answer him, just said, “Julianne is the one who gave you my email address, isn’t she? Before you killed her.”

“I just want you to leave.”

“Show me Julianne, and I will.”

Enough.

End this. Do it.

“She’s upstairs.” He pointed. “It’s this way.”

++++