“I’m on my way down.”

THE INTERIOR OF CAITLIN’S car is twenty degrees warmer than the outside air, but the voice of the disturbed woman coming from Caitlin’s Treo chills me more deeply than any wind. Katy Royal Regan’s voice as she accuses her psychiatrist of using her for sex sounds like that of a little girl shaken awake in the midst of a nightmare.

“Let me skip ahead,” Caitlin says, fiddling with the phone’s controls. “Right here. She’s talking about the Bone Tree that Henry wrote about in his journals. That’s a killing ground that dates back to Indian and slave times, but the Klan also used it, and they dumped bodies there. Just listen to this shit.”

Caitlin presses PLAY.

“Who took Pooky to that tree?”

“I was always going to tell,” says the childlike voice. “But I have to wait until Daddy passes. Then he can’t hurt me.”

“Katy—”

“Shh! He might hear us. Daddy can hear from miles away sometimes. You know … before Henry came and talked to me, all this was blank. Everything had fallen down Dr. Borgen’s hole. But then it started to come back. First the bathtub … Daddy killed Mama in the bath. Did you know that? I thought he was just talking to her—and he was. But later I figured it out. He was holding her head under the water while he talked.” There was a pause. “Then, when you called a few minutes ago, I knew.”

“Knew what?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s too late.”

“What do you mean? Too late for what?”

“For me. For Katy-Poo.”

“Jesus,” I mutter. “This woman belongs in a hospital.”

“Oh, yeah. Just listen.”

“Katy. Whatever you were waiting to tell, you can tell me. Now. No one will hurt you anymore. I’ll make sure of that.”

“Will you promise not to tell?”

“Yes. I promise.”

“Cross your heart and hope to die?”

“Stick a needle in my eye.”

“Daddy did it.”

I clench the door handle so hard my arm shakes.

“Did what?” Caitlin presses. “What did Daddy do, Katy?”

“Like Jesus.”

“Whoa,” I breathe, shuddering at the implication of these words. She must be talking about the crucifixion that Henry has always heard rumors about.

“Did your father kill Pooky, Katy?”

“She nodded right here,” Caitlin says in a taut voice.

“And Dr. Leland. He killed Mr. Henry … and that colored nurse, too.”

“Oh my God. Does she say Viola’s name?”

“No. She slides out of her chair right about here. Totally unconscious.”

“Katy?” Caitlin cries on the recording.

The sound of a blunt impact follows.

“Katy! Katy Regan! Can you hear me?” Silence. “How long have you been drinking? Did you take something?”

I hear a groan but no coherent words. Then there’s a bang, and heavy footsteps on hardwood.

“Right here I saw the empty bottle of pills by the fireplace.”