Page 96 of Guess Again
“Don’t be offended,” Ethan said. “I haven’t checked my phone in weeks.”
“And it looks like you haven’t shaved in a year.”
“I haven’t.”
“Can we talk inside?”
Ethan opened the door to the cabin and waved the governor in.
“Sure you don’t want a beer?” Ethan asked after they were inside.
“I’m good.”
Mark sat on the couch. Ethan took a spot in the adjacent chair.
“So, Governor, what brings you all the way up north?”
Mark pulled a folded newspaper from his back pocket and dropped it on the coffee table.
“Sunday morning’sJournal,” Mark said.
Ethan lifted his chin to get a look at the headline.
After Thirty Years, the Lake Michigan Black Heart Killer is Back
Ethan slowly reached for the paper.
“A body showed up on the shores of Lake Michigan Friday morning. The woman’s throat was slashed, and a black heart was tattooed on her breast.”
Ethan skimmed the article.
“The story’s on every local newscast and starting to get picked up nationally,” Mark said.
Ethan looked up from the paper. “You think it’s Francis?”
“Yes. And that’s why I’m here, Ethan. He left something with this woman’s body to let us know it’s him.”
“Other than the black heart tattoo?”
“Yes. The medical examiner found this in the victim’s mouth.”
Mark handed Ethan a photo. It was of a crumpled piece of paper that was flattened and resting on a metal autopsy table. Neat block writing flowed across it.
I KNOW YOU’LL COME LOOKING.
DO BETTER THAN YOUR FATHER, ETHAN.
“I’m creating a task force. I want you to head things up.”
Ethan looked up from the photo.
“I want you to take the lead, Ethan. Francis has made this personal, and I want you to find him before more bodies start dotting the shoreline.”
Ethan ran a hand through his disheveled hair, and then down along his long beard. The taste of Schlitz hung in his throat. The photos of his father posing with Francis Bernard and the women they’d killed flashed through his mind. And his father’s voice from the recording echoed in his ears. For an entire year, Ethan had struggled to process what he’d discovered in that storage unit. Despite the irrefutable proof, some part of his mind refused to believe that his father could have been Francis Bernard’s partner. He had locked up the storage unit the previous summer and kept the contents to himself. But now he was at a crossroads. In one direction was denial; in the other was a collision course with the truth.
Images of the life he had created played through his thoughts. Memories of medical school and the ER where he had carved out a promising career and a happy existence. Where he was admired by the staff, respected by his colleagues, and beloved by his patients. No one had to know about the photos of his father. No one had to see the videos or listen to the recordings. He could take the photos and the cassettes and burn them. He could go back to the hospital and leave the past behind. Perhaps he had left his old life at the DCI for reasons greater than the ones he thought he understood. Perhaps leaving had been a subconscious way to preserve the memory of his father.
Ethan shook his head. “I’m just an ER doctor, Governor.”
