another wall. He pointed to the printed emails from the Love2CMurder domain. “This is a list of what serial killers do. Number one, they take trophies. That’s what Beckey’s attacker is doing. He stalks them. He takes something from them. Then he attacks them and makes it look like an accident.”
“Wait,” Faith said. “What do you mean stalk?”
“Weeks before they died, every single one of these women told a family member or friend or co-worker that they felt strange, as if someone was watching them.”
Faith considered this new information. She could think of many explanations, not least of all that being a woman in the world made you feel vulnerable sometimes. “That’s not on your list of questions, to ask them about a feeling of being watched.”
“I know enough that you always hold something back. I let them tell me.”
“They just told you?”
“I was careful.” He pointed to the Love2CMurder emails. “This guy is a retired police detective. One of the rare good ones. He’s been helping me investigate. He said that the biggest mistake women make is not listening to their instincts.”
Faith scanned the emails. DMasterson had been corresponding with Gerald for at least two years. She saw PDFs for invoices. “You mentioned earlier that you paid a private investigator. Is this him?”
“No, I was talking about Chip Shepherd. I worked with him five years ago. He’s another retired cop. I paid him for three months. He worked for six. His case files are here.” He kicked the stack of boxes. “Chip came up with nothing. They always come up with nothing. For five years, I’ve worked every bone in my body to keep the case alive. The business is good, but it’s not enough. My savings are depleted. I have no retirement. The house is mortgaged. The money from the lawsuits is in a trust to take care of Beckey. Every part of my life goes toward taking care of her and Heath, and whatever is left over, I do this.”
Faith let out a long breath. The room felt claustrophobic. It was about to get smaller. Faith thought she had figured out the answer to the question that Will had been asking since they’d tossed around theories in the prison chapel this morning.
She started out gently. “Mr. Caterino, why did you send Daryl Nesbitt those newspaper articles? There was no note, no letter. Just the articles.”
“Because—” he caught himself a second too late. “He still insists he’s innocent. I wanted him to feel as trapped, as helpless, as I do.”
Faith believed that he was trying to torture Daryl Nesbitt, but there was more to the story. “I’m sorry to ask this, but why are you so certain that Daryl Nesbitt isn’t the man who hurt your daughter?”
“I never said—”
“Mr. Caterino, five years ago, you spent good money on lawyers to pay for Daryl Nesbitt’s civil suit against Jeffrey Tolliver’s estate.”
Gerald’s face registered surprise.
She said, “A lot of times, civil cases are used to get police officers on the record so that the evidence can later be used against them in criminal proceedings.”
His lips closed into a tight line.
“Five years ago, you started Beckey’s Facebook page and website,” Faith continued. “For the last five years, you’ve been collecting articles about missing women you think link back to your daughter’s attack.”
“These other women—”
“No.” Faith stopped him again. “You started your investigation five years ago. Some of these cases go back eight years. What made you believe five years ago that Daryl Nesbitt wasn’t the man who attacked Beckey? There had to be a compelling reason.”
Gerald bit his lip to keep it from quivering. He couldn’t stop the tears when they returned.
Faith slowly walked him through it. “You post about a lot of things, Mr. Caterino, but you never post about your son.”
He wiped his eyes. “Heath understands that Beckey has to be the focus.”
Faith didn’t let up. “I’ve noticed all the cameras you’ve got around the house. Inside and out. Is this a dangerous area, Mr. Caterino?”
“The world is a dangerous place.”
“This seems like a very safe neighborhood.” Faith paused. “It makes me wonder what you’re protecting.”
He shrugged defensively. “It’s not against the law to have security cameras and a gate.”
“It’s not,” Faith agreed. “But I wanted to tell you how impressed I am with your little boy. He’s really smart. He’s hitting a lot of benchmarks ahead of time. Has your pediatrician told you that? He’s almost like an eight-year-old.”
“He’ll be seven at Christmas.”
“Right,” she said. “His birthday is