Incriminating Evidence. Amanda Stevens

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СКАЧАТЬ looked relieved. “There’s no easy way to say this. I’ve reason to believe that I’m the child in that photograph. If true, then there is a very good chance that Orson Lee Finch is my biological father.”

      She’d shocked him, but he tried not to show it. “That’s quite a leap from one old photograph. Do you have more substantial evidence?”

      “No,” she admitted. “Only that my mother saved every newspaper article written about Finch and she told me before she died that it had all been a lie.”

      “Meaning?”

      “She didn’t elaborate. Couldn’t elaborate. It was near the end and she was in and out of consciousness, but she seemed lucid in that moment. Still, I might have chalked it up to delirium if not for the clippings and the fact that she took such pains to hide them from me.”

      “So, to be clear, you think Orson Lee Finch and your mother—”

      “No!” Her voice rose. She took a moment to collect herself. “I was adopted when I was two. Laura March was the only mother I ever knew. The woman who gave birth to me had a relationship with Finch.” She glanced away with a shudder. “At least, that’s the assumption.”

      “How long have you known you were adopted?”

      “For as long as I can remember. My mother and I spoke openly about it since I was a small child. She told me that my biological parents were very young. My father joined the military right out of high school. He died in a helicopter crash before they could marry, leaving my mother—my biological mother—alone and destitute. She tried to make a go of it, but she was too young and poor with no formal education and no job prospects. She gave me up so that I could have a better life.”

      “But you don’t believe that.”

      She hesitated. “I did for a long time, but now I think Laura March invented the story because the truth was too painful...too stigmatizing. And perhaps she wanted to ward off my curiosity.”

      “What about your adoptive father?”

      “Aidan March. He was a cop, killed in the line of duty when I was little. That much is true. Even though I was only five when it happened, I still have vague memories of him. His voice. His smile. The blue of his eyes.” She glanced down at the ring on her finger. “This belonged to his mother. I’m told he wanted me to have it.” She fell silent as she twisted the band.

      Her phrasing wasn’t lost on Nick. If Laura March had lied about Catherine’s birth parents, might she also have fabricated a connection to her adoptive father?

      “Go on,” he prompted.

      “I don’t know how familiar you are with the specifics of the Twilight Killer case, but Orson Lee Finch was a gardener by trade. He went to college for a time majoring in horticulture, but his mother became ill and he had to drop out. Some say that fostered his resentment of the elite. They had what he so desperately wanted but could never acquire. His signature was a rare crimson magnolia petal, which he placed over his victims’ lips.”

      “The kiss of death,” Nick murmured.

      She closed her eyes briefly. “Finch preyed on young, single mothers from affluent families. Despite their advantages—or maybe because of them—he deemed them unfit to raise children. The FBI profiler on the case called the kills mission-oriented. He speculated that the mother of Finch’s child—possibly my biological mother—was his first victim. Her rejection may have triggered his spree. Finch denies it, of course. After all these years, he still maintains his innocence. At least to those who manage to get an interview with him.”

      “Have you talked to him?”

      The question seemed to distress her. “I haven’t gone to see him. Why would I?”

      “You say you want answers. He would be the logical place to start.”

      She shook her head. “No. I won’t see him. Let me be clear about that. I don’t want Orson Lee Finch in my life. I don’t want him to know who I am or anything about me. I only want the truth. I need to know the truth.”

      “Why?” Nick asked bluntly.

      She regarded him for the longest moment. “If the answer to that question isn’t obvious, then perhaps I’ve come to the wrong person for help.”

      Nick returned her stare. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I have to ask—is it possible you’re latching onto an implausible scenario as a way to distract from your grief? Stories about the Twilight Killer have dominated the news lately. The media has even managed to resurrect the mystique surrounding Twilight’s Children,” he said, referring to the moniker assigned to the offspring of Orson Lee Finch’s victims.

      “I’m well aware of the stories. I’ve read all the articles and watched the documentaries. If what I suspect is true, then I’m the ultimate child of Twilight.” Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “Not just Finch’s daughter but the offspring of his first victim.”

      Nick let that soak in for a moment. Catherine March didn’t seem the type to court publicity—the opposite, in fact—but he’d been fooled before. If her story got out, he had no doubt the details would be sensationalized. She might even be offered a book or movie deal. Her profession would only feed into the public’s fascination. The daughter of a serial killer devoting her life to forgotten victims.

      He searched her face once again, staring deep into her eyes, waiting for a twitch or a blink that would give her away. Her gaze remained unwavering.

      “Is something wrong?” she asked.

      “No,” Nick said. “I was just thinking about everything you’ve told me. At any other time, without the recent media circus, do you think you would have given those clippings a second thought?”

      Annoyance flashed in her eyes. “A box of newspaper clippings hidden beneath a floorboard in my dead mother’s closet? Yes, I think I would have given them a second thought.”

      “I’m not trying to offend you.”

      “I’m not offended. But if you knew me at all, you would know that I’m not the type to embellish or dramatize. I’m nothing if not practical. I’m not jumping to conclusions nor am I trying to distract from my grief. This isn’t a bid for attention or some misguided need to feel special or important. For any number of reasons, I want to know who my biological parents are. Is that so hard to understand?”

      “No,” he said. “But you’ve heard the old saying, sometimes it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.”

      She removed a newspaper clipping from the cigar box and slid it across the desk. “That’s a picture of Orson Lee Finch, is it not?”

      He picked up the yellowed clipping and studied the subjects. “Hard to tell. As you said, the shot is grainy and there’s a shadow across his profile. It could be Finch.”

      She nodded in satisfaction. “The child with him...the little girl...do you see a resemblance to me?”

      Nick took his time studying her features before glancing back down at the clipping. Truthfully, there was a similarity but so vague as to be insignificant. “She has dark hair and СКАЧАТЬ