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“That’s not far off,” Greg says. “It was, well, it was a high, sure. A rush like no other. But it was more than that. It was like we both went through a complete transformation. We were heightened in every way. Food tasted better. Sex was more intense. We experienced something mere mortals could never comprehend.”
“So cutting to the chase,” Myron says, “you went on killing.”
“Yes.”
“And framing people.”
“Yes.”
“As a team. The two of you working together.”
He nods. “Grace was the more violent of us. She loved to watch the life force leave the person’s face. Ending another human being’s life—she described it as the closest thing to being a god. I got that, but I was more the plotter. I loved working on the frame-up, the slow burn of sending someone to prison for a crime they didn’t commit. But we both did both. I killed some, she killed some. I did most of the planning, but she contributed a lot. We were a team in every sense of the word. My point is, many of us have the potential to be killers, but once Grace and I tried it—”
“Yeah, Greg, I think I get it. You just went on killing.”
“Yes.”
“How many, Greg?”
“More than they know. That’s all I’ll say for now.”
Myron can see that it won’t pay to pursue that line of questioning right now. “You planned carefully.”
“Yes.”
“You always made sure someone else took the fall. You took your time. There was pretty much zero chance you’d get caught, until you messed up with the Callisters. I don’t get it. Why go after someone you knew, even tangentially?”
“To up the game, I suppose. I also liked the idea of taking down Cecelia’s scuzzy husband, Lou Himble. He stole a lot of people’s life savings, you know. I don’t want to make it sound like we were Robin Hoods. For the most part, we chose our victims coldly—how easy they would be to kill and did they have someone in their life who would want them dead.”
“To make the frame work?”
“Yes. We moved around a lot. We often worked more than one victim at a time, and more often than not, we aborted when we realized that we wouldn’t be able to pull off both the kill and the frame.”
“So you had no connection to the victims?”
“None. Until Cecelia. But she was so ripe for it, what with her testifying against her husband. Oh, and I knew Cecelia’s first husband.”
“Ben Staples.”
“Yeah, I liked Ben.” Greg puts his hands on his knees and takes a moment. He lowers his voice because he wants Myron’s full attention. “You see, Myron, Cecelia screwed Ben over good. She got pregnant by another man. Can you imagine a wife doing anything worse to her husband?”
Greg stops now and grins at Myron.
“Subtle,” Myron says.
“I’m not trying to be subtle.”
“And Cecelia didn’t cheat. She was raped.”
Greg shrugs. “I didn’t know that.”
“So you planned on killing her and pinning it on her husband.”
“Yes. Except Cecelia’s son Clay showed up. He was supposed to be on a one-week cruise in the Caribbean, but he ended up getting food poisoning, so he came home two days early.” Greg swallows, looks off. “He walked in on Grace and me killing his mother. A fight ensued. I killed them both.”
“And left your DNA behind.”
“No choice,” he says, “but I wasn’t too worried. I was dead, remember? That’s part of why I faked my death. To stay under the radar. So if people maybe ‘thought’ they saw someone who looked like Greg Downing, well, he was dead. It would go nowhere. And then I figured, well, even if they somehow track the DNA of a dead man, I’m hidden under another identity. There is no way they’re going to find me on my little farm in Pine Bush.” He leaned forward. “How did you find me?”
