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“I think that’s why they call it the morgue,” I say. “What are you doinghere?”
“I went back to the police station and you weren’t there. I remembered you’d said you wanted to find Mike’s birth certificate, so I came to find you,” he says. “I wanted to tell you what I found at theschools.”
I gesture for him to follow me back to the open box of records on the floor. I’m most of the way through it and the files I’ve already searched are piled in order next to the box.
“What did you find?” I ask as I sit down and reach for the nextfile.
“Nothing.”
I look up at him, waiting for there to be something else attached to that word. There isn’t.
“Nothing?” I ask. “What do you meannothing?”
“Nothing. I went to every school in the area. There was no Mike Kirkland enrolled any time when he would have been. I even asked starting in 1965 in case they started him when he was four. We went to the records rooms. Not as terrifying as this, by the way. And we went through all of the K names for those years. There was no Mike Kirkland. No Michael Kirkland. No anything-M-Kirkland who was male. At no point was Mike enrolled in Cherry Hill schools,” hesays.
“At all?” Iask.
“Atall.”
I groan. “Help me go through the rest of these. I’m not holding my breath we’re going to find anything, but I want to be sure I covered all my bases before I go talk to himagain.”
Sam has just finished adding notes to the large pads in the war room when Garrison comes in with Xavier trailing right behind him. The detective stops and looks at the new words on thepaper.
“What’s going on?” heasks.
“I went to talk with Mike,” I tell him. “And he said, like the newspaper called him, that he was a Cherry Hill native. Born here in April of 1961, went to school, the whole thing. Perfectly normal childhood with the exception, perhaps, of not ever getting the chance to go to summer camp. For obvious reasons. He came from a talented family. All of them exceptionally musically talented except for him. Fished with his father. Close with his siblings. The basic charmedexistence.”
“Alright,” Garrisonnods.
“It’s a bunch of lies,” Sam tells himbluntly.
“What do you mean?” the detective asks.
“I went through the records at the hospital. No one by his name was born in April of1961.”
“And no one by his name was ever enrolled at any of the schools in the area,” Sam adds.
I sift through the newspapers on the table and pull out one of them. “And remember I told you when I first talked to him that he explained he was always fascinated by the camp? That it was something he thought about all the time because his sister died here in 1964 and he grew up hearing stories abouther?”
“Right,” Garrison says. “Which makes it very strange that he would want to reopen it. Why would he want so much to get a camp going again when all he’d ever heard about it was that his sister had been brutally murdered there? Wouldn’t that hurt his family? I’ve spoken with some of the families of the victims before and most of them are outraged that the camp is still standing at all, much less that anyone would consider opening it and actually sending children there again. They think it should have been bulldozed to the ground a long time ago. I can’t say I really blamethem.”
“I think most people would feel that way,” Isay.
“Not me,” Xavier pipes up.
“You wouldn’t?” I ask. “You don’t think it’s strange that he would want to reopen the camp if his sister died there?”
“It’s likely the place he associates most with her. He’s probably heard more about her being there than anywhere else except possibly their home. He was only three when she was murdered. He wouldn’t have many concrete memories of what was going on, but he would remember the emotion. And that sealed him to the camp. That’s where his sister was happy. It’s also where she took her last breath. That’s a lot of strong energy. I can understand him wanting to honor that rather than destroying it.
“It’s where he would be closest to her. He might also see it as a way to overcome the horror for her. She went there several summers, yes? She would have happy memories there. It would be a place she loved. By leaving it empty or destroying it, it seals in the evil. It makes it so that all that exists there is the horror that happened on that one night. It will only echo the screams. Opening it again could fill it with laughter. It could give his sister back the place sheloved.”
Garrison looks unconvinced. “Until there’s a place where someone you love was murdered and you know it’s just sitting there, you can’t comment on how it would make you feel,” he repliessimply.
Xavier takes a breath, but doesn’t say anything. I see the darkness roll over his eyes as he gives a barely perceptible nod.
“You’re right,” he says. “That would be uninformed and insensitive.” He glances at me. “I’m going to find a vending machine.” He starts toward the door, but stops when he gets to it. He doesn’t turn around. “Sam?”
“I’m coming,” he says without hesitation. His eyes cut through Garrison as he stands and follows Xavier out of theroom.
