Chapter 22

The first suspicious behavior I witnessed from Mark Thompson came over the weekend following the second week of the trial.

I woke up early on Saturday and drove to their rental apartment, happy that Mark and Cindy's car was still parked out front. Trial weekends were lonely as Dotty drove home to be with her kids and Lauren went out to bars that were too young for me. Even if it didn't reveal anything, sitting outside the Thompson apartment gave me something to do.

I saw Bentley first. He came running down the block, dressed in workout clothes, and I almost didn't see him in time to duck. Bentley was good-looking, something that Dotty liked to remind me of on a daily basis.

"It's too bad that he's married," she said. "I would jump him in a heartbeat."

You're married too,I didn't remind her.

Bentley stood outside, fiddling with his watch, before going in.

Mark came out half an hour later and got in the car. I ground my teeth as I followed behind him. I was an unconfident driver and I didn't relish the prospect of following him all around the city. Luckily, Mark stopped at a gas station a short while later, parked at a space in front of the doors, and went inside. It took me a second to realize that it wasn't a random gas station, but rather the gas station where Kimberly had worked before she was murdered.

Mark stayed inside for a few minutes. He came out with a Styrofoam cup and a packet of Nutter Butters and got back in the car. He started the engine and sat there looking at his phone. I couldn't see what he was doing. I briefly saw his mouth move like he was talking to someone.

Eventually, Mark pulled out of the spot and I did my best to tail him. Mark was a fast driver, weaving in and out of lanes, and I lost track of him on the highway. It didn't matter. My gut told me where he was going. I entered in my GPS the address of the gym where Jill had worked. I wasn't surprised to see his car in the parking lot when I pulled up. He wasn't in the car, which meant that he'd already gone inside. I didn't follow him. My clothes, though comfy, didn't pass as workout gear.

Mark was gone a whole hour, during which time I made notes about his activities in my notebook.

Mark Thompson appears to be visiting the places where the women were last seen. I don't think that it's the first time that he's done this. It almost looks like a ritual to him.

Mark continued his murder tour after he completed his workout with a trip to the restaurant where Emma and William had eaten. I surreptitiously followed him inside. This time, it was Mark who sat at the bar and I was seated at a table close behind him.

I was pleased to see that the restaurant had affordable lunch specials. I ordered a pasta dish that came with a salad and breadsticks. The meal could only be described as nourishing. Both Mark and I looked at our phones while we ate—the difference was that I also watched him as he scrolled. I couldn't believe that no one around me seemed to realize what was happening. This was Mark Thompson, father of William Thompson, who was accused of killing a woman immediately after eating in this very restaurant, and yet, he was being served like any other man.

I ate quickly to ensure that I finished before he did. There was only one last place to visit and that was William's former office building. Because it was Saturday, the large parking lot was nearly empty, the building abandoned. Mark didn't attempt to go inside. He stood in the parking lot, gazing up at the glittering glass tower while I watched him from my car. He didn't notice me, or if he did, there was nothing to signal it.

Afterward, I hoped that he would do something more, something I could use to figure out what his intention was, but he merely drove back to the rental, where he stayed for as long as I sat outside in my car.

"Do you think that there's something suspicious about Mark Thompson?" I asked Dotty and Lauren when the trial resumed on Monday.

"I think that all rich men are suspicious," Lauren replied.

"It's suspicious that his son is on trial right now, if that's what you're asking," Dotty said. "Otherwise, he appears perfectly normal to me."

I told them what I'd done over the weekend, how I'd followed him from site to site of where the women had disappeared.

"What are you suggesting? Do you think that he killed them?" Dotty asked.

"I don't know what I'm suggesting," I replied. "There's something off about him though."

I decided to do my own murder tour, one without Mark.

I drove to Kimberly's gas station on the way to the trial to get a coffee. An older man stood outside the door, eating a chocolate donut that I presumed he had bought inside.

"Excuse me," I said. "I'm so sorry to bother you. I was wondering if you come to this gas station a lot."

"You're not trying to get me in trouble or anything, are you?" he asked in a joking tone that if he were younger might've been interpreted as flirtatious.

"No, nothing like that. I was wondering if you knew a woman named Kimberly that used to work here."

"Oh, you're one of them," he said.

"One of who?"

"The women that come around asking about Kimberly. They've slowed down recently, but for a while there were a bunch of them. I'll tell you what I told all of them. Yeah, I knew her. She was real nice and I'm sorry that she's dead. No, I never saw that guy they say killed her, or at least I don't think. There's a lot of people that come in here that look like him. I can't tell them apart from one another." He laughed. "They all just look like white guys to me."

I slipped my phone back in my pocket that had an already prepped photograph of Mark Thompson and one of William. It embarrassed me that the man had pegged me as being one of "those women" just as Meghan had. I wanted to explain that I wasn't one of many as the man had implied, but William Thompson's girlfriend. I understood, suddenly, why the Manson girls were so willing to carve swastikas on their foreheads as a symbol of their love. Each of them wanted to be recognized as a devoted follower, someone special, even if it meant being hated forever.

I went inside and selected the largest Styrofoam cup they offered and filled it with coffee. After a moment of hesitation, I got a chocolate donut from the case as well. There was nothing artisanal about my purchases and there was something satisfying about that. Sometimes all the body wanted was garbage.

The new person behind the till was a pretty young Black woman. Ordinarily, I didn't endorse the idea of keeping a gun for protection since more often than not, weapons were fired upon the people who owned them, but I hoped that they gave her a gun or, at the very least, a can of Mace to help protect herself from any future killers.

I had planned on asking the cashier on duty about Mark but changed my mind after my conversation with the man. I didn't want the woman to look at me the way that he had, like I was some sort of lunatic. I paid and left without saying a word.

The man was still standing outside when I went through the door.

"Hey," he said.

"Yeah?"

"Be careful out there."

I smiled.

"Thanks."

"You never know who's trying to hurt you," he continued.

I didn't like the tone shift in his voice. During our first conversation, the man had seemed harmless—friendly, even—but now there was something ominous there.

"Okay," I said and scurried off to my car. I hoped he didn't think that I was hurrying in an attempt to get away from him, even though that was exactly what I was doing. I'd forgotten, momentarily, that members of the Thompson family weren't the only dangerous people in the world.

I arrived at the courthouse with chocolate smeared across my face from the donut and the taste of bad coffee still in my mouth.

"What happened to you?" Dotty asked.

"You have something on your face," Lauren said.

I was frustrated. My visit to the gas station had turned up nothing other than a reminder that Kimberly had perhaps never been safe.

I glanced at the Thompson family at the front of the room. Bentley leaned over to his father and murmured something in his ear. Mark laughed. I knew that there were members of the forum who would crucify them for that behavior. According to them, the Thompson family was supposed to remain forever in mourning for the lives that their son had allegedly ended.

"I think I need to talk to Mark Thompson," I told them.