by Brenda Novak
More silence. “Hello? Can you hear me?” She held the tray with one hand while banging on the door with the other—until she was too exhausted to continue.
“Damn it!” She slid down the wall and stared glumly at her food. Who’d hired the gym rat on the other side of the door?
She took a bite of her sandwich before realizing that in all the excitement, he hadn’t given her any water. She had to have something to drink. She was already thirsty.
She set down the tray and stood to beat on the door some more. “I have to have water! Hey! Can you hear me? I’m not getting enough to drink!”
A moment later the slot opened and he handed her a small bottle.
“So you can hear me!”
“Why don’t you make it easy on both of us and go back to sleep or something?”
Did that mean he’d looked in at her earlier? Found her sleeping?
That he might’ve been watching her sleep and she hadn’t heard him made her skin crawl. “Because I’m frantic! Who’s coming and what will he do to me?”
“He won’t do anything to you! He wants you to sign something so he can get his sister back, okay?”
Evelyn froze. “His sister?”
“Yeah. He’s trying to regain custody of his retarded sister. I guess you had her put in some sort of facility.”
Her hands and feet began to tingle and the room started to spin. She leaned against the wall to hold herself up. “Where? In what facility?”
“I don’t know,” he said as if it didn’t matter, but Evelyn knew it did. She’d only ever been in one situation where she’d had to make sure a dangerous psychopath could no longer victimize his mentally disabled sister, whom he’d used as a sex slave for years—after giving her a frontal lobotomy to make her completely docile, compliant and unable to think for herself.
This guy had to be associated with Lyman Bishop! But how could that be? Lyman had suffered a massive stroke and was in an institution himself. Sure, he’d once been a brilliant cancer researcher and a cool and calculated killer, but these days he couldn’t think any better than his sister, Beth, and had no motor skills to speak of.
Or had he, against all odds, managed to recover?
She supposed it was possible. The brain was an amazing organ. There was even a chance he’d managed to fool the doctors from the beginning. If anyone could pull off a trick like that, it would be the harmless-looking Bishop.
“Oh my God…”
“What is it now?” he grumbled.
She knew what Lyman would do to her if he had the chance. In less than ten minutes, she’d be the vegetable. “You’re working for a man by the name of Lyman Bishop. Do you know who he is? Have you heard that name in the news? He’s a psychopath and a serial killer! You need to go to the police right away!”
She was breathing hard, hoping she’d shocked him into doing the right thing.
Bishop’s hired thug stood there for a moment, as though uncertain.
Was he going to let her out?
She was hoping and praying for all she was worth—only to be disappointed when he closed the slot without another word.
“Wait! Please!” she cried. But it didn’t make any difference. He wouldn’t open it again no matter how much she pleaded with him.
Anchorage, AK—Wednesday, 7:00 p.m. AKDT
Amarok had taken only one quick nap in thirty-seven hours. He felt like the walking dead, and yet he was driving. But he couldn’t crawl into bed and collapse knowing that Evelyn was being held against her will. The thought of some sociopath harming her goaded him on like a red-hot poker.
Thanks to the security cameras at the Quick Stop, Amarok had been able to determine the license plate number on the carpet-cleaning van. He’d considered that a win, a huge step forward—until he ran it through the Division of Motor Vehicles database and found that the van had been reported stolen the Sunday before Evelyn went missing, early in the morning.
The registration showed a forty-year-old Anchorage man named Dax O’Leary as the owner. Amarok had spent most of last night and much of today trying to locate him. Not because he thought Dax was responsible for Evelyn’s abduction. Whoever had stolen the van was probably the man he was looking for, but Amarok still wanted to talk to Dax. Maybe once he described the ex-con with the scar and the prison tattoo, Dax would remember having seen him somewhere or be able to provide some other information.
Amarok wished he had something more solid to go on than the owner of a stolen vehicle, especially because it was going on two days since Evelyn was abducted. He was growing more and more desperate, but all he could do was take what the investigation gave him, go from one bread crumb to the next, and pray the trail didn’t end before he found her.
He was afraid it might’ve ended already. Locating Dax was proving to be difficult. The phone number on the DMV records was disconnected, and he no longer lived at the address listed—Amarok had just left that house—which forced him to spend valuable time tracking down information that should’ve been relatively easy to confirm.
He was bleary-eyed by the time he arrived at Dax’s brother’s place, which was also in Anchorage about twenty minutes from where Dax had lived when he registered the van. Shoving the transmission into Park, Amarok sat in the cab of his truck in a bit of a stupor, trying to summon the energy to climb out. The nerve-racking race against time combined with the lack of sleep was making him punchy. He couldn’t think straight, would have to sleep more at some point.
But as long as he had the strength to overcome the need, that point wasn’t now.
Pushing through his exhaustion, he ordered Makita to stay in the truck and went to the door. The neighborhood wasn’t a bad one. It was blue collar, but there were no burned-out buildings or drug dealers standing on street corners.
Elroy O’Leary’s house was the worst on the block. The paint was peeling from the trim, a broken chair was overturned on the porch and bristling weeds had swallowed the yard. Amarok couldn’t help noticing every sorry detail. But at least he had the right place. A fairly new carpet-cleaning vehicle sat in the drive, leading Amarok to wonder if the O’Leary brothers were in business together—or if Dax owned that van and lived here, too.
Surely he couldn’t get that lucky, not with the way things had been going so far.
It took real effort to rouse someone, but after he banged on the door several times a small man wearing pajama bottoms and a T-shirt peered out at him while putting on a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. “Can I help you?”
Amarok flashed his badge. He was also in uniform, although he didn’t always bother with such formalities in Hilltop. There everyone knew who he was, so it didn’t seem necessary. Out on the road, on a desperate quest for information, he had to look authoritative, do anything and everything he could to save time and get people to talk. “Elroy O’Leary?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry if I woke you.”
“It’s early yet. I was just dozing on the couch while watching TV.”
Amarok could hear a sports announcer in the background. “Watching the game?” He kept his tone casual and friendly.
Visibly relaxing, Elroy opened the door wider. “Yeah. Kinda. When I can keep my eyes open.”
“I know what you mean,” Amarok said with a smile. “Listen, I just want to talk to your brother, Dax. He around?”
Elroy yawned and scratched his stomach. “No.”
“Can you tell me where he lives?”
“Not off the top of my head. But I hope this means you’ve found the van I gave him.”
That answer was unexpected. “You gave him the van?”
“The mileage on it was getting up there, so I was planning to replace it, anyway. And he didn’t have a vehicle.” He rolled his eyes. “You know how that goes.”
Amarok had a brother—an identical twin—but he didn’t know how that went. He’d never had to sacrifice for or help his brother; he hadn’t even known he had one until he received a call from Jason on his eighteenth bi
rthday. He and his brother had been only two when their parents split. When his mother moved to Seattle, she took Jason with her and left him with his father. After that, no one bothered to mention that he had a sibling. He grew up believing he was an only child.
But he tried not to think about all that, even on good days. And this was definitely not a good day. “Do you know anything about what happened to the van the night it was stolen?”
“Only what Dax told me, but I can’t say whether or not it’s true.” Elroy used his fingers to comb his hair over the bald spot on top of his head. “He’s not the most trustworthy guy in the world, and since I’m the one who gave it to him in the first place, it’s not likely he’d tell me if he lost it in a poker game, crashed it or handed the keys over to some stripper in exchange for a blow job. You hear what I’m saying?”
Amarok’s eyes were so tired they kept going blurry. He blinked to clear his vision. “What was his version of events?”
“He said he went into a strip club and when he came out it was gone.”
“Which strip club?”
“Didn’t ask. I’m a good Christian.” He lifted his chin to show his pride and commitment. “I don’t go to those kinds of places.”
Amarok was getting a headache. He hadn’t eaten or slept. He squeezed the muscle between his own neck and shoulder, trying to ease the tension. “Did he say if there was anyone around that night who looked suspicious when he went in? Anyone he thought might spell trouble?”
“No.”
“When I went to the address on his DMV records, I met a woman who told me he moved out three months ago. She said she has no idea where he is now and she doesn’t care. But she gave me this address as a possibility.”
Elroy made a clicking sound with his mouth. “Yeah. That must’ve been Serena. His relationship with her tanked in a hurry. My brother wasn’t the best husband in the world. Hardly ever worked, came and went at all hours. She claims he has a porn addiction, and I believe it. If he doesn’t settle down and get his life sorted out, I’m afraid he’ll be homeless one day.”
“Is he homeless now?”
“No. I helped him get a room with some other guys. At least, that’s what he told me the money was for. Even if it’s true, who knows how long it will last? I tried to give him some work, thought he could help me with my business, but he’s not reliable. I don’t make enough to support both of us, anyway.”
“Hard times,” Amarok said, playing the sympathy card. “Can you give me his new address?”
Elroy glanced back over his shoulder as if he wasn’t sure where to find it. “I wrote it down, but— Never mind. He has a new phone. Let me see if I can reach him.”
While he waited, Amarok stared out at the other houses. Was Evelyn being held in a house like one of these on some normal, quiet street, a barn out in the middle of nowhere, some shabby outbuilding like what Jasper used for his crimes or something else? Did she even have a place to sleep? Food to eat? Or was she being tortured all over again—
The door opened, and he shoved the morbid images crowding into his brain back as fast as he could.
“Just spoke to him,” Elroy announced, and handed Amarok a slip of paper with an address scrawled on it. “Said you can come by. He’s waiting for you.”
“Thanks for your help.” Amarok took the note and returned to his truck to key Dax’s address into his maps. It was only ten minutes away. Amarok had to pay him a visit, but he doubted Elroy’s brother would be able to tell him anything more than Elroy just had. And if Dax couldn’t tell him anything new, he was wasting his time.
The second that realization hit, he felt his muscles bunch and the anger, fear and panic he’d been holding back since he found Evelyn gone erupted. Pain shot through his hand as he slugged the steering wheel, but he didn’t care. Once he’d taken that first swing, he couldn’t stop. Crying out with all the anguish he was feeling, he punched everything within reach, which freaked out Makita and got him barking and turning in the seat. The dog couldn’t understand where the fight was.
A knock on the driver’s side window finally drew Amarok’s attention.
“You okay?” Elroy called through the glass, his eyes wide with shock. “Or should I call someone?”
Amarok could easily imagine what Elroy had to be thinking after witnessing such a spectacle. But he didn’t understand what Amarok was going through; no one could understand.
Amarok was breathing hard, but he forced himself to regain control, ordered Makita to sit still and rolled down the window. “No, I’m fine,” he managed to say in a somewhat normal voice. But he wasn’t fine. He’d never felt so helpless. And the rage that filled him as a consequence was consuming everything else—all objectivity and control.
“Are you sure?” Elroy looked skeptical, and for good reason.
“Yeah, I’ve got it. I’m okay,” he lied, and threw the gearshift into Drive, jamming down on the gas pedal so he could get out of there.
As he rocketed away, a glance in the rearview mirror revealed Dax’s brother standing in the street, looking after him. He had to think Amarok had lost his mind, but Amarok didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything except bringing Evelyn home.
“God help you when I finally get my hands on you,” he muttered to whoever had taken her.
Minneapolis, MN—Thursday, 1:00 a.m. CST
“They’re letting me go.” When Terry pushed his mop and bucket into Lyman’s room, his face was red and sweaty and his hair was standing up as though he’d been combing his fingers through it over and over again.
Lyman blinked at him. “What do you mean—letting you go? You’re getting off early tonight?”
“No. I got canned. The new night manager just gave me my two weeks’ notice.” He spat on the floor he was supposed to be cleaning. “That fat bitch has had it in for me ever since she started here.”
The night manager was severely overweight, but Bishop didn’t mind the extra pounds as much as the hair on her face. He’d never seen anything like it: her five o’clock shadow was worse than his. “She might be fat, but she’s efficient.”
Terry’s scowl deepened. “So? What are you saying?”
Bishop could tell by Terry’s tone that he’d said something wrong. But Patricia Skousen was efficient, so he didn’t understand why it would be a problem to acknowledge it. “She is good at her job, isn’t she?”
“She just fired me, you asshole! Do you think I want to hear that?”
Lyman couldn’t help bridling at Terry’s response. He’d been treated poorly, even cruelly at times, for most of his life, so that spiteful tone was a trigger for him. “I’m just saying that I’m surprised you were able to keep your job this long.”
“That’s exactly what I thought you were saying! God, it’s impossible to like you! You know that?”
The open hostility he sometimes encountered never ceased to amaze Lyman. His inability to understand emotional nuances put him at a disadvantage. He tried to compensate with his intelligence, but he’d never had any friends to speak of, and only two girlfriends, both of whom dumped him after only a few months. Nothing he did seemed to change the way people treated him, except his career, of course. He’d enjoyed the respect he’d earned through his cancer research, but Evelyn Talbot had stepped in to rob him of even that. “You don’t have to be so rude.”
“You think I’m the one being rude? I wasn’t getting by on what they paid me and now I got nothing! And you tell me I had it coming?”
Bishop used his good arm to pull himself up higher in the bed. “Do you think you did a good job?” he asked in confusion. “Were you even trying to do a good job?”
Terry shook his head. “You’re crazy. Just like the rest of the assholes in here. The point is, this place doesn’t pay shit, so no one else is going to do any better.”
“I agree with you there.” Cleaning a mental hospital wasn’t exactly what anyone would consider an ideal job. Some of the patients spread feces on the walls!
Lyman had even observed some coprophagia since he’d been committed.
He shuddered at the pathogens that could be spread by human waste and the illnesses that could result—cholera, typhoid fever, E. coli. He didn’t belong in here, was glad to be getting out. “So how will you get by? Can you live on unemployment benefits?”
Terry shot him a dirty look as he grabbed the mop/bucket combo he’d wheeled in and started haphazardly mopping the floor. He was doing an especially poor job tonight, but, as Lyman had already said, he never did a very good one.
“You’re not going to answer me?” Lyman asked. “I didn’t mean any harm in what I said.”
“You never do. And yet you say the wrong thing. Over and over again.”
“I apologize.” It galled Bishop that he had to mollify such a lazy idiot, someone with an IQ that was probably half of his. But he’d been doing stuff like that his whole life. No wonder he’d done what he’d done! He’d never been liked, never been accepted. The people around him treated him so poorly he had no choice.
Finally, Terry seemed to calm down. He leaned on the mop handle as he said, “I’ll have to find other work right away. We’re already behind on our bills. If I can’t make rent, Bridget will leave me”
“Oh. I’m sorry. That’s not good.”
“No, it isn’t. Now the money you’ve promised me is more important than ever. I need that, man.”
Lyman gripped the remote that raised and lowered his bed a little tighter. “You’ll get it soon.”
“Why not today?” he said, and Lyman saw the hope of immediate relief from his worries dawn in his eyes as he hurried over.
Lyman tried to wave him off. “I don’t have access to any of my accounts, not while I’m in here. You know that.”
Terry glared at him. “But we need to speed things up, make this happen before something goes wrong that I had nothing to do with. I’ve done my part.”
“Not all of it. Besides, we had a deal, remember? I’ll pay you when I’m free.”
“Why don’t you go tonight? You can head to Alaska, relieve Emmett, and we’ll all be happy.”
“I can’t go tonight.” Lyman had to modulate his voice so that his own irritation didn’t leak through. “It has to be when you’re not working, remember? We don’t want anyone to think you had anything to do with my ‘escape.’ Otherwise, as soon as they realize I’m gone, they could come straight to you.”