How did you get here?
“I need help! Please!”
The footsteps stopped. Randall continued tugging on his chain, panic overtaking him as he pulled and screamed.
Who is that?
“Leave me alone!”
“Stop screaming or I’ll hurt you.”
Sam.
Randall was crying uncontrollably. “I can’t be here. I have to get out of here! I can’t be in this place!”
Sam shook his head and stepped closer. “No. This is exactly where you need to be.”
Randall couldn’t stop tugging on the chain that was attached to the wall. The familiar sound of the metal jingling and clanging rang through the dark basement. He was trapped. Just like last time. Helpless. A victim.
“It’s time to face your truths.”
“I can’t! Please. You have to let me go. I won’t say anything. I won’t tell anyone about any of this. Just get me out of this place! I can’t be here. I can’t be here!”
“Tell me the name of Gary’s wife.”
“I need to go. This place . . .”
“Tell me the name of Gary’s wife.”
“I can’t. I don’t—”
Sam suddenly grabbed him in the darkness, and Randall felt something slide across his forearm. It took a moment for the pain to bubble up to his senses. He could feel the warm blood trickling from his wound. Sam had slashed him with the razor again. Just like Gary used to do.
“Tell me the name of Gary’s wife.”
Randall was crying harder now. “Why won’t you leave me alone?”
Another slash. “Tell me the name of Gary’s wife.”
“Rose!” Randall panted as he fell to one knee, holding his arm as best he could with the cast. “Her name was Rose.”
“And his daughter?”
“Please, I can—”
Another slash. More blood.
“Lily! Her name was Lily!”
Randall knew Sam was next to him, but he couldn’t see anything. Sam’s breath chilled the back of his neck. Gary used to get close like this. His mind was spinning faster and faster, collapsing from the stress. A migraine burst from the base of his skull and spread like colored dye through water.
How did you get here?
“What did you do to Rose?” Sam asked, his voice suddenly distant.
You’re going to die.
“I can’t do this!”
Slash.
“I need to hear your truth, Dr. Feder. What did you do to her?”
“Please! Stop!”
Slash.
“Tell me.”
How did you get here?
“No!”
Sam grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head back. Randall’s eyes remained shut, his face moist with tears. He felt the blade touch the inside of his thigh and work its way up toward his groin. “Tell me.”
“I can’t!”
“You can!”
“I can’t face it.”
The blade dug deeper. “Tell me!”
“I killed her!” Randall screamed. “I killed her.”
The blade stopped.
“How did you kill her?”
“Please don’t make me say it.”
Another slash. “How did you kill her?”
“I . . . I cut off her head. Gary made me slit her throat and wouldn’t let me stop until I cut off her head.”
Randall was crying uncontrollably now. His body shook as he recalled the murder. The screams. Gary laughing madly in the background of it all.
“Your first truth. Very good.”
Sam let go of him, and Randall recoiled into the corner. He was bleeding from wounds on his arms and inner thigh, but it was too dark to see how deep he’d been cut. His head throbbed, and he was panicking, floating between consciousness and dream.
You’re going to die here.
How did you get into the basement?
How did you get here?
You’re going to die here.
You’re going to die!
“What did you do to Lily?”
“I can’t. Please.”
Sam bent down and wrapped his hand around Randall’s throat. “Tell me your next truth,” he said calmly, the tip of the blade touching the corner of his eyelid.
Randall instinctively grabbed at Sam’s hand, which was tightening around his neck. He couldn’t breathe.
“Tell me.”
“I . . . I . . .”
Sam let go. “What did you do to Lily?”
You’re going to die.
How did you get here?
“I set her on fire,” Randall replied through tears that suddenly began to turn to laughter. He was laughing but couldn’t understand why. “You’re getting me to confess to everything. Yes, I set her on fire. Gary made me burn her alive.”
Sam stood over Randall, his breathing ragged. “A real man would’ve protected those women. Your weakness sealed their fate. You’re a weak man, Dr. Feder.”
“I am,” Randall replied, still laughing. “I’m weak. So very weak.”
“You’re pathetic.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you?”
“Yes!”
It was hard for Randall to concentrate on what was happening. He was growing light headed and was certain he was going to pass out. His body was shutting down. His laughter turned back to crying. Blood seeped from his wounds onto his hands, down his legs, and onto the floor. He couldn’t see anything, but the smell remained. It was part of him. The dank, musty smell of sweat and hatred and blood.
Sam gently cupped his hand around the back of Randall’s head. “It’s time for your next truth.”
“No more. Please. I can’t relive this.”
“Did you like torturing and killing Lily and Rose?”
“No. Never. I hated it. I hate myself for doing it. Even now.”
“But you didn’t do it. Not all of it.”
“What do you mean?”
You’re going to die.
How did you get here?
“Over time, you had help. And you didn’t kill Rose or Lily.” Sam leaned in closer so Randall could see his silhouette in the darkness, the blade barely glistening in a light Randall couldn’t find. “Tell me who helped you.”
53
Morning roll call was complete. The troopers filed out of the barracks and into the parking lot to begin their shift. Tommy sat at his desk, listening to the activity die down until he was the only person on the investigators’ floor. The encounter with Susan played back in his mind, consuming his every thought.
The trooper assigned to Susan’s house had escorted him to his car and stood at the curb until he’d pulled away. Susan had been under the impression that he was going to drive to the barracks and disclose his relationship with the Andersons to Crosby right then and there, but instead, he’d driven to a bar on the banks of the Hudson, a few blocks up from his house. Half a bottle of tequila later, he’d walked home and crashed out on his sofa before rising early to take care of a few things.
He sat up and stretched. His head ached from a slight hangover, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. Crosby was out at a burglary scene in Putnam Valley. When he got back, he’d tell him everything about his father working the Anderson case, as well as his relationship with the family and with Lily in particular. At that point, if the boss wanted to kick him off Amanda Brock’s homicide, so be it. But one fact that he wouldn’t be able to escape from would be the gossip surrounding his romantic relationship with Lily Anderson and the fact that Susan thought he could be involved in Amanda Brock’s murder. It was just a matter of time before the whispers would start and turn into something bigger than they needed to be. He knew he’d have to tread carefully and answer whatever questions were thrown at him. He was the new guy with no friends, and he hadn’t earned anyone’s trust yet. Susan was the veteran. She was respected, smart, and a good cop. She’d earned the veneration of the men and women at the barracks. I
f word got out that she thought he was dirty, Tommy would never be able to get out from underneath that.
The message light was blinking on his phone, indicating he had voice mails waiting. He picked up the receiver and dialed to retrieve them.
“Yeah, this message is for Investigator Corolla. This is Manny Stevens from Elmsford HQ. Wanted to let you know we were able to get the computer from your vic’s Mercedes working again. I emailed the navigation report to you, but I thought I’d drop you a line to give you a heads-up. GPS shows the Mercedes drove from North Salem to Bear Mountain, and then to Quarim University, and then back onto the Goat Trail, where the accident occurred. If you have any other questions, call me. My number is in the info I sent.”
The message ended, and Tommy sat frozen for a moment.
“Corolla!” a voice boomed from the dispatcher’s office. “You here?”
“Right here,” Tommy shouted back. “What’s up?”
“Adler got a package for the case you guys are working on. You want it?”
“Yeah.”
Tommy got up and walked out into the hall, where a courier was waiting. He signed for the oversized envelope and brought it back to his desk. Their subpoena was taped to the envelope showing case and file number. It came from Wayfair Psychiatric Hospital in Poughkeepsie. Inside were William Feder’s medical records.
Tommy ripped open the envelope and pulled out a thick file full of notes, transcripts, photographs, and copies of prescriptions. He skimmed each page as he went, trying to get the full picture of what he was looking at without wasting his time reading every single thing. He stopped when he got to the patient admission form.
Patient: William Feder
Doctor: Peter Reems, MD/Psychiatrist
He turned to the next page and read carefully. When he was done, he picked up his phone and dialed Susan.
“This is Adler.”
“Susan, it’s Tommy. Don’t hang up. This is important.”
There was a pause for a moment. “What.”
“First of all, we got the GPS back from Amanda’s car computer. She wasn’t heading straight home after the award ceremony that night. She went to Quarim University, where Randall was working. That’s what we were missing. She went to him.”
Silence on the other end.
“We also just got Randall’s medical records. Or William’s. You know what I mean. They contain his records from Wayfair, and there’s an ongoing shadow file from his personal sessions away from the hospital. Randall and Peter Reems aren’t partners in their case study. Randall is Peter’s patient. The treatment files are from Peter, and the case study is Peter’s alone. Randall is the subject in the study.”
Susan took a breath on the other end. “Wait. I thought Dr. Reems had a bunch of patients he was working with. You’re saying Randall was one of them.”
Tommy clenched the paper. “According to this, Randall Brock was all of them.”
54
Randall raised his head up off the floor and rubbed his eyes, which burned with dried tears. He didn’t remember falling asleep, nor did he recall Sam leaving, but when he checked his arms, rubbing his fingers across them in the dark, he knew it wasn’t a dream. He could feel the blood that had hardened on his skin, and the reality of his situation sank in.
“Hello,” he called out. No one answered.
Time didn’t exist in the basement. The darkness was too thick for him to see anything, let alone know what day it was or how long he’d actually been down there. The screams and tormented pleas echoed in his mind as the quiet gave way to memories he wished he didn’t have.
“You didn’t kill them.”
Randall jumped when he heard Sam’s voice from the other side of the room, instinctively pulling on the chain that was around his wrist.
“You didn’t kill Rose or Lily, but you know who did. I want you to tell me.”
“I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Randall said.
“You do.” Sam’s voice was calm, steady. “Think about it. You know this truth. Who killed Rose and Lily?”
Randall strained to see Sam in the darkness. “I . . . don’t . . . know.”
“Think!”
“I killed them.”
“No, you didn’t. And you know you didn’t. I want your final truth.”
Randall heard the match strike before he saw the flame. It was a small dot of light at the other end of the basement. Behind it was the ghostly glow of Sam’s face. He dropped the match, and a larger fire erupted on the floor, as if they were outside camping.
“Tell me,” Sam said. “Who killed them?”
Tears began to form again. “I promise you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Do you remember this?” Sam held up a fireplace poker. “Do you remember what Gary did to you with this?”
“Please—”
“Do you remember what he did?”
Randall rubbed the back of his knee and could feel his rough skin, scarred and singed from the burns. “Yes.”
Sam stuck the tip of the poker into the fire. “Good. Now, understand, I’m going to burn you with this poker just like Gary did if you don’t tell me your final truth. Do you remember how he burned you? How much it hurt?” He stood from the fire and walked across the room. “Who . . . killed . . . Rose . . . and . . . Lily?”
Randall was crying again, tugging on the chains again, his head beginning to ache in the back of his skull again. “I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know!”
“Who came to rescue you from the torture and the torment? Who stepped in for you when you couldn’t take it anymore?”
“Please, I—”
“Who came to kill Rose? Who came to set poor Lily on fire? Tell me.”
“I—”
“Tell me!”
Randall remained on the floor, head down, crying helplessly. “Stephen Sullivan killed Rose. He came and killed her. He liked it. He wanted to do it, so I let him. I let him when I should have saved her.”
“And who killed Lily? Who set her on fire?”
“Jerry Osbourne. Jerry set her on fire. I couldn’t do it, and he said he would. He said he would help me, and I was so grateful. I let him. It was the only way.”
Sam leaned in closer. “And your little brother? Sam. Who pushed him into the stream and held his face under the water until he stopped struggling? Who came up with the idea to let the current take him downstream, and who came up with the story that he slipped on the rocks?”
“I did,” Randall sobbed. He was outside his body now, watching two men in a dank basement, one chained to a wall, the other standing over him, their voices echoing off the brick foundation. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t form a conscious thought. There was just pain and confusion and terror and truth. “I killed my brother.”
Sam shook his head. “That’s not your truth.”
“It is. I killed Sam. I held him under the water and drowned him so I could have my parents back. It was only supposed to be the three of us. He wasn’t ever supposed to be born. It was only supposed to be my mom and dad and me.”
“No,” Sam replied, pulling Randall closer and staring deep into his eyes. They were nose to nose, and Randall could see him now. He could see Sam smile a thin, horrific smile. “You didn’t kill your little brother. I did. I came and did it for you so we could have Mom and Dad back. And I did the same to Amanda. She was going to ruin us and everything you’ve worked so hard for. We couldn’t allow that to happen. I came because you called me. I came because I am you.”
Randall said nothing. He stared at the man in front of him, knowing he was right but unwilling to believe what he was hearing.
“We have more to do,” Sam whispered. “You’ve done well and admitted your truths. Now you know who you are. Who I am. And we have to save ourselves. This isn’t over. Peter knows the truth, and he’s become dangerous. He’ll turn you in to the police, and we’ll spend the rest of our liv
es in prison. We can’t let that happen. We have to take care of Peter.”
“No. I can’t.”
“We can. It’s the only way.”
Randall wiped the tears from his eyes and slowly shook his head. He couldn’t say the words aloud, but he knew Sam was right. There were tracks that needed covering. This was about survival. Sam’s words swam through his mind like a dream he couldn’t wake up from.
I came because you called me. I came because I am you.
55
Susan followed Tommy and Peter Reems down the hall and into Peter’s home office. She still wasn’t sure what to believe but needed Tommy in her corner for the moment. There were too many loose ends to try and get through, and she didn’t want to jump to any conclusions. Better to keep the kid close and on her side. She’d adjust if she had to. But for now, they were better off working as a team.
As soon as Peter sat behind his desk, Tommy slammed Randall’s folder down. “A couple of details you forgot to share with us,” he said. “Randall Brock is William Feder. And he’s not your partner. He’s your patient.”
Susan watched from the back of the room as Peter pulled the folder toward him and skimmed the first page, his index finger sliding down the paper as he read. “Randall told me you discovered his identity. I was wondering how long it would take for you to come knocking. How did you get this?”
“Subpoena.” Susan leaned against the closed door. “We got his identity from running his prints when we arrested him. You knew all along, and you kept it from us. Misled us by saying you two were working together. You said Randall was your colleague.”
“We are working together.” Peter pointed to the file. “As doctor and patient. And he is my colleague. Dr. Feder is just as much a doctor of psychiatry as I am.”
“Dr. Feder doesn’t even exist anymore.” Tommy lurched over the desk. “You knew what we were investigating. You knew we labeled Amanda’s accident a homicide. Why wouldn’t you come forward and tell us the truth about who Randall was and that you were treating him? That he needed treatment?”
“Because I knew you’d pin Amanda’s accident on him without conducting a proper investigation, and I’m not convinced Randall’s guilty of anything.”
Tommy’s voice was growing louder. “How can you say that? Your own diagnosis tells us that not only is Dr. Brock capable of murder but he has the capacity to take on a different personality while committing the act. All of a sudden he starts talking about a mysterious visitor named Sam? There’s no way you thought he was completely clean. No way.”
I Know Everything Page 23