by Brenda Novak
She cleared her throat. “If you were attracted to me, you didn’t let on—not at the very first.”
“I wasn’t sure it would be wise to go after what I wanted. Then when you came to town when HH was being built to deal with the vandalism…”
“I proved you right. Last night, too.”
“I can’t complain too loudly, not when I liked touching you, holding you, as much as I did.” He fell silent for a few seconds. Then he said, “And there’s always the promise of the future.”
Her heart began to pound. He still wanted her. But she couldn’t risk failing again, especially with him. If she did, maybe he’d be convinced, once and for all, that she was too damaged.
Or was she more afraid of success than failure? What if she enjoyed making love with Amarok? What if he enjoyed it, too, and they got into a relationship? That was where they were heading last summer, before she put a stop to it. Romantic relationships weren’t easy and would be especially complicated with someone like her. Even if she could have sex with Amarok, she couldn’t risk her heart. The heartbreak Jasper had caused was the worst aspect of what he’d done.
“I gave it the old college try,” she said, skirting the real issue.
He spoke softly, meaningfully. “Maybe next time you’ll be able to trust me enough to go through with it.”
They would be staying together, so they’d definitely have the chance.…
“Someday I’d like to give you an orgasm,” he went on. “More than one. I enjoy thinking about that. I imagine hearing you gasp my name as I feel you shudder beneath me.”
The picture he’d just painted made Evelyn short of breath. She was suddenly tempted to make wild, animalistic love with him right here on the living room floor. How better to scream out her defiance than to fulfill her sexual potential in spite of her past? She’d love nothing more than to flip Jasper off in return and to do it in just that way.
But with the thought of Jasper came the memory of that severed limb, which reminded her of Lorraine and Danielle—and that doused all desire in an instant.
“You’re a glutton for punishment,” she said dryly.
“I was in that bed, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were so close to going through with it.”
She couldn’t argue that. “Yes.”
“And now? Are you still interested?”
If her racing heart served as any indication … “Of course,” she admitted. “Nothing’s changed.”
He reached out and took her hand. “We can work with that—when the time is right.”
She was glad he wasn’t planning to press her tonight. She’d fail for sure if he did.
“But back to the nightmare of what we’re involved in,” he said as if he realized he’d pushed her about as far as he could in that direction. “Why couldn’t it be someone else who left that hand? If not someone in Danielle’s little black book, a friend or loved one of an inmate incarcerated at Hanover House? Or some sick bastard who’s vying for his five minutes of fame and feels as if tormenting you, a high-profile advocate for the study and treatment of human predators, will put him in the spotlight?”
“Because whoever did this wasn’t just flipping me off,” she said. “He was letting me know he could get into my house, could kill me at will. And the posing—that’s repetitive behavior.” She ran a finger over the scar on her neck. “You know Jasper killed my three best friends. With Agatha, he—” She couldn’t bring herself to tell him about Agatha. What Jasper had done was so demeaning that just saying the words felt like a sacrilege. “Never mind the specifics. The bottom line is that he likes to pose his victims in compromising or humiliating positions.” And she’d had to be in that room, with her friends dead and posed like that, for three days.…
“If it is Jasper, I need to know everything you can possibly tell me, Evelyn.”
She understood that, but she decided to describe what he’d done to Jessie instead, which would be slightly easier since it was less sexual. “Fine … with Jess he … he bound her arms across her bare breasts in an X, like this”—she moved her arms to show him—“and wired her hand to her face with her middle finger going up her nose.”
“He’s a bastard, no doubt about it.”
“I bet every day I’m alive eats at him, makes him feel inadequate.”
“There was no Jasper in Danielle’s list of conquests. But, of course, he wouldn’t be using that name these days. It’s too distinctive.”
“Actually, if he knew she kept a record, he would definitely want to be in it, and he’d want me to see his name—the name I would most recognize. What better way to rattle me? So maybe she just never had the chance to add him.”
“What I don’t understand is how he singled Danielle out in the first place. Is he watching the prison? Following the employees?”
“And if so, what made him pick her?”
“Are you kidding?” he said. “She’d take any man, even a stranger, home. She was playing a game to find the biggest cock in town.”
“Interesting behavior.”
“Care to explain it?”
“You mentioned sex addiction when you told me about the measuring. Some sexologists claim that’s a myth, that it makes a pathology out of normal behavior. Others recommend twelve-step and other addiction treatments. I see it as just another way people try to avoid less pleasant areas of their lives—like habitual drinkers, gamblers, liars and drug abusers. It’s not all about the pleasure, although the chemicals released in our brains can be drug-like. I never had the chance to talk to Danielle about her behavior, of course, but I once had a patient who was almost that promiscuous. At various times, she worked as a prostitute in the cheapest section of town. After one of the johns she’d slept with tried to kill her, her parents brought her to me.”
“What did you find?”
“That her behavior wasn’t as complex as I was expecting. She wanted to be loved, wanted to feel desired, and was too dysfunctional to go about it in healthier ways.”
“I don’t think Danielle was looking for love.”
“I’m guessing she got a rush from feeling desired. Sex, in some way, became a substitute. My patient cited that as her main reason. With Danielle, I’d guess she was also excited by the risk.”
“She couldn’t have jumped out of planes or something?”
“She couldn’t afford that.” She shifted to get more comfortable. “And she might’ve been titillated by the sheer carnality of it. Different things turn different people on. I’m just glad you’re not in that book.”
“You and me both. Think how that would look, if even the local law enforcement had been taking a turn.”
“Your instincts served you well.”
“I already had my heart set on someone else.” Her … Although he made that plain, he didn’t give her a chance to comment before going on. “But several men I know, some of them people I consider friends, are listed and, for a few, I can even understand why. It can get lonely up here, especially for transplants, who aren’t used to it.”
“You said some are married.”
“There’s no excuse for those guys, but…” He cursed. “That doesn’t make this situation any easier. What’s happening will wreck relationships, breed fear and invoke criticism and debate. In other words, it’ll cost the people here even if there are no more victims.”
Evelyn couldn’t blame him for being upset. She had indeed brought evil to his hometown, just as he’d feared. To make matters worse, he’d be responsible for fixing the problem, even though he wasn’t experienced in homicide—wasn’t staffed for it, either. He worked for the Department of Public Safety, so he’d have some support, but he’d told her himself that Hilltop hadn’t seen a murder in ten years. A decade ago, he’d been nineteen—barely a man. Now, partly because no one would listen to him when she proposed building a correctional facility on the outskirts of town, he was a lone lawman manning a remote post with one or two pa
rt-time Village Public Safety Officers to help keep the peace—and he only had that much help during the summer, when the usual influx of hunters and fishermen arrived.
Laughing, so she wouldn’t cry, she buried her face in her hands. She’d considered coming to Alaska to be such a good idea. The BOP had provided her with the perfect opportunity to establish the institution she’d long envisioned—one where she’d be free to study psychopathic behaviors and traits in depth and on her own terms. Land here was cheap, which made the facility affordable. Most residents were eager for the jobs it created. And the overloaded and understaffed maximum-security prisons in the Lower 48 were more than happy to supply her with subjects, since doing so made their prisons both safer and easier to run.
But she’d unwittingly sent Jasper an invitation to join her. That changed her perspective. Maybe she was free to focus on her work, but she was cut off from the rest of the world, living in a completely unsophisticated area where the only police presence was a man whose job normally entailed breaking up bar fights, pulling over drunk drivers, following up on hunting infractions and removing animal carcasses from the highway. With the abundance of wildlife in Alaska—moose, caribou, bears, even bald eagles who sometimes swooped down and attempted to carry off small children—the animal issues took up more time than the occasional petty theft or drunken brawl at the Moosehead.
As capable as Amarok was when it came to his regular job, he’d never faced a case involving cold-blooded, premeditated murder. And once word spread, the whole town would be in a panic, everyone looking to him to put the man responsible behind bars.
When she couldn’t quit laughing, he stood up. “You think it’s funny?”
“No,” she said, sobering. “I’m laughing at the irony.”
“And that means…”
“The damage might turn out to be even more extensive than you think. I’m afraid I’ve plunged us both into a fight that will take everything we’ve got to win.”
* * *
Had she found it yet? the man wondered.
Surely, by now, she had to have. It was late, late enough that she would have left the prison. He knew she was dedicated and spent long hours there, but it was nearly two in the morning.
He should go to bed, he told himself. Eight o’clock would come far too fast. It was stupid for him to be up pacing the floor with as much sleep as he’d lost the last few nights. Someone might remark on how tired he looked. But the adrenaline flowing through his body wouldn’t allow him to relax, especially when he imagined Evelyn Talbot stumbling across that arm. Not only had he put it in her house; he’d put the damn thing in her bed.
That was masterful.
And what did she think of the way he’d positioned the fingers? Had she realized the hand attached to that arm was flipping the bird? And that she’d seen that same type of behavior somewhere before?
He hoped so, because that small detail had taken extra effort and been such a pain in the ass to accomplish. The tape he’d used at first wouldn’t stick to dead flesh, not very effectively. He’d had to go to the store to get a different kind, even though he didn’t really have the time.
Yeah, Evelyn had to have realized that hand was flipping her off, he decided. She had to be remembering.
There was nothing to worry about. All was going according to plan.
11
Violent delights tend to have violent ends.
—RICHARD RAMIREZ, THE NIGHT STALKER
The next day, Evelyn insisted on taking Sigmund and his food with her to Hanover House. Amarok had to get that severed limb to the State Medical Examiner in Anchorage to see what information could be gleaned from it. He’d also told Evelyn he wanted to speak to Kit. Assuming her neighbor’s son was indeed the one who’d shoveled her walks, Amarok thought Kit might’ve been drawn by the sound of the alarm and seen something.
But Evelyn wasn’t sure Kit could provide a description, even if he had spotted a stranger or unusual activity. What would he remember? Would the details even be correct?
She had no confidence they would be and couldn’t face the agonizing and disappointing process of trying to question him. Besides, she wanted to hurry to HH and call Leon Patton, the private investigator who’d been searching, for the past several years, for some trace of Jasper. Since Jasper had reappeared last summer, Leon felt like he had a chance again and had been working extra hours, trying to dig up some promising leads. He’d even flown down to Aruba, where there had been several sightings.
Not that he’d been able to find anything concrete.
Maybe that was because Jasper was right here in Alaska.…
Usually, Evelyn carried her investigator’s card in her purse, but she’d taken it out a couple of weeks ago, intending to call then. That was why she had to wait until she reached her office to check in with Leon.
Even if she hadn’t been so eager to make that call, she wasn’t about to vary from her routine, not when doing so would lead Jasper, if he was back, to assume he’d frightened her as he hoped. She had work to do and she wasn’t going to let him stop her from doing it. As effective as the Hare Psychopathy Checklist was in predicting recidivism—those who scored high on the test were three to four times more likely to reoffend than those who didn’t—it wasn’t enough to stop psychopaths from preying on the innocent. Society needed more definitive ways to spot these individuals and deal with them, and she was going to be part of developing that. Even Hare believed earlier detection was vital so that those with psychopathic tendencies could be socialized. Changing behavior patterns once set had proven impossible.
The COs at Security were understandably somber. They’d lost one of their own—actually two, but they didn’t yet know about Danielle since her death hadn’t been confirmed.
“Good morning, Dr. Talbot.…” “Hello, Doctor.…” “Pretty cat, Doc.…”
When she spotted Glenn—Officer Whitcomb—near the elevator, she made it a point to pull him aside. “How are you doing?”
He shook his head as if there were no words. “I still can’t believe it, Doc. I mean … who would ever want to hurt Lorraine? And what he did to her! It’s so hard to imagine anyone being that brutal.”
She blanched. “So you’ve heard about that part.”
“Yeah. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I couldn’t.”
“After what you’ve been through, I guess I can see why. Anyway, I wish I could get my hands on that bastard. Everyone liked Lorraine.”
“She’ll be missed,” Evelyn said with a nod.
He stroked Sigmund. “She made HH a better place.”
“I agree.”
“You have to be careful.” His eyes, filled with determination and outrage, bored into hers. “Don’t go out on your own. If you’d like me to walk you to your car when you leave each night, just let me know when you’re ready.”
“I’m sure I’ll be safe on prison grounds.…”
As he lifted his hat to scratch his head, he looked more than rattled; he looked a bit frightened himself. “I don’t know if anyone’s safe.”
She squeezed his arm with her free hand. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. You must be as devastated as I am. You loved her, too.”
“I did. And thanks for the offer to walk me to my car. I’ll take you up on that if you’re around when I leave.” Even if putting him to the trouble wasn’t necessary, it would give them a chance to talk.
“That makes me feel better.”
“Me, too.” She almost told him that what she really needed was to get his uncle to come from Anchorage to fix her alarm system. There was no one local who did that sort of thing. But she didn’t want Glenn or anyone else to know what’d taken place last night, not yet. So she figured she’d have to let the alarm situation go for a while. Although doing so made her nervous, she supposed it wouldn’t matter if she was going to be at Amarok’s, anyway. She could take care of the alarm later.
With a polite smile, sh
e told Glenn good-bye and nodded to everyone else who addressed her as she carried Sigmund through the facility. She’d felt so fragile last night, so close to the brink of the dark, emotional abyss that had nearly swallowed her years ago, that she was surprised to find herself angry this morning. More than angry—fiercely determined. She’d beaten Jasper this summer, hadn’t she? She was no longer an innocent sixteen-year-old girl who knew nothing of his psyche. She was a self-possessed adult, armed with an extensive education on human behavior. And because of his last attack, she knew he was still around, tracking her, watching her, making plans. She would not allow him to drag her back to that shack again, not even figuratively. She’d fought too hard to recover.
“Dr. Talbot, could I speak with you?”
It was Fitzpatrick. From the looks of it, he’d been milling around the reception area, waiting for some sign of her. He seemed upset again, but she didn’t care. She was ready for her cantankerous co-administrator. She felt ready for anyone.
“Yes, come in.” She arranged for Sigmund to stay with Penny for a few days and handed off her pet. Then she led Fitzpatrick into her office. “Please, have a seat.” Motioning to the chair he’d taken before, she closed the door and crossed to her desk.
He ignored the chair and kept standing.
Determined not to let him rush her, she set her briefcase on the credenza, the coffee Penny had provided when she took Sigmund on the desk, and stripped off her heavy coat, gloves and hat.
“I have some more tragic news,” she announced, getting the jump on him lest he start in on whatever he’d come to talk about.
He made a face. “I hope it’s not as tragic as what you told me yesterday.”
“I’m afraid so.” She wished he’d back up. She remained on her feet because, even with the desk between them, he was so tall and imposing it felt as if he was invading her personal space. “There’s been another victim.”
His thin, pale lips parted. “Not another one of us…”
By that he meant someone from Hanover House. HH had only been open for three months, but already an “us” versus “them” mentality was developing—“them” being those among the townspeople who regarded the institution and those who ran it with distrust. It was almost as if Hanover House had become a small country of its own—Israel surrounded by enemy nations. And recent events would only foster more antagonism. Hanover House’s opponents would finally be able to point to an actual incident like those they’d tried to warn everyone against.