by Brenda Novak
Evelyn wished she could say no, but … “I’m afraid there isn’t any way to avoid that.”
“He’s going to wish he’d killed me.”
“How is it that he didn’t? How were you any different from the women he’d been with before?”
“I’ve asked myself that so many times,” she said. “But I have no idea. He was having an affair with our neighbor when I left him. And I didn’t try to take anything—no money, no furnishings. I’d seen his temper. To me, fighting over that stuff wasn’t worth the rage it would evoke. I was just glad to get out with my son. So maybe it was that I never made him mad enough. Or he let me live for Danny’s sake.”
“What are Anthony’s parents like?” Evelyn asked.
“That’s the thing,” Courtney replied. “They’re really nice. They don’t deserve a son like him.”
Evelyn got up to stand at the window. “No one deserves a son—or a husband—like Anthony Garza. Don’t worry, Courtney. He’ll never be able to hurt you again,” she said, and got Detective Green on the line.
* * *
Amarok’s meeting with Tim Hancock proved enlightening, enlightening enough that he headed over to Hanover House next. It was time to talk to the other “Tim” in Danielle’s book—Dr. Fitzpatrick.
Evelyn’s chief colleague tried to put him off by citing how busy he was and how he couldn’t be late for his next appointment or it would throw his schedule off for the rest of the afternoon. But Amarok wasn’t about to accept that. He had a murder investigation on his hands, and he was doing everything he could, as quickly as possible, to solve it. So he threatened to drive Fitzpatrick down to his trooper post for the interview, pointing out how much more time that would require, and only then did Evelyn’s colleague agree to a quick sit-down in his office.
“So here we are,” Fitzpatrick said from behind his big desk.
Amarok noted the locked cabinet Evelyn had described as containing the file that held so much information on her. “Thank you for your forbearance,” he said as he claimed one of the two seats directly opposite the desk.
A muscle moved in Fitzpatrick’s cheek; he could tell Amarok was being facetious. “Apparently, what you have to say to me can’t wait, so what is it you need, Sergeant?”
“I’d like you to give me a little information about your relationship with Officer Kush and Officer Petrowski, if you would.”
“My relationship with them?” He seemed genuinely puzzled.
“That’s right. You know both, don’t you?”
“Of course. They work here.”
Apparently, he hadn’t heard they were about to be suspended. Evelyn had done an admirable job keeping that under wraps. “Are you any more familiar with these COs than the others on staff?”
“No, why?”
Amarok didn’t answer his question. He merely moved forward with his own agenda. After what Hugo had told him, it was difficult to even look at Fitzpatrick without punching him in the face. “You don’t associate with them outside of work? Never spend any time with them after hours—at your place or theirs?”
“No. Never,” he said as if that would be too far beneath him.
“Can you say the same about Danielle Connelly?”
Caution entered his tone. “Excuse me?”
“Did you have a relationship with Danielle outside of the prison?”
He straightened several items on his desk. “What makes you ask that?”
Amarok narrowed his eyes. “Why don’t you answer the question?”
“Of course not. Danielle was young and … and uneducated. What would we have in common?”
“You’re saying you weren’t interested in her romantically.”
“Not at all.”
“You only saw her at work.”
His gaze met Amarok’s, but only briefly before it skittered away. He shuffled some papers. “That’s correct.”
“You’ve never had sex with Danielle.”
“Do I really have to tolerate this?” he asked, coming to his feet.
“Since I’m determined to figure out who killed her, yes.”
“But this is crazy. The next thing I know you’ll be blaming me for her death!”
“That’s an interesting comment.” Amarok rubbed his chin. “Would there be any reason for me to consider you a suspect?”
Looking supremely uncomfortable, he smoothed his lab coat. “No! You’re only here because you don’t like me.”
“You’re halfway right,” Amarok said. “I don’t like you. But that’s not why I’m here.”
Fitzpatrick gestured toward the window. “There are so many other people out there you should be questioning.”
“Out there…”
“In Hilltop. Wherever.”
“You mean besides you.”
“Yes, besides me!”
“So … if I told you that Danielle’s neighbor saw you at her house, you would say…” Amarok crossed his legs and looked up. Lloyd Hudson hadn’t seen anything; this was merely a hunch. But when Fitzpatrick fell back in his chair as if he’d been shot, Amarok knew his hunch was correct. Hugo had started Amarok thinking that there wouldn’t be many places for a man like Fitzpatrick to find physical satisfaction in Hilltop, not when the woman he really wanted wasn’t interested. With those pictures he was showing Hugo, he had to be looking for a sexual outlet. That, taken together with the evidence of Danielle having made such a fancy dinner and the fact that Danielle probably wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble for just any man, made Amarok wonder if her dinner guest could have been someone she meant to impress, someone she considered important—like a member of the mental health team from the facility where she worked.
“Dr. Fitzpatrick?” Amarok prompted.
He unbuttoned the collar of his shirt and loosened his tie. “I had dinner with her. That’s all.”
“Does that mean, if I were to measure your cock, it would come up as something other than five inches?”
His mouth dropped open. “Measure my—is that your idea of a joke?”
Amarok couldn’t help smiling; it was hard not to laugh outright. “Not really. Although, in my mind, it is a little funny. In case this is news, Danielle Connelly made a record of most of the men she slept with, and she made a note of each man’s … size.” Amarok didn’t mention that she hadn’t mentioned Tim’s last name. He didn’t want Fitzpatrick to realize he had the chance to lie—not until it was too late to do so.
A single vein popped out in the psychiatrist’s forehead. “She … she wrote that information down? What kind of woman does that?”
What kind of psychiatrist shows a convicted felon, a known psychopath, pornographic pictures of his female colleague? “Maybe she was performing her own study.” Amarok wasn’t nearly as relaxed as he hoped to appear. He needed a confession. Tim Hancock hadn’t even been in Alaska on the date Danielle had recorded the encounter in question. But, as Evelyn had pointed out, that didn’t mean—at least with absolute certainty—that the Tim in Danielle’s book had to be Dr. Fitzpatrick. “You didn’t warrant a smiley face,” Amarok added. “But there were others with less to offer, if that makes you feel any better.”
He clutched his chest, but Amarok could tell he wasn’t in physical pain; he was shocked and embarrassed.
“You don’t remember her measuring?” Amarok went on. “Because I’m thinking that would stand out—no pun intended, of course.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. She-she didn’t measure me. She didn’t even mention that sort of thing … mattered.”
“It shouldn’t when your brain is big enough to compensate, right? Maybe for you she made an educated guess. She certainly had the experience to do so.” He shoved the hems of his jeans more securely into his snow boots. “But you did have sex with her, did you not?”
Fitzpatrick looked around as if he were drowning and couldn’t find a rope.
“You wouldn’t want to lie and then have your DNA show up on the body,�
� Amarok said, using a cautious tone that, he hoped, demanded the truth.
“What body?” Fitzpatrick responded, pouncing on the only thing he could. “You mean her hand? Last I heard you hadn’t found any more of her—and you won’t, running around questioning the wrong people.”
“Finding a body can be a bit difficult when we’re surrounded by such a vast wilderness. The wildlife around here can devour remains pretty quickly. But the pathologist has scraped under Danielle’s nails—and found some very interesting evidence.” Although her nail filings were on the way to the lab, Amarok had no idea if the technicians would find anything. He was still bluffing—bluffing for all he was worth.
Fitzpatrick mumbled something Amarok couldn’t hear, so Amarok leaned closer. “What’d you say?”
“I said she was … constantly flirting with me. And she … she made me feel as if … as if our time together would be discreet. A simple release, if you will.”
“She was merely servicing you.”
“Yes,” he barked with supreme irritation, “if you have to state it that baldly.”
“Did you pay her?”
He shoved his chair back, slipped out from behind his desk and began to pace. “Of course not. She was … lonely, too.”
“Then you weren’t aware she was also sleeping with everyone else?”
“Everyone else?”
“Kush and Petrowski, several of the inmates and most of the men who frequent the Moosehead. The list is quite extensive.” He was learning it wasn’t quite exhaustive, however. Somehow Kush and Petrowski had managed to keep their names out of that book—if what Hugo had told him about them taking part was true.
Fitzpatrick covered his eyes. “Lord help me.”
Amarok doubted he’d receive any sort of divine intervention, but he waited to let his words sink in before pressing further. Fitzpatrick was beginning to crack. If he was guilty of the murders, maybe he’d let it all out, relieve his conscience, and Amarok would be able to arrest him. After what he’d learned about Fitzpatrick, Amarok didn’t want him around Evelyn anymore.
Fitzpatrick was the first to break the silence. “Does Evelyn know about this?” he asked, dropping his hand. “Is that why … why she believes what Hugo said?”
“That you hate her?”
“I don’t hate her,” he said, coming to a stop at the window.
“Then why did you use her likeness in your sessions with Hugo? Make her out to be a whore for him? For you both? So you could get off in the name of research? Or punish her for bringing you all the way out here and then disappointing you in the worst way?”
He glanced over his shoulder and blanched. “What I did with Hugo, it was … for my work. I was … I was performing studies on—”
“You were fulfilling your own sexual desires any way you could. You must’ve liked seeing Hugo crave her as badly as you do, liked creating that same frustration, knowing he’d never be able to assuage it, either.”
“Stop. You don’t know—”
“As far as I’m concerned, it all comes down to one thing.”
He pivoted and began to pace again. “And that is?”
“You’re obsessed with Evelyn.”
“See?” He threw up his hands. “That’s not true!”
“It is,” Amarok said. “And there’s a file in the cabinet behind you that proves it.”
What little color remained drained from his face, and he came to a dead stop. “How do you know?”
“About the file? I’ve got a copy of the contents.”
He shook his head. “What she must think of me.”
“She used to admire you.” Amarok got up. “But tell me this, Doc.”
The slope of Fitzpatrick’s shoulders made him look defeated.
“Were you involved with Kush and Petrowski in charging the inmates to have sex with Danielle?”
His dismay cleared and a spark of anger flashed in his eyes as his sharp chin came up. “No! I knew nothing about that.”
“You didn’t kill Danielle to hide their corruption?”
“Of course not! I swear it! I had sex with her, yes, but … but then I left. And that was it. I haven’t seen her since Saturday night.”
“You didn’t go back for more and get angry when she refused or you learned about the other men?”
“No! And I certainly didn’t harm Lorraine Drummond. If you think I could hack two women to pieces…” His words fell off as if he couldn’t even say it, let alone do it.
“I never dreamed you could do what you’ve done to Evelyn. That doesn’t give you a great deal of credibility. Maybe you were afraid that news of your involvement with Danielle would get out, that you might be disgraced, lose your job—”
“I’m embarrassed!” he snapped. “That’s the reason I lied, the reason I didn’t come forward to tell you I’d been with Danielle that once. But as bad as having lied makes me look, and all that business with … with the file I’ve got on Evelyn and what I did in those sessions with Hugo, I didn’t kill anyone, Sergeant. It would take a lot more than having sex with the wrong person to drive me to murder.”
“Even if the discovery of your actions meant losing Evelyn’s respect?”
He crossed over and threw himself in his seat. “I admire her. I’d rather she not know—about any of this. But she’s already lost respect for me.”
“Then maybe we can make a deal.”
“A deal?” he echoed with a spark of hope.
“If you willingly hand over the file I mentioned, the one in the cabinet behind you, I won’t tell her about your sessions with Hugo. Maybe that’s one thing she won’t have to find out about—since I’d rather she not have to hear it.” Amarok could only imagine how that would make her feel.
Without another word, Fitzpatrick took a key from under his desk, opened the filing cabinet and handed over the documents Evelyn had copied.
Amarok glanced through it to make sure everything was there. “Thank you. I’ll do what I can to spare you both news of … those sessions. But you realize I’m going to be asking Kush and Petrowski if you were involved in the prostitution.”
“Of course.”
“If they implicate you, all promises are void.”
He looked shell-shocked as he rubbed his forehead. “If they implicate me, they’re lying. I would never condone such actions, and I think they are both fully aware of that.”
“We’ll see what they say,” Amarok said.
His eyebrows knitted together. “You’re not the right man for her, you know. You might have certain … assets, a handsome face and maybe other … things. But you don’t get what drives her. And you’re not nearly smart enough for her.”
Amarok refused to let his smile fade. “Maybe you don’t realize it yet, but I was just smart enough for you.”
25
What’s one less person on the face of the earth, anyway?
—TED BUNDY, SERIAL KILLER, RAPIST, KIDNAPPER AND NECROPHILIAC
Evelyn adopted a pleasant expression as Anthony Garza glared at her. “There’ve been some interesting developments,” she said.
“That bastard I shanked has died?”
“Not yet. But he tried to escape from the hospital, got into a tussle with the man guarding his door and wound up in cardiac arrest.”
Garza flashed her those jagged teeth. “So this is good news.”
“Not entirely.” She crossed her legs and brushed a speck off her skirt. “I took a moment to call the hospital before coming here. The doctors were able to save him. He’s in stable condition.”
“What a dumbass.” He clicked his tongue. “I can only imagine what that must’ve looked like—him trying to run away with his bare ass hanging out his hospital gown.”
“He’s putting up a good fight—on every front. I thought if anyone could admire his determination, you could.”
“I don’t admire anything about him. The fact that he’s still breathing ruins a perfectly nice morning.”
&nb
sp; She grinned at Garza.
“What?”
“I’m afraid I’m about to ruin far more than that.”
“Oh yeah?” He leaned close, his eyes more watchful than before. “What else can you do to me?”
She yawned, as if she was no longer impressed with his “tough guy” routine, and opened the folder she’d brought in with her. “Does the name Elaine Morrison ring any bells?”
“None,” he said with an indifferent shrug.
He lied so quickly, so effortlessly—with none of the nervous habits that gave away most other people. Evelyn might have been tempted to believe him.
Except she knew better.
She took out the picture Green had faxed over while she was meeting with the warden and held it to the glass. “Elaine was one of the victims of the Porn Poser. She was a pretty lady, wouldn’t you say? A schoolteacher, only twenty-eight.”
He gave the photograph a cursory glance. He didn’t care what he’d done, felt no regret, no remorse. “So?” he said. “Why would I give a shit about any of that?”
“Because you’re about to be charged for her murder, and maybe several others.”
Making an exaggerated show of it by slapping his leg, he laughed, then abruptly stopped. “No, I’m not. They can’t connect me to her murder, or they would’ve charged me before.”
“Here’s the thing,” Evelyn said. “I’ve managed to come across an important piece of evidence.”
“You managed to find this evidence?” He was still skeptical.
“Yes.”
“Way the hell up here?”
She shrugged. “All it took was a phone call—and the right sort of appeal.”
His hesitation suggested he was getting worried. “Who’d you talk to?”
“I could say, but … I’d rather let you sweat it out.” She put the picture away and got up.
“You’re lying,” he said. “They have nothing on me.”
“We’ll see, won’t we?”
He jumped to his feet. “Where are you going?”
“I’m done here.”
“I’m not! What do they have?”
“Maybe if you give me the name of whoever told you to stab Hugo Evanski”—she covered another yawn as if she didn’t much care either way—“I’ll share, too.”