Her chin shot up. “Until the day I die...which isn’t going to be today.”
“We’ll see. Your viper’s tongue finally got you in trouble. Usually, that’s perfect for our agenda, but you started using it to hurt people I care about.”
“Who?” Her brow knit in confusion. Of course, she wrote so many stories that maybe she couldn’t remember who she’d recently attacked.
“Becca Haney,” he said with disgust. “The SSAM agency. Don’t you remember what you posted just yesterday? If only you’d waited for me to help film it, I could have stopped you before you went too far. Now, it’s too late.” Anger had him starting to close the partition again.
“No, wait!”
He paused before closing it.
“Of course I remember,” she said. “You’re friends with Becca? I didn’t know...how? Help me understand.”
It was something his therapist might have said...back when he was seeing one nearly twenty years ago. His college guidance counselor had recommended it, sensing the pent-up anger that had come out as passive aggressiveness against fellow students. Nothing had soothed him until he’d finally accepted his gift and made his first kill. He’d started small, with one of Mother’s patients. The effect on Mother had been an amazing side benefit. Then he understood everything—including his purpose in life—very, very well. Now, he had only to explain how his gift benefited society, to be accepted.
“The agents at SSAM are my friends. They’re good people.”
“I’m your friend,” Eve hastened to say. “We worked together for two years... I know I couldn’t pay you much, but I don’t deserve this.”
“It’s not about money. Once again, you don’t get it. You never really saw me, or what I did for you. Becca, on the other hand...people like her, like me, like SSAM, rule the world, and you don’t even know it. We decide who lives and dies. Who is punished and who walks free. We judge people worthy.”
“So they decided to let you walk free?” Her hand went to her sore throat.
He smiled. “Bet you’re wishing you hadn’t spit that water back in my face.”
She nodded. “I am. I’m...sorry.”
So agreeable. He liked this new Eve. The old Eve would have choked on an apology. Maybe he would shed some light for her. Then again, Mother expected him to escort her to Hank’s memorial. He couldn’t disappoint her, not when it appeared she was finally starting to feel better again. Still, there were a couple things that had to be done before he left.
“I need you to do something for me,” he said.
“What?” She was nearly breathless with the desire to please him...probably thinking it would save her.
“I have to leave for a few minutes. When I get back, we’re going to have a little talk.”
“About Becca?”
“About you. You spend your time digging up the roots of the people you go after in the public eye. Now, it’ll be your turn to unburden your conscience. Dig deep and make it good. It’ll go in your obituary.”
“Obituary?” The word was a croak in her parched, tortured throat.
“I like to add a personal touch. Something my viewers wouldn’t know about.”
“Viewers? They watch me, not you.”
He felt anger welling up again and suppressed it. “I’ve been working on a documentary. Good versus evil. The great debate. So be thinking about your answers and give me something good.” He laughed. “Or evil...whatever floats your boat. The viewers will decide for themselves, anyway.”
Wednesday, 3:05 p.m.
Woodlawn neighborhood, South Side, Chicago
“You have information for us?” Becca’s question to Einstein over the phone had Diego turning his head from where he sat in the passenger seat. For nearly thirty minutes, they’d been watching the house at the Woodlawn address Patrick had given on his SSAM application. There had been no sign of movement inside. She could only hope Patrick had been truthful back then, when he’d wanted to impress his future employers...and that he hadn’t moved since. But they didn’t know what they’d be walking into, thus they wanted Einstein’s intel. On the other side of the street, down a few houses from the one they watched, two CPD plainclothes officers watched, too.
“I confirmed Patrick’s last known address. Who’s a rock star?”
Becca could practically hear Einstein grin through the phone.
“Eddie Vedder?”
“Me. I’m the rock star, at least today. There is a Patrick Bigelow paying the utility bill at the address listed on his SSAM employment app. Should be a house in a quiet suburb.”
The house they’d been watching was definitely quiet, sedate in its 1950s brick frame with the small porch.
“He’s thirty-eight and lives with his mother, Joyce,” Einstein said.
“Oh.” Beside her, Diego sent her a questioning glance and she put the phone on speaker.
Einstein laughed at her surprise. “He’s a bit of a mama’s boy, supposedly. Except that he’s deadly. Three unsolved cases in the general vicinity of that neighborhood in the last five years might be linked to this guy, and I’m not done looking yet. Nobody anybody would raise a stink about, but they all suffocated or had signs of strangulation. Lorena thinks the guy was just getting started.”
“What makes her think Patrick Bigelow was responsible for all of those murders?”
“He wrote the obituaries for the newspaper. We talked to the editor, who says the guy fancies himself as doing a service for his community.”
“Any other surprises you can warn us about?”
“No dogs or guns registered in his name.” Einstein liked the team members to go in as prepared as possible, God bless him. But that didn’t mean they shouldn’t expect the unexpected.
“The CPD officers have agreed to let you take the lead on this, at least to lure Patrick out. Then he’s all theirs. Still waiting on a warrant from the judge to get into the home.”
“The CPD can have him. As long as we don’t need him to find Eve.”
“Oh, and the specs for that house indicate it has a basement. Nothing good happens in a basement. I’d start there.”
As Einstein hung up, Diego nudged her arm and nodded to the street in front of them. A station wagon slowed and turned into the driveway of the Bigelow home. The garage opened, then closed as soon as the car was inside.
“I didn’t get a good look at the driver, did you?”
Diego shook his head. “Too far away.”
“Guess we’re going in for a closer look.”
They checked their weapons, then tucked them out of sight on their bodies. Diego reached across and cupped the back of Becca’s neck, pulling her face to his for a kiss that smoldered with heat and urgency for a brief, intense moment.
His lips were only an inch from hers when he spoke. “Don’t do anything risky.” As if kissing him wasn’t risky enough...
“But Eve—”
“I mean it. Put your own safety first for once. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
She bristled. She’d do what the mission required, within the safest parameters possible, as she always did. As they got out of the car, the police officers did as well, joining them on the sidewalk. After a brief discussion of the layout and objective, the officers agreed to wait in the wings while Becca knocked on the door and attempted to gain entrance to the home. The priority was ensuring Eve’s safety, so she’d rather not have to wait for a warrant. Diego, however, was by her side as a woman in her early sixties with gray-and-brown hair pulled into a no-nonsense bun at the crown of her head, which stretched the wrinkles from her face, scowled through the open doorway. She had yet to take off her coat.
“Hi,” Becca said, trying for a bright tone. “Are you Joyce Bigelow?”
The woman looked hesitant but answered. “Yes, I am.”
“I’m looking for your son Patrick.”
Her gaze shifted to Diego, who was standing behind Becca like a brick wall that had baked in the sun all day,
imposing and immovable, but also warm and solid. Perhaps Becca should have insisted he guard her from afar, but she felt better knowing he had her back.
“Who are you?” Joyce asked her.
His worst nightmare. Becca bit her tongue against uttering the words she wanted to say. She wanted to shove the door open and hold a gun on Patrick while they searched for Eve. But Joyce was an unknown. Becca feared Eve might be in danger. If they could gain entrance to the house, granted by the owner, however...
Telling Joyce a shade of the truth might encourage her to help them locate her son, as well as get her out of the house and out of harm’s way before they went in after him.
“I’m Agent Becca Haney, from SSAM—” Before she could explain the acronym, Joyce’s brow creased, her features turning stormy.
“You need to leave,” Joyce said.
“I just want to talk—”
“Patrick doesn’t want to talk to you.” Something flashed in Joyce’s eyes. “You’re ruining everything. I’ve seen the emails. You’re taunting him, teasing him.” She looked Becca up and down with distaste.
Jealousy. That was what Becca saw in the woman’s expression.
“I don’t mean to tease.” Becca smiled. “I’m here, aren’t I? He said he wanted to be my partner. Please tell Patrick I came for him.”
Joyce’s gaze again moved to Diego. “Looks like you already have a partner.”
Shit. Becca pulled the woman’s attention back to her by giving a tired sigh. “Patrick asked me to come. Is he here or not? Or should I tell him you kept us apart?”
“You’ll never have him. Not fully. He’s not going to kill for you.”
At Joyce’s words, Becca froze. Behind her, she could sense Diego tensing, preparing for action, if necessary.
“I don’t understand,” Becca said.
“He thinks I don’t know, but I do. He’s been talking with you. I saw the drafts of his notes on the computer, and his phone. He just wants to belong. For you to admire him.”
That was a feeling Becca could understand.
“But I should be enough.” Joyce’s lips quivered so much she had to press them together for a long moment to gain control. “He belongs with me. My admiration should be enough.”
“You love your son.” Becca picked her words with care. It seemed the nut didn’t fall far from the tree in this family. “And he’d do anything for you.”
Joyce gave a firm nod, an unholy light in her eyes. “Anything. He killed for me. Can you say he did the same for you?”
A pissing match. Just dandy.
“How do you know he’s killed for you?” Becca tried to keep judgment from her voice.
“I select them, he helps them along. They find peace. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Oh, God. What had they stumbled onto? “Who finds peace?”
“My patients.” Joyce sent her a look as though Becca was dense. “At the hospice home. He does what he does for me. Because I’ve done the same for him.”
What? Inside, her thoughts were whirling at the speed of light. Outside, Becca strived for a calm and cocky attitude. “Actually, he’s done the same for me. I’m here to thank him. I think he deserves my personal gratitude.”
Joyce suddenly looked pale. “He didn’t. He wouldn’t.”
“He’s killed many people, Joyce. All to get my attention.” Becca smiled as if she appreciated this. “Only, this last one might not be dead yet.” She shrugged as if it were no consequence. “Before I reward him properly, I’d like to make sure.”
“He wouldn’t.” This time, her words were a whisper.
“He took a woman named Eve.”
Joyce was wavering. Becca could see the woman’s hesitation in the way she glanced back over her shoulder. She wanted Patrick’s love—in the form of murderous dedication—and the thought of Becca earning it instead of her was unacceptable.
“He wouldn’t have.” Joyce added a nod of certainty to punctuate the statement.
“Why not?”
“I’ve done so much for him. I’m the one who got him all the attention when he was growing up, every time he was sick.”
Every time? It sounded like Patrick had been an extremely sick little boy. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m wrong. I suppose, if that’s true, it couldn’t hurt to look around? If Eve and Patrick aren’t here, I’ll leave you alone.”
Joyce was caught in the middle. If she denied them entrance, it would be as good as admitting her fears and hurt her pride. If she let them in, she was allowing them to invade their privacy but would prove that she was Patrick’s favorite and Becca was a nobody. She didn’t seem to comprehend that what Patrick had done was illegal, and a warrant would soon invade his privacy, anyway.
“If you’re worried that you’re wrong...” Becca continued when Joyce hesitated.
Joyce stepped aside, indicating they could come in. The police officers waiting on the sidewalk stepped forward and joined them in the house.
“Where is Patrick?” Becca searched the living room for signs of someone else in the home. Flower-patterned furniture and kitschy knickknacks dominated the decor. A high shelf lined every wall, and was filled from end to end with porcelain dolls and figures, all dressed in nurse uniforms. Becca couldn’t look at their glassy eyes without shuddering.
“He’s out running an errand for me. We were at a memorial service most of the day—”
“Whose?” Becca interrupted.
“That’s none of your business.”
Becca shrugged. “Patrick will tell me everything later.”
Joyce heaved a long-suffering sigh. “One of my patients died.”
“You’re a doctor?”
“A nurse, at the hospice home a few miles away.” That explained the creepy figurines. “Patrick should be back any minute.” Joyce followed them into the kitchen, where more dolls lined the top of the cabinets. To their left, opposite a small kitchen table, Becca spied a door.
“You won’t find anything,” Joyce said confidently.
Becca gestured to the door. “There’s a basement?”
“Yes, but that’s Patrick’s space.”
Bingo. “Mind if I take a look?”
Joyce looked conflicted. The woman was clearly starting to doubt what they’d find. But she’d also committed to her story that Patrick had nothing to hide. Finally, she shrugged.
“Please wait up here.” Becca made eye contact with one of the police officers, who stepped forward and spoke to Joyce, efficiently leading her toward the living room to wait. The other officer would accompany them into the basement.
With the flip of a switch at the top of the stairs, the windowless room was flooded with fluorescent light. They could see most of a rectangular room, walls reinforced with soundproof padding, but part of it was hidden by the angle of the stairs.
The officer drew his gun and led them slowly down the stairs. Instinctively, Becca’s hand went to her gun, tucked in a shoulder holster. But there was no need. Patrick wasn’t here. A moment later, Diego and the officer had checked the area and given the all clear.
“This place is as clean as an operating room,” Diego said.
“Which makes me wonder what kind of operating this guy has been doing.” But something odd caught Becca’s eye—a brown area of an otherwise-gray concrete-block wall. It was behind a shelving unit, and as she moved closer, she recognized scrape marks on the cement floor, arcing outward from the base of the unit. She gestured to Diego to help her pull the shelves out of the way. It wasn’t particularly heavy, and was probably manageable on one’s own if one was Patrick’s size. Behind it, inset in the wall, was a wooden door with a tiny window that locked from the outside.
But the cell was empty. If anyone had been held there recently, they were long gone. “She’s not here.”
Diego moved toward a set of utility shelves in a far corner. A television and camera were set up at a desk adjacent to the shelves. “Maybe there’s a clue in here?”
Becca came to his side. “There have to be over a hundred DVDs here, like at Eve’s place. If he catalogued all of his victims...”
Diego nodded, understanding. “But these aren’t all victims.” He examined the spines of the cases. “These are from various prisons in the state. Looks like he’s interviewed dozens of criminals. Here’s Tony’s DVD.”
Becca froze as she spied one marked with her name...and James Powell’s. She desperately didn’t want Diego to see it. “We should let the CPD catalog these and set up a watch for when Patrick returns.” Or maybe it was time to post a comment of her own on Eve’s blog and see where it led.
“In the meantime, the police will take Joyce in for questioning. Maybe she’ll tell us where Eve could be.”
Eve was still in danger, and every minute that passed made it more likely she’d become one of Patrick’s victims.
Wednesday, 4:15 p.m.
Woodlawn neighborhood
Patrick was in line at the grocery store when his phone pinged with an alert. His heart sped as he saw Eve’s post had received another comment—this time, from Becca. He hastily snatched up his bags and headed to the car, where he could view the post in private.
It seemed to take forever for the blog to load on his phone. “Come on. Come on.” He scrolled through the hundreds of comments to Becca’s. She’d signed her name, clear as day, announcing to the world that she was innocent. And that she was ready to move on—with him.
SF, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your support, and everything you’ve done. I would love to show you my gratitude. It’s rare to find such a dedicated partner.
His heart soared and blood pounded in his ears. Becca wanted to be his partner. It was finally time to reveal himself.
He sped home, slowing when he entered his neighborhood. A school bus blocked his way, and he waited impatiently as several high school students disembarked and crossed the street. As the bus pulled forward, Patrick followed, but his eyes were still on the group of kids. Which is how he saw the unmarked cop car with two men inside, across the street and down a few houses from his house. Their attention was also on the kids. Instead of pulling into his driveway, he continued past.
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