“Thank God for that. I’d like to talk with the doctor in charge where she’s been admitted. How much could they tell you about her condition?”
“Just that she’s incoherent and they’ve got her on a seventy-two hour psychiatric hold.”
“When did they pick her up?”
“Monday.”
“So . . . if things weren’t so confused around here, I’d see about getting her transferred.”
“I think she’s better off where she is . . . at least she’s safe.” Jon hesitated. “We still haven’t heard anything about Rogers and Buono.”
“I saw Mrs. Rogers this morning, gave her a sedative. She’s frantic with worry.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about Melissa’s mother; the last time I saw her she was doing a very good job of drinking herself into a stupor.”
“As we all might be before this is over.”
“If it’s ever over.”
The road was deserted as he drove out to the ranger’s station, the parksites empty. Plumes of dust rose in the hot dry air behind him and he licked his lips. Summer was back with a vengeance.
Malloy had not answered his phone or the radio all afternoon. With the exodus of campers there would be little reason for him to be out of the office for that long, unless he was looking for Hudson on his own.
Jon drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He did not need another person lost in the woods.
The gate was closed and locked, the small Quonset hut which served as information center and reservation check-in was vacant. He jimmied the lock and went inside, picking up the phone to check for a dial tone. It was working.
He looked around but there were no clues to the whereabouts of the ranger. No notes, no schedules listing outside duties, nothing.
He walked the few yards from the hut to the tower and began to climb up the ladder.
No one was in the tower and he stood looking down at the park, searching for movement. The forest stretched out below, hiding its secrets, basking in the heat of the day.
SEVENTY
Rachel woke with a start; someone was knocking on the door. She glanced at the clock and was surprised to see it was after five.
She put on her robe as she started down the stairs. Her headache was gone and she felt only slightly warmer than usual. A little groggy still, she hid a yawn behind her hand while opening the front door.
Kelly Hamilton stood outside.
“Kelly!” She ran her fingers through her hair, brushing it back from her face.
“Hello Rachel.” He waited, hands in his pockets, unsure of her reaction.
“How did you know I was home?”
“I saw Mike; he told me you were back, too.”
She held the door open. “Come in.”
They sat in the living room, strangely silent.
“How have you been?” she asked finally.
A quick smile. “Name it. I’ve been angry, lonely, depressed, relieved, hurt . . . and confused.”
“I’m very sorry. I know that doesn’t help, but I never wanted to hurt you.”
“I know you didn’t.”
“There was just no other way out . . .”
“You could have told me about your doubts,” he said gently.
“They came and went. Sometimes I was fine. But that day I wasn’t.”
“We should have just eloped.”
She smiled sadly. “I don’t think it would have made any difference. I couldn’t marry you.”
“Because of him?”
She looked at him closely, curious. “What do you mean?”
“Your brother’s friend, Jon, is it?”
“Jon Scott is a family friend,” she began and then stopped at the look on his face.
“I guessed a long time ago,” he said. “From a lot of little things. The look on your face when you mention his name, the tone of your voice. The picture . . .”
“Of Tim . . .”
“. . . and Jon. It became very clear to me after a while.”
“But there’s nothing between us,” she protested.
“Except memories and feelings. When you would talk about your brother, somehow Jon always came up. When you called your uncle, you always asked about Jon.”
“I’ve known him since I was thirteen.”
“And loved him just as long?”
She did not answer.
“And the picture. It took me a little longer to figure it out, but finally I saw the resemblance. I’ve got his coloring. We could be brothers.”
She frowned, looking at her hands folded in her lap.
“You bought me clothes that you’d seen him wear, the same colors, same styles. We probably use the same aftershave. Every similarity between us . . .”
“And you knew this?”
“After a while I did. Not at first.”
“I can’t believe you’d let me do that to you, make you over in his image . . .”
“I love you, Rachel. If I had to be like him to keep you . . .” he shrugged.
She buried her face in her hands, shaking her head.
“I thought that, maybe after we were married, you would forget about him.”
“God, I’m sorry . . .”
“Don’t be sorry that we were together. Even if you were thinking of him, you were making love to me.”
She looked at him with tortured eyes. “Kelly, I used you. How could you let me do that? How could you settle for so little?”
“Because I love you the way you love him.”
Tears threatened. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
There was little else to say.
She offered him coffee and he declined, and they walked to the door, standing there and looking into each other’s eyes. It had not been that long ago that they had shared so much; he was her first lover. But even that was unreal to her now.
“If you ever change your mind . . .”
She let it hang there between them, unanswered.
As she let him out the door he turned to her, leaning quickly, brushing her lips with his own.
“Does he know?”
She shook her head.
After a last lingering glance, he walked away and she watched until the car tail lights disappeared.
She took three aspirin and went back to bed, pulling the covers up to her neck and willing herself to go to sleep.
In a way, it was a relief to have it over. Kelly would get over her and find someone to love, someone who loved him in the way he deserved. It might take a little longer for her to get over the guilt of knowing what she’d done to him.
SEVENTY-ONE
Amanda Frey was locking the basement door when her husband came home and she pocketed the key before turning her cold eyes toward him.
“Dear.” He kissed the side of her mouth. “Dinner ready?” He rubbed his hands together, sniffing the air for clues.
“Liver and onions,” she said and went to the stove to fill the serving dishes.
He went immediately into the dining room and sat down at the head of the table, humming under his breath.
Amanda came through the door carrying the liver and a large bowl of whipped potatoes which she set on the table before returning to the kitchen.
He usually preferred to wait until everything was on the table before he began to dine, but the liver was too great a temptation and he stabbed the serving fork into the meat which was sliced thin, the way he liked it.
She returned with a gravy boat and a platter of her home-made biscuits, melting with hand-churned butter. Another quick trip through the door and his meal was complete: steamed cauliflower, broccoli and carrots.
“Lovely,” he said and took his first bite of liver which was remarkably tender and mild-flavored.
It was a little while before he noticed that she wasn’t eating, although she watched every bite he took.
“Don’t you feel well?” he inquired, sopping up gravy with a biscuit and taking it whole into his mouth.
“I’m a little tired.” Her face was expressionless.
“You should eat something,” he said when his mouth was empty.
“I’ve had my fill.”
“Oh yes, you always did nibble when cooking.” He clicked his tongue. “I remember when we were first married; you were in danger of becoming a little dumpling.” He turned his attention back to the food.
Her mouth twitched and she got up from the table, standing with hands folded near the door to the front room.
When the doorbell rang she walked quickly to answer it. A minor adjustment of her dress and she opened the door.
“Mrs. Frey, I’m Billy’s dad,” the man standing there said.
“Billy, of course.” She waited for him to continue.
“I’m looking for him, he didn’t come home from school.”
“Why, I’m sure he left with the others.”
“You didn’t see him lingering around?”
“No.” She took a small step backward. “But you know little boys . . . I’m sure he’ll turn up soon.”
She watched from behind the curtain as the man drove away, the car moving slowly along the road. Then she smoothed the fabric back in place and turned out the porch light, locking the double-locks.
“Another child missing?” Martin said when she told him. “Just terrible.”
“Children like to hide,” she observed and settled back into the chair across from him.
“The poor parents. Imagine how frantic they must be.”
She nodded.
A sigh. “I hope this won’t interfere with your school. You’ve been doing so well.”
“. . . so well,” she echoed.
“I guess we’ll just have to work harder. Perhaps you could pick the children up in the morning and take them home every afternoon. That would surely put their minds at ease.”
“The parents . . .” she began.
“The parents will surely see that there’s no safer place for their children to be than here on the church property with you. Like being in the lap of God.”
Again she nodded. “Perhaps you’re right.”
SEVENTY-TWO
“Dr. Adams.”
He looked up from the microscope, startled. “Susan, I didn’t hear you.”
“I thought you left hours ago,” she said, coming further into the lab. “It’s after seven.”
“So it is.” He switched out the light on the scope. “Rachel was expecting me . . .”
“She called a little while ago, said she was feeling much better.” Susan watched him put away the glass slides. “Still waiting for an identification on the bug?”
“I might be on to something here.” He put the slides into a locking cabinet. “I’ve managed to isolate the invasive body in the blood.”
“It can’t be too soon for me. I’m a little out of practice, taking care of so many patients.”
He smiled conspiratorially. “So am I.” He put an arm around her shoulder and walked her from the room.
“We’ve turned the corner, though,” he said, locking the lab door. “Almost all of them have shown some improvement.”
“Except for Tyler.”
“Ah, the enigmatic Mr. Tyler.”
“I call him spooky.”
“Close enough.”
“Actually, he’s a little more restless today. When I was in his room earlier, I noticed he was following me with his eyes.”
“That’s a good sign.”
“Medically yes. But . . .” she shivered.
Nathan regarded her. “You know, I never thought about it before, but all of you nurses have the same response to him.”
“I’ve never reacted this way to a patient before. There’s just something about him that makes my skin crawl.” She turned and started back toward the nurse’s station. “I’ll be glad when he’s out of here, one way or another.”
He got into his truck and started it, letting it idle for a few minutes to warm up.
Gradually he became aware of his wrist itching and he scratched it, surprised to find that it was very tender and warm to the touch. He held his arm up, trying to catch the light from the mercury lamps in the parking lot, and rolled up his sleeve.
His arm was swollen around a two centimeter superficial cut on his wrist. He’d slipped while autopsying the Davis girl earlier but the blade had barely sliced the skin and it hadn’t bled at all. He’d washed with betadine and thought nothing more of it. Now it . . . he, was infected.
SEVENTY-THREE
“So you’re what Rachel wanted. Jon Scott?”
The voice came from behind him in the darkened office and he turned, reaching to turn on the desk lamp.
“I am. Something I can do for you?”
The man smiled. “A lot of things . . . I’m Kelly Hamilton.” He rose to his feet and extended a hand, which Jon took. “I’ve just come from seeing Rachel.” He sat back down and looked over his folded hands.
“I’m a little busy right now,” Jon said, “so if you’ll tell me what you’re here for . . .”
“Came to see the prototype.” Another smile. “It isn’t every day that you get to see the original.”
“I’m not following you.” Jon said, puzzled.
“Oh, but you are. I followed you and now you follow me.” His hands, still clasped, moved through the air. “We’ve come full circle.”
“I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Rachel. She’s in love with you.”
Jon did not answer immediately, but sat behind the desk and evaluated Hamilton’s condition. “Have you been drinking?”
“Of course I’ve been drinking. But it has nothing to do with what I’m saying. Rachel is, and always has been, in love with you.”
“Rachel and I are family friends.”
“God, you even talk alike. Family friends.”
“I think you’re drunk.”
“Spoken like a true . . . policeman. Don’t worry, I expect the rest of this conversation to sober me up before I drive down the hill.”
“What do you want, then?”
“I want her to be happy. You can make her happy.”
“So you’re telling me this . . .”
“Because you can’t see what’s been in front of your face for the past fifteen years.”
Jon paused. “How do you know so much about it?”
“She told me. Oh, not in so many words, but I’d have to be a fool not to see it.” He took out a cigarette. “You know what that makes you?”
“Look, I can see you’ve got a problem here and I know what happened between you and Rachel, but there is nothing going on . . .”
“Only because neither of you have started it.” He flicked the lighter and watched the flame. “Like this . . . the fire’s there, just waiting for the right touch.”
“Even if you’re right, what makes you think it’s any of your business?”
“Because I spent eighteen months trying to make her happy, living in your shadow. I have an investment here.”
“If you still feel that strongly, maybe you should . . .” his voice trailed off.
“Try to get her back? What, you can’t even say it. But don’t worry about me, because I know something about Rachel. This is your last chance. If nothing happens between you, she’ll leave again, and she won’t be back.”
Jon lifted his eyes.
“She’s loved you all these years but it won’t be the same if you turn her away again. Those were her dreams, and she had to come back before she could let herself let them go. But this is reality, and this time it’s for good.”
“Has she told you this?”
“She didn’t have to. I know her and I know that she won’t ruin her life waiting for you to come around. I don’t know how long it’ll take, but one of these days she’s gonna see for herself, and then she’ll cut her losses and leave. And I’ll be waiting when she does.”
“And you think she’ll c
ome to you?”
Hamilton nodded. “It’s your move.” He stood, still facing Jon. “I’ll tell you something else. It’s not easy for me to think of her and you together, but I know that’s how it’s always been in her mind. Even when we were in bed . . . making love . . . it was you. Look at me! I’m as close as she could get to having you.” He took a last draw on the cigarette and leaned down to grind it out in the ashtray. “I think it’s time you gave her what she wanted.”
Then he was gone.
Jon sat for a long time before picking up the phone and dialing Rachel’s number, but just as it began to ring Earl stuck his head around the door.
“Shit, we’ve got another missing kid.”
Five year old William “Billy” Mitchell had not come home from summer school. It took the boy twenty minutes at most to walk the quarter mile to his home, and when he hadn’t made it by four-thirty, his mother had gone to stand at the end of the drive, looking for him up the road.
A little after five, the father began to search the woods along both sides of the road with no results. At six he called on Mrs. Frey to see if Billy was there, or if she’d seen him go off with another child.
Now it was dark and both parents were past worried and working on hysterical.
“Call some of his school friends,” Jon instructed Earl. “See if anyone saw him wander off after school.” Then he sat down and took the report.
Thursday
SEVENTY-FOUR
Nathan Adams woke from a sound sleep at two a.m., drenched with sweat and wracked with pain. His left arm throbbed and he sat up in bed, turning on the bedside lamp and rolling up his pajama sleeve to look at it.
The arm was puffy with edema, markedly warm and tender to the touch. Fine red lines extended from the wound up the inside of his arm and when he palpated, he could feel the swollen lymph nodes in his armpit.
He sat, holding his arm to his chest, waiting for the hot stabs of pain to ease.
It had been a long time since he’d last been a patient and he didn’t make a good one. He was irritated by the intrusion of a factor which he did not control, more so because he knew it would be a mistake to ignore it. He had seen people die of blood poisoning because they came too late to seek help.
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