Evil Never Dies (The Lizzy Gardner Series Book 6)
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Kathryn’s relief was short-lived. She watched in horror as the boy got down on his knees, pried the girl’s tiny fingers off the ledge, and then, with the palm of his hand flat on her head, pushed her under and held her there until her legs no longer kicked and her arms went still.
Frozen in terror, Kathryn had watched, along with the boy, as the little girl sank slowly to the bottom of the pool.
Lizzy sucked in a breath.
Had the woman truly witnessed such a horrific event?
Once again, Lizzy wondered why Kathryn Church wanted to talk to Jared.
And why was she lying about it now?
Lizzy came to her feet. She didn’t look at the clock, didn’t give a rat’s ass what time it was. She was going to pay the woman a visit.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
He stood behind his easel and canvas, paintbrush in hand, palette ready. “Open your eyes, Claire.”
Instead, she screamed at the top of her lungs, a high-pitched noise that pierced his skull.
He clenched his teeth tighter.
After drugging Claire, he’d spent most of the day yesterday setting up the room, screwing in toggle bolts and chains that could easily support a heavy load. Claire weighed approximately 110 pounds. He had to drill holes big enough to accommodate the toggles.
The chains and cuffs seemed to be working nicely. They would hold her in place while he painted. The metal cuffs might cause her some pain, but that was the effect he was going for.
She was naked. Her arms were outstretched, above her head. Same for the legs, spread downward and apart. Despite being drugged, she’d managed to fight him every step of the way. He was exhausted. “Open your eyes. This is the last time I’m going to ask nicely.”
He waited, but she didn’t move a muscle. Her head hung low, her chin resting against her collarbone.
He placed his paintbrush on the table he’d set up to his left. Then he made a tsking noise as he reached into his pocket, pulled out a small plastic bottle, and unscrewed the lid. Calmly, he walked over to her, placed the palm of his hand against her forehead, and firmly pressed her head upward, holding it none too gently against the wall.
She tried to wriggle her head. “Stop it! Let me go! What are you doing?”
“I’m going to use some of this amazing wonder glue to hold your eyelids wide-open.”
“No! No! No! Please. I’ll do what you say!”
“Too late.”
More frantic wriggling.
“If you don’t hold still, you’re going to get glue in your eyes, Claire, and then you’ll be blind. Do you want to be blind?”
“Stop. Please. I’ll do what you want. I promise.”
He growled as he let her go. He put the glue away, his every movement jerky as he pointed at her. “Next time you disobey, there will be no second chance. Understand?”
She nodded.
“I want to hear you say it, Claire. Say it loud enough that I can hear you.”
“I understand. I will not disobey. I swear.”
“Better.”
He went back to his position behind the easel. He picked up his brush, dabbed it in paint, and then set his eyes on Claire’s face. “Give me a crazed look, Claire.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Not angry. I said crazed.”
Her eyes widened. She stuck her tongue out and frantically moved her head from side to side, her tangled hair flying in front of her eyes, her nostrils flaring.
“Wonderful,” he said. “Keep your eyes just like that, but stop thrashing about. Look at me, though, right here into my eyes, and don’t look away until I say so.”
She did as he said. Her eyes were steely glints of raw fear, like the fish in the painting.
He turned up the music as loud as it would go. A full orchestra began to play, starting with the silky keys of a piano, then gradually adding in strings, climbing unhurriedly, and then boom, hitting the emotions with throbbing oboes and powerful brass drums.
The girl was beyond terrified, her soul aching, her every emotion rooted by fear. With each stroke of the brush, he felt as if he were transferring her inner being to the canvas. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so alive.
Kathryn Church’s house in Newcastle was set on a quiet road—a one-story on a good-sized lot.
Lizzy knocked on the door and then looked around. Had Jared come to see this woman? Had he walked this same path?
After a while, she knocked again, harder this time.
The porch light came on. “Who is it?”
“You know damn well who it is. I don’t like being hung up on.”
There was no response.
Lizzy calmed herself and said, “It’s Lizzy Gardner. I called you earlier. It’s very important that I talk to you.”
“It’s late. Go away, or I’ll be forced to call the police.”
“People are dying, Ms. Church, and there might be something you can do to stop it.”
No response.
“Jared Shayne was my fiancé,” Lizzy went on. “You talked to him, didn’t you? He was close to identifying a serial killer, a killer who has begun to strike much more often. We need to stop him.”
The door opened. “Come inside,” the woman said, “before you scare the neighbors.”
After Lizzy stepped inside, the woman quickly shut the door behind her, making sure to lock it.
The pictures Lizzy had seen of Kathryn Church on the Internet didn’t do her justice. Even barefoot, she appeared elegant and graceful. Tall and long-limbed, she possessed a heart-shaped face, long neck, and well-defined cheekbones. Her black silky curls brushed against the top of her shoulders.
“I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important,” Lizzy said.
Kathryn’s smirk told Lizzy she wasn’t buying it.
And she was right. Lizzy really didn’t care. She glanced around the house, taking it all in: a baby grand in the living area, antique dining table and chairs, a crystal chandelier. She strained to listen, wondering if anyone else was in the house.
Kathryn gestured for her to follow her into the living area. “Why don’t we have a seat in here?”
Lizzy’s gaze settled on the woman’s blouse and pencil skirt. “Were you going out?”
Kathryn waved the comment away with a hand. “I haven’t bothered to change. Once I get started working in my office, I can’t stop. I do my best work at night, right here at home.”
“You’re a psychologist—is that right?”
She gestured for Lizzy to have a seat across from her. “Yes, that’s correct. I have my own practice. I also teach at the local college. Insomniacs like to keep busy.”
Deciding to cut to the chase, Lizzy looked the woman in the eyes and held her gaze. “You talked to Jared, didn’t you?”
She hesitated but not for long. “Yes. We were to meet first thing Monday after your wedding.”
“Why did you lie?”
“Why do you think? Because I am afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Of what might happen if he ever found out that I spoke to you.”
“If who finds out?”
The woman fidgeted in the high-back chair, clearly out of sorts.
“Are you talking about your next-door neighbor?” Lizzy asked. “The boy you saw kill his little sister?”
Kathryn closed her eyes and gave a subtle nod. “I thought I had managed to get rid of any trace of the paper I wrote.”
“Is that why you wanted to talk to Jared? Because you thought your neighbor might’ve grown into the killer the police have been looking for?”
“Yes. My plan at the time was to tell Mr. Shayne what I had seen.” She swallowed and cast her eyes around the room, as though the killer might be hiding behind the couch or the heavy living room curtains.
“Not doubts, exactly. It just all began to seem so farfetched. The incident by the pool happened a long time ago. I was going with my instincts. I guess I was hoping that Jared, with his training . . .” She faded off.
“He could work wonders,” Lizzy said. “But yes. Something more tangible would be helpful.”
“Something tangible.” Kathryn sighed, then straightened in her seat. “I have something. It’s not much, but it is, at least, that.”
Lizzy followed her across plush carpet, past the kitchen, and down a long hallway that led them through open French doors into a massive study. The room was dimly lit. A desk, front and center, was covered with papers.
As Kathryn opened the top drawer, Lizzy noticed the oil painting hanging on the wall behind the desk. The female in the picture was done in a Picasso fashion with an arm where the leg should be and three eyes instead of two. The hair appeared to be stalks of wheat. Earrings decorated enlarged ears, and a melted clock dripped through the woman’s fingers.
Kathryn handed Lizzy a piece of paper.
After reading the note, which appeared to be nothing more than instructions on how to take care of some pets while the person was away, along with quite skillful sketches of a cat, a dog, and a bird in the margins, Lizzy said, “What is this?”
“It’s from the same boy who drowned his sister.”
“What’s his name?”
“Zachary Tucker.”
The name didn’t mean anything to Lizzy. “Why would you save this?”
“Because of the drawings, I think. And because Zachary did them.”
Lizzy lifted her eyebrows, telling her to go on.
“As you know, we were neighbors. When my mother offered to drive Zachary to school every morning, I was afraid of him at first.”
“Did you tell anyone what you had witnessed?”
“No. I was young, I was scared, and at first I thought he would kill me, too.”
“And then?”
“And then I met him face-to-face, and I decided he was just a normal boy. He was funny and cute, and little by little I convinced myself that my eyes had merely played tricks on me the day his sister drowned.”
Lizzy stared at the note. “I still don’t understand why you would save this.”
“I did what most girls do when they have a mad crush on a boy. I saved every little thing he gave me.”
“You had a crush,” Lizzy said, “on the boy you might’ve seen drown his sister.”
“Like I said, I had put that memory away by then.” She drew in a deep breath and then let it out. “I wasn’t very popular at school, but Zachary always made me feel special. I kept every note and letter in a shoe box I decorated with wrapping paper. As the years passed, I all but forgot about the box.”
However Kathryn might explain it, Lizzy was surprised the woman could feel anything for the boy after what she’d seen—or even suspected she might have seen. But just as she’d said, she’d been a child at the time, so Lizzy kept her thoughts to herself.
“I was an adult by the time the memories came back to me so vividly,” Kathryn continued. “It wasn’t until I attended a fund-raiser for families of murder victims that I saw Jared Shayne being interviewed about a killer in Sacramento and felt compelled to talk to him.”
“Why?”
“I felt a tremendous need to tell someone what I had seen.” She rubbed her temple. “There were other things, too, little things that Zachary would say and do.”
“For instance?”
“A few years after the death of his sister, dogs and cats were being slaughtered in our neighborhood. For months, people kept their pets inside. When I talked to Zachary about it one day, he had a smirk on his face that I’ll never forget. His reaction was nothing more than a shrug. And that’s not all. Once he had his driver’s license, he would drive me to school. I was looking for a pen in his glove compartment, and I saw a newspaper clipping about the murder of a little girl at a rest stop.”
“Did you question him?”
“No.” She sighed. “I didn’t begin to connect the dots until I heard Jared Shayne talking about the rash of killings in Sacramento. That’s when I began to wonder if there could be a connection to Zachary. I felt a sudden need to talk with Mr. Shayne. I wanted to do what I could to find out if Zachary could possibly be the killer.”
“So you gave Jared your number?”
She nodded. “That night I slipped Mr. Shayne a piece of paper letting him know I needed to talk with him. We talked once, but I didn’t feel comfortable giving him Zachary’s name over the phone.”
“You grant this Zachary a great deal of power, don’t you think? Worrying that he might somehow hear you whisper his name into the phone?”
Kathryn didn’t blink at this. “Zachary’s never needed me or anyone to grant him any power,” she said, her voice low and charged. “You forget. I’ve seen what he can do.” She licked her parched lips. “And he was just a little boy then.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Today, Kitally decided to help Lizzy at the downtown office. They had files at both the house and the office on J Street. This particular office was a mess, and Kitally figured she was the only one who cared enough to bother with straightening up the place. But that wasn’t the only reason she had wanted to come to the office today. She needed to talk to Lizzy about Salma, let her know she had taken a taxi from the hospital and she and her baby were moving in for a while. Before Kitally could start up a conversation with Lizzy, a man popped his head inside the door and waved a colorful flyer at them. “Mind if I hang this on your window?”
“I don’t know,” Lizzy said. “What is it?”
He stepped inside and let the door shut behind him.
Kitally guessed him to be in his late thirties. When he looked at her, it was his intense-looking eyes that struck her first. He was cleanly shaven—a preppy-looking guy with neatly combed hair, a crooked nose, and a square jaw.
He handed the flyer to Lizzy. As she read it over, he picked up a handcrafted pencil holder made of pottery and painted in fine detail and said, “This is striking. Exquisite, actually. May I ask where you found it?”
Although he was clearly going overboard with the praise, Lizzy decided to go with it. “My niece made that years ago. You’re right, though, she’s a creative genius.” Lizzy held up the flyer. “In fact, she might enjoy visiting some of these galleries. Go ahead and hang it up, and maybe we’ll see you there.”
“I appreciate it.” He looked around. “Do you mind if I hang it inside the window, so it doesn’t blow away?”
“Not a problem.”
He had to lean over Lizzy’s desk to get the flyer on the window. When he was done, he apologized for interrupting their workday. He was about to head out when Lizzy said, “Are you one of the artists who will be exhibiting?”
“How did you know?”
“You’ve got paint on your elbow.”
He looked at the spot and then laughed. “You’re very perceptive.”
“So I’ve been told. What’s your name?”
“Jake Polly.”
“Lizzy Gardner.”
“I know,” Jake said and then pointed at the etching on the door.
After he left, Kitally continued to watch Lizzy. That was the most normal she’d seen her boss since Jared’s funeral. It felt sort of good to see Lizzy carry on a conversation with a stranger. Her gaze fell to Lizzy’s stomach. She had on a baggy shirt, but still, she didn’t have an ounce of flab on her. There was no way Lizzy was pregnant.
“Do you want something, Kitally?”
“Who me?”
“Yes, you,” Lizzy said. “Nobody else is here, and I can feel your eyes boring a hole through the side of
my head.”
“Sorry. It’s just nice to see you interacting with people again.”
“You worry too much.”
“Maybe you’re right. My mom says the same thing.”
Lizzy swiveled her chair around. “Out with it. What else is on your mind?”
“Jake Polly was right. You are perceptive, aren’t you?”
Lizzy said nothing. Instead, she waited for Kitally to spit it out.
“It’s about Salma,” Kitally finally said.
“Is her baby doing OK?”
“The baby is fine. The thing is, I did a little snooping around when she was living at the house, and it turns out her boyfriend is a guy named Joey Rich.”
“And?”
“And her family does not approve of him. Like, at all. She’s worried he’ll be harmed.”
“It’s not your problem, Kitally. Stay out of it.”
“Well, it is sort of my problem because she’s back at the house.”
“And what do you propose to do about it?”
“I’m not sure. That’s why I thought I’d ask you.”
“She’s young. She should be with her family. I refuse to make it my business. You should do the same. She needs to go home.”
“You’re probably right. I’ll talk to her.” Kitally stood. “I have something I want to show you.” Kitally ran to the back room and returned with a broom and a dustpan.
“Good job,” Lizzy said without enthusiasm. “I appreciate you keeping the place spruced up.”
“You think I’m just sweeping?”