by Brenda Novak
“Yeah, well, I’ve since figured out why. She’s met someone else. We don’t really talk anymore.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’ve met a couple of other women online. One gal is a social worker in Canada. Canada’s cold, too, so she seems like a good possibility.”
“I hope that works out for you.”
“So do I.” He wiped the sweat on his upper lip; it seemed like he was always sweating, even in the winter. “It’s getting damn lonely up here.”
Part of the reason she’d expected him to head back to the Lower 48. She still wasn’t sure what was keeping him at Hanover House—unless it was uncertainty that he’d be able to find a job with the same pay and benefits. Because he was so sloppy in his personal hygiene and attire, he didn’t interview well. She wouldn’t have hired him herself if Fitzpatrick hadn’t insisted he come along. “Especially during the dark months,” she agreed.
“How would you know?” he teased. “This is the second winter you’ve been with your handsome state trooper.”
“I admit it’s nice to have someone to go home to.”
“Yeah. I’d like that,” he said wistfully.
Reluctant to get too caught up in his maudlin approach to life, Evelyn brightened her smile. “You’ll meet the right one eventually.” If he didn’t run her off with his general pessimism. He was a nice guy in other ways. And he was only twenty-nine. It wasn’t as if he’d been searching his whole life. Evelyn didn’t feel there was any reason to panic. “So … what did you want to talk about?”
“Tim called. He’s been trying to reach you.”
“I’m aware of that.” She’d been ignoring Fitzpatrick’s calls and e-mails, hoping he’d eventually give up and go away. “I’m not interested in having another conversation with him.”
“But what he has to say could be important.”
“In what way?” she asked. “He doesn’t even work here anymore.”
“He has a feeling that whoever killed Mandy Walker is going to strike again—and that the victim will be another one of your high school girlfriends.”
The heater hummed in the background and yet she felt as if a cold breeze had just swept through her office. “How would he have any idea what’s about to happen?”
“He didn’t care to go into it with me. Said I needed to get you to call him. That’s all.”
“Does he know something that hasn’t been reported in the media?”
Russell lifted his sloped shoulders. “I have no idea, but he feels strongly that certain potential victims should be warned.”
“The press is taking care of letting everyone know that there’s a killer on the loose, Russ.”
“People spread out after high school, Evelyn. Some leave the area. I agree with Tim. Anyone who associated with you back in the day should be contacted.”
She hadn’t wanted to face that Mandy’s killer might go to the trouble of looking up other friends. “I doubt those who have left the area are in any danger.” Unless it was Jasper. She could see him going to the extra trouble of tracking down mutual acquaintances and traveling to wherever they lived. For him, that would only add more intrigue to the game. She could recall interviewing at least one serial killer who’d made it his practice to travel to a different state to find each new victim. Such a completely random method had made him extremely difficult to catch, and he couldn’t be the only one smart enough to think of that.
So was Jasper doing the same thing? Amarok said he had a wife and children. How easily could he get away from them?
She hoped his family hindered his mobility, at least to some degree—not that Linda Yates, Darcie Brudos or Judith Mawson had proven to be much of an impediment to their serial killer husbands.
“Fitzpatrick just wants to talk to you. Will you call him? Please?”
Evelyn was tempted to smash something against the wall. She didn’t want Fitzpatrick in her life—for any reason. “No.”
“That’s ridiculous. Maybe he can help save a life.”
“He shouldn’t even be involved in this! What could he know that the police don’t?”
“He’s in Boston, Evelyn. He’s been studying what happened to Mandy. Maybe he’s noticed some small detail about the killer that the cops haven’t.”
“Then he should make what he’s found plain to the detectives, not me. Now, if you’ve said what you needed to say, I have work to do.”
His heavy jowls swung as he shook his head. “I told him you’d refuse.”
“Good.” If she didn’t relent, maybe Fitzpatrick would start to believe she really meant to keep him out of her business. Squeezing past her portly colleague, she headed back to the conference room.
* * *
That night it was cold and musty in Amarok’s garage, which was so small he could really only use it for storage. Evelyn was wearing a heavy coat and a hat but no gloves. She needed to be able to feel as she searched for her “Jasper” collection. When she’d sold her condo in Boston and moved to Alaska, she’d stored most of her memorabilia in her parents’ attic—all the pictures and keepsakes from when she was a little girl. But she’d brought everything that could be related to Jasper and his attack, including the police files, the media clippings, the reports she’d received from the various private detectives she’d worked with over the years, even the love notes Jasper had written way back when. Her high school yearbooks were with that stuff. She was hoping to find them.
Although she’d left Sigmund in the house, she’d brought Makita out. With the wind whistling through the eaves, the trees scraping against the house and Amarok over a thousand miles away, she couldn’t help feeling isolated and alone in the vast wilderness that made up most of Alaska. But she had plenty of other things to think about.
Makita sniffed around the garage as she clamped a flashlight under one arm and climbed a ladder to reach the trapdoor that led to where Amarok had put her boxes when she sold the house she’d been living in before moving in with him.
Her stuff appeared to have been shoved to the back already. As she rearranged everything so that she could reach it, she discovered a box of Amarok’s that contained some pictures of him with his ex-girlfriend. She’d heard that Samantha Boyce was returning to Hilltop. She didn’t know when, but she wasn’t looking forward to it. Apparently, Samantha was as good a hunter as any man and planned to open her own guns and ammo shop. Amarok rarely spoke of her. He claimed he’d never truly been in love before Evelyn. But if Samantha hadn’t meant that much to him, why did he still have their pictures?
Evelyn held the flashlight closer. Not only was Samantha attractive; she also had more in common with Amarok. His life would be so much simpler if he got back together with her or someone else who’d been raised here. Someone who had a love of the area and would never want to leave. Someone who wasn’t putting herself at risk by associating with psychopaths on a daily basis.
Amarok hated that Evelyn was so immersed in “that dark shit,” as he put it.
Sam was also closer to his own age.…
As she continued to dig around, something scurried toward her, causing Evelyn to scream and jerk back so fast she nearly fell from the ladder. Makita barked and darted over, as if he might be called on to defend her, but she was laughing by the time he pranced at the base of the ladder in eager anticipation. She’d just startled a mouse or a rat, probably harmless, but she didn’t care to come in contact with it.
Heart pounding, she shoved the box with those pictures of Amarok and Sam out of the way and began rifling through her own stuff. She had no business getting distracted like that. If Fitzpatrick was right, time could be of the essence.
As soon as she located the right box, she found the yearbook from her junior year and carried it into the house. She planned to go through it page by page and make a list of the people she felt Jasper might target, if he was the one who’d killed Mandy. Once she had some idea who might be in danger, she could warn those on Facebook via a
personal message tonight and figure out how to contact the others tomorrow.
The phone rang before she could get too far.
“You home safe?”
It was Amarok. Since it was getting late, she’d expected as much. He sounded tired, yet he’d made the effort to check in with her one last time before going to sleep.
He’d always been protective, thoughtful …
“Yeah.”
“What are you doing?”
“Looking through my old yearbook.”
“Why? I thought you preferred to forget high school—at least when you’re not at work.”
“I do. But with Mandy Walker murdered, I thought I’d try to figure out if someone else might be targeted—and, if so, who.”
“How will you do that?”
“By looking through the pictures, trying to anticipate who Jasper might assume I care about most. Who might be an easy target. Who he didn’t like. Basically, I’m hoping something jumps out at me.”
“How’s it going?”
“It’s not going yet. I barely started.”
“You managed to get your yearbook out of the garage by yourself? Didn’t I put that box up above the ceiling?”
“You did, but I can use a ladder. I may not be able to hunt like Samantha Boyce, but I can retrieve my own storage.”
He went silent. Then he said, “Samantha Boyce? What made you mention her?”
Resting her head on the back of the couch, Evelyn stared up at the ceiling. “Maybe it’s the pictures I found.”
“What pictures?”
“The ones in a box next to my stuff.”
“I don’t remember putting them there, so they can’t be too significant.”
“If they aren’t significant, why are you keeping them?”
“I guess I don’t see any reason to throw them away. She was an important part of my life for two years. It’s not like I hate her. If anyone has hard feelings, it would be her. I’m the one who broke off the relationship.”
Sigmund, who’d curled up on the couch next to Evelyn, purred as she stroked his thick, soft fur. “Why’d you do that?” she asked.
“Why’d I do what?”
“Why’d you break up with her?”
“I’ve told you. She wanted to get married. I wasn’t ready.”
“You’re ready now.”
“Evelyn, I’m older. And I want to marry you, not her. What’s going on? Are you jealous or…”
“I’m not jealous,” she said, but she realized instantly that was a lie and she was pretty certain he could guess the truth. “I mean, okay, I’m jealous. When we were at the diner not long ago, Sandy Ledstetter told you that Sam’s coming back to town, remember?”
“I remember.”
“You didn’t act like it was any big deal.”
“Because it isn’t a big deal.”
“Even though you’d probably be better off with … with someone like her?”
He sighed through the phone.
“I’m just keeping it real,” she said.
“I appreciate that. But if I wanted someone like her, I’d be with someone like her. You know that. So where is this coming from?”
When she didn’t answer, he said, “Oh wait. I get it. I’ve started pushing for more of a commitment and that’s spooked you.”
She couldn’t argue; it was true.
“Listen, you can relax. There’s no pressure.”
But there was pressure. She understood why he’d want to make their relationship more permanent. It felt natural, like the next step. She just wasn’t sure she could make him happy at that level—that they could make each other happy. They came from two completely different worlds, which would never be more apparent than once they started having children. And Evelyn couldn’t help thinking about what’d happened with his mother. Would she be just as unhappy here in Alaska? Would they eventually split? “Samantha’s more like you. More like what you might need.”
“Quit dangling Samantha in front of me!” he said. “Why are we even talking about her? I love you. I’m the one who wants to get married, remember?”
“I want to marry you, too. I’m just afraid to do it.”
“You need to stop being afraid. Everything’s fine.”
She rubbed her forehead. “Okay.”
“How’s Makita?”
Whenever she got too uptight, he directed the conversation to something mundane, as if to remind her that she was freaking out for no reason, that nothing had changed. “I think he’s wondering where you are. And he’s avoiding the heat of the fire, as usual.”
“And Sigmund?”
She turned through her yearbook as they spoke. “He’s here on the couch with me.”
“Good. Okay, as long as all is well on the home front, I’ll let you go. I’m exhausted. And it’s two hours later here, so it’s going to be hard to catch up on my sleep.”
She wasn’t ready to say good-bye, though. She was imagining the feel of his muscular chest, bare, against her skin, the sight of the Inuit word for “life,” which was tattooed on his biceps and in full view whenever he held himself above her, and the heavy-lidded expression that claimed his face in the second before he reached climax.
“Evelyn?”
She drew a deep, calming breath. “I’m here.” She wanted to tell him what was going through her mind, how the thought of his mouth on her breast as his hands moved over her body made her crave him inside her. She’d made a lot of progress since she met Amarok, but she still struggled with sexual intimacy. That was another reason she felt as if someone else, someone without the hang-ups she had—like Samantha—might make him happier. She was hoping to have phone sex with the man she loved, and yet she didn’t know how to initiate it.
“What’s going through that head of yours?” He sounded slightly confused and a little curious.
Embarrassed by the carnal images she’d conjured, she squeezed her eyes closed. “Nothing. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“Okay. Good night.”
When he hung up, she sagged against the couch. She should’ve told him what she wanted, should’ve acted on the desire he inspired. She had no doubt he’d like it. But she couldn’t. Where would she start? How would she bring it up?
“I can’t wait to fuck you again,” she whispered.
Hearing her use that kind of language would’ve shocked him. She was rarely aggressive in the bedroom. Even when she did initiate sex, she didn’t approach him nearly so boldly. But at least she had the desire to take charge, for once. That proved she was finally overcoming what Jasper had done, despite the setback of that close call eighteen months ago, didn’t it?
Yes! Amarok would be proud of her. He was always careful not to be too forceful when he touched her, not to arouse bad memories. She’d once asked him if holding back bothered him and he’d said it didn’t, but she had a hard time believing that. Before they made love for the first time, he’d essentially told her he didn’t want to feel like he couldn’t let go and be himself, didn’t want to feel as if he had to treat her like a china doll that might shatter at any moment.
“I can’t wait until you fuck me again,” she said, testing the words on her tongue for a second time. They certainly weren’t subtle.
“That’s progress,” she muttered. “Maybe someday I’ll tell him.”
Sigmund had crawled into her lap. She slid him to one side and fanned herself, trying to overcome the deluge of hormones her brain had just dumped into her bloodstream. Then she reopened her yearbook.
The pictures brought the past back so vividly. Any sexual awareness or desire that remained was crushed beneath the heavy boot of those memories. Jasper … There he was swinging a baseball bat during a game. There he was in the team photo. And there he was with his arm slung around her at his locker. He’d been so popular that the yearbook team had taken a lot of photographs. They wo
uld’ve been removed once he killed three fellow students and almost killed her, but the yearbook had already gone to press.
She’d been so innocent when she loved him. She wondered what he was like now—and yet she felt like she knew, like he’d been with her ever since, casting a shadow over everything she did.
They had to catch him.…
“Who else might you attack?” she asked while turning the pages. She flinched when she saw Marissa seated with Agatha out on the quad where they ate lunch. Her friends had been beautiful girls, and so fun.
Jessie had been the number one seed on their female tennis team. On another page, she smiled for the camera while wielding her racquet.
“Jasper, you are such a bastard.” Although it grew increasingly more difficult, Evelyn continued to study each page, to reacquaint herself with the people she’d known back then. But when the trip down memory lane didn’t seem to serve any greater purpose, she began to wonder why she was putting herself through the agony.
She was about to give up and set that book aside when she ran across a picture that made her blood run cold. It’d been so long since it was taken she’d completely forgotten about it, but there she was, sitting around a big sign she was helping to paint for the Homecoming pep rally with Agatha, Marissa, Jessie, Mandy—and Charlotte Zimmerman.
This was what Fitzpatrick had found. He must’ve requested a copy of the yearbook from the school or something, because Evelyn knew the second she stumbled across that particular page it had to be what he’d been calling about.
Every girl in the picture had been murdered—or, in her case, almost murdered—except Charlotte.
Was she next?
12
Jasper startled when his wife came up behind him. “There you are!” she whispered. “What are you doing in here?”
“Just watching her sleep.” He’d been imagining what it would be like to put a pillow over Miranda’s face, was trying to figure out some way he could fulfill that desire without screwing up his plans for Evelyn. The fantasy gave him an outlet, something fun to think about when the pressure he felt living with Hillary and her girls grew to be too much for him. “She’s such a sweet thing.”