Hello Again

by Brenda Novak

  “Most people in the criminal justice field believe they’re eighty to ninety-nine percent effective, but I’ve seen considerable research that refutes that. I’d guess seventy percent would be high.”

  “Still, this gives us more information instead of less,” Evelyn said. “And more information is always better.”

  “I can’t argue with that.” With a sigh, he walked over and flipped through the file she’d been using to brief Lido. “Will you use the control-question technique or the concealed-information technique?”

  “Control question. I tried to call Detective Gustavson to get his opinion on the best strategy. But he’s not picking up, and without his help we’re better off avoiding the concealed-information technique. We don’t know enough about Bishop’s crimes to be effective with that.”

  “Makes sense. Have you developed your control questions, then?”

  Bishop’s physiological reactions to the control questions would be compared to those of the relevant questions, making them the most important part of the test. “We’ve developed a few.”

  “Like…”

  Lido knocked as she came down the hall, drawing their attention to her approach. “Sorry to interrupt, but I was afraid to be gone too long. The subject should be here any minute.”

  Evelyn checked her watch. Lido was right. They were almost out of time. “I’m glad you’re so conscientious. Why don’t we take the last few seconds to go over the control questions with Dr. Ricardo?” She figured he might catch something she’d missed or have some advice to offer, but they didn’t get the chance to collaborate. The guards were bringing Bishop to the lab. Evelyn could hear the clink of his ankle chains as he made his way toward them.

  14

  Jasper had the code to the gate of his parents’ housing enclave. Usually he approached their place under cover of darkness, but today he didn’t feel like waiting. He had to get back to Arizona and his work at the prison sooner rather than later—before he stretched the warden’s patience too thin and got himself fired. That meant he couldn’t dawdle on this trip, couldn’t waste five or six hours twiddling his thumbs.

  Coming in the daytime would be okay, he told himself. He didn’t have anything to worry about. What were the odds that Evelyn was still paying for a private investigator to watch his parents’ house?

  Slim to none. It’d been too long. His parents hadn’t noticed anyone for quite some time.

  Even if she was paying someone, Jasper was betting he or she had grown lax. Eighteen months ago, Jasper’s encounter with her had been brief. It’d been a full twenty-one years since he’d caused any real damage. That lessened the immediacy of the situation. And no one else in his parents’ neighborhood would have reason to pay him any mind. Even if someone saw him and made note of it, he looked nothing like he used to. The surgery had seen to that. He just couldn’t let anyone get the license plate number of his rental, because if the police ever had reason to they could trace it back to “Andy Smith” and he had to keep that alias clean if he planned to work at Hanover House.

  Leaving the car at a strip mall, where seeing a white Volkswagen sedan wouldn’t seem unusual to anyone, he walked the three miles to his parents’ housing development, slipped through the main gate and made his way to their cul-de-sac.

  He went around the house, out of sight, to knock, but his mother took her sweet time answering, as if she couldn’t imagine who’d be banging on her back door in broad daylight. When she finally came into the kitchen, peered out and saw him, she smiled, but he felt like that smile was lacking some of its usual excitement and warmth.

  That concerned him; it also made him angrier with Amarok.…

  “Jasper! What are you doing here?” she asked when she’d unlocked and opened the door. “Get inside before someone sees you.”

  “No one will see me back here. Your yard is almost as big as a city park,” he said, but he stepped into the kitchen so she could close the door before pulling her in for a hug. The easiest way to reach her heart was to allow her to hold him for a few moments. He was still her “baby,” she’d tell him whenever they embraced. She felt all kinds of protective motherly emotions he didn’t understand, but he was glad for them. Her attachment to him, although surprising after so many years, often worked in his favor.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” he said.

  Normally, she would’ve squeezed him tighter. Like Hillary, she loved hearing the mushy stuff. But today she didn’t beam with happiness and pride.

  Something had changed, all right.

  “I’ve missed you, too,” she responded, but let go almost immediately.

  “Aren’t you glad to see me?”

  “Of course! But … what are you doing here? Especially during the day?”

  “Don’t worry. I was careful. I had to pay you a visit. It’s been too long. Where’s Dad?”

  “He’s at his office. Did he know you were coming? Because he didn’t say anything to me.”

  She didn’t seem entirely comfortable being alone with him. The color in her cheeks told him she was flustered.

  “No, I thought it would be fun to surprise you. I brought some more pictures of the girls. Hundreds of them,” he said, and pulled his digital camera from his jacket pocket.

  She seemed to relax as she began to scroll through the pictures of Chelsea’s birthday party, which they’d held at a pizza parlor. Typically, he only brought a few pictures that he printed out on Hillary’s home printer so his parents could keep them, but he hadn’t had time to prepare for this trip as well as previous visits. He’d only thought to grab the camera from the back of the minivan as he was rushing off to catch his plane.

  “What beautiful children, honey. I wish I could know them.”

  “They have their other grandparents,” he said.

  The sudden crease in her forehead showed that she was taken aback; he’d spoken too carelessly, had somehow hurt her. “Not that it’s the same as having you,” he corrected. “I’m just saying … at least they’re not without support.”

  “Right. I’m glad for that, too,” she mumbled.

  He hurried to change the subject. “You got a new painting, huh?”

  She glanced over her shoulder to see what he was looking at. She didn’t even remember, he realized. That was how much money his parents had. They bought expensive art, jewelry, antiques, fine rugs, boats and luxury cars without blinking an eye, while he and Hillary had to scrape to put food on the table and pay the rent. As much as his parents had helped him financially through the years, sometimes he resented the disparity between them, resented that he had to ask for their help and wouldn’t be able to inherit when they passed.

  Everything they had should belong to him someday and would have if only Evelyn had died in that shack like she was supposed to.

  She’d ruined his life—and deserved what she was going to get.

  “I guess we did get that painting since you were here last.” His mother spoke rather indifferently, so used to getting whatever she wanted she didn’t even appreciate it anymore.

  “It’s been ten months.”

  “Right. Since March,” she said. “Are you hungry?”

  “I could use a quick bite. What do you have?”

  “Should I make you an omelet?”

  “Perfect.”

  “I’ll get that going and finish looking through these while you eat.” She set the camera on the breakfast bar as he followed her around to the kitchen proper.

  If Hillary only knew what kind of people he came from, he thought as he looked around. She’d be so impressed if she ever saw his parents’ house.…

  “Dad said someone named Sergeant Murphy stopped by to see you,” he said, slouching into a seat at the kitchen table.

  She’d just opened the giant built-in refrigerator, but at the mention of Amarok she looked back at him. “Yes, from Alaska. I guess he knows Evelyn.”

  “Of course he knows Evelyn. There’re only a few hundred people in Hil
ltop—not including all the psychopaths, of course. Hanover House almost doubles the population. Great place to live, huh?”

  She didn’t answer. She put a carton of eggs, a block of cheese, an onion and some previously cooked bacon on the counter. “He–he showed me some pictures—”

  “Of five woman who’ve been murdered. Dad told me that, too,” he said with a grimace. “Various details of that case have been on TV. It’s terrible, gruesome. Last I heard they hadn’t caught the guy who’s responsible, either. But Sergeant Murphy’s wrong. It wasn’t me.”

  “Their bodies were found in Peoria.”

  Jasper schooled his features so he wouldn’t give anything away, but he was seething inside to think that Amarok would make so much trouble for him. He was also surprised, couldn’t figure out how Amarok knew he was behind those killings. How had Evelyn’s boyfriend picked up on them, out of all the killings in America? And from where he lived in Alaska?

  Regardless, this could ruin everything. Jasper had to convince his mother that he was innocent so she wouldn’t give Amarok any information, and the best way to do that was to bristle at the accusation her simple statement encompassed. “I don’t live there anymore, Mom.” He leaned forward as if he had nothing to hide and was angered by the mere suggestion. “As you know, these days I’m over an hour away—two if there’s traffic—in Florence, where I’m working hard and taking care of my family.”

  “But you did live there. And these women—Sergeant Murphy said they were murdered over the past five years.”

  She was pressing the issue? She’d never done that before, either. She was usually so eager to believe him, she’d accept almost anything he said, whether it made complete sense or not. “So maybe I was there when some of them were killed,” he said. “That doesn’t mean I’m to blame. Lots of people live in Peoria.”

  Tears filled her eyes as she studied him. “Jasper, I-I couldn’t take it if you … if you were the one who killed those poor women. What you did when you were younger … I’ve tried to be as understanding as possible, what with the drugs and … and all that. But I’ll be honest. It’s been hard. Sometimes I wake up in a cold sweat, having dreamed the worst things a mother could ever dream. So I hope you’re being truthful with me.” She lowered her voice. “Please tell me you’re being truthful.”

  He hated that stupid, imploring look on her face, wished he could wipe it off. “Of course I’m being truthful!” he snapped. “I can’t believe you’d even ask me that!”

  When her gaze softened, he knew the outrage he’d added to his response had been convincing. That or a similar response worked whenever he was accused of anything. He just had to get angrier than the person questioning him and whoever it was backed down.

  “Mom, would I come back here, stay in touch, if I was some … serial killer?”

  Her shoulders slumped as she sagged against the counter. “I don’t know.” She rubbed her forehead. “I don’t want to think so, but … sometimes I get confused. Sergeant Murphy was so certain.”

  “Sergeant Murphy’s an asshole.”

  She lifted her head. “You know him?”

  “Of course I don’t know him. But he must be an asshole if he’s trying to pin those murders on me. It’s more of Evelyn’s bullshit, like claiming I attacked her last summer—in Boston of all places! As if I’d be stupid enough to go back to Boston!”

  “You would know better than that,” she agreed, as if it brought her some relief.

  “I’ve screwed up in the past, but I’m not an idiot,” he said. “Jesus, am I going to be accused of every murder that happens—by my own mother?”

  At last, she smiled again, and this time it seemed to come more naturally. “I’m sorry, Son.” She walked over to touch his cheek with a hint of the old tenderness. “Of course you can’t be to blame for everything. Let’s call your father and have him come home. He’ll be so upset if he misses you.”

  “I’ll call him. Where’s your cell?”

  As she grabbed her purse and began rummaging around inside it, he couldn’t help noticing the flashy diamond rings on her fingers. Her jewelry alone was worth thousands. He wished he could get hold of just one of those rings, knew a gift like that would go far toward placating Hillary when he got home.…

  But then he saw something that interested him even more. His mother had a stack of money in her purse, secured by a rubber band, that was at least an inch thick.

  “Whoa! Why are you carrying so much cash?” he asked.

  “Your father and I are going to Vegas tomorrow for the weekend,” she replied as if it were nothing.

  She had to have three or four thousand dollars in there! She and Stanley were just going to blow through that money?

  Jasper felt he could put it to better use. A few thousand would go far toward getting him set up in Anchorage.

  It was possible his mother would give it to him. His parents had helped him quite often over the years; he just had to think of the right approach.

  Maybe he could say that Miranda had cancer—tell them that was the real reason he’d come to see them.

  He imagined tearing up as he claimed he couldn’t cope with the possibility of losing his stepdaughter and didn’t know how he was going to pay for her treatment.

  But he wasn’t convinced he could make himself cry. He’d long since lost the ability to do that.

  “Here you go,” his mother said when she found her iPhone amidst her keys and sunglasses and that fat stack of cash.

  She handed it to him and he turned away from all that money, but he couldn’t quit thinking about it as he dialed his father’s office.

  Stan answered right away. “Maureen, what is it? I told you, I have appointments this afternoon.”

  “It’s me,” Jasper said.

  All the pique left his father’s voice. “Where are you?”

  “At home. With Mom.”

  “What are you doing there?”

  “I was missing you guys, so I decided to come for a visit.”

  “You were able to leave Hillary and the kids?”

  “I witnessed a stabbing at the prison where I work, so they gave me some time off. I told Hillary I needed to get away on my own.”

  “She doesn’t know you’re in San Diego, though—”

  “Of course not. I told her I was driving to the Grand Canyon.”

  “Does that mean you’ll be staying with us for a few days?”

  “No, I’ll only be here for a couple of hours, as usual.”

  “I wish it could be longer.”

  Jasper could think of a lot of things he enjoyed more than pretending to be a loving son. The minute he convinced his folks that Amarok was merely trying to stir up trouble, he’d be done here—although he was now also hoping to walk away with at least some of the bills in his mother’s purse. “Me, too. But we can’t risk it. You know Evelyn. She’s determined to find me, will never give up.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that,” he said dryly.

  “So can you see me?”

  “Of course. Give me a few minutes to rearrange my schedule and I’ll be there.”

  “I’ll be waiting,” he said, and hung up.

  His mother had finished cooking his omelet. She put it on a plate and set it in front of him before bringing the camera over. She chuckled when she started looking through the photographs again and saw one of Miranda giving Chelsea a piggyback ride. She watched a short video he had of the girls swimming in their pool, too, and marveled at how attractive their mother was.

  Hillary was no Evelyn, Jasper thought, but, as a nurse, she made more money than the other women he’d been dating at the time, so he’d considered her to be his best option.

  “You’re still happy in your marriage?” his mother asked.

  “Of course. We’ve been together seven years now,” he said as if those years had been the best of his life.

  “That’s nice.” She didn’t mention his first wife, and he was glad of it. He’d told them Se
lma was too materialistic and needy, that he’d broken off the relationship. But she’d been so desperate to move on she’d slipped away while he was at work and left him her entire net worth, just so that he wouldn’t fight the divorce.

  He’d liked her more than he did Hillary. Or maybe it was that he respected her. On some level, she seemed to know what he was, to understand that she needed to get clear of him as soon as possible, while Hillary kept begging and cajoling and believing the most stupid lies.

  He was thinking about the fact that he’d soon be rid of Hillary, too, when his mother gasped and dropped his camera.

  It hit the floor with a solid thud, and he stopped chewing. “What’s wrong?” he asked, confused by the horror on her face. He’d never felt the emotion behind that expression himself, but he’d grown quite familiar with that look. It was the one he most liked to create on the faces of his victims—what appeared right before they wet themselves.

  “What’s wrong?” he said again.

  She knocked over her chair in her hurry to get out of it, and that caused her to fall herself.

  Shocked, since he hadn’t done anything wrong, he grabbed her wrist so that she couldn’t go any farther and retrieved the camera. Then he saw what she’d seen—a picture of one of his victims, naked with her legs tied apart, a gag in her mouth and a pipe shoved into her vagina. That picture reminded him of one of his most enjoyable days last summer, was some of his best work, but he could understand why Maureen wouldn’t appreciate it.

  “Oh shit. I left this on there?” Somehow he’d forgotten to delete that batch when he’d downloaded to his laptop, which was password protected, and he hadn’t noticed because he’d taken so many shots of the kids since. It was a miracle Hillary hadn’t stumbled across it. He would’ve checked before handing off his camera, but he’d been rushing around too much, hadn’t put the same amount of thought and preparation into this trip as he had the others.

  He blamed Amarok for that, damn it. Evelyn’s boyfriend had screwed up everything.

  “You did it! You k-killed those women! You’re still killing,” his mother screamed. “And we believed you. We helped you evade the police!”