Hello Again

by Brenda Novak

  “No.”

  “We spoke a few days ago. I’m in Alaska, with your brother.”

  “You are?” Relief. Desperation. “Can I talk to Lyman?”

  “He’s not with me right this second. I just wanted to let you know that he’ll be coming home. You have nothing to worry about.”

  “Tonight?” She sounded desperate.

  “Not tonight, but it could be as soon as a week or two. Can you make it that long?”

  “Will he bring donuts?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Tell him I’ll take off my clothes. I’m taking them off right now.”

  Evelyn stiffened. “Why are you doing that?”

  “So I’m ready.”

  “For what?”

  “To suck on his tummy banana. And I won’t cry this time. Tell him I won’t cry even if it chokes me.”

  Tummy banana? Evelyn had never heard a penis described in that way, but what else could Beth be talking about?

  “Hello?” Beth said when Evelyn didn’t, couldn’t, respond. “Did you hear me? Tell him I’ll swallow it all, and I won’t cry.”

  Nauseated, Evelyn put a hand to her stomach. “You don’t have to take off your clothes.”

  “But he’ll be mad if I don’t!”

  Evelyn squeezed her eyes closed. “He puts his … tummy banana in your mouth?”

  Silence.

  “Does he put it anywhere else, Beth?”

  Spooked—probably because of the somber tone of Evelyn’s voice—Lyman’s sister began to backpedal. “No. N-never mind. I can’t … I can’t say that. I’m not supposed to say that. Please don’t tell him. He’ll be so mad!”

  “And what does he do when he’s mad?”

  She began to cry.

  “It’s okay, Beth. You can tell me. He’s told me a few things already,” Evelyn lied.

  With a loud sniff, she stopped crying. “He has?”

  “Yes. He told me he hurts you with his tummy banana. And you don’t like it.”

  “Because it chokes me,” she said, almost with a whimper. “And if I cry, he pulls my hair and hits my head. Bam, bam. Deeper, Beth. Suck it, damn it. Suck it like it’s the best damn lollipop you ever had.”

  Bile rose in the back of Evelyn’s throat. What had Lyman Bishop done to his poor sister? He’d had her with him—without anyone following up—for so long. Detective Gustavson had crossed a line he should never have crossed, but if he hadn’t fabricated that evidence Beth would’ve remained in Lyman’s control, possibly indefinitely.

  “What is it?” Amarok murmured.

  She waved him off. “What if Lyman never comes home, Beth?”

  “He has to come home. Who’s gonna take care of me?”

  The devil she knew was better than the devil she didn’t. Evelyn had seen that idiom in action so many times. She could’ve spent an entire career studying Stockholm syndrome alone. Beth had formed an attachment to her abuser, beyond the familial one, regardless of the pain he caused her. She probably believed she deserved the pain or provoked him with bad behavior. “Someone from the state brought you groceries, didn’t they?”

  “Someone from where?”

  “A lady—a lady came to your house with some food.”

  “I remember.” She sounded guilty as she continued, “Don’t tell her, but I ate all the Oreos.”

  “I won’t say a word. And do you know why?”

  “No.…”

  “Because you can trust me.”

  “I can?”

  “Yes. I was just thinking that maybe she and I could find somewhere else for you to live. Would you like that, Beth? Would you like to live with someone who is kind and would never choke you or hit you or do anything else that hurts?”

  Amarok sat down next to her and took her hand.

  “Will I get Oreos?” Beth asked. “And can I watch TV?”

  “Of course.”

  Evelyn still expected her to refuse. People who’d been abused for so long, especially by a family member, had a difficult time believing life could be any better. They were too dependent on their abuser. So it surprised Evelyn when Beth said, “Okay. Just don’t tell Lyman what I said.”

  “Or…”

  “I don’t want to say. That’s what you get if you can’t quit crying!”

  Evelyn squeezed Amarok’s hand for strength and reassurance. “I won’t tell Lyman. I promise.”

  “Do I get my Oreos now?” Beth asked.

  “No, but you will get them soon,” Evelyn promised. “Very soon.”

  When Evelyn hung up, Amarok brought her hand to his lips. “You okay?”

  “I have to get Beth away from her brother. She can’t be living with him in that house after he gets out.”

  “I heard enough to understand why. That’s twisted beyond belief.”

  She thought of Lyman’s reaction to her question about Beth’s being his first lobotomy and felt vindicated. He’d taken his sister’s mind and, with it, her ability to resist or escape. It was little wonder that he’d use the same technique on other victims. Why not, if it had worked so well with his sister?

  “I’m sure we don’t know the half of it.”

  She allowed Amarok to pull her head to his shoulder and breathed deeply, filling her nostrils with the unique scent of the man she loved. Life was so much easier with him standing beside her. But she couldn’t be sure he’d always be there. Part of her insisted she’d be a fool to allow herself to depend on him—to depend on anyone.

  * * *

  Although Evelyn called Louise Belgrath, Beth Bishop’s social worker, as soon as she and Amarok returned home from Amarok’s father’s house, Louise didn’t pick up and she didn’t return the call. It wasn’t until Monday, when Evelyn was waiting for the lunch she’d asked one of the kitchen workers to deliver to her desk, that she finally got the chance to speak to Louise. Then she was glad to have had the conversation, but she knew it, in and of itself, was merely a starting point. Louise did agree to go out and interview Beth using more pointed questions than those she’d raised in their initial meeting—which, like Evelyn’s first call with Beth, hadn’t turned up anything. Louise also agreed to make sure Beth saw a doctor to check for evidence of physical abuse. If Bishop was mistreating his sister, as Evelyn now firmly believed, they needed to put together a case to prove it.

  Problem was Bishop hadn’t had access to his sister in some time. If there were scars or other signs of trauma, he could say they came from when she’d been in that institution. Unless it was obvious the wounds were recent or rather shocking, chances were the state wouldn’t spend the kind of money required to perform an MRI, which was the only way to prove that he’d performed a lobotomy. Other than two black eyes, which healed quickly, the transorbital lobotomy left no scars, and it would be almost impossible to remove Beth from Lyman’s control without proof that she was in danger. It wasn’t as if they could rely on Beth’s testimony. She could recant the whole “tummy banana” story as soon as she realized that she’d gotten him in “trouble.”

  Still, Evelyn was determined that Beth would not be living with Lyman Bishop after he was released. If they could prove he’d caused her harm or injury, he could be prosecuted criminally, could even be locked up again, if only for a few years. Getting more than five to ten would be difficult, but at least they now had a loose thread they could tug and hope for the best.

  In another week or two I’ll walk free, and you won’t be able to do anything to stop that! he’d shouted at the end of the polygraph.

  “We’ll see,” she muttered, and dialed Charlotte Zimmerman, whom she’d also had difficulty reaching over the weekend.

  “Charlotte?” Evelyn spoke as soon as she heard someone say hello.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Evelyn Talbot.”

  “I saw your name come up on caller ID. How nice to hear from you. I got your message. I would’ve called you back, but I haven’t been home. I had my mother-in-law watch the kids so that my husb
and and I could get away for a couple of days. I couldn’t stay in Boston. Couldn’t go on with life as usual.”

  “I understand. Fear can be debilitating.”

  “And yet you’ve lived with it for twenty-one years.”

  “I’ll be glad when Jasper’s caught.”

  “Will that ever happen?”

  “I have to maintain some hope.” As she’d proven to Amarok on various occasions, some times that was easier than others.

  “Of course.”

  They chitchatted about old times and caught up a little. Then Evelyn launched into what she’d really called to say. “In the message you left on my voice mail, you mentioned feeling uncomfortable, as if you were being watched.”

  “Maybe it’s just my imagination. That’s what my husband believes.”

  “Have you ever felt this way before?”

  “No. I’ve always felt safe and secure. But someone’s been calling the house—and hanging up the second I answer. That’s never happened before, either, not so consistently.”

  “Have you told the police? Maybe they can check your phone records, see where that call has been coming from.”

  “I’ve called them. The person I spoke to said someone will get back to me. But I haven’t heard from anyone since. I got the impression my complaint wasn’t much of a priority. They’re too busy investigating violent gangs, kidnapping and murder to mess with the small stuff.”

  Although Evelyn was hesitant to say it, murder often started with stalking and calls like the ones Charlotte had described could certainly be evidence of unwanted and undue attention. That sixth sense that made her uncomfortable could be telling her something. “Make them take you seriously. Demand they do something. Tell them you were a classmate of the girls who were murdered twenty-one years ago—and Mandy, who was murdered more recently. That you’re afraid you might be targeted next.”

  “I tried to explain that, but the person I was speaking to seemed to feel as if I was being paranoid. Maybe the detective who calls me back will be more concerned.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Me, too. I sure wish it was summer. I’d take the family and go to California, somewhere far away from here.”

  “I’d do it anyway, if it’s at all possible.”

  “I can’t. The kids are in school. They have sports besides. And even if I could get off work, my husband couldn’t, not for more than a few days. I’d have to leave him behind if I planned to stay longer than a regular vacation.”

  “Then find out who’s making those calls, okay? I’ll feel better once we know.”

  “Can you contact the Boston PD?” she asked. “Maybe they’ll listen to you.”

  “I’ve already left a message for Miles Dressler, the detective on my case, to give him a heads-up. Hopefully it’ll help.”

  “Thank you. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

  “It’s the least I can do. We have to band together to stop someone like Jasper.”

  “I agree.”

  Penny came to the door as Evelyn was hanging up. “Sergeant Amarok’s on line two.”

  “Thank you.” She pressed the blinking light. “Hi there. How’s your day going?” she asked.

  “I just tried to call Maureen Moore,” he replied.

  Evelyn tensed at the edge in his voice. He was upset; she could tell. “She wouldn’t speak to you?”

  “She couldn’t speak to me.”

  “Why?”

  “An officer from San Diego PD called me back.”

  Evelyn gripped the edge of the desk with her free hand. “Because…”

  “They’re monitoring all the calls coming in on that number.”

  “They got the warrant, after all? They’re trying to catch Jasper?”

  “They may not realize that’s who they’re looking for, but he’s got to be responsible.”

  “For…”

  “Stan and Maureen have been murdered, Evelyn—and the house was torched afterwards.”

  18

  When the phone went silent, Amarok could sense Evelyn’s reaction and cursed under his breath. No matter what they did, Jasper was always one step ahead of them. Every time he and Evelyn, or the police for that matter, had any kind of lead, Jasper did something to throw them off his trail, to send them back to square one.

  This setback, in particular, hurt. Amarok had been so hopeful. For the first time since he’d met Evelyn, he’d believed the end of that era of her life might be in sight, that soon Jasper would no longer hover over every decision she made. They’d had sex without a condom yesterday, for crying out loud. They wanted a baby.

  Then this …

  Now he understood why Evelyn was so wary of letting the hope that’d taken such deep root in him carry her too high. What if Jasper showed up in Hilltop? What if he came when Amarok was out dealing with something else—a hunting accident miles from town? If that happened, he could come home to discover the kind of scene the police officer from San Diego had just described to him.

  He closed his eyes against the image that conjured in his head—of finding his bungalow nearly burned to the ground with Evelyn’s body, Makita’s and Sigmund’s, maybe even his own child’s, inside. “Bastard,” he muttered.

  “He murdered his own parents?” she said as if she still had the power to be surprised. “Turned on the very hands that had and probably were still feeding him—money and whatever documents he needed to move around and gain a new identity? If that doesn’t show you the extreme narcissism we’re dealing with, nothing will.”

  Amarok carefully arranged the stapler, in-box, penholder and letter opener on his desk. “I feel responsible,” he said, sharing the chest-crushing guilt that had descended on him almost instantly. “If I’d never gone there, never spoken to Maureen, I have no doubt she and her husband would be alive.”

  “You don’t know that, Amarok,” Evelyn argued. “Anyone close to a psychopath, especially one as wily and ruthless as Jasper, has reason to fear. It’s entirely possible you had nothing to do with it.”

  He wanted to believe her, so he said, “He emptied his mother’s purse.”

  “There you go. Maybe he went there and they refused to give him any more money, because I’m sure they’ve given him plenty in the past. There’s no way he could’ve gotten by, not in the beginning, without their help.”

  But the timing indicated it wasn’t about the money. Maureen had been about to do the right thing, to finally open up about her son. Amarok could feel it. And he’d been the impetus to that. Jasper must’ve figured out what was at stake, must’ve felt the same conflict inside his mother Amarok had sensed. So Jasper took steps to eliminate the threat she and her husband posed. And, just like that, two more people were dead.

  “He wouldn’t even have been out and capable of murdering them—or anyone else—if they hadn’t helped him get away in the first place,” Evelyn said. “They are to blame, not you. But I’m sorry, Amarok. Your life was so much simpler before I came into it.”

  “Don’t start with that.” He wondered if she was thinking about yesterday, too—if she was regretting letting him come inside her. “I’m not giving up. I’ll get him.”

  “I know you will, but you must be sickened and … and disappointed. It might even be tempting to blame me for all the … ‘dark shit’ that’s come into your life. I’ll take responsibility for that. I worry about how it will affect you all the time, feel bad that loving me involves you in something that never would’ve touched your life otherwise. I’ve often told you you’d be better off without me—”

  “Stop.”

  “Okay, but let me say I didn’t ask for this fight. He brought it to me, when I was only sixteen. I had no defenses, nothing with which to protect my heart or my body. This situation is sort of like … I don’t know … Hitler, I guess. The world didn’t ask for Hitler to do what he did, either. But he had to be stopped, even though it required so many lives, so much loss and sacrifice. So you see? I have no choice. I ha
ve to fight back. What Jasper has done and is doing has consumed most of my life. I’ve sustained wounds that may never heal and scars that will never go away. And yet I won’t back down. I won’t cower in the corner and hope someone else steps in to do the dirty work, won’t give way beneath the evil onslaught of what he and others like him do. Nothing will ever convince me to do that. I’d rather face him again and die than let him go on unopposed.”

  Amarok swallowed a sigh as he scratched his head. She was an extraordinary woman. Maybe that was why he loved her so much, why he couldn’t seem to love anyone else. But he understood what she was telling him. Caring for her would always be a risk. They’d probably never be able to establish the kind of life he dreamed about. “I know. And I’m standing right beside you.”

  “That’s the thing. You don’t have to stand there. I have no choice. But you do. It’s not too late. I suggest you think about … us. Think about how long Jasper, and my work, might impact our lives and our relationship—what it could mean if … if we ever have a family together.”

  Resting his head on the back of his chair, he stared up at the ceiling. She was so sure he couldn’t hack it in the end, she kept warning him off.

  “You have so much to offer,” she said. “You could have anyone.”

  “I’d rather not hear that right now,” he said, and hung up. Then he yelled, “Damn it!” and swiped all the things he’d just arranged off his desk.

  * * *

  “Why are you wasting your time with me?”

  Meeting with Lyman Bishop on the heels of learning about the murders of Maureen and Stan Moore required fortitude. Given the fact that she was already upset, Evelyn wasn’t eager to confront the extreme emotions he evoked. But what she’d learned from Beth gave her no choice. She had to do something—everything she could to help that woman—while she had the chance. Once Bishop was released, she would have no more access to him, no more opportunity to get him on tape. While he was here, however, if she could push him in the right way he might provide her with something revealing, a comment or an expression that could one day be played before the jury at his trial.

  “I just spoke with your sister.”