by Brenda Novak
Evelyn shook her head. “I’m glad she won’t be subjected to that anymore. I heard you left a letter telling Lyman that you were removing him as guardian.”
“Yes.”
“But he doesn’t know where you’ve taken Beth.…”
“I didn’t reveal that, no. Of course, if he goes to trial and is found innocent I won’t be able to keep her whereabouts from him. But until then, he won’t know. And we’re going to send her for an MRI. The results of that might help the prosecution’s case.”
Forgetting about what she was finding in her e-mail, Evelyn pushed back her chair and came to her feet. “You are? When?”
“I don’t have the date and time yet. I’m still trying to make the arrangements.”
“How’d you get the approval?”
“I reported the ice pick that was found in the bag where Lyman worked.”
Penny had knocked a few minutes earlier. Now she was back and motioning that she had to talk to Evelyn. Since it seemed important, Evelyn thanked Louise, asked her to call as soon as she had the results of the MRI and disconnected.
“What is it?” Evelyn asked her assistant.
“Dr. Fitzpatrick called.”
Evelyn barely refrained from rolling her eyes. “He left me yet another message yesterday. What’d he have to say this time?”
“He was in tears,” she said, her eyes round with shock. “Sobbing like a baby.”
“Because…” Evelyn was afraid she could guess.…
“The police arrived with a search warrant this morning. They went through his whole house. Took clothes, tools, gloves, shoes, his kitchen knives…”
“Wow. They’re serious about investigating him as a suspect.”
“He claims he’s innocent. He’s begging for your help.”
“There’s nothing they can do without sufficient evidence. Unless they find that evidence, he’ll be fine.”
“You won’t call him back?”
Evelyn stood and stretched. Sometimes she spent far too much time in a chair. “I have appointments this morning. I already had you reschedule my first one. But I’ll call Boston PD, see what’s going on. Maybe they’ll share something that will enable me to reassure him.”
“Thanks, Dr. Talbot. I know you don’t like him. I didn’t, either, when he worked here. But…”
“You feel sorry for him.” She’d indicated that before.
“Yeah.”
“I’ve got it.” Evelyn checked her schedule. “Put off my session with Harvey Garber for fifteen minutes,” she said, and called Miles Dressler, who answered right away.
“Dr. Talbot. How are you?”
She thought of Beth living in a safe place and of that bag of items Teralynn found that could put Bishop back in prison, where he belonged. “I’m having a good day. You?”
“Things are starting to heat up here.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m talking about the investigation of your friends’ murders, Mandy Walker and Charlotte Pine. We haven’t been able to bring you justice, which pains me, but I’m feeling more and more confident that we’re going to be successful in solving their murders.”
“You’ve found evidence that will lead you to Jasper?”
“I don’t think it was Jasper.”
“Which is why you searched Tim Fitzpatrick’s house this morning.”
“Word travels fast.”
“Tim spoke to my assistant a few minutes ago. She said he was crying like a baby. I have to tell you, Detective, that he has a plausible excuse for being seen in her neighborhood, even for following her. It might not sound reasonable to most people, but I sort of get what he was doing. He was trying to stay involved in what he used to do—and stop a murder at the same time.”
“Are you sure?”
“I can’t imagine he was doing anything else.”
“I thought he was an unlikely culprit myself—an educated man like that with no criminal history. Until I came across one very important piece of evidence—and realized there was something he failed to mention.”
The somber tone of Dressler’s voice caused a frisson of concern to snake through her. “What’s that?”
“He went inside the house where Charlotte was murdered.”
Evelyn didn’t like Tim—and yet she felt her heart sink. Fitzpatrick hadn’t mentioned that to her, either. “How can you be so sure?”
“We found a footprint—in her blood.”
Penny had said they’d taken certain items from Tim’s house.… “And it matches a pair of his shoes,” Evelyn said.
“Yes,” he responded. “How’d you know?”
* * *
Jasper could hardly contain his excitement as he walked through the large front entrance of the imposing stone prison. Hanover House, with its tall columns and Gothic arches, reminded him of some of the big cathedrals from medieval times. When he’d come before, the prison hadn’t been complete, so he couldn’t help stopping to appreciate the architecture. This “revolutionary new medical health facility,” as it’d been billed by the press, didn’t create a blight on the landscape, like most other prisons. It had some style, some class.
Good job, Evelyn. He would’ve expected nothing less of her.…
A burly guard indicated the conveyor belt leading to the X-ray machine. “Please empty your pockets into this dish before proceeding through the metal detector.”
“Right. No problem. I’m familiar with the drill,” he teased, hoping to make friends right from the beginning.
The guy seemed slightly taken aback that he was so amiable but managed a grudging smile. “You sure you want to come work here?” he said under his breath.
Jasper lowered his voice. “That bad, huh?”
“No different from any other prison—if you don’t mind the cold.”
He breathed deeply as he looked around, hoping to catch a glimpse of Evelyn. If she was at the prison, she wasn’t within eyesight. But no matter. He’d bump into her at some point. After twenty-one long years, he was right where he needed to be. “I think I’m going to like it.”
27
Evelyn called her sister over lunch. She didn’t want her family sitting on pins and needles thinking that Jasper was on a killing spree in Boston if Fitzpatrick was responsible for Mandy’s and Charlotte’s murders.
“It’s me,” she said as soon as Brianne picked up.
“What’s going on in Alaska?”
Evelyn thought of all the things she could say—about Bishop and Amarok and her current studies—but decided not to go into any of it. Bishop alone would take an hour to explain, what with Beth and Teralynn and what he’d said in the lie detector test, and she didn’t have long before she had to return to evaluating those brain scans with Jim Ricardo. Focusing on that study seemed to be what was keeping him sane. He’d mentioned when he stopped by her office earlier that his wife wasn’t pregnant, as they’d both hoped. Evelyn couldn’t help feeling sorry for him, since she got the impression the bad news had only made things worse for him at home. She could even identify, to a smaller degree, with his wife’s disappointment.
“Everything’s pretty calm at the moment,” she said. In a way, that was true. Nothing big had happened in Hilltop or Hanover House that day. “Have you seen the news?”
“The news? No. Why? Has someone else been killed?”
Evelyn hated that Brianne would immediately assume the worst, but she had good reason. “They caught the man who killed Mandy and Charlotte.”
“Was it Jasper?”
“No, it was Tim Fitzpatrick.”
“The psychiatrist who gave you such a bad time last year?”
“Yes.”
Silence.
“Brianne?”
“I’m here.”
“Aren’t you relieved?” She didn’t seem to be.…
“Of course. Mom and Dad will be, too. It’ll be great to get back to our regular lives and stop looking over our shoulders all the time—if t
hat’s even possible after what we’ve been through. It’s just … how long before the next thing pops up? It seems like we go through a big scare every few years.”
A rush of guilt made Evelyn uncomfortable. Her family had begged her to change her profession to something safer. Her work not only endangered her; it endangered everyone she loved. What Fitzpatrick had done was proof. But so did being a cop or a district attorney. Fighting crime contained inherent risk. “I’m sorry for that.”
Her sister sighed. “It’d be easier if we shared your passion.”
But they didn’t. They wanted to forget the trauma of the past, to live their lives as if she’d never been kidnapped or tortured. Evelyn understood. Sometimes she felt she was being selfish to deny them that. But who would fight people like Jasper if she didn’t? That was what it all came down to—what kept her going, despite their disapproval. “Someone has to do what I’m doing.”
More silence. Then Brianne said, “Don’t mind me. I’m just a little disillusioned. Fitzpatrick was supposed to be one of the good guys, you know? How many killers will we have to worry about?”
Providing they were free and able, any of the psychopaths Evelyn had studied over the years—and that number was probably at a thousand by now—could come after her or her family. “Hopefully, not anymore.”
“Do you believe it was Fitzpatrick?” her sister asked. “That they have the right guy?”
Evelyn couldn’t say yes, not with any real commitment. Something about the situation felt off. But he had lied about being at the crime scene. They had his footprint in Charlotte’s blood, so the police were convinced he was the culprit, and Evelyn had nothing concrete with which to disagree with them. Maybe she was doggedly hanging on to the suspicion that it was Jasper because she wanted to blame him for everything, had built his capabilities up so much in her mind that she’d come to believe he was all-powerful, all-seeing, everywhere at once. “They have proof.”
“Okay. I’ll tell Mom and Dad.”
“Thanks.” That would save her an even more difficult conversation—for now—since she knew her parents would once again plead with her to return to Boston and take up private practice.
Brianne was about to hang up when Evelyn caught her. “How’re things with Jeff?”
“Good.” Her sister’s tone had finally warmed.
“You’re still in love?”
“Most definitely.”
“That gives me something to smile about.”
“What about you?” Brianne asked. “You’ve been with Amarok for a while now.…”
“Yeah.”
“So what are you going to do? Marry him and stay there for the rest of your life?”
Evelyn pinched the bridge of her nose. She knew how well her family would take that news. “I don’t know,” she said.
* * *
As usual, Lyman Bishop was careful to blend in with the crowd as he followed the other passengers off the plane. He wore baggy, nondescript clothes under a heavy coat and had a hat pulled low, over his eyes. He didn’t want to allow a clear image of himself to be caught on surveillance video.
Although he felt a great deal of pressure to act fast, before anyone could realize he’d left Minneapolis, he tried not to show that he was in a hurry. The fact that he’d gained three hours on the flight back to Alaska eased some of the pressure he felt. He’d slept most of the way, which also helped, since he’d been up the entire night once he got home and found that Beth had been removed from his care. Thanks to that four-hour nap, he was alert and ready for what lay ahead.
But he was facing a long night. By the time he rented an SUV and drove to Hilltop, it’d be eight, at least. That didn’t give him a lot of time to put his plan into motion.
While Lyman waited at Baggage Claim, he stared at his feet and went over the next few hours in his mind. Not until several minutes after the luggage began to bump its way down the conveyor belt and the crowd around him began to thin did he lift his head to grab his own black, standard suitcase. He hoped Security hadn’t searched it. The ice pick he’d purchased before getting on the plane wasn’t a large tool—he’d slipped it right into his shaving kit—but the fact that he was carrying something that could be used to stab someone could raise questions. He was afraid, if TSA had found it, that they’d removed it and left one of those gold notes on top of his clothes in its place.
Because the pick was an integral part of his revenge, he was tempted to open his bag right there to look. They might’ve found the chloroform he’d paid a student to steal from the chemistry department, too. But he held off until he had his rental vehicle, was about to pull out of the lot and knew no one was watching.
“There you are,” he muttered when he found the pick and the chloroform right where he’d put them and zipped his bag back up. “Those idiots couldn’t find their own assholes,” he added, feeling strangely powerful to have escaped the notice of the TSA. But then, that was what he did—he escaped notice.
Once he climbed behind the wheel, he turned on the cabin light and smoothed out the map he’d picked up at the car rental counter. He’d stop off and purchase the groceries and the rest of what he needed before leaving Anchorage. The woman who’d rented him the Ford Escape had circled a couple of spots on a nearby street where he could find the stores he needed. Then, providing the weather would cooperate—he felt nervous just thinking about that narrow mountain pass where Sergeant Murphy had swerved toward the guardrail—he’d drive to Hilltop.
Fortunately, it wasn’t snowing. Bitter cold though it was, the storm seemed to have moved on.
He started the engine to get the heat going and checked the paperwork he’d printed out at an office supply store before taking Uber to the airport in Minneapolis. The cabin he’d rented online looked remote. There’d be a bit of a drive to reach it, and it’d be pitch-black out away from the city lights. That caused him some concern. Getting stranded in Alaska at this time of year could prove fatal. But, providing he could find the cabin, he felt he’d be safe until he could figure out his next move.
Either way, there wasn’t any point in ever trying to go back home. The police had something significant on him, or they wouldn’t have taken Beth away. Teralynn had acted so strange when he’d spoken to her—and, after they hung up, she wouldn’t accept any more of his calls. She hadn’t been indifferent to him, like before; she’d been terrified, especially once he’d mentioned Evelyn Talbot. The psychiatrist who ran Hanover House was behind whatever was going on. He felt sure of it. She’d been determined to keep him behind bars, if possible.
May the best person win.… She’d said that, but he wouldn’t allow things to end as she hoped. If she was going to take Beth away, she’d have to replace her.
* * *
Amarok kept an eye on the door, but Evelyn didn’t show up. She knew he had to spend some time at the Moosehead on Friday nights, especially when they had a boxing match. But she’d been going on such little sleep, what with the big push to get Beth away from Bishop and the murders in Boston. He couldn’t blame her if she’d decided to go home and relax.
Because the fight—between a guy named Stu Stamper from Anchorage and Hilltop’s own Tommy Gilchrist—promised to be a good one, people had come from all around. Almost everyone Amarok knew was there, including Samantha. She came over to pet Makita and struck up a conversation about her store. She said she planned to open in spring, talked about how excited she was to get started and then asked Amarok to dance.
He agreed—felt it’d be too rude to say no—but all he could think about was Evelyn. He wished he could go home and planned to do so as soon as the fight was over.
Too bad the fight didn’t start until ten.
After the song ended, he extricated himself from Samantha’s arms and returned to his seat, where Makita waited patiently. Then he nursed a beer and kept an eye out for any signs of trouble while scratching his dog’s head.
Before long, Samantha was studying him as if she was tem
pted to approach again, so he slipped out of the main room, into the hallway where the bathrooms were, so that he could use the pay phone.
“Hello?” Evelyn said.
There she was. So she had left work—not always a given with her, even this late. He’d called the prison first, just in case. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“Not a whole lot. I’m sorry I’m not there at the Moosehead with you tonight. I pulled into the lot, but it was so full I couldn’t find a parking space, and I was reluctant to leave my SUV down the street and walk. It’s too cold out, and I wasn’t wearing my boots.”
“That’s fine. Just tell me you’re not working. You need to get some rest.”
“I admit I’m trying to catch up on a few things for the BOP. But I’ll get in bed early.”
He leaned one shoulder against the wood paneling that covered the wall. “You’re okay, though? You’re not upset or worried about anything?”
“I’m not sure I’d go that far,” she said with a little laugh. “I’m worried about Bishop and what he might do to Teralynn. She’s at the lab, cleaning again. I keep imagining him breaking in while she’s there or waiting for her when she gets out. But I’ve contacted Minneapolis PD. They say they’ll look out for her.”
“You have to trust them. There’s nothing you can do from here.”
“Truer words have never been spoken.”
He plugged his right ear, trying to block out the loud music. “What’d you say?”
“I said, Truer words have never been spoken.”
“Right. Listen, I’ve got something to tell you that might improve your night!” he shouted into the phone.
“What’s that?”
“They have a match on the DNA. In Peoria.”
There was a brief silence while she absorbed the news. “The same person who killed those women in Peoria tried to abduct Vanessa Lopez from Casa Grande?”
“That’s right. Granted, this would be more exciting if we had a sample of Jasper’s DNA and could prove it was him. But we know from his mother that he lives in Arizona. And these murders aren’t that old, not when you compare them to what happened to you and your friends back in Boston. They may yet yield some lead that will break the case. Detective Sims is determined to come up with something. He’s afraid Jasper might kill again.”