by Brenda Novak
“He will kill again. But having two police departments searching for him instead of one should improve our odds.”
“And we have a surviving witness, of sorts.”
“When did you hear this news?” she asked.
He stepped aside so that someone else could squeeze past him to get to the bathroom. “This afternoon.”
“And you didn’t call me?”
“I was saving it for tonight, thought we’d celebrate. But since you’ll probably go to bed before I even get home…”
“Will you be late?”
“It’ll be midnight, at least. With the way folks are drinking here tonight, it might be even later.”
“How’s Vanessa doing? Have you heard?”
“I asked, yeah. She’s recovered. Is back at work.”
“No one has seen the guy she mentioned visiting that 7-Eleven.”
“No.”
“Something’s got to give, Amarok.”
He ducked his head; the music seemed to be growing even louder. “It will, babe. I promise. I’m having a tough time hearing you, so I’ll let you go for now.”
“Okay. I hope Tommy wins the fight.”
“So do I,” he said, and hung up. He wasn’t looking forward to the wait, not with Samantha hovering around, eager to use Makita as an excuse to talk to him again. But he quickly forgot about his ex. Almost as soon as he returned to his seat, Westin Pinnegar came rushing into the Moosehead, pushing everyone else out of his way.
“Where’s the sergeant?” he yelled, and made a beeline for Amarok the second he learned the answer to that question.
“What is it?” Amarok asked. Clearly, the man was upset. His face, normally a weathered and chapped red from all the time he spent outdoors, was chalk white, and he was breathing rapidly, as though he’d been running.
“Oh my God, Amarok. Oh my God!” he kept saying.
A crowd began to form around them as Amarok came off his stool. “Calm down and tell me what happened.”
“I don’t know what happened!” He spread out his hands and shook his head as if the vision in his mind was inconceivable, unexplainable. “I-I can’t figure it,” he stuttered. “I just saw Sandy Ledstetter maybe an hour ago at The Dinky Diner. They stayed open late tonight, like they sometimes do, to take advantage of all the folks coming in for the fight, you know?”
Amarok did know. Shorty had complained that they were “stealing his business.” He was the one sponsoring the fight, so he felt everyone should buy food at the Moosehead.
“She served me my chicken-fried steak,” Westin said, his voice cracking.
Dread welled up inside Amarok. The men in Hilltop didn’t cry easily. “And now?”
The tears that’d been in his voice filled his eyes as he choked out, “She’s swinging from a tree!”
* * *
Although he’d been standing along the periphery of the room, keeping a low profile, Jasper couldn’t help craning his neck to see what was going on over by the bar with Amarok. Jasper had watched Evelyn’s boyfriend ever since the trooper had walked in with his Alaskan malamute—had seen him pet his dog, talk to his friends and dance with a tall blonde. Evelyn didn’t seem to be with him, but as far as Jasper was concerned, that was good. He longed to see her again, but as impatient as he was feeling, it would be better to slowly weave himself into the fabric of this small community without drawing her attention. Or the sergeant’s, for that matter. By the time that happened, he hoped he wouldn’t be considered a complete stranger in these parts.
The murmur that went through the throng indicated something terrible had happened. So did the way Amarok rushed out of the bar.
Several people followed despite how many times he gestured for them to stay back. That made it easy to get swept up in the crowd, which was buzzing with alarm.
Eventually, the entire Moosehead emptied out. All the patrons poured down the street to where a twentysomething-year-old woman dangled, obviously dead, from the branch of a big tree right at the edge of the parking lot of The Dinky Diner, where Jasper had once had breakfast.
“What the hell!…” “It’s Sandy.…” “No way! How terrible!…” “What happened to her?…” “Who could’ve done this?”
Several people grew instantly distraught. Jasper, however, gazed on the scene with nothing more than detached curiosity. What an interesting and surprising turn of events, especially on his first night in town. Thank goodness he hadn’t gone back to Anchorage after orientation at the prison, like he’d been planning to do. If he hadn’t decided to stop in for a drink and be seen in his new uniform, he would’ve missed out.
Despite all the friends and family scrambling to get the woman down as soon as possible, Amarok wouldn’t let anyone touch the body. He insisted it was too late, that she was “gone,” and pushed them all back—an action his dog helped with by barking and herding the crowd almost like sheep. Once everyone understood he wasn’t going to relent on that, he called for someone by the name of Phil to run down to the trooper post and get a camera and some lights. Apparently, he was going to approach this as the crime scene it had to be.
How many murders could such a young trooper have investigated? Jasper wondered. Especially way the hell out here? More than the two Jasper had followed in the paper last year?
Regardless, Amarok wasn’t stupid. He’d managed to tie Jasper to the five women near that old barn in Peoria, hadn’t he? It wouldn’t be wise to underestimate him.…
The guy to Jasper’s left, who’d been talking with Jasper at the Moosehead, nudged him. “Not a good day to move to Alaska, buddy. I bet you’re ready to turn around and head back to the Lower 48 after seeing this.”
“Naw,” Jasper said. “I worked at Florence Prison before I got on at Hanover House. Believe me, I’ve seen it all.” He’d relished the violence—thrived on it—but he knew his new “friend” wouldn’t be able to relate.
“Makes sense this wouldn’t hit you as hard as the rest of us,” he responded. “You didn’t know her. We did. And she was a real nice girl.”
Jasper had never seen a public spectacle like this one, but then he’d never spent any significant time in a place like Hilltop. Between all the weeping, the fear, the shock and Amarok and Phil trying to calm everyone and retain control of the situation, the entire town was preoccupied. Anyone who happened to be outside this little epicenter could get away with anything. No one would notice.
Now would be the time to commit a crime, Jasper thought, eyeing the surrounding stores. And then, a mere second later, two things occurred to him. One, Evelyn wasn’t at the murder scene—and Amarok wouldn’t be going home to her anytime soon. And two, there couldn’t be a more engrossing or long-lasting diversion, no better chance to act on what he’d come here to accomplish despite all of his carefully laid plans.
This was called a golden opportunity, he decided. If he were to grab Evelyn in the midst of this uproar, there’d be plenty of time to get her out of Hilltop before she was missed and whoever killed the fat chick swinging from the tree would get the blame.
That was more than a golden opportunity. That was a damn invitation.
28
Evelyn had the television on even though she wasn’t paying much attention to it. She was too engrossed in updating the files on the inmates she met with on a regular basis, so engrossed that she didn’t get up to investigate when she heard a noise outside. The many storms that rolled through Alaska could be loud—from booming thunder, to pounding rain, to the wail of the wind tossing tree branches or other items against the house. But a second thud pulled her mind out of her work, and she realized that it wasn’t storming.
Was it Amarok? Usually Makita let her know well in advance when they were home. He’d race to the door, barking to announce their return.
Her cat jumped off her lap as she got up. One glance at her watch told her it was too early for Amarok and Makita to be back. Had Amarok decided to swing by before the big fight? Maybe he’d forgot
ten something.…
She checked to make sure the porch light was on. It was, so she peered through the peephole, thinking she might see some sign of who or what was out there. Amarok could be moving around the house, putting the garbage cans away or whatever before coming in.
But she couldn’t see anyone—and she wasn’t about to unlock the door to go out in the dark to look—
A rustling sound coming from the back of the house caused her breath to catch in her throat. Something wasn’t right. It wasn’t just the noise; she felt an ominous sort of dread in the pit of her stomach.
Was someone trying to break in?
Her eyes darted to the phone. Should she call Amarok—or grab the rifle he kept near the fireplace and try to get her and Sigmund out of the house?
Afraid she wouldn’t make it to her SUV or that it wouldn’t start right away because of the cold, she grabbed the rifle, scooped up her cat and rushed over to the phone.
There was no dial tone. Either someone had hit a telephone pole and knocked out their service, or …
The “or” convinced her that she was in trouble again. Fear rose up, stealing her strength. Considering the number of violent men she’d studied over the years, many of whom would like to kill her, she had to assume the worst.
Stay calm, she warned herself. And get a coat. She’d freeze to death if she had to be outside for any length of time. But just as she put down the gun and her cat so that she could suit up, she heard glass shatter in the spare bedroom.
Someone was coming in through the window.
Now. Forget the cold. She had to make a dash for it, even if it meant freezing to death later. But she had no idea where Sigmund had gone. Put out that she wasn’t acting normal, he’d run off, was probably hiding under the couch or a chair so she’d leave him alone.
She prayed he’d be safe until she could get help as she retrieved the gun, grabbed her keys and bolted for the door.
She was so intent on reaching her SUV that she didn’t see the trip wire strung from one support pole to the other. It caught her at the ankles. The gun went flying as she fell, hard on the icy pavement—and the next thing she knew, she was lying on her back, staring up at a dark shape leaning over her.
She thought it was Jasper. It had to be Jasper. He’d tried to abduct her again eighteen months ago. And she’d known he’d come back, that he wouldn’t let her escape him in the end. The more successful she became, or he perceived her to be, the more he’d want to destroy her. She understood the fixation, not only because she’d researched so many psychopaths and the way they thought but also, instinctively, from those days when she’d been his captive and he’d been so incredibly cruel.
Frightened though she was, now that the moment had come part of her wanted to see him, to know how he’d changed. It’d been so long since she’d laid eyes on him. Because he’d been wearing a mask the summer before last in Boston, she hadn’t been able to catch a glimpse of his face, and she’d so desperately wanted to provide the police with fresh details, an accurate composite sketch, something new to go on.
He wasn’t wearing a mask now, but she still couldn’t see him clearly, not with the way his body blocked the porch light.
“Jasper?” she croaked, her breath misting on the frigid air. Her body ached from the fall, and her ears rang. She’d hit her chin, nearly knocked herself out—yet, dimly, she realized he’d set a trap for her. He’d purposely flushed her out of the house, sent her running by making those noises and breaking that window.
He knew she’d charge out the only entrance; he also knew she wouldn’t get far.
“Wrong,” she heard him say. “The good news is that you’ll never have to worry about Jasper again. The bad news is … I’ve gotten to you first.”
Lyman Bishop. He wasn’t in Minnesota, stalking Teralynn. He’d gotten home, seen that Beth was gone, turned around and come back—for her.
“Help!” she yelled, but there was no one else around.
“Don’t worry,” he told her calmly, full of a new kind of confidence. “I’ll be sure to knock you out before I operate. And you’ll be glad to know that I’ve gotten good at going in through the eye socket. It only takes me ten minutes. When we’re done, we’ll put a pair of sunglasses on you and no one will know you’ve had any type of procedure.”
“Operate? Procedure?” Suddenly everything she’d learned about Bishop—what he did to his victims—came tumbling back despite her dazed state. He was talking about a lobotomy! He was going to cut into her brain, make her compliant, destroy her ability to resist him—or do much of anything else.
With a surge of strength born of desperation, she tried to shove him away. But he was standing above her, had every advantage. She didn’t have a chance, but she called for Amarok, anyway—until Bishop shut her up by holding a damp rag over her nose and mouth.
Although she continued to struggle, knew she had to fight if she wanted to be the same person when she woke up, a sweet acetone scent registered in her brain. Then even the dim halo of the porch light turned to black.
* * *
Bishop dragged Evelyn into the house and closed and locked the door. He was breathing hard from the exertion and yet, so far, he’d only gotten her into the entryway. Although Evelyn didn’t weigh as much as some of his other victims, moving an unconscious woman was never easy. He wasn’t as fit as he’d like to be, either. But at least he had a sharp mind. He should get more credit for being clever, should be more appealing to women than he’d always been. Look at what he’d been able to accomplish in his career!
Forget that, he told himself. What did it matter? He compensated for whatever he was missing, figured out a way to get what he wanted. Take tonight, for example. The woman he’d found turning off the lights and locking up at that diner was more than happy to tell him where Evelyn lived. Once he’d shown her the ice pick, she was willing to do anything. The information she provided had proven helpful, but it hadn’t saved her life, as she’d been hoping in that moment. He’d needed a way to make sure Sergeant Amarok would be away from home—and occupied for hours.
Bishop had hung out in the shadows long enough to make sure that someone spotted the body after he hung it up. He’d even watched as that man nearly swerved off the road, returned to get another look, then rushed down to the bar. A few minutes later a horde of people had come pouring into the street, with the trooper leading the charge. So Bishop knew where Evelyn’s boyfriend was and where he was likely to remain. And there weren’t any neighbors nearby, no one else to get in the way. He’d checked the area before stringing that trip wire across the front door. They were out in the middle of nowhere—with the whole night ahead of them.
The table wasn’t long enough, so he put Evelyn on the couch. That wasn’t an ideal place to operate, but … what could he do? Once again, he had to improvise. The important thing was that he’d soon have a completely cowed and compliant Evelyn in the SUV with him as he drove out of town, never to be seen again.
It would take some real ingenuity to assume a new identity and start over somewhere else, but he’d have his disabled “sister” to lend him instant legitimacy. They’d hide out in the cabin he’d rented for the first few weeks, to give him time to see how effective the procedure was. Everyone was different, after all; sometimes he had to do a second lobotomy. Once he was satisfied with Evelyn’s behavior, they’d move on, figure out a new place to live and something he could do for work. People were always so supportive when he mentioned he was caring for his poor, unfortunate sibling. Evelyn would win him instant trust and the admiration he’d always deserved but been denied, just as Beth had.
One thing was for certain. Evelyn would never look down on him again. He’d see to that.
He lifted her left eyelid, looking for the best spot through which to jam the ice pick into her brain. Eggbeater fashion, he reminded himself. That was the best technique. Dr. Freeman, who’d been famous for his lobotomies in the fifties and sixties, described the proc
edure that way in a video clip on the Internet, and, from his own experience, Bishop had to agree. That was how he’d done Beth’s, and she was the best example of what he was looking to accomplish. She wasn’t a drooling imbecile, like a handful or more women he’d done. She was still capable of sucking his tummy banana, which he enjoyed almost on a daily basis, yet she wasn’t capable of surviving without assistance, which made it very unlikely she’d go anywhere or anyone would take much interest in her.
If Evelyn hadn’t interfered, he’d still have Beth, would still be living in his comfortable house and working at his comfortable job and coming home to enjoy a woman’s body in whatever way he chose.
Covering Evelyn’s breast with one hand, he gave it an experimental squeeze. She made him hard, all right. She was beautiful, a step up from poor, pudgy Beth. Sadly, the lobotomy would change that, to a point. Evelyn’s body would go soft, too, after a few years.…
He wondered if he’d have time to have some fun with her after the procedure. He hadn’t had sex in so long—ever since he was arrested. And he liked the idea of taking Evelyn right there on the trooper’s couch. He’d never been able to get the type of women someone like the sergeant could, but this changed everything.
He reached into his pants, felt himself and decided he’d make time to consummate their new relationship.
“Everything I’m about to do is your own fault,” he told her, even though she was unconscious and couldn’t hear a word.
Too bad he didn’t have another ice pick. Then he could go in through both eyes at the same time. Freeman used to do that.
* * *
Jasper had no trouble finding Amarok’s house. Not only had he spoken to a handful of COs after orientation; he’d chatted with that guy at the bar for quite some time, enough to have learned the layout of the whole town. He’d merely joked that if he ever got tired of commuting and decided to move to Hilltop he’d live right next to the trooper, since Amarok was the only cop in town. And he’d been told that there weren’t any houses—or land, for that matter—for sale out on South Piper Street, where the “trooper and the doc” lived. Most suggested he look a little closer to town.