The woman was a threat, Marcus told himself. Quinn was right, she wouldn’t hold up with the police. A miscalculation that Marcus Galen couldn’t afford.
“But you misjudged.”
He looked up.
“Don’t look surprised. You always wanted me to analyze you. Tell you about yourself. How clever you were, how cunning. You wanted me in your head? Well, here I am.”
The doctor forced himself to smile. “So finish, if it will make you feel better.”
Maggie nodded. “Angela’s death was actually my fault. I’m surprised you didn’t rub my nose in that one a little more. But then you’d have to admit you killed her.” She studied him. “And you’re not ready for that.”
The doctor shook his head. “This is ridiculous.”
“If I hadn’t pointed out how weak Angela was, you might’ve let her live. I think you truly cared for her… as much as someone like you can.”
That hit a nerve.
“She was more like a pet than a person. A faithful dog you could always count on.” Maggie chuckled. “And you have a thing for dogs, don’t you?”
Marcus could feel his face blush. He tried to pull it back.
“How long did you keep your neighbors’ dogs before you sliced them up? The report said they were fed, cared for, washed. In better shape than when they disappeared.”
Marcus did care for the dogs. Fed them. Brushed them. Played with them. Kept them safe in a little place he made for them at the edge of their property, near the woods. Until his grandmother found out and threatened to tell his mother. Then he had to get rid of them, but that didn’t mean he didn’t love them.
“It doesn’t mean you loved them, you know.”
Marcus looked at her.
“Doesn’t mean you loved Angela. Doesn’t mean you loved any of them. You’re not human just because you go through the motions. It just makes you more pathetic.”
“Pathetic? Really?” he said. Then he was on his feet, moving toward her. “You can’t eat, can’t make yourself do the simplest tasks. You can’t even turn off the lights or sleep in your own bed at night. You just sit.” He reached down and touched Maggie’s face gently. “So what does that make you?” he cooed.
Maggie smiled. “Vulnerable.”
Galen’s heart stopped.
“Just the way you like it,” she whispered. “You didn’t get what you wanted before, but you think you can have it now.” She watched the sweat gather above his upper lip. “You want to do it right here in your own house. With your friends downstairs. And your wife, along with the other servants, passing caviar. That would be a real coup, wouldn’t it? Do it in your own house and still walk away.” Maggie leaned close to his ear. “Wrap those Harvard-educated fingers around my neck one last time. Remember the garage. Remember how that felt. Remember Angela.”
Marcus had to tell himself to breathe, then he looked at Quinn. “You’re sick.”
“Me? I’m not the one getting a hard-on.”
Marcus followed her eyes to the swelling beneath his $500 dress pants. He pulled away. “You are beyond pathetic.”
Maggie pressed herself against him. “Then tell me to leave,” she whispered. “But you can’t do that, can you?”
God, she was so close. And her smell. He remembered it from the garage. Her smell. So close. She was right, if he did it right… Marcus looked up. A smile curled on Maggie Quinn’s lips. She caught him, caught him in that very personal place where decisions are made, and Marcus Galen felt utterly transparent.
Maggie shook her head and sat down. “And that’s why you’ll lose.”
Galen pushed the brandy down his throat and tried to appear unruffled as he went back to his chair.
“If it’s not me, then someone else. If it’s not now, then next time. And there will be a next time. You don’t have a choice.”
“That is the one thing all of us have,” he said smugly as he refilled his glass and sat. “Choice over our destinies.”
The depth of her laughter frightened him. “That’s funny. Really,” Maggie said. “Sitting there, sweating in your designer shirt. Dick stiff just thinking about it. And you have a choice? Very funny.”
Marcus Galen stared at Quinn. He could make it perfect. He practiced it in his waking and dreaming hours. He knew what had to be done. And there she was. Maggie Quinn. The best of the best. Just waiting for him. He would get the knife first. When she finished another brandy, she would be loose enough to maneuver. He would pull her in again, but this time he wouldn’t let her go. And it would all be so easy because she was attracted to him. He would shove the lace doily into her mouth before he...
“Got the plan all worked out yet? A few snags, but nothing that can’t be overcome. Right?”
Get out, his mind screamed. Why did she keep staring at him?
“I’m warning you…”
“Do you talk in your sleep?”
The doctor ignored her.
“Or scream out while you’re fucking your wife.”
That got his attention. “Watch what you say…”
“I mean, that’s what Kristen said. Remember Kristen? Your second wife. She said you talked in your sleep a lot. While you fucked her, too.”
“How did…”
“Of course, Kirsten was too much her own person. Not very pliable. Neither was your first wife, Hilary. But Rebecca… Rebecca was just right. Enough like you to be interested. Different enough to be manipulated.”
Marcus teetered on the edge. This had to stop. His eyes flitted to the knife, then back to Quinn. He could do it. He could make it work.
“Come on, you know your wife suspects. We both know it. Especially after Angela turned up dead.”
“She loves me,” Marcus whispered.
“She goes through the motions, but she doesn’t love anything but herself. Just like you,” said Maggie.
The silence hung between them for a few moments.
“So let’s say I walk away,” she finally said, ”and you try to stay clean for a while. Deny who you are. It’s possible. For a short time, at least. But then you’ll start to fantasize. Just as an outlet. A little release.”
He needed to get down to business. Get the tool. The doily in the mouth. On the floor. And stop her. As he put his glass down near the knife, Marcus noticed his palms were slick with sweat.
“Anything wrong, Marcus? Sweating? Feeling a little tension?” Maggie asked. “I don’t know. Maybe you’ll get Rebecca to play along with the fantasy. Sure she’ll bitch about it, maybe throw a fit, but she’ll come around. She always does, doesn’t she?”
“Be quiet.”
“So maybe you’ll wrap your fingers around your wife’s throat, kind of like you did in the garage. Kind of like you did with Angela. You’ll see that initial look of surprise and, well, you’ve got a problem.” She glared at him. “Because that’s what really pops you, isn’t it? That look. It pushes you over, doesn’t it? All that power. You warm them up, make them feel safe, secure, wanted, then you close your hands around their throats, see that look and… it’s all over.”
“Shut up,” he whispered.
“You never saw it with me. That’s why I’m still walking. That oh-my-God-what’s-he-going-to-do-to-me fear. You saw it with Nancy. Brittany. Angela. Sarah. Susan. Megan. Felicia. Karen. Faith. Corinne. All the others. Not me, though.”
Galen’s breathing was ragged like an animal that ran too fast for too long.
“Because I already know what you’ll do. I know all about you, Marcus. And you don’t scare me.”
Maggie felt the doctor’s hatred. The steam rose off his body and she smelled it. Hot and metallic.
“You want to know a really interesting thing?” She took a photo from her bag and tossed it on the table
.
Galen’s heart stopped.
“I always thought the victims would look like someone from your past. Someone who damaged you. It was logical. Pretty basic psych shit, actually. But when they didn’t look like your mother, I was a little stumped. She did fit the profile.”
“You said you didn’t believe in profiles.”
“I lied,” Maggie said nonchalantly. “So here we are back with your mother. High expectations. Domineering. Unusually strict. Outrageously self-centered. Very much like your first wife. Everything fit. Except the face.”
“Stop.”
“Your grandma doesn’t really look like anyone else in the family, does she? It wasn’t easy finding a photo. I’m sure you had something to do with that. But like I said, every minor and mortal sin.” Maggie let out a long breath. “God, she must’ve really fucked you up, Marcus.”
Galen tried to reply, but Maggie wasn’t listening.
“Unfortunately, I don’t really care what anyone did to you when you were a little boy. It doesn’t matter.” She picked up the knife and tossed it on top of the photo of Caroline Somner. “For your scrapbook. Or just toss it in with the jewelry you’ve got hidden. You don’t give it all away, do you? You keep the best pieces for yourself.”
The energy was swelling, uncontrollable, frightening. It was telling him to stop the woman, stop the lies. He looked at the X-Acto knife and his grandmother.
“You’ll kill again, Marcus, because you are a killer. And you will be caught. Not by me. I’m out for the duration. You saw to that,” Maggie said. “But someone will catch you. And it won’t be a genius. No Sherlock Holmes. You’ll get caught by some second-string hack because you’ll get sloppy. Your work will be inferior.”
“Be quiet.”
“So tell me to leave.”
Silence.
“You’ll see her and have to have her. You won’t be able to wait. There’ll be less and less preparation, less and less courting. Less and less hunting. Until one day, you’ll take her in the street in broad daylight.”
Quinn smiled that clever, smart-ass smile Marcus detested. He didn’t need the doily. Just his hands. And the knife. He was fast. Faster than any surgeon. Before Marcus Galen could finish the thought, the knife was in his hand and he was moving toward Maggie Quinn.
The door opened and Rebecca Harding stuck her head in. “Marcus, everyone’s asking about…” She saw Quinn and her husband and the knife. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know…” Her voice trailed off as she shut the door behind her.
Sometimes fate did smile, Maggie thought. “Or maybe the next one will be in your own home with your wife and friends downstairs.”
For the first time, Marcus saw the absurdity of his thoughts. Realized how utterly ridiculous and indefensible they were. Knew that everything Maggie Quinn said was true.
And that’s when it came. From the corners of the room. The cracks in the floor. Behind the drapes. Even from Maggie Quinn. The dark oozed and pulsed, building like a wave to crush him as the X-Acto knife fell from his hand.
“Witness, weapon, motive. Any first year cadet will be able to piece together a case and make it stick,” Maggie mused. “And when they lock you up next time, and they will lock you up, do you think anyone will be there by your side?”
“Rebecca…” The word was barely audible.
“Come on, Marcus. You’re smarter than that. Rebecca will be running to higher ground, just like you would. Probably find another guy. Like you. Self-centered. Domineering. Only not a killer.”
Marcus was silent. The dark was all around him, pinning him to the chair.
“And when it’s all done, when it’s all over, when you’ve spent years locked in a little cell and exhausted all your appeals, used up all your money and lawyers and you’re waiting for it all to end, do you suppose anyone’s going to feel any admiration? Any sympathy? You know what they’ll say?” She leaned forward. “‘Animal. That’s all he was. A crazy, stupid fucking animal.’”
The surgeon stared at the floor as the dark whispered to him. Maggie could hear it making promises she knew couldn’t be kept. She could’ve walked away at that moment. If she had any compassion.
“I don’t know, Marcus. Maybe, they’ll just say, ‘Well, it was out of his hands. He just couldn’t control himself. Marcus Galen had no choice... He had no power.’”
Sweat ran down the doctor’s face and neck as he looked into the cold eyes across from him. Maggie pushed back her sleeves so the flames reflected against the raised scars.
“You really want to know what made me do it? Not despair. Not fear. Not loneliness. It was the truth.” She nodded slowly. “I could’ve saved my daughter. If I made a different choice, paid closer attention, I could’ve saved her. But I didn’t… so I lost my girl. The best thing in my life. I made the wrong choice and she died.”
There was no response.
“But at least I had a choice. And the truth is, Marcus, you don’t. Not anymore. Not when killing me in your own house during a party makes sense. No control. No choice. No power. That’s your life now, so get used to it.”
Maggie drank the last of her brandy and left.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
The Trib’s headline was to the point. “Trial Takes Toll. Surgeon Found Dead.” Marcus Galen went to a hotel and quietly downed a bottle of sleeping pills. Good for him, Maggie thought. He avoided her mistake. And everyone would still believe he was innocent. He wouldn’t get their admiration, but at least he’d get their pity. Poor Marcus, the victim of an investigation gone wrong. Maggie wadded the paper around a chipped coffee mug and pressed it into the cardboard box.
“How’d you know?” Rebecca’s eyes were red and swollen as she walked into the kitchen. “How did you know?” She slammed down a small metal lock box on the table and crumbled into the chair. Her legs wouldn’t hold her.
Maggie didn’t need to open the lid. She knew what was inside.
“The country club called after they heard… There were things in his locker. Clothes and… things. And this box. There was a note. For the people at the club. He wanted this delivered to you. They called me instead.” Rebecca suddenly slammed the lid open. “There’s over forty pieces in here. Forty…”
Rebecca struggled with the obvious. As many as forty women came in contact with her husband and they might all be dead. Something caught Maggie’s eye. A key. Rayney’s key. She wanted to reach in, take back what was hers, but she didn’t. It didn’t matter anymore. Rayney was dead.
“He killed that woman from the jewelry store. And those others… And in the library. He had a knife.”
“And you closed the door and walked away.”
“I was afraid,” Rebecca threw back childishly.
Maggie crumpled more newspaper and jammed it in the box to protect her glasses.
“Would he have killed me?” Rebecca said, staring at the evidence in front of her, imagining her wedding ring inside the box with the other trophies.
“You were too useful. Willing to lie for him when you had to and turn your back when you couldn’t lie.”
“You don’t know. You don’t know what it was like living with him,” she wept.
“You made your choice, so don’t cry for my benefit.”
“I’m not stupid.” Rebecca spat the words out as she wiped her eyes. “That’s what you think. You think I should’ve known? If it was your husband, do you think you would’ve known?”
Maggie looked squarely at Galen’s wife. “You knew.”
“Fuck you.”
With a smile, Maggie flipped the lid closed and handed the box of jewelry to Rebecca Harding. “Done.”
“You don’t want it?”
“Why do you think Marcus sent it to me? He knew as soon as that box touched my hands, it was wor
thless. Especially since you’ll probably lie about bringing it over. Actually I’m surprised you did. But then, it was what Marcus wanted.”
Rebecca blushed.
Maggie wrapped another glass in paper and jammed it in another box. It didn’t really matter. None of it. Galen was dead. Russo was dead. The women who owned the jewelry were probably dead. And Maggie could spend months, probably years trying to connect each piece to a victim. And none of it would matter. Because even if she did succeed, even if she managed to pull a case together, no one would believe her. Marcus knew that. That’s why he sent the jewelry. He was hoping it would eat Maggie from the inside out. His last push.
“I don’t want it,” Maggie said. Marcus Galen got no more of her life. That was her last push.
Rebecca Harding didn’t make a sound.
“So why are you really here?” Maggie finally said.
The woman fidgeted. “Look, I want this to be over. Everything. I want to start a new life and I don’t want this coming back at me. I don’t want you coming back. No more investigations. I will do whatever it takes to make that happen. I have money…”
Maggie chuckled. “Keep it. The cops think Russo was their man. There’s nothing to investigate. It’s over. Nice tidy ending and everyone is happy, right?”
Rebecca kept staring at the box of jewelry. “This is not my fault, you know. It isn’t.”
“You lied to cover for your husband, so he could stay out of jail… so he could kill more people. What part is not your fault?”
“I don’t want my life ripped apart. Can you understand that? I don’t want every little thing about me put under a microscope, just to prove you were right.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” Maggie said.
“I didn’t do anything. I didn’t do anything wrong.” Rebecca was on the edge of hysteria. “I can’t afford to lose everything. That may be hard for someone like you to understand.”
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