“Calm down,” Luke said firmly. “We’ll figure something out.”
“Well, we’d better, because there’s no way in hell I’m letting this guy go. It’s him—I know it.”
Now I just had to prove it.
Chapter 19
Dr. Shepherd’s office was bigger than my entire first apartment and far more elegant. A large mahogany desk with tiny roses carved in the wood sat by a window that looked out onto Central Park and the entire skyline of New York. Various magazines including Time and People hung in gold frames on the maroon walls, each with a smiling Shepherd on the cover. Above those hung the heads of various wild animals I’d only ever seen on Animal Planet. I never understood why men felt the need to decorate with the things they’d killed. It was too Texas Chainsaw Massacre for my taste. And that was how I felt for the ten minutes we’d been waiting. Creeped out. And fed up. We’d been waiting in that morgue for ten minutes. Evil bastard. My foot kept twitching spastically.
“Will you please stop that?” Luke finally asked.
My foot stopped, but my annoyance didn’t. “I’ll give him two minutes, then I’m going through this place room by room and dragging him in here by his ear.”
“That’ll go over well.”
I looked up at the zebra head directly above me. “Those heads are really weirding me out.”
“Then stop looking at them.”
The double doors opened behind us. Shepherd strode in, a smile plastered on his golden-boy face. “I’m so sorry to make you wait,” he said, passing us on the way to his desk. “Crisis at one of the clinics in Queens. A patient attacked a nurse with a needle. She’ll be okay, though.”
“We understand,” Luke assured him.
Shepherd took the seat directly across from us behind his $5,000 desk. “Diana had a hair appointment, but she’s on her way. Can I get either of you some coffee?”
“We’re fine,” I replied.
“So, I gather you have more questions for me.”
“Just a couple,” Luke said, pulling out paper and pen. I did the same. “The night of March ninth between nine thirty P.M. and one o’clock, where were you?”
Shepherd turned to the computer on his desk and typed. “Let’s see…Diana and I were supposed to go to dinner at Le Cirque,” he turned back to us, “but if memory serves, we had to stay home because she had a headache. Henry Mooney can verify that.”
“What about April twentieth between midnight and four A.M.?” I asked.
“I was home, sleeping most likely.” He began typing again. “Yes, I had just finished the book tour three days prior. I kept my schedule clear for a week to recuperate.”
“And Diana can vouch for you?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“What about May eighteenth between eleven thirty and four A.M.?” Luke asked.
Shepherd typed it in. “Diana, Henry, and I went up to the cabin for a week. I needed a quiet place to begin my new book.”
“You certainly take a lot of time off for someone with so many responsibilities,” I said.
“When I work, I work very hard. I try to take at least one week off a month to collect my thoughts. Just as I did last week.”
“And only Ms. Hall and Mr. Mooney were with you?” Luke asked.
“Yes. Is that all?”
“Why haven’t you asked us what all these questions are about?” I asked.
Shepherd turned his ice-blue eyes to me. “Well, I can only assume you consider me a suspect because all the victims attended my signings.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Does that worry you?”
“Seeing as I had nothing to do with their deaths, of course not. I’m happy to cooperate.”
“Do you own a Browning nine-millimeter?” Luke asked.
“Yes. Usually it’s kept at the apartment, but sometimes I take it down to the cabin. I’m fairly sure I left it up there this time.”
“What if I told you we have a witness who identified you as being in Richmond on June thirteenth?” I asked.
Not missing a beat, he answered, “I’d say I was in my cabin a thousand miles away and couldn’t possibly have been in Richmond then.”
“He picked you out of a photo array,” I said. “He was absolutely sure it was you.”
“He’s wrong. I don’t know what else to say,” he said with a shrug.
“Will you show us your shins?” I asked.
“Why?”
“To check for bruising.”
He chuckled at this. “I always insist on dinner at least before I show skin, Dr. Ballard.”
“Is that a no?”
“I’m afraid I draw the line at nudity, even partial.” His mouth twitched into a smile. “Of course if you’d agree to that dinner, I might be persuaded—”
The door swung open before he could finish his indecent proposal. Diana Hall strode into the office like a model on the runway, blond hair swishing in unison with her tiny hips. The black leather skirt with matching coat and boots hugged her perfectly toned body like a lover. Shepherd rose from his desk and went over to her, giving her a chaste peck on the cheek. His hand rested protectively on her back. She looked at us with almost black eyes. Luke nodded and smiled at this gorgeous creature, but my eyes jumped down to her wrists. All remnants of the bruises had vanished overnight. She must have bought concealer by the bulk.
“Diana, this is Special Agent Hudson with the FBI,” Shepherd said. “And his colleague Dr. Iris Ballard.”
“Hello,” Diana said in a small, unsure voice.
“We have a few questions for you, Ms. Hall,” Luke explained in his official FBI voice.
Diana quickly glanced at Shepherd, then down to the floor. “Okay.”
“The night of March ninth, where were you?” Luke asked.
“Home,” she confirmed almost immediately. “I had a headache.”
“How can you remember that far back?” I asked suspiciously. “I can barely remember where I was three nights ago, let alone three months.”
“My birthday was the next day. Jeremy was going to take to me to Le Cirque for a celebration, but I was sick.”
Luke seemed satisfied with this answer. “What about April twentieth?”
“I don’t know. Jeremy?”
“It was three days after the book tour,” he told her as he rubbed her back up and down. It reminded me of a ventriloquist and his dummy, which was exactly what they were. He might as well have been speaking for her.
“Then we were home. Jeremy was exhausted. We didn’t leave the apartment for days.”
Luke jotted that down. “May eighteenth?”
“I think we were at the cabin, but I can’t be sure.” She turned her head to glance back at Shepherd, who just smiled reassuringly.
“June sixth through thirteenth?”
“The cabin. That I know.”
Luke wrote this final bit of information down before closing his pad. He stood up, and I followed suit. “Thank you for your time,” Luke said to them both.
“Whatever we can do to help,” Shepherd said. “Hope you catch the guy.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” I said, meeting his eyes, “we will.”
His self-assured smile faltered for a moment but jumped right back on. “Well, good luck.”
I just nodded. Luke and I left the room and stepped out into the lobby of Shepherd Inc. It wasn’t until the doors closed on the empty elevator that I sighed with relief. “My skin won’t stop crawling. Did you believe a word out of her mouth?” I asked Luke.
“Nope,” he answered. “He coached her.”
“She had bruises on her wrists last night,” I told him. “They’re gone now. He probably told her to wear concealer to hide them.” I paused. “When she saw me last night, she looked absolutely petrified. She has to know. I mean, how can she not?”
“Maybe she’s in denial.”
“Well, as a psychologist it is my moral duty to shake her out of it.” Luke raised an eyebrow. “What? I’m a giver.”
—
“Miss Hall?” I called to the familiar blonde stepping out of a taxi.
Diana’s wide eyes looked up at me as she exited the cab. Her mouth dropped open as she gulped air into her lungs, letting out a little gasp.
I pretended not to notice and walked up to the curb next to the taxi. I could see her body tense up as I approached. “I’m sorry, did I startle you?”
“No,” she answered too quickly.
“We just have a few more questions for you.”
She glanced over at Luke, who waited by the entrance of the apartment building. “I thought I answered all your questions,” she said. “He was with me those nights.”
“We just have a few follow-up questions,” I said as sweet as molasses. “May we come up?”
“Jeremy wouldn’t like that. He doesn’t like people in the apartment,” she said in a childish voice.
“We can always go to our office and ask you there.”
“Um…” she gulped. Her eyes grew even wider, as if a car were barreling toward her and she couldn’t jump out of the way. Indecision gripped her. Independent thought must have been a new concept to her. “Come up, I-I guess.”
We followed her into the building, through the art deco lobby, and into a tiny elevator surrounded by mirrors that barely held the three of us comfortably. Diana pressed herself against the mirrored wall to get as far away from us as possible. Her nervousness bounced all around the walls, practically hitting me in waves. In the mirrored door in front of me, I could see her glancing at me with apprehension all the way up to the penthouse.
We stepped into a small, bland reception area, which led into the oddest apartment I had ever set foot in. The walls, furniture, ceiling, and even the carpet were the brightest shade of white I had ever seen. There wasn’t a splash of color anywhere. Everything felt so sanitary it put hospitals to shame. I couldn’t tell where the floor ended and the furniture began. Even the coffee table was white. This was a blank room. Antarctica was warmer.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Diana asked.
“We’re fine,” Luke said.
The corners of Diana’s mouth fell. “Okay, um, I’ll be right back.”
Diana made an immediate right down the equally white hallway and disappeared out of sight. When she was out of earshot, I turned to Luke. “This place is unreal.”
“Not the homiest place. What do you make of it?”
“Well, white symbolizes purity. He wants to make this place pure, away from the filth and pain of the real world.” I scanned the room again. “Or he could just like the color white.” Diana came back down the hall sans boots and leather jacket. The woman must have been a masochist to wear black leather in June. “You have a lovely place here,” I said. “Very…clean.”
“Thank you,” she said in barely a whisper.
Diana sat across from us on an immense sofa the color of milk. I tried to meet her eyes, but they stayed on the floor, purposely avoiding my gaze. Her back was as straight as a stick but her shoulders were hunched like an old lady’s. She sat with her thin hands in her lap like a good little girl. She looked like a five-year-old at her parents’ boring party whose job it was to show what good parents she had.
I opened my bag and pulled out my tape recorder. “Do you mind the recorder?” She shook her head no. I clicked it on.
“Miss Hall, how long have you and Dr. Shepherd lived together?” Luke asked.
“Two years,” she answered, eyes still to the ground.
“What kind of man is he?” I asked.
“He’s the most brilliant, kind, considerate, wonderful man on the planet,” she said with little conviction.
“How’s that?” I asked.
She looked up from the floor but refused to meet my eyes. “Well, all the money he makes on the books goes to his clinics and various other charities,” she began, giving the stock speech. “He’s revolutionized the field of self-help single-handedly and helped millions of people in the process. Almost every hour of every day is spent in his pursuit to help others.”
“All those good deeds, do they leave any time for you?” I asked.
“We have a wonderful relationship,” she insisted.
“He’s almost twenty years older than you,” I pointed out.
“He has more energy than a man of twenty.”
“Has this energy waned at all in the past three months?”
“No,” she answered snidely.
“Has he become increasingly aggressive or violent?” Luke asked.
“Of course not. He’s never raised a hand to me.”
“What about those bruises on your wrists?” I pressed. “How’d you get those?”
She covered her right wrist with her left hand. “I don’t have bruises.”
“You did last night. I saw them, and you know I did.”
Her mouth gaped open to protest, but she thought better of it. She looked back down at the carpet, turning bright red from the embarrassment of the memory. “It’s none of your business.”
I glanced over at Luke, who cleared his throat. He rose from the chair. “I’m sorry, may I use your bathroom?”
“Down the hall, third door on the right.”
Luke walked past the couch and out of the living room, leaving me alone with the frightened woman. It was time to work my magic. I rose from the chair and moved over to the couch. Diana glanced up at me, her eyes stretched to the brink as if the Devil himself were approaching her. She scooted down the couch, but I could still hear her ragged breathing.
“I know what he makes you do,” I said, lowering my voice. “I see it not only on your wrists but in your eyes, your face, your whole body. I’ve seen women like you a hundred times before. I know he ties you up and tells you to struggle like you’re being raped. Or sometimes pretending isn’t enough. Do you know why he makes you do that? Because he only gets turned on by pain and violence, Diana. There is no love in him, not for you and not for anyone but himself. He’s using you.”
“No, he’s not! He loves me.”
“Diana, there are people in this world who are incapable of love. It’s nobody’s fault. There’s just something wrong with their minds. They can only think about their own desires, and they use people to fulfill them. Jeremy has this problem.”
“He loves me! He doesn’t use me! I do it because I want to. You’re wrong about him—I know you are.”
I leaned back into the couch. “Diana, I’m trying to help you here.”
“No, you’re not! I know all about you! You’re crazy; Jeremy said so. You killed someone and now you’re coming after Jeremy because he’s better than you.”
God, he had her completely brainwashed. “He’s sick, Diana. He hurts people—not just you, but total strangers. And by lying to us, and covering for him, you’re letting innocent people die. Is that what you want?”
“He didn’t do it! He couldn’t!”
Time to get off the river Denial. I opened my bag and pulled out five file folders, slapping them down on the white table as hard as I could. Diana leapt off the couch, her breathing becoming even more ragged. I flipped open the top file, revealing a photo of Sarah Illes caked in mud with bits of her cheek torn away. Diana gasped.
“This was Sarah Illes, or what was left of her after your boyfriend was done with her. She was a lawyer right here in New York, only thirty-five when she died. She was drugged, kidnapped, then dragged into the woods. You know what he did next? He cut her clothes off with a scalpel.” I took out a close-up photo of Sarah’s purple wrists. “Look familiar? They should. You have a matching set. Hers came from struggling while he was raping her. Three times. Her vagina was torn to shreds. If he hadn’t strangled her to death with his bare hands she probably would have died from the internal bleeding.”
“Please stop,” Diana whispered.
I pulled out a picture of her chest with the red hole. “After he basically fucked her to death, he pulled out a scalpel and hacksaw.
Cut a square in her chest, cutting away fatty tissue and red meat, just tossing it aside for animals to eat. Then he pulled out the hacksaw, slicing through her ribs and sternum He yanked her ribs out with his bare hands. Then he cut out half her heart, which I believe is somewhere in this ice castle with the other four. There’s no way he’d get rid of them, right? Not after all that trouble.”
“Please stop,” she pleaded, tears falling down her cheeks.
I ignored her. “Finally, he dragged her dead body to the edge of the river and tossed her in, where she wasn’t found for almost two days. By the time we did find her she was so bloated we almost didn’t recognize her. When her ex-husband had to identify her at the morgue, he puked all over her body. Nice, huh?”
“I’m going to be sick,” she said, choking back vomit. She stood to leave.
“SIT DOWN, DIANA!” I roared, frightening both of us with my tone. “We’re not done here!”
She fell back to the sofa, her whole body shaking. I yanked out pictures of each of the women and the ranger, slapping them down next to each other, one more gruesome than the last.
“Amanda Denker, age thirty-four. Patricia Curtis, thirty-two. Dr. Justine Romy, thirty-six. Dr. Audrey Burke, thirty-five. Park Ranger Bruce McIntyre, forty. And these are just the ones we know about. Six people dead, eight children under the age of ten without a parent. Your boyfriend did this, and you let him. You knew what was going on, didn’t you? Those days he was missing and told you to cover for him—the days he was stalking them—you knew. Guess what, Diana? That makes you an accessory to six homicides. On top of the fact you lied to a federal investigator already. That’s life in federal prison. You will die there. Is Jeremy Shepherd really worth your life?”
She was sobbing hysterically, each sob wracking her body harder than the last. A groan like that of a wild animal escaped her mouth. She sprung off the couch and ran to the other room, hand covering her mouth. A second later I heard vomit hitting the sink in the kitchen. I counted to five and stood from the couch, grabbing my recorder, and walked to the kitchen.
I found Diana sitting on the white tile floor clutching her legs to her chest, green vomit staining the corner of her mouth, and her red eyes still emitting tears in a steady stream. I walked into the kitchen and stopped by the roll of paper towels. I pulled off a sheet and crouched down to her level. I handed her the paper towel, which she took.
Beautiful Maids All in a Row Page 20