by Lisa Jackson
He looked . . . thoroughly angry.
“My name’s Harrison Frost. I’m with the Seaside Breeze.”
Zellman gestured fiercely in a way that made Harrison understand that the doctor knew who he was. Brandt was standing to one side, and he motioned for Brandt to bring Harrison an iced tea as well. Brandt went to do his bidding without asking if Harrison wanted a drink, but it was more because he was distracted than out of general rudeness.
“I’d like to ask you a few questions,” Harrison told the doctor, “but I also wanted to tell you that I found your son’s Range Rover. Looks like it was abandoned. I mentioned it to Brandt, but he didn’t seem to know what I was talking about.”
Zellman swept up a small notebook and pen. He jabbed out a note. Where?
“Just north of Deception Bay. On an unnamed residential access road off Highway 101.”
Brandt returned with the iced tea and handed it to Harrison. Zellman gestured for Harrison to talk to him, so he reiterated where he’d found the younger man’s car.
“My car’s in the garage,” Brandt denied. “I took the Mercedes to school today ’cause it was out front.”
“It had your registration inside. A 2007 black Range Rover.”
“It can’t be.” And then, as the realization hit, he added, “No, wait a minute. I left my car outside. Oh, shit! It shoulda been with the Mercedes and the BMW!”
“Were the keys inside the ignition?” Harrison asked.
“Well . . .” He glanced toward his father, who glared back, agitation visible in his silent gaze. “We just leave the keys in the cars. We always have. Where’s my car?” he asked, the worried look back in full.
“If it’s been stolen, you need to call it in to the TCSD. You have any idea who might have taken it?”
“No.”
Zellman scribbled a note. Could be any of your juvenile delinquent friends.
“I gotta call Barry,” Brandt muttered, yanking a cell phone from his pocket and heading down a hall toward the bedroom end of the house.
Harrison gazed at the doctor. “Have you heard from Justice Turnbull?” he asked.
Zellman blinked several times and shook his head. No. Why?
“I think he may be the one who took your son’s car,” Harrison said, trying not to sound as angry as he felt. If not for Zellman’s incompetence, Justice Turnbull would still be locked away and Lorelei would be safe. Jaw tight, he added, “Turnbull terrorized a woman last night who lives near where it was abandoned. Tried to kill her.”
Zellman blinked hard.
“And she’s not the first, Doctor. Several people have already lost their lives since he escaped.”
Zellman blanched and glanced away.
At that moment a door opened from down the hall, and he heard the small tap-tap-tap of a woman’s footsteps against the wood floor. Harrison turned as Mrs. Zellman entered the room. Seeing them, she stopped short, then came forward again a bit more cautiously. Harrison saw where Brandt got his perpetual look of worry. She was short and slim and had pretty blue eyes and dark brown hair. She threw an anxious look toward her husband that could have meant anything.
Zellman refused to even look at her.
“What happened?” she asked. “I—I’m Patricia, Dr. Zellman’s wife. I saw the accident on the news. They say the kids are going to be okay, but one of them broke his leg pretty badly.”
Zellman made a chopping motion with his arm, clearly meant for her to cut herself off. She stopped talking and looked slightly stricken. Harrison introduced himself and brought her up to speed on Brandt’s car. When he mentioned Justice Turnbull, she paled.
She turned to Zellman. “Morry, that man . . . ,” she said in an imploring voice. Then she turned back to Harrison. “He’s always scared me. My husband is his doctor, you know. Maurice has really helped a lot of patients. But that Turnbull person . . . I don’t even think God could help him.”
Zellman looked ready to explode. His eyes flashed daggers at his wife, who, though not immune, simply turned away from him a bit, as if putting up a wall.
Like Lorelei claims she does when Justice Turnbull tries to reach her.
Harrison forced himself to keep his voice level. Angering Zellman wouldn’t help anything. “Do you know any reason he might have taken your son’s car?” Harrison asked.
She thought for a long moment. “Availability,” she said, surprising him with her candor. “They’re there and he knows where we live. Everybody practically does. They know this house. I told you we should have fixed the gate!” she tossed out to her husband.
Zellman motioned her out of the room and started writing another missive. She hesitated a moment before doing as bidden, tap-tap-tapping down the hall to the front door. Harrison heard it close behind her.
The doctor held out the note to Harrison with quivering fingers. It said: My laptop is on the dining room table.
Harrison looked in the direction the doctor was pointing and passed through the kitchen, all stainless steel, granite, and dark wood cabinetry, and into the dining room, which sported a huge rectangular table painted black and made to look distressed, and crowned above by a heavy iron chandelier with a myriad of hatted lights.
The laptop was slim and sleek. Harrison brought it back to Zellman, who fired it up, waiting impatiently. As soon as he could, he pulled up a blank page on his word-processing program and began writing.
My wife does not know Justice Turnbull. He is driven by inner forces. He would not steal a car because of availability. His mind does not work that way. He just moves forward and goes after his goal.
“Nevertheless, I believe he took your son’s car,” Harrison told him. “He was chasing a woman who once lived at Siren Song, and he left it there.”
Why would he come to my house?
“Like your wife said, he knows where it is.” Harrison shrugged. “Because you’re his doctor? Maybe he came for another reason and just found an available car.”
Zellman thought that over for a long time. You haven’t told the police your theories yet?
“No, but like I said, your son should report the missing vehicle.”
This woman he was chasing . . . she’s a member of the Colony?
“They’re her sisters. Or half sisters. She used to live at the lodge but hasn’t for quite a while.”
Is she pregnant?
Harrison read these last words in surprise. “No. What do you mean?”
Zellman started rapidly typing. In our sessions, Justice revealed himself in bits and pieces. He was cagey. Didn’t like to give too much away. One thing that came out was that when he was targeting the women, he went after the ones outside the gate. I think he was afraid of meeting them on their own ground. He can’t make himself cross that fence into their territory. But he said, he could smell them when they were pregnant and then he could track them.
“And you’re telling me you believed him?” Harrison asked, trying hard to keep the skepticism out of his voice, barely succeeding.
I’m telling you what he believed. He targeted Colony women who were pregnant and outside the gates.
“Well, he’s tracking this woman because she says they have a mental connection. Like a GPS, I guess. If she lets him in, he can find her. If she shuts the door, he’s out.”
Zellman shrugged, as if he wouldn’t write that off completely. Justice is capable of many things we may never understand. His psychosis is deep, somewhat indefinable. We made progress, but his world is a dark place with ironclad rules he must follow. He’s been off his meds for three days, and he needs them to keep any semblance of reality. His danger is increasing.
Harrison couldn’t argue with that. “So, you don’t think he’s the one who took your son’s car?”
It’s possible, I suppose. If it helped him achieve his goal. This woman you spoke of, if he’s tracking her, she needs to be extremely careful. For her safety, she should go back to Siren Song until he’s caught.
Harrison thought
that over. Though he kind of thought Zellman was serving up a whole bowl of crazy, he couldn’t quite dismiss it all. “I’m going to leave you my cell number. I know you can’t talk, but maybe your wife or son could call if you think of anything else?”
He nodded as Harrison wrote his number on the pad of paper Zellman had been using earlier.
We will let the sheriff’s department know about Brandt’s car.
“Good. Thank you.”
They shook hands, and as Harrison left, he met Mrs. Zellman coming back inside, her hands full of car keys.
Nothing like locking the barn door after the horse escapes.
CHAPTER 33
Justice awoke on the floor of the rough-hewn space he’d rented, lying on his back, his head supported by Cosmo’s jacket. The ceiling boards let in light through the cracks, which striped his body; the window offered a warm square of June sunshine from outside.
Still, he was cold. It was the shivering that had awakened him. He’d eaten the last of Cosmo’s jerky and energy bars and wondered without much interest where he was going to find his next meal. He wasn’t hungry now. Wouldn’t be for some time. All he needed was fuel to keep going, and he was sure he could find it when he needed it without raising suspicions.
Transportation was the big issue. He’d ditched the Nissan compact, and he’d switched to Zellman’s Range Rover . . . And then he’d lost that car somehow.
Justice blinked, his mind twisting corridors that he could run down but in which he could find no end. He couldn’t remember why he’d lost the car. There was nothing there. No answer.
Then bang. Memory returned in a flash.
Lorelei. The devil’s mistress. He’d found her, but she’d escaped!
Justice sat up straight, his head rushing from the effort. Something wrong, he thought. It felt like pieces were loose and floating around inside his skull.
Lorelei . . . , he called to her.
Lorelei . . . I’m coming for you. . . .
But there was no answer.
Laura’s cell phone vibrated in her pocket. She hadn’t been able to pick up the call she’d received earlier; she’d been too busy. But now she snatched the phone from her pocket, saw that it was Harrison calling, and punched the ON button. “Hello? Harrison?”
“Hey, there,” he said. “When are you off for dinner?”
“Now, if I want to be. We had three accident victims here earlier, but they’ve been taken care of or moved to another hospital.”
“Kid named Matt Ellison?”
“Oh, God. Are you writing up a story?”
“No. I ran into someone, a classmate of this Matt’s. I’ll tell you all about it when I get there.”
“You’re coming here?”
“We’re going to the sheriff,” he reminded. “Didn’t they call you?”
“Yeah . . . I know. How romantic,” she quipped, though she wasn’t really in the mood for jokes. She thought about the upcoming interrogation and the word inquisition slid through her mind. All her secrets would be exposed. Of course, she would tell the police everything; more than anything she wanted Justice behind bars forever, but still . . . sharing all her knowledge of the man, of her upbringing at the Colony, of her sisters . . . She shuddered. She’d told the officers everything that had happened last night, when she was interviewed, but the questions hadn’t probed too deep into her personal life. Today, she knew, she wouldn’t be so lucky.
“It’s gonna be all right,” Harrison said.
“Of course it won’t be, but I’ll be looking for you.”
“Twenty minutes,” was his response.
She had just enough time to check her reflection in the mirror, add a little blush and lipstick, and wrinkle her nose at the pale color of her cheeks. A greenish tinge showed underneath her skin, she thought, annoyed. Pregnancy? Probably.
Lorelei . . .
She blocked her mind, fighting a shiver. Justice had been calling her for the past half hour, but she was bound and determined not to answer. If Harrison were here . . . if she were with him . . . she might consider taking the “call.” But alone. No way. The twisted fury on his crazed face hadn’t left her inner vision, and her quick shiver turned into a violent shudder at the memory.
It was climbing toward 5:00 p.m. when she walked out of the hospital, her purse strap slung over one shoulder. Harrison’s Chevrolet came down the drive, its engine definitely louder than she’d noticed before.
She opened her mouth to say something as she climbed in the passenger door, but he beat her to it.
“The damn thing could just quit on me,” he said with a certain amount of regret. “If I have to get rid of this car, it’ll hurt.”
“How long have you had it?”
“Me? Ten years. Before that, I’m not sure how many lucky owners there were.”
She was silent for a while as they headed south toward the Tillamook County Sheriff’s Department. Then Laura observed, “Sometimes I think you’re living in a different time.”
He squinted a look at her. “Wow. Spoken from a woman whose family wears long dresses and their hair in buns.”
“Have you met any of my family?”
“Not formally. So, how am I from another time?”
“The old car. The longer hair . . . I don’t know. I guess you do have a cell phone,” she added with a shrug.
“Yeah, well, I have issues giving out my cell number. Hate being called by anybody at anytime and being expected to pick up.”
“Isn’t that almost a job requirement in your field?”
“Well . . . yes. Your point?”
She smiled. Good Lord, she was starting to like him. No, it was more than that. Far more than simple affection and it was definitely a problem.
“There’s been a strange turn to the Turnbull investigation,” he said, and Laura was brought back to the present with a bang.
“What?”
“I think Justice has been driving Dr. Zellman’s son’s car. That’s the one that was on your access road. The black Range Rover.”
“What?”
Harrison proceeded to tell her about his meeting with the Zellmans and the conclusions he’d come to regarding Justice. He finished with, “I told Brandt to let the authorities know about his car. Maybe Justice still has the first car. If not, how’s he getting around now? Maybe he meant to use Brandt’s car longer and something happened, or maybe not.”
“He chased me into the ditch,” Laura said. “If he got back in his car, I would have seen it leave and probably known it was him. And then you came right after that.”
“It was probably safer for him to abandon the car and walk away.”
“I hope he didn’t stop a hitchhiker or grab another woman and take her car.”
Harrison made a face. “He’s got to have some form of transportation. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.” After a moment of them each being in their own thoughts, he went on. “You know how you said you thought he was sick? Physically sick, maybe? Well, Zellman said he’s been off his meds for long enough to have some effect. Like his psychosis would get worse.”
“He’s unraveling,” Laura said suddenly, feeling the scratch down her back again, as if he’d physically marked her.
“Worse than he already was. Hard to believe.” He shook his head. “Zellman said something else, too. Sort of weird. He said that Justice revealed once that he could find the Colony women easier when they were pregnant. That he could smell them. Do you believe that?”
Laura’s heart leapt in her chest. Her blood pulsed in her head. “What?” she whispered.
“That his victims are easier for him to locate when they’re pregnant . . . or at least in his twisted mind that’s what he thinks. Who knows?”
She swallowed hard. Did Harrison know? Suspect? She grabbed the armrest, her fingers blanching white.
“I told Zellman about you,” Harrison was saying against the roar that had started in Laura’s ears. “Didn’t name names. Just said
that there was one of the Colony living outside the gates who Justice was targeting, and just being outside is why you’re a target. Not because of pregnancy.”
She wanted to die inside. Did he know about her throwing up just this morning? Oh, Lord, what a mess.
“Dumbest thing I ever heard,” Harrison went on, “and it doesn’t bode well for the doc that he seems to give comments like that some credence. What do you think?”
“I . . . really . . . don’t know. . . .” Laura could barely swallow. Nervous sweat was collecting in her palms.
“You all right?” He glanced her way, his gaze searching.
With an effort, she managed to fight back her panic and lie all too easily. “Uh . . . yeah . . .” I’ll never be all right. Oh, God, Harrison, if you only knew. I’m pregnant. Justice knows! He senses! Tears of fear for her unborn child and for a love unrequited burned behind her eyes. With that thought she froze. Love? You’re “in love” with Harrison? No damned way. But she couldn’t find her voice.
“It’s going to be fine. Really.” But he appeared concerned, and she had to fight to appear normal, hoping color would return to a face she was sure had been leeched of all blood. “Okay. We’re here,” he said, glancing ahead to the county offices in the center of the city of Tillamook. He wheeled into a back parking lot full of potholes, slowing down and moving the vehicle gingerly around huge craters filled with water. “Our tax dollars hard at work,” he muttered.
Laura dreaded this meeting more than she could say. She didn’t want the sheriff’s department involved. She didn’t want to talk to officers with blank faces who were trying to appear to listen when she knew they would consider her a crackpot of the first order as soon as they heard the way she communicated with Justice.
Still, he had chased her last night. Had touched her. Nearly caught her.
They entered through the back door and up a few stairs. To the left was a hallway that led behind the counter, which blocked access to the main body of the building. Harrison and Laura walked along the counter, which ran the length of the room, toward the front door. On the opposite side, an officer sat at a reception desk. Her name tag said JOHNSON, and though she clearly was the gateway to the inner sanctum, her expression was anything but welcoming.