Wicked Lies

by Lisa Jackson

  “May I help you?” she asked, the dark eyes settling on Harrison full of unspoken questions.

  “We’d like to speak to the sheriff about the Justice Turnbull case,” he said.

  “Sheriff O’Halloran has left for the day,” was the terse response.

  “Is there someone else?” Harrison asked.

  She hesitated. “What’s your name?”

  “Harrison Frost.”

  Johnson reacted with a nod. “Ah, the reporter. Mr. Frost, when the sheriff has something to reveal about the case, he’ll announce it.”

  “We have an appointment.” Harrison met her gaze firmly.

  “With Detective Stone,” Laura interjected. “I heard he’s handling the case.”

  “The sheriff is a very busy man,” the receptionist said. Her face became a glower, but outmaneuvered, she picked up the phone and pressed a button. When it was answered on the other end, she said, “Harrison Frost, the reporter, is here with information about the Turnbull investigation,” in a tone that suggested she didn’t really believe he knew anything of worth.

  She listened, then said curtly, gesturing back the way they’d come, “You may go around the counter and down the hall. Apparently Detective Stone is expecting you.”

  “Thanks,” Harrison said.

  Under her breath Johnson muttered, “Last to know again.”

  Harrison cupped Laura’s elbow, and she felt a moment of electricity, a kind of awareness that she rarely, if ever, felt.

  They had just turned the corner at the end of the counter and were heading down the hall to the rooms beyond when a man in cowboy boots, jeans, and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up came their way. He had dark hair and blue eyes that seemed to see a lot more than they gave away.

  “Detective Stone,” he introduced himself. “Mr. Frost?” He shook Harrison’s hand, and the two men sized each other up; then he glanced to Laura and nearly did a double take.

  “Laura Adderley,” she introduced herself, sticking out her hand as well.

  The detective seemed to think that over as they shook hands. “Come on down to my office.”

  They followed after him and learned his office was a large squad room with a number of desks arranged front to front in twos. An attractive woman officer with auburn hair and blue eyes acknowledged them with a quick smile as she brought another two chairs to Stone’s desk. Laura and Harrison sat down as the officer seated herself at the desk that butted up to Stone’s.

  “Detective Dunbar.” Stone indicated the female officer, who gave them an interested look. “This is Harrison Frost and Laura Adderley. Frost is a reporter with the Seaside Breeze and Ms. Adderley is—”

  “A nurse at Ocean Park Hospital,” Laura finished for him.

  Stone swung around to face Laura directly. “You remind me of someone, Ms. Adderley.”

  Her mouth formed the word who but she didn’t utter it. She almost already knew.

  “Do you know the group of women who live in the lodge called Siren Song up the road? People around here refer to them as the Colony,” said Stone.

  Harrison’s brows lifted. “Where are you going with this?”

  Laura said, “He thinks I look like them.”

  Stone gave them a small smile of acknowledgment. “You do. Your hair’s darker, but there’s a similarity. I’ve met their gatekeeper, Catherine. And I’ve seen pictures of some of the younger women.”

  “Pictures,” Harrison said. “How?”

  “Justice’s first victims. And others . . .” He frowned, as if deciding how much to tell, how far to go.

  “My hair’s dyed,” Laura admitted in a soft voice. “You’ve met Catherine?”

  “A time or two,” he said. “She’s never let me in, though. Me being a guy and all. It’s a . . . developing relationship,” he added dryly. “So, tell me. What have you got for me on Turnbull?”

  “I think Justice stole one of Dr. Zellman’s cars from his house—his son’s car, a Range Rover—and he left it outside Laura’s last night,” Harrison said.

  Stone’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and Laura said, “I know you have reports of what happened at my house. We spoke with the officers last night. What I didn’t tell them was that I’m sure Justice Turnbull tried to kill me last night.” Stone opened his mouth to comment, but Laura soldiered on quickly. “He came to my house and he stole one of my knives. Then waited for me. Once I returned home and was inside, he broke down the door and came after me. I escaped. Barely. I called Mr. Frost for help, and then I ran.”

  “He chased you?” Stone asked. “After he broke into the house?”

  “Yes. He chased me outside and I ran to the road and there’s a drop-off at the edge of the yard and I kind of tumbled over. That’s where Harrison found me.”

  Stone seemed to pick up on the way she said Harrison’s first name, as he gave him a look. It irked Laura a little.

  “Detective Stone,” she said tautly. “He’ll come back for me. Justice will come back for me.”

  “Why?”

  Stone sounded like he really wanted to know, but it was a question Laura couldn’t answer. “It’s just what he does,” she said simply.

  CHAPTER 34

  Laura was exhausted after two hours of intense questioning by detectives Stone and Dunbar at the sheriff’s department. People had come and gone throughout the evening; she’d seen two men in handcuffs led toward the back door; and phones had continued to ring, while computers hummed and keyboards clicked. There had been a break in the questions, which just gave her long enough to call the hospital and explain that she wouldn’t be returning for the remainder of her shift. Her supervisor, a real by-the-rules manager, wasn’t happy and let her know it, but Laura had already called someone else to fill in, so it wasn’t that big of a deal. At least she hoped not. She couldn’t afford to lose her job.

  Stone seemed to know more about the Colony and Laura’s sisters than she would have imagined and had even asked her about working outside Siren Song at the Drift In Market in Deception Bay. “So, you’re that Laura,” he said, surprising her. “I looked for you once when I was trying to figure out the Colony women, and I heard one of them worked at the market.”

  She had admitted she was “that Laura” and then went on to answer his questions as honestly as she could. She spent a great deal of time explaining that she’d known Justice Turnbull as a child, though he’d never been allowed to live within the gates of Siren Song. Nor had his mother.

  After another series of questions about the Colony, Stone leaned back in his chair and eyed Harrison speculatively.

  “So what’s your connection? Other than working on the story, I mean?”

  Laura felt her muscles tense. Over the detectives’ protests, she’d insisted that Harrison be with her for the interview, and Harrison had promised to check with the sheriff’s department before he published anything, but obviously Stone was skeptical.

  “We’re . . . friends,” Harrison said, sliding a glance toward Laura.

  “Known each other long?” This from Detective Dunbar. She, too, was suspicious.

  “No,” Harrison admitted and Laura felt her own head shaking. “We kinda met during this whole mess.”

  “Tell me,” Stone encouraged, and Harrison explained about meeting Laura at Ocean Park, trying to get information for his story on Justice Turnbull’s escape as the victims of Turnbull’s attack had been sent by ambulance to the hospital.

  “And from that you became good enough friends that she doesn’t want to speak with us without you,” Stone said.

  “He saved me,” Laura said. “If Har . . . Mr. Frost hadn’t shown up when he did, Justice might have found me.”

  “So you owe him your life?” Savannah Dunbar suggested.

  Laura opened her mouth to defend Harrison but caught his warning glance, and instead of praising him for saving her life, she said only, “I just wanted him with me.”

  Dunbar shrugged and Laura knew what they were thinking, that Ha
rrison was playing her for a story; that they had known each other less than a week and could hardly be considered friends, as they were barely acquaintances. She didn’t dare say anything more, that she thought she was falling in love with him while she was pregnant with her ex-husband’s child. How could she explain to the cynical cops that she felt as connected to him as if they’d known each other for most of their lives? It was silly, really. Maybe a case of her hormones being out of whack.

  Stone asked a few more questions, back to the Colony, as Justice Turnbull’s sadistic and deadly intentions were focused on the women within; the police obviously thought his other victims had merely gotten in his way. Which summed up Laura’s thoughts exactly, though it seemed Justice was more out of control than ever, really off the rails of sanity. She didn’t confide about the way she communicated with Justice, because she was certain, they, like Harrison, wouldn’t believe her. And she didn’t really blame them. Fortunately, Harrison hadn’t brought it up.

  Though there were no more questions about the relationship between Laura and Harrison, she felt the detectives’ unspoken skepticism as Stone jotted notes. She didn’t tell them about her pregnancy; that was too personal, something she’d told no one. Not even Harrison. Especially not Harrison. Guilt nibbled at her conscience a bit, but she ignored it. They weren’t that close, even if she was having some fantasies about the man.

  Again . . . her hormones.

  Right?

  Eventually, Stone turned to his partner. “That’s all I have for now. What about you?”

  Dunbar said, “Can’t think of anything else.”

  “Good.” Detective Stone got to his feet. “We’ll call you if we have more questions, and if you think of anything else, phone me.” He pulled his wallet from the back pocket of his slacks and withdrew a card. Hesitating, he found a pen and scribbled a number across the back. “My cell.” His face was sincere, almost kind. Laura wanted to trust him, to believe that this man would find a way to catch Justice before he could hurt anyone else, but deep in her heart, she knew it was impossible. As long as Justice was alive, he would be a threat. To her. To everyone associated with Siren Song. To her child.

  “I’d like one of those, too,” Harrison said, and after giving him a questioning look, Stone repeated the procedure of adding his cell phone to the card, then sliding it across his desk. Harrison tucked the card into his wallet.

  “Is it okay for me to go home now?” Laura asked, her throat thick as she thought of the tiny being inside her.

  “I wouldn’t,” Stone said. “We’ll be running patrols by the place, but since Turnbull knows where you live, you might want to go somewhere safer until he’s caught.”

  If he’s caught, she thought but didn’t say it.

  “We’ve thoroughly checked, and the Range Rover that was abandoned there has been ID’d.” He exchanged glances with his partner again, then added, “It belongs to Doctor Zellman. Once our lab has gone over it, someone from the family will pick it up. But I think you know that already.”

  Harrison nodded.

  “Zellman. The same guy who inadvertently helped Turnbull escape,” Dunbar added with a disgusted frown.

  Laura couldn’t help wondering if Maurice Zellman had been a target, though it seemed unlikely as she was certain Justice had zeroed in on her and her sisters. But maybe there was something else about Zellman. Maybe Justice’s primary physician had information on him the madman didn’t want exposed.

  Stone continued, “But your house is secure. We boarded up the broken door and we’re done with our investigation, so you can go back inside, but you should be careful.” He was dead serious. “I don’t think you should spend much time there.”

  “Will you have someone watching the place? Watching Laura? She’s obviously a target,” Harrison said.

  Stone met Laura’s gaze. “We’re short staffed, but yes, we’ll be watching your house and you. However, we can’t assign a deputy to be your bodyguard. We just don’t have the manpower.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, though Harrison wanted to argue. She sent him a look indicating she wanted to leave, then slipped Detective Stone’s card into her purse. She felt drained as she walked with Harrison through the offices to the exterior, where the night was clear and cool, the lights of the town stringing along the side streets as well as this stretch of 101, Pacific Coast Highway, that cut inland through Tillamook.

  “For the record, I agree with the detective. You’re not staying in the house tonight,” Harrison said once they were on the road again, heading toward Laura’s little bungalow. She groaned inwardly, hadn’t thought about calling her landlord and explaining about why the place was trashed. But she’d better do it before he got wind of it from someone else.

  “So now you’re the boss?” she asked.

  He smiled faintly. “Something tells me no one can boss you around. Not even a psychotic maniac like Justice Turnbull.”

  “Yeah, well, he tries,” she said and looked out the window. They’d left the town behind, and beyond the Impala’s windshield, she saw the starry night stretch out above them. Wide and clear, millions of stars winking.

  As if everything in the world were perfectly fine.

  “My car’s at the hospital,” she reminded Harrison, then slid him a glance. “But I can pick it up tomorrow.”

  He was nodding. “I’d better call Kirsten and tell her we’ll stay with her again. Who knows if Justice has made a connection between you and me? He could have figured out where I live.”

  “You think he may be waiting for us—me—there?”

  “Probably not, at least not yet, but let’s not push it. Until we have a plan of action or the police have nailed the son of a bitch, we should try to stay off his radar.” Hands on the wheel, he slid her a glance. “So has he tried to contact you?”

  She shook her head. “Not since the attack last night.”

  “I wonder where he’s holed up,” Harrison mused as the turnoff to Deception Bay appeared and, after waiting for a passing car, he pulled off the main highway.

  It had been a long day. Too long.

  Stone looked at the notes and files scattered over his desk as he rubbed the kinks from the back of his neck. Goddamn that Turnbull. And goddamn that stupid psychiatrist for not taking the necessary precautions. But then, Zellman was a sanctimonious jerk. Stone had figured that much out a long time ago. He just hadn’t counted on Zellman being so careless. No, that wasn’t it. What had happened hadn’t been carelessness on Zellman’s part so much as an utter disdain for the rules when they applied to him. He had enough of a God complex to think he was really smarter than anyone else.

  And it had nearly cost him his life.

  Which, though troublesome, apparently hadn’t slowed the man down. According to an officer who had gone to question him, Zellman was insisting upon returning to work at the hospital.

  Stone inwardly snorted as he thought the supercilious jerk would have to eat a good portion of crow.

  Others hadn’t been so lucky as the shrink. Just ask James Cosmo Danielson, Stephanie Wyman, Madeline Turnbull, and Conrad Weiser, the security guard still lying in intensive care at Halo Valley. Even though Weiser wasn’t dead, he hadn’t come out of his coma, and there was speculation that he might never. When he did, who knew how well he’d function. Whether a primary target or not, Weiser was a victim one way or the other, as were the others.

  He turned to his computer and worked his mouse to show the pictures of Justice Turnbull’s victims. Jesus, the psycho was cutting a deep swath, and so far, he hadn’t reached his goal of destroying the women of Siren Song.

  Stone leaned back in his chair until it creaked. Justice Turnbull had a history of attacking the women associated with the Colony. Some had escaped; others hadn’t been so lucky during his previous rampages.

  Now it was only a matter of time. Turnbull had almost gotten to Laura Adderley last night. An intended victim. One of the women of Siren Song. She was one of Turnbull
’s prime targets.

  Scratching at his chin, he studied a map of the area that included marks where evidence of Turnbull’s crimes was noted. Everything from the location of vehicles to bodies, or sightings, the most recent being Laura Adderley’s house. He’d noted the old motel that Madeline Turnbull had run and the lighthouse where Justice Turnbull had made his lair. On Whittier Island, known by the locals as Serpent’s Eye, the old, unused lighthouse was hard to reach unless it was low tide. Two deputies from the department had made the torturous boat ride and reported back that it looked as if no one had been inside in years. The only evidence of life had been a colony of rats and bats.

  “Perfect place for a Halloween party,” one of them had joked, “except no one can get there.”

  Now Stone also marked Siren Song on his map and, in another color of ink, areas that Turnbull had lived in or frequented during the time before his arrest. He’d read the thick case file on the maniac and pinpointed the spots of interest from his previous crime spree.

  It all centered around the Colony and the women there. He considered Laura Adderley, a woman who had lived the first part of her life—the formative years—at Siren Song but then had been allowed to make her way in the outside world.

  Only to be dragged back because of the psycho.

  He tapped his pencil on his desk, frowning as he studied his map. He’d had his run-ins with the women behind the big gates before, and it seemed he was going to have to have another meeting.

  He spent the next half hour writing a report, then turned away from the computer monitor and punched the number of his own home into the cell.

  He smiled when Claire answered.

  “Hey, where are you, Detective? Dinner’s cold.” He imagined her at the desk she’d set up in one of the spare bedrooms, reading glasses perched on her small nose, dark hair twisted into an unruly knot on her head. She was petite, but strong, a psychologist who had stood toe-to-toe with some pretty class-A crazies, though she would hate to hear him classify her patients as such.