Marco didn’t attempt to lecture Nick or tell him he didn’t have jurisdiction or authority, but his attitude was enough to keep Nick quiet. Sometimes, Nick could learn more simply by observing.
Marco knocked on the heavy door. A moment later, the doctor answered. He looked like his picture on the Greenhaven Web site. Late forties, distinguished, neither short nor tall, physically fit but a bit soft around the edges.
“Thank you for taking the time to meet with us,” Marco said. “This is Detective Nick Santini. I’m Marco Lopez, Federal Bureau of Investigation. My colleague spoke with you on the phone.”
“Yes, come in please.” He closed the door behind them. “Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?”
“We’re good, thanks,” Marco said.
Nick looked around. Nice place, but a bit ostentatious. Elegant, for a single man. A suitcase was sitting by the staircase.
“Coming or going?” Nick asked.
“Coming,” he said with a smile. “I spoke to a conference Thursday night in Boston. A group of psychiatrists specializing in childhood fear. It’s one of my areas of expertise. I came home yesterday afternoon, but had work to catch up on. Today was supposed to be my day off.”
Duvall led them into the living room. It was masculine and elegant at the same time, if that were possible—dark wood, light floors, leather furniture, and extensive artwork, all landscapes. Nick had no idea if the art was worth anything, but each had individual lighting and small plaques that he couldn’t read from the distance.
Duvall sat in a chair and Marco took the couch. Nick stood. Except for the brief exchange the night before, Marco had kept everything with Nick all business. Nick thought he had Marco’s number, but he also thought the fed was a bit more complex than at first impression, so Nick was reserving judgment.
“Cole Baker,” Marco said. “He was one of your patients at Greenhaven.”
“You know I can’t discuss my patients with you.”
Marco slid him a copy of the warrant. Duvall read it—slowly, possibly for effect—then handed it back to Marco without showing that it had affected him.
“You’ll see when you read the files that I treated Cole Baker for drug addiction, which manifested into some serious anger management issues. That was nine or ten years ago, I’m not sure.”
“But he continued to work at Greenhaven.”
“On the maintenance staff. He’d shown an aptitude for manual labor, but because of his complex family issues felt it was beneath him. Only after accepting that he didn’t have to live up to his father’s expectations of him could he truly rid himself of the root cause of his addiction and the fear that was at the root of his anger.”
“And Adam Bachman?”
“Yes, I’m well aware of his legal situation. He had never exhibited any signs of violence. He came to me because of social anxiety and an extreme fear of germs. Three months later, he was able to return to college and function normally.”
“You gave Baker a letter of recommendation.”
Nick saw what Marco was doing. He was going back and forth between the two patients in the hopes of rattling Duvall, keeping him on his toes. But the tactic didn’t seem to work. The more formal Marco sounded, the more comfortable Duvall appeared.
“I’m sure I did. I don’t remember specifics.”
Marco pulled the letter from the file and quoted from it. “Cole Baker is a success story. He has shown aptitude for hands-on work, including repairs of all types. He’s enrolling in a community college and a part-time maintenance job would achieve his goals, plus provide a much needed service to Greenhaven.”
Marco put the letter down. “Baker never completed a semester at a community college, and ended up working full time at Greenhaven after three months. He was there for nine years, until he moved to Queens. However, we don’t have any record of him working in the city.”
Duvall didn’t say anything. Just shrugged, as if he didn’t know or care. He leaned back into the chair, fully relaxed.
“Did you give him any other letters of recommendation?”
“No.”
“Have you spoken to him since he quit his employment?”
“No.”
“Do you remember his friendship with Adam Bachman while Mr. Bachman was a patient and Mr. Baker was an employee?”
“I wasn’t aware of a friendship.”
Marco’s body shifted slightly. He was barely hiding his frustration. And Duvall seemed to be acutely aware of his impact on the fed. The psychiatrist seemed even more relaxed as Marco became more agitated. As if Duvall was in charge and had all the time in the world.
“Dr. Duvall, Cole Baker is wanted for questioning in a kidnapping and a separate murder investigation.”
“Kidnapping and murder? I can’t imagine.” He shook his head, as if in disbelief, but his eyes lit up with interest.
“We know that he was at Greenhaven for anger management issues. He hit his mother and his father arranged for his treatment.”
Duvall put up his hand. “Honestly, I only remember the basics of these cases because they were so long ago. I have seen literally hundreds of patients since Mr. Baker and Mr. Bachman. I need time to refresh myself with my notes, look over the case files, review any diagnosis. You’ll have to give me a day or two to bring myself up to speed. And then, if you still need my input, I’ll be happy to share. But I’m sure, after fifteen years as a federal agent, you’re more than capable of deciphering the files yourself.”
Nick almost said something, but Marco noticed the same thing he had. “How’d you know I was in the FBI for fifteen years?”
“I read it. You were prominently featured in two crime books.”
“You read true crime.”
“I read a lot of things.”
Nick didn’t like coincidences. And while Maxine’s books were widely available, he found it suspicious that the psychiatrist who had treated Max’s suspected kidnapper had read her books. Bachman had told David that her books were practically required reading. That made two patients of Duvall’s who had read Max’s books, along with Duvall himself.
“Refresh yourself,” Marco said as he rose from the couch. “I’ll be requesting your presence at FBI headquarters tomorrow to go over each file piece by piece.”
Marco was highly agitated, and Duvall had a half smile on his face, as if he had enjoyed getting the agent riled up. He walked them to the door.
But when Duvall looked at Nick, the smile disappeared.
“Detective Santini, you’re a long way from home, aren’t you?”
Nick tensed. “Agent Lopez didn’t tell you where I’m from.”
“I recently read an article about a case you closed in California. Atherton?” Duvall nodded, as if answering his own question. “An architect had been killed, and you solved the case and you arrested his killer five months later.”
The only article about that murder investigation that named Nick personally was the article that Max had posted on the Maximum Exposure Web site. Nick thought it highly suspicious that Duvall had not only read that article, but remembered the name of the arresting officer.
Nick didn’t break eye contact, and for one brief second he saw Duvall squirm. Then Duvall turned back to Marco and said, “If that’s all, Agent Lopez.”
“The news is going to break soon, so I’ll give you a heads-up,” Marco said. “Adam Bachman killed himself last night. His lawyer was murdered. Cole Baker is in the middle of it.”
Duvall didn’t seem to be surprised or interested in the information. “Agent Lopez, I don’t know how I can help. I barely remember those two young men. But if you have questions after you read their medical files, I will be more than happy to answer them.”
* * *
“Prick,” Marco mumbled when he pulled away from Duvall’s house.
“He’s read Max’s books and he knows who I am.”
“It proves nothing. Maybe he knew that Baker had some sort of obsession with her. Maybe B
aker said something during whatever therapy he had. Obviously, his therapy didn’t work.”
“It seems odd that, not only did he know you’ve been in the FBI for fifteen years, but he knew it off the top of his head. How many years did you have in when Max wrote the book?”
“Six.”
“I read the book a few weeks ago and I didn’t remember that, nor had I extrapolated how many years that would be now. But he read it, he knew who you were by name, and your tenure. It seems … unusual.”
“Maybe he has a photographic memory.”
“Hmm.”
“What are you thinking, Santini?”
“I’m not. He could just be a prick, like you said.”
Marco picked up his phone and Santini heard him order a full background on Carter Duvall. He hung up and said to Nick, “Just in case.”
Then he called David and put him on speaker.
“Duvall’s a slick bastard and we need to keep an eye on him, but there’s nothing he can help us with now, until I have more questions,” Marco said. “Tell me about Baker.”
“He has a collection of Max’s books,” David said over the speaker. “All read and marked up, particularly the book on the nurse in Miami.”
“She was an elder care facility administrator. Also a nurse, but not practicing,” Marco said. “It was the last book Max wrote. The woman was a coldhearted bitch.”
Nick said, “Didn’t Kyle mention that Riley had read that book many times?”
“I was there,” Marco said. “I arrested the wicked witch, as Max called her. Lauren Smith. Max was pulled into the investigation by Lois, a great-grandmother who thought the death of one of her friends wasn’t of natural causes. Max posed as Lois’s granddaughter. This was before she had the television show, when she did a lot more undercover work. Between Lois and Max they uncovered a whole host of fraud, theft, elder abuse, and more. Smith’s lawyer worked out a plea deal, but she won’t see the outside of a federal pen for at least twenty years.”
Nick said, “Duvall told us he’s read her books.”
Marco said, “We can’t bring him in for being well-read. It may mean nothing.”
“Or he could have known his patient was obsessed with her,” David said. Exactly Nick’s thought.
“Even with doctor-patient confidentiality, if he had cause to believe that Baker was a threat to another person he would have an obligation to report it.”
Nick said, “It’s suspicious. Marco ordered a background on Duvall. Is there someone on your staff who can look into him as well?”
“Consider it done.”
Marco glanced at Nick, but he ignored the glare. He said, “If Baker quit his job at Greenhaven two years ago, and has no known employment, how was he paying for his apartment?”
David said, “The neighbors say he works cash jobs—fixing this and that. Probably under the table. His apartment is cheap, he lives cheaply.”
Marco asked, “Anything that connects him to the Palazzolos?”
“Two containers of sodium hydroxide under the sink in his kitchen.”
“Can you match them with the one the NYPD found?”
“Sally is already working on it, but they’re the same brand and size.”
“Were the containers full?” Nick asked. He thought he’d kept his voice steady, but it sounded weak.
“Yes,” David said. “Both factory-sealed. O’Hara has a forensics team taking this place apart. Cops are canvassing the neighbors. We have a lead on a car he may be using, one of the elderly neighbors he does odd jobs for. She said he borrows her car all the time, and it’s not in the lot.”
“Send me the details,” Marco said. “Any word on Riley?”
“Our IT department has a trace running on the laptop. It’s not on, but if someone turns it on, we’ll have GPS coordinates. You never told me what you found at the lawyer’s apartment.”
“An FBI team is processing the scene. I don’t have a report yet. They know we’re on a time crunch here.”
“Do they?”
“David, I’m doing everything I can. I love her, too.”
Silence filled the car. David signed off and hung up.
Marco didn’t say anything for a long minute, then said, “She always comes back to me, Santini.”
Nick didn’t dignify the comment with a response.
But he couldn’t help wonder if Marco was right.
* * *
The grating sound of metal on metal woke Maxine from her uneasy sleep. Or had she passed out? She was disoriented, thirsty, beyond hunger.
They’d fed her one small meal a day and a quart of water in the Mexican jail. It was crap, but it was sustenance. Enough to keep her alive, but not enough to give her the strength to fight back.
She wouldn’t be able to fight back now. She was weak and miserable.
But she had to find a way to escape.
Footsteps crossed the floor and then a hand slapped her face.
“I’m. Awake.” It took all her humility to beg. “Water. Please.”
“It’ll help you talk. And we need to talk.” Cool liquid caressed her lips. She opened them greedily.
It wasn’t enough, but it was something.
“I don’t know how you do it, Maxine,” he said. His voice was quiet.
She wanted to ask questions, but she needed her strength to fight, not talk. She had to find a way and be smart about it.
“It’s truly stunning how you elicit so much loyalty when you hold everyone at arm’s length. And why? That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out for the past two years. Why do people gravitate toward you? You’re attractive, but there are more attractive women. You’re smart, but there are smarter women. You’re overly confident to the point of being narcissistic, and yet they all flock to you. You destroy people’s lives without a thought. You cut them to the quick, without any consideration that there may be damn good reasons for what they do!” As he spoke, his voice rose.
“I thought you had me all figured out,” she whispered.
“I do. I have you figured out, it’s all the others. You’re selfish and egotistical, a borderline sociopath because you don’t care about anyone but yourself. You pretend to care because it gets you what you want. Good sociopaths can do that well. You’re one of the best.”
“You should know, Doctor Duvall.”
He didn’t say anything.
“Surprised that I know you? It took me a while, thanks to the drugs you fed me. But it came. What did I ever do to you?”
“What haven’t you done? You wouldn’t remember, you’re too self-absorbed.”
“You encouraged Adam Bachman to kill.”
“So close, yet so far. It doesn’t matter. You were never going to survive this. I just wanted you to suffer before I let my protégé do what he does best.”
“Protégé? Your pet killer? The one who helped Adam Bachman kill all those people? The one who killed the Palazzolos?”
He laughed. “Smart, but not smart enough.”
“Kill me, but the truth will come out.”
“Not if they never find your body.”
She involuntarily shivered.
He leaned over so close that she felt his breath on her cheek. “If you thought the Mexican prison was bad, wait until my pet killer does what he wants. You’ll beg to die. But I want you to know that I will destroy your legacy. I will unravel every case you worked on. I will set killers free. I will sue your estate and get every dime from your trust, and your family will be happy to pay just to make me go away. Your reputation will be annihilated.”
“I’ve never printed anything that wasn’t true.”
“Lies are more powerful than the truth, Maxine. And I will be more powerful. By the end of the year, everyone you know will pity you because they’ll believe my truth. You took from me; I’ll take from you.
“Good-bye, Maxine. I refuse to lose any more sleep over you.”
And then he walked away. A distant metal door closed. Si
lence.
Max began to work on her binds, a numbing fear washing over her.
She’d never met Carter Duvall before this week. What did he think she’d done to him?
She was stuck. Nothing she could do was going to free herself. How could she die like this? Without knowing why? Was that what this was? Payback for something she didn’t know she’d done?
She’d pissed off a lot of people—cops, killers, even some of the victims she tried to help. There was a time when Sally O’Hara hated her guts because Max had told her the truth and Sally hadn’t wanted to hear it. But they’d gotten over that, they’d become friends.
Did she truly have friends?
David.
He’d been her best friend for nearly two years, but it hadn’t started well. He’d hated her, too, at one time. Maybe hate was a strong word … but he’d intended for the one protection assignment in Chicago to be his last. Yet … somehow they’d made it work. More than made it work—Max needed him.
Ben … they battled constantly, but they respected each other. Or was that her imagination? Was he placating her because he wanted her show? Did it even matter that it was his idea to begin with? Maybe he just saw her as the next step on his ladder. She’d accused him of worse.
Marco had told her time and time again that curiosity killed the cat. She’d meow at him mostly to annoy him, but he’d been right more often than not. But did that mean she should just sit back and do nothing when she could do something? She didn’t regret the choices she’d made. She didn’t believe in living with regrets. So much of her life had been because of the past—what her mother had done, what her friends had done, the cold cases she was drawn to. The past ruled her. Drove her. But she still didn’t regret her decisions. How could she? She’d helped people, hadn’t she?
Or maybe she’d really only helped herself. Maybe solving these cold cases was to give her peace because she could never solve the mystery of her past. She didn’t know who her father was, she didn’t know where her mother had gone, and only because she was willing to risk the love of her family had she learned what happened to her best friend from high school.
Compulsion (Max Revere Novels Book 2) Page 28