The Iron Ring

by Matty Dalrymple

  She turned to another souvenir she had from the trip to Pocopson. It was the list Philip had stolen from Louise’s desk, and appeared to be a catalog of the jobs that Millard had performed for her—the list that contained an entry that could only refer to the murder of Lizzy’s father, Patrick Ballard: 12/5 PB Philadelphia

  She scanned the other coded entries. 3/6 PC Sedona. That must be when they had drugged Philip, meaning that each entry didn’t necessarily mean a murder.

  She began another set of internet searches based on the entries. With only a date, initials, and a location, it was impossible to know for sure what they referenced, but over the next hour she uncovered several possibilities: the Willow Grove home of a state medical board investigator named John Burgess had burned down on the same date listed behind JB on the list. According to the dollar amount listed in the last column, that had cost Gerard Bonnay and Louise Mortensen twenty-five thousand dollars. A professor in San Diego had been paralyzed in a hit-and-run accident. Fifty thousand. A Harvard research assistant had been killed in a mugging in Boston. Seventy-five thousand. She swallowed down a lump in her throat. Had George Millard gotten the same rate for the same job on her dad?

  Her next search was for information on the murder of Philip’s prison mentor, Oscar. She didn’t know his last name, only that he had likely been killed two or three months ago, and about three months away from the end of his twenty-year prison sentence at the Williams Correctional Facility in Arizona.

  Finally, she found an obituary she thought was for the person she was searching for: Oscar Riva, seventy-two. It included a long list of children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren who survived him. She swallowed hard as she noted the date of this death. Philip had still been in mourning for his friend when Lizzy had walked into his psychic counseling office in Sedona and had unknowingly offered up a way for him to get revenge on Oscar’s killer.

  She stared at the screen, then typed, somewhat reluctantly, the name of the man Philip had asked her to kill: Tobe Hanrick.

  There was no lack of information on Mr. Hanrick.

  Tobe Hanrick Associates Implicated in Shootout

  Hanrick Gang Still Active in Central and Northern Arizona

  Tobe Hanrick Sentenced to Life for Torture Killing of University of Arizona Student

  Hanrick Cellmate Found Dead - Foul Play Suspected

  She clicked on the first article, which included several pictures of Hanrick. He was a good-looking man, probably in his forties, clean shaven and tan, with short, light brown hair and hazel eyes. He was not traditionally handsome—his eyes were a little too close together, his mouth a little too small, his ears a little too big. But in a picture of him grinning, obviously cropped from a larger photo based on the disembodied arm draped round his neck, the overall effect was nice enough—a friendly and approachable man.

  With a thumping heart, she clicked on the article about the student and read with bile rising in her throat.

  The student’s name was Sarah Pearson. The picture that all the news outlets ran was one from her sister’s wedding. She was dressed in a peach-colored bridesmaid’s dress, white flowers woven into her long blond hair. One arm was slung around her sister’s shoulders, the other extended to click the selfie. Their cheeks were pressed together, their mouths open in laughter.

  According to testimony at the trial, when Sarah Pearson’s father had tried to move in on Hanrick’s territory, Hanrick had driven to the University of Arizona campus where Sarah was a junior. He lured her into a van with the claim that he was the uncle of a housemate who, he told her, had been in a car accident and was in the ER. Once she was in the van, he and an accomplice bound and gagged her. Three days later, Hanrick called the father and gave him directions to the isolated hunting cabin where he could find Sarah’s body.

  At the bottom of the article was a mug shot, and for that Tobe Hanrick had made no pretense of friendliness or approachability. His mouth was a thin line, the muscles in his neck corded in anger, and the eyes that stared out from the photo were ones that might have dogged the thoughts of the photographer months later.

  If this had been the only crime Hanrick had committed, it would be reason enough to want him dead. But it was not the only one.

  She scanned through other articles about those who had had the misfortune to cross paths with Tobe Hanrick. After a few minutes, she dropped the phone on the bed feeling sick to her stomach and went to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. She patted her face dry, then stared at herself in the mirror. Sarah had been only a few years older than Lizzy. That blond hair could have been Lizzy’s before she cut and dyed hers when she was on the run from Louise Mortensen and George Millard.

  Now that she knew what Hanrick had done, Philip wasn’t the only one who wanted him gone. Lizzy might not have been able to protect her father or Uncle Owen or Philip from the evil that existed out there in the world, but she had the power to make sure that Tobe Hanrick didn’t cause any more suffering than he already had.

  8

  Louise opened her eyes and took a deep breath, enjoying the feel of the crisp bed linens for a moment before she turned her head to check the time. Almost seven o’clock—she had slept through the whole day. And, she had to admit, she was starving.

  She got up and pulled on the terrycloth robe. Hoping she would not have to venture from the suite in a robe and pajamas, she went to the bathroom and opened the closet door. Her dress, now clean and carefully pressed, hung on a padded hanger, and the pumps, which had suffered during her walk from the house to the outbuilding where George had hidden Owen McNally’s SUV, were polished. A small supply of underclothes lay neatly folded on a shelf. Next to her own dress hung two others—one a light gray wool with black trim, the other a rich emerald. She fingered the material appreciatively.

  She took a shower, put on the gray dress, then found the phone that Maja had given her and pressed zero.

  Maja answered almost immediately. “Good evening, Dr. Mortensen. I trust you are feeling rested?”

  “Yes, thank you. And thank you also for the extra clothes. You did a wonderful job selecting them.”

  “I’m glad that they are to your liking. I didn’t pick them out myself, but I will pass on your appreciation. Would you like to join Herr Viklund in the dining room?”

  “Yes, thank you. Should I meet you in the foyer?”

  “I will come to your room,” said Maja, and disconnected.

  There was a knock on the door less than a minute later, and Louise opened it.

  “Please follow me,” said Maja, and led Louise down the corridor.

  When they reached the entrance hall they turned right, down the main corridor of the complex. They approached the double doors that led to the dining room where she and Gerard had dined with Theo. Louise slowed, but Maja continued walking, leading Louise through a few more turns before opening a door and stepping aside to let Louise enter.

  This room was much smaller than the dining room with which she was familiar. The entire opposite wall was hung with floor-to-ceiling drapes in a subtle geometric pattern and a color palette similar to the one in her suite. The furniture was of a spare, streamlined design. A square dining table was set with fine white china, gleaming silverware, and sparkling crystal.

  “There are appetizers on the side table,” said Maja, “as well as still and sparkling water. Is there some other type of drink I could bring for you? A cocktail? A glass of wine?”

  “Sparkling water will be fine, thank you.”

  Maja poured, added a wedge of lime with a pair of silver tongs, and handed the glass to Louise. “Please make yourself at home. Herr Viklund will be with you in just a few minutes.” She stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind her.

  Louise strolled to the table and glanced over the appetizers—toast points topped with small swirls of gravlax and tiny sprigs of dill. They looked delicious, but she didn’t want to have her mouth full of canapé when Theo arrived, so she reluct
antly turned away.

  She circled the table, then walked to the drape-covered wall. She found a separation in the fabric and pulled the curtain back slightly, expecting to see the woods that surrounded the compound. Instead, there was elegantly detailed paneling. She shrugged and let the drape fall back into place.

  Theo arrived a moment later.

  “Louise, I hope you found the accommodations to your liking, and were able to get some rest.”

  “Yes, the suite is lovely. I’ve never been in that wing of the house before. Or this dining room.”

  “The main dining room always struck me as being too large for two people. You must be hungry.” He picked up the plate of toasts and held it out to her.

  Louise took one gratefully, and Theo followed suit.

  “Excellent,” she said.

  Theo poured himself a glass of water. “I didn’t get a chance to say earlier how sorry I was to hear of your husband’s passing. Gerard Bonnay was a fine man, and his death is a loss to us all.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s been quite some time since you and Gerard visited,” said Theo.

  “Yes, at least two years.”

  “And how long since your first visit?”

  “It was not long after I graduated from medical school, so … almost thirty years.”

  There was a light knock at the door, and Theo called, “Come in.”

  The door slid open, and Maja stepped in, followed by her tray-carrying assistant.

  “Louise, please have a seat,” said Theo. “You can assess the quality of the chef’s other offerings.”

  He pulled out one of the two chairs at the table for Louise, then sat himself.

  Maja placed a salad at each plate, bowed slightly to both of them, and she and the young man with the now-empty tray left the room.

  “May I pour you some wine?” asked Theo.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Theo removed a bottle from a silver bucket at his elbow and poured for Louise, then for himself.

  “Do I recall correctly that you and Gerard had quite an extensive wine cellar?” he asked.

  Since Theo had never been to their home, Louise knew he could only know this if Gerard had mentioned it. She smiled sadly—he had been proud of his cellar. “Yes, but it was much more Gerard’s collection than mine.”

  Theo swirled his wine, sipped, and nodded. “I certainly recall the two of you talking about your lovely home outside Philadelphia. It’s such a shame that circumstances dictated our dramatic course of action.”

  “Yes, although I don’t know what else we could have done.”

  “So, the drapes worked as anticipated?”

  She thought back to the previous evening.

  She had started in her study, snatching up the files for Ballard and Mitchell, files that would have silenced any doubts that her adversaries had about her role in the creation of the pair’s special talents. Then she had gone to the window, flicked a flame from the lighter she had been carrying ever since things had started to come unraveled, and touched it to the bottom of the drapes. She jumped back as the flames leapt up their length. She hurried from room to room and window to window, setting the lighter to the bottom of the drapes, staying only a moment to make sure the flames had taken hold.

  “Yes, just as you described they would,” said Louise.

  “My supplier is very reliable,” said Theo. “And you were able to save your research documentation in electronic form?”

  Louise sighed and set her fork aside. “Most of it, but not all. George was scanning the records and giving me the contents on flash drives, and I do have those. I had him start with the most recent records and work backwards, but I’m missing the documentation of the earliest experiments.”

  “Ah, yes. May I also say how sorry I was to hear of Mr. Millard’s death.”

  “He was a great help to me and Gerard over the years. Thank you again for making the introduction.”

  “And were his services satisfactory?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Louise, but her tone was equivocal.

  “Except perhaps for the last few months?” Theo probed.

  “Well, yes. If he had been able to eliminate Ballard, we might not be in this position.”

  “Very disappointing,” said Theo. “And a shame that he was not able to complete the scanning of the records. But you do have the records of the two subjects you were in touch with, correct?”

  “Yes. Elizabeth Ballard and Mitchell Pieda.” Her voice hardened even beyond her normal tone. “As you know, it was Ballard who killed Gerard.”

  Theo nodded gravely. After a moment of respectful silence, he asked, “And do you know where Ballard and Pieda are now?”

  “I don’t know where Mitchell went after he left Pocopson, but he has an aunt who lives in Jenkintown, outside of Philadelphia, which is where he was living before he moved in with me and Gerard. It’s possible that he went there.”

  Theo raised an eyebrow. “It would not be too difficult for someone with access to even the most broadly available data to track him down there.”

  “No, but he might not think he has reason to guard against being found. He no doubt knows that George is dead, and that I have no incentive to go to the authorities. From his point of view, the game might be over.”

  “For a young man with his skills,” replied Theo, “the game is never over.”

  Louise nodded.

  “I’ll have someone check the aunt’s house in Jenkintown,” said Theo.

  “I don’t know what her name is, or exactly where she lives.”

  Theo waved his hand. “No matter. We’ll find her. If he’s naive enough to run to his aunt’s house in these circumstances, all the easier. Tell me more about his ability.”

  “I don’t know that there’s much I can add to what I’ve already told you. He’s able to cause cranial bleeds through the power of his mind. He called it the crush. The power is minimal under normal circumstances—he killed a work colleague, but it took many days of him spending considerable time with the target. However, I formulated a steroid-based drug that greatly magnified his power. Under the influence of that drug, he can kill almost instantaneously.”

  “Do you have any of this drug available to you?”

  “No, but it would be easy to reformulate, with the appropriate equipment and reagents.”

  “Excellent,” said Theo with a smile. “And Mr. Pieda’s ability to cause strokes was not his only skill.”

  Louise had resigned herself to the fact that, considering that Theo was hiding her from the authorities, she owed it to him not to hold back any information related to her experiments. “I wish I had been able to spend more time studying that,” she said. “He can read certain people’s thoughts under certain circumstances. He was able to read our housekeeper Juana’s thoughts. In some cases, he was able to read Gerard’s thoughts. He said I was difficult to read. And every indication was that he couldn’t read George’s thoughts, probably because George always had his mental defenses up around Mitchell.”

  “Although you found a way around that,” Theo said, the admiration clear in his voice.

  “Yes. A slight variant of Rohypnol lowered the subject’s defenses. We tried it out on George, proving that it worked even on someone who knew he had been drugged and had reason to resist having his thoughts read, and then used it successfully on Philip Castillo to find out where Ballard and her godfather were headed after they left Sedona.”

  “And you would be able to formulate more of this drug?”

  “Oh, yes.” After a moment, Louise continued, “We need to keep in mind that the Rohypnol drug is a facilitator, but not always necessary for Mitchell to read a person’s thoughts. If you send someone to find him, Mitchell might be able to ascertain information from that person that we would rather he not have.”

  “I think I have a solution for that. A young woman I’m grooming to take a larger role in my business affairs. In fact, it is my niece, Rey. Di
d you ever meet her?”

  “Yes, I did have the pleasure of meeting her, perhaps five years ago. She was at Georgetown, studying law, correct?”

  Theo nodded. “That’s right.”

  “An intelligent young woman, and composed beyond her years.”

  “Yes, she has already been a tremendous help to me. We could send her to get Mr. Pieda without giving her more information than she needs to discharge that assignment, and fill her in on the details later.”

  “It seems an awkward position to put her in.”

  Theo smiled. “We will explain the reason for the limited background. She will understand.”

  Louise smiled back. “Well, she is certainly a good candidate to encourage cooperation from Mitchell,” she said.

  Theo laughed. “Yes, I can see that that might be the case.” He took a sip of wine. “What was your relationship like with Mr. Pieda? Cordial? Competitive? Adversarial?”

  “It was a business relationship with high stakes,” she said. “As you can imagine, under those circumstances, it had its ups and downs.”

  “Would you say it ended on an up note or a down note?”

  She shrugged. “A neutral note.”

  “Really? I would have thought that with the situation as unsettled as it was, and the stakes as high, your relationship with Mr. Pieda might have been strained.”

  Louise hesitated. She was not a good liar—Gerard had always handled any situation that required smooth deception. And Theo—a man who had access to the specialized tools of arsonists—was unlikely to be shocked at any collateral damage that might have occurred.

  She took a sip of wine. “It’s more accurate to say that before the night of the fire, I could have said our relationship was on an up note, but when Ballard and Castillo showed up in Pocopson after Owen McNally’s heart attack, Mitchell was away, helping his aunt with a family matter. When Mitchell got back to Pocopson, Castillo knocked him out and left him behind one of the outbuildings. Mitchell might have assumed that George and I had seen what happened to him on the security monitors.”