by Angi Morgan
“Did you discover three?” she asked. “Are you worried about sharing something that might clear my brother? I’ll be contacting his attorney whether you do or not.”
“That’s not a problem. I’ll contact him tomorrow.” The officer waved them through the intersection and a waft of his sirloin made his stomach growl. “You have steak knives at your place?”
“If not, I give you permission to eat with your fingers.”
“Like a wild man. Cool.”
“But you still have to explain. What does Rashid Parker have to do with my brother?”
“One. Wade didn’t obtain the complete list but he confirmed Parker was at the hospital for the study. Don’t ask me how, I’m not asking him. But Parker is definitely a part of the same sleep study that your brother was involved in. Two. None of those men and women are listed as subject anything. And three...”
“Yes?”
“Three is that it feels off, too convenient. Why did your brother confess and why has he never been able to recall the details about that day? Everything else, yes, but not that day?” His stomach growled again. “Can you dig me a roll out of the sack?”
“There’s a fourth thing.” She handed him two fluffy yeast rolls.
“Yeah?”
“The incidents both happened at the VA Hospital.”
“Damn, you’re right.” He inhaled a buttery roll and swallowed. “That’s one too many.” “Rolls?”
He laughed. “No. The number of coincidences.”
“So do you think they’ll let you reopen the case?”
“Hold on a sec.” Slate called Wade through his hands-free set, leaving it on speaker so Vivian could hear. “You still at the office, man?”
“Where else am I going to be until these files are done?”
“Forget I asked. Give Heath the necessary info and he’ll run his magic on that sleep-study list.”
“So my hunch was right?”
“You can lord it over me later.” He quickly looked at Vivian. “Call Heath. I need that info before I hit Watts’s lawyer’s office in the morning.”
“I’ll get him started. We looking for anything in particular?”
“If I’m right, you’ll know.” He disconnected as he pulled in front of Vivian’s apartment. He could see the hesitation in her body language before she pulled the door handle. “Look, Vivian, I should probably get home.”
She visibly relaxed. “Thank you for everything, Slate. I should head inside. I’m working a double tomorrow, so would you leave me a message if you find anything?”
He nodded and pushed the dinner sack at her when she set it in her vacated seat. “You take it. I’ll pick up a burger on the way home.”
“I can’t possibly.”
“It’s the least I can do for dragging you around in the rain.”
Her head shook from side to side. “You aren’t going to take no for an answer, are you?”
“I’ll stop by the wing place if I find anything.”
“Thank you for your help.”
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
Vivian’s expression filled with sadness and regret. With that, she shut the truck door. He could read people pretty well and she was silently screaming that she didn’t expect anyone—especially a lawman—to help. He waited for her to go inside her apartment, then called Wade again.
“Miss me already?” Wade answered.
“Check with the OIG for the VA. See if they have any weird reports or complaints.”
“That would be the Office of Inspector General for Veterans Affairs that won’t be open until tomorrow. And what will you be doing?”
“I’m going home and repairing a barn stall like I told my dad I would. I’m also about to beg my mother to fix me dinner. Totally starved.”
“Bring the leftovers tomorrow. Payback for me doing all your legwork.”
“You’re the one sitting behind a desk, man. I’m the one sitting on wet denim from doing your legwork on this hunch of yours.”
“And it’s paying off.”
“Tomorrow, man.”
It was probably better that Vivian Watts had to work a double tomorrow. Probably better since he needed to wrap up his current caseload before he could take vacation days and help her. He couldn’t flash around his badge, but mentioning that he was a ranger might open some doors that had been slammed for her.
Statistics weren’t in their favor. He wouldn’t be just another man who got her hopes up and left her hanging.
Chapter Nine
“I could never have assumed that Rashid would react to the suggestion before he left the hospital.” Abby pulled at her cuticles with tweezers. She spoke to the only person completely familiar with her work, herself.
Several doctors, including Roberts, had ordered her to stop, stating it was unhealthy to pick at her nails. They were wrong.
Her skin was raw, but there were still pieces. She picked more furiously before looking up into her red, freshly scrubbed face. Certain there was another layer of dirt on her epidermis, she obtained another washcloth, rubbing and scrubbing as hard as she could.
Setting the cloth onto the counter, she switched back to the tweezers, picking until the bright red of her clean blood seeped around the nail. She went to the cabinet to remove the last washcloth from the sealed bag. She would begin the cleansing process again until she was positive the germs from walking on an unfamiliar street were no longer present.
“Enough!” her reflection yelled.
“I can never get clean enough,” she answered behind the cloth.
“You must control yourself, Abby. Break from your routine. There is work to be done. Check the list you made while waiting for the train. It’s thorough.”
“Yes. I need to identify the woman in the truck.” The tweezers caught her eye. She dropped the newer white cloth on top of the metal but immediately had to place them in the sterilizing jar.
“My darling Abby. You are so smart and will find my answers. The perfect death will be ours. I’ve always had faith in you.”
Her encouraging voice from the mirror echoed in her mind as she found her pocket notebook. Flipping the pages, she saw the step-by-step lists of exactly what to do next with her study.
The doctors had all told her that conversing in the mirror wasn’t mentally healthy either. They were wrong, too. After talking with the mirror woman, everything was always much clearer.
The goal to merge with her through a perfect death was even more necessary.
She connected her laptop to the external memory, careful to remain free from the internet. Her research on each of the sleep-study veterans confirmed her suspicion. The woman in the truck was the sister of Victor Watts. She’d almost forgotten about the young man.
What was the sister doing with an officer at Rashid’s death? What about another veteran’s death would pique the curiosity of a family member from the sleep study?
The voice in the mirror, both perfect and sterile, was right again. Follow the steps, follow the lists she’d already written. She could concentrate on the list and avoid the problems culminating from her disrupted day.
Even though her schedule had changed, it was deeply satisfying news that Rashid had reacted so quickly. A very hopeful sign that her experiments were working even better.
So what if family were curious. She had a plan already in place to take care of anything or anyone who might upset her goals. One phone call would activate him to perform whatever deed needed. He’d taken care of problems before and never remembered. He could take care of this, too.
Many times she’d been to doctors, trying to overcome the debilitating obsessive compulsions that sidetracked her from completing her work. They’d all failed, concentrating instead on the one thing that made her focus, gave her clarity. Attempting to take away the
voice in the mirror wasn’t right. The perfect voice that brought precision to her thoughts.
The voice was serenity. The voice was excellence.
The voice was necessary.
Vivian Watts...was not.
Chapter Ten
Vivian savored every bite of half a steak. She carefully wrapped the other portion in foil and stuck it in the freezer. Then she packed her laptop and caught a bus for the nearest free Wi-Fi.
She hadn’t given Slate the only copy of the study. He might not have vocalized all his thoughts, but she caught on pretty quick. The other thing she could do was research.
She didn’t trust that Slate or the others would get the complete list of participants, but it couldn’t be that difficult to find them. There had to be some way to narrow down the sleep-study list. It was easier than anticipated since it was specifically focused on veterans. Then it became apparent that nothing had happened to the females in the study, but the guys were a different story.
The study was in two parts, one prior to Dr. Roberts’s death and another after. The results had been published in recent medical journals so Roberts’s coworkers could continue the research. There were sixty participants—thirty of each gender. But no names.
The search she conducted was the first that came to her mind...murders by veterans limited to the previous year. Some had been seen at the VA Hospital, including her brother. Without much specific information, she couldn’t be certain, but it looked as if the number of incidents involving local veterans had dramatically increased.
“Why hasn’t anyone looked into this?” she mumbled in total shock. Rashid Parker was the fourteenth man she’d found in the surrounding area.
She dug through her purse, looking for Slate’s card. The announcement that the library would close in a few minutes had already been made. She saved all the pages of research as screenshots, printed and put them in a folder to work with at home.
The phone call to Slate would have to wait until her break the next day. The card gave his office and cell numbers but she didn’t really have any information for him. What could she pass along? She’d wait for the half-hour break she’d get between her shifts at the restaurant.
Once home, she packed her suitcase just in case the landlord decided to act on the last day of the month instead of the morning of the first. She retrieved a second suitcase from the closet with the few possessions her brother had. Laptop and valuables were in a smaller bag that she’d take with her and store under the counter—whether the chicken manager liked it or not.
She’d sold her car, sold her possessions in Florida and felt like she’d hit rock bottom. But each time she thought about herself, she remembered the eleven months her brother had been in jail. Eleven months of suffering, of defending himself, of thinking he’d killed the doctor that he’d spoken so highly of.
According to Victor, Dr. Roberts was going to “fix” him, “cure” him. The plan was that he’d participate in her study and she’d know exactly how his brain ticked. And if they knew that...the night terrors would stop.
Vivian had never understood why he’d harm the only person who had given him hope. The one doctor who could take his nightmares away. She’d mentioned that to his lawyer with every visit. After a month, she no longer had access to discuss her brother’s case. The lawyer wouldn’t see her. She had no legal recourse. No access to any discovery or evidence the prosecutor had obtained.
In the dark. No legal recourse to fight for her brother. The second and current attorneys had refused to discuss the case with her at all.
There it was again. The flicker of hope shone like a bright star in the sky, twinkling just out of her reach. Slate didn’t seem like a person who would flicker out. He was more the type who provided secure warmth like the sun.
She fell sleep. Her dreams of being a young child playing with her brother in a warm field quickly changed to the sun burning her skin. The feeling that she was lying on the ground had her twisting. Somehow she knew it was the padding that tried to pass for a mattress. She was asleep, but then she wasn’t.
Police cars. Firefighters. Loud sirens and lights. She was dreaming. It felt like a war documentary. Something from World War I. Loud cracking, explosions, gas masks, shouting. She wanted to wake up.
“Don’t struggle. We got you!” The voice came through a fog.
Stuck between dreams and waking, she struggled to understand the man’s words through his gas mask. She didn’t like the dream and struggled more. She twisted round and round in the sheets, tangling them around her legs until she was paralyzed. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
She needed to wake up before she died.
“Miss. Miss!” A hand on her shoulder shook her awake.
Vivian opened her eyes, an oxygen mask on her face. She coughed, wanting to sit, but she was strapped to a gurney and couldn’t move.
She shook her head. “Let me up,” she said under the plastic.
“Sure. Are you injured? Do you know where you are?”
The men around her looked like paramedics. Each unbuckled a strap and she was free.
“What happened?” She pushed up to a sitting position, coughing the entire way.
“The whole apartment building is in flames,” someone cried behind her. “They’re still getting people out.”
“Do they...do they know how it started?”
“Not yet.”
She swung her feet to the side until they hit the ground. The paramedic handed her the oxygen and didn’t take no for an answer, pushing it to cover her nose and mouth.
The dream made sense now. She hadn’t been in World War I with rescuers and masks hiding their faces. She’d been in a fire. The major portion of the blaze was at her apartment. She watched the men battling inside and out of the tiny place that had been her home.
Oh, my God. It couldn’t have started with her. Nothing had been on, not even the heater. So what had happened?
The paramedic draped the blanket over her shoulders. She gripped it around her neck like a protective cloak. Pajamas. Thank God she’d been wearing them.
She watched, helpless. There was no going back to her brother’s apartment. Her living space. Gone. Everything she owned was inside. Gone.
“You’re so lucky you faced the street. They knocked down your door first. I watched them pull you out. I thought you were dead.” A woman stood next to her dressed in a long robe and slippers.
Dressed as she was, Vivian assumed she was one of the neighbors who’d had to abandon their home, too. “Are you okay? Need to sit down?”
“No. I was out walking my dog.” She opened a flap of her robe and flashed the face of a small Chihuahua. “Me and Bohemian are just fine. We live on the other side of the block.” She pointed down the street as she clasped the dog and covered him with the thick robe.
“Do you have a phone?”
“Sure. Call anyone you like, honey. I sure hope someone can come get you since you ain’t getting back into that apartment.” She pointed to the burned-out hollow where she’d been sleeping. “You are really lucky to be alive.”
“I think so, too.”
She tapped for Information. “Do you have a number for a local Texas Ranger’s office? I think he said it was in Garland.”
Chapter Eleven
“You brought her here? Home?” Heath Murray asked from his bedroom doorway. “Doesn’t this break a ton of rules or something?”
Slate had been awakened by the emergency phone call from his office. It took him over an hour to find Vivian, who’d been taken to a local emergency room. “Where else do you suggest I take her? She refused to go to a hotel and insisted on a women’s shelter.”
“It’s better than hiding the truth from the major.” Slate’s roommate stood in his boxers, squinting from the lack of contacts, hair standing straight out from his
head. “What’s wrong with the women’s shelter?”
“She’d be eaten alive there.” He lowered his voice and took a step closer to his friend. “She’s got nothing, man. Every penny she had, her phone, her laptop...all gone.”
“I can hear you,” Vivian said, standing between the kitchen and the living room. “And I did tell him to take me to a shelter. He’s the one who’s being stubborn about this.”
Slate turned back to her. “Honestly, it’s not a big deal. I don’t know why Heath’s so bent out of shape. You’re staying here tonight and that’s the end of it.”
“Well, since I’m sort of stranded, I have no choice. But I’m definitely the one sleeping on the couch.” Her fingers clung to the blanket the EMTs had provided. Her feet were barely protected with hospital or crime scene paper booties. She was probably in shock, and yet she stood straight and undefeated.
“Please take his room,” Heath said, throwing up his hands. “If you don’t, I’m never getting back to sleep.”
Slate slapped him on his bare shoulder. “Since you’re up...”
“I’m not.” Heath took his skinny legs and bare feet back down the hall. “I’m not up. Figment of your imagination walking here.”
Slate didn’t watch him go. He just waited for the door to slam. It did.
“I’m taking the couch and you’re staying in my room. It also has a private bath so you can get cleaned up. You breathing okay? They told me to watch out for wheezing.”
“I should never have called you. I only did in case you tried to find me with news about Victor’s case and the person answering the phone insisted I give a reason.”
“I’m glad you called.”
“I think someone deliberately set that fire.”
He was taken off guard that Vivian had said it. Not that the thought hadn’t already been in his head since the moment she got a hold of him.
“Yeah, one too many coincidences. But why now? They’ve had months to do something like this. Why wait until I poked my nose into it?”