Her Darkest Nightmare (23 page)

“Cops are often fantasized about, too,” she pointed out.

He lifted his coffee. “We don't do it for the pay.”

She wondered what it would be like if he walked over and kissed her. She thought she'd like that. “At least not all of
your
admirers are convicts,” she said. “It's hard to be flattered by men who are so desperate. But back to my point. There was no murderous intent behind Hugo's groping. He didn't hit me, squeeze me harder than necessary to get me up against the wall, try to choke me. It wasn't even an attempted rape. Nothing like that.”

“A kiss and a feel. But isn't that because he didn't have time to do more?”

“He could've inflicted some damage.” She carried her coffee to the table to, she hoped, stop all those images of kissing Amarok from crowding in. “He put me in the hospital when he rushed me at San Quentin, in about the same amount of time. That's partly what tells me this was different. I'm not convinced I was ever in real danger. That's embarrassing to admit, after reacting the way I did—”

“Anyone who'd been through what you've been through would've reacted the same way.”

“Maybe. But he didn't hit me, or kick me or choke me. He kissed me and thrust against me. Then he told me that Dr. Fitzpatrick is our killer.”

Amarok pushed off the counter to come to the table.
“Fitzpatrick?”

“Can you believe it?”

“That depends. What would make Hugo Evanski choose him as opposed to someone else?”

She shrugged. “Fitzpatrick's the most prominent figure at HH?”

“Other than you.”

“Other than me,” she conceded.

“Maybe Hugo hates him.”

“That wouldn't come as a surprise. Most of the inmates hate Fitzpatrick. His approach is more controversial than mine and some of his experiments are not …
pleasant
.”

“Meaning…”

“He likes to explore a psychopath's reaction, or lack of reaction, to pain.”

Amarok's lips formed a grim line. “More shock studies?”

“Among others. And Hugo has been heavily involved lately. From the way he talks about Fitzpatrick, they've been meeting almost every day.”

“Are the inmates forced to cooperate?”

“Of course not. They're incentivized. Most sign up as soon as the option becomes available because there's no other way to get the things they want.”

“What's the reward?”

“It varies. Extra yard time, books, stamps, movie nights, a second helping of dessert, access to cigarettes.”

“Would Evanski have anything to gain by discrediting Fitzpatrick?”

She'd been asking herself the same question. “Not that I can think of. Most likely he's bored and trying to create drama. The men I study will say just about anything, no matter how outlandish. Usually the stories they spin are designed to paint them in as favorable a light as possible, and Hugo has definitely done that here.”

“How so?”

“He's positioned himself as my savior, my protector, someone who knows more than anyone else about those who would destroy me.”

Amarok ran a thumb over his chin as he seemed to consider this information. “How much does Fitzpatrick know about Jasper?”

His words made her slightly uneasy. “He's aware of the posing behavior, if that's what you're asking.”

“Because…”

“We've discussed my case.”

“Down to the last detail?”

She thought of the conversations they'd had over the past five years, the hours they'd spent analyzing Jasper's behavior leading up to the first attack and all the guessing about what brought him back last summer, how long he might hide this time, whether he'd try to kill her again. “Yes.”

Amarok didn't look pleased. “You haven't even told
me
the details. You refuse to let me read your file.”

“I'd rather you not know
everything
that happened.”

“Why?”

She glanced away, suddenly embarrassed. “Because I want to sleep with you.”

There was a raw edge to his expression when she looked back, a slight flare to his pupils that suggested he wanted the same. He didn't move toward her, but his voice was more forgiving when he spoke. “It makes a difference?”

“I don't want to bring all of that into bed with us.”

“At least you're serious about this,” he said with a decisive nod. “Gives me hope.”

“This?”

“Us.”

But what did that “us” mean?

She didn't ask. Neither one of them were ready to answer that question.

“So … looking at Fitzpatrick regardless of Hugo or anything else, could he be a killer?” Amarok asked.

“No.”

He stuffed his arms into the heavy coat on a hook by the front door. “But wouldn't you have said the same thing about Jasper?”

 

15

I just liked to kill, I wanted to kill.

—TED BUNDY, SERIAL KILLER, RAPIST, KIDNAPPER AND NECROPHILIAC

Evelyn reached Hanover House before any of the other therapists or administrative help arrived. Breathing a sigh of relief that she'd spotted none of their cars in the lot, she chatted with Glenn Whitcomb, who was on duty at the sally port when she walked in. They were both mourning Lorraine, so Evelyn understood his grief, felt he might need to talk to someone. He showed her a thank-you card Lorraine had given him when he'd fixed her leaky roof, and they reminisced about their friend's bossy but caring ways. Glenn was the only one Evelyn felt truly understood, since they'd both loved Lorraine. But she didn't dare dawdle for long. With a parting smile, she hurried to her office, where she sat with a stack of files and reports.

She was preparing for her morning appointments when Penny Singh arrived.

“Morning, Dr. Talbot.”

Penny had removed her heavy coat, but she was still dressed in layers, including a turtleneck sweater, a jacket, a scarf and a nice pair of jeans with furry boots. It was easy to tell she'd just walked in from outside because her cheeks were flushed from the cold and she held the insulated coffee mug she carried to work every morning.

“Hello, Penny.” Evelyn smiled at her assistant despite her preoccupation, then waved as Linda Harper, Fitzpatrick's clerical support, came up behind Penny.

Linda didn't bother with “hello.” She didn't look happy. “Is it true?” she demanded.

Evelyn focused on her a bit reluctantly. “Is what true?”

“What I heard on the news last night?”

“What'd you hear?” Penny cried, immediately cluing in to her high-pitched tone.

Evelyn hadn't watched the news. She wouldn't have turned on the TV last night even if she'd thought of it. After that incident with Hugo, she'd been in no condition to subject herself to the bad publicity. Public criticism was just one of the many ramifications of her current situation—the least important, which said a lot, considering it could cost her her job and her reputation.

Still, she could easily guess what Linda was talking about. “Yes. There's been another murder.”

Penny's jaw dropped and her eyes riveted on Evelyn. “It's not Danielle.…”

“We don't know.” That
two
people they'd known and spoken to just a few days ago could be gone, and in such a grotesque fashion, was so shocking it was almost … unfathomable. “The remains have yet to be identified.”

Penny's hand trembled as she anchored a hank of her straight black hair behind one ear, and Evelyn couldn't help wondering if she regretted leaving her parents' house in Fairbanks to accept her position. When Evelyn first interviewed her, before Hanover House opened, she'd said she wasn't cut out for college, couldn't afford it, anyway. She'd been looking for opportunities in Anchorage when she came across Evelyn's ad. Anchorage had more of a social life for “twenty somethings” than the smaller, outlying communities, but HH paid better than waiting tables, which was her other option. HH promised more upward mobility, too. “But … it
has
to be Danielle,” she said. “She hasn't been seen for days.”

“The anchorwoman also said you found part of a
corpse
in your bed,” Linda said, blanching.

Evelyn tried to distance herself from the vision that appeared before her mind's eye. But Linda's bald statement conjured Sigmund gnawing on the exposed humerus of that pale, white arm as vividly as if she were looking at it this very moment. She had to cover her mouth to stop the rise of bile, which burned the back of her throat.

Her reaction caused Linda to apologize. “I'm sorry,” she said, squeezing past Penny. “That must have been an … an
awful
thing to find, but … I feel like we need to know. That we deserve to know.”

“You do,” Evelyn said. “I'm sorry, but … it's true.”

The color drained from Penny's face. “You don't think these murders could have anything to do with Hugo, do you?”

Evelyn blinked at her. “Hugo?”

“He obviously has a thing for you.”

“Hugo is locked up, Penny,” she said. “He couldn't be responsible.”

Her assistant nibbled at her bottom lip. “But … he attacked you yesterday, didn't he? He's never done that before.”

“Who told you about the attack?” Evelyn asked. “Fitzpatrick?”

Penny looked to Linda, but Linda was too loyal to her boss to answer. “He told everyone in the office,” Penny mumbled at length.

Evelyn could imagine the dogmatic and pedantic Fitzpatrick preaching about her mistake:
Let that be a lesson to all of you.
Sometimes he took great pleasure in proving her wrong, or only human, or no match for the absolutes he held so dear. But being a good psychiatrist, cop, actor, musician or writer—a good anything—meant being able to take a risk when the situation warranted it. And if she had yesterday to do over again, she'd take the same risk. Hugo heard a lot of things she didn't and, if something was going on here at HH, he could most likely let her know—if he wanted to. “Somehow that doesn't surprise me,” she said dryly.

If Penny heard the censure in Evelyn's response, she didn't react to it. Her voice sounded small and frightened when she said, “What's going on, Dr. Talbot? It sounds like we have a serial killer on the loose.”

Here we go,
Evelyn thought. Now that word was out, fear and the tendency to place blame would sock the entire community like one of their many snowstorms—and this storm was bound to get worse the longer they went without an arrest.

She remembered what the investigation had been like when she was sixteen, how upsetting for everyone involved—her family, the families of her dead friends, even Jasper's family, regardless of whether his parents had, as she suspected, helped him escape the country. Many of the students they went to high school with, whether they'd known Marissa, Jessie and Agatha very well or not, had mourned the tragedy of their deaths.

So
many people would be impacted here, too. How would Amarok cope with such hopped-up emotions? With frightened citizens barraging him from all sides?

“A serial killer is usually defined as someone who has killed three or more people over an extended period of time, Penny—a month if I remember correctly,” Evelyn said.

“Various organizations define the term differently,” Linda piped up. “The FBI includes anyone who's killed at least
two
people as separate incidents, with a cooling-off period in between.”

Evelyn wished for a cup of coffee to vanquish the terrible taste in her mouth from the cup she'd had at Amarok's, but she hadn't taken the time to put on a pot. Penny usually handled that. “No one can say whether there was a cooling-off period between Lorraine and the second victim,” she pointed out, but she couldn't maintain eye contact while saying it. What the perpetrator had done with the bodies convinced her they had a predator on the loose regardless of any technical definition. She would have readily admitted that except she felt she had to do everything possible to stave off the panic that would only make the situation worse.

“So no one incarcerated here could be out killing people,” Linda said.

“No,” Evelyn replied. “And that includes Hugo,” she added to once again reassure Penny. “If an inmate went missing, we'd know it right away.”

“There's someone
else
out there, then? Someone who…”—Penny could hardly form the words—“… who murders women and dismembers their bodies?”

That wasn't all he did. The killer also treated those body parts like trophies by putting them on grotesque display. But Evelyn wanted to keep all she could out of the press—and that meant preventing Penny, Linda and the other HH employees from gossiping about the more gruesome details. “It would seem that way.”

Penny set her coffee on the edge of the desk. “Who could it be? There aren't that many people in Hilltop.”

“Personally?” Evelyn said. “I think it could be Jasper.”

“Jasper?” Linda echoed.

“The man who attacked me when I was sixteen, and came after me again five months ago. This could be a personal vendetta and not the direct result of what I've tried to accomplish here.”

Linda seemed skeptical. “He'd be a stranger in these parts. He'd stand out.”

“Not necessarily,” Evelyn said. “We're not that far from Anchorage. Other, smaller communities lie between here and there. And who knows who's staying in the various hunting cabins in the surrounding mountains?”

“With the weather we've been having?” Linda scoffed. “There shouldn't be
anyone
there this time of year!”

“It wouldn't be impossible to survive,” Evelyn told her. “Not if someone had the proper gear and plenty of supplies.” Feeling the constraints of the busy morning looming ahead, she checked her watch. “I'm sorry to cut this short. I know you're both concerned, and so am I, but I've got to go or I'll be late for my first appointment.” She also had to meet with the warden on the possible corruption. She'd received a message from him. Before he interrogated anyone, he felt as if they should just keep a close eye on those COs who were on Danielle's list, and after what Amarok had said this morning Evelyn agreed.