Her Darkest Nightmare (50 page)

With a wince, Jennifer closed her eyes. “It's been two years since she went missing,” she said when she opened them again. “I'm glad her murderer has been caught and that he's in prison. I know I'm luckier than most, that there are those who never get justice. You-you're one of them, and I'm sorry for that. But I have to … I have to be able to put her to rest. For my own peace of mind.”

Evelyn closed Lyman's file, in case Jennifer happened to realize whose it was. This distraught young woman didn't need to see the photographs in that file—although she'd probably seen some of them at his trial. “Trust me. I'd love to be able to help. But dealing with a man like Lyman Bishop is a bit of a chess game. If he figures out how badly we crave the information, he'll be sure to withhold it. He might even taunt us with the fact that he has something we want but can't get.”

“
Why?
” she cried. “What pleasure could he possibly get from keeping the location of Jan's remains a secret?”

“It's not pleasure so much as power,” Evelyn explained.

“So you can't reason with him? Can't bargain with him?”

Evelyn scrambled to come up with something that might ease Jennifer's mind without promising more than she could deliver. “I can try, but it would be a mistake to offer him incentives or concessions right off the bat. He'll surmise the level of our desperation, and then we may
never
get what we want.”

Dropping her head, she pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Jennifer, what is it?” Evelyn asked, trying to catch her eye.

She looked up. “What do you mean? I just told you.”

“We could've discussed this over the phone. What made you come all the way to Alaska at eight months' pregnant?”

Tears welled up, but she set her chin and wiped them away. “My mother's been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.”

More tragedy … “I'm sorry to hear that.”

“So am I. My father died of a heart attack when I was fifteen. Then Jan fell into the hands of that … that monster you have here. And now this. My entire family will soon be gone.”

“You'll have your baby,” Evelyn said, hoping to encourage her.

Her hand covered her extended abdomen. “I may not keep her. I haven't decided. She'd probably be better off with someone else. I don't have a lot to offer.”

“It's a girl?”

“According to the ultrasound.”

“And the father? He isn't in the picture?”

“No. He got his ex pregnant about the same time I found out I was expecting and went back to her.” Fresh tears caught in her eyelashes, a few even slid down her cheeks, but she stubbornly dashed them away.

“That must be heart-breaking.”

“I'll deal with it. Somehow. I just … I can't stand the thought of my mother dying before we can get Jan home and buried. We should be able to share that moment, to have the chance for all three of us to be together one last time. It's her dying wish.”

Evelyn would love to help fulfill that wish. But they were talking about Lyman Bishop, someone she already knew she'd have to handle very carefully. “How much time does your mother have left?”

“The doctors have given her three months.”

Which was an estimate, of course. She could die sooner as easily as later. “I'll do the best I can, look for any angle, every opportunity. I promise. Just … give me a couple of weeks.”

“A couple of
weeks
? With only a sentence or two from him this could all be over. In
seconds
!”

“And yet most of these guys carry that sort of information to their graves.” Evelyn stood so that she could hold out the box of tissues she kept on her desk.

“What if
I
were to talk to him?” Jennifer asked. “What if … what if I were to make a personal appeal? Would that make
any
difference?”

“I doubt it. You have to understand what most psychopaths are like. They do what they do because they are the only ones who matter to them. If they want something, they take it, even if it means lying, stealing, or manipulating anyone and everyone around them. If inflicting pain gives them pleasure, they see no reason they shouldn't have the gratification. Unless they choose to, they feel no empathy.”

She dabbed at her eyes, smearing her mascara in the process. “What about his sister?”

When Lyman was sixteen, Marianna, his mother, left the family for another man. Shortly after that, his father committed suicide, so Marianna took the kids. But after only a year, her new love interest made it plain that he wasn't willing to maintain a relationship with her if that relationship included the children. So she delivered Lyman and ten-year-old Beth to the closest mall to shop for the day and never went back. When Lyman and his sister finally made it home by riding the city bus, the house was empty, completely cleaned out. Marianna and her boyfriend had moved without a forwarding address. From that point on, Lyman lived on his own and finished raising his little sister—all while getting a doctorate using government grants and loans and working two jobs. Beth seemed to be the only person he cared about. He'd had a few romantic relationships, but none that had lasted more than four or five months.

“What about her?” Evelyn asked.

“She sobbed throughout the trial. She seemed to care about him. Maybe there's some way to get in touch with her. Maybe he'd do it for her.”

Evelyn couldn't believe that would work. First, Beth would have to agree to try to get the information out of him, and it was possible she felt too much loyalty. Despite what he'd done to other women, he'd taken care of her when she had no one else. Second, unlike the intelligent Lyman, she'd had developmental issues growing up. By all indications, her IQ was well below average, so she might not understand much more than the sudden loss of her brother. Third, she'd have to come to Alaska in order for Evelyn's appeal to have the kind of effectiveness they were hoping to achieve. A letter or a phone call wouldn't be the same. Evelyn wasn't even sure Beth was capable of traveling on her own.

For all of those reasons, enlisting Beth wouldn't be easy. But Evelyn was willing to talk to her, to determine if there wasn't
something
that could be done. “I'll make a few calls, see what I can find out.”

“Okay.” Clasping her tissue in one hand and her purse in the other, Jennifer stood. “Thank you. I'll be at the motel in town—The Shady Lady. You'll have to call there to talk to me, since there's no cell service in this godforsaken place.”

Ironically, since she'd once thought of Hilltop in the same way, Evelyn couldn't help being offended. She knew how much Amarok loved this place, had become converted to its incredible beauty, freedom, and fresh, if cold, air. But she didn't react. She was more concerned about the fact that Jennifer still sounded as though she expected quick results. “Okay, but please be aware that my efforts might not culminate in the information you want, especially before you leave.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” she said. “Not until that bastard reveals where he put Jan's body.”

Evelyn heard the steel in her voice. “
What about the baby?
”

“There are doctors here, aren't there?”

“In Anchorage, I'm sure. But—”

“Hopefully, we'll be able to find out where he put Jan's body in the next few days or weeks, so I can go home.”

Evelyn didn't welcome the pressure of having a pregnant Jennifer Hall in town. She'd barely met Lyman, had no idea what to expect from him. He could easily refuse to speak on the subject.

But she had a sister of her own, knew she'd feel the same if she were in Jennifer's shoes. “I'll do what I can.”

“Thanks,” she said and Evelyn walked over to hold the door politely while she left.

Evelyn had returned to her desk and opened Lyman's file again, was just flipping to the beginning, looking for the name of the Minneapolis detective who'd handled his case when Les Greenwalt, the psychologist she'd hired to replace Dr. Fitzpatrick, who'd quit before he could be fired last year, poked his head into her office.

“You got a minute?”

She almost said she didn't. She had a busy day ahead and her mind was on other things. But she figured she might as well hear him out, address whatever he needed, and get it over with. It was a relief that she no longer had to tiptoe around Dr. Fitzpatrick, who'd made her life so unpleasant. At forty-one, Dr. Greenwalt didn't have the experience of Fitzpatrick, who'd been older, but he also wasn't trying to wrest control of the institution away from her. If she had to pick one over the other, she'd take Dr. Greenwalt all day, every day. “Sure. What's up?”

“I was hoping to use our new inmate in a study.”

“Lyman Bishop?”

“Yes.”

“Which study?”

“I'm trying to determine if those diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder can more readily suppress the autonomic nervous system's response to deception.”

“And thus pass a lie detector test.”

“Yes.”

Early studies, studies by David Raskin and Robert Hare back in the late seventies, suggested psychopaths could not beat a polygraph any easier than regular people, but those findings had since come under dispute. Some claimed that a psychopath's lack of fear of punishment or reprisal should make them less susceptible to the stress registered by others. She could see why Greenwalt would be eager to answer the question one way or another—or at least provide further insight. But she wasn't ready to let anyone else work with Lyman. “Sounds interesting, but I'd rather you not use Bishop.”

“Why not?”

“He's so new. Give me a chance to work with him for a few weeks, to determine how cooperative he's willing to be and where he might be able to offer the most to our efforts.”

Greenwalt peered more closely at her. “You've never barred me from using someone before. Why is he different?”

“As you know, most people with antisocial personality disorder don't have good impulse control, which means they lack the self-discipline to get through extensive schooling—”

“Unless you believe that some of the world's greatest business leaders are psychopaths,” he broke in. “The case has been made for that, remember.”

He had a point. Psychopaths were more attracted to business than any other profession. Many were also policeman, lawyers, and surgeons. But she wasn't talking about law-abiding psychopaths, and Greenwalt knew it. “They might be psychopaths but they don't kill people. Of the subjects
we
get, few are as educated as Dr. Lyman. He was a biomedical researcher at the University of Minnesota—a fruit fly geneticist, to be exact—who has contributed a great deal to cancer research.”

“Are you sure?”

His sarcasm took her off-guard. “I don't follow you.”

“Maybe, like that one researcher from the University of Iowa who altered some of his samples to boost HIV vaccine test results in order to achieve more grant money, he cheated somehow.”

She could see why he might suspect that. Psychopaths weren't typically the sort of people who put in a lot of hard work. If it was possible to bend the rules or get around some prerequisite to what they wanted, they often did. “From all I've heard so far, his work seems to be unimpeachable. He did whole genome DNA sequencing with another geneticist, making it possible to determine what types of cell mutations are causing cancer.”

“In flies.”

“Human cells likely undergo the same process.”

“Sounds noble, but I doubt he restricted his bad behavior to murder. You know how criminally versatile most psychopaths are.”

That was true, too, but Evelyn got the impression Lyman Bishop had a code of ethics he lived by even if it wasn't the same as a “normal” person's. What he'd done for his sister, at least, was admirable. “Regardless, I don't want him purposely throwing off our findings for his own amusement. Please, leave him to me.”

Although he obviously wasn't happy with her response, Greenwalt nodded. “All right. Let me know when he's cleared.”

“You're anxious to work with a smart psychopath?” she asked.

“They're all smart.”

“Cunning, manipulative, and deceptive, perhaps. But not as smart as Dr. Bishop.”

“Now you've piqued my interest.”

“I'll turn you loose on him soon.”

“Okay.” He picked up the calendar on her desk and flipped it to the current day, which she hadn't yet bothered to do. “By the way, Annie's planning a dinner for the Friday after next. She's lonely, living so far from family. She was hoping that you and Amarok would be interested in coming.”

If Greenwalt's wife couldn't take the isolation or the darkness and the cold, which were so prevalent this time of year, he'd eventually have to pack his bags and return to San Francisco, where he was from. Evelyn didn't want to lose him. She'd just replaced the two members of the team she'd lost last year. She figured she needed to support this dinner, and any other social event Annie devised, but she wasn't always comfortable around the other woman. Annie was odd and a tad overbearing. After working with difficult personalities all day, Evelyn preferred to socialize with less complicated people. “Of course. We'd be happy to join you. What would she like me to bring?”

“I have no idea. She's driving to Anchorage today to pick out the centerpiece and china and such. I'm not sure why what we've got won't do. That woman has dishes coming out of her ears. But if shopping gives her a goal and keeps her happy, I'm all for it.”

Like Evelyn, Greenwalt had a true fascination for their work. While so much of deviant behavior appeared to be self-serving, it rarely produced the desired results—not in the long run. Psychopaths destroyed their own lives in the process of destroying others. Why they couldn't see that, or didn't seem to care, was another mystery, one Evelyn hoped to explore in more detail with Dr. Bishop, who'd destroyed his ability to care for his sister, his ability to further his work and his freedom. “She can let me know whenever. I'm sure we'll have a wonderful time.”