Lying With Strangers (33 page)

THERE WAS A PIT IN HER STOMACH AS PEYTON WENT TO THE HOME
computer in the den and sat in her mother’s chair. She had called Tony before going downstairs. He had some helpful insights, things she hadn’t thought about. Now the execution was all up to her.

“Mom, can you come here for a minute?”

Peyton waited anxiously at the computer. Finally her mother was standing in the open doorway. She looked tired, obviously having slept very little all night.

“What is it?”

“I have to go online. Can I use your account?”

“What for?”

“Kevin saw the screen names last night.”

“What screen names?”

“My supposed online lover and alter ego. RG and Ladydoc.”

Her mother hesitated, as if processing Peyton’s words. “He saw them?”

“It’s a long story, but I need to check this out right away. Can I use your screen name, please?”

Peyton gave her an assessing look, but her mother didn’t flinch.

“Of course you can.” Her mother switched on the computer, entered her password, and logged on to her Internet service.

“There you go.”

Peyton checked the screen name. There was only one registered to the account: Valerie51.

Her mother seemed smug. “What is it that you need to check, dear?”

“Tony suggested that I send an e-mail to Ladydoc and see what turns up.”

“You don’t expect an answer, do you?”

“No. In fact, Tony said Ladydoc is probably a blind screen name.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“It’s for people who go out of their way to keep their online identity a secret.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, let’s take your name, hypothetically speaking. When you log on, the screen name that shows on your computer is Valerie51. If you enter a chat room, that same name should show up on someone else’s computer screen. But if for some reason you’re really paranoid about concealing your identity, then you hire a fifteen-year-old computer whiz to rig it up so that your screen name is converted to something else in cyberspace.”

“Seems like a lot of worthless effort. I can create as many screen names as I want under my existing account.”

“But the list of screen names shows up every time you or someone else logs on. With a blind screen name, no one else who uses your computer can see that you’ve created an alias. Not your husband. Not even me, for example.”

Her mother emitted her phony chuckle, something she employed only when she wanted to sound older and less savvy than she was. “That all sounds so complicated.”

“It’s not, really. The bottom line is, your computer at home might say your screen name is Valerie51. But when you go into a chat room, people will read Ladydoc on their screen.”

“I see. Hypothetically, you mean.”

“Yes, of course. This is all hypothetical.” Peyton turned back to the computer. “So, my plan is to send an e-mail to Ladydoc and see what happens.”

“But if Ladydoc is a blind screen name, won’t the e-mail just be lost in cyberspace?”

“No. It’s delivered to whoever created the name. People who use these blind names aren’t hiding as well as they think they are. In fact, they’re only fooling themselves.”

Her mother seemed to freeze, speechless. “But there are so many Internet servers. You could be looking for Ladydoc at AOL, Ladydoc at Earthlink, and on and on. This hardly seems worthwhile.”

Peyton detected definite stalling. “Why don’t we just start with your server.”

“Mine?” she said nervously.

“Yes. Yours.”

Peyton entered the name Ladydoc into the address box. With one click of the mouse, the test message would travel through cyberspace and land in the electronic mailbox of whoever had created the name Ladydoc. Peyton understood that. From the look on her mother’s face, it seemed that she understood, too. The coffee cup was shaking in her hand.

On the screen, the cursor hung over the send button. Peyton clicked her mouse, and the electronic message was off to Ladydoc. Almost instantaneously, the computer beeped and the familiar message was announced over the speaker.

You’ve got mail.

It had come right back to Valerie51.

For the longest time, neither woman moved. Slowly, Peyton worked through her own denial and disbelief, bringing herself to a point where she could speak.

“What have you done?” she said, her voice low but filled with anger.

“I never intended to hurt you, Peyton.”

“Does Dad know anything about this?”

“No,
no
. And we can’t tell him. He’d leave me for sure.”

“You deserve it. You cheated on him before, you gave up a child that he was willing to keep, and you had cybersex with a psycho.”

“I didn’t know he was psycho. He sounded very nice.”

“They all sound nice online,” she said, incredulous. “They’re all pretending to be something they’re not. Just like you were.”

“I’m sorry, Peyton.”

“Why me? Why did you pretend to be me?”

“Because…you are me.”

“What?”

“You’re what I could have been. No, I take that back. What you could have been is what I
should
have been.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you see, darling? For all my warnings, you made the same mistake I did. I married a man who barely got his college degree and ended up a beat cop. You married that white trash who grew up in a Key West trailer.”

A creepy feeling came over her. She recalled what Kevin had said about last night’s chat. “That’s why you told him to get rid of Kevin, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Ladydoc told RG that she wished Kevin were out of her life.”

She hesitated. “I—I didn’t think he’d stab him.”

“He killed Gary. You knew the man’s a killer.”

“Yes, but…”

“That’s why you kept this all to yourself. Even after I was charged with murder, you didn’t go to the police.”

“I swear, I’ve been trying to do the right thing. I tried to lure RG out into the open so you could catch him. I set up a rendezvous with him in the park, and I sent you an e-mail telling you to bring the police with you.”

Peyton recalled the e-mail she’d received a day too late. “Very brave of you, Mother. Everything had to be done behind the scenes. Protecting yourself and your little fantasy world was paramount.”

“I couldn’t go public with this. I didn’t want to hurt your father.”

“Liar. You didn’t care about Dad, you didn’t care about me.”

“That’s not true.

“You didn’t want me to make the same mistake you made. You always said that.”

“Because I love you.”

“Ladydoc wasn’t about love,” Peyton said, her voice shaking.

“Ladydoc was out there to erase my mistake. You became me, and you wanted to be rid of Kevin.”

Their eyes locked in a tense, icy silence. But her mother didn’t deny it.

Peyton rose and started for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To see my husband. And then we’re calling the police.”

“Don’t, please. I have a plan. We can lure him out together. We don’t need the police or your father or Kevin or anyone. We can do it ourselves.” She hurried to the computer, nearly pushing Peyton out of the way. “Look,” she said, typing frantically at the keys, pulling up a file. “I don’t know what he looks like, but he sent me this photo. Maybe it will give us a clue, tell us how to catch him.”

The image appeared on the screen. It was a an old black-and-white photograph of Rudolph Valentino.

Clenched between his teeth was a single long-stemmed red rose.

“The rose,” said Peyton, recalling the one she’d found in the tube outside her locker, and the one Kevin had found outside their front door.

“That’s why he calls himself RG—Rodolfo Guglielmi, Valentino’s real name. Come on, Peyton. We’re the smart ones. We can catch this psycho.”

Peyton stopped and glowered, her expression a mixture of contempt and pathos. “No, Mother.
You’re
the psycho.”

Peyton grabbed her purse and headed for the door.

PEYTON PHONED TONY FROM HER CAR, STILL SHAKEN, BUT DETER-
mined to push forward.

“It was her,” was all she said.

Tony didn’t answer immediately. “I’m sorry.”

“Should I call the police or should you?”

“Before we do anything, we have to come up with a joint strategy. All of us should meet—you, me, Jennifer, Kevin. Is he up to it this morning?”

“I wouldn’t think so. I’ll be at the hospital in ten minutes. I’ll call you.”

“Whatever you do, don’t say anything more to the police till we get this straight among ourselves. I want a unified front that I can take to the district attorney and to Judge Gilhorn for a joint dismissal of all charges against you and Kevin both.”

“But there’s a killer out there.”

“Yes, and from everything we’ve seen, he’s not very eager to get caught. I’m sure he’s lying low after last night’s attack. It won’t jeopardize anything for us to collect our thoughts so that we can not only help the police catch this guy, but at the same time get you and Kevin in the clear. I’m only talking about an hour.”

“It took a lot less than that to stab Kevin in the chest.”

“If you’re that concerned, stay with Kevin in his room. I’ll
call the hospital and make sure they have a guard posted outside the door.”

“I took care of that this morning before I left.”

“Great. Then you have nothing to worry about.”

“Sure,” she said as she steered into the visitor parking lot. “If you say so.”

A car alarm was blasting. For two solid minutes it echoed off the unfinished cement walls of the hospital parking garage. Then it stopped.

Vinnie Skovick looked up from his morning newspaper. As the security guard posted at the ticket booth and entrance gate to the garage, he was doing what he did best—reading the sports section. He finished an article about the Celtics’ hopes for the new season, wiped a few dots of powdered sugar from his dark blue uniform, and walked slowly up the ramp. He was certain it had been just another errant alarm on some doctor’s Porsche, but it was his job to check it out.

To the untrained ear, sounds could be tricky in a parking garage. Vinnie had been a security guard for all of six weeks, however, and he could pinpoint a blasting alarm with impressive accuracy. This one, he guessed, had come from section orange, row two or three. He would have bet his life on it.

The garage was less than half full today, creating a cavernous effect that made the click of his heels reverberate even more loudly, more lonely than usual. He cut through the purple section on his way to the orange. Orange was near the elevators, always the first section to fill. He strolled down row two and saw nothing out of the ordinary. He doubled back on row three, and there he found it. No false alarm this time. Pellets of shattered safety glass were all over the ground between a white van and a Lexus. The driver’s-side window of the sedan had been smashed.

Strange that the alarm had stopped so soon
, thought Vinnie.
He stepped between the parked vehicles and peered inside the Lexus. He’d expected to see a hole in the dashboard where the stereo once was, but it was intact.

Must have grabbed a briefcase.

He reached for his walkie-talkie. His head was hovering in the opening, surrounded on all four sides by the jagged edges of the shattered window. In a split second, he heard the side door of the van slide open, felt a hand on the back of his head as someone grabbed him by the hair. Before he could react, his face was slammed down onto the jagged shards of glass that protruded from the window frame. He groaned, unable to talk for the blood in his mouth, unable to see for the cuts to his eyes. He was only half-conscious as his head snapped back, more hair pulling. A jacket was quickly wrapped around his head, soaking up the blood, cutting off his air supply. His entire body jerked back toward the van, and he was thrown to the floor. He heard the side door slide shut, followed by a voice he didn’t recognize.

“Nothing personal, Skovick.”

His head rolled back. He tried to speak through the blood-soaked jacket, but it was futile, his voice silenced forever by the rope around his neck.

Peyton took the elevator to the surgical floor.

She felt a little better now. Before heading up to Kevin’s room, she’d stopped off at hospital administration to confirm that security was on alert. It had taken her almost twenty minutes to get a personal audience with someone in authority, but the assistant administrator had assured Peyton that they were on top of things. Kevin was doing very well, and they’d moved him from the critical-care ward to a private room that was more easily secured. It wasn’t the hospital’s policy to provide armed guards, but Tony Falcone had agreed to pay an off-duty Boston police officer to stand watch outside Kevin’s door.

Thank you, Tony.

The elevator doors opened, and Peyton stepped out. She was immediately relieved to see a security guard posted right outside the elevator. It was even more than she’d expected. Nice to see the hospital backing up the off-duty police officer with their own security guards.

“Morning,” she said.

As he turned, Peyton caught the guard’s name on the hospital ID badge pinned to his chest:
Skovick
.

“Morning,” said Rudy.

RUDY LOST SIGHT OF HER AS SHE ROUNDED THE CORNER. HE KNEW
exactly where she was headed, having circled the floor twice already. Room 516 was off the beaten track at the end of a quiet corridor. An armed guard was seated outside the closed door. It appeared as though the hospital had selected a room off the main hallway to avoid drawing attention to the fact that a patient was being guarded.

Skovick’s uniform had turned out to be a good fit, and the jacket Rudy had wrapped around Skovick’s face had kept the blood from staining it. Rudy looked authentic, but he wasn’t going to push his luck too long. He gave Peyton just three minutes to get settled inside the room, and then he made his move. With all the confidence of the head of hospital security, he turned away from the elevators and walked down the side corridor.

Straight ahead was the lone guard seated outside Kevin’s room. The uniform was that of the Boston police. Because the officer was alone, Rudy presumed he was moonlighting while off-duty. He looked bored, rocking back on the hind legs of his chair, whistling an unrecognizable tune. Rudy kept one eye on the cop’s firearm as he approached.

“I’ll take over now.”

The cop looked up and said, “Says who?”

“Administration.”

He glanced at Rudy’s belt line, seeming to note the absence of the firearm. “I was told they wanted an armed guard.”

“I guess they changed their mind.”

He gave Rudy a suspicious look. “Let me check this out.”

As the cop reached for his walkie-talkie, Rudy pulled a knife from inside his shirtsleeve, the same one he’d used on Kevin. Before the officer could react, Rudy had the tip of the sharp blade against his jugular.

The officer froze.

In what seemed like one motion, Rudy grabbed the gun from its holster and yanked the man up by the collar. He moved quickly, out of concern that someone might happen by in the hallway. With the gun to the officer’s back, he pushed toward the door.

“Nice and easy,” said Rudy, “we’re going inside.”

Peyton was at Kevin’s bedside when the door opened. She was holding his hand while he slept, the painkillers doing their work. Two men walked in, the officer from outside their door and the security guard right behind him.

“What is it?” asked Peyton.

The door closed and neither man answered. Peyton noticed the gun missing from the officer’s holster. Suddenly the security guard moved his arm, and the gun was aimed at the officer’s head.

“Not another word or the cop is dead.”

She squeezed Kevin’s hand, but he was still out from the drugs.

“Step away from the bed, Peyton. Away from the emergency call button.”

She took two steps backward, staring into his eyes from across the room. She recognized that crazed look, that voice, both from Jamaica Pond and the night Gary was killed.

“What do you want?”

“I came to kill you both.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

He looked right at her, his expression angry but the eyes soulful. “But every time I’m about to give you what you deserve, I can’t do it. Why is that?”

“Because you’re a decent guy,” said the cop, his voice shaking.

“You’re no killer.”

“Shut up, idiot.” He pressed the gun harder against the back of his head.

“Come on, man. I got a four-year-old kid and a pregnant wife.”

“Please,” said Peyton. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, Rodolfo.”

His eyes lit. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you say my name aloud.”

Peyton didn’t know whether to tell him that she wasn’t Ladydoc or to play the role. “It’s a nice name,” she said.

“Don’t stroke me.”

“I’m just being honest.”

“You don’t know how to be honest.”

“That’s not true.”

“You’ll never be honest with me or yourself. Not with
him
around,” he said, indicating Kevin.

“What do you want to know? I’ll be totally honest.”

“Did you mean what you said last night?”

Peyton paused. She’d heard Kevin’s version, but she wasn’t very comfortable with the idea of RG quizzing her about what was said. “What, specifically?”

“Don’t be coy. You said you wanted to be rid of Kevin.”

She didn’t answer.

“Say it again,” he said. “Tell me that you want me to get rid of him.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Come on, Peyton. You made the right decision with Gary Varne.”

“You killed him,” she said, wanting the officer to hear it.

“For us. And now there’s only one more obstacle in our way. Tell me what to do.”

“I want this to stop.”

“It can never stop.”

The thought disgusted her, but Peyton was going to have to play Ladydoc. “Rodolfo, if you love me, put the gun away.”

“Don’t try to manipulate me.”

“Just put it away. We can get you help.”

He laughed mirthlessly. “You think I need help?”

“Yes, I do.”

“You’re the one who needs help. I’ll give you one more chance, Peyton. One
last
chance to make the right decision. Kevin doesn’t deserve you. Just say what you said last night, and he’s out of the way forever.”

“Nobody has to die.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

With the butt of the knife handle, he gave the cop a quick blow to the back of the head. He slumped to the floor, unconscious.

“Stop!” said Peyton.

“Quiet!” He pointed the gun at her from across the room.

Peyton trembled.

“Come over here,” he said. “Handcuff yourself to the guard.”

Peyton crossed the room, and Rudy kept the gun aimed right at her at all times. As she knelt she checked the cop’s breathing and pulse.

“Do it!” he said.

She removed the handcuffs from his belt and joined him at the wrist.

“Sit,” he said.

She took a seat on the floor beside the cop. Rudy quickly moved in behind her and put the knife to her throat. With the other hand he opened the revolver’s chamber and dropped five of the six bullets to the floor. He spun the chamber, Russian-roulette style. Then with the knife still at her throat, he jerked her head
around so that she was looking him in the eye, face-to-face. He placed the barrel of the gun to her head.

“Please don’t,” she said, her voice quaking.

His stare intensified. He jerked the gun away from her head and placed it beneath his chin, pointing toward his own brain.

“Would Kevin do this for you?” he said, then squeezed the trigger.

She braced herself, then started at the sound of the click. He’d fired an empty round.

Rudy pulled the gun away, and spun the chamber again. “Now it’s his turn.” He rose and started toward the bed.

“Don’t,” said Peyton.

“Quiet,” he said sharply. “One more peep out of you, and I swear I’ll keep pulling the trigger till there’s a bullet in Kevin’s head.”

“Don’t be stupid. If that gun goes off, the police will be here in ten seconds. There’s no way out.”

“You’re my way out. I can go anywhere with a hostage.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Yes, you will. You want this as much as I do. You said it last night. You wanted to be rid of Kevin.”

She feared that screaming might get them both killed, but she had to stop this lunatic. She was about to shout for help when she saw something protruding from beneath the cop’s pant leg. It appeared to be a small leather strap just above the ankle, right at the hemline of his pants. Beneath the trousers, she could make out the outline of a holster.

He was wearing an ankle gun.

Rudy held the gun about a foot from Kevin’s face. “Are you watching, Peyton? I want you to watch.”

Peyton edged slowly toward the ankle gun, then in a final quick dive snatched it up and aimed at Rudy.

“Put the gun down!” she shouted.

He held his aim steady at Kevin’s head, smiling thinly. “Are you going to shoot me?”

“If I have to.”

“You think you can drop me in one shot? Because if you don’t, I pull the trigger.”

“Drop the gun, or I’ll shoot!”

“Can you risk it? There’s a one-in-six chance there’s a bullet in the chamber. You deliver anything less than a kill shot, and it will go off. Kevin could be dead.”

She glanced at Kevin, then back at Rudy. She adjusted her aim. She’d studied enough neurology to know that the most likely kill shot was at the bridge of the nose. A direct hit would drop him to the floor, instant death, no reflex action. “Don’t make me do this,” she said.

“You can’t do it.”

“My father was a cop. I’m an excellent shot.”

“But I’m not a jar of cotton balls on the counter at the Haverhill clinic. I’m not one of those black-and-white targets you shot up in the training course when you bought your gun.”

His words were yet more evidence how closely he’d monitored her life. They took her anger up a notch. “I’ll do it, I mean it.”

“You can’t kill me.”

She aimed between his eyes. Rudy stared back, as if challenging her. She had a clear shot, but she felt herself stalling at the final hurdle. It was the fear she’d had when she’d first purchased her gun, the fear she’d articulated to her lawyer after her deposition in the Haverhill clinic lawsuit. She’d devoted her life to healing. She’d never killed any living thing. She didn’t want to be anyone’s executioner.

He moved closer to Kevin and pressed the barrel more firmly to his head. “You can’t kill me, Peyton.”

“Drop the gun right now or you’re dead.”

“You can’t do it.”’

“I will.”

“You won’t. Because you love me.”

With that, she found the power within her.

Rudy’s finger twitched on the trigger, and Peyton reacted. The
whole room seemed to erupt as her gun discharged in a single loud clap. Rudy’s head snapped back, but not before he was able to squeeze off his own shot. It was all one movement, but Peyton could almost see each segment unfolding separately. The bullet smashing through Rudy’s skull. His head jerking back in a crimson explosion. His knees buckling. And through it all, his finger still managing to follow through on the trigger.

“No!”

She lunged forward, only to be tugged back by the handcuffs. The sound ripped through her, the awful click of the gun hammer.

And then she heard it—wonderful silence.

She raised her head from the floor and looked through tears. Rudy was in a bloody heap beside the bed. Kevin was stirring in the bed, unscathed. Rudy had fired an empty chamber.

The door flew open. A nurse screamed, then wheeled and ran back into the hall, shouting for help.

Peyton dug the handcuff key from the officer’s pocket, unlocked herself, and rushed to Kevin’s side. In seconds the panicked nurse was back with a security guard and a doctor.

“What happened?” shouted the guard.

“This crazy guy had a gun!” said Peyton. “He’s dead. Help the downed officer. Blunt trauma to the back of the head.”

As they hurried to the officer, Kevin groaned, rousing from his drug-induced sleep.

Peyton touched his face. “Are you all right?”

His eyes blinked open. The doctor was calling out orders over the injured officer. Kevin looked barely coherent. “Man, it’s noisy as hell in this place.”

She had to chuckle, a release of emotion. “We had an incident.”

“Is it over?”

She glanced at Rudy’s twisted body on the floor. His eyes were still open. A pool of blood had oozed from the gaping wound in his head.

“Yes,” said Peyton. “It’s finally over.”