Don't Look In (Gus Young Thrillers Book 1)

by Tom Saric

  I lifted the scrapbook, made some room on the counter, and then put it down. I quickly flipped through the pages. They were filled with writing from front to back, some sort of journal. I began leafing through more slowly and stopped at an entry. My fingers trembled as I scanned the page.

  Gustav Young DOB November 2, 1963

  Harvard Medicine class of '87

  North Eastern Institute of Psychoanalysis - left in 2016/17 - dismissed due to gambling addiction

  Investigated in 2015 by College of Physicians

  Married Meghan Siegel, divorced 2016

  Schedule:

  My schedule was scribbled in calendar format over months. It outlined my office hours, the times I went fishing and hunting. It included when I went for dinner in Bangor with an old colleague, when I went to visit my mother in the home. It had itinerary-level details of my spring vacation to Vienna.

  I flipped the pages frantically. Newspaper clippings and photographs were glued to some of the pages. Other pages were dedicated to my musical and food preferences. The information spanned fifty pages. One of my annual evaluations from the institute was stapled to the next page, with a phrase highlighted and circled:

  Excellent Memory - superb integration of information

  The next five pages were about Sheila Gustafson, her divorce, her home address, her hobbies and friends.

  There were ten pages on Wanda. Details about the men who visited, her relationship with Joe, the bars she frequented, newspaper columns written about her testimony in Randy's trial.

  I flipped the page.

  Karen Young

  I scanned down. Doug had compiled information about Karen. He outlined her academic history, he had her address, he knew jogging routes. I scanned to the bottom. My stomach felt hollow.

  Pregnant.

  Footsteps on the front stairs. Keys jangled. I shut off my headlamp, closed the notebook and put it in the drawer, and tried to press the drawer front back on. I glided to the bathroom as the front door opened and keys dropped onto the counter.

  I stepped into the bathtub, grabbed onto the window frame, and pulled myself up. My foot slipped and knocked a bottle of shampoo off the edge, sending it rattling into the tub.

  "Who's there?" It was Doug.

  I scrambled out of the window, flipping over and landing hard on my knees. Footsteps pounded through the house and the front door squeaked open. I got to my feet and limped toward the woods, fifty feet away.

  I made it to the edge of the woods as a flashlight swept across me.

  "Hey you!"

  I didn't turn around. I just kept running into the woods. The flashlight approached as I ran deeper and deeper into the forest, stumbling over roots and dead fall. As I turned hard left, my footing gave way and I rolled down a hill, coming to a stop beside a fallen pine.

  I looked up. The light was flashing at the top of the hill, so Doug hadn't spotted me yet. I slid underneath the pine branches so that I was mostly obscured and tried to catch my breath. Only then did I realize I left the gun by Doug’s trailer.

  Light appeared, methodically scanning left to right, then up and down and back again. Boots ground against the rocky hillside. Branches popped and cracked nearby. In the dark I had trouble locating the sound.

  "Where are you?"

  I held my breath, trying to stay motionless. I reached for my cell phone, but had a second thought. Even the slightest bit of light could be seen in this dark.

  I heard a car engine. Bright light illuminated the forest at the top of the hill. Then I heard the footsteps recede and a car door open and shut.

  I slid out from under the tree and checked my phone. No service. There was another hill ahead with a small clearing where I hoped to connect to a tower. I plodded up the hill, holding my phone high until I saw two bars. I dialed Renee's number.

  "Renee, it's me. Are you with Karen?"

  "Yes, but—" There was static on the receiver. She came back on and whispered, "I'm not sure she wants to talk to you right now."

  "That's okay, I can't blame her."

  "Gus? Gus, you're-cut-ing-out."

  I backed up a few steps. "Better now?"

  "Better."

  "I need you to take Karen somewhere out of town. I think she's in danger."

  "In d--ger?"

  "Yes, take her to a hotel in Portland. I will meet you there as soon as I can."

  The call dropped. I tried to call back, but it wouldn't connect. I had to hope that Renee heard my message.

  I walked in circles at the top of the hill, holding my phone up until one bar appeared, then dialed Debbie Parks's number.

  "Hello, Deputy Parks here."

  "It's Gus Young."

  "Oh." There was silence, and I couldn't tell if I was losing the connection.

  "Are you there?"

  "I'm here."

  "Debbie, I'm going to give you a name. You need to look into him for the murder of Ned Gamble."

  Silence.

  "Are you there?"

  "Are you saying that you think you know who killed Mr. Gamble?"

  "Yes."

  "And how do you know that?"

  I promised Doug secrecy, but only with the understanding that no one else was at risk. Seeing the notebook changed things. Although Karen seemed safe with Renee, I couldn't be sure.

  "He told me."

  "Someone confessed to you?"

  "Yes."

  My phone buzzed twice with a message from Sheila.

  Sheriff on his way to your house. They have a search warrant.

  I stared at the screen. That explained the distance in Debbie's voice. All evidence pointed to me, and at the final hour I was calling to tell them that a patient of mine confessed to the murder. I couldn't blame her for her skepticism.

  "Where are you now, Gus?"

  I began wondering what surveillance capabilities Debbie and Ernie had. If I stayed on the line, would they eventually be able to track me down? If they found me, I would be placed in a holding cell; it could be hours or days before I was questioned. And Karen would still be out there.

  "I can't tell you right now."

  "Gus, I need to-"

  "Kurt Boone. He killed Wanda and Ned. He's coming for me. You need to find him."

  I hung up.

  Kurt couldn't let Robert die peacefully. He'd taken that away from Maddie.

  He pressed Robert's neck against the mattress and held the gun to his head.

  He heard a metallic click behind him and turned around.

  Robert’s mother stood fifteen feet away, the barrel of a shotgun pointed at him.

  "Let my boy die the way God wants it."

  Kurt squeezed the gun grip, leaving his finger touching the trigger. He wanted to look Robert in the eye as life drained from him the way Robert had done to Maddie. Robert had turned her against him. Robert had destroyed everything Kurt had worked so hard to create. They had molded Madeline to be just the way they wanted, but Robert shattered it all.

  But the boy would die anyway. Kurt had seen his own mother die of cancer, writhing in pain until the very last moment. Shooting him would be merciful. It would only ease Robert's suffering. The boy didn't deserve that.

  Kurt released his grip on Robert's neck and raised his hands as he turned around.

  "You can put that gun there on that nightstand," she said, keeping the shotgun pointed at him. "Go on."

  Kurt spit on Robert's face before placing the gun down. He adjusted his jacket and swept his arms down his sleeves before walking out of the room. He took several steps down the hall before something that Robert said struck him. He paused before turning around.

  "I just want to know one thing. A shrink told you something?"

  22

  As soon as I got back to my truck, I connected my phone to the Bluetooth. I hadn't figured out a plan on how to find Doug, but I knew what I had to do next. I punched in the number and let it dial as I pulled back onto the road.

  Sheila answered my c
all and immediately asked whether I had received her text message about the search warrant.

  "Yeah, I saw it. Thanks for the heads up."

  "Where are you now?"

  "I'd rather not give specifics. But I know who killed Ned. Doug did."

  "The new guy?"

  "Yup. I think he killed Wanda too. I think both murders were because he was trying to frame me."

  "Why on earth would he do that?"

  "I'm not sure. But he is connected to a former patient of mine."

  "How did you find that out?"

  "He came to my house while I was having dinner. He told me that a man named Robert killed his daughter. The name stuck with me so I found it in a file." I explained how I had broken into Doug's trailer and found the detailed journal about me.

  "What did the sheriff say?"

  "I told them Doug confessed to killing Ned. But I don't think they believed me. I think they're convinced I had something to do with it."

  "Ernie will hear you out. He's a good man."

  "I think we're past that point, Sheila."

  The sheriffs would see the gun safe and the rounds matching the Lee-Enfield in my basement. That, along with surveillance footage, would be more than enough to arrest me. I needed evidence to link Doug to the murders.

  "I need a favor."

  "Shoot."

  "Robert Di Santis died about a year ago. I found an obituary online. I need to find his next of kin. And I can't go home right now."

  As I drove past the Irvine, I checked my gas tank and saw that I had enough for another hundred miles.

  "Spell the name."

  I spelled it and said, "I think he lived in upstate New York or New Hampshire."

  Sheila hummed into the phone. "Got it, I think."

  I swerved onto the shoulder and pulled a pen from the cupholder. I couldn't find a piece of paper, so I grabbed an empty paper coffee cup and wrote on the side of it.

  "There's a Jina Di Santis in Vermont. Jina is spelled with a J, just like the obituary." She read out the phone number and address.

  "That's great."

  "You think she’s the one?"

  "I'll try."

  I switched to the other line, and once the phone began ringing, I merged Sheila onto the call. "Stay quiet," I said.

  A woman answered.

  "Hi. I'm looking for Robert Di Santis."

  A smoker's throat cleared. "I'm sorry. He died a while ago."

  Click.

  "I'd say we have a match," Sheila said. "I guess that's your next stop?"

  "Yes," I said, making a U-turn and heading toward the highway for Vermont. I estimated the drive would take two and a half hours if I gunned it.

  "Sheila, Doug had notes on both you and Karen. I sent Karen along with Renee."

  "That woman you've been seeing?"

  I paused. I hadn't told Sheila anything about Renee.

  "Word gets around, Gus. But by all accounts she's a lovely lady. Even the quilting ladies are fond of her."

  "I'm just getting to know her. But I sent her to a hotel near Portland with Karen. I want you to go and meet them there. I'm not sure it’s safe in-"

  "I think I can handle my-"

  "Please, Sheila. Just until I get back."

  "Okay. Sure."

  I read her Renee's number. "And Sheila, they don't know anything about this. So can you keep it quiet?"

  "My specialty."

  Newport was half an hour inside Vermont's state lines, and Jina Di Santis's house was another fifteen minutes further. As I crossed New Hampshire and entered Vermont, the rain started. The radio had been warning that the remnants of the Carolina hurricane were heading north. The wind picked up and shook my truck, so I had to grip the wheel with two hands. As the rain fell harder, I turned my wipers all the way up.

  Another call came through. It was Ernie Weagle.

  "Hi, Gus. Just following up on your call with Deputy Parks."

  "I thought you were busy searching my house." I paused, but he stayed silent. "Thought someone from your office would've told me."

  "The warrant wasn't signed off when she spoke to you. But they're at your place now. Listen, I went to talk to Mr. Steele."

  I said nothing. I wanted him to speak.

  "He has an alibi. I was able to check it out."

  "For Ned?"

  "Actually, he has one for both murders," he said. "I just wanted to let you know. Courtesy."

  "Thanks." I hung up and pressed my palms into the steering wheel.

  Ten minutes later, I was driving up a winding byway to Jina Di Santis's house. It was quaint and had a cottage feel, with a couple of neatly trimmed birches growing on the front lawn next to a decorative well. The rain was coming down in sheets, slapping against the grass. I realized that Jina Di Santis wasn't going to just let me in. I was a stranger showing up at her place unannounced at midnight during a storm. Even country hospitality had its limits.

  I got out of the truck, and before I reached the front door, I was already dripping wet. Faint light was coming from the window. I made it to the front door, rain beating against my head and back.

  There was no answer when I knocked, so I hammered on the door again. I thought I heard footsteps inside.

  "Mrs. Di Santis, if you're in there, I just need to talk to you."

  Rain pounded the ground like a snare drum.

  "I need to talk to you. I am not here to hurt you. My name is Gus Young, I'm a psychiatrist and I knew-"

  The porch light turned on and the door opened.

  "Wet night." A woman who looked to be in her late fifties stood behind the open door. Her hair was in rollers and she wore a beige housecoat. She still had mascara on, and blush on her cheeks. She struck me as one of those ladies who didn't go outside after washing her hair because she thought she'd get a cold.

  "Jina Di Santis?" I said.

  "That's me."

  "My name is Gus Young. I knew your son Robert."

  She nodded. "I always wondered if you'd show up. Come in."

  I walked into the house and took off my shoes. The place was so clean it sparkled. The carpets in the living room looked freshly cleaned and the vinyl floors in the entryway shimmered. Cinnamon lingered in the air. A cross was fixed on the entryway wall and a print of Da Vinci's “Last Supper” hung over the dining room table. She led me through a hallway past the kitchen and into a sunroom with windows facing the forest in the back.

  She pointed me to the microfiber sofa with a crocheted throw over the backrest. Hooked rugs hung everywhere. A fire crackled inside the wood stove. A collection of plates and vases were lined up on a shelf next to it.

  "Would you like a tea or water, Doctor?"

  "I'm fine, thank you."

  She left the room and returned holding a frame. She flipped it around and showed me Robert's graduation photo.

  "Handsome boy, don't you think?"

  I smiled. "It's how I remember him."

  "A very nice boy. Always helping."

  "You must miss him."

  "Oh, very much so." She smiled in a detached way, as though she only partly meant it.

  "How did he die?"

  "Leukemia." She took a sip of tea. "Non-Hodgkin's. The bad kind."

  "Was he sick for long?"

  "Many months. He sort of... wasted away. There wasn't much the doctors could do."

  "Do you have other children?"

  She shook her head. "Only Robert."

  Jina had the sort of distant approach to grief I saw infrequently. Either in denial, or so religious that she saw death as a blessing, as though it truly wasn't goodbye, only “see you later.” I noted three crosses on my way in, so my money was on the latter option.

  "Where is he buried?"

  She shook her head. "He's not." She pointed toward the plates on the wall. Between the decorative vases was a porcelain jar that I realized was an urn.

  "I wasn't able to part with it yet. So it stays. So when people come, you know."


  I didn't exactly know. But I assumed she meant that if people wanted to pay their respects to a bowl of ashes they could.

  "You said that you wondered if I would come by?"

  "Well, that man kept coming back, three times I think, after Robert died. Wanting to know who you were."

  "Who I was?"

  She nodded.

  "Was his name Kurt?"

  "Kurt Boone, yes."

  "Boone."

  "Yes."

  "Did he say why he wanted to talk to me?"

  "He wasn't the sort of person I wanted to have much of a conversation with. I assumed it was something to do with what he and Robert talked about before he died."

  "Wait. Kurt Boone was here with Robert?"

  "Oh yes. Robert was insistent that he meet Mr. Boone before he died."

  "Robert invited him? How come?"

  She shrugged. "They spoke in private."

  "You know nothing?"

  She gave me a sympathetic look. "Robert valued his privacy."

  "Oh come on, Jina. Robert insists on meeting Mr. Boone and then Boone comes back after Robert dies looking for me? And you don't ask any questions?"

  "I'm so sorry, Doctor. Robert wanted to tell him something. He said he needed to “clear things up” before he died. It's important, at least in my faith, to make peace before the Lord takes you home. I just assumed Mr. Boone wanted to ask you questions."

  "About what?"

  She shrugged.

  "About what happened to his daughter?"

  She looked at me doe-eyed, as though she knew nothing about it.

  "Oh you can knock off the act, Jina. Boone told me that Robert killed his daughter. That's why he called Boone, isn't it? And somehow Boone got my name out of this.”

  She shook her head slowly. "Robert would never hurt anyone." Her nostrils flared. "And when did you talk to Mr. Boone?"

  "Long story. Let's just say he killed some people to try to get to me."

  Her eyes twitched. "He's killed someone?"

  I nodded. "I need to know everything you know about him. He's trying to frame me; I need to understand why."

  Jina took a long, deep, stuttering breath and ran her hands nervously along the sides of the picture frame. "I didn't like that man. For years he kept coming by."