by Rivers, Mal
Back in the dental room, Ryder was almost beside the chair now.
“What do you intend to achieve from all this?” Ryder said.
“Oh, a little entertainment, I suppose,” Dr Bishop said. “Here is what I suggest. You and I, we aren’t finished. Not yet. You may have banished me to prison, but my influence is still out there. I know all of my patients, and I know which are likely to be dangerous. It’s up to you how things proceed.”
“Why this has anything to do with me at all is beyond logic. If you want to trade information for privileges—ask the authorities.”
“But as you have already stated, I act in chaos. Regardless, I don’t merely wish to exchange names for a deal. That would be dull.”
“Then, what do you want?” Ryder asked.
“I want you to suffer. Tell me, what do you think happens to a very unstable patient when they lose the only support keeping them upright? The honest answer, in most circumstances, is that it’s hard to tell. But when the person supporting them has invoked their mind to do potentially horrendous things, yet kept a barrier there, preventing a collapse—well, one can only imagine what happens when the barrier is no longer there.
“Because I am no longer there for them, those patients will collapse. And one day, who knows, perhaps there will be another Andonian or Guy Lynch out there. And when they hear word of how you took me away from them—well, I don’t imagine you’d be their favorite person in the world.”
Bishop smiled and all I wanted to do was shoot her. Pop one right between the eyes, and see how she collapsed. The threat she was making to Ryder could easily be bogus, but even still, it was unsettling. Hell, it was unsettling for me, seen as I live in the same house. Bogus or not, it was easy to see how her threat held some validity. Any one of her so-called unit could track down her patients.
“There is another way, though,” Dr Bishop continued. “A way you could just be done with this, a way you could instantly claim victory over our little contest—and that is to just kill me here and now. I’d be dead, and you’d exchange places with me in prison, away from all the bad people I associate with.” She emphasized the bad in a peculiar whisper.
Ryder, taken by surprise, backed up a step.
Dr Bishop hissed. “You know what I did to the guard? You could do it now, before the warden comes in and stops you. Right through the eye.” She glared. Like Ryder, she was able to open out just one eye.
The warden, as if he were summoned, entered at that moment. “That’s enough for now.”
“You could still do it now,” Dr Bishop whispered. “Straight through the eye.” Ryder ignored her and turned to the warden, and Dr Bishop smiled. “You can’t, can you? That is the only difference between you and me.”
“If there is a difference between you and I, Dr Bishop, it’s that I would never see fit to compare myself to you.”
The warden came inside and tugged at Ryder’s shoulder. Ryder obeyed and turned.
Dr Bishop raised her voice, saying, “You know, I was curious to see your reaction down in the basement. Indeed, before then, I had to wonder if you feared for Ader’s life. Did you? Perhaps you did, but not as much as you did for your Melissa. Tell me, how did you feel when you realized she longed not for you, but a mere FBI agent? Did it hurt? For someone clearly lacking love in their life, I’m sure it did.”
Ryder stopped momentarily, at the edge of the camera’s view, but did not give her a reply or turn to face her. After she and the warden left, a guard came in and injected Dr Bishop with something, and she became still and quiet.
By the time Ryder returned to the surveillance room, there was a lot of talking going on. Ryder would call it a ruckus; exchanges from more than two parties, with very little coherence. Pretty much everyone wanted her opinion.
“You think she’s telling the truth, or just stirring up dust?” the tall, lazy looking FBI agent said.
“Hard to be sure,” Ryder said. “Call the LA office and have them check over her office again for her patients’ records. That’s about all I can suggest.”
“If it’s true—could cause a shit storm,” the smaller, rounder agent said.
Ryder frowned at the language and continued to look at the taller agent. “I wouldn’t lose sleep over it. She has spent a lifetime of manipulating people, and she will continue to do it as long as she’s alive. I have no intention of letting her rile me.”
The CID agents, who would not name themselves, approached Ryder next. The slick haired one did all the talking. Seen as he wouldn’t name himself, I decided to call him Slick.
Ryder looked at them apologetically. “I fear this was a waste of time for all of us.”
“Perhaps,” Slick said. “We knew it was a long shot anyway.”
“Why the interest now?” I asked. “Surely her unit, or whatever, doesn’t operate inside the army anymore.”
“We’re not interested in the here and now, but there are people from back then that need to be held accountable. They stole some things that—” He paused as the other CID agent tapped his shoulder and shook his head. “Ah, I’ve said too much. Anyway, perhaps she’ll change her mind.”
“Did you ever suspect her back then?” I asked.
“Yes. She was known as Celia Durane. Shortly after the Lee Lynch affair, she and several others left Afghanistan, although, at the time, we didn’t know the reason for it. Not until—certain things were missing. Anyway, they changed their names and appearance. They were clever at erasing a trail. Durane created the Bishop identity and evaded us all this time. Of course, we let Guy Lynch slip right through our fingers and changed his name for him, but what can you do. We had no evidence against him, and seen as he was testifying against his brother, who said nothing against anyone, there was little choice.”
“Yet you did nothing when news got around about the Cross Cutter murders?”
“That’s not true, but I don’t have time to argue.” He looked at Ryder. “Thank you for the cooperation. I wish Huntington had seen this through. You saved three people just like he saved you back then. I’m not sure what you’d call that.”
Ryder gave a quiet grunt and said, “Phlegmatic.”
We left, despite being bombarded with more questions from the psychiatrist and Dr Kruch.
We walked in silence to the Lexus.
Before I got in, I asked, “Do you think that was true—about Lynch coming to California to be near you?”
“If it was, he was in two minds about it.”
“How so?”
“Because he continued to kill. Not only that, he added something to his process—the hanging.”
I paused and said, “Why is that relevant?”
“Because, at least in his mind, it was an improvement. Remember what led me to nearly catching him twelve years ago?”
“You mean, the rigor on the bodies not making sense?”
“Yes. This time around, he sought to remedy that, by avoiding flat surfaces and hanging his victims. It was probably in his mind, but even so, it still suggests a part of him still didn’t want to be caught.”
“So, yet another psychological angle helped solve the case.”
“Hardly,” she said flatly.
I got inside and when I started the ignition, I said, “FYI, I was out of the room when Dr Bishop said those things about Melissa, so my feelings aren’t hurt none.”
“Pah. Just drive.”
42
A week passed, as did the brooding atmosphere of the beach house.
Ryder was back to taking appointments, cooking dinner, admiring the seahorses, and we had heard nothing since from Dr Bishop, nor had anything come of her threats, aside from the matter of Zeus Higgings still being unaccounted for. Apparently, Dr Bishop’s patient records were nowhere to be found at either her practice, or in the evidence lock-up, which only managed to spread more rumors about the possibility of Dr Bishop having corrupt officers under her thumb.
Ryder didn’t seem too worried about it.
She gave Dr Bishop credit, and suggested that she probably removed such information before planning to flee the country. Either way, Ryder had convinced herself Dr Bishop’s bark was just that, a bark, with no threat at all. A last ditch effort to try to rile her, and it had failed.
We received a visit the other day. I happened to walk in on it. I tell you, it made me jump. I walked into the office to see Erik Cristescu seated, talking with Ryder. I’d almost pulled my gun before Ryder reassured me. Apparently, Cristescu wanted to assure her he had nothing at all to do with Andonian’s operation, and had even less to do with any threats or grievance against Ryder. I won’t say it was a friendly chat, but it was relatively informal and relaxed. It ended with Cristescu handing out a friendly warning, that although he wished no harm to Ryder for sending him to prison, that he doubted he could tolerate a replay of such events. Ryder had very little to say to that, other than, “No doubt.”
Not long after, we also received a letter in the post from Guy Lynch himself. It was a cracker. A message from beyond the grave. I never thought I’d see one in my lifetime. Ryder opened it and read it aloud to me:
Dear Miss Ryder
Writing this is a little difficult, considering I have no idea in what circumstances you will be reading it. I am confident you will have discovered the truth. However, if this first paragraph confuses you somewhat, you will find a more detailed explanation of the crimes committed by several people hidden in my office, behind the cabinet.
With that said, I fully expect that to be unnecessary, and that I am no longer alive to tell the tale. I am sending this by a remailing service, so unless I am unable to revert the delivery by some means, the chances are that I am unable to do so because I am now dead, which is the end result I expect and desire. The reason for this letter is to point out the intention of my actions.
I suppose it would be ghoulish of me to apologize for what happened twelve years ago. It is more than likely that had things been different, I could very well have been in a position to kill you that day. I expect no sympathy. I did what I did for gain at first, but I eventually found myself enjoying what I did. I tried to run from it after what happened, but sometimes something cuts into you deep and constantly stays with you, much like a scar.
I find it likely you won’t understand why I continued to kill innocent people for Andonian. I didn’t understand myself for a time. So much of my life was spent as an underling that I guess I just naturally discerned it was the thing to do to survive. But I’ve had enough now. I can still hear Celia Durane’s orders in my head. It’s like a haunting, constant voice, yet at the same time, oddly reassuring.
I did consider doing things the simple way, but I couldn’t be sure of the outcome. If I had gone to the authorities, there was a chance they would have missed the magnitude of events. If I had come to you directly, I couldn’t be sure you would respond the way I wanted, you might, quite rightly, decide to hand me over to the police without hearing me out. I couldn’t let that happen, so I devised a simple way to gently lead you toward the truth, so that you alone would follow the bread crumbs I laid out. The actor I’ve hired should fool most people, but with the instructions I gave him, I expect you will have fathomed his purpose early on. I admit I could make it easier by making him wear different clothes to the ones I expect to die in, but I have always worn the same set of suits throughout this incarnation of ‘Guy Lynch’s’ life. Please, after this is over, reward him. You will find his address attached below.
Of course, aside from Andonian’s activity, and that of his friends, I can’t possibly know if you have discovered everything, such as Celia Durane’s (currently Cassandra Bishop) actions. She is a formidable person, and the only way to penetrate such intelligence was to appear clueless to her intentions. She assumed for years that I had no idea as to her whereabouts, yet it was all too clear to me she was the only one who could control someone like Andonian.
I can only hope you came to realize this and acted accordingly. I couldn’t really expose her position without betraying subtlety.
In truth, I could have killed her myself, but that would ignore not only the whole picture, but leave the truth untold.
With that, I have little else to say. I only hope, with time, you appreciate what I did. If not, at least appreciate the truth I offered to you.
P.S
I’m sorry for using your friend, Melissa, in such a way.
Ryder tucked the letter and envelope away in her drawer.
I said, “Guess he didn’t figure on the actor getting killed.” I snorted. “He was a nut, clearly. How on earth could he have expected you to guess it wasn’t him at your office, all thanks to suit pocket flaps and a business card?”
Ryder coupled her hands. “I think it’s likely that Ulrich, the actor, had been given different instructions altogether. Yet, when he found himself being hassled by Andonian, he was unsettled when he saw me that morning. When he said he was being followed, he meant it, but those were not his instructions. He got muddled between the job he’d been hired to do, and his own safety. But, you are right. Who knows where we would have been if Guy Lynch’s idiotic scheme had failed.”
She slammed her drawer shut, then looked out the window.
Regarding Kacie; she has recovered and moved back into her own home as of yesterday. I talked to her briefly on the phone the other day and she wanted me to thank Ryder. I told her to do it in person, though. If you think someone saved your life, you should be able to tell them to their face, even if you have taken away something they love. Which isn’t technically true, I don’t think. Melissa is still with us. I’ll be totally honest, I have no idea what’s going on there. Given my scorecard with such a subject, I wouldn’t expect you to take my word as gospel. If Ryder did have affection for anyone, it would be Melissa, but I have to wonder if she’s even remotely capable of such a thing. She saved Melissa from prison some years ago, so I would assume Melissa has affection for her too. Perhaps the feeling Melissa has for Kacie is different, and is something Ryder would never be able to give her. I don’t know. I’m still shocked Ryder is the type to gawk at nubile young women as opposed to hulky hunks. That’s about as sensitive as my thoughts will penetrate. Not that I’m disappointed or anything. Ryder and I already argue, live together and go for weeks without talking. It would seem somewhat of a null step for us to ever get involved.
I suppose it’s also quite amusing that Ryder has now saved both Melissa’s life and Kacie’s. Not entirely sure what that means. Seems like a nice trump card to have in a love triangle.
As for me, well, it’s the same old shower of menial duties. A week will go by, and in that period I will have achieved the square root of nothing, watching Ryder sit at her desk, reading a book and admiring the seahorses.
Yet, I still wouldn’t change it for anything. Not while she still cooks as brilliantly as she does.
It’s 11PM, and Ryder is going for her nightly visit to the pier. I have, for whatever reason, been invited. We leave by the front door, and bid goodnight to Melissa.
“You haven’t got your rod,” I said.
“I don’t plan to use one,” she said, nodding behind me. “Ader—”
I locked the door.
