by Brenda Novak
“Come on, come on,” she muttered, eyeing the phone. Why hadn’t Amarok checked in with her? She was starting to get a headache.
She took some medication to fend it off. That enabled her to work a bit longer. But after another thirty minutes the phone still hadn’t rung—and when she tried calling Amarok at the trooper post his voice mail came on.
With a sigh, she got up to stretch her legs. The weather seemed to be taking a turn for the worse, which made her think that the big storm they were expecting tomorrow might be a bit early. Or maybe not. It was nearly midnight. She supposed that meant that the storm was right on time. It was Amarok who was late, and waiting for him meant she wouldn’t be able to get to his place on her own.…
Patting her cheeks to revive her flagging energy, she returned to her desk. As concerned as she was growing at Amarok’s long absence, there were a lot of legitimate reasons he could be delayed. It didn’t shorten the wait or do any good to pace and worry. She figured she might as well push through her fatigue and continue viewing the recordings of Fitzpatrick’s most recent sessions.
But when she clicked on the next file, she noticed something odd. The recording didn’t seem new. She’d viewed it before. It was from right after they opened Hanover House, when they were all carefully watching one another for training and critiquing purposes, or she probably wouldn’t have remembered it.
How strange. That couldn’t be. The date on the file indicated it was taken five days ago.
She closed out of it to be sure, checked the file name and brought the footage up again. Maybe she was so fatigued she couldn’t trust her brain. It wasn’t as if the background on the tapes varied by a great margin. And Fitzpatrick’s voice did tend to drone on.…
When he mispronounced an inmate’s last name and the inmate corrected him, however, it felt like déjà vu. She recognized him saying that name in exactly the same way. Besides, he would have to know the proper pronunciations of his patients’ names by now. He’d been meeting with most of them for three months.…
“This is from our first week,” she mumbled, her pulse spiking. Fitzpatrick must’ve deleted this file and replaced it with a copy of the earlier session so he’d have something taking up that storage space. She was pretty sure he never expected anyone to look. Even if someone did, whoever it was would likely never realize the file was a duplicate, not unless he or she started at the very beginning and sifted through all the files, which would take forever.
She’d almost missed it, hadn’t she?
What was he trying to hide?
She opened more of his files. Several of those with a recent date had been replaced with sessions from November, too.
Why?
The obvious answer made her sick. He was doing something in these sessions he shouldn’t, and yet he pretended to care so much about their work, about what they’d created with Hanover House.
“You bastard.” She searched back to find out how long this had been going on, but when she reached January 3 there was no file at all. It had been deleted without another one uploaded to replace it—until she tried again a few minutes later. Then a file was there—the same duplicate session where he mispronounced the inmate’s name.
Fitzpatrick was replacing the files right now, she realized. He was out there, somewhere, trying to cover his tracks. So he couldn’t be on a plane. He had to have access to a computer and an Internet connection.
“Damn you!” she cried. “I bet you’re at home. You just won’t pick up the phone.”
She wished she could lock him out of their database, but her boss was the only one who could change the password—a safety precaution they’d decided to engage in case one of the team grew angry and tried to lock out all the others.
Evelyn clicked on a few more links, hoping to get ahead of him, but he was working too fast.
Switching over to her e-mail system, she sent him an instant message. How can you be such a complete fraud?
She guessed he wouldn’t write back. But she was wrong. After only a short delay, his answer appeared.
We all have needs.
I trusted you. And you’ve destroyed everything.
You think I’m not disappointed?
You have only yourself to blame!
For wanting more than work to fill my life?
I never promised you more than a chance to further your research.
You don’t know what you’re missing, how devoted I would have been to you. Maybe I don’t look like your young trooper, but I would’ve loved you better—and much longer.
Much longer … He was striking at the heart of her insecurities where Amarok was concerned, but she was determined not to react to that.
You don’t know how to like someone, let alone offer more. What are you trying to hide by deleting all the videos of your sessions?
There was a long delay. Then he wrote: Since they’re gone now, I guess you’ll never know.
That’s where you’re wrong.
She smiled when a question mark popped up in his response space. He’d never been particularly savvy when it came to technology. She’d had to teach him how to use their patient software, convince him that it was more convenient to pay his bills online and help him set up a Facebook page to keep in touch with his extended family back in the Lower 48. She was astonished he’d been able to figure out how to delete, copy and replace files, but that was pretty easy.
These computers are routinely backed up, she wrote. I have the password. I can access the cloud. Which was exactly what she did. It didn’t take her ten minutes, since she knew the dates of the files she most wanted to view.
She wasn’t feeling so smug a few minutes later, however. What she saw when she called them up turned her stomach. Hugo was being shown pictures of her face with some other woman’s body—a woman with the biggest breasts Evelyn had ever seen—who was using a dildo, or performing oral sex or touching herself.…
Evelyn turned it off; she couldn’t make herself watch any more.
How dare you! she wrote.
When he didn’t send a reply, she figured that was it. She’d once been so grateful for him, so grateful that he’d been willing to lend her his support. Now she couldn’t believe she’d put up with him and his prickly personality for the past five years. Why? For this? For the sick way he’d used her image in those sessions with Hugo?
Even if Amarok could catch Lorraine and Danielle’s killer, Evelyn wasn’t sure she’d be able to rise from the ashes. What was her boss going to say when she returned to the states next Wednesday? When she learned that two Hanover House COs had been pimping out a female member of the staff? That Fitzpatrick had been creating pornographic pictures of her and showing them to Hugo and possibly other inmates?
Evelyn had had enough nasty surprises in the past week to last a lifetime. But she got another one when Fitzpatrick’s next message arrived. The two words he sent didn’t formulate the apology he owed her or the angry retort she’d expected in its place. But they were a little disquieting: hugo’s out
It wasn’t like Fitzpatrick not to use punctuation, and without a period or question mark she couldn’t tell if he was making a statement or asking a question. Either way, how did he know Hugo wasn’t in the hospital? Had he called over there? Or was someone at Hanover House keeping him informed?
If Fitzpatrick wasn’t going to be involved in Hanover House any longer, why would he care? It seemed odd that he’d address Hugo’s situation in the middle of the night, especially when he’d just learned that she was able to view the video footage he’d been trying to hide.
She was about to ask what he meant when one more word appeared.
Then her disquiet gave way to bone-chilling fear.
help
Again, he hadn’t used his customary punctuation, but that was what made it so damn believable.
* * *
Evelyn wasn’t about to try to drive her BMW into town. Thanks to the weather, she’d never get beyond the prison.
But someone had to check on Fitzpatrick. If he was really in danger, she couldn’t sit idly by no matter what he’d done or how she felt about him. So when she couldn’t get him to respond to any more instant messages or pick up his phone, and she couldn’t reach Amarok, she knew she had to track down a more reliable vehicle before leaving the prison grounds.
After bundling up in the snowsuit she’d worn over her clothes when she came to work today, she braced against the snow and wind and ran to her car. She’d left her gun under the seat the day she moved out of her cabin.
Once she was assured her GLOCK was loaded and resting on top of the seat where it was more accessible, she started her Beamer to get the defroster working while she used the shovel in her trunk to dig out the wheels. The wind had blown snow onto her car despite the parking cover. The drifts were especially deep since she hadn’t moved her car for a while, which meant she also had to clear the windshield. She had to be able to see well enough to drive around the prison and find a member of the grounds crew. There wouldn’t be many working this late. Those who were would be busy in this mess. But she needed to borrow a truck—one with a shovel on it.
She watched for headlights as she unburied her car. She was hoping Amarok would come. But she wasn’t optimistic she’d be able to spot his vehicle even if he did turn in at the entrance—not from where she was and with so much snow whipping around.
Maybe it would be better to go it alone, anyway, she told herself. She was the one who’d pioneered Hanover House. She was the reason both Hugo and Fitzpatrick were in Alaska. It wasn’t fair to expect Amarok or anyone else to risk life and limb to clean up the mess HH was turning out to be.
While she worked, the thought crossed her mind—as it had several times—that this could be a trick. If Fitzpatrick had killed Lorraine and Danielle, he could be luring her out to his place, intending to do the same to her. That would give him the last laugh, let him go out with a bang—which could be exactly what he was after. He had to be mortified that she knew what he’d been doing, that she’d seen evidence of it. He’d essentially ruined his career, so he didn’t have much to lose. The resulting despair could make him very dangerous.
But she kept imagining him at the mercy of someone who’d murdered fifteen people, someone who hated him, and couldn’t pretend she hadn’t received that cry for help. If Hugo had made his way back to Hilltop, it wouldn’t be hard to learn where Fitzpatrick lived. Pretty much everyone in town could provide that information, and they wouldn’t hesitate if Hugo had a weapon.
She had to respond to Fitzpatrick’s plea, but she wouldn’t go unprepared—for the weather or what she might find once she arrived.
Although she was soon out of breath and her head was pounding, despite the two ibuprofen she’d swallowed earlier, she refused to ease up. Timing could be critical. Even with all her effort, it required more than ten minutes to get the job done.
As soon as she felt she might be able to get out of her parking space, she threw the shovel and scraper in her trunk, put the Beamer in reverse and punched the gas pedal, hoping to barrel through or go over whatever snow might still be in her way.
The car spun out, but she drove forward and then back, this time giving the motor even more gas, and managed to reach the main section where the plows kept it fairly clear.
“That’s it; here we go,” she muttered, but the roads were so slick she was afraid she’d crash into half a dozen cars before reaching the lot outlet. She could feel her tires struggling for traction as she drove.
Come on.… Making sure the windshield wipers were set on high, she hunched over and peered through the storm as best she could. A little property damage, if she caused it, was preferable to a murder. She wouldn’t allow Fitzpatrick or anyone else to be harmed by Hugo or the other psychopaths she’d had brought here.
Hopefully Hugo hadn’t been able to make it this far. She couldn’t imagine anyone picking him up, but she supposed he could’ve stolen some clothes and a truck. Enough time had elapsed since he escaped that he could’ve reached Hilltop if he did get transportation, and that was reason enough. She had to act simply because the possibility existed. A human life could hang in the balance.…
And if Hugo wasn’t there? If Fitzpatrick was lying in wait?
She’d use her gun to defend herself. She didn’t like the idea of having to resort to violence, but if she was going into this situation despite the danger she wouldn’t have the luxury of being timid or squeamish. She’d always promised herself that if she ever came up against another predator like Jasper she’d do whatever it took to kill him before he could kill her—and she meant it.
Progress was slow, even though the perimeter road had been plowed more recently than the parking lot. But when she reached the far side of the institution, she saw yellow lights flashing through the falling snow. That had to be one of the plows.
She turned her headlights off and on, trying to signal the driver, and was grateful when he stopped.
As he climbed out to see what was going on, she grabbed her purse and her gun and met him in the middle of the road. “I need to use your truck!” she shouted above the gale-force winds.
“What?” he called back.
“Dr. Fitzpatrick could be in trouble! I have to reach him!”
“I can’t let you drive off with prison property! I have work to do. We’re in the middle of a storm!”
“This prison, and that truck, wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for me. Would you rather someone be killed?”
His face was too sheltered to be able to ascertain his reaction, but after another reluctant pause, during which she was fairly certain he’d noticed her gun, he waved her on, and she left her car for him to drive back to the sally port. She wasn’t sure what he would do while she was gone since he wouldn’t be able to clear. But, at this point, it didn’t matter. Reaching Fitzpatrick’s house was the priority.
Fortunately, the truck was in four-wheel drive and the switch that raised and lowered the shovel was obvious. She raised it, for the time being. The roads on-site were cleared well enough that she could make quicker progress without trying to plow.
Once she drove out of the prison, however, it would be an entirely different story.
28
I have always wondered myself why I don’t feel more remorse.
—JEFFREY DAHMER, THE MILWAUKEE CANNIBAL
Despite his heavy coat, boots and hat, Amarok was numb with cold. He’d come upon a car accident while trying to get back to the prison. Fortunately, no one had been seriously injured, but he’d had to tow the vehicles off the road so they wouldn’t be a danger to anyone else and deliver the people inside those vehicles to safety.
It’d been a long day, and now he was worried about Evelyn. He’d stopped to call, to let her know why he was running late, but that call had gone to the HH message center. He hoped she’d just fallen asleep in her office and that she hadn’t tried to drive herself home.…
When he reached the prison he asked the tower guard if Evelyn had left, but the officer stationed there said he was covering another guy’s break and had barely come on. So Amarok drove inside to check her parking space—and found the stall empty.
“Damn it!” He hadn’t seen her along the road. Had she somehow managed to reach his place in spite of the blizzard?
He almost turned around and went after her. But then he decided to go in and see what time she’d left. He thought he’d also try to reach her at his house. Maybe she’d pick up.
Leaving his truck under the portico, he jogged around to the entrance and was greeted by two COs—Pellier and Levine—as soon as he walked in. “’Lo, Sergeant.”
Amarok stamped the snow off his frozen feet. “Hey.”
“What are you doing out so late—and in this?” Levine asked. “Don’t tell me there’s been another murder.”
“No,” Amarok replied. “I’m looking for Dr. Talbot. Have you seen her?”
Levine turned to Pellier. “How long
ago was it that she came through here?”
Pellier ran a thick, callused finger over his chin. “I’d say it’s been … forty minutes or so.”
“Do you have any idea where she went?” Amarok asked.
“Home, I would think,” Pellier replied. “Considering the weather, she’d be crazy to go anywhere else.”
“Wherever it was, she seemed to be in a hurry,” Levine added with a whistle.
She was probably irritated that he hadn’t come back for her. “Is there a phone I can use?”
“Of course.” Pellier took him into a small guard station, where he dialed his own number. But there was no answer at the house, which led him to believe she was still in transit.
He called her house, too, just to be sure she hadn’t gone there, but didn’t achieve any better results.
“Thanks!” he called out as he left. Then he jumped in his truck and, as soon as he turned out of Hanover House, drove very slowly, hoping to come upon her little Beamer.
* * *
When Evelyn saw the light through the trees, she couldn’t believe she’d made it clear across town. She never would’ve been able to do that, not without the shovel on the truck she’d borrowed. It didn’t seem as if Phil had been out at all, clearing the streets. She’d barely crept along the entire way, and once she’d turned down the long drive that wound around to Fitzpatrick’s cabin it was even worse. She almost got stuck twice, despite having four-wheel drive.
Fortunately, all of that was behind her now. She’d arrived at last. Although it was too dark and stormy to see much detail, if she stopped in the right spot she could make out a faint glow through the trees. She wondered if it could be headlights but didn’t think so.
What am I going to find here?
She hoped it wasn’t Fitzpatrick’s dead body. But she also hoped he wasn’t lying in wait—for her.
Did he possess the kind of rage required to do what had been done to Lorraine and Danielle?
If so, he cloaked it well.
After parking down the hill—she felt it wouldn’t be wise to announce her arrival—she trudged on foot the last hundred yards. The snow was so deep in places it came up to her thighs, making her grateful for her snowsuit. She was cold enough as it was.
