by James Hayman
McCabe didn’t answer for a few seconds, then finally said, “Tucker’s uncle, the rich lawyer, said he’d, quote, make arrangements for him.”
“Arrangements? What kind of arrangements?”
“He said something about placing him in a supervised group living facility but I don’t really know what he means by that.”
“Why can’t he just take Tucker into his own home and hire a private caregiver like we did for Granny? He’s certainly got the money for it.”
“Honest answer? I don’t think he really gives a crap about his nephew. A group facility relieves him of any responsibility.”
Zoe shook her head. “I may try staying in touch with him. Visiting occasionally if I can.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“I’m not either. But he’s such a helpless being, and now, with Tyler gone, he’s got no one at all who really cares for him.”
“Think carefully before you get involved.”
Zoe nodded. “I will. Now what was it you wanted to talk about?”
“I wanted to get a sense of what you’re planning to do going forward after all this. Or if you even know yet. I also wanted you to know that if you decide to make a major change in your life as a result of what you’ve gone through, you might want to think about moving to Portland. It’s a great little city even in winter, and you might find living there, even if just for a while, and having Maggie and me nearby as support, majorly therapeutic.”
Zoe smiled and got up and kissed McCabe on his cheek. “Thank you, Uncle Mike. But I don’t think that’s what I want.”
She sat back down again and sipped at her wine. “My first instinct after Bradshaw’s death and after I got back here was that I had to totally change everything in my life. How and where I lived. How I wanted to spend my life. And mostly about whether I’d be able to walk onto a stage and face an audience again. The idea of performing in front of an audience, especially in risky kinds of roles like Nora in Wave, let alone Desdemona, and not knowing what kind of sick voyeur might be sitting out there in the dark watching and fantasizing about me like Bradshaw did . . . The idea of it totally creeps me out. And it’s going to take a long time for me to get over it. I’m sure that some level of fear that something like this might happen again will never go away. And that did make me wonder if I should stop acting. Maybe leave the theater altogether. Do something totally different with my life. And yes, maybe even live somewhere totally different like Portland or California or wherever.
“But the more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that I couldn’t let the fear of there being more sick people like Tyler Bradshaw out there in the dark dictate how I was going to live my life. I just couldn’t do it. I know it’s going to be hard and I know I’m going to be looking at the audience and seeing them in a whole different way than I ever have before. I know there will be times when I’ll be terrified of who might be out there. Plotting and planning. But I’ve dreamt of being an actress since I was a really little kid. Like five years old. I’ve worked hard at it. Studied hard. And I think I’m really good at it. Hell, I know I’m good. And now, just when I’m getting to the point where, thanks to someone like Randall Carter, I might be on the edge of a major career breakthrough, I’m simply not going to let a sick and terribly damaged person like Tyler Bradshaw take it all away.”
“Are you going to date Randall Carter? He implied to us that he was interested in doing that.”
“No. I’m not going to date Randall Carter or anyone else. At least not for a while. But I’ll jump at the chance me to play Desdemona when the show goes uptown. If he still wants me to.”
McCabe nodded, hoping Zoe could stick to this resolution. “At the very least I think you should move to a new apartment.”
“I’m planning to. What happened to Annie because of Bradshaw’s fixation on me makes me want to cry every time I think about it. I’ll never get over that. And I’m going to start seeing my old therapist again. On a regular basis. I always liked her, and Dad said he’d pay for it. Still, it’s going to take me a while to get over everything else that happened. If I ever do.”
McCabe nodded. “I think you will. In fact, I’m sure you will. We McCabes have always been a tough bunch. And the fact you’re not letting the trauma of what you went through destroy the life you’ve always wanted proves it. Still, if and when it ever starts feeling like it’s too much, Maggie and I will always be there for you. Think of us and of Portland as your escape hatch.”
“Thank you, Uncle Michael. What you did for me. Finding me. Rescuing me. How smart you were about not charging in screaming and yelling and shooting like cops always do in the movies . . . well, that probably saved my life. I can’t tell you how much it will always mean to me.”
“Thank you, Zoe. There’s one other thing I wanted to share with you. We just got the results of Bradshaw’s autopsy. They examined his brain, and it turns out that he had a severe case of CTE.”
Zoe looked at McCabe questioningly.
“The letters stand for chronic traumatic encephalopathy. Brain damage caused by repeated concussions like you told me Bradshaw suffered at the hands of his father. It leads to the kind of symptoms he exhibited. Violent mood swings, uncontrollable rage, depression and other cognitive difficulties. Same thing football players get from being banged on the head too much. The damage to Bradshaw’s brain was about as severe as the docs had ever seen in someone as young as Bradshaw, except maybe for that football player who murdered a couple of people and then killed himself.”
“Aaron Hernandez?”
“Yes. Hernandez. And in Tyler’s case it was almost certainly caused by the way his father abused him. Punching him in the face over and over again year after year. And then finally tossing him headfirst into the swimming pool and causing a very serious concussion.”
“Interesting.”
“In what way?”
“Remember at the end when you heard me tell Bradshaw I loved him? Just before he died?”
“Yes.”
“And I told you I was just a good actress? Well, I wasn’t totally acting. Not that I really loved him. But for some reason I wanted the last thing he heard to be that maybe I did.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know for sure. But I sensed, in the time I was there, that in spite of his rages and the terrible things he did to me, that maybe in his own weird way he did love me, and that was the reason he chose to kill himself instead of killing me.”
“Well, if he hadn’t done it that way after what he put you through, there’s a damned good chance I would have done it for him.”
“I know. I could see it in your eyes. And I’m glad you didn’t have to. I really believe that underneath, if Tyler hadn’t been so tortured as a child, he might have turned out okay. Maybe even been a good and decent person.”
“You can never know that.”
“I think I do.”
Zoe’s phone buzzed. She took it from her pocket and looked at the screen. “Hi there. Hold on a minute,” she said into the phone. “Uncle Mike, I wonder if you’d mind letting me take this call privately?”
“Not at all.” McCabe bent down to give his niece a kiss. And then left the room.
“Hi Randall,” she said when he was gone. “So nice to hear from you.”
THE END
Acknowledgments
As always there are a number of people to whom I owe thanks for their help in writing this book. Portland, Maine Detective Sergeant (Ret) Tom Joyce who has earned my gratitude time and again for providing frequent and willing answers to my many questions about police procedures. The details I get right are due to Tom and any unintended lapses in accuracy are entirely my own fault.
Thanks also to nurse/anesthetist Maureen Furlong for her advice on what drugs Tyler should use use to knock Zoe out. And to my old friend Dr. Robert Zeff for describing the appropriate medical procedures for Rose McCabe’s last moments of life. To my early readers Kate Su
llivan Nichols, Sonia Robertson and my wife Jeanne for their thoughtful comments and suggestions.
TAs always I owe thanks to my agents extraordinaire, Meg Ruley and Rebecca Scherer of the Jane Rotrosen Agency in New York and to my editor, Emily Krump from Harper Collins, and Assistant Editor Julia Elliott, for their many perceptive and helpful suggestions, all of which made this book better.
While many places in this book are real such as the NYPD 7th Precinct at 17 ½ Pitt Street and Montefiore Medical Center in the Bronx, the interior details of both have been altered to fit my narrative. And many other locations like the McArthur/Weinstein Community Theater and Joey Boyle’s bar are totally figments of my imagination.
And finally I think it’s only fair to thank the people who created Google for making writers’ research so much easier than it was in the old days before the Internet.
About the Author
James Hayman, formerly creative director at one of New York’s largest advertising agencies, is the author of the acclaimed McCabe and Savage Thriller series: The Cutting, The Chill of Night, Darkness First, The Girl in the Glass, The Girl on The Bridge, and A Fatal Obsession.
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Also by James Hayman
The Cutting
The Chill of the Night
Darkness First
The Girl in the Glass
The Girl on the Bridge
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A Fatal Obsession. Copyright © 2018 by James Hayman. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins Publishers. For information, address HarperCollins Publishers, 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007.
Digital Edition AUGUST 2018 ISBN: 978-0-06-287667-8
Print Edition ISBN: 978-0-06-287669-0
Cover design by Nadine Badalaty
Cover photographs © rmirro/iStock/Getty Images (foggy road); © driftlessstudio/iStock/Getty Images (house)
WITNESS logo and WITNESS IMPULSE are trademarks of HarperCollins Publishers in the United States of America.
HarperCollins is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Publishers in the United States of America and other countries.
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