“I need you to think back to Friday night after I left. What did you do?”
She screwed up her face and worried her lower lip as she forced herself to recall the details he’d requested.
“I locked the door behind you. I still haven’t gotten the damn thing fixed …” She looked away. No sense dredging up unpleasant memories. This was bad enough as it was. “I tidied up, made myself a sandwich, and then did some research on the Harvester.” She lifted her chin belligerently. “I thought I might try my hand at a background story about him now that he’s struck again—he has struck again, right? You were going to a crime scene …”
“Yes, we found a fourth victim.”
“Well, I thought it might help me get back into Sloan’s good graces, but it’ll take more than the sketchy background information I found online to do that. You guys are playing your cards pretty close to the chest on this one. I made some notes on what I knew about Lucy and what I remembered from the apartment. I was first on scene. That should give me the leverage to get this story …” She stopped. Damn, that was four days ago. Someone else was on it now. Hopefully it was Abel and not Tina.
“The murder made the front page on Saturday, but Faye, no one knows you were there. We kept your name out of it.”
“Why? I have firsthand information.”
“It’s because of that. I’m trying to protect you here,” he said, his frustration obvious as he ran his hand through his hair. “What else did you do Friday night?”
Faye huffed out a breath. Screwed again. “Not that it’s really any of your business, but I tossed Mary’s name and information into the file along with the other stuff I’d found on missing women with similarities to hers, saved what I had to a USB drive, and took the computer into the office to plug it in. I went to bed.” She stopped talking and stared at the wall in front of her as other memories came to her. “I had a vicious nightmare in the middle of the night, got up, and polished off the last quarter of that bottle of whiskey. I went back to bed, and I guess I eventually fell asleep. The alarm went off at the usual time. I put laundry in to wash … My sheets! Four days? They’re going to smell all skunky, and they were my best ones—the Egyptian cotton ones we bought—they’ll be ruined.”
“Don’t worry about the damn sheets. I’ll buy you a dozen sets. As far as your computer goes, it was trashed, and all your porcelain dolls were broken. The techs haven’t found a USB drive. I assume you tucked it inside one of the dolls’ cloth bodies?”
She nodded. All her beautiful dolls smashed? Tears trickled down her cheeks. They’d been her last link to Grandma and the childhood she’d lost. She swallowed her dismay.
“What was on it?”
“Nothing special. Just the stuff I got from the Internet about the Harvester and his victims. I’d made a comparison chart and added Mary’s info to one sheet. I still don’t believe she’s pregnant.” She sniffled. “There was something about the victims’ pictures that bothered me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Too much whiskey I guess.”
“She’s definitely pregnant—about six months. NYPD got confirmation from her gynecologist. What did you do after you started the laundry?”
Faye took a few moments to let the news about Mary sink in. Pregnant? Her friend who swore she didn’t want to have anything to do with her feminine side was going to be a mother? She shook her head, which caused the pain to increase. She lifted her right hand and rubbed her temple, trying to ease the ache.
“Okay. Let’s see. I made coffee, showered, filed the story from my Friday assignment—the engagement tea I covered in Wellesley—and told Sloan I was taking some time off. I’d just sent Tina some information on a story I had to turn over to her when there was a knock at the door. It was only a quarter to eight. I thought it was you with your usual two-hour window. I went to the door … there was a flower … I don’t remember anything else.” She shivered. “I assume you think it’s the same guy who killed Lucy. How did he figure out where I lived? All he had on the tape was my name and cell number.”
She could see the guilt written on Rob’s face. He looked down at the floor. What on earth does he have to feel guilty about?
“We’re working on the theory he may have targeted you, had possibly been following you for a while. Lucy Green wanted to tell you something that may have forced him to change his schedule. He waited for a chance to get you alone and took it.”
“Targeted me? You think I have a stalker? A stalker who may have killed Lucy Green because she wanted to talk to me? Give me a break. Who’d even know that? I’m old news. I haven’t written anything in the least bit controversial in months—nothing Lucy would know about—nothing important since … you know.”
Rob moved away from the bed and over to the window. “Before I give you any more information, I need to know something else. Did you have a guy over after I left last night?”
Faye felt the color suffuse her cheeks, and fury filled her. How dare he! “Yeah,” she bit off the word. “I invited the whole frigging crew of the USS Constitution over, and we had a hell of a party. It’s what I do when one of my friends gets murdered.”
“Son of a bitch, Faye,” he said, the angry words exploding from his mouth and startling her. “Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be. Did you have a man over last night or not?”
“Not, damn you, no!” Faye shouted in response. “There’s no one in my life. I haven’t been with anyone since we broke up. Now tell me, what the hell is going on?”
Chapter Eight
Before Rob could answer, the door opened, and an Asian woman in a lab coat entered. Faye immediately recognized Vivian Chong. Among other things, she was the leading neonatal expert in Boston. Before she’d been demoted, Faye had considered doing a story on the woman who was rewriting health care for women. Why was one of the city’s premiere doctors on her case?
“Well, hello there!” The doctor’s voice was warm and friendly. “I’m Dr. Vivian Chong. Nice to finally meet you, Ms. Lewis. How are you feeling?”
Faye smiled weakly at the doctor. “I ache all over. Please call me Faye.”
“Considering what you’ve been through, I’m not surprised. How’s the head?”
“Sore. I’ve got a bitch of a headache. Any chance I can get some quality pain meds and then blow this joint?”
“Well, at least you haven’t lost your sense of humor.” The doctor turned to Rob. “I suggest you go down to the lounge and clean up. Your partner dropped off clean clothes a couple of hours ago. He didn’t disturb you because you’d finally fallen asleep. What’s that? About twelve hours in four days? Impressive—even I need more than that. I’ve ordered soup and toast, and it should be up in about thirty minutes. Now, scram. I need to examine my patient.”
“You’re the boss,” Rob said, obviously relieved he wouldn’t have to answer her question. She frowned. This was a new Rob, a vulnerable man she’d never seen before, and as angry as he’d made her, Faye found this side of him intriguing.
Dr. Chong drew the curtains at the window before approaching the side of the bed. “Sorry it took me so long to get up here. How much has he told you?”
“Not much. He said I was attacked and drugged. I’m sore, and apparently I’ve lost four days, but I don’t see any bruises, so … what did he use? Something virulent? Even I know this isn’t your run-of-the-mill hospital room.”
“Nothing like that. He injected you with a combination of drugs, none of which on their own is necessarily deadly, but combined as they were, they could’ve had serious consequences. This is our new ICU isolation room. It’s one of four we added after 9-11. It’s easier to protect you in here. There are two police officers guarding the room.”
Faye took a deep breath. Nothing made sense. “I’m under police guard? Did the guy who attacked me intend to kill me? Do they think he’ll come back to finish the job?” It wouldn’t be the first time she had a target on her back—Mahoney had stabbed her, after all—but why? What h
ad she done to anger someone so badly that he’d not only attack her but kill Lucy? Her reporter senses tingled. What weren’t they telling her? “What’s going on? First Rob says I may have a stalker and then asks an incredibly personal question …”
“Did you answer his question?”
“About having a man over? Yes.”
“And did you?”
“No! Since when has my sex life become the story of the day? I haven’t even dated since I ended the engagement with Rob. That was over a year ago.”
“Then you’re not going to be happy to know you had sex Saturday morning.”
Faye felt what little color she had left drain from her face.
“Go to hell. There’s no way I had consensual sex. Are you telling me I was raped?” Saying the word revolted her. Disbelief raced through her, followed by fury. “The bastard killed an innocent woman, broke into my apartment, trashed the place, and raped me?” Her breathing was shallow and rapid.
“Calm down, Faye. I know this is a terrible shock, but everything will be fine. Rob said you’re on birth-control pills …”
“I’m not! I haven’t taken them since we broke up. The ones in my medicine cabinet are left over from last year. I stopped taking them when we cancelled our engagement.” Mortified, tears filled her eyes. “Oh God, and Rob knows about this?”
“Yes. He found you and suspected you’d been sexually assaulted. He asked for a specific drug test and a rape kit. I probably wouldn’t have done either had he not insisted. Now that you’re awake and have given us the answers we need, we have evidence that will help the police catch the man who did this.”
Faye fought to center herself. Rob said the man was the one who’d killed Lucy—a man who might have been stalking her for some time. Why had Rob suspected she’d been raped? Had Lucy Green been violated, too? The thought nauseated her.
“Man? The bastard who did this isn’t a man; he’s a monster. Did Rob explain why he thought I’d been …” She couldn’t utter the ugly word again.
“Apparently, you were in bed naked ...”
“That would do it.” She should be furious at Rob for ordering the kit, but the fact that he’d been right appeased some of Faye’s anger, or at least redirected it toward the monster who’d done the deed. The DNA from the semen they’d recovered could be the only way they’d catch this guy.
“Why don’t I remember it? How can I not remember it?” Imagining herself at some man’s mercy terrified her. Damn it. She was in control of herself, of her destiny. “You said he drugged me? Is that why I don’t remember?”
“Yes.”
After Dr. Chong explained about scopolamine, Faye didn’t feel any better. Knowing the man had used her sexually left her humiliated, but realizing he’d taken her right to choose away from her, subjugated her to his will as if she were some mindless zombie, increased her sense of defilement. He’d not only violated her, he’d raped her mind.
“Rape isn’t a sexual crime. It’s a brutal crime of power and dominance. You must remember you were in no way a willing participant or responsible for this cowardly attack. The drug may have made you compliant, which is why there weren’t any obvious signs of trauma, but just because you weren’t able to fight back doesn’t mean you consented to his actions. What he did was wrong, and when they catch him—and they will—he’ll be punished for his actions.”
Faye let the tears run unheeded down her cheeks. She knew what the punishment for rape was: fifteen years. She prayed they’d get the bastard for Lucy’s murder, too. The sentence for that was life without parole. She felt dirty; her skin crawled at the idea of the monster’s hands on her.
“The effects of any kind of rape can be traumatic, but no two victims react the same way. Your upbringing and personality will play a significant role in how you process this. Expect your emotions to run the gamut. You’ll cry, you’ll rage, or you may withdraw into yourself, but you won’t escape the fear, and there isn’t anything I can give you to make that go away. Drug-assisted sexual assault victims like yourself also have to deal with shock, confusion, and shame, emotions I’m sure you’re feeling right now, but remember, as I said before, you are in no way responsible for what happened. I’ll send Jenny in with a morning-after pill for you and a strong analgesic for your headache. I ordered one earlier but cancelled it when Rob mentioned the birth-control pills.”
“I could be pregnant?” Can this possibly get any worse? She stared at the doctor, certain her face was a mask of the horror she felt.
“I know you want to believe this isn’t happening, but unfortunately, it’s all too real. But contrary to what most people think,” she added, the sympathy on her face almost more than Faye could handle, “it takes about five days from the time you have intercourse until you conceive. It’s been four. The morning-after pill prevents the ovary from releasing the egg until the sperm is no longer viable. It works eighty-five percent of the time. It’s better than nothing. Since I don’t know your cycle, I don’t know if it was a fertile period for you or not. Let’s think positively. The chance you’ll get pregnant is a slight one.”
The doctor took out a penlight, made sure it worked, and then asked Faye to look at her. She shone the light back and forth across Faye’s eyes. “Let me explain what happened after the violation. His little cocktail almost killed you.”
Faye swiped at the tears on her face. There wasn’t a shelf in hell suitable for this bastard.
“An overdose?” Knowledge was power. The more she knew about what had happened to her, the better she’d be able to cope with the horror of it. Dr. Chong had said she’d be emotional. Right now she was filled with an eerie calmness that chilled her.
“The inhaled scopolamine interacted with the alcohol in your blood stream, and the heavy dose of a mixture of alprazolam, a depressant, and thiopentone, an anesthetic, put you in a coma. The bad taste in your mouth is from what we’ve used to counteract his drugs. We don’t know if he intended to kill you or if he just intended to keep you drugged until he could come back for you. Personally, I think he was planning on coming back. If he’d wanted you dead, you would be. This man knows his pharmaceuticals.”
“When can I leave here?” Faye asked, wanting to be alone, to get away and think things through.
“I have to run some tests, but you can probably go later tonight or tomorrow morning. Your blood pressure was very low, and while it’s up now, we need to stabilize it. I’m assuming the police will want to keep you in protective custody—the man who attacked you won’t be happy he’s been foiled. You’re still in danger.”
The intercom sounded. “Excuse me, Dr. Chong. You’re needed in the ER. They’ve got an infant who’s bleeding profusely from a circumcision.”
“I’m on my way,” Vivian Chong replied.
Faye stared at the closed door, absorbing everything she’d been told. Not remembering the physical rape made owning it difficult, but she was horrified at the thought she’d lost herself—who and what she was—that way. He—no, not him, his drugs—had stripped away her very essence … to do what? Rape her? Search her apartment? Destroy her things? Visions of her beautiful antique dolls smashed on the floor brought a fresh wave of tears.
According to Rob, Lucy Green’s killer and the man who’d raped Faye were the same person. Why had the man killed Lucy? Why hadn’t he drugged her and simply asked for whatever he wanted? Had he only ransacked the apartment as a means of confusing the police? He’d killed Lucy because she’d wanted to talk to Faye, but how would he have known that? Rob believed the man had been watching her, but what if the man had been watching Lucy? What if it was about Mary? Mary was missing. What if he was looking for her and thought her mother knew something?
The door buzzed, and Rob entered. He’d shaved, showered, and tried to comb his hair into some semblance of a style, but it was obvious he’d run his fingers through it already. He wore a deep-blue polo shirt, jeans, and leather loafers, and he carried a bag from an upscale boutique. Despit
e the confusion and frustration she felt, Faye was curious to know what was in the bag. Any kind of distraction would help until she could wrap her mind around what had happened to her and why. She had questions that he might be able to answer, but right now, she needed to take a step back.
“What have you got there?”
“I sent Gomez, one of the other agents working on the case, shopping for you. I thought you might like something to wear other than the lovely, stylish hospital fashions you’ve been sporting the last few days.” He handed her the bag. “You’ll find face cream, a compact, and lip gloss in there along with the personal stuff we recovered from your purse. The nurse says you can take off the rest of the gizmos attached to you and take a shower in there.” He indicated the door on the far side of the room.
“Agent? Since when do you have agents at the Boston PD?”
“Since we started working with the FBI on the Harvester case.”
Faye’s breath caught in her throat.
“Are you telling me that somehow the Harvester is involved in Lucy Green’s murder and my attack? How?”
“That’s the million-dollar question. I have a theory. Want to hear it?”
Reporter persona firmly in place, Faye sat up straighter. “Yes, I do.” The shower could wait.
• • •
“That’s three games to two,” Rob said. “Care for a rematch?”
Faye shook her head. “No, you skunked me the last time. Let my wounded dignity heal first.”
“Whatever you say.” He collected the cards and put away the cribbage board. “I’m sure you’ll have lots of chances to whip my ass in the safe house.”
“I really don’t know why I can’t just go home and have the police watch me there.”
After he’d explained his theory, they’d avoided talking about the attack and anything personal. Clark would probably have his ass for involving a victim this deeply in the investigation, but while she’d been skeptical, questioning him on a number of points, at least she’d listened. Her insight could be invaluable.
The White Carnation Page 10
