“Where are you now?”
“In a cabin. Palmer’s cabin.”
“He has a cabin?”
“Yes. He’s letting me stay the night and says he’ll come and pick me up in the morning and take me back to my car. I feel like such an idiot for getting lost.”
“I’m just glad you’re okay,” James said. Then, almost as an afterthought, “How’d you reach him if your phone was dead?”
“I had a few minutes left,” she explained. “I would’ve called you instead, but it would’ve taken you hours to get here, and then you’d have had to call Search & Rescue anyway, and I couldn’t face the humiliation.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad he rescued you. I’m fucking relieved. But this has to stop.”
Kate shook her head. “What does?”
“I found the police files, Kate.”
“You went through my stuff?”
“You left them all over the living room. How could I not see them? And how sick are those pictures? This isn’t you, Kate. It’s that detective guy. I can’t believe he sent you those disgusting things.”
“He didn’t send them, James. I asked for them.”
“Seriously? Why?”
“Because there’s a possibility that Blackwood didn’t kill Savannah.”
James sighed loudly. “Didn’t we unpack this already? If the guy was innocent… if there was any proof of his innocence at all, the governor would’ve stayed the execution.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Look, I’m sorry I went through your stuff, okay? I shouldn’t have done that. But, Kate… do you think this is healthy? What’s the end game? I mean, let’s say Dyson is right. Let’s assume there’s a serial killer out there. What are you going to do—play Nancy Drew?”
Kate buried her face in her hands. She wanted to tell James about Stigler, but she couldn’t betray Palmer again. “You make it sound like a bad thing, that I want to know definitively who killed my sister.”
“We know who killed your sister.”
“But I’m beginning to think maybe Blackwood was telling the truth.”
“Then let the police handle it.”
“But that’s the whole problem,” she protested. “The police aren’t handling it.”
“Maybe because it’s not true?” James practically shouted. “Maybe it’s bullshit? Maybe Dyson wants to play the hero? You said the medical examiner didn’t agree with him, right? I mean, if this is for real, shouldn’t the police and the media be all over this?”
“Don’t you think I’ve wondered the same thing myself?”
“Come on, Kate. Whatever you think you’re doing, it’s dangerous. Not only does it freak me out that this guy is pulling you into his orbit, but you’ve been hallucinating again.”
She felt a sudden disconnect, as if a plug had been pulled. “That’s because of the migraines. We talked about this…”
“Kate, just send those files back. End it.”
She closed her eyes. “I’m exhausted. Can we talk in the morning?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” She hung up.
48
THE UPSTAIRS BEDROOM CONTAINED a lot of books. Kate changed the sheets on the bed and perused the oak bookshelves. There were biographies of FBI agents and serial killers, textbooks on forensic psychiatry and criminalistics, maps and travel guides to New Hampshire, and plenty of true-crime nonfiction. It also looked as if Palmer had collected all the published works of William Stigler, PhD. There were dozens of scientific journals with his name highlighted in the contents, research papers with titles such as “The Impact of Family Dysfunction on Adult Psychopathology.”
Kate took a few of the journals back to bed with her, and as she was settling in, she noticed a stack of books on Palmer’s bedside table. She picked up an old hardback with Dr. Holley’s name on the cover, entitled Grandiose Times at Godwin Valley: A Psychiatrist’s Life in an Asylum. The chapters were named Patient A, Patient B, Patient C, and so on. “Patient J” was highlighted in yellow, and the corresponding page was folded down in the corner. Kate propped the book in her lap and started to read.
Patient J had grown up in a sleepy New Hampshire town, where she was raised by a distant mother and a fawning father who’d molested her at an early age. This caused “J” to become a sexually dysfunctional adult who slept with dozens of men, before finally settling down and marrying a stable breadwinner in good standing within the community. However, one year after the wedding, she cheated on her husband. There were many infidelities after that, and the marriage began to fall apart.
Patient J came to the asylum showing symptoms of a psychotic depression. During her analysis with Dr. Holley, they were able to get to the root of her trauma (an abusive father) and expose her habit of treating every man she met as a potential father-substitute. The author went on to discuss various aspects of her treatment, including medication and drug interactions, as well as talk therapy, which gradually assisted her return to a more rational state of mind.
“As we delved deeper into her background and it was revealed how her father’s abuse had shaped her life, Patient J trusted me enough to confide that one of her children was the product of an affair. I recognized immediately that her guilt over this sad reality had triggered her psychosis. Worse, her husband had no idea the child wasn’t his. Patient J’s infidelity and its consequences had a profound effect on her psyche, and we spent our time at the asylum trying to repair the damage. Her choice was simple: either confess her secret to her husband, or learn to live with it. She decided, for the child’s sake, to keep it hidden.”
Kate’s heart began to thunder in her chest as years of confusion fell away. Savannah didn’t look like anybody on Bram’s side of the family. The Wolfes were tall, pale-skinned, dark-haired, and blue- or brown-eyed, whereas Savannah was a tiny thing with golden hair, mermaid-green eyes, freckles, and a widow’s peak, which contributed to her mischievous appearance.
Kate herself mostly took after their mother’s side of the family, but she’d also inherited some of Bram’s physical attributes: his left-handedness; the ability to curl her tongue; a crooked pinkie finger; his straight nose. Savannah didn’t have any of these traits. Of the two of them, Savannah was the genetic anomaly.
Another thing. When Bram took the girls to visit Julia’s grave, they always brought a trashbag to clear away old bouquets of roses from the headstone. Who had left them there? Their presence was never explained.
Kate recalled how beautiful Julia was. Men would stare at her everywhere she went—the grocery store, the gas station, strolling along Main Street. Her mother not only welcomed the attention, she craved it. She would often stop to flirt with complete strangers, which embarrassed Kate. And her parents used to throw parties when she was very young, full of drunken adults dancing to The Bangles and U2, until Bram grew tired of Julia’s flirtatious behavior and put an end to them.
From the second she met Maddie Ward, Kate had been struck by the resemblance to her sister. Had Julia slept with Henry Blackwood? Was it possible? What did it mean?
If Henry Blackwood was Savannah’s father, did Bram know about it? Or had Julia managed to keep it hidden from him? Did William Stigler know? Was he jealous? Had he killed Kate’s mother in a fit of jealousy and rage? And then, six years later, buried Savannah alive in Blackwood’s backyard as vicious payback? Could anyone be so depraved? Was Professor William Stigler capable of such madness?
49
THE PALEST LIGHT. DAWN. Dripping icicles. Kate woke up in a strange room and almost panicked before realizing where she was. It was 6 AM. She put the journals and Holley’s book away, took a shower, got dressed, and went downstairs, where she made a pot of coffee and waited for Palmer to arrive.
Brilliant sunshine was pouring into the kitchen through the old-fashioned windows. It was going to be a beautiful day. Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock at the door.
Palmer’s hair wa
s peppered with silver and his eyes were bloodshot. There were deep worry lines on his face she hadn’t noticed before. “Morning,” he said with a smile. “How’d you sleep?”
“Like the dead.”
“You ready?”
She picked up her bag and handed him the cabin keys.
As they drove to Kirkland Road, Kate confessed, “I think I’m seeing things.”
Palmer cocked his head. “Would you like to talk about it?”
“I watched my mother go crazy. One day, I came home from school, and she was hacking away at our hedges with a band saw.” She shrugged. “You grow up believing that this person you love will always be there for you. But then one day, she looks at you with cold eyes, and you realize she’s a complete stranger. And you may never get her back.”
“I’m sorry you had to deal with that,” Palmer said.
“Sometimes it feels like I’m going crazy.” Kate pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’ve been seeing my dead sister lately. I know it’s just a symptom of my migraines—they cause visual hallucinations sometimes, when combined with stress. But that’s how I got lost yesterday. I was chasing a ghost through the woods.”
“You’ve been seeing your sister?”
Kate nodded. “James blames you.”
Palmer frowned. “Why?”
“He saw the files you sent me. He thinks it’s unhealthy. He told me to let the police handle it.” She sighed heavily. “But don’t worry. He doesn’t know about Stigler.”
“Thanks for keeping it confidential. I appreciate that.”
She gave Palmer a plaintive look. “But I need to see this through. Or I’ll always be afraid.”
“What are you afraid of?” he asked.
“That I killed my sister by leaving her alone in that cabin.” Tears sprang to her eyes. She nodded slowly. “Everybody tells me it wasn’t my fault. They’ve been saying it for years. But it’s a lie. Because it was my fault. I took her there. I should’ve paid more attention. I should’ve never left her alone.”
“Do you think she would blame you?”
Kate blinked. “Savannah?”
“Do you think she would want you to live in fear forever?”
“No. She never blamed anyone for anything.”
“But deep down, you don’t believe that yet. And until you can square it with yourself, you’ll always have this fear.”
“So you’re saying I should put the blame where it belongs.”
Palmer nodded. “Stigler.”
Kate tried to regain her composure. “Okay, look. If there’s one thing I understand, it’s mental illness. If you think Stigler is a psychopathic killer, I can help you catch him. I did a two-year residency at McLean Hospital, where I worked with violent juvenile psychotics. I have the training and the experience.”
Palmer released a soft exhalation that wasn’t quite a breath. “It’ll have to wait I’m afraid. I’m going away for a while.”
“What for? When?”
“Remember I told you about the medical clinic in Mexico? I’m flying down to Tijuana today. Eight therapy sessions over the course of two weeks.” He glanced over at her. “The Mexican doctors have shared some impressive statistics with me.”
Kate had read about foreign clinics that preyed on vulnerable cancer patients. “Are you sure the procedure is viable?”
“Believe me, I wouldn’t be going through with it if I thought it was a scam. This place is legit, with a good rate of remission. Don’t worry about me. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said, not wanting to undermine the hope in his eyes. “Just get well. Focus on your health.” Then another thought occurred to her. “What about Stigler?” she asked. “You told me he wouldn’t come after me—but what if he finds out you’re gone?”
“Nobody knows I’m leaving the country except for you, my ex-wife, and a couple of buddies down at the station. Stigler thinks I have eyes all over the place.” Palmer dug his hand into his pocket and took out a small blue flashdrive, still keeping his eyes on the road. “Hold onto this for me, okay?”
Kate stared at the flashdrive in her hand. “What is it?”
“It’s got everything on it, all my years of research. It connects all the dots. Just in case.”
“In case what?”
“Just in case anything happens to me.”
She shuddered. “Please don’t say that.”
“If it does, I want you to give this to Cody Dunmeyer, my old partner, now Chief Dunmeyer. He’ll know what to do with it. But I’ll be back in two weeks, ready to nail this guy. I’ve been thinking a lot about how to proceed, and I’ve got a plan. I can’t share it with you yet, but trust me… you’re going to be okay.”
She gave a reluctant nod.
They pulled up behind Kate’s car and Palmer put the vehicle in park, then turned in his seat, his expression serious.
“I should give you my emergency contacts,” he said.
Kate handed him her phone, staring out of the passenger window at the woods while he programmed in the information. Strange to think how sinister they’d seemed the night before. Eventually Palmer returned her phone, grinning apologetically.
“Sorry. Modern tech can take me some time.”
Kate grinned back, but it was forced. She hadn’t realized until right that instant just how much he’d changed her life. And now he was abandoning her.
50
BEFORE HEADING HOME, KATE took a detour across town and visited Dr. Holley, who seemed surprised to see her. “What brings you to my neck of the woods?”
“It’s about Patient J.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Ah. So you found my book. Entrez vous.”
He led her into the sunny living room, where “Norwegian Wood” by the Beatles was playing softly in the background. She took a seat on the beige sectional sofa and said, “I know Savannah was only my half-sister. She didn’t look like anyone on our father’s side of the family. But I have the Wolfe nose, among other genetic traits.” She paused. “Henry Blackwood’s daughter Maddie looks quite like Savannah did around that age.”
Holley shrugged. “I wouldn’t know about that.”
“My mother never told you who Savannah’s father was?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“And my father doesn’t know anything about it?”
“Not to my knowledge. However, it’s possible he may have read my book and figured it out. I have no way of knowing.” He smiled sympathetically.
Kate sighed with frustration. “You told me you could never betray my mother’s confidences, and yet you spilled all her dirty secrets in your book.”
He shook his head. “No. Patient J is a composite of several women I treated. Patients A through Z are all composites: I changed their names, ages, and physical appearances in order to protect their privacy.”
“You didn’t disguise her enough, obviously.”
“It got a pass from the legal department.” He heaved a sigh. “Anyway, the book is out of print. It sold maybe five thousand copies.”
Kate touched her feverish forehead with her fingers. Just like that, her sister was her half-sister. Her mother had betrayed them. Her father was a cuckold. Everything felt dangerous. It was like walking across a rotten floor—at any second she could go crashing through.
“Should I tell my father?”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Dr. Holley advised. “He raised you girls alone, and Savannah was his daughter, whatever the biology. It would be wrong to take that away from him.”
She thumbed tears out of her eyes. “You’re right. It would kill him.”
The old psychiatrist stroked his chin. “You know, when my wife gave birth to our daughter, I fell instantly in love with her. I couldn’t believe that tiny little being was mine. She won my heart. As a parent, you never get over that feeling. You think your arms will always be able to protect her.”
She looked at him intently. “Would you tell me who the father was, even if you knew?”
&n
bsp; “No. But my conscience is clear. Your mother took that secret to the grave.”
51
KATE FOUND A PARKING space, retrieved her ring from the glove compartment and slipped it on. She tucked the pepper spray Palmer had given her into her coat pocket and tried not to slip on the icy cobblestones as she made her way toward the building.
She rode the elevator to the eighth floor and fumbled with her keys. Her stomach was in free-fall as she unlocked the door. “James?” she called out.
He met her in the hallway in his wool coat and boots. He kissed her hello.
“Sorry I worried you yesterday,” she said.
“No, the important thing is you’re okay.”
“Can we talk?”
“I was just leaving. I have to consult with Mom’s doctors again. They’re worried about blood clots now. And she’s reporting numbness and tingling.”
“Oh God. How can I help?”
“Come by later on and see her. That’ll cheer her up.”
“Absolutely.”
“Look, Kate.” James took her hand. “I want you to be happy, not scared and stressed out, and I think digging into your sister’s murder is bad for you. But I support whatever you think is best. I just don’t know how to deal with it sometimes.”
Kate squeezed his hand. “We’ll talk later, when your mother’s feeling better.”
He gave her a long hug and left.
Hours later, and bone-tired, she nibbled on a salad and changed for bed. She’d driven to Massachusetts General to visit Vanessa, and back again—alone. James, concerned about deep vein thrombosis, had opted to stay with his mother, while Kate had come home and worked her way through a mass of paperwork. Now she traced her fingers over the small scars on her upper thighs and forearms—little teardrop dimples, tiny nicks in an otherwise smooth surface. She recalled the stab of the thumb tacks, and the accompanying numbness. Cutting herself was like walking into a much clearer reality. She studied the jagged suicide scars on her wrists, the hesitation cuts. She remembered the crackle and snap of pain as the razor sank into her flesh. She had survived all this—she could survive whatever was coming.
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